━ March
Part three of Monthly Mark Hoffman: A NSFW Cycle
summary: march - hoffman proves how much he needs you: by showing you, as he fucks you in front of the mirror.
pairing: mark hoffman x f!reader
word count: 1.9k
rating: explicit, 18+
cw: piv sex, mirror sex, comfort sex, oral sex, hurt/comfort, cuddling
you can also read this story on ao3.
The promise of a weekend off and the joy of long awaited rest was a sweet remedy to a hard week of work. However, the buzz of several glasses of wine was doing little to soothe the worry that had begun to unfurl in your gut, after another cancelled dinner reservation, another sudden emergency at the station. Another night left alone, eating take out and watching old movies, with only yourself for company.
It was a Friday night in March, and your finger was tracing the rim of your empty glass when you finally decided to call it a night. A sigh escaped you as you stood up and padded through to the kitchen to clean away the lonesome dish and utensils you had used. You then wiped down the counter tops and forced yourself into the bathroom. To make yourself feel better, you stripped off your clothes and showered, brushed your teeth and did some light skincare. Then feeling fresh and much less wine-drunk, headed to your bedroom.
You sat cross-legged at the end of your bed for a moment, listening to the muted din of the television in the other room. You purposefully left it on to bleat comfortingly, as you never did like total silence, and the sounds were a nostalgic warmth that helped to ease your anxiety.
The digital clock said that it was now Saturday, and still, there was no sign of Mark. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing okay, where he was and what he was doing - the intensity of your feelings for him having taken you by surprise.
And then as if you had summoned him with your pining and worry, you heard the soft click of the front door opening and closing. He was finally here. You turned your head towards the sound of soft footsteps making their way to the bedroom. The scent of the sea salt and sandalwood candle you left burning drifted into the room with Mark as he crossed the threshold.
You didn’t speak, just looked up at him. You crossed your arms and pulled your short, silk robe closer around you as you took in his rugged appearance. He had been working so much lately, and with the increase in some pretty gruesome murders, he had been spending more and more time away from you. If the horror stories that littered the local news were anything to go by, this kind of situation was as serious as it gets.
You could sense the stress on him, the way his jaw was tensed, the slight stoop of his frame, the waft of metal that was hidden beneath the spice of his cologne. The strange scent of death that seemed to follow him wherever he went.
He shed his coat, shoes and gloves wordlessly, and as you watched him, your insecurity got the better of you. The question fell from your lips:
“Are you avoiding me on purpose?”
He turned towards you with confusion in his blue eyes, a slight scowl at his lips and his head slightly tilted. The question had taken him by surprise, which in turn perplexed you further. He stepped closer, and then silently offered you his hand. You took it and got to your feet, stood with uncertainty in front of him.
“Of course not,” he whispered sincerely, his eyes boring into yours. He released your hand, and then used the back of his fingers to caress your cheek. He always touched you with such rapt attention, and this time was no exception: he handled you as though you were utterly fragile, his eyes drinking in your expression, registering your worry.
“I promise you that I am working more because it is absolutely necessary - it has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
Before you got the chance to feel ashamed or regret your words, he manoeuvred himself behind you, and possessively grasped the back of your neck with his large hand. He gently but firmly steered you to the floor length mirror opposite the bed, and you both watched the reflection of yourselves together for a moment.
“Just look at you,” he muttered, awe-struck, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The most beautiful fucking woman I’ve ever seen. Why would I ever avoid you?”
You ran your eyes over the sight of yourself. You were naked beneath the flimsy gown, your legs bare, your nipples hard and visible beneath the fabric. You noticed a slight flush in your cheeks, courtesy of the wine and his compliments and your own embarrassment. The looming size of his body behind yours caused an abrupt rush of heat to flare in your lower abdomen. His touch burned on your skin and seemed to seep further into your blood.
“You disappear more than you used to,” you confessed in a small voice, before you could change your mind. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
He then used a gentle motion to pull your hair away from your face, as if to expose your beauty - and then he was stroking your neck and jaw. You watched in the reflection as he slipped your shoulder free from your gown, as his lips pecked softly at the newly exposed skin.
“I feel abandoned, Mark.” Your voice broke, and your insides dropped to have ruined such a beautiful moment.
He momentarily paused. A strong arm then slipped around your waist, and he pulled your body to his, protectively. Possessively.
Then the soft thickness of his lips ghosted the shell of your ear, his words a dripping, dark drawl when he whispered with regret:
“Then I’m a fool…”
Your eyes met his in the mirror, both your irises gleaming with truth and desire in the low-light.
“and I am sorry…”
You felt his erection making itself known against your backside, and the fire in your loins had been well and truly stoked. You inhaled a sharp breath.
“...It seems I have a lot to make up for.”
You agreed with him, a gratified hum escaping your throat, and you pressed your ass against him as you demanded, "You better get started, then. Take off my gown.”
He immediately obliged, and you were naked before him and yourself. You continued to watch him in the mirror as he slowly fell to his knees and carefully took one of your thighs in his large hands, then lifted your leg over his shoulder. He now had open access to your wet entrance, and his lips met your vulva with relish. He looked up at you as his tongue began working your clit with stimulating, swirling circles, his large nose pressing gorgeously into your pubis.
He was always such a balm to all your troubles, even if he was the cause of them. That was always the way of it, it seemed, and you never really wanted anything more. Whatever anxiety and insecurity you possessed dissipated with his reassuring words and validating touch, because he did always come back, no matter how long it took for his shift to end, how much overtime he was putting in. Even though you were uncertain of where he had been or what he had been doing, in the end, he was always there.
And by God, did he make up for his absences.
You moved slowly together as he greedily ate you out: your fingers in his hair, his grunts of lust filling your ears as his tongue was filling your cunt. Your mouth was agape with pleasure as you watched him devour you, your eyes flickering between two different points of view thanks to the mirror. His strong hands held you still as you instinctively tried to buck your hips further into his mouth. Time slipped away into strings of moans and several peaks of pleasure, until your body became soft and limp in his arms, and you could hardly stand.
You were both panting, his face wet with your slick, the ache between your legs was all-consuming and you were utterly desperate to be penetrated deeper, to be stretched by his thick cock. As if reading your mind, he pulled you to the bed, swift and determined, and then you were bent over, your face down into the sheets, your ass up, hips tilted just right.
“Watch,” he demanded, his belt clinking as he freed himself from his pants. “Watch me as I fuck you.”
You obeyed him, bringing your eyes to your reflection. He spread you open, ran a finger down your drenched slit. You mewled and groaned, the anticipation of his carnal attention causing your legs to shake before he had even sheathed himself inside of you. You watched him look down at your wet cunt in the mirror, the adoration clear from his gaze and the purr of his voice.
“Let me show you how much I need you. Watch, sweetheart, as I make you cum whilst using your perfect body.”
The filthy words sent electric heat through your core, and you could hardly bear it anymore. He sensed your impatience and slowly pushed into you, your wetness welcoming him, silkily, easy and seamless. You both sighed in blessed relief as he began to fuck you with confident, rapid thrusts. Your eyes stayed glued to his face in the mirror, watching as he had his way with you, as he gazed over your body with nothing but pure devotion in his eyes and satisfaction on his face. It was one of the hottest sights you had ever laid eyes on, and you could already sense the power of the orgasm he was devoutly working on fucking out of you.
He started to fuck you harder, until the pounding from his strong hips felt like he was splitting you in half, and the depth was an exquisite, gratifying exaltation. His arms looked so large and strong as he gripped on to your hips and waist, his chest wide and stomach thick.
You were moaning, louder and louder, and then his fingers joined the fray, rubbing sweet shocks of pure bliss from your clit. You came hard and suddenly, your eyes shut, your face down into the bed sheets. He grabbed your hair, pulled your face up and made you watch as he had his way with you, as his own orgasm wracked his body, as he came deep and hard inside of you. His broad chest was wet with sweat, his large hands kneading at the soft flesh of your ass.
“Fuck,” you whined, orgasm-struck, the sight too perfect for words.
After a momentary pause, he pulled you into his arms and held you against his hot chest, and you inhaled the smell of him, musky-rich. You planted soft lazy kisses across his pectorals, licking at the tang of his sweat, savouring the salty taste of him. His heart was thudding quickly in his chest, and you listened to the beating proof of his affections, felt his hot breath in your hair as he kissed the top of your head, the strength of his arms that held you securely against his large body.
“I’ll never leave you,” he promised in a low authoritative tone. He began to trace shapes on your back with gentle fingers, and his tenderness was so comforting and reassuring - so rich with sincerity and faith that he threatened your eyes with tears.
“I know,” you reply. And you do, because you can sense the truth in him, feel it in yourself, in how he holds you, listens to and respects you. You smile into his hot skin: he’s here, and he cares. You have felt and seen it plainly, and what loneliness was lurking within you is no more.
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