CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUTTY, mentions of your sex life with the boys, perv! coded reader, manhandling, dirty talk, teasing, fingering, oral f!receiving, blowjobs, mentions of knee humping, mention of overstimulation, size kink, and mentions of mirror sex
TRIGGER WARNINGS : none i can think of
includes : eren, armin, jean, reiner, connie, levi, and erwin
word count : 2k
what's playing 🎧 : all wound up by she wants revenge
a/n : can yall tell i really like making these ;P hope u enjoy and that u guys arent getting bored of them teehee
eren (• ༚ •)↝
eren overall is objectively a very handsome man
so naturally there’s already an air of an alluring hypnosis to nearly everything he does
but there’s this particular thing he does that for whatever reason, really does you in
with almost every situation you both are in, he always manages to make some sort of physical contact with you
its embedded in his psyche and human nature to always try and touch you, be close to you, simply share the same air as you
an example that drives you crazy is when you’re in the kitchen and he needs something from the cabinet above your head, he doesn’t even ask you to move, he just cages you in with his broad chest and toned arms, reaching up to grab whatever silly mug or dish you bought for him
when he’s walking past you or needs to get by he grazes your arm, sometimes squeezing it fleetingly but affectionately
or he’ll caress the small of your back when he comes through, completely unnecessary but you don’t question it, you love receiving all of his touches
when he sits beside you he always traps you in, with his big muscular thighs pressed flush against you – this made you really nervous before you guys’ started dating (sometimes still does)
when you’re out and about with friends or in general he’s always got his arm loosely around your waist, silently tightening his grip whenever anything might seem amiss or if he starts to get frustrated with someone hogging your attention for too long
and when you’re in the brunt of a thick crowd, he’ll hold your hand tight, his grip unshakeable while he guides you through
he’ll always look back behind him to make sure you’re still there, safe and with him
he also will only let you walk on the inside of the sidewalk, away from the cars
will grab your arms or waist and tug you back next to him and away from traffic without saying a word
its the casual dominance and protectiveness that he exudes that just riles you all up
in doing this he slightly manhandles you, and you pretend to get annoyed by it but really all it does is make you want to get bent over the nearest surface
when you’re accidentally standing in the way he doesn’t tell you, he just grabs your hips and moves you for you, not even batting an eye as he does so
you love the surprise of it all every time
it renders you to stand idly by for a moment, the flashbacks of all the times he’s gripped your waist or hips and pinned you the mattress while he pounds your cunt and grunts in your ear to “stop fucking moving” play in your head like a movie scene
“know you can take my dick, c’mon baby be good,” he’d growl in your ear, flipping you on your stomach and hiking your knee up, sliding his cock into you and pushing down on your hips to stop your squirming before it can begin
these memories makes a slight shiver go down your spine every time before you resume whatever it is you were preoccupied with
my man my man my mannnnn fr
armin ૮₍'˶• . •⑅₎ა
ugh my pretty boy
this ones kinda nerdy but so is armin
he’s actually really good at card tricks
you have zero idea on how he does any of them, genuinely convinced he really is magic
he has an amazing slight of hand, its truly impressive
the skill sounds incredibly dorky, you both are aware, but seeing him do it always makes you wanna jump his bones
you figure it's because it's a pretty cool skill to have been able to develop which in turn reminds you of his astounding intelligence, which that in itself already turns you on as it is
but it’s also the small smug smile in his lips as he watches you fawn over him, how he’s so confident in his abilities and knows exactly what he’s doing while you sit in awe
and his fingers, Oh My God.
he has the prettiest hands you think you’ve ever seen
long, slender but slightly thicker than yours so when he fingers you, they stretch you out more than you could yourself
your mind always slips to the obscene when he shows you a new trick he learned, watching the way his fingers shuffle and play with the cards… gulp
something else that he does that drives you up the wall is how beautiful he is when he’s reading
he’s so focused, and you can see him getting lost in the story and fully immersing himself into it, the way his face is so serious with a slight furrow in his brows…mmggg
he’s so fucking handsome when he’s leaning against the loveseat in the living room, leg folded and balancing his book on his knee (that you’ll be grinding your clit on later)
and those goddamn fingers of his
he always has his fingers between the pages, prepared to turn them as soon as he’s done, and the way his fingers lay lightly curled within the pages reminds you of the way he drags his long digits up and down your folds, collecting your wetness to smear over your clit
staring at his pretty hands reminds you of the way he’ll rise back up from between your legs, mouth slick along with his fingers, how he’ll bring his digits to your lips and make you suck them clean for him, watching with a deviant stare, his chest rising and falling heavily from how horny the sight makes him
all of this just from him reading btw
he can never finish a damn book when you’re around
(he doesn’t mind)
jean ↻(𓄼 .̀ ̮.́)Ψ
honestly what about jean doesn’t turn you on
this man is so fucking fine it pisses me off
but there’s this specific thing he does that makes you stutter a little, makes you lose your balance within your wording, rendering you momentarily dumb
he’ll do this thing where he’ll flick his eyebrows up, a quick twitch in the muscles of his brows paired with a faint curl in the corner of his lips, something akin to a smirk
it’s just so cocky and so sexy
he’ll do it when he’s making a suggestive joke or talking about something stupid, you don’t even know half the time since you kinda lose the ability to focus on the topic at hand for about 5 seconds whenever he does that
or when you’re explaining something and he wants to show that he is actively listening to you and following along, he’ll add a little “yeah?” as you’re speaking, trying to show his active engagement
he truly doesn’t mean for it to be flirty but when you’re that hot everything comes off as flirty
it always brings about a gust of heat that fans over your cheeks when you catch it, taking a moment to recalibrate your brain and continue on with what you were saying
to be fair to yourself, while he does say that when he’s listening to you, he also uses it in bed, it’s only expected that the line between each connotation would blur!
you’ll just be rambling about work or classes and about whoever is annoying you and he’ll be nodding, hanging off of each word like a good boyfriend, his hand supporting his head while the other holds your hip, murmuring a soft, “yeah?” urging you to continue on
and ughhh it makes your mind flash with images of him hovering above you, fucking your cunt with his fingers, not quite kissing you as his nose grazes yours, laughing breathily when you try leaning up to catch his lips with yours
you whimper with need and he tilts his head, brushing his lips to yours, not giving in to what you want just yet
“yeah?” he draws out, low and teasing, frustrating you further
or when he’s fucking you on his stupidly big cock, watching you struggle to speak when he asks you questions he knows you can’t answer
“yeah baby?”
“what’s that, gotta use your words to get what you want angel”
damn him.
reiner 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
mmm reiner…
he’s so built, nice and bulky and fit
he’s muscly without being rock hard
like you can tell he actively attends the gym but will never turn down your baked goods or cooking
you love the way that man fucking eats
you love telling him to slow down, that there’s more where it came from, and watching him laugh bashfully and sit up, stretching in his seat and watching the way his shirt rises, exposing his toned but soft tummy and happy trail
he’ll swipe the food off the corner of his lips and keep eating, moaning with each bite like he’s fucking you
you hate how this sounds but he just looks so… manly when he eats
he isn’t sloppy per say, but damn it's just such a primal sight it makes you envious of the food he sinks his teeth into
the way he eats when he’s hungry is just short of ravishing his plate, and it always makes you squeeze your thighs, poking at your own food with your fork, pushing it around mindlessly while he inhales everything before him
it reminds you of the way he kisses you when he hasn’t seen you or gotten to spend much time with you in awhile, how he holds the back of your head greedily to keep you still while his mouth latches onto yours
and of course, reminds you of when he devours your cunt
he loves your pussy more than any food or dessert known to man
between your legs is where he could feast for the rest of his life if he didn’t require food and water
he sucks on your clit until you sob, lapping you up and flicking through your folds as if your cunt really does provide sustenance
he moans into your pussy, gripping open your thighs like he’s angry and desperate, his facial hair tickling your inner thighs
and he doesn’t stop until you’re literally squirming away from his mouth and sobbing for a break
that boy can #eat
connie ᡣ𐭩˙ᵕ˙ᰔᩚ
connie is a pretty laidback, funny guy
you love his humor and you love his friendship with sasha, you love that he can have a female friendship and not objectify her or sexualize her
it's one of the things you love about him
they’re so stupid together, their humor could easily match one of a child’s but it makes you laugh along with them nonetheless
so of course you love connie’s humor, who doesn’t wanna fuck a funny man?
but something else you really like is when connie gets serious
it doesn’t happen often but when it does…Hello…
you like his duality, and his ability to do both, some men don’t know when to get serious and when to let up
but connie does
and its so hot every time
you love the way he sheds his silly demeanor and grows stern, his biceps bulging slightly when he crosses his arms and tries to focus
mmmhhh
especially when he’s frustrated…
you love the tone he takes, love how he can go from playing around to shutting someone the fuck up if prompted
so similarly to armin, his focus is really attractive
it reminds you of that little moment during sex, when he pushes in for the first time, shuddering a low breath and swallowing hard, watching his cock breach past your entrance and stretch you out
he loves to watch his cock disappear into you
nothing could shake his focus off of that
he loves how you suck in a sharp breath when he thrusts in, observing with a laser focus on how he's gotta lightly fuck into you and stretch you out before he can fully start thrusting
your poor little hole can barely take him :(
the contrast of you two going from playful banter to hot moans and steady eye contact while he’s fucking you is so stark it gives you an aroused whiplash
so when he gets serious out in social settings after having just been fucking around with sasha and/or jean you get all flushed, thinking about how intensely serious he gets and how concentrated he becomes when he fucks you
you love your silly goofy man but you love when he locks in
levi ¬_¬
god levi is so fucking hot i need him to curse me out
like jean, everything levi does makes you horny
who could blame you?
well, levi does, when he catches that specific look in your eye
he’s very perceptive after all
but he doesn’t mean anything by it, he’s only teasing
it’d be hard to tell from an outside perspective because he’s always got this semi annoyed tone in his voice
but you know he thinks it's sexy and pathetic that he can make you so horny so easily
the way he carries himself, the way he speaks and holds himself in conversation – everything is just so attractive
but its his precision that you love
you love that with everything he does, it's done right the first time
he’s so responsible, so good at everything he does
he’s so meticulous and careful and approaches things logically and correctly
he’s just so perfect
he doesn’t understand why you love to just watch him work but he doesn’t mind, he likes having you curl into his side while he works on his laptop or that you gaze at him lovingly while he drives – specifically when he pulls out of a parking spot
yk.. resting his elbow over the shoulder of your passenger seat and cranes his head back to make sure he’s pulling out properly
he doesn’t mind that you don’t bother to move, that you stay put and let your faces nearly brush against each other when he does it
he’ll glance over at you, eyeing you up and down before shaking his head slightly, a low humorous exhale leaving his lips
“silly brat.”
meowwwwww…
one of the reasons why his precision turns you on is because within his everyday actions no matter how mundane, this habit of his tracks into your shared bedroom life
he’s precise and deliberate about how he touches you, about how he goes about making you feel good
he took his time in the beginning stages getting to know what you like, how you like it, how long you like it for and so on and so forth
he was and is deadset on being the only person who truly knows how to make you tick
he doesn’t want there to be a single person who can make you feel a percentage of what he makes you feel
he knows how to angle his hips just right so that his cock relentlessly fucks into your sensitive spot inside of you
he knows when to shift you around and when to pin you down before you start jerking away so he can make you really feel him
he knows when you need him to start rubbing your clit and how you like it done
he knows you like it when he makes you take it, that you like it when forces another orgasm from you despite your sobs and pleading words of “no more!”
he knows your limits and what you need better than you do
after all, he is thorough and exact with everything he does
in short - he knows how to handle his woman.
erwin ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ
oh commander…
funnily enough the thing about him that turns you on is the exact opposite of connie
he’s a very serious man with a very serious duty
he finds refuge in you, his one escape from his chaotic world where nothing seems to go right
whereas with you, everything flows so well, so relaxing and safe
and because of this, he gets to thaw out of his usual cold austerity and instead melt into something more lax with you
you like when he lets his hair down with you, it makes you feel like you’ve succeeded in being his safe space
you like the way he looks at you when you speak, when he’s in a calm state of mind its like the weight of the world dissipates off his shoulders and he can give you his full attention
you feel his eyes soaking in your face, you can feel his palpable admiration while he scans over you, taking the moment to appreciate you and how beautiful you are
he always fucks you the best when he’s in a tranquil state of mind
nothing matters except for you, your pleasure included ;P
he has more mental capacity to really feel you, and touch you properly like you deserve
so when you notice him start to let loose a little, your body will react before your mind can, associating his fun side with getting fucked wildly
he’ll have you bent over your vanity, huge cock rammed in you while he holds your throat, craning your vision to be directed before you, forcing you to watch yourself get plowed
he mounts you with utter dedication, no obligations or stress or worries holding him back
he laughs softly when you fall limp from your plethora of orgasms, while he remains hard without having cum yet, knowing you’ll let him fuck you full of his cum when he’s ready to
he’s more adventurous and open to new positions with you too when he gets like this
once he had you dangle your head off the edge of the bed and used the new leverage to fuck your throat with ease and eat your pussy at the same time
you still remember the way he squeezed bruises into your thighs while he dragged his tongue over your soaked folds and clit
despite this, he hasn’t picked up on the pattern yet of relaxed erwin = mind blowing sex
so he’s always a little confused when you start to get all jittery and shy when he loosens up, wondering why you’re behaving like a nervous schoolgirl who's spending one on one time with her crush for the first time
its endearing wonderment, he doesn’t mind it at all, he thinks its sweet, he just has no idea that internally you’re just waiting for him ram his cock in you and fuck you without a care in the world
I dont know anyone if anyone said it but can you do something with jobe hes such a fine guy
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ jobe bellingham making love to you after a win
♡ (nsfw, jobe loves you dearly, slight sub!jobe)
the sharp scent of sweat and damp grass still clings to jobe’s skin as he leans against the lockers, chest heaving. the distant echo of the crowd is a faint hum through the walls, but his gaze locks on you, intense and needing. you can see the shake in his hands from the adrenaline, and the way his knuckles are scraped raw from a late-game slide. he doesn’t need to say it, you remember the harshness of winter air at early practices, your voice hoarse from shouting encouragement over the wind while he ran drills until he weakened.
“you saw it?” his voice is still rough from ninety minutes of shouting across the field. “every second,” you tell him.
then he crosses the room and puts both arms around you, still damp, still warm, pressing his face into the side of your neck. you feel his heartbeat against your skin, still going hard. feeling the coolness of the air, his broad frame towers over you, the post match fire turning into something hotter and more possessive.
“every practice,” he says, his voice is muffled. “every single one.”
he grabs your face in both hands, his palms still hot, tipping your head back to look at you, with his chest still heaving.
“you were there,” he says, quieter now, like he’s just remembering it. “i kept looking up and you were just—” he shakes his head. his thumbs move along your jaw.
he kisses you slowly at first, almost careful, his fingers sliding back into your hair. then he makes a low sound against your mouth and pulls you in harder, and you feel the full weight of him, the heat still radiating off his skin, the locker door cold at your back.
“fuck, baby, you don’t know what it did to me seeing you out there clapping like that,” he growls, his voice low and rough. his hands are already under your shirt, palms hot and damp from the ball, sliding up to cup your tits. “all that training, all those late nights, i did it for this. just for you.” he yanks your shirt off, mouth crashing onto yours, tongue demanding and wet. you taste the salt of his sweat, feeling the hardness of his cock straining against his shorts as he grinds into your hip.
he drops to his knees without warning, dominance taking over, tugging your pants and panties down in one impatient pull. the cool air hits your bare skin, but his breath is warming. “spread for me. let me taste how proud you are of me.” his tongue drags through your folds, slow and filthy, lapping at your clit like he’s starving. you moan, fingers twisting in his curly hair, the wet sounds of his mouth filling the empty room. he groans against your pussy, the vibration shooting straight through you. “so fucking sweet. been thinking about this the whole match— how i’d get you dripping on my tongue.”
“yes,” you gasp out, your hips bucking against his hand. “don’t stop, jobe. please.”
your thighs shake around jode’s head, the heat of his tongue dragging merciless circles over your swollen clit while two thick fingers plunge deep, curling to reach that throbbing spot inside you. the wet sounds of his mouth fill the locker room, mixing with his scent. your own arousal coats his chin, dripping down to soak the bench beneath you as your hips jerk forward, chasing every filthy lap.
“fuck, jobe, baby p-please don’t stop,” you gasp, voice cracking as your fingers twist into his damp hair, yanking him closer. he growls against your cunt, the vibration shooting straight through your core, and sucks your clit harder, teeth grazing just enough to make your vision blur.
his dark eyes flick up, hungry and feral. “this pretty pussy’s squeezing my fingers like it’s asking for my cock,” he rasps, voice muffled against your folds. “soaking my face, begging to be filled.”
your walls flutter and clench, the pressure building until your back arches hard against the cold metal. he doesn’t ease up, his fingers pumping faster, and his tongue flicking in tight strokes, until the orgasm rips through you in pulsing waves. your thighs clamp around his ears, a cry tearing from your throat as fresh slick gushes over his tongue. he drinks it down with greedy laps, fingers slowing but never stopping their deep, curling thrusts, egding every last shiver from your trembling body.
jobe rises, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand, a wicked smirk curling his lips. he fists the back of your neck and drags you into a bruising kiss, tongues tangling so you taste your own tangy sweetness mixed with his. the flavor floods your senses, heat starting fresh between your legs.
he stands and spins you, the roughness of the bench scraping your palms as he bends you over it. his shorts rasp down your ass cheeks, fabric whispering against sweat-slick skin before his cock springs free, thick and veined, with his swollen head slick with precum that smears hot across your thigh. he slaps it against your dripping slit, once, then twice, the wet smack echoing off the locker room tiles, the sharp sting of contact making your clit throb. “so wet, baby. so perfect for me.”
jobe pushes in slow, the blunt head stretching your entrance wide, the burn blooming deep as inch after inch fills you, your walls fluttering and gripping every ridge. the fullness punches the air from your lungs, your vision sparking white at the edges while the musky smell of his sweat and your arousal floods your nose. “god, this pussy’s gripping me like she missed me. you’re mine, please say it.” his hips snap forward, deep and steady, one hand clamping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other sliding around to circle your swollen clit with rough fingers.
“yours— m’ yours.” whimpers came from your throat, as the slap of skin on skin rings out, wet and filthy, your moans tangling with his grunts as the bench creaks beneath you.
sweat drips from his chest onto your back, hot trails sliding down your spine, the sharp salt taste of it hitting your tongue when you lick your lips. he picks up speed, pounding harder, the wet squelch of his cock driving into your soaked cunt filling the air with every thrust. “fuck, you feel incredible. all that cheering, you always show up for me.” his fingers work faster, pinching your clit just shy of pain, the pressure building tight and hot in your core while his cock drags relentless against that spot inside you.
jobe’s voice cracks, the dominant edge fading into desperate need. “please, baby— cum on my cock. i need it. need to feel you squeeze me. ah— g-god, i love you.” he leans over you, teeth grazing your ear, breath hot and ragged, his free hand fisting your hair to yank your head back. the sound of his cock squelching into you grows frantic, the scent of sex thick and overwhelming, your inner walls clenching tighter around him with every thrust.
your body shakes, thighs trembling around his hips as your orgasm crashes through you in relentless pulses. your cunt clenches tight, gripping his thick shaft like a fist, milking every inch while hot slick floods out and coats his balls. the wet slap of skin echoes off the concrete walls, mixing with the sweetness of love that hangs heavy in the air. your nipples scrape against the rough material of the bench, sending shivers straight to your core.
he growls low, hips jerking in broken thrusts. “fuck— yes, just like that. squeeze that pretty pussy around me. please— milk every drop.” his fingers dig into your waist, bruising, yanking you back onto him as he slams quicker. the bench creaks under the force, your knees scraping the edge while his cock pulses deep inside. thick ropes of cum surge into you, hot and heavy, overflowing in sticky ropes that trickle down your inner thighs and drip onto the floor below.
his mouth finds your shoulder, teeth sinking in just enough to mark, tongue quieting the sting as his hands roam frantically over your damp skin. he can’t stop touching, can’t stop grinding, pushing his release deeper while the distant roar of the stadium crowd fades beneath the wet sounds of your joined bodies and the frantic beat of your hearts. the taste of him lingers on your tongue from earlier kisses, sweet and addictive, as the last vibration rips through you both.
the bench beneath you both creaks, it scrapes against your bare skin, a big contrast to the slick heat of his body against yours. squeaking and groaning under the pressure of your movements, the rhythm that mixes the pounding of your hearts. the world outside the small room fades into insignificance, the stadium long forgotten.
his love coats your skin, evidence of the passion that has just unfolded between you. it’s the way his fingers draw lazy patterns on your sweat coated back, the way his breath goes hot and ragged against your neck, and the way his lips press soft kisses to your shoulder. it’s the way he murmurs your name, like whispers that send shivers down your spine.
the taste of him dances on your tongue, a mix of salt and desire that you can’t help but want to savor. his scent fills you, musky and overpowering, paired with the sweetness of sweat and sex. his body is a furnace against yours, radiating heat that seeps into your body. his heart pounding against your back, a steady rhythm that matches the pulsing ache between your thighs. his arms wrap around you, holding you close as if he fears you might slip away.
the room is filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, the occasional creak of the bench beneath you, and the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusts his hold on you.
jobe has won matches before, but he has never looked at a trophy the way he looks at you.
♡ enjoyed reading? if you'd like to support my writing, my ko-fi is linked in my bio!
i'm still pretty new to jobe but i wanted to write a little something sweet for him! he seems to be a little lonely in germany, so i wanted to write it as though you're always there for him. i hope you guys enjoy! as always, any feedback is accepted! (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 15, 947
Summary: After an unsettling moment in a parking garage leaves you shaken, Jack does what he does best: listens, steadies you, and teaches you how to get out of someone else’s hold. But close quarters have a way of revealing more than technique, and Jack is very, very good at showing you the difference between being trapped and choosing to stay.
Warnings: 18+ only, explicit sexual content, oral sex, protected sex, praise, light dominance, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, aftercare, self-defense lesson turning sexual, brief mention of being followed in a parking garage, fear/anxiety after a potentially unsafe situation, Jack being very competent and very unfair.
Author’s Note: This one came from the idea of Jack teaching her how to get out of someone’s hold and then showing her what it feels like to be held by someone she trusts. So yes, it is self-defense-adjacent, trust-heavy, and then very quickly becomes Jack being a menace in gray sweatpants. Please mind the warnings, and as always, minors do not interact.
Xoxo, Del
Dinner had been good. Quiet, but good. That was how Jack knew something was wrong. Usually, you had something to say. Usually, you made at least one dramatic noise over the food just to make him roll his eyes. Usually, you poked at him until his mouth twitched and then acted like you had won something.
Tonight, you had thanked him, eaten half your plate, and spent the rest of dinner moving your fork through sauce you were not really tasting.
Now you were wiping down a counter that had already been wiped down twice. Jack watched you from the sink, one hand braced on the counter while the other held a pan under warm water. The kitchen smelled like garlic and dish soap. The house was quiet around you. Warm. Familiar.
You still looked like you were waiting for something to happen.
Jack turned off the faucet. “You’ve been quiet.”
You kept your eyes on the counter. “I’m cleaning.”
Jack reached for the dish towel. “Quietly.”
You dragged the sponge across the same clean stretch of counter. “That is usually how cleaning works.”
Jack dried his hands slowly. “Not with you.”
You glanced at him, and the look almost had your usual bite. Almost. You looked back down at the counter. “I’m fine.”
Jack set the towel down. “I didn’t ask that.”
Your hand paused. “You were going to.”
Jack leaned back against the sink. “No.”
You turned your head slightly, but you did not quite look at him. Jack’s voice stayed even. “Because you would have said that.”
For a moment, the only sound was the faint tick of the cooling stove and the heater humming somewhere under the floor. Then you pressed the sponge flat beneath your palm.
You exhaled, “There was this guy in the parking garage.”
Jack went still. Not dramatically. Not suddenly. But something in him sharpened until you could feel the full weight of his attention settle on you.
You kept your eyes on the counter. “Nothing happened.”
Jack’s voice stayed quiet. “Okay.”
You swallowed. “I mean, I don’t think anything happened. He was just behind me. I turned down a row, and he turned too. Then I looked back, and he was already looking.”
Jack’s jaw shifted once. “At you.”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He did not ask if you were sure. That almost hurt more than if he had. You rubbed your thumb over the inside of your wrist. “So I walked faster. And then I turned again, because I thought maybe if I was being weird, I could prove it to myself.”
Jack’s brows drew together. “Prove what?”
You gave a small shrug. “That I was making it up.”
Jack’s face softened. “Baby.”
You hated that. Not because he said it. Because it worked.
You looked away. “Maybe he was parked near me. Maybe he was just walking. Maybe I looked insane because I kept checking over my shoulder.”
Jack spoke gently. “Maybe.”
You finally looked at him. Jack held your gaze. “But you thought it might be something.”
Your throat tightened. There it was. So simple. So clean. No argument. No evidence required. No little courtroom where you had to defend the fact that your body had known something before your brain could explain it.
Jack crossed the kitchen slowly. He did not crowd you. He came close enough that you could feel the warmth of him beside you, but he stopped before his body blocked yours in. Jack rested his hand near yours on the counter. “You noticed him. You trusted that something felt wrong. You got to your car. You locked the doors. And you left.”
Your eyes burned. Jack’s voice was gentle. “That’s good.”
You hated how much you needed to hear it. You hated even more that he seemed to know. For a second, neither of you said anything.
Then Jack shifted his hand an inch closer to yours. “You called me after.”
You huffed a small, shaky laugh. “You said you were making food.”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “I did.”
You glanced at him. “And I like food.”
Jack nodded. “I know.”
You lifted one shoulder. “And your house was closer than mine.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “Also true.”
You tried for dry. “And you’re very needy.”
Jack’s eyebrow lifted. “I’m needy?”
You pointed the sponge at him. “You invite me over every time you cook.”
Jack leaned one hip against the counter. “I invite you over because you show up.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That is circular logic.”
Jack’s mouth twitched again. “That is not what circular logic means.”
You pointed at him more firmly. “Do not flirt with me using accuracy right now.”
Jack’s expression warmed. You looked away before it could undo you completely. Jack’s voice was softer when he asked, “And?”
You hated him a little for knowing there was an and. You looked down at the counter. “And I wanted to see you.”
Jack’s fingers flexed once against the counter. When you looked back, there was no smugness in his face. No teasing. No dry little joke waiting at the corner of his mouth. Just Jack.
Warm. Steady. Yours. Jack’s voice was low. “I’m glad you did.”
The ache in your chest loosened so suddenly that you had to look away again. You tossed the sponge into the sink with more force than necessary. “I also did the stupid key thing.”
Jack blinked. “The key thing?”
You held up your hand awkwardly. “The thing where you put your keys between your fingers like Wolverine, but sad.”
For one second, Jack just stared at you. Then his mouth twitched. You pointed at him. “Do not laugh.”
Jack held up one hand. “I’m not laughing.”
“You’re doing the Jack version.” You replied.
Jack raised a brow, “The Jack version?”
You nodded. “Where only one percent of your face admits you think I’m funny.”
Jack’s mouth curved another fraction. “That sounds medically precise.”
You set the sponge down. “I work around doctors. I’ve picked up terminology.”
Jack’s gaze dropped to your hand. “It’s common advice.”
You lowered your hand. “But?”
“Not good advice.” Jack stepped closer, slow enough that you had time to move if you wanted to. “Keys move. They can cut into your palm. They weaken your grip.”
You frowned. “I hate that you’re making sense.”
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. “And if someone is close enough for that to matter, they’re close enough to grab you.” Your humor thinned. Jack saw it immediately. His voice softened. “Better principles.”
You looked up. “Principles.”
Jack counted them off calmly. “Create distance. Make noise. Keep moving.” Your eyes dropped to his hands. Jack finished, “Use leverage.”
You stared at him. Of course, Jack Abbot, in gray sweats and a white T-shirt, barefoot in his warm kitchen, knew how to use leverage. Of course, he said it like that. Calm. Practical. Devastating. You lifted your eyes to his. “That sounds like something people say when they know how to leverage.”
Jack’s answer was immediate. “I do.”
Your stomach did something stupid. You tucked your keys into your palm. “That was very ominous.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
Your eyes narrowed. “You said ‘I do’ like you were about to reveal a hidden assassin past.”
Jack leaned one hip against the counter. “I don’t have a hidden assassin past.”
You pointed at him, “That sounds exactly like something a man with a hidden assassin past would say.”
Jack looked at you for a long second. Then he asked, “Do you want me to show you?”
You blinked. “Show me what?”
Jack nodded toward the basement door. “A few basics.”
Your stomach dipped. “Self-defense?”
Jack’s voice stayed dry. “That is what we’re talking about.”
You looked down at yourself. Leggings. Loose shirt. Bare feet. Still a little shaky in your own skin. You admitted, “I wanted reassurance.”
Jack’s expression softened. “I’m giving you both.”
That should not have worked on you. It did. You glanced toward the basement door. “You have a self-defense dungeon, don’t you?”
Jack stared at you. You stared back. Jack said, “It’s a workout space.”
You nodded slowly. “That is exactly what someone with a self-defense dungeon would call it.”
Jack pushed off the counter. “Are you coming?”
You should have said something clever. You should have made another joke. Instead, you looked at him standing there, barefoot and broad-shouldered, one hand near the basement door, his hair a little mussed from the way he had run his fingers through it after dinner. Your body remembered the parking garage. The cold concrete. The fluorescent lights. The echo of footsteps that might have meant nothing but had still made your pulse climb into your throat.
Then your body registered Jack. Warm kitchen. Clean cotton. Bare feet. Quiet house. A man who had listened without making you feel ridiculous. You walked toward him.
Jack watched your face as you passed. “What?”
You glanced up. “What?”
Jack’s mouth softened. “I’m proud of you.”
The words landed harder than you expected. Your throat closed. Jack did not touch you. He just stood there, letting you absorb it. You looked down at the stairs. “For almost stabbing myself with my own keys?”
Jack’s voice stayed gentle. “For paying attention.” You swallowed. Jack continued, “For leaving.” Your fingers tightened around the railing. Jack’s eyes held yours. “For coming here.”
You forced a shaky breath through your nose. Then you glanced past him into the basement, “Still sounds like a dungeon.”
Jack’s mouth curved. “It’s a workout space.”
You stepped down one stair. “Sure, Dr. Basement.”
Jack followed you down. “Don’t call me that.”
The laugh that left you came easier than the last one. The basement was warmer than you expected. Quiet, too. One corner had been turned into a practical home gym: black mats fitted together across the floor, a punching bag near the wall, a small rack of weights, and resistance bands looped neatly from a hook. Nothing flashy. Nothing excessive. Just useful. Very Jack.
You stepped onto the edge of the mat. “You have a punching bag.”
Jack came to stand beside you. “Yes.”
You pointed at the mat beneath your bare feet. “And a whole fighting area.”
Jack looked down at the mat. “It’s not a fighting area.”
You widened your eyes. “Oh, my mistake. Your peaceful rectangle.”
Jack’s mouth curved despite himself. “You done?”
You rocked back on your heels. “Probably not.”
Jack stepped onto the mat and faced you. “Come here.”
Your stomach flipped. You covered it with attitude and lifted your chin. “Yes, sensei.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. You smiled sweetly. Jack pointed at the mat in front of him. “Okay, smart ass. Get on the mat.”
That should not have worked on you. It did. You stepped fully onto the mat, bare feet pressing into the textured surface.
Jack shifted into something steadier, his shoulders relaxing even as his attention sharpened. “First rule.”
You folded your arms. “Already?”
Jack nodded. “This isn’t about winning a fight.”
You let your arms drop a little. “Comforting.”
Jack shrugged, “It should be.” You looked at him. Jack continued, “It’s about getting out.”
Your smile faded. Jack saw it happen. His tone softened without losing its firmness. “You are not trying to prove anything. You are not trying to be brave.” You looked down at the mat. Jack’s eyes stayed on your face. “You are trying to create enough space to leave.”
You nodded once. “Okay.”
Jack held out his hand. “Give me your wrist.”
You glanced at his hand. He waited. The pause mattered. You put your wrist in his palm. Jack’s fingers closed around you. Not tight. Not rough. But solid enough that your body understood the shape of it. Your breath caught before you could stop it.
Jack’s eyes flicked to your face. “Still okay?” You nodded. His grip loosened immediately, “Words.”
Your face warmed. “Yes. I’m okay.”
Jack’s fingers settled around your wrist again. “Good.” The word should not have moved through you the way it did. Jack’s thumb shifted against the inside of your wrist. “Don’t pull back.”
You looked down at his hand. “I wasn’t.”
Jack’s gaze stayed on your shoulder. “You were thinking about it.”
You frowned. “That’s not the same thing.”
“It is when your shoulder moves,” Jack replied.
You looked at your shoulder, offended. “Traitor.”
Jack’s mouth curved. “Turn toward my thumb.”
You tried. Jack held on. Your wrist stayed trapped in his hand. Jack shook his head once. “That was pulling back.”
You looked up at him. “Was it?”
Jack’s answer was immediate. “Yes.”
You huffed. “That is very supportive.”
Jack adjusted your wrist. “It’s accurate.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I liked you better when you were feeding me.”
Jack’s other hand came up to guide your fingers. “You’ll survive.”
You watched his hand wrap carefully around yours. “Cold.”
Jack ignored that, but his mouth betrayed him a little. “Here. The weak point of the grip is where the thumb and fingers meet.”
His palm was warm. His thumb was rough. His hand looked impossibly large around your wrist.
Jack angled your arm slowly. “Don’t fight the strongest part of my hand. Turn toward the opening.”
You stared for one second too long. Jack noticed. Jack lifted his eyes to yours. “Focus.”
You snapped your gaze up. “I am.”
Jack’s expression did not change. “No. You’re thinking about my hand.”
Heat flooded your face. Jack did not smile. That was worse. He loosened his grip and reset your wrist. “Try again.”
You exhaled through your nose. “You’re very bossy for a man who lured me into a basement.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “Workout space.”
You looked pointedly at the mats under your feet. “Basement.”
Jack closed his fingers around your wrist again. “Don’t pull back.”
You glanced down at his hand. “I’m not.”
Jack’s gaze dropped to your shoulder. “You are.”
You looked at your shoulder like it had betrayed you. “I’m going to start taking this personally.”
Jack adjusted your wrist with careful fingers. “Good. Maybe you’ll remember it.”
You lifted your eyes to his. “Terrible motivational speaker.”
Jack’s thumb shifted once against your skin. “You’re still here.”
That should not have warmed you. It did. Jack reset his grip, his fingers closing around your wrist again with the same maddening care. “Toward my thumb.”
You tried to twist your wrist free. Jack held on. You frowned. “That was toward your thumb.”
Jack replied, “That was away from my hand.”
You frowned, “Your hand is attached to your thumb.”
Jack’s mouth curved. “Anatomically, yes.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Do not flirt with me using anatomy right now.”
Jack’s expression stayed calm. “Then listen.”
You swallowed. Jack stepped closer by half an inch, not enough to crowd you, just enough for the space between you to become something you could feel. Jack said, “The weak point is here.”
His other hand came up, and one finger tapped the narrow gap where his thumb met his fingers. Jack continued, “Turn through that opening. Step with it. With your body, not just your arm.”
You blinked. “That is both very helpful and not helpful at all.”
Jack looked unimpressed. “Try it.”
You drew a breath. This time, you turned your wrist toward the gap in his grip and stepped with the movement instead of yanking backward. Your arm slipped free more easily than you expected. The sudden lack of resistance made you stumble a half step, and your eyes dropped to your own hand. You were out, just like that. For a second, the basement went very still. You looked up at him. “I did it?”
Jack’s face softened by a degree. “You did it.”
You looked down at your hand again. “Did you let me?”
Jack’s answer came quiet and immediate. “No.” Your eyes found his. Jack held your gaze. “I taught you.”
That landed somewhere tender. Not soft, exactly. Tender. A warmth moved behind your ribs because he said it like the distinction mattered. Like he would not take the win from you. Like he had no interest in making himself look stronger by making you feel small. You forced a breath out. “That was almost encouraging.”
Jack reset his stance. “Don’t get attached.”
You huffed. “There he is.”
Jack held out his hand. “Again.”
You stared at him. “Again?”
Jack nodded. “Again.”
You gave him your wrist because, apparently, that was your life now. He showed you three more times. The first time, you pulled back and swore at your shoulder. The second time, Jack told you to use your whole body, and you muttered something about filing a complaint with management. The third time, your wrist slipped free cleanly. Jack nodded once. “Good.”
You looked down at your hand, pleased despite yourself. “That one was good.”
Jack’s mouth softened. “It was.”
The praise was not flirtatious that time. That made it hit differently. You looked up at him. Jack’s eyes were steady on yours, warm and serious beneath everything else. “You’re getting it.”
Something in your chest loosened. You nodded, quieter now. “Yeah.”
Jack let that moment breathe. Then his gaze moved over you, assessing in a way that should have felt clinical and did not. Jack said, “Now your stance.”
You looked down at your legs. “My stance is standing.”
Jack shook his head. “Barely.”
You gasped. “Rude.”
Jack pointed toward your feet. “Feet apart.”
You obeyed, widening your stance by approximately two inches. Jack stared at the distance between your feet. You stared at him. Jack said, “Wider.”
You moved one foot out another inch. “Demanding.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “Still too narrow.”
You gave him a look. “How much space do you think I need?”
Jack’s gaze lifted to yours. “Enough that someone can’t knock you over because you’re being stubborn.”
You paused. Then you stepped wider. Jack nodded once. “Better.”
You looked down. “I feel ridiculous.”
Jack stepped closer. “You look stable.”
You glanced up at him. “That is not the same as cool.”
Jack’s mouth curved. “You want cool or useful?”
You sighed. “I hate when the options are obvious.”
Jack touched two fingers lightly to your elbow. “Hands up.”
You lifted your fists near your chest. Jack’s brows rose. You frowned. “What?”
Jack tapped your knuckles. “Not fists.”
You lowered them slightly. “You just told me hands up.”
Jack took one of your hands and gently opened your fingers. “Open hands.”
You looked at your own palm. “Jazz hands?”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “No.”
You spread your fingers wider. “Defensive jazz hands.”
Jack looked at you for one long second. You smiled sweetly. Jack’s voice went dry. “You done?”
You tilted your hand back and forth. “Probably not.”
Jack’s thumb pressed lightly against your palm, closing your fingers into a looser shape. “Open hands give you options. Push. Grab. Block. Create space.”
You tried very hard to listen. You did. Mostly. But Jack was close again, and his white T-shirt pulled across his shoulders when he moved. The fabric was soft from wear, thin enough at the collar to show the warm line of his throat. His gray sweats sat low on his hips, plain and comfortable and unfair in a way that made you angry at clothing as a concept. He smelled like dish soap, clean laundry, and something warmer underneath. Like his house. Like him. Jack tapped your wrist. “Higher.”
You snapped your eyes back to his face. “What?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed faintly. “Hands.”
You lifted them higher. “Right.”
Jack studied you. “You were not thinking about your hands.”
You looked offended. “You don’t know that.”
Jack’s gaze dropped pointedly to your hands, which had already started to drift down again. You lifted them fast. “Fine.”
Jack stepped to your side. “Knees soft.”
You bent your knees dramatically. Jack blinked. You held the position. Jack said, “Not a squat.”
You straightened slightly. “You said soft.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “I did.”
You gestured down at yourself. “These are soft knees.”
Jack’s hand came to your hip. You forgot what a knee was. The touch was not sexual. That almost made it worse. His palm settled at the side of your hip, warm through the soft fabric of your leggings, firm enough to guide but not enough to hold. His other hand hovered near your shoulder, and the space between his body and yours narrowed until you could feel the heat of him at your side. You went still. Immediately, Jack’s hand loosened. “Still okay?”
You swallowed. “Yes. I’m okay.”
Jack’s hand returned to your hip, slower this time. “Good.”
The word moved through you low and warm. You hated that he probably knew. Jack adjusted your weight with a small pressure on your hip. “Don’t lock your knees.”
You stared straight ahead. “I’m not.”
Jack’s hand stayed steady. “You are.”
You exhaled. “My body is filing a complaint.”
Jack’s mouth curved near your shoulder. “Denied.”
You closed your eyes for half a second. Mistake. With your eyes closed, everything else got louder. The soft hum of the heater. The faint drag of Jack’s bare foot shifting on the mat. The warm shape of his hand at your hip. The quiet brush of cotton as his shirt moved with his breath. The space of him beside you, close enough to feel, not close enough to lean into without making it obvious. You opened your eyes. Jack’s gaze was already on your face. You tried to recover. “You’re very hands-on.”
Jack’s hand slid from your hip to your waist, adjusting your angle by a fraction. “You asked me to show you.”
You looked at him. “I asked for reassurance.”
Jack’s thumb shifted once at your waist. “I’m giving you both.”
The callback landed hard. Your breath caught before you could stop it. Jack’s gaze dropped to your mouth, only for a second. Then he looked back at your stance like he had not just wrecked the air between you. He was infuriating. Jack stepped behind you. “Keep your feet where they are.”
Your spine straightened. You forced your voice into something light. “What part of the lesson is this?”
Jack touched your right elbow, guiding it down a fraction. “The part where you learn not to fall over.”
You glanced back. “Sexy.”
Jack’s eyes flicked to yours. “Useful.”
You faced forward before your face could get any hotter. His heat settled behind you. Not touching at first. Just there. It changed the room anyway. Jack’s fingers touched your left shoulder. “Relax this.” You tried. Jack’s fingers stayed there. “Actually relax it.”
You made an offended sound. “That was relaxed.”
Jack’s thumb pressed gently into the tense muscle near your shoulder blade. “That was your pretending.”
Your mouth went dry. The pressure was careful, almost absent, but your body reacted as if he had dragged his hand down your spine. Jack felt the shift. You knew he did because his fingers stilled. For a second, neither of you moved. Then Jack’s voice came lower. “Breathe.”
You pulled air in. It sounded embarrassingly uneven.
Jack’s hand left your shoulder and came to your elbow. “Hands up.”
You lifted your hands again. Jack’s palm passed near your waist without touching this time. “If someone moves into your space, don’t freeze. Hands open. Weight centered. Knees soft.”
You nodded. “Okay.”
Jack stepped closer behind you. “Don’t pull against me.”
The words were practical. His voice was not. Your breath caught. Jack went still. For one terrible second, neither of you moved. Then his hand settled at your waist again, warm and certain through your shirt. Jack’s mouth came close to your ear. “There it is.”
Your eyes closed. “Jack.”
His thumb moved once at your side. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
You swallowed. “What is?”
Jack’s voice dropped. “You like being told what to do when it’s me.”
You stared straight ahead at the punching bag in the corner. “That is a very arrogant diagnosis.”
Jack’s thumb moved once at your waist. “It’s an accurate one.”
You swallowed. “You’re enjoying this.”
Jack’s mouth came close enough to your ear that his breath warmed your skin. “A little.”
Your eyes closed before you could stop them. His hand eased at your waist, giving you room even as his voice stayed low. Jack asked, “Still okay?”
You nodded, then caught yourself. “Yes. I’m okay.”
Jack’s palm settled again. “Good.”
The word went through you with embarrassing precision. You tried to breathe like a normal person. “You say that like you know what it does.”
Jack’s mouth curved near your ear. “I do.”
Your stomach dropped. Jack stepped away before you could answer. The sudden absence of him was almost worse than the closeness. You turned your head enough to glare at him. “That was rude.”
Jack came around to stand in front of you, expression calm except for the small, pleased curve at his mouth. “That was restraint.”
You stared at him. “I hate when you’re technically right.”
Jack’s gaze moved over you, taking in the stance, the hands, the way you were breathing a little too hard for a basic lesson in his basement workout space. Then his face softened. Jack said, “You have the wrist.”
You lifted your brows. “Do I get a certificate?”
Jack’s mouth curved. “No.”
You dropped your hands. “Terrible program.”
Jack pointed once toward the mat. “Turn around.”
Your smile faltered. Only slightly. Jack saw it immediately. His face shifted, the heat banking into something steadier. Jack said, “We can stop here.”
You shook your head. “No.”
Jack did not move. “We can.”
You held his gaze. “I know.”
He waited. You took a breath. “I don’t want to stop.”
Jack studied your face for another second, then nodded once. “Okay.”
You turned around. The room looked different, facing away from him. The punching bag hung still in the corner. The weights sat neatly on the rack. The stairs led back up to the kitchen, where the sink probably still smelled like garlic and dish soap, where your keys were sitting on the counter, where the world had felt a little too big until Jack made it smaller. Behind you, his footsteps shifted on the mat. Bare feet. Quiet room. Warm air. Your pulse climbed anyway.
Jack stopped behind you, close enough that you could feel his heat before he touched you. Jack’s voice came low and even. “Still okay?”
You nodded, then answered before he could correct you. “Yes. I’m okay.”
Jack’s hand touched your waist first, a quiet point of contact before anything else. “I’m going to put my arm around you.” Your fingers flexed once at your sides. Jack added, “Not tight.”
You swallowed. “Okay.”
Jack’s voice stayed steady. “If you want me to stop, say stop.”
You nodded. “I will.”
Jack’s hand settled more firmly at your waist. “And I will.”
Your throat tightened. You believed him. That was the dangerous part. Jack stepped in behind you. His arm came around your middle, forearm settling across your stomach with careful, controlled pressure. His chest brushed your back through the thin fabric of both your shirts. Not fully pressed against you. Not trapping you. Not taking anything. Just holding. Your eyes fluttered.
Jack’s mouth came near your ear. “Drop your weight.”
For a second, your body did not understand him. Or maybe it did, and that was the problem. His forearm pressed carefully across your stomach, hand resting at your side. The cotton of his shirt brushed the back of yours. His chest was close enough that each breath he took moved faintly against your spine. His bare foot was just behind yours on the mat, close but not touching, the heat of his body surrounding you in a way that made the practical basement blur at the edges.
You swallowed. “Drop my weight.”
Jack’s voice stayed low. “Bend your knees.”
You bent forward. Jack’s arm tightened immediately, stopping you before you could fold at the waist. Jack corrected you, his mouth still near your ear. “Not forward.”
Your breath caught. “Where, then?”
Jack’s hand settled more firmly at your waist. “Down.”
The word moved through you like a command your body wanted to obey for every wrong reason. Your eyes closed. Jack felt it. His thumb moved once at your side. “There.”
Your stomach pulled tight. You tried to make your voice work. “This is a self-defense lesson.”
Jack’s arm stayed steady around you. “It is.”
You stared at the punching bag across the room. “Then maybe stop saying things like that.”
Jack’s thumb dragged once over your waist through your shirt. “Like what?”
You hated him. You wanted to lean back against him so badly your knees almost gave you an excuse. You kept your hands loose at your sides. “You know.”
Jack’s breath warmed the side of your neck. “I do.”
That was worse. That was much worse. For a second, neither of you moved. The heater hummed. The mat pressed cool and textured beneath your feet. Somewhere upstairs, the house settled with a quiet creak that made the basement feel even more private. Jack’s arm stayed across your stomach, warm and solid, and the longer he held you there, the more impossible it became not to notice exactly how he was holding back. His forearm was firm against you. His fingers were open at your side. His chest was barely touching your back.
Barely. The restraint was what ruined you. Jack’s voice dropped. “Try again.”
You blinked. “Right now?”
Jack’s mouth curved near your ear. “Yes.”
You tried to gather whatever dignity you had left. “Demanding.”
Jack’s hand shifted at your waist. “Accurate.”
You exhaled and softened your knees this time, letting your weight sink downward rather than forward. Jack’s arm followed the motion, not pulling, not forcing, just staying with you as your center of gravity lowered. His chest brushed your back more fully for one second. The contact stole the air out of both of you. You heard it. The slight change in his breathing. Barely there. But there. Your lips parted. Jack went still behind you. You both knew. Your mouth curved before you could stop it. “You okay?”
Jack’s hand tightened once at your waist. “Focus.”
You smiled at the wall. “That was not an answer.”
Jack’s voice came rougher this time. “It was the one you’re getting.”
Your smile widened. There he was. Not completely. Not enough. But there. The crack beneath all that calm. Jack’s arm loosened. “Now step.”
You blinked. “Step?”
Jack’s hand moved to your hip, guiding your attention downward. “Outside my foot.”
You looked down. His foot was close to yours on the mat. Bare, steady, placed just behind and slightly outside your own. His ankle brushed yours when you shifted, and the small contact went through you with humiliating force. Jack felt that too. His fingers tightened once at your hip. You heard him exhale. You stepped outside his foot. Jack’s voice stayed controlled by effort now. “Good.”
The praise hit harder because you could hear what it cost him. You breathed in. “Then what?”
Jack’s arm came around you again, demonstrating the hold from behind. “Turn into me.”
You went still. The phrase landed worse than all the others. Not worse. Better. Your body understood it before your brain had a chance to pretend. Turn into me. Jack knew exactly when it hit. His hand stilled at your hip. The basement went quiet. Then Jack’s voice came lower, almost against your skin. “That one got you.”
Your face burned. “You’re impossible.”
Jack’s thumb moved slowly over your hip. “You’re transparent.”
You tried to look over your shoulder. “I am not.”
Jack’s arm held you in place, not tight, just enough. “Forward.”
Your pulse kicked. You faced forward. Jack’s voice softened into something more dangerous than teasing. “Listen.” You went quiet. His hand moved from your hip to your waist. “Step outside my foot.”
You nodded. “I did.”
Jack’s forearm settled against your stomach. “Drop your weight.” You bent your knees. Jack moved with you. “Now turn into me.” Your body hesitated. Jack felt it. Jack’s voice stayed steady. “Into me. Not away.”
You swallowed. “That is a phrasing problem.”
Jack’s mouth came close to your ear. “No.” His hand tightened once at your waist. Jack continued, “That one’s just true.”
Your breath caught. For one second, you forgot the move entirely. Jack waited. He did not rush you. He did not laugh. He only held you there, warm and steady behind you, letting the charged silence stretch until it stopped feeling like embarrassment and started feeling like permission to want what you wanted. Jack’s arm loosened a fraction. “Do it.”
You stepped outside his foot. You dropped your weight. Then you turned into him. The movement brought you around faster than you expected. Your foot slid over the mat. His arm released as you rotated, and suddenly you were facing him, close enough that your hand landed on his chest for balance. Jack’s hand came to your waist at the same time. Steadying you. Catching you. Holding you there. Your palm flattened against his T-shirt. His heart was beating hard. Harder than it should have been. You looked up at him. Jack looked down at you.
Neither of you moved.
The basement felt too quiet around you. The heater hummed. The punching bag hung still in the corner. Your hand stayed on his chest, and beneath your palm, Jack’s heartbeat kept giving him away.
You whispered, “You’re not as calm as you look.”
Jack’s jaw shifted. His hand flexed at your waist. “No.”
The honesty went through you like heat. Your fingers curled slightly in his shirt. Jack’s gaze dropped to the movement. Then to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. For one dangerous second, you thought he might kiss you. For one dangerous second, you wanted him to.
Jack drew a slow breath and stepped back. Your hand fell from his chest. The loss of contact felt obscene. Jack’s voice came rougher. “One more.”
You blinked. “Seriously?”
Jack’s eyes held yours. “Yes.”
You stared at him. “You’re evil.”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “You get better every time.”
That did something to you. Not just the praise. The certainty. The way he said it, like your body learning to get free, mattered. Like he was affected and still committed to making sure you knew how to leave before he ever asked you to stay, you swallowed. “Fine.”
Jack nodded once. “Turn around.”
You turned before he could see what his voice had done to your face. Or maybe he already had. Probably. Jack stepped in behind you. His arm came around your middle. His chest brushed your back. His breath touched the side of your neck. Everything in you went still and listened.
Jack’s voice came low. “Ready?”
You swallowed. “Yes.”
Jack’s hand settled at your waist. “Drop your weight.”
You bent your knees. Jack moved with you. “Step.” You stepped outside his foot. Jack’s arm loosened. “Turn into me.”
You turned. Maybe your foot caught the edge of the mat. Maybe you moved too fast. Maybe both of you were too aware of the other, and the room had been tightening around this moment for too long. Whatever it was, your balance shifted wrong. You felt yourself tip. Jack moved instantly. His arm came around your waist, not to restrain you this time, but to control the fall. His other hand protected the back of your shoulder as the two of you went down to the mat in a controlled, breathless tangle.
You hit the mat on your back, but not hard.
Jack took most of the weight before you could, one hand braced beside your head, the other still firm at your waist. His body covered yours without fully settling, knees planted on either side of your hips, chest hovering close enough that every breath had to move around him.
For one second, neither of you breathed. Then your eyes opened. Jack was above you. His hair was mussed from the fall. His jaw was tight. His hand stayed at your waist, fingers spread warm and careful over your side, and the arm beside your head flexed with the effort of keeping his weight off you.
You stared up at him. “I feel like this means I failed the lesson.”
Jack’s eyes dropped to your mouth before he could stop them. Then he looked back at your eyes. Jack said, “Depends on the lesson.”
Heat went through you so fast it almost embarrassed you. You tried to find your attitude and came up short. “That is not self-defense.”
Jack’s gaze stayed on yours. “No.”
The honesty made the air change. Your breathing came fast beneath him. The mat was cool against your back. His knee was beside your hip. His hand was at your waist. His body was above yours, close enough to feel, not close enough to trap. He was holding himself back. You could see it in his shoulders. Feel it in the careful distance he kept between his chest and yours.
Jack’s voice came low. “This is where I need your words.”
Your throat tightened. His thumb moved once at your side. Jack held your gaze. “Because you’re not trying to get out.”
The room went silent around you. Jack continued, quieter, “And before this goes any further, I need to know that’s because you want to stay.”
Your breath shook. You nodded once. “I want to stay.”
Jack did not move. His eyes stayed on yours, dark and steady, while his hand remained careful at your waist. “Tell me what you want.”
Your mouth went dry. He was close enough that you could feel the warmth of him with every breath. Close enough that his body covered yours without resting fully against you. Close enough that the space between you felt deliberate now. Cruel, almost. Like, restraint had become another kind of touch. You looked at his mouth. Then back at his eyes.
You whispered, “Kiss me.”
Jack’s control broke quietly. Not all at once. Not violently. Just enough for you to see it happen, his jaw shifted. His hand flexed at your waist. His eyes dropped to your mouth, and for one breathless second, he still did not move.
Then Jack kissed you.
His mouth came down on yours, firm and warm and devastatingly sure, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding from your waist to the small of your back as if he had been waiting for permission to touch you there. The first press of his lips stole the air out of your lungs. The second took the rest of your thoughts with it.
You made a sound against his mouth. Jack heard it. His hand tightened at your back, pulling you closer beneath him, and the careful distance he had been keeping disappeared by inches. His chest lowered against yours. His weight settled just enough for you to feel him, not enough to trap you, and that difference made heat rush through you so fast your fingers curled helplessly against the mat.
Jack kissed you like he had been behaving for hours. Like the entire lesson had been a line he refused to cross until you invited him over it. His mouth opened over yours, slow and deep, and you forgot the basement, the mat, the punching bag in the corner.
There was only Jack above you, Jack’s hand at your back, Jack’s breath rough against your lips when he pulled away for half a second only to kiss you again harder. Your hands found his shirt. You grabbed at him without meaning to, fisting the soft cotton near his ribs, and Jack made a low sound against your mouth that went straight through you.
He broke the kiss just enough to breathe. “Still okay?”
Your eyes opened. His face was close, his mouth wet from yours, his breathing less controlled than before. You swallowed. “Yes. I’m okay.”
Jack searched your face. “You’re sure?”
You nodded. “I’m sure.”
His gaze held yours for one more second. Then his mouth curved, faint and dangerous. Jack said, “Good.”
The word barely had time to land before he kissed you again. This time, the kiss was deeper. Less patient. His hand slid beneath your back, pulling you up into him while his other arm stayed braced beside your head, holding most of his weight off you. Even now. Even like this. Careful.
You felt it in the way he kissed you, like he wanted to ruin you, and held himself like he was still afraid of asking too much. You felt it in the restraint of his hand at your back, in the space he kept between his hips and yours, in the way his mouth went rough while the rest of him stayed controlled. It made you ache. It made you impatient.
You broke the kiss with a shaky breath. “Jack.”
His mouth hovered over yours. “Yeah?”
Your fingers tightened in his shirt. “I don’t want you to be careful with me.”
Jack went still. Completely still. His eyes lifted to yours, and the heat in them sharpened into something serious. Jack said, “Careful is not optional.”
Your breath caught.
Jack’s hand slid to your waist, firm and grounding. “Not with you.”
The words landed hard. Your chest rose against his. You shook your head. “That’s not what I mean.”
Jack did not move. “Then tell me what you mean.”
Your face burned. The words were there, hot and heavy in your throat, but saying them while he was above you, while his body covered yours and his mouth was still close enough to touch, felt more exposing than kissing him had. Jack waited. You looked at his mouth, then back at his eyes.
You whispered, “I want you to stop holding back.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. His hand flexed once at your waist. You felt the words hit him. You felt what it cost him not to move. Jack’s voice came lower. “How?”
Your stomach dipped. “Jack.”
His thumb moved once at your side. “Use your words.”
Your breath shook. You stared up at him, pinned beneath the weight he was still mostly keeping off you, and understood exactly what he was asking for. Not because he did not know. Because he wanted you to hear yourself choose it. You swallowed. Then you said, “I want you to take me how you want me.”
Jack’s control slipped, just for a second. His eyes closed, and the breath he let out sounded like it had been dragged out of him. When he opened his eyes again, there was no mistaking what you had done to him. His voice was rough. “You need to be careful saying things like that to me.”
Your pulse jumped. “I thought careful wasn’t optional.”
Jack’s mouth curved, but it was not soft now. “Smart ass.”
His hand slid from your waist to your hip, firmer than before. You arched into the touch before you could stop yourself. His eyes darkened. You whispered, “I mean it.”
Jack held your gaze. “Say it again.”
Your throat went dry. His hand tightened at your hip, not enough to hurt, just enough to make every thought in your head go quiet.
“Tell me again,” Jack murmured.
You breathed, “I want you to take me how you want me.”
Jack lowered his mouth to yours, stopping just before the kiss. His voice was low enough to feel. “And if I want you right here?”
Your whole body went hot. You whispered, “Then take me right here.”
For one second, Jack only looked at you. Then the last careful inch of distance between your bodies disappeared. His body settled over yours, solid and warm, pinning you to the mat with enough weight to make your breath break and not enough to hurt. Never careless. But no longer holding himself away from you either.
You made a sound into his mouth, and Jack swallowed it as if it belonged to him. His hand slid beneath your back, pulling you up into the kiss while his other arm stayed braced beside your head. His chest pressed yours down. His hips settled between your thighs, and the first real press of his hard length against you made both of you go still for half a breath.
Jack felt it. So did you. The heat of him. The weight of him. The hard line of him fitting against you through layers of fabric. Your breath caught against his mouth. Jack lifted his head just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, focused, taking in your face like he was cataloging every reaction. Then he moved his hips again. Slow. Controlled.
The drag of him caught exactly where you needed it, and the gasp that left you was so sharp it almost sounded surprised. Jack went still above you. His eyes flicked over your face. Your fingers tightened in his shirt. The corner of his mouth moved. Barely.
Jack’s voice dropped. “Oh.”
Your face went hot. “Don’t.”
His hand tightened at your waist. “You liked that.”
You swallowed. “Jack.”
Your breathing came fast beneath him. Jack’s hips pressed forward again, deliberate this time, giving you the same slow, firm pressure. Your back arched before you could stop it.
His mouth brushed your ear. “There.”
Your eyes fluttered shut.
Jack’s voice stayed low, rougher now. “That’s what I want.”
The words sank into you. You opened your eyes. “What?”
Jack moved again, grinding against you with enough pressure to make your hands grab at his back. “This.”
Your breath broke. His mouth dragged along your throat. “I want to feel you react to me before I take anything off.”
Heat rushed through you so fast your legs tightened around his hips. Jack exhaled hard against your neck. He liked that. You felt how much he liked that. His hips moved again, slower, filthier, pinning you beneath the weight of him while he watched what it did to you.
Jack said, “I want to know what gets you quiet.”
Another roll of his hips. You gasped. His mouth curved against your skin. “What gets you loud.”
He did it again, and your fingers dug into his shoulders. Jack’s hand slid down to your thigh, gripping firmly as he opened you a little wider beneath him. “I want to know how you look when you stop trying to pretend you’re not desperate for me.”
Your mouth fell open. No sound came out. Jack lifted his head, eyes dark and devastatingly pleased. He murmured, “There she is.”
You hated how much that did to you. You hated that he knew. You hated that your body answered him before you could find anything clever to say. Your hips shifted up against his. Jack’s face changed. The pleased edge sharpened into something hotter. Hungrier.
His hand dragged back to your waist, holding you still as he rolled against you again, harder this time. You moaned. Jack kissed the sound out of your mouth, deep and rough and possessive enough to make your head spin. He kissed you like he had decided he liked taking you apart this way. Like he had every intention of doing it slowly. Like the wanting was not something he had to rush past to get to the rest.
When he pulled back, his breathing was uneven. His eyes stayed on yours. Jack said, “You asked me to take you how I want.”
You nodded, dazed. His thumb moved along your waist. “This is how I want you first.”
Your whole body went hot beneath him. Jack’s mouth lowered to yours, but he did not kiss you yet. He let you feel him pressing against you, let you feel how hard he was, let you feel exactly how much restraint was still threaded through the way he held you down. His voice was rough when he continued. “I want you worked up before I even get my mouth on you.”
Your breath caught. Jack’s hips moved again, and the friction hit so perfectly your eyes shut. He watched you take it. Then his mouth brushed yours. Jack said, “I want you aching for it.”
You whispered, “I already am.”
His control slipped. Just a little. His grip tightened at your waist, and the next roll of his hips was harder, less polished, enough to make both of you breathe out at the same time. Jack closed his eyes for half a second. When he opened them, they were darker.
His voice came low. “Good.”
Then he kissed you again, moving against you until every thought in your head narrowed down to the weight of him, the pressure, the rhythm, the rough sound of his breathing against your mouth. It was too much. It was not enough. Your hands slid under his shirt onto his bare back, fingers pressing into warm skin and muscle, trying to pull him closer even though there was no closer left to take.
Jack groaned into your mouth when your nails dragged lightly over his shoulder blades, and the sound made your hips lift without permission. The friction caught just right. Your breath broke. His mouth slowed against yours, not stopping, just changing. Paying attention. His hips rolled again, deliberate now, finding the same angle, the same pressure, the same devastating drag of his body against yours through the thin layers still between you.
Your head fell back against the mat. Jack’s mouth followed, kissing along your jaw, your throat, the place beneath your ear that made your whole body go tight. “There,” he murmured against your skin.
You hated that one word. You loved it. His hips moved again, slower this time, forcing you to feel every second of it. The hard line of him pressed exactly where you needed pressure, and your thighs tightened around his hips before you could stop them.
Jack’s breath left him hard. “Fuck,” he said, low against your throat.
The word went straight through you. His hand slid down your side, over your hip, to your thigh. He gripped there and pulled your leg higher around him, opening you more beneath his body, changing the angle until the next roll of his hips made you gasp so sharply your fingers dug into his back. Jack lifted his head. His eyes were dark. Focused. Gone in a way that still felt controlled enough to ruin you.
“That,” he said.
Your chest rose hard beneath him. “What?”
Jack moved again, grinding down slowly and firmly, and watched your mouth fall open. His voice dropped. “That’s what I want.”
You could barely think around the pressure. “Jack.”
His hand tightened on your thigh. Jack kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then dragged his mouth back to your ear. “I want you aching for it. I want you so worked up you stop trying to be clever.”
Your breath shook. He rolled his hips again. You made a sound that was not clever at all. Jack’s mouth curved against your skin. “There she is.”
You would have told him to shut up if you had any air. You did not. Your body had become embarrassingly honest under his. Every slow grind pulled another sound out of you. Every press of his hips made your thighs tighten. Every rough breath he let out against your neck made you feel how much he liked it, how much he wanted you exactly like this. Pinned. Wanting. Undone before he had even touched bare skin.
Jack’s hand slid from your thigh to your waist, holding you still when your hips tried to chase the next roll of his body. You whimpered. His eyes lifted to yours. “That too.”
Your face burned. “Don’t.”
Jack lowered his mouth to yours, stopping just close enough that his lips brushed yours when he spoke. “No.”
The word was quiet. Certain. Hot enough to make your stomach pull tight. He kissed you again, deep and filthy, and moved against you at the same time. Your body jerked under him, overwhelmed by the pressure and his mouth and the way he seemed to know exactly when to give you more and exactly when to make you wait.
You broke away on a shaky breath. “Jack, please.”
He went still. Not away. Not cold. Just still enough that you felt the full weight of his attention. His hand stayed firm on your waist. “Please, what?”
Your eyes opened. His face was close, mouth wet from yours, breathing rough, expression dark with want and patience and something more dangerous underneath both. You swallowed. He did not prompt you. He waited because he knew you could say it. Because you had already told him what you wanted. Because now he trusted you to ask for more.
Your fingers curled against his back. “I want your hands on me.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. His gaze dropped over you, to your mouth, your chest, the place where your shirt had ridden up just enough to show a strip of skin above your leggings.
Then he looked back at your eyes. “Good.”
The word hit low. Then Jack pushed up just enough to strip his shirt over his head and toss it somewhere beyond the mat. You barely had time to look at him before he was over you again, warm skin under your hands this time, muscle shifting beneath your palms as he came back down and kissed you like he had missed your mouth in the three seconds he had been gone.
His hand left your waist and slid under the hem of your shirt. The first touch of his palm against your bare stomach made you suck in a breath. His hand was warm, rougher than you expected, steady as it spread over your skin. He dragged it slowly up your side, over your ribs, thumb brushing beneath the band of your bra, and watched every inch of your reaction like he had been starving for it.
Your back arched. Jack’s mouth parted. “Christ.”
His hips pressed down once more, not as controlled this time. Rougher. A little ruined. You felt what touching you did to him. That made it worse. That made it better. His hand covered the side of your breast through your bra, thumb dragging over the fabric with enough pressure to make your head fall back. Jack lowered his mouth to your throat again. Your fingers dug into his shoulders. Jack kissed down your neck, over your collarbone, to the neckline of your shirt. His hand slipped out from beneath the fabric only long enough to catch the hem.
His voice was rough. “I want this off.”
You lifted your arms before the words were fully out of his mouth. Jack’s eyes flashed. Then he pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside. The air hit your skin. For one second, he only looked at you. His gaze moved over your face first, then down, taking in your swollen mouth, your flushed chest, your bra, the way your body was still arching toward him like it had not gotten the message that he had stopped moving.
Jack’s expression went quiet. Not soft. Not gentle. Hungry in a way that had nowhere to hide.
“Fuck,” he said again, under his breath.
Your stomach tightened. Jack saw. His hand spread over your waist. “You like hearing that.”
You did not bother lying. Your breath came shallow. “Yes.”
Something in his face sharpened. Jack lowered his mouth to your chest and kissed the bare skin above your bra, slow and open. His hand slid up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through the fabric, and your back arched before you could stop it. Jack followed the movement with his mouth. He kissed along the top edge of your bra, then over the fabric itself, his mouth closing hot and deliberate over your breast.
Your breath broke.
His hand tightened at your waist, holding you still while his mouth worked you through the thin barrier, tongue dragging damp heat over the fabric, teeth grazing carefully enough to make your whole body jolt. Your fingers twisted in his hair. The reaction that pulled from him was immediate. His breath caught. His hand flexed hard against your waist. His mouth pressed more firmly to you, like he had lost one more piece of the restraint he had been clinging to.
You did it again. Jack groaned. The sound vibrated through your chest and went straight between your thighs. His mouth moved to your other breast, giving it the same slow attention, kissing and licking through the fabric until you were shifting beneath him, hips restless, breath coming out in uneven little sounds you could not swallow down. Jack lifted his head just enough to look at you. His mouth was wet. His eyes were worse.
“I wanted to see how long it took,” he said.
Your chest rose hard against him. “For what?”
Jack’s thumb dragged over your ribcage. “For you to stop pretending you could be quiet.”
Heat rushed through you. Then his hand slid behind your back. He unhooked your bra with one sharp, competent movement, and your breath caught before the fabric even loosened. Jack’s gaze stayed on your face as he drew the straps down your arms. Watching. Trusting the yes you had already given him. When the bra fell away, the room seemed to narrow to the weight of his stare and the heat of his body above yours. You felt exposed for half a second.
Then Jack’s mouth was on your breast.
No fabric. No teasing layer. Just the wet heat of his mouth closing over your nipple while his hand covered the other breast, palm warm and firm, thumb dragging over sensitive skin until your back arched hard off the mat.
“Jack.” His name left you broken.
Jack groaned against you. His hand slid down to your waist and pressed you back to the mat, keeping you exactly where he wanted you while his mouth kept working at your breast. Slow suction. Tongue. Teeth, careful and devastating. His other hand moved over your ribs, your stomach, your hip, learning the places that made your breathing catch. He was not rushing. That was the worst part. He had you pinned beneath him, half naked and shaking, and he was taking his time because he wanted you like this. Desperate before he ever touched you lower.
His mouth left your breast with a wet, filthy sound, and you nearly died from it. Jack looked down at what he had done to you, then back at your face. His voice came out rough. “Look at you.”
Your eyes fluttered. Jack kissed the center of your chest, then the curve of your other breast. “Already this worked up.”
His mouth closed over you again, and this time your hips lifted helplessly against his. Jack caught the movement with his own body, pressing his hips down into yours in a slow, deliberate grind. The friction hit exactly right. You gasped, sharp and helpless. Jack stilled for one beat. Then he did it again. Harder. Your hands flew to his shoulders. Jack lifted his head, eyes dark and locked on yours. “That’s it.”
He rolled his hips again, grinding against you while his mouth hovered over your breast, close enough that his breath moved over wet skin. “You asked me to take you how I want,” he said.
You could barely nod. Jack’s hand slid to your thigh and pulled it higher around his hip. “This is what I want.”
Another slow press of his hips. Another broken sound from you. His jaw tightened like he felt it everywhere. Your nails dug into his shoulders. Jack’s mouth returned to your breast, sucking harder this time as his hips moved against yours. The rhythm was slow and filthy and controlled, each drag of his body catching exactly where you needed it until your thoughts started coming apart at the edges. You tried to say his name. It came out as a moan.
Jack groaned against your skin. “Fuck, there she is.”
Your whole body went hot. His hand tightened on your thigh, keeping you open for the roll of his hips. “I want to watch it happen,” Jack said against your breast. “Every time you forget to be embarrassed. Every time your body tells me what you want before your mouth does.”
You whimpered. Jack lifted his head. His eyes were dark, wrecked, and completely focused on you. “That’s what I want,” he said. “I want you undone by me.”
The words hit so hard your hips shifted up into his again. Jack took it. He pressed you down into the mat and gave you another slow, firm grind, watching your face while the friction dragged another helpless sound out of you. His mouth curved, but his breathing was too rough for smugness.
“I know,” he murmured. “I know, baby.”
His hand slid from your thigh to the waistband of your leggings. This time, when his fingers hooked there, he did not tease for long. He looked up at you, and you knew he saw the answer before you gave it. Still, you gave it anyway. “Yes.”
Jack’s eyes darkened. That was all he needed. He kissed your breast one more time, slower now, almost indulgent, like he wanted to remember the way you shook beneath his mouth. Then he moved lower. His mouth dragged down the center of your chest, over your ribs, across your stomach, slow enough to make you feel every place he chose to stop. He did not kiss you as if he were passing through. He kissed you like every inch of skin mattered.
His hands followed his mouth, palms warm on your waist, your hips, the outside of your thighs. He was still breathing raggedly. Still hard against you every time his body shifted. Still visibly holding himself back from rushing, and the knowledge that he was choosing this pace made you ache worse. Jack’s mouth pressed to the bare skin just above your leggings. Your stomach tightened. He felt it under his lips.
His fingers hooked into the waistband. Jack looked up at you from there, eyes dark beneath the fall of his hair. “I want these off.”
Your answer came immediately. “Yes.”
The word had barely left your mouth before Jack pulled. He dragged your leggings down slowly at first, watching your face as the fabric moved over your hips. Then his patience thinned, and he tugged them the rest of the way off, taking your underwear with them in one deliberate motion that made your breath catch hard in your throat. The air hit you. So did the weight of his attention.
Jack stayed between your thighs, one hand wrapped around your ankle, the other pressed to the mat beside your hip. For a second, he did not touch you. He only looked. Your instinct was to close your legs. Jack caught the movement immediately, his palm sliding to your thigh.
“Don’t,” he said.
Jack’s thumb moved once over your inner thigh, not soothing exactly. Grounding. Reminding. “You said you wanted me to take you how I wanted.” His gaze lifted to yours. “This is how I want you.”
Your breath came shallow. Open. Exposed. Aching. His hand pushed your thigh wider, and your fingers curled against the mat. Jack watched the movement. Then his mouth pressed to the inside of your knee. You nearly laughed from nerves. It died in your throat when he kissed higher.
Slow. Deliberate. Cruel.
His mouth moved up your inner thigh, each kiss warmer than the last, his hand holding you open with easy strength. You could feel his breath against skin that was already too sensitive, already waiting, already desperate from everything he had done to you without ever giving you enough.
“Jack,” you whispered.
His mouth paused against your thigh. “I know.”
You did not think he did. Then his teeth grazed lightly over the soft skin near your hip, and your whole body jolted. Jack’s hand tightened on your thigh. He exhaled against you. “I know, baby.”
The words ruined you. His mouth moved closer. Not close enough. Your hips shifted before you could stop them, chasing him, and Jack pressed you back down with one hand spread low over your stomach. “Stay there,” he said.
Your breath broke. Jack looked up at you, and the sight of him between your thighs nearly took you apart before he touched you. His hair was mussed from your hands. His mouth was swollen from kissing you. His chest was bare, shoulders broad, one hand holding you down while the other kept your thigh open. He looked focused. Hungry. Like this was not something he was doing before getting to what he wanted. Like this was what he wanted.
Jack’s mouth brushed your inner thigh. Your fingers twisted in the mat. His eyes stayed on yours.
“Look at you, all worked up,” he said. “Trying to be patient.”
He kissed closer. Your stomach pulled tight under his hand. Jack’s voice dropped. “Failing.”
You made a sound you could not swallow down. His mouth curved against your skin. Then he finally lowered his mouth to you. The first touch of his tongue made your entire body lift off the mat. Jack held you down through it, palm firm against your stomach, forearm pressing across your hips as his mouth opened against you. Hot. Wet. Certain. Not tentative. Not careful in the way he had been before.
He had heard you. He trusted you. And now he was taking.
Your head fell back, his name breaking out of you before you could make it sound pretty. Jack groaned against you like the sound pleased him. Like it fed him. His tongue dragged through you again, slower this time, and your thighs shook around his shoulders.
“Fuck,” you breathed.
Jack’s hand flexed against your stomach. He liked that. Of course, he liked that. His mouth moved with more pressure, and whatever was left of your composure started to come apart under the steady, devastating focus of him. He learned you fast. Too fast. The soft sound you made when he licked slowly. The way your hips tried to move when he used more pressure. The way your breath caught when his mouth closed around your clit.
Jack found that and stayed there. Your hand flew to his hair. His eyes lifted to yours from between your thighs, dark and wrecked, and the sight of him looking at you while his mouth was on you made you clench around nothing. Jack felt it. His groan vibrated through you.
You gasped, sharp and helpless, fingers tightening in his hair. Jack pulled back just enough to speak against you. “There.” Your hips jerked. His mouth curved. “There she is.”
You could not answer. You could barely breathe. Jack did not seem to need you to. He lowered his mouth again and gave you exactly what had made you shake, one hand still pinning your hips, the other sliding under your thigh to pull you wider for him. He ate you like he had been thinking about it all night. Like he wanted to ruin you with patience. Like every sound you made told him he was right to take his time.
Your body started to go tight. Jack noticed immediately. His hand slid from your stomach to your hip, holding you down when you tried to move away from the intensity.
“No,” he murmured against you. The word was low and absolute. Your breath came out as a whimper. Jack’s mouth worked you slower. Deeper. Meaner. “Don’t run from it now,” he said, voice rough against your skin. “This is what I wanted.”
Your thighs trembled. His eyes lifted again. “I wanted to watch you fall apart.”
You were close enough that the words nearly pushed you over. Jack knew. He slid one hand from your hip, dragging his fingers through you, gathering wetness before pressing one finger inside slowly. Your mouth opened on a silent gasp. Jack groaned like it hurt him.
“Jesus,” he breathed. “You’re so fucking wet.”
The filth of it punched through you. Your hips rolled into his hand. Jack’s mouth returned to your clit as his finger moved inside you, slow and firm, and the combination made your back arch hard off the mat.
“There,” he said against you. “Take it.”
You did. He added a second finger, and your hand pulled hard in his hair. Jack groaned against you. Your whole body tightened. “Jack.” His name came out broken. His fingers curled inside you, and your vision went white at the edges.
He lifted his mouth just enough to look at you. “That’s it.”
You shook your head, overwhelmed. “I can’t—”
Jack’s eyes darkened. “You can.”
His mouth returned to you. His fingers moved again. And that was it. You came with his name in your mouth and his hand holding you open, your body going tight and then shaking apart beneath him. Jack did not stop. He worked you through it, mouth softer now but still there, fingers slowing only when your thighs trembled hard around his shoulders.
By the time he lifted his head, you were wrecked. Breathless. Boneless. Half convinced the mat had melted under you. Jack kissed the inside of your thigh, then your hip, then the bare skin below your stomach. His mouth was wet. His breathing was rough. His eyes looked almost black when he crawled back up your body.
He kissed you before you could recover. Slow. Filthy. Letting you taste yourself on his mouth. You made a weak sound, and Jack smiled against your lips.
“There,” he murmured. “Now you’re listening.”
The words barely reached you through the haze.
You were still trying to remember how to breathe. Still flat on your back on the mat, skin damp, thighs loose around his hips, your whole body trembling in the aftermath of his mouth. Jack was above you again, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding slowly and firmly over your waist like he was checking what he had done to you by touch.
His mouth was wet. His hair was ruined by your hands. His chest rose and fell harder than before, and his eyes were fixed on you with a focus that made your stomach tighten all over again. You swallowed. “That was listening?”
Jack’s mouth curved faintly. “That was a start.”
Your breath caught. His hand dragged down your side, over your hip, then back up again like he could not decide where he wanted to touch you most. “You’re still shaking,” Jack said.
You tried to glare at him. It did not land. “Whose fault is that?”
His thumb moved over your hip. “Mine.”
The way he said it made your entire body go warm. Not apologetic. Not even a little. Jack lowered his mouth to your jaw, kissing you there, then lower, the side of your throat, the tender place below your ear. His body shifted over yours, and you felt him then, still hard against your thigh, still held back by the last few layers he had not let himself remove.
You turned your head into him, breath brushing his ear. “Jack.”
His hand tightened at your waist. “Yeah?”
Your fingers trailed down his chest, over his ribs, lower, until they caught at the waistband of his sweats. Jack went still. Completely. You felt the restraint lock through him. Your mouth brushed his jaw. “Take these off.”
His breath left him hard. For one second, he did not move. Then he lifted his head and looked at you, really looked, like he was giving you one last chance to take it back. You did not. Your fingers curled in the waistband and tugged once. Jack’s eyes darkened. “Okay,” he said.
That single word landed low in your stomach. His gaze stayed on yours as he hooked his thumbs into his sweats and pushed them down. His underwear went with them. Your mouth went dry.
He was beautiful in a way that felt unfair. Broad shoulders, bare chest, the dark trail of hair below his navel, the hard line of him revealed between you. You had known, obviously, that he wanted you. You had felt it. You had felt him pressed against you, felt him losing pieces of control against your body. Seeing him was different.
Jack saw your face change. His jaw tightened. “Don’t look at me like that unless you want this to get worse.”
Your pulse jumped. “Worse?”
His hand wrapped around himself once, slow and rough, and your thighs shifted open before you could think better of it. Jack’s eyes dropped. Then lifted. His voice came low. “For you.”
You stopped breathing. He reached for his discarded sweats and pulled a condom from the pocket, because of course Jack had one, because of course he had enough control left to remember that when your entire brain had gone soft around the edges. The thought must have crossed your face, because his mouth curved.
Jack said, “You’re thinking something.”
You swallowed. “I’m thinking you’re very prepared for a man who invited me over for dinner.”
Jack tore the packet open with his teeth, eyes still on yours. “I was prepared to be hopeful.”
A laugh broke out of you, breathless and shaky. Then he rolled the condom on, and the laugh died in your throat. Jack noticed. He always noticed. His hand came to your knee, warm and firm, sliding up the inside of your thigh as he lowered himself over you again.
The weight of him returning made your eyes close. His chest against yours. His hips between your thighs. His mouth was close enough to yours that every breath felt shared. The mat beneath your back. The heat of him everywhere.
Jack brushed his lips over yours. “Look at me.”
Your eyes opened. His face was close, his expression stripped down to something rawer than before. His hand moved between your bodies. You felt him line up with you, and your breath caught so hard your fingers dug into his shoulders. Jack stilled immediately. Not pulling away. Not asking five more questions. Just there. Present. Listening.
You nodded once, holding his gaze. “Yes.”
Jack’s eyes searched yours for one steady second. Then he trusted you. He pushed in slowly. The stretch stole the air from your lungs. Your mouth fell open, but no sound came out at first. Jack’s forehead dropped toward yours, his breath shuddering against your lips as he sank into you inch by inch, careful because he was Jack, because careful was not optional, because even now, even after everything, he would not take your yes like permission to stop paying attention.
But he did not hold back the way he had before. He let you feel him. The weight. The pressure. The way his body shook once when he finally buried himself fully inside you.
“Fuck,” Jack breathed.
Your hands slid up his back, nails pressing into warm skin. He held still above you, giving you time, but his jaw was tight, his arm flexed beside your head, and you could feel what stillness was costing him. You tilted your hips, just barely. Jack’s eyes snapped to yours.
Your voice came out thin. “Please.”
His control cracked. Jack kissed you as he pulled back and thrust into you again, slow but deep enough to make your whole body jolt beneath him. The sound you made disappeared into his mouth. His hand slid under your hip, angling you up, and the next thrust hit so perfectly that your fingers dug into his shoulders.
“There?” Jack asked, voice rough.
You nodded, breath already coming apart. “There.”
He did it again. And again. The rhythm built slowly at first, each stroke deep and controlled, his hips pinning yours to the mat, his mouth moving over your jaw, your throat, back to your mouth when your sounds got too sharp. He was everywhere. Above you. Inside you. Around you. His hand under your hip. His other braced beside your head. His chest dragging against yours with every thrust. His voice low in your ear, telling you exactly what he wanted while he took it.
“This,” Jack said, breath rough against your skin. “This is what I wanted.”
Your eyes fluttered. “Jack.”
He thrust deeper, and your voice broke. “You like knowing that?” His mouth brushed your ear. “That I wanted you like this?”
Your body answered before you did, clenching around him so hard his rhythm faltered. Jack groaned, low and wrecked. “Jesus.”
Heat rushed through you. His hand tightened under your hip. “That’s a yes,” he said.
You could not even be embarrassed. Not with him moving like that. Not with the slow, brutal drag of him inside you, the mat under your back, the sound of his breathing getting rougher every time your body pulled him in. Jack lifted his head, eyes locked on yours. “I wanted you under me.”
Your breath caught. His hips drove into yours again. “Open for me,” he said, voice low and filthy. “Taking me because you asked for it.”
You moaned. Jack’s eyes darkened. His hand slid from your hip to your thigh, pushing it higher, opening you wider beneath him. The new angle made the next thrust hit deeper, sharper, and your head fell back against the mat. Jack watched you take it. Of course he did. That was what he wanted.
“I wanted to see this,” he said. “You falling apart. Trying to be good. Trying to take it.”
Your fingers slid into his hair and pulled. His eyes closed for half a second, his hips stuttering forward hard enough to drag a cry out of you. When he opened his eyes again, the last bit of polish was gone. “Do that again,” Jack said.
You pulled his hair again. He fucked into you harder. The sound that left him was almost a growl, and it went through you like fire.
“There she is,” he said, mouth against yours. “That’s my girl.”
Your whole body clenched. Jack felt it immediately. His hand moved between you, thumb finding your clit with the same devastating focus his mouth had had earlier.
Your back arched. “Oh, my god.”
Jack’s mouth brushed yours. “No hiding now.”
You shook your head, overwhelmed. “I’m not.”
“I know.” His thumb moved in slow, firm circles while his hips kept their rhythm. “I can feel you.”
The words nearly finished you. You tried to turn your face away, but Jack kissed you before you could hide, deep and messy and rough. His body pressed you down into the mat, his thrusts losing some of their control now, harder, hungrier, every one of them making the pressure inside you build until your thoughts went white at the edges.
Jack broke the kiss, breathing hard. “You’re close.”
You nodded because you could not make words happen. His thumb pressed more firmly. His hips slowed just enough to make every thrust count.
“Good,” Jack said, voice wrecked. “That’s what I want.”
Your nails dragged down his back. He cursed against your mouth.
“I want to feel it,” he said. “Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”
That was all it took. You came hard, body locking beneath him, his name breaking out of you as the pleasure tore through you. Jack groaned like it hurt, his hips stuttering as you clenched around him, his hand still working you through it while his mouth found your neck.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “That’s it. That’s it.”
You shook under him, overwhelmed, half sobbing his name, and Jack held you through all of it. Not gentle exactly. Steady. Anchoring. Taking what he had asked for and keeping you there while it happened. Jack did not stop.
He slowed, but he did not stop.
His hips moved in a deep, controlled rhythm that kept the aftershocks rolling through you, each drag of him inside you pulling another broken sound from your throat. You were still coming down, still shaking beneath him, and Jack was watching every second of it like he had not gotten enough. Like watching you fall apart once had only made him want it again.
Your fingers slid weakly over his shoulders. “Jack.”
His mouth brushed yours. “I know.”
You shook your head, overwhelmed. “I don’t think I can…”
Jack’s hand moved over your thigh, slow and firm, holding you open beneath him. “You can.”
Your breath caught. His thumb found your clit again, gentler at first, circling over nerves already too sensitive from his mouth, from his hand, from the way he filled you. Your body jerked.
Jack kissed the corner of your mouth. “There.”
You whimpered. “Oh, my god.”
His hips rolled into yours, slower now, deeper, every thrust timed with the movement of his hand until the pleasure stopped fading and started building again. Want tangled low in your stomach.
You grabbed his back. “Jack, fuck.”
His breath broke. “That’s it,” he said, voice rough. “That’s what I want.”
Your head fell back against the mat. Jack’s mouth moved down your throat. “I want one more.”
Your whole body clenched around him. His hips stuttered once.
“Fuck,” Jack breathed against your skin. “Just like that.”
He kept going. Not rushed. Not frantic. Focused. Ruthless in that devastatingly patient way, like he knew exactly how sensitive you were and exactly how much you could take. His hand stayed between your bodies, his thumb moving in steady circles while his hips drove into you slow and deep enough to make your thoughts scatter.
Your body started to tighten again. You shook your head, but your hips lifted into him. Jack saw both. His voice dropped. “Don’t fight it.”
You gasped. “I’m not.”
His mouth curved against your neck. “You are.”
The words should not have hit the same way they had during the lesson. They did. You clenched around him again, and Jack made a sound so rough it almost finished you by itself.
He lifted his head, eyes locked on yours. “Give it to me.”
Your breath broke.
His thumb pressed a little firmer. His hips kept their rhythm. His body covered yours, hot and heavy and sure, pinning you in place while pleasure rose too fast for you to hold back.
“Jack.”
His jaw tightened. “I know, baby.”
You grabbed at him, nails digging into his back, and came again with a broken sound that barely felt like your own. It tore through you harder this time, sharper, your body locking around him while Jack held you through it, hips slowing but not stopping, his mouth at your jaw, your throat, your cheek, murmuring low, wrecked praise against your skin.
“That’s it. Fuck, that’s it. Good girl.”
You were still shaking when he finally went still. Not because he was done. Because he was trying not to be, you felt it in the tension of his body. The hard flex of his arm beside your head. The way his breath came unevenly against your mouth. The way his hips pressed deep and stayed there like moving again might cost him everything.
You opened your eyes. Jack was looking down at you like you had ruined him. Your voice came out soft and wrecked. “You didn’t…”
His jaw shifted. “No, not yet,” Jack said.
The word was rough. Your stomach flipped. His hand slid over your hip, fingers pressing into skin he had already touched, already held, already used to keep you open for him.
Jack swallowed hard. “Turn over.”
The command went through you like heat. Your breath caught. “What?”
Jack’s eyes stayed on yours. Dark. Focused. Barely restrained. His hand tightened at your hip. “Hands and knees.”
Your body reacted before your brain caught up. He felt it. Of course, he felt it. Something in his face changed. “There,” Jack murmured. “You like that too.”
You could barely breathe. Jack pulled out slowly, and the emptiness made you shiver. He helped you turn, one hand steady at your waist, the other sliding along your thigh as you rolled onto your stomach and pushed yourself up on shaking arms. Your knees pressed into the mat. Your hands flattened against the floor. You were still trembling. Jack settled behind you, and the first touch of his hand on your hip made your spine arch.
“Easy,” he said, voice low behind you.
There was nothing easy about it. Not the mat beneath your palms. Not the heat of his body at your back. Not the way his hand moved over your waist like he was looking at you and touching you at the same time. Not the way you could hear his breathing change when he saw you like this.
Jack’s palm slid up your spine, warm and steady. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
The words were rough enough to feel dragged out of him. Your throat tightened. Then his hand moved back to your hip, and his voice dropped. “And this is how I want you now.”
Your fingers curled against the mat. Jack guided your hips back, slow and firm, and pressed into you again from behind. The first thrust stole whatever air you had left. Your head dipped between your shoulders.
Jack’s hand spread over your lower back. “There you go.”
The angle was different. Deeper. Too much and exactly right, his hips meeting yours with a controlled force that made your arms shake. Jack noticed immediately, one hand sliding around your waist to pull you up slightly, keeping you steady while he fucked into you with the last of his restraint burning down behind you.
You could hear it now. Every rough breath. Every low curse. Every time your body took him, he had to fight not to lose himself too quickly.
“Fuck,” Jack said behind you, voice wrecked. “You feel so good like this.”
Your body tightened around him. His hand gripped your hip harder. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I know.”
He moved faster. Not careless. Never careless. But harder now. Less polished. His hips snapped into yours, each thrust pushing you forward over your hands, and Jack held you there, one hand at your hip, the other braced against the mat beside yours when he leaned over you. His chest brushed your back. His mouth came to your shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
You believed him. You pushed back into him. Jack cursed against your skin. His rhythm broke for one second, then came back rougher.
“That’s it,” he said. “Take it.”
The words broke something open in you. You lowered onto your forearms, overwhelmed, and Jack followed immediately, hand sliding under your stomach to keep you up enough for him. His body covered your back now, hot and heavy, his mouth at your neck, his thrusts shorter and harder and losing control by the second.
“You asked me,” he said, voice torn up against your ear. “You asked me to take you how I wanted.”
Your breath came out in broken pieces. Jack’s hand slid down between your thighs. You jolted. He groaned when he felt how sensitive you still were.
Your body clenched around him.
His head dropped against your shoulder for half a second. “Fuck. Don’t do that unless you want me to come.”
You turned your face into the mat, voice muffled and wrecked. “Maybe I do.”
Jack went still, only for a beat. Then his hand tightened on your hip, and his mouth pressed hard to your shoulder. “Yeah?” he asked.
You nodded, shaking. “Yes.”
The last of his control went. Jack fucked into you harder, deeper, one hand braced beside yours, the other locked on your hip. His breath was harsh at your ear, his body tense over yours, every thrust dragging a sound out of both of you now. You pushed back into him again, and his rhythm faltered.
“Again,” Jack said, rough and low.
You did.
His hand tightened hard at your hip. “Fuck,” he breathed, voice breaking around it. “Just like that.”
Your body clenched around him, and Jack groaned your name like it had been punched out of him. The sound went straight through you. His hips snapped forward once, twice, then lost their rhythm completely.
“That’s it,” Jack said, wrecked against your shoulder. “That’s it, baby. Don’t move. Fuck, don’t move.”
You went still under him, shaking, taking the weight of his body over yours, the heat of his mouth at your skin, the desperate, broken rhythm of him as he chased the last few seconds. Jack buried himself deep and came with your name in his mouth.
Not quiet. Not controlled. Your name, then a curse, then a low, ruined sound against your shoulder as his whole body went tight above yours. His hand gripped your hip, his chest pressed to your back, and his breath stuttered hot and uneven over your skin while he emptied into the condom.
For a few seconds, neither of you moved. The room was nothing but breathing. The heater. The mat beneath your hands. Jack’s body over yours, shaking. Then his grip eased. His mouth pressed to your shoulder, softer now. Once. Twice.
“I’ve got you,” Jack murmured again, voice rough and spent. This time, it sounded different. Less command. More promise. For a few breaths, he stayed there, curved over you, chest against your back, mouth pressed to your shoulder like he was trying to remember how to be in his body again. Then his weight shifted, careful even now, and he eased away slowly. You shivered at the loss.
“I know,” he murmured, one hand smoothing over your hip. “Easy.”
He moved with the same quiet competence he had carried through the whole night, taking care of what he needed to before coming back to you. He did not leave you long enough for the air to cool around you. One second, the mat was too wide and too quiet beneath your knees; the next, Jack was there again, settling beside you and gathering you carefully into his arms. You went without argument.
Your body felt loose and heavy, every muscle humming, your skin too sensitive where his hands had been. Jack rolled you gently onto your side, then pulled you against his chest, one arm tucked beneath your head and the other wrapped around your waist. The basement was quiet around you now in a different way. Not charged. Not waiting. Just warm. The heater hummed. Somewhere above you, the house creaked softly, ordinary and safe.
Jack’s hand moved slowly over your stomach. “You with me?”
You nodded against his chest. “Mostly.”
His mouth brushed your hair. “Mostly?”
You closed your eyes. “Some of me is still on another planet.”
A laugh moved through him, low and tired and pleased. “That so?”
You hummed. “Your fault.”
Jack’s arm tightened around you. “Mine.”
The word was softer this time. Not smug. Not hungry. Just his.
For a minute, neither of you moved. His fingers traced slow, absent lines over your side, then your hip, then the outside of your thigh. Not trying to start anything again. Just touching because he could. Because you were there. Because he had taken you apart, and now he was putting the room back together around you.
Eventually, Jack shifted enough to look at your face. “Anything hurt?”
You blinked up at him, still warm and dazed. “My pride.”
His mouth curved faintly. “That was in rough shape before we started.”
You gave him a tired look. “Rude.”
Jack said, “Accurate.”
You sighed. “I hate when you’re technically right.”
His smile softened. His hand came up, thumb brushing gently along your cheek. “I’m serious.”
You knew. The tenderness in his voice made something in your chest go quiet. You took inventory because he was asking you to, because he would want the real answer. Your knees were a little sore from the mat. Your hips felt pleasantly used. Your throat was dry. Your body was exhausted in a way that felt more like floating than pain.
You shook your head. “Nothing bad.”
Jack watched you for another second. “Good.”
You reached for his hand before he could move away. “I mean it.”
His fingers threaded through yours. “I know.”
And that was its own kind of aftercare, too. Not making you prove your yes again. Not turning your answer into something fragile. Just hearing you and believing you. Your eyes burned suddenly, which was deeply inconvenient after everything else your body had already done on that mat. Jack saw it because, of course, he did.
His expression changed at once. “Hey.”
You shook your head quickly. “I’m okay.”
Jack’s voice stayed quiet. “I know.” Your throat tightened. He opened his arm wider. “Come here anyway.”
That undid you more than it should have. You tucked your face into his neck, and Jack held you. Not loosely. Not like you might break. Firmly. Completely. His hand spread wide over your back, warm and steady, and for the first time all night, your body believed there was nothing left to brace for.
After a while, you murmured, “I cannot believe your self-defense dungeon has seen this much action.”
Jack went still for half a second. Then his chest moved under your cheek. He was laughing. Quietly. The Jack version.
You smiled against his skin. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like that.”
His hand moved slowly up your spine. “I’m not pretending anything right now.”
Your smile softened. The silence settled again, warmer than before. Jack kissed your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, then your mouth, slow and sweet and almost unbearably gentle after the roughness of his hands and voice. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours one more time.
“You did good,” he said.
Your throat tightened. “At which part?”
Jack’s mouth curved. “All of it.”
You looked down at your tangled hands, at the mat beneath you, at his thumb moving gently over your knuckles. “Even the part where I failed the lesson and ended up pinned under you?”
His eyes warmed. “Especially that part.”
You laughed softly. “Terrible instructor.”
Jack kissed your knuckles. “You learned what mattered.”
Your chest went quiet. You knew what he meant. Not the wrist. Not the stance. Not the leverage. You knew how to get out. You knew he would let you. And you knew exactly why you had stayed.
Jack shifted beside you, one arm still firm around your waist. “Come on.”
You made a faint protesting sound. “Where?”
Jack brushed his mouth over your temple. “Upstairs. Water. Shower. Bed.”
You opened one eye. “In that order?”
His mouth twitched. “Unless you plan to argue with hydration.”
You sighed dramatically, though it came out sleepy. “Fine.”
Jack’s hand slid beneath your thigh, helping you sit up before you could pretend your legs worked normally. The room tilted for one second, and he steadied you at once, palm warm against your back.
“There?” he asked.
You leaned into him. “There.”
His expression softened at the callback. Then he stood, tugged on his sweats, and helped you into his shirt before guiding you toward the stairs with one arm around your waist. You let him. This time, letting him take care of you did not feel like proof that the world was dangerous.
It felt like proof you had somewhere safe to go after it was.
MDNI: adult content!ㅤbully!Nerdjo falling a little too hard for the dean's daughter, who takes art and mathematics and ends up in the classes where the physics prodigy thinks he alone dominates...
ㅤcollege auㅤsmutㅤlight fluff/angstㅤsocials stalkingㅤbullyingㅤlight degradation kinkㅤblackmail sexㅤperv behaviors (getting off to your photos)ㅤmean!Gojo but he becomes softㅤsemi-public sexㅤrough kissingㅤrough sexㅤsolo male masturbationㅤp in v sexㅤfingeringㅤhate sexㅤenemies with benefitsㅤone-sided relationshipㅤpiningㅤsome academic warfare lol
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO has you convinced, on day one of the first semester, that he's the most insufferable man who ever lived.
"That's mine."
"Not anymore."
And just like that, your nice leather bag belongs to him now. You're carrying heavy algebra I and art history textbooks for the rest of the day, struggling too heave them along with your canvas bag from lecture to lecture.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO makes intense eye contact with you as he swoops down, takes a bite of your lunch peach while it's still in your hand, slurping and suckling the juices as he tears the soft flesh clean off the fruit—then continues walking on by as if he did no such thing, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You're left with a miserable look on your face and a ruined peach dripping its sweet nectar down your wrist.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO has made it his daily mission to be your obstacle, especially first thing in the morning. In stark bright corridors of piercingly early mornings, when you're looking droopy and bleary-eyed, suddenly Satoru's yelling GOOD MORNING at your face until you jump with a start. It's deliberate; he wants to disturb you, he savors every moment of disturbing you. Almost like it's his kink.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whose jealousy prickles at his neck when he sees you talking to some other guy after a lecture; so naturally, he's got to slide in and call you baby even though you're not, slipping an arm around your waist and reeling you in for a kiss all while keeping eye contact with the blonde-haired accounting student who now bears a miserable look. The moment Nanami disappears, Satoru drops the act of affectionate boyfriend and leaves you with a crude remark and lingering smirk.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO pretends he's not looking at you instead of taking lecture notes like he ought to be. Disturbance of a collar. Cotton shirt ruffling. A turn of the head. Cold, cold blue eyes. He angles his face just right to get away with looking at you, while making it seem like he's merely glancing out the window. But his eyes, his eyes are swiveling all the way to the far left in a desperate attempt to eat you up, to gobble you down.
The heart palpitations ensue when you catch him looking.
And you sneer at him, wholeheartedly.
He sneers back at you and looks away, breaking the illusion that he ever felt a soft feeling for you.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whose nimble fingers unbutton, in haste, the first three buttons of that white cotton shirt that clings softly to his sharp shoulders, then the fat button of his neat suit pants. He pushes them far down, hissing at the sensation of cool air greeting his scalding hot cock. It's poking its head up so violently red, veins popping angrily all over it.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who beats his poor dick raw in the quiet of a bathroom stall, no other noise filling the air but the sounds of fwipfwipfwip and the subtle clinking of his belt paired with his quavering sighs, as he jerks himself off hard and fast to the scarce photos that exist on someone's socials of you. He hates that he can cum so easily just to your face. Since when is he such a pervert?—this level of freak is unknown to him, but now suddenly he's gasping and spraying a mess of cum all over the tiled floor.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who drapes himself over the bench outside the humanities department, snickering with his dark-eyed best friend about how all the arts students are losers with too much money to squander on a useless degree. He tightens his posture when he sees you emerging from the front doors. "Satoru? What's wrong? You've gone quiet." notes Suguru, idly twirling a lock of his dark hair. Satoru doesn't respond, only, he just sits there and feels uncomfortably hot as your eyes meet him. He can't help but be turned on even if you're glowering at him; if anything, maybe that's what gets him so hot in the first place.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whose blood boils not just because you're the dean's daughter that breezed into the university he worked his ass for, but because you have the audacity to take his beloved mathematics with silly, silly art—"They coincide, she says," lingers Satoru, head of white tilted backwards as he lazes on the green expanse of the quad with Suguru, "but when has mathematics ever been about art?" he finishes. Satoru says all this, but still finds himself contemplating your argument; that art is mathematics and vice versa.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who embarrasses you in front of the very professor who he knows already views you as some lowly creature, marring your proud academic standing before it's even mid-semester. To worsen it all, Satoru steals your notes and takes the liberty of grading all your mistakes with snarky corrections, drawing passive-aggressive hearts all over the pages you worked so hard to make concise and neat.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who grinningly looks back at you after deliberately colliding shoulders down the corridors, muttering an apology that sounds sweet and sincere enough to passers-by—but you know the truth of his intention
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who plays games with you even while in the danger zone; your father's sifting through papers and talking to the professor before the lecture commences, but Satoru's winking at you, unashamedly staring, making crude gestures with his tongue between the V of his fingers, giggling with his grimy friends about how unsurprising it is that the dean's daughter should make it into one of the most elite universities
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whose lips come crashing down on yours at some hazy weekend party, mouth engulfing yours with feverish need. Satoru's swallowing your moans, claw-like grip on your cheeks leaving dents on your soft skin. This doesn't mean anything, or so he grits upon your lips whenever he breaks the kiss, but how can it not when he kisses you like that? His lips slide over yours so hungrily, like he's a wolf slowly devouring its bunny.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who stalks you out of your hiding places, every little sanctuary of yours invaded by this pompous ass who thoroughly gets off on stealing your solitude, it seems. First it's the second-hand bookstore, where you like to idle in silence, contemplating which books you'll be able to afford with your meager savings, until he suddenly finds out and buys all those art books you're excited for—Kandinsky, Monet, M.C. Escher...—and he gatekeeps them like a cruel librarian, "Well if you want them, I can give them to you; it'll just cost five minutes of your lips." he bargains, shit-eating grin plastered all over his handsome face, sunglasses slipping down his nose, "So, in other words..." he calculates in his head, "If you want all of them, you'll have to kiss me for an hour."
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who really gets you with this offer because... come on. Free books. Well, at the cost of your bully ravaging your lips... but he moans into your mouth almost poetically, and he cups your cheeks and presses his big body tightly to your smaller one with a fervency you've never experienced before. By the time you've earned your books, you can't think straight enough to read them; not after he's kissed you dumb. He leaves you gawking idly after him, clutching a slipping cascade of poetry and art books in your arms.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who discretely stalks your socials until, one day, he discovers your tumblr smut writing blog. And it's like hitting a god damn treasure trove. At first, he thinks he'll humiliate you for it, but then his dick ponders on it and he brews a cruel idea.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who rubs your puffy clit to your own writings, sometimes giving a harsh couple spanks to your sore little pussy, "You're such a little pervert, you know that?—let's see how seriously everyone takes you after they find out you write stuff like this. Aw, but of course, I won't tell anyone if you just do me a favor..."
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whose 'favor' entails you letting him stuff two thick fingers in your pussy until you're squirting all over his palm and wrist. "That's it, that's it; cum like a good girl now, and I won't say a damn thing to anyone."
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who never expects you to come crawling back for more after that, but you do; more bizarrely, you're letting him flip up your skirt and bury his cock balls-deep in your inviting cunt. "Keep it fuckin' quiet, little brat. I have a reputation to uphold; can't be caught fuckin' the dean's daughter, can I? N'aw, you'd get this dick expelled. And you don't want that either, do you? Not with how you fuckin' cling to me... so keep your mouth shut."
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who makes you late to lectures because he wants to burrow his dick deep inside you and play with your breasts. With one hand on your neck, he glowers down at you, "I hate how good you make me feel, you know that?—you're not fair." he grits, feeling his fat cock strangled by your pussy. He cums way too easily when you clamp down on him, and call him romantic but he likes cumming at the same time you do... it just makes his heart flutter.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whom you begrudgingly tolerate with at the formal dance, taking his offered hand and letting him lead you to the dim dancefloor.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whose breath is lingering on your neck, along with sweet words that you can't deny are creeping right into your soul and breaching the tall walls you built around your heart just because of him. His softness was unfamiliar, unknown, yet so sincere that you let it reel you right in. A night of closeness, without meanness or snide remarks, only two rivals threatening to become more, two kids that never wanted to grow up bonding over their yearning for another chance at youth—he tells you how he never was allowed to leave the house much, how he was sensitive and his mother coddled him too much, how he wasn't allowed to do most things other kids could do because of her nervousness to protect him, how even the smallest scratch on a playground would have her whisking him away to the safe confines of the house for a week.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO doesn't anticipate his own confession; its blurted out, "I like you, I just like you." he admits, then widens his eyes as if startled by himself.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who gets carried away with kissing you, his feelings flooding in all too soon and suddenly you're left alone on the dancefloor, wondering why he stormed off with some lame excuse
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who you find losing his mind in the library courtyard after thirty minutes of searching across campus for him. He's pulling at the white tufts of hair and sobbing softly to himself, "Fuck... fuck... why did I say that..." he talks madly under his breath, pacing back and forth, heart quaking with something he's never really felt before—it's called love.
ㅤANㅤI started watching Mixte 1963 purely for Joseph Descamps, and he became the inspiration for this (even though he's a major dickbag in that series! Very pretty actor though, and he plays the role so well.). Anyways, I really like the idea of a bully!Gojo slowly losing his mind because he's never fallen in love before.
His baritone sharp tone bounced off the darkly colored walls of the room. His body language reflecting his tone, he rested leisurely on the chair that faced you. Broad muscular arms rested on either side of the chair’s borders.
His entire being illuminated dominance, and supremacy. Whatever he says, goes, and he knows it.
Blinking at his words, his face shifts to an expression of disappointment that has your body immediately dropping to its knees. You shifted uncomfortably at the feeling of the cool wood of the floors contacting the soft skin of your knees, the ground harsh against your bones.
It felt almost like a chemical reaction to his disappointment, wanting to do whatever you could to please him. A nearly inconceivable shift of slight praise drifted across his features, before quickly stoning back into his default of disapproval.
“What do you say?” He asked with a mere tilt of his head, like you should be embarrassed to have forgotten it.
”Yes sir” you mutter quickly, maintaining eye contact with the man ahead of you. A pleased sound leaves him, drawing a rush of arousal to your underwear.
“Ask for what you want.” He spoke, with his voice slick like honey.
You swallow before responding, embarrassment, arousal, and thrill all coursing from your toes to your finger tips. “I want to suck your cock, sir”
He tsks—yes, actually “tsks”—before you’ve even finished your sentence.
Quickly, he leans body closer to your kneeled frame, his rough calloused hands grip your jaw, causing a gasp to leave you at the contact.
Looking into your eyes as he says, “That’s not how you ask me for something, doll. Why don’t you try again, because I don’t think you want to be punished this early in the night, do you?”
Another rush of arousal and fear rushes through your veins at the memory of your last, “punishment.”
”Mno, no swir” You try, but the words come out slurred together, his fingers squeezing your jaw.
Releasing your face with a huff, he allows you to speak properly.
“May I please suck your cock, sir?” You ask politely, looking at him with your best needy, doe eyed expression. Your eyes trail down to the bulge that begins to grow in front of you. The stretching of the dark denim causes you to swallow, eager to please your boyfriend.
He watches you too, the way your red lace bra highlights your breasts, the garter that runs along your skin. Despite his ability to almost hide it, you affect him just as much as he affects you.
“Take it off.” His voice cuts through the tight tension of anticipation that swarms the air around you.
Your fingers work quickly at his affirmation, unzipping the fly of his pants, sliding the material down his thick muscular thighs.
A smirk grapes across his features when you meet his eye. Your fingers slipping under the tight material of his boxer-breifs.
“You always this excited to get throat fucked baby, or do I just do something to ya?”
His hand comes back to your jaw, trailing down until he has a hold around your neck. Not choking you, just holding. You moan softly in response to the contact, furrowing your eyebrows as you attempt to focus on releasing his cock from the confines of his clothing.
His fingers squeeze just barely around your neck when you fingers find what you’ve been searching for. Pulling his length out of the black underwear, you begin immediately.
Bringing your mouth his base you begin to trail sloppy, open mouthed kisses along his shaft. Licking and kissing each vein, drawing groans of pleasure out of the man above you. Feeling his fingers grip your hair, only encourages you.
Licking a stripe up his length before stopping at the tip, you plant a soft kiss before finally wrapping your lips around it. You have to breathe through your nose to stop the pending gagging at your throat, forcing yourself down inch after inch.
Managing to get almost half way down his nine inch length, before dragging your head off of him to gasp for air.
”Come on baby you can take it” your boyfriend speaks before using his grip on your haste to push your mouth back on him. Causing you to bring your hands to his thighs, not to push him away, but to brace yourself for whatever he wanted to do with your mouth.
A gagging sound follows his action, but he persists, keeping a firm grip in your hair.
You relax your throat until finally, your nose is buried in his base.
“That’s my girl, keep it there, just like that.” He moans, hips grinding into you.
You moan and writhe against him, failing to swallow and breathe with the intrusion down your throat.
The sound of gagging fills the air, as a shiver runs down your spine, feeling the tip of his cock seem to get deeper inside your mouth as you shake, writhing against his grasp.
Pulled your head away from him 10 seconds too late, a string of saliva and pre-cum connects you two. Your wheezing and coughing doesn’t deter the man above you though, before you know it, your mouth is back to his cock.
You begin bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks, eager to get him to his release, and have his load coat your throat. Feeling his thigh muscles flex underneath your fingertips when his tip meets the ends of your throat.
a crude, “gluck-gluck-gluck” sound leaves your throat each time you head bobs back down. salivia and precum overflow from the sides of your mouth.
”So fuckin’ good for me—ah, just like that.” feeling your thighs clench together in response, you moan at his words. But it comes out muffled on his dick, the vibrating sensation drawing yet another groan from his lips.
“you gonna take my cum pretty girl? yeahhh you are, go—fuck ah, good girl”
A bitter taste fills your mouth without warning as he begins to shudder, spasm thrusting his hips impossibly deeper down your throat as his release showers him in pleasure. You swallow every drop with gratuity, feeling your own heat pulse in response to his.
You’re both shuddering messes by the time you pull your lips off him with a pop. His hands grace either side of your face as he drags you up to his, bringing your lips together in a messy kiss.
Swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, you open your mouth eagerly, deepening the kiss. He groans into your mouth when he tastes his own release on you.
“Gonna take care of my girl now” he speaks against your lips, his words only ever causing the pulsing sensation between your thighs to increase.
please like and comment to be added to the “possessive boyfriend” tag list
CW: Smut. Oral. Squirting. Use of toys. They cum untouched. 🔞 MDNI🔞
Part 2: Caleb/Zayne/Sylus
Part 1: Xavier/Rafayel
Edited repost from my old account (Applecaviar)
He likes to watch and he doesn't miss a beat. He’s surgical with it, cruel in his precision, as he presses the humming tip of the vibrator back against your clit, making you lose the ability to think in coherent sentences.
"Oh fu... Unghh... Cay... "
"Look at you," his voice drops into that low monotone that usually signals he’s losing his grip on his restraint. "So greedy."
Then comes the warmth. A wet, heavy splash of his saliva hitting your cunt. It’s almost insulting how much you crave that bit of dominance, your walls clamping shut in anticipation of him.
Two fingers. Then three. He doesn't ease in, he drives them deep, stretching you, filling the hollow ache that’s been screaming for him since he walked through the door.
"God..."
Your voice breaks, sounding foreign to your own ears pitched higher, wetter, ruined. You're fisting the expensive silk sheets, knuckles turning white, trying to anchor yourself to reality while he systematically dismantles it.
He knows exactly where to hook, how to curve, finding that singular nerve that turns your bones to liquid.
"You like it like this, don't you, baby? You like it when I play with you like this?"
"Yes... yes, Caleb..." you moan, the words coming out wanton and breathless. Your head thrashes against the pillow, vision blurring as the pleasure builds into a mounting tension that feels like it might actually snap you in two.
Desperation takes the wheel. You're moving on your own now, driven by the need to bridge the gap between the toy and his flesh. You begin to grind your hips frantically against his hand, fucking yourself shamelessly on his fingers. Each thrust of your pelvis forces him deeper into you, chasing a climax that feels like it's standing just an inch out of reach.
And he loves this. He loves seeing you lose every ounce of control, knowing that the only reason you're falling apart is because he's the one pulling the strings.
Underneath the layers of his commander persona, Caleb is a mess of restraint held together by sheer willpower. Right now, that willpower is fraying. As he watches you grind yourself senseless against his hand, his own hips press heavily into the mattress, fighting the agonizing, pulsing throb of his cock.
His thumb finds the switch on the vibrator, clicking it up to the highest setting. A frantic hum that turns the sensation against your clit into blinding electricity. You’re losing it. You’re genuinely losing your goddamn mind.
"Fuck... I'm gonna cum, like everywhere!" your words sound more like a sob than actual speech.
Your hips are jerking in helpless spasms, trying to chase the peak, but just as the first wave of the orgasm hits Caleb yanks the toy away. You’re left gasping, sobbing at the void where the pleasure used to be.
But he doesn't let you linger in the wreckage for long.
With a strength that reminds you he's a trained soldier, he hauls you off the bed. You feel light, dizzy, your legs dangling uselessly in the air as he moves you across the room. Before you can even process the shift in scenery, he pins you against the cool, solid expanse of the wall.
Then, he sinks to his knees.
It’s a position of supposed worship, but the way he handles you feels far more dominant. His hands clamp onto the backs of your thighs, hoisting them up and spreading you wide. He hooks one of your legs over each of his broad shoulders, leaving you completely open, stark naked and defenseless before him. You’ve never felt more exposed, more his.
He looks up at you, and for a heartbeat, your boyfriend is gone, replaced by something far older and hungrier. His gaze is heavy, hooded, and terrifyingly focused.
"Squirt down my throat, Pips," the command vibrating in his chest it’s an order from a man who expects absolute surrender. "Give me every last drop."
His lips seal around your pretty clit while his tongue swirls and flicks with a rhythm that targets every nerve ending he’s spent the last ten minutes tormenting.
Even when you drift somewhere past the realm of actual consciousness, Caleb refuses to let you slip away. His Evol holds your trembling thighs firmly over his shoulders while his mouth works magic on your clit.
His fingers find their way back inside you, sliding into your drenched heat and hitting your G spot dead on.
"Oh my god, oh my god!" the words are just ragged stabs of sound, repeated like a mantra.
An overwhelming wave of release floods downward, and Caleb meets it with hunger, swallowing every precious drop.
Thanks to his gravity you aren't even allowed to slump to the floor, he keeps you suspended, pinned against the wall, forcing you to endure the beautiful agony of the aftershocks.
Eventually, the world stops spinning. Slowly and carefully he eases you down until you're straddling his lap on the cool expanse of the hardwood floor. Your chest is heaving, lungs burning as you fight to reclaim your breath.
Caleb rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut "I haven't cum in my pants since..." He pauses, letting out a shaky, incredulous laugh that sounds more like a groan. "... you've reduced me to a fucking teenager again. Leaking in my boxers like a kid back in high school."
Your curiosity wins out over your exhaustion. Glancing down, you notice the darkened patch blooming on the fabric of his boxers, damp and heavy.
"The way you moaned my name just..." He opens his eyes, the violet depths clouded with a heady mixture of lust and adoration. "Fuck, Princess... say it again."
A wicked, sleepy little grin pulls at your lips. Oh, he wants to play? Fine. If he wants to be teased, you'll give him exactly what he's asking for.
You lean in, tilting your head so your lips graze the shell of his ear. You let your breath hitch, mimicking that desperate, high pitched whine you make when he's buried deep inside you.
"...Caleb..."
You drag his name out, turning it into a soft, melodic sob of longing. To seal the deal, your tongue darts out to trace the curve of his lobe before giving it a playful, sharp nip. A shudder wracks his body, and you can feel his cock twitch, straining hard against your thigh.
As soon as your hand cups the hot, hard length of his cock through his boxers, he moves. He rises in one powerful surge, hauling you up with him so your bodies crash together, ribcage to ribcage, heart to heart.
"Oh, you asked for it," he rasps, his grip tightening on your waist "Don't expect me to be gentle now."
Across the mahogany expanse of the desk, Zayne looks entirely too composed. His posture is perfect, broad shoulders framed by the dim lamp light, looking every bit the professional cardiac surgeon even though he’s currently playing god with your nervous system.
"Oh Zayne, please, I can't... It's too much!" you whimper, squirming uncomfortably in the plush office chair while the vibrator nestled in your underwear pulses relentlessly.
Zayne doesn't move quickly. Why would he? He thrives in the slow burn. His gaze remains fixed on the monitor for a heartbeat longer a calculated bit of torture before those hazel eyes finally drift toward you. They aren't warm, exactly, they're sharp, clinical yet burning with a quiet sort of hunger that makes your stomach flip more than the vibrations ever could.
“Too much?” He repeats the phrase softly, testing the weight of it. An amused huff escapes him, a sound between a chuckle and a sigh. To anyone else, he might seem indifferent, but you can see the slight tightening in his jaw, the sign that he’s enjoying this far more than a ‘serious’ man should. “That’s a subjective term. Biologically speaking, your nervous system is simply responding to intense stimuli. You aren't breaking, you're merely... peaking.”
He leans back, the leather of his chair creaking softly. Instead of turning the device off, he lets his thumb linger on the remote, hovering near the dial like a predator deciding whether to strike or wait.
“Besides,” he adds, his tone shifting into something softer, more intimate, though no less commanding. “A doctor wouldn't recommend stopping halfway through a treatment. We need to reach the conclusion, don't we?”
With a sudden movement, he clicks the remote again. This time he slams the intensity to the highest setting.
“Now,” he commands, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and unwavering. “Don't fight it. Show me exactly how much you can endure.”
"Nonononon... fuuuuuck"
He looks down at the remote and you flinch, expecting another punishing wave of vibrations but the humming suddenly dies. Silence crashes into the room, leaving you feeling strangely hollow and desperately unfinished. You lurch forward slightly, gasping, expecting something, but nothing comes.
"I'm just... too sensitive...I can't... I won't..."
"Won't what, exactly?"
Zayne’s voice cuts through your haze, calm and infuriatingly steady. You watch him rise from his chair, his movements possessing that effortless grace of someone used to being in total control. He moves around the desk, closing the distance between you with slow strides that make your heart hammer against your ribs.
"Won't tease me quite so much next time?" he asks, finishing your thought with a teasing lilt. He reaches down, hooking a single finger under your chin to tilt your face up, forcing you to drown in his intense stare. "Or perhaps you mean you won't act like such a little brat, trying to push me right to the edge of my self control?"
His confidence makes your head spin. As he speaks, his thumb begins a slow graze along the curve of your bottom lip. You can’t help it, you let out a shuddering exhale, mouth parting involuntarily. Seizing the moment, he slides his thumb inside, filling the space. Without really thinking, driven by nothing but pure instinct you wrap your lips around him, sucking gently.
"There she is. My good girl." he watches you, mesmerized by your surrender "What a beautiful little mouth you have. Makes me wonder..."
He kneels before you and leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear, hot and dangerously intimate. "Exactly how many more times do you think we can do this tonight? How many peaks before you're completely ruined?"
Before you can even process the threat, his free hand is sliding underneath the hem of your skirt. His fingertips trace a path up your inner thigh, light as a feather but searing like ice. You're shamelessly soaked, your lace panties sticking stubbornly to your pussy.
"Consider these mine now," he says before he hooks his fingers into the waistband and drags your damp undies down. He doesn't set them aside, he stuffs them right into the pocket of his lab coat "You are not getting them back tonight. They belong to me."
Suddenly, his grip tightens on your hips. He hauls you forward, dragging you to the very edge of the chair and forcing your knees wide. The sudden rush of cool office air hitting your heated skin makes you jump,.
"Zayne, please..." you whine, but the protest dies in your throat, replaced by a sharp gasp when his fingers find you.
"Please what?"
He’s being cruel. His touch becoming agonizingly light, mere circles dancing around your clit, teasing the peak without quite delivering the blow.
"I... I need..." You’re gasping now, the words tripping over one another in a clumsy rush. All the pretenses are gone. "I need you, Zayne. Fuck me. Please!"
"That's my girl," Zayne coos and rewards your pathetic desperation with a sudden thrust of two fingers, burying them knuckles deep into your cunt. "Absolutely perfect.”
He lingers there for a heartbeat, watching your eyes glaze over before whispering “Just one more.”
With practiced, dominant ease, he hauls one of your legs up over his shoulder and suddenly there’s no space left between you. His mouth finds you, hot and impossibly wet, and the world simply dissolves.
"Zaynie, please!" You’re sobbing his name now, your fingers tangling blindly in his black hair. Part of you wants to shove him away, terrified by the velocity of the pleasure building in your gut, but he’s unrelenting. He’s everywhere.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. Cum for me one more time” his voice is muffled against your slick skin, the literal vibration of his words sending tremors through your entire body.
He’s ruthless, sucking your clit softly, his teeth grazing the nub just enough to send white hot sparks through your nerves while his fingers plunge back inside your fluttering pussy.
“Zayne... I’m gonna... I can’t... you have to... ”
The warning dies in your throat. You don't even finish the sentence before you shatter. You aren't just cumming into his mouth, you're squirting, the force of it splashing across his face in a chaotic, beautiful mess.
Across from you, Zayne lets out a guttural grunt. His entire body stiffens, stomach muscles clenching hard as his body responds to yours. His heavy weight settles, and then he erupts hot, thick spurts of cum soaking through his boxers and darkening the expensive fabric of his slacks in a visible, spreading bloom.
When the haze clears, reality rushes back in. Mortified, you scramble to sit upright, snapping your legs shut “I’m sorry!” you stammer, your face burning hotter than your body. “I tried to warn you, really, I was trying to tell you to pull back but...”
A sound breaks through your apology, a deep chuckle that fills the quiet office.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he sounds delighted, casually wiping the glistening traces of your release from his cheek. He looks at you with a gaze so warm it’s almost sinful. “Do you honestly think I’m complaining?”
He stands up, unabashedly surveying the wreckage. He looks down at the damp, dark patch on his slacks, the undeniable proof of his own release and he looks triumphant. Like he’s just conquered a mountain.
“My hair is a mess, my pants are soaked through, and my face is covered in you,” he says, the grin on his face widening into something truly wicked. “And I’ve never been happier.”
He reaches out, catching your chin to force your eyes up to his. The intensity there is enough to make your knees weak all over again. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. Truly.” He leans in, his breath warm against your lips “I can’t wait to do it again... as soon as I give my eighteen year old self his balls back”
"Deeper, kitten. All the way in"
Sylus doesn't move. He just sits there watching the slick friction of the dildo sliding between your trembling thighs. Every slide, every shallow gasp you let out feels like it's happening directly to him. He watches the way your muscles twitch, the way you desperately attempt to swallow the thick plastic.
Breathless, you try to obey. You bear down, straining to accommodate the intrusive stretch, trying to sink the toy deep enough to satisfy the hunger in his eyes. But your body isn't quite cooperating, your walls cling tightly to the silicone, fluttering in a rhythm that fights the very thing you're trying to welcome. It’s a tight, punishing fit.
Instead of pity, however, you find only more heat in his expression. A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, an arrogant curve that tells you exactly how much he enjoys seeing you unraveled.
"Look at you," he muses, watching you squirm through labored breaths. "You always look so pretty when you struggle to take it all."
The comment sends a fresh wave of mortification rolling through you, though it does absolutely nothing to stop the coil of heat tightening in your gut. Being watched like this, stripped of your composure is terrifying.
You bite your lip hard enough to sting and push harder, driven by an irrational need to prove you can handle whatever he demands of you.
"Careful, sweetie," he interrupts, his tone dipping into a mocking sweetness he reserves just for you. "If you get any more desperate to finish, you’re going to ruin my sheets."
You follow his gaze down, realizing with shame that he's right. There’s a darkening patch of moisture spreading across his expensive silk, glistening proof to just how much control you've lost.
"S-sorry..." you stammer, trying to pull yourself together, feeling small and hopelessly undone under his gaze.
He stands and moves toward you, it takes him three strides to bridge the gap "Believe me, sweetie, I wasn't complaining," he murmurs and with the lack of filter he possesses, he adds "I wouldn't mind if you painted every inch of this room in your cum tonight."
He drops down, laying flat on his stomach directly in front of you. Now, he’s mere inches away from the wreckage of your pleasure right where your new toy is stretching your needy pussy to its absolute limit. From this close, he sees everything, the way your swollen lips cling desperately to the silicone, weeping around it with every withdrawal.
He also has a perfect line of sight to your clit. Every time you slide down the swollen, pretty nub peeks out from its little hood like a teased secret.
"You're going to make me cum without me even having to lift a finger," he admits.
You try to find your voice. "Good..." you manage to gasp out, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I remember you being...fuck...very intrigued by the idea of just watching. So...I hope you are liking the show"
"Oh, absolutely. Im going to watch every second," he promises, his gaze never wavering from the wet, glistening friction of the toy. "I want to see the exact moment you break, the second you can't take any more and then I'm going to take over, kitten."
The pressure is building and your vision is blurring at the edges, your entire nervous system feeling like it’s being rewired by pure friction.
You can't help it, you cry out, your voice high and shaky"I'm almost there, Sy!"
"Lie down on the bed. Now."
With limbs that feel like jelly, you scramble back onto the mattress, the slick toy finally sliding free from your overworked cunt. As soon as it's out, a fresh rush of moisture spills from you, trailing a path down the inside of your thigh.
"Perfect. Now, spread your legs for me, let me see exactly what you've done to yourself."
Heat floods your face as you hesitantly peel your thighs apart, exposing your swollen, reddened folds to the cool air. Your clit is pulsing with a heavy ache that demands attention.
"Can I?"
Every cell in your body is vibrating. You aren't even thinking clearly anymore, the politeness has evaporated, replaced by a raw need.
"Please, Sy..." The plea breaks from your throat, "Do whatever the hell you want. Lick it, bite it, tug on it... just please put your mouth on me." You're begging, plain and simple, too far gone to give a damn about dignity.
He doesn't make you wait and settles himself firmly between your trembling thighs. For a heartbeat, all you feel is the ghost of his warm breath brushing against your wet skin, sending shudders racing up your spine.
Then, he begins. Slowly. So agonizingly slowly that you think you might actually die from the suspense. He drags the flat of his tongue up, tracing a line from your opening all the way to the sensitive peak and then he does it again but this time he savors the salt and the sweetness of you before sucking your clit between his lips.
An undignified wail escapes you as your back arches off the sheets. White hot pleasure shoots through your body and your hands fly to his head, fingers tangling desperately in his soft hair.
Your thighs won't stop shaking. You can feel the swell, the mounting pressure, the inevitable crest of an orgasm that’s coming for you like a freight train.
"Don't stop, please don't stop! I'm... I'm..."
One of his fingers hooks inside you, curling precisely against a spongy, sensitive spot that sends your vision blurring.
When the first gush of your release hits, Sylus doesn't flinch. Instead, he opens his mouth wide, covering your spasming cunt completely with his lips. He begins to drink down greedily, tongue lapping up every drop.
Your eyelids are clamped shut, your consciousness narrowing down to the point of contact between his mouth and your core. Your knuckles are white where you’re clutching his hair, tethering yourself to reality while the rest of the world dissolves into static.
Your hands gradually loosen their grip. Your muscles feel heavy and useless, as the final, shivering aftershocks roll lazily through your abdomen.
Sylus pulls back just enough to hover over you. He presses a soft kiss to your lips and lingers there for a heartbeat, simply watching the beautiful ruin of your expression.
Moving purely on instinct, your hand wanders downward, drifting across the expanse of his body until your fingertips meet something warm and damp on the fabric of his trousers. A slow grin spreads across your face as you bring your fingers to your lips, licking them clean, tasting the salt and heat of his premature release.
One of his eyebrows shoots up, a lopsided, amused smirk tugging at his mouth. "What?" he asks, his voice still raspy from the effort. "Is my kitten fond of men who ruin their clothes?"
You shake your head "Not exactly, but do you know how good you'd have to be to make the leader of Onychinus cum in his pants?"
His lips graze yours, his intent shifting from observation to conquest once more.
"Well, If I can reduce a Deepspace Hunter to a quivering, begging mess just by watching... heaven help you when I actually decide to try."
Alright. I’ve seen a lot of requests about turning cocky guys into twinks — totally fair. But I’d like to ask for the opposite, or almost that.
My favorite stories of yours are the ones where some poor guy is in the wrong place at the wrong time and ends up becoming a cocky bastard (Gridirion Brew, Make Sense, Gone Fishing).
So how about a story about a needy twink looking for a cocky, dominant top… and a poor, recently engaged guy — studious, respectfull, devoted to his beautiful fiancée, — who crosses paths with the wrong person at the wrong time.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy,” Adam slowly shut the door to his best man's room. “Drink some water before you pass out this time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” somebody groaned from inside. “You’re about to be someone’s husband and still sound like my mom.”
Adam shook his head, smiling as he headed toward the elevators. His bachelor party had turned into exactly what he expected: too much drinking, too much yelling, and the people he loved most acting like complete idiots together... He’d loved every second of it.
“Wouldn’t trade those idiots for anything,” Adam muttered as he stepped into the elevator, scrolling through reels Claire had sent him.
The doors had barely started closing before hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.
“Wait! Hold it!”
“Got you.” Adam stuck his arm out automatically.
“Oh, thank god,” the stranger breathed, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw Adam. “You seriously just saved my evening. I was starting to think I’d have to go upstairs alone.”
Adam laughed awkwardly, “I think you might’ve misunderstood something, I’m not looking for…”
“Shhhhh.” The guy stepped closer. “That’s okay. You’re gonna make me feel really fucking good tonight, stud.”
Adam blinked. “What?”
“Name's Nico,” he said lazily. “Don’t ruin this for me.”
Before Adam could answer, Nico leaned forward and kissed him. Adam's hands came up to shove him away, but he froze.
“I… sorry, I think you got the wrong...”
Then Adam looked at him again, words catching in his throat. His eyes dropped to Nico’s ass in those tight black jeans.
"You like?"
“Oh...” Adam swallowed hard. “No, I... I shouldn’t…” His thoughts raced. “I’m not into guys. I’m getting married…”
“Oh fuck…” Adam panted suddenly as his hand grabbed a fistful of Nico’s ass.
Nico smiled instantly. “There you go.”
Nico's hands slipped beneath Adam’s shirt, cool palms dragging over his stomach and chest before squeezing a growing pec. Adam’s breath caught instantly, the kiss turning rougher before he even realized it.
“Mmm… fuck,” Nico sighed against his mouth.
Adam groaned, fingers kneading the firm curve of Nico’s ass, while rough stubble grew along his jaw with every slow squeeze.
“You’re really into this now.”
“No… Nico, I can’t…” Adam broke away, face flushed, hands still on Nico's ass. “Jesus Christ… I’m getting married…”
“Shhhh.” Nico smirked, sliding his hands up Adam's shirt and through the hair spreading across his chest, “Oh my god,” Nico breathed. “You feel so fucking good already.”
“Fuck…” Adam gripped his ass harder as nails scratched down his back. “I need dis…” The words hit his ears wrong. “No… what de hell...?”
"Follow me, big guy."
And he did. The second the elevator doors opened, Adam followed. Right to Nico's room. The guilt twisted hard through his stomach.
“Claire...” Adam shuddered. “Can never know... about dis… fuck… she can’t…”
"Oh she never will." Nico giggled and pulled Adam into his hotel room.
Clothes were quickly discarded and Adam groaned as Nico's smooth bare skin pressed against his increasingly bulkier, hairier, and sweatier form.
“Fuck…” Nico’s hands slid over the thickening muscle in Adam’s arms, “I needed a man like you tonight.” He buried his face against Adam’s increasingly hairier pit and inhaled. “Mmm… you smell incredible.”
With a grunt, he shoved Nico against a wall, hand wrapping around his bare ass. Warm skin flexed beneath his palm, impossibly soft without the denim in the way... smooth, firm, and perfect in a way Adam had never thought about another man's ass before.
“Oh fuck…” Adam groaned shakily against Nico’s throat. “Ya Allah… you're drivin' me crazy…”
Nico smiled lazily while grinding up against him. “Mmm. Been thinking about you fucking me since the elevator…”
The words hit Adam hard and Claire’s face flashed through his mind again... Unaware her fiancé was naked in a hotel room with another man. The guilt swelled, but Adam still shoved Nico onto the mattress.
“Yeah…” Adam breathed heavily. “You... like dis? You want dis?" Adam climbed over him, their eyes locking as dark brown rings spread slowly through Adam’s blue irises.
“Fuck…” Nico's hands slid across Adam’s sweaty, hairier pecs, “That’s it… come here, big guy…”
Nico shifted and rolled onto his front, raising his bare ass against Adam's throbbing cock. Adam’s breathing turned ragged, stomach twisting hard. He wasn't this kind of man... He was Claire's dependable fiancé. Her best friend. Her future husband... Not the man currently grinding his cheating cock against another man’s ass.
“Fuck…” Adam tightened his grip on Nico’s hips. “Dis isn’t me… 'uqsim, hadha lays 'ana." Adam froze... that language... he didn't...
"Huh? Wh... fuck... Wh-what did you say?" Nico smirked and looked over his shoulder, "Oh fuck..."
Adam felt it before he saw it. His cock throbbed and grew to a size beyond anything Adam ever possessed. His cock head emerging from a sheath of foreskin he knew shouldn't be there.
"Dere is no way..." He whispered, "It's so..." He moaned as he grew another inch, cock now pressing against Nico's tight entrance.
"Please... I need it." Nico begged, "It's all I need tonight."
Adam gasped suddenly as his pecs filled with muscle. And as they did, his new chest hairs suddenly curled longer and darkened toward black against his heavier muscle.
“Fuck…” Claire used to fall asleep with her head against his lean chest. But these heavier pecs were damp with sweat and dark curling hair now, nothing like the body she loved. “Ya Allah… look at dis… it just keeps gettin’ thicker…”
“Mmm…” Nico moaned, glancing back at him.
“Oh fuck… what’s dat smell?” Adam grimaced.
“That's… you big guy."
“Mustaheel…” Adam muttered, lifting an arm and grimacing at the thick musk clinging to his sweat-soaked, matted pit hair, “Y-you like dis…?”
"Fuck… yeah. Smell like a real man… mmm, so fucking hot…" Nico whimpered.
Adam shuddered hard at the words. Claire used to steal his hoodies because they smelled clean and comforting. She would’ve recoiled from this heavy masculine musk pouring off him now.
"You're perfect..." Nico groaned, pressing his ass against Adam's erection, "Just... fuck me already."
“Wallah…” Adam nearly obliged, but Claire’s smile flashed suddenly through his mind, "What de fuck is wrong wit me?”
He dragged a shaking hand through his hair, catching on something unfamiliar along his cheek. He touched his jaw again instinctively and recoiled. Stubble. Thick, perfect stubble. He'd always joke about never being able to grow a real beard. Claire always told him she loved his clean-shaven look.
"How de fuck....?" He watched as dark hair thickened across swelling forearms and olive blotches crept slowly over pale skin, "Wallah?"
The mirror caught him briefly and he froze. Damp blond hair darkened toward black while brown swallowed the blue in his eyes. Those eyes Claire adored. The hair she loved threading through her fingers.
"I... I want you inside me..." Nico moaned, "J-just..."
Adam looked down and back to the mirror. The man staring back at him still carried traces of Adam in places, but not enough. Not enough for his friends or best man to recognize him. Barely enough for Claire. Even his own mother would hesitate… And panic rose in his chest. He just wanted to go back downstairs, back to his friends, back to the man Claire loved, back to being Adam again. Because right now, Adam didn’t feel like Adam anymore.
He grunted suddenly before he could even process that thought. His cock leaked as a low groan vibrated deep through his chest before he could stop it.
“Ya Allah…” His rough hands spread Nico’s ass cheeks. “You’re gonna take all dis for me, yeah?” The words hadn’t felt chosen. Neither had the smug grin slowly pulling across his face while his heavier body settled more naturally over Nico.
“Mmm… there you are...” Nico whispered softly, sounding relieved.
He couldn't hold back any longer. With a guttural growl, he buried his cock deep into Nico's ass. The twink let out a choked cry, back arching sharply as he was impaled.
Thrust.
Dense muscle any gym bro would be proud of settled over him in all the right places. Stronger hands pinned Nico down instinctively while his pace roughened.
“Fuck… ya Allah…” He stared down at himself breathlessly. “Bro… look at dese… fuck… Havin’ a body like dis feels so fuckin' good…”
“Mmm… trust me...” Nico whimpered. “Feels even better underneath you.”
Thrust.
Warm olive swallowed the last pale traces across his skin while heavy musk and cheap cologne clung permanently to his body.
“Mmm… such a slut... for my scent.” He grunted.
“Fuck…” Nico whimpered. “I wanna bury my face in your pits so bad…”
Thrust.
The last traces of his old facial features disappeared forever behind the thick beard, dark brown eyes, and a permanent cocky grin devoid of his usual warmth.
“Mmm… dat’s right,” He smirked when Nico stared up at him breathlessly. “Keep lookin’ at me like dat while I fuck you…”
Thrust.
“Wh-what’s your name, big guy…?”
“Kareem,” he answered immediately.
“Mhmm… that name...is... always popular…”
“Den scream it for me."
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.
Kareem slapped Nico's jiggling ass, “Mmm… dat’s right, habibi… take it,” he groaned smugly, "Fuck... Dis hole was... made for my... fat Arab cock... wasn't it?"
Thrust, thrust, thrust, thrust...
Kareem grunted, pace quickening. The engagement ring felt uncomfortable around his swollen finger, so he instinctively pulled it off and tossed it somewhere in the room.
“Mmm… fuckin' slut…” Kareem groaned, "Ya Allah… look at dis… all dis fuckin’ muscle… you fuckin' love it.” He slowed down, "You want me to finish?" He teased, "Want Kareem to fill you?"
"Pl-please..." Nico moaned into the mattress, "Kareem... oh fuck!"
"Ya Allah… you needed dis dick so bad.” Hands squeezing Nico’s hip harder. “Slut gets one real Arab guy smellin’ like dis on top of him and forgets his own name…”
Kareem buried himself deep inside Nico's ass, followed by a guttural roar as his cock erupted, flooding Nico's insides with thick, hot seed.
"Take it all, bitch... fuckin' take it!" he growled, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.
As the last pulses subsided, Kareem collapsed forward, his sweaty chest pressing against Nico. His softening cock still inside Nico. And Kareem's eyes closed.
-------------------
He woke slowly beneath tangled sheets, groaning as dense muscle shifted across his chest and arms. He scratched at the dark hair on his chest, his nose twitching at the scent of sweat, cologne... of him. For a few moments, he stared at his body, processing the sight.
“Ya Allah…” Kareem smirked to himself, “Dat twink ain’t ever recoverin’ from me…”
“Oh, you’re awake.” Nico glanced up from his phone. “Yeah... you're one of my best works yet...”
“What da fuck does dat mean?”
“Nothing.” Nico shrugged casually. “Anyway, you should leave... like now.” The words landed and the larger man froze.
Kareem blinked, sitting up slowly. “W-wait…” Uncertainty cracked faintly through the swagger for the first time. “Where do I go? What should I...?”
“Always the same questions.” Nico smirked, unable to recall the number of times he'd heard them, “I dunno. There’s a gym down the street? Download Grindr? Yeah... You’re hot. Someone’ll take you in.”
“Dat’s it?”
“I don’t really care.”
------------
Kareem stared in the mirror of a public restroom, wresting with the sense that he was supposed to be somewhere else doing something important. But without a phone, wallet, or anything else, he was lost.
But then he caught him. Some twink washing his hands, staring at him. And Kareem knew that look. The lust... A cocky grin spread across Kareem’s face.
“Mmm… you keep lookin’ at me like dat, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’.”
The guy flushed immediately. “S-sorry, I just…”
Kareem smiled lazily. Cute. Nervous. Kareem would have him wrapped around his finger easily.
“Mmm… yeah. You’ll do just fine for now, habibi. You got a place nearby or what?”
Sukuna making his favorite concubine massage him while naked<3
Your bare skin prickled with goosebumps as you straddled Sukuna's massive thighs, the heat radiating from his cursed body warming your core.
Completely naked, your breasts swayed gently with each movement, nipples hardening in the cool air of his domain. His four eyes fixed on you, two smirking with amusement, the others tracing the curve of your hips down to where your pussy brushed against his leg. "Start with my shoulders, woman," he growled, voice low and commanding, his tattooed arms flexing under your tentative hands.
You poured oil into your palms, the slick liquid warming quickly as you pressed your fingers into the broad expanse of his back. Sukuna's muscles were like carved stone, unyielding yet yielding just enough under your kneading touch. He let out a deep rumble, almost a purr, as you worked out the knots from his upper traps, your thumbs circling firmly. Your naked body leaned forward, breasts grazing his skin, sending a jolt straight to your clit.
"Harder," he demanded, not turning but sensing your hesitation. You obeyed, digging deeper, your small hands contrasting against his hulking frame. The friction made your thighs slick, arousal dripping onto his skin as you shifted. Sukuna's hand shot up suddenly, gripping your wrist and guiding it lower, to the dip of his lower back. "There. Feel that tension? Undo it."
Your breaths came quicker now, heart pounding as you massaged along his spine, fingers slipping over the black markings that seemed to pulse under your touch. He was immense, your naked form dwarfed beside him, yet the power dynamic thrilled you. A soft moan escaped when his free hand trailed up your thigh, thumb brushing the edge of your folds without mercy. "You're soaking already. Pathetic. Keep going."
you rocked your hips subtly, grinding your wet pussy against his thigh for relief while your hands roamed to his sides, squeezing the ridges of his obliques. Sukuna chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through you. "Desperate little thing. Massage my chest next—straddle me properly." He shifted onto his back, his erection springing free, thick and veined, the tip already beading with precum.
You climbed over him carefully, knees on either side of his hips, your dripping entrance hovering just above his cock. Starting at his pecs, you oiled your hands and rubbed in wide circles, thumbs flicking over his pierced nipples. He hissed, one hand clamping onto your ass, spreading you open. "Good. Now lower—tease my abs." Your body trembled as you slid down, breasts dragging along his torso, leaving a trail of your own excitement.
Fingers splayed across the etched lines of his abdomen, you pressed and stroked, feeling the power coiled beneath. Sukuna's cock twitched against your belly, hot and insistent, smearing precum on your skin. "Fuck, you're making me hard just from this," he muttered, eyes darkening as he watched your naked form work. You whimpered, circling your hips to rub your clit against his length without penetration.
"Don't stop," he ordered, voice rougher now. Your hands ventured to his hips, massaging the V-lines that led to his groin, dangerously close to his throbbing shaft. He groaned when your fingers brushed the base, veins pulsing under your touch. Emboldened, you wrapped one hand around him loosely, stroking as if it were part of the massage, thumb swirling over the head to spread his leaking fluid.
Sukuna bucked up, the tip nudging your entrance teasingly. "That's it—work me like you mean it." You pumped him slowly, other hand cupping his heavy balls, rolling them gently. Your pussy clenched emptily, juices coating his cock as you ground down harder. He grabbed your hair, yanking you forward until your lips hovered over his. "Kiss me while you stroke."
Your mouth crashed against his, tongues tangling in a messy, heated kiss, all teeth and dominance from him. You jerked him faster, the slick sounds filling the air alongside your muffled moans. His free hand pinched your nipple, twisting until you arched, pussy sliding along his length in desperation. "Beg for it," he rasped against your lips, releasing your hair.
"Please, Sukuna... I need you inside," you gasped, hands never stopping their rhythm on his cock and thighs. He smirked, flipping you onto your back in one fluid motion, your naked body pinned under his weight. "Massage's over. Now I'll fuck the need out of you." His massive cock pressed against your folds, stretching you inch by inch as he thrust in deep.
You cried out, walls clenching around his girth, the fullness overwhelming. Sukuna pounded relentlessly, hips snapping with brutal force, each drive hitting your cervix. Your legs wrapped around him, nails raking his back where you'd massaged moments ago. "So tight... milking me already," he growled, one hand choking your throat lightly while the other pinned your wrist.
The pace quickened, his balls slapping against your ass, the wet squelch of your pussy echoing. You babbled incoherently, pleasure coiling tight as he angled to grind your clit with every thrust. "Cum for me—squeeze my cock," he commanded, teeth grazing your neck. Your orgasm hit like a wave, body convulsing, juices squirting around him.
He didn't stop, fucking you through it, his own release building. "Gonna fill you up," Sukuna snarled, slamming deeper. With a roar, he came, hot spurts flooding your womb, overflowing and dripping down your thighs. You shuddered, aftershocks rippling as he collapsed half on you, cock still twitching inside.
Panting, he pulled out slowly, cum leaking from your abused hole. "Good massage," he murmured mockingly, fingers dipping into the mess to push it back in. You whined, body spent and satisfied, as his lips claimed yours in a possessive kiss. The intimacy lingered, his hands now tracing your curves lazily, promising more.
