jack waking you up in the early hours of the morning, four maybe five am; you can feel him before you hear him, tossing in the sheets beside you, turning from that troublesome back of his to his side and then back again, seemingly adjusting and readjusting, more than few times over. you’re not nearly awake enough to care, your body simply takes notice of the divot changes in the bed - with distant awareness, your eyes remain peacefully shut.
eventually he lets out a huff, succumbing to his ache and turning over to your side, his bare body heat entering your space and radiating onto you; as he leans in, heavy and intensely warm is his breath on the hair which curtains your ear. his voice is gritty and sleep ridden, above a whisper and dripping his brahmin accent, “roll on your stomach for me.”
it takes a few fleeting seconds for the words to even register, barely conscious enough to give a hum of acknowledgement even as you oblige; messily moving and twisting in the linens to be on your frontside, stomach and chest meet the plush mattress below. with his eyes holding only a squint in the low - almost no - light room, his large hand surfs easily through all your maneuvering, finding the small of your silk nightgown covered back and following its soft seams to your equally as satiny thighs, guiding your leg to a 90 degree angle, far enough away from your other for him to fit right inbetween them.
the chill from the duvet falling away and off your body sparks your mind to awaken the tiniest bit more, as it now only comforts from your calves and below, a result of jack settling himself on his knees in the middle of your spread; keeping one hand roaming and kneading at your skin as the other sleepily fumbles to pull himself out of his boxers.
his hard-on pulses and springs out of its cotton cage immediately, its sensitivity already on high, causing him to groan in a low octave as he palms and massages the leaking pre-cum around his tip a few times as a lubricant. steadily gaining consciousness, you peer over your shoulder at him, through hooded lids; the sight of him looming large, with tousled hair and no shirt, his hand to his cock and his sleepy contorting-in-need face cause your anticipation to present in an ever so slight arching back to give him better access, and the rush of arousal liquidating in your center.
he slides your negligée up in a smooth motion, exposing all of your glory for his taking. the soft heat of his hand cupping your hip bone is a small, polite comfort, an action he does it with intent - to hold you still, to hold you close, to feel you.
your head has fallen back to the pillow and eyes have closed once again as he aligns himself with your opening; he can’t even bring himself to tease you and your rim, as he usually does, he’s much too tired, with too much of a craving to even consider playing a game. he enters slowly, his cockhead savoring your all encompassing, sleep-hot tightness. it fills your slick center fully, in deliberation, one long drawn out stroke inside that causes an involuntary soft toned-yet complete sighing moan to fall from your lips.
upon entrance, he gives another rumbling base-of-the-throat groan, with a mumble through gritted teeth, “god, that’s it…”
he’s now put both hands on each of your naked and open hips, gripping with pressure that would typically cause you to squirm, but in this moment, is the second most pleasurable sensation being inflicted upon you. he guides your hips, instead of thrusting his own - a testament to his laziness, regardless of how good he makes you feel - extending and conducting them upward, until he’s just a new centimeters from falling completely out of you.
there’s a second of pause; just a beat too long of him holding out, and as you’ve got the taste for him now, there’s a flash idea of simply pushing yourself back on him, but before you can even think it all the way through, he drags you back down, with more vigor than that first, sweet stroke.
you yelp, the squelch of his intense re-entering and hitting of your spot just perfectly fills the silent night with a pornographic mist; his breath is shaky and heavy, and though your eyes remain closed and shielded by a mix of hair and cotton from the pillow your face is buried in, you already know he has the most salacious, magnificent, strung out look on his face; knitted scrunched brows, squinting eyes, jaw slack in bliss. jack kennedy is a beautiful man, but never is he more beautiful than when he’s seven and a half inches deep inside you.
his hunger seems to overtake any exhaustion he may be experiencing, as he suddenly, almost rudely, quickens the speed at which he moves you; his fingertips burn into your skin, delightfully possessive, grasping the velvety flesh of your ass. the sensation of his relentless in and out is scorching and so filling you can’t possibly contain the noise that escapes through your mouth and nose; it’s exactly how he likes it, and if you didn’t already know it, his gnashing “c’mon, let me hear you,” is confirmation enough.
“jack,” you sigh out, your forehead digging into the memory foam as your writhe in his hedonism; as he brings you down for a particularly hard and godlike blow, striking your walls to make you see stars, your hand flies from clenching the fitted sheet below you to his hand, which remains firmly planted on your hip. your palm smacks his knuckles and in the same motion, your thumb hooks under his pointer finger, which only just gives way for you; it’s such a small, seemingly insignificant, act of intimacy, but somehow bridges a gap between you both.
“i know,” he answers, panting and moaning - but he doesn’t actually, because truthfully, you don’t know either. saying his name just feels right.
as you tighten the hold of his hand, and he never once falters, you for some reason have the inappropriately timed thought of all the hands that have shook this one - from the greatest political figures of the time to the average american citizen, they’ve all touched it, cradled it, savored it - and yet, none know of it’s perversion and dirtiness, that you are the one to ultimately own it. it’s this hand that shall mark your body time and time again, completely yours.
your hips begin to move on their own, circling as he heaves them up and down, making sure his tip to shaft reaches every bit of you. his head falls back, now in true heaven, and just as you feel yourself reaching a head, he pants out, “baby…”
baby, a name you only ever hear right as he’s about to cum, indicates to keep going as you’ve been - the pace he’s chosen works in perfect harmony with your grinding, “please, jack.”
everything within yourself suddenly pulls to your center and pushes downward as you reach your climax, unapologetic about the obscene sound pouring from you; the knot in at the bottom of your stomach unravels as a rush of pleasure runs up your back and throughout the whole of your body. jack follows immediately after, bucking up into you with fervor, pulsing and twitching inside you while releasing angelic whimpers only you get to hear.
you both remain still for a passing moment, catching your breaths and reveling in the practical porn you just partook in. jack removes himself from you after less than a minute, nothing short of typical for him; you hiss at the feeling, going from full to barren allows the cold to take jack’s place within you. he takes another second-long pause before reaching down and tenderly kissing where his hands have no doubt bruised you - each side of your body gets a drawn out pressing of his lips, nothing short of atypical for him.
he mumbles something that sounds distantly like an i love you, before climbing off the bed entirely, and shuffling to the en-suite bathroom of your shared bedroom. not long after the light has flickered on and the bathroom door has been pushed but not closed entirely, you hear the shower head spurt on and the curtain draw; jack begins his day, leaving you to the tranquility of bed, as he continues to spill out from you in a stream while returning to sleep.
summary. what happens in the backseat stays in the backseat.
notes. 18+ because this is just straight smut.
the inside of jack kennedy’s car is dark. almost pitch black save for the few street lamps in the distance that shed some light through the windows, just enough to make out each other’s silhouettes as the two of you go at it in the backseat. the expensive leather of the upholstery is cool beneath your palms as you press them up against the back of jack’s seat, trying to steady yourself in his lap. your knees feel like they’re going to give out at any given moment with how furiously he blazes a trail of kisses down your neck and collarbone, sucking and licking at the skin there, starved as if the two of you didn’t just share the most mouth-watering meal not even half an hour ago.
you can’t help but grind down into him, the feeling of his bulge pressing into your lace-covered center and his hands gripping onto your waist and your ass all becoming too much. a cross between a whimper and a moan leaves your lips as he administers a particularly hard squeeze to your behind, his kisses traveling lower and lower. his hand at your waist comes up to your décolleté, taking one of the delicate black bows on your shoulder that holds your sleeve together between his fingers. he almost growls, a restrained noise emitted from deep in his throat as he takes the skin of your collarbone in between his teeth.
“you drive me crazy, you know that?” his voice is hoarse, breathless. and although you can’t see them, you’re sure his eyes are wild with lust, like you’re actually driving him insane.
you take your hands from behind jack’s head and bury them in his chestnut hair, coaxing him out from the crook of your neck and shoulder. it’s too dark to see the exact expression gracing his face, but you can faintly discern how his eyebrows are starting to stitch together, a tell-tale sign he’s getting needier. you bring your face close to his, in hopes of a kiss, but his grip on your shoulders holds you in your place. only centimeters apart, his breath fans over your lips in hot wisps, and you flutter your eyes close and clench down onto nothing, praying he’ll crash your lips together in the midst of the lustful glory that is burning in both of the pits of your stomachs. but you unclench when you feel no change.
you skim the tip of your nose over his bridge, an act of intimacy that has his heart racing in its ribcage. “only because you let me,” you finally reply, voice colored with lust. this seems to send him over an invisible edge as he finally uses the grip on your shoulders to pull you into him. the kiss is not gentle. it’s not the sweet one he greeted you with at your door when he had picked you up for dinner earlier. it’s rough and wet, your lips immediately parting for jacks tongue to taste your mouth. he dominates–as he always does, the sound of smacking echoing off the walls of his cadillac. after a rather harsh suck you administer to his tongue, jack bucks his hips up into you again, and this time you can’t ignore the wetness pooling in your underwear.
your slutty moan into his mouth is so loud it vibrates his teeth. your grip on his hair tightens and it sends your fiancé a reminder. while he’s been trying to be better with patience, teasing you more with foreplay—building you up so he can make you fall, there’s only so much jack kennedy can do before he just fucking takes you. he finds the little bows that decorate your shoulders, the ones that have been teasing him all night, and gives them a tug, and suddenly, your strapless black bra is exposed and the rest of your dress is pooled at your waist. goosebumps rise on your skin at the sudden exposure, and so do your nipples, which jack must already expect because before you can even shiver he’s undone your bra with one hand.
you throw your head back in bliss as his mouth greedily takes one of your nipples, sucking and grazing his teeth over the sensitive peak. you start to gyrate your hips onto his bulge, trying, desperately to relieve some of the pressure on your clit that your fiance insists on putting off.
“please, jack,” you beg him as he sucks even harder on your nipple. your words, and the grip on his hair, seem to register in him as he finally acquiesces, parting with your breast after one final lick.
“you want it that bad, kid?” he asks, teasing because he already knows the answer. kid. it’s so demeaning, so dismissive. a constant reminder of how much older jack is than you, how much more experience he has. but you just can’t help but love it whenever he calls you it. a nickname reserved just for you. you keen further into him, your panties now undoubtedly leaving a wet patch on his dress pants. even in the dark he can tell your skin is flushed, your lips red and kiss-bitten. a sudden flash of light, headlights from further down the residential street, allow to him fully see your face for a moment. pupils blown wide with lust, hair slightly messed up from its previous perfect coiff, you look even better than jack had imagined.
suddenly, your hands grip on his dress shirt, the white fabric bunching between your fists. jack rubs up and down the sides of your bare ribcage, trying to soothe you, but the pained expression on your face doesn’t let up.
“oh, please, jack,” you repeat yourself, subconsciously hoping the begging will stroke his ego enough for him to take pity on you. he lifts a hand up to your face, cradling it oh so gently, stroking his thumb against the plush of your cheek for a few moments. his expression is soft as he watches how the muscles in your face relax and your grip on his shirt relents. and then, he practically shoves his fingers past your lips.
your eyes widen before you realize what’s happening, but then you greedily accept his appendages into your mouth. he drags his fingers in and out, and you subconsciously begin to bob your head along, like you have done so many times before, earning an atta girl from jack. the saliva pools inside your cheeks rather quickly, and you're practically drooling on his pointer and middle fingers. when a glob off your spit drops onto jack’s thigh, he deems them lubricated enough, and doesn’t spare another second before extracting them from your mouth and down to your dripping core.
his fingers, slick and deliberate, slip into your even wetter panties, and the moan that escapes you is pure instinct. an expletive soon leaves his lips after he makes contact with your swollen clit. “jesus fuck, you’re soaked,” he seems a little surprised, considering how you’d been dripping all over his pants the whole time, but you didn’t have it in you for any snide remarks tonight. “you didn’t even need to suck on my fingers, did you?” the last two words are punctuated by how his fingers effortlessly sink into your cunt, and another sinful moan escapes you at the feeling of the stretch. you shake your head, the best answer you can come up with to his question, and he chuckles snarkily.
his nose is brushing against yours, and he whispers, clandestinely, “but i know how much you love to suck on them.” the tips of his fingers graze the spongy spot inside of you, and you buck in jacks hand, wrapping your arms around his neck in a desperate attempt to bring him closer, make his fingers work faster.
“mm, jack,” you mumble against his neck, and he responds with a hum of his own, fingers continuing to work in and out of you.
“gonna cum!” you squeak out after a particular hard brush against your g-spot coupled with the heel of jacks hand slamming into your clit. but before you can clench down around his fingers, jack slows his pace, and then completely withdraws them.
“no,” he says, voice hard, but you can still hear the playfulness that lies underneath. you whine in protest, the sound muffled into his neck as you clench down around nothing. “you’re gonna cum on my cock.”
this seems to placate you as you lift yourself off jacks chest, a small smile plastered to your face. you raise yourself off of jacks lap slightly, just enough so he can unzip his pants and bring them, along with his boxers, down to his thighs.
his cock springs out, red and angry and neglected, and he hisses as it's exposed to the cool night air. he brings his hand, still slick with your juices, up to your mouth, palm outstretched, facing toward you. your brows knit in confusion, eyes flicking towards his face in hopes of him giving some kind of direction.
“spit,” he tells you, watching with bated breath as you gather a glob of saliva in your mouth and let it fall on to his hand. its so dirty, so perverse, but you do exactly as he tells you, and you can't help but secretly acknowledge that slight hesitation you put on is really an act. he makes a noise of appreciation before spreading your spit and slick all over his cock, getting it nice and lubed up before he splits you open. because jack kennedy is nothing if not a gentleman.
he spreads your panties to the side, fully exposing your cunt to his waiting cock head. you bite down a whimper and the tip stretches you out, and jack throws his head back into the seat at the feeling of your sweet cunt finally wrapped around him. the rest of the shaft slides in fairly easily due to your obscene wetness, and once he bottoms out, your small pussy stretched to its limit, you let out a relieved moan despite the mounting burning sensation in your center.
“fuck, kid, just keep it right there.” jack tells you, hands coming up to harshly keep your hips in place. his eyes are screwed shut and his brows are furrowed in pure bliss at the feeling of your tight warmth. but you’re starting to get ancy. you know jack is doing this for you, to let you get properly adjusted before you start fucking him, but you can’t wait anymore.
you steady yourself, placing your hands on his shoulders before dragging your cunt up. he moans out in surprise, eyes fluttering open to watch you begin to ride him. it’s a desperate pace, fast with your somehow new found energy along with the help of jacks hands on your hips.
“such a dirty girl, letting me fuck you in the backseat of my car, huh?” you’re looking at him, watching his mouth move. you can hear his words, they make even more wetness gush from your cunt, but you can’t speak.
“where anybody can fucking see,” he adds on through gritted teeth. his hands move back to your ass, grabbing the cheeks, using his hold to maneuver you up and down on his cock like a doll. his doll. the only sounds you can release are pornographic moans. your chest is slick with sweat, and your bottom half is hot in your full skirt with jack’s cock mercilessly stretching out your cunt.
“fucked dumb already?” he asks, but he knows you won’t respond. knows you can’t. you whine in response, closing your eyes in embarrassment. he brings a hand up to cup your face. he cradles your jaw. not harshly, just holding you. anchoring you.
his other hand goes up to play with one of your tits, pinching and twisting at your nipple in his cruel, teasing way. it sets your skin on fire, the burning in your clit intensifying tenfold.
the slapping of skin and jack’s grunts fill your ears as the hand cradling your jaw makes its way down to your neck. his sweet, innocent fiancé likes to be choked. it made his balls tighten to see the expression on your face when he applies pressure on your neck.
“oh fuck, i’m gonna cum,” he confesses, his thrusts—and yours, are becoming sloppier by the second. his grunts are becoming more breathless, more high-pitched. “you want me to fill you up?” you nod instinctually, your hands going up to wrap around the wrist that he’s choking you with. the thought of your fiancé pumping his load into you is almost too much to bear. ”i’m gonna cum, too,” you tell him for a second time, already feeling your center tightening in anticipation. your voice is strained against his hand around your neck. your clit is rubbing roughly, deliciously against the fabric of his dress shirt.
but before you can reach your release, and jack can fill you up, a knock on the window next to you makes your heart jump up to your throat. the silhouette of a man makes you scream, and jack quickly pulls you into him, shielding your bare chest and face.
“let me handle this,” he tells you, calm, but there’s a graveness to his voice that lets you know to shut your mouth and do as you're told.
the sound of him cranking down the window makes you physically wince, but you feel like sobbing when the man outside starts to speak.
“good evening, i’m officer johnson with d.c. police department. you two do know this is a residential area?” the cop questions, obviously insuating that he knows exactly what you two were doing.
“good evening, officer. my apologies, my fiancé here wasn’t feeling well, and we uh just had to pull here over for a minute,” jacks says calmly, lying through his teeth with what you assume is a smile. you feel a warm fabric being laid over you—jack’s suit jacket. a little too much to drink at dinner.”
“right, well, i’m going to need to see some identification,” the officer continues, just as accusatory as before. jack’s cock is still inside you, throbbing, and you’re trying so hard not to pulse around him. praying that if you keep completely still, maybe you’ll disappear under his jacket.
“of course,” jack replies, reaching around for his wallet. you feel his shoulders slightly relax when he finds it. “here you go.”
a few moments pass, you assume the cop is looking at whatever id jack gave him. he’s drawing soothing circles on your back with his fingers.
“you two best be on your way home now,” the cop concedes, and jack pats your back like you’re a sick baby. “of course, officer.”
“have a nice night, senator kennedy. ma’am.” hearing him acknowledge you makes you want to shrink into the floor of the car. your face is burning with embarrassment; you can practically feel heat radiating off of your cheeks. finally, you hear the crank of jack rolling up the window.
you shoot up off of him, tears brimming in your eyes, but your fiancé doesn’t look the least bit phased. in fact, he’s holding in a laugh.
“are you laughing? you asshole!” you slap him on the shoulder, your voice high-pitched and incredulous. the sound of jack’s melodious laughter fills your ears, and it almost lightens your spirits. almost.
“oh, come on, kid, lighten up!” he tells you, his hands coming up to rub your waist soothingly. you shake your head at him when you feel a fresh bout of tears prick your eyes. you close them, hoping to hold them in, but you feel one escape, dragging slowly down your flushed cheek.
“that was humiliating, jack. humiliating,” your voice is thick from your tears, and you feel more escape when you see the cops silhouette in your mind again. jack’s hand comes up to your face, thumb wiping away the wet trails that now grace your cheeks.
“come on, sweetheart, no crying. he didn’t even see you,” jack tries to be rational, to comfort you, but he can tell it’s not helping.
“he-he probably thinks i'm some floozy!” you exclaim, your crying continuing. he pulls you into his chest, large hard stroking the back of your head as you sob into his shoulder.
“no, no. you’re not a floozy. and even if you were, it’s none of his business.” that elicits a small, wet chuckle from you. and although it’s muffled by his chest, jack still smiles.
after a few moments your crying slows down, and you lift yourself off of jacks chest to wipe your eyes, and the trails of smudged mascara and eyeliner, but he grabs your hand mid-wipe to stop you.
“i like you better like that,” he tells you, a smirk playing on his lips. you know exactly what he means.
you smack his hand away and scoff. “you pervert,” you lift yourself suddenly off of his cock, and he grunts, the movement surprising him. “you can’t be genuine for one minute!” he just chuckles, and you climb over the console and into the front seat, hoping to make a point. you slide your arms through jack’s suit jacket, the black material swamping you, but you pull it across your chest anyway, concealing your bare skin.
“kid, i’m sorry,” he starts, before getting out of the backseat and opening up the door to the driver's side. he looks disheveled, but his eyes are sincere. “i don’t wanna fight.”
he gets into the front seat and takes the keys sitting on the dashboard and slides them into the ignition. the car roars to life, the sound of the engine comforting, knowing that this whole wretched ordeal was over.
“i don’t wanna fight either,” you tell him, and he reaches over to squeeze your cheeks together, something he always does when you're pouting. what’s that’s face for he’d always say, and you’d somehow always smile.
“now put your seatbelt on. we’re going home to finish what we started.”
The letter was unsigned, unpostmarked. Tucked inside a plain white envelope that bore only her name—handwritten, unmistakably in his script.
She hadn’t slept much since Dallas.
She had watched the funeral in silence, the tears coming only when she saw Jackie, veiled and hollow, holding the hands of their children. The sound had gone out of the television then, or maybe it had gone out of her world.
The letter sat on her desk for hours before she finally opened it.
Alejandra—
I don’t know if I’ll send this. Maybe I won’t. Maybe it’s safer that way. You always told me I never knew when to leave something alone, and maybe you were right. But there are things a man ought to say before it’s too late.
I’ve done the things I was supposed to. I wore the masks. I played the part. But you were the only thing I ever chose for myself.
I miss you. In a way that terrifies me.
Yours, always—
J.
She closed her eyes.
There had been a time when she thought she could change the ending—rewrite the lines before history inked them in permanent record. But Jack had always belonged to the world, even when he told her otherwise.
The fire beside her cracked softly. She didn’t move to feed it.
Instead, she placed the letter in the drawer beside her bed, where the others lived—hidden, unspoken, untouched by time.
And then she whispered into the stillness, “You never stopped being mine.”
—————-
Ok, so this is the prologue to my JFK fanfic. Kind of scared tbh but y’know what, YOLO lmao
But forewarning: this is not going to be a happily ever after fanfic (clearly as stated in the prologue). I’m thinking of going forward with a forbidden love-esque, right person, wrong time type of thing. Don’t ask me why…I guess I just love angst and heartbreak…y’know emotional torture for some reason. If you’re interested in this fanfic continuing on, let me know! This is me putting out some feelers
Also….no smut unfortunately…I’m not good at writing smut as much as I am at reading it but if someone wants to take over the smut part, let me know.
Further Info: senator jfk, secretary reader, desk activities, rough sex, caught in the act (gasp)
Word Count: 1.1k+
A/N: can you tell temporary secretary was on my wrapped this year Sorry this took me so long! Fun fact, this fic is based on an account someone had of walking in on Jack having an encounter with a secretary while he was working as a senator. I can't find the exact passage right now but trust me ok. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!!
You never seemed to mind working late nights. There was something oddly calming about the office after hours--perhaps, the absence of the constant din of ringing telephones, or the gradual silence that fell over the once-busy street below. Though you enjoyed the presence of your colleagues, you found yourself quite productive in this environment. Preparing documents that once felt daunting became a breeze under dim lamplight, plus, there was always the rare opportunity to hand-deliver said documents to the ever-elusive Senator John F. Kennedy.
Usually ducking in and out of meetings, bombarded by phone calls, or out on a business trip somewhere, the Senator was a rare fixture on your floor during normal work hours, much less at night. That you caught him at all was by a sheer stroke of luck. As you plodded down the hallway, freshly-marked papers in hand, you noticed the door to Kennedy’s private office slightly ajar, the room illuminated by the faint glow of his desk lamp. Your heart lept into your throat as you approached the door tentatively, trying to make as little noise as possible out of fear you’d disturb his important business. You gave the already-open door a gentle knock, just loud enough to alert the man of your presence.
“Come in,” Senator Kennedy said absentmindedly, his eyes fixed on important-looking papers scattered across his desk. The air was hazy and thick with lingering smoke from the butt of his cigar, which lay smoldering in a nearby ashtray. You slowly shut the door behind you, accidentally creating a noise loud enough to redirect Kennedy’s attention. A wave of fear nearly knocked you over.
“Oh, my apologies,” you stammered. To your surprise (and relief), Kennedy smirked and began to chuckle. “There are easier ways to get my attention, you know,” he joked. Your cheeks flushed beet red. You knew the effect he had on women. Many of your colleagues were absolutely smitten with the man--and who could blame them? Kennedy had such a disarming way about him, his gentle-looking blue eyes and chiseled masculine jawline were a mere fraction of what made the senator so sought after by the other secretaries. His wit and charming personality had endless swathes of women wrapped around his finger, yourself included.
You let out a coquettish giggle and hid your face with one hand.
“I, just, um, finished editing today’s documents.” You were appalled at how dreadfully awkward you sounded, but who wouldn’t struggle to find the right words in front of someone so handsome?
“So that’s your excuse, sweetheart? You secretaries are so creative.” Sweetheart. Hearing the nickname in his thick Boston accent turned your knees to rubber. Senator Kennedy stood up behind his desk and gestured for you to come closer, which you immediately obeyed. He placed a rough, hairy knuckle just below your chin and softly tilted your head upward to meet his gaze. The man looked ravenous as if he had been waiting for you to fall into his trap. You felt your heart erupt in a flurry of butterflies as he craned your head to one side, lowering his lips to your ear.
“Promise to be quiet for me?” Kennedy whispered, his textured hands now grasping at your breasts over your blouse. You nodded coyly, your body red-hot with desire.
“Bend over,” he commanded. You set your papers down and pushed them to the side, making room to place your hands down sturdily on Kennedy’s desk. Behind you, the senator slithered his rough hands under your smart plaid wool skirt, hiking it up to your waist before pulling your undergarments down just enough in one swift movement. You felt so exposed. You never dreamed of being the kind of girl who would satisfy a man somewhere so… public. Though, the door was closed, and it was a particularly quiet night, save for the sound of the senator fiddling with his belt.
You inhaled sharply as Kennedy traced his fingers upward along the curve of your backside, pausing to give you a firm squeeze. You felt yourself dripping in anticipation. His teasing was agonizing--you wanted more. Gently, he began to draw circles on your throbbing clit. You clasped a hand over your mouth.
“Struggling already? Don’t break our promise, now,” Kennedy remarked. Though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel his sly grin. Never one to waste time, he quickly removed his finger, replacing it with the tip of his cock at your entrance. Instinctively, you backed into him, trying to accommodate his girth as slowly as you could to not injure yourself.
Rough hands placed firmly on your hips, Senator Kennedy began to set the pace--quicker than you anticipated, but every bit as pleasurable. You swore his hands were leaving prints with the force in which he held you. Kennedy let out a barely audible, almost pained grunt as he buried himself deeper. Desperately, you gripped the desk in an attempt to keep yourself from falling forward.
You listened to the senator softly curse and whisper incoherent pleasantries as he steadily quickened his tempo. You felt your stomach turn--the growing sensation of climax was rapidly approaching.
Suddenly, the wooden door swung open.
“Mr. Kennedy--” He paused in shock before finishing his sentence. You were certain no one else was around at this hour, but, sure enough, a suited man had unceremoniously interrupted your rendezvous. Gasping in shock, you hid your face in one hand.
“God damn it, did you ever learn to knock?” Senator Kennedy quipped, obviously annoyed.
For a minute, the man stood there watching silently. Though, the Senator didn’t stop, or even slow down. It was almost like his words moments earlier were in vain--had Kennedy wanted the man to see you in complete submission? The thought crossed your mind once more as you looked up to find that the strange man had left, the door still slightly open.
The swelling feeling in the pit of your abdomen returned with force. Your arms shook, struggling to hold your weight as a white-hot wave of pleasure enveloped you. A gasp escaped your parted lips, followed by a hushed moan you could only describe as pathetic--something you were sure Kennedy must have enjoyed. He tightened his grip on your hips as his legs began to quiver.
“Fuck,’ Kennedy grunted, his cock throbbing furiously as he was overtaken by a powerful climax. The senator’s breathing was labored as he slowly removed himself, almost as if he was experiencing physical pain. You stayed frozen in your position for a brief moment of rest, desperate to catch your breath. God, you were sore. Turning around, you watched Kennedy fasten his belt, signature smirk still plastered on his face.
Chapters: 3/?
Fandom: Political RPF - US 20th c., Historical RPF
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: John F. Kennedy/Original Female Character(s), Ethel Skakel Kennedy/Robert F. Kennedy
Characters: John F. Kennedy, Original Female Character(s), Kennedy Family (US Political RPF), Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. (1888-1969), Robert F. Kennedy, Ethel Skakel Kennedy, Original Male Character(s), Original Child Character(s)
Additional Tags: Marriage of Convenience, strangers to friends(ish) to lovers, Alternate Universe - 1950s, toxic parental relationship, character death (mentioned)
Series: Part 4 of Kennedy RPF's (JFK, Jackie O, RFK)
Summary:
Synopsis: She’s a doctor, he’s a congressman. She’s a caretaker, he’s constantly ill. She needs money, he has it (his father’s). Her name brings social capital, and next to his, it’s perfect. He’d have a politically well-timed marriage, and she’d have financial security. He’d live in Washington and she’d stay in New York. Both at their jobs. Her as a diagnostician and him as a congressman. A marriage of convenience. Clinical, without needless emotion or romance. Correct?
