Not sure if you're up for ideas, but I had an idea for your Marcus and girl!Wife series (absolutely obsessed with it it's all I can think about)
Basically, girl!wife and their daughter are setting up a small celebration for Marcus’s birthday, or something he accomplished. Including little gifts drawn or made by their daughter 🥹 (my heart)
I had to share this idea because I couldn’t stop smiling
Absolutely obsessed with this 😭 slipping this in before the next big chapter-💕
Warnings (allusions to sex, some birthday makeouts, Marcus being a suck for his daughter, oranges being referred to as a nameless fruit -call back to him telling you they’re his fave, Marcus getting cock-blocked by his daughter, reference to sacrifices made, as was the custom for birthdays) *felix natalis is how they used to say happy birthday, or so google says*
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Whispers greeted him at every turn, echoing through the halls of his house along with the sounds of Atticus’ cries, and Diana’s laughter. He rounded the corner and narrowed his eyes at the reactions of his family. His wife, the Sun in his sky bit her lip, gave furtive glances to their daughter who was even less covert.
“What are you two plotting?” He crossed his arms, honed his gaze in on Diana but she only looked to her mother.
“Whatever do you mean?” His wife spoke, gently rocking the child in her arms, calming him the way only she seemed to be able to.
“I mean–there is a plot in this house, and I will sniff it out.” He stalks, holding in the smile at the widening of his daughter's eyes.
“You forget that this is not the battlefield, Marcus, there is no plot.” His wife lies to him, he appreciates the fact that she does not crack.
“And you little one? Do you mean to keep secrets from your father? Who spoils you rotten, may I remind you?” He digs his fingers into her sides and she bursts with laughter, squirming out of his grip.
“There are no secrets, I have lessons!” She runs off down the hall and he shakes his head.
“You have taught her to lie to me.” He cannot hold the smile any more, and his tone is playful.
“I have taught her no such thing, it is you that has taught her to keep her thoughts and plans close to the chest.” Her eyes shine in the sunlight streaming into the room and he is, not for the first time, struck by her beauty. He would let her tell him a million lies, keep a million secrets if it meant she still loved him, if it made her happy.
“Very well. The two of you may have your plots, I will find out soon enough.” He pulls her to him, presses his lips to her temple and cradles the child's head in her arms.
-
It was hard to take care of the preparations with Marcus in the house, he seemed to hear through the walls. Diana was excited enough that you almost feared she might ruin the surprise.
“Remember, we must keep it a secret, he already suspects.” You whisper to her, guiding her stitches in the breezy peristyle.
“Yes Mother, I know. I will not tell him.” Her tongue sticks out, so concentrated is she on her work that it makes you smile. “What gift will you give him?” She asks, head still down.
“Aside from the traditional sacrifice, I have a special gift coming in–follow the line, not here, but here.” You gently shift the needle, and she nods.
“He will be so surprised, won’t he?” She smiles up, Marcus’ dimple on her face and you nod with a smile.
“Yes, if we can pull it off he will be.” She gets back to work, and you sit with her, enjoying the soft breeze.
-
He hums when you hug him tightly, sleepily smiling as you press kisses to his cheeks.
“How does it feel to be another year older?” You cuddle up close, burying your face into his neck.
“It feels much the same, I must admit.” His hands drift across your skin, sweeping from your shoulders, down your ribs to grab at your backside. “Much better company than I had in my younger years.” He kisses your forehead, pulling you even tighter to him.
“How much better?” You raise an eyebrow, lifting your head to look him in the eye. He laughs, groaning.
“Forgive me my love, I misspoke. What I meant to say was that in my younger years I was usually alone on this day, the poor company I kept was my own, or soldiers in a dirty camp. You are a goddess in comparison.”
“That does sound like an improvement.” You push him onto his back, straddle him in your bed.
“Oh it is, I am a very blessed man.” He bites his lip, settles back, openly enjoys the sight of you naked, sitting on his half-hard cock.
“I would say you are, General Acacius.” You rock against him, enjoying the pressure of him against your clit.
“I am about to be blessed again, by the way your cunt drips for me.” He surges up to meet you, the wall of his chest pressing tightly against yours.
“You are, my love, I ache for you.” His mouth claims yours, swallows the moan borne of his kiss. His lips travel down your neck, his tongue following the long line of your neck.
“How do you want me?” Your fingers curl into his grey curls, your hips swirling in his lap in an unhurried manner. He groans, big hands squeezing at the meat of your hips.
“I want you—“ the door to your chambers bursts open, and Diana runs towards the bed, ignoring Sabina’s words of caution behind her. Sheets that had pooled around your waist are pulled up and covering your nakedness in seconds.
“Diana my love, how many times must I remind you not to barge in when your father and I are alone?” Carefully, you shift away.
“Apologies mother, I could not wait.” She bounces on her heels, smiling big, looking to her father. He narrows his eyes, but smiles all the same.
“Father, may I give you my gift?”
“A gift? For me?” Why ever for?” He teases.
“Father!” She practically vibrates while you dress in your robes.
“Very well my little love, may I dress first?” He pulls her close, tickles her with scratchy kisses to her cheeks. The sound of her giggles fills your heart.
“But my gift—“ she pushes his face, smiling while catching her breath when he finally relents. “Mother helped me quite a bit, but I made it myself.” She moves towards Sabina, taking the neatly wrapped bundle from her hands and placing it in her father’s outstretched arms.
“I only guided, she did all the work.” You smile, adjusting your robes before standing beside her.
He shakes out the bundle, and his mouth falls open. It’s a snowy white toga, beautifully made, with gold thread woven through in symbols of protection. Three letters woven into the piece that would fall near his chest.
“Diana my love, why don’t you wait outside a moment, and I will help your father dress in it.” You press a kiss to her forehead and she complies, runs outside of the room with Sabina in tow.
Silently he rises, inspecting the fabric, studying the cut and the letters he’s found. He says nothing while you help him put it on, adjust and drape and fold so it sits just right. His palm presses against the letters, a curious expression on his face.
“She worked so hard on this, put her blood, sweat and tears into it.” You speak to him quietly, finishing the final draping while he feels the fabric between his fingers. With a final sweep, you leave him to open the door for her. She runs past, and stands before him, expectant.
“Diana, this is beautifully made.” He turns for her, showing her how well it fits.
“Truly? You truly like it father?” She holds her hands together, clasped together nervously.
“Like it? My darling girl I love it. It is perfect, the detail is so precise, and the letters—“
“One for mother, one for me, and one for Atticus.” She says softly, smiling a small smile.
“One for each of the members of my family. For the ones I love the most.” He crouches down to look her in the eye. “It is perfect, and I love it very much.” She wraps her arms around his neck, hugs him tightly. Emotion swells in both him and yourself. His eyes glisten and you know his heart is as full as can be.
“Felix natalis father.” She smiles, kisses him on the cheek before hugging you around the middle, and running out the door for her duties.
He is speechless when the door closes, overcome with emotion in a way you have not seen since she was born.
“I am truly blessed.” He smiles, wiping his eyes before pulling you close.
“The surprises do not stop, you must be ready to entertain.” You kiss his cheeks, “There is to be a gathering in your honour, people who love you will begin to arrive any moment.” He shakes his head in happy disbelief.
“I knew the two of you were plotting!”
“Yes we were, right under your nose.” You adjust his robes once more before kissing him softly. “As for my gift...”
“I pray it is just you, naked and wet.” He places a kiss on your shoulder.
“Aside from myself, and the sacrifice to be made to your health, your gift should be coming now.” The knock on the door signals your perfect timing, and a slave comes in with a tray of fruit.
He gasps, shocked at what the tray holds.
“Is it correct? Is it what you remember?” The tray is placed onto the table. “I confess I did not have much to go on but I sent letters to a few who I thought might be able to help me. Some of the men who went to battle with you. I pray I did not overstep.”
“I cannot believe you found them.” He peels the strange fruit and a lovely perfume fills the air.
“I have not eaten of this for years—“ he tastes it and smiles, eyes closed before offering a segment to you. The texture is much like a lemon, but so sweet, filled with juice. You can see why he loved it so much.
“Are you happy?” You finger-comb his waves back, stroke his brow with your thumb.
“I could not be happier.” He kisses you, tongue sweet both with love, and the fruit.
What is your favorite plant/flower? Happy birthday btw 💕✨🌸
Hmmm I don’t really have a favorite but I’m in Horticulture and I do have some that I call my babies they’re called blub and twit and @ejaculester named them!
JULES! It's currently 12:30am and I can't stop thinking about your Marcus gladiator fic. I need to scream this at you.
Picture this:
They are back in Rome. They are in the baths, public or private. I personally picture public ignoring the fact he would definitely get his own bathing area being a successful General but I digress. Someone has had a bit too much wine and gets a little too handsy and rough with his girl. That pisses him off so now he has to take a statement right? You can't touch what's his!
So he calls her into the water with him and has her continue the bathing while sitting on his cock before just eventually destroying her. Bonus points if he makes stoic eye contact with the offending party that started it all.
I cannot get this idea out of my head and I just had to share this with you.
Take care~! ❤️
Nonny - you really came for my fucking throat with this one... 😍😍😍 like... I stared at this with my jaw on the floor - what a mind you have... okay lets get into it
smut under the cut - 18+ and don't read more if you aren't into exhibitionism (not beta'ed and barely proofread lmao)
Series masterlist
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The campaign was finally over, for now.
He'd marched into the city with his legions behind him, and the streets of Rome roared to herald their victor, the famous, brutal, but efficient, General Marcus Acacius.
He waved, and made the appropriate salutes to the city, but he was sparing with his smiles, his eyes scanning even here in the safety of Rome's breast, for anything that might threaten his safety. You watched him from your place behind him, along with the other slaves that had followed him and his soldiers off to war, invisible in his shadow to anyone but him, and a few brazen few who had decided to test his boundaries. They had been forgotten however, the only thing that occupied your mind, was him.
His first stop had been his villa, to settle his household. It was all very cut and dry, his staff knew to keep his house in order in his absence and they did so, enough that he hadn't even spoken more than a few words while he made his way through. While he set about getting settled in, you did the same, moving silently through his halls towards your modest quarters. The road had been long, and you thought that you could probably get away with bathing, and taking a few moments to yourself, trusting that now he would be well attended to.
You barely got your bearings when he cleared his throat at your door.
"Apologies Dominus, did you want for something?"
"Gather your things, we go to the baths."
-
The baths, strictly speaking, were for everyone. There were certain ones however, like the one you were in now, that were privately owned. This one, was owned by a member of the Senate and friend to the Roman army, and as such, was populated by a few other soldiers, and their attendants.
Marcus spoke very little by nature, he was a man who kept his words as close as he did his coin. He said even less when confronted with raucous laughter, and men who couldn't seem to keep their dignity when taking a cup of wine.
His jaw clenched as you both settled into the warm waters of the baths and you set about washing the march and the war and the violence off of his skin, sitting behind him to rub the knots from his shoulders while ignoring the ever increasingly loud soldiers around you. One of them, was the same that had tested his patience in his tent, and by the way he kept eyeing Marcus in front of you, had forgotten the lesson.
"The oil, girl." He spoke low over his shoulder, and you belatedly realized you'd left the oil he liked with the robes when you'd undressed.
"Yes Dominus." WIth haste, and not an ounce of shame, you rose up out of the water and went to grab the vial, finding it quickly, but before you could make it back to him you were cut off.
"I can see why you like this one General, I can see why you're so greedy with her." The same soldier stands in your way, his hands grabbing at your waist. The wine in his cup spills onto your naked skin and for a moment you're afraid he'll paw at you further but within a moment he's as still as a statue. That's when you notice, the deathly hush that falls over the whole place.
You look up into the soldiers face and his eyes are as big as plates, a small dagger pressed to the apple of his throat, the point just deep enough to draw blood. You hadn't heard him come out of the water.
"This is the last warning I give you, the next time you put your hands on what's mine, you will die." His voice was a whisper, but it echoed through the room. "Have I made myself perfectly clear?"
"Ye-yes, Yes General." all humor had gone from the man, and when Marcus had pulled away, all taste for wine had as well.
Wordlessly you followed Marcus back into the water, but instead of sitting in front of you, he pulled you to sit in his lap, keeping his eyes on the spurned soldier.
"I want you sitting like this." His hands settled on your hips and you felt the way he hardened beneath you, "Continue." He spoke low, but clear and kept his eyes focused, daring anyone to question him.
You did your best to focus on washing his hair, on rubbing the oil into the skin of his shoulders and his chest, but his hands wandered, grabbing at your ass and fitting his cock between the lips of your sex, drawing out your arousal and making your pulse quicken. His lips descended next, pressing softly to your shoulder while his eyes remained fixed. WIth a move, he slid his cock inside, pulling a moan from your lips, it only served to bolster him, making no move to conceal what he was doing and you knew it was part frustration from being at war, and driving home his point.
He said nothing, but he didn't need to.
People watched him take you there, in the water, and they said nothing. Any modesty you had, and shame had been worked out of you long ago and now, all you felt was pleasure. Both at him bouncing you on his cock, and at him having taught the soldier a lesson on your behalf. You ignored the part that sang the sweet song of ownership. You were his, and he relished the fact.
"Dominus-" You all but moaned into his ear, "May I have your gift?" You bounced on your own now, holding onto his neck, pressing yourself tightly to him.
"Yes Girl, it's yours, take it." He grit out the words, his eyes finally finding yours. You sped up, using your buoyancy to your advantage, clenching around him on the downstroke and when you felt his hands tighten around your hips you knew you had him.
"May I have your mouth, Dominus?" You watched his lips as you bounced, and he smiled a tiny smile before claiming your kiss with the same ardor that burned in your veins.
His tongue licked into your mouth and within a moment you felt the first spurt of him, deep inside where he liked it to be.
After a few minutes you made to move but his hands held you tightly. You took a look around, but unbeknownst to you, the baths had emptied and you were alone.
"I did not feel you flutter, and I am not yet clean."
Request for another hurt/comfort the General bit (I'm counting the period chapter in that category). 'Greedy' made me think of other potential lovers that the Reader had in the past, maybe another master who had her before Marcus. Except not so much a lover but a slave owner using his property. And maybe this guy has some fancy job and gets invited to an event at the General's estate. And maybe he sees her and makes comments or approaches her in private. I'd love to see Marcus's reaction to something like that!
okay nonny, I see youuuu! Okay so I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but my mind raced and it is what it is - hope you enjoy! 🩷🩷
(thanks @absurdthirst for talking this one out with me!)
Lets get into it:
smut under the cut - 18+ and don't read more if you aren't into exhibitionism (not beta'ed and probably full of errors)
word count; 1.6k (series masterlist)
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He yawned, despite all of the flesh on display. You, were much more affected.
It had started out like every other gathering, food and soft music, raucous laughter and all manner of delights to draw the eye. Slaves adorned in intricate masks posed on pedestals, their bodies covered in white paint to make them look like living statues. Prominent Gladiators stood sentinel, stock still and oiled to showcase their bodies, breathing weapons, standing at the ready for the pleasure of the distinguished guests filling the halls.
Inevitably, the flesh on display had worked it's magic on the guests, and the lively conversation, had descended into cries of pleasure. The soft music changed from lutes and harps, to the wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh. The liquid squelch of arousal ringing out around you.
It was hard not to think on what it sounded like when your Dominus took you, his lovely sounds in your ear, his cock coated in your desire for him, and it was in you to mount him then and there, but he had not given any indication that he desired this, and so you stood beside him, shifting your weight from foot to foot, ignoring the ache of emptiness between your legs.
Despite his hunger for your body, a thing he indulged in almost daily to your great delight, he was an intensely private person. Anything he did in public, was to send a message, to secure his peace and to remind anyone who showed him disrespect, that he was not someone to be trifled with. For you, there was no difference. Whether he took you here, in front of everyone, or at the villa where you were alone, it made you drip all the same. There was no shame left, only lust.
He was speaking to another, a friendly conversation while your hands fidgeted with your tunic, when you saw a ghost from your past. A former owner, recognition and delight on his face. That Dominus had given you pleasure as well, not nearly as much as your General, and never privately, he liked to be in the middle of it, to be spoiled and shared. He enjoyed the spectacle of excess.
He smiled wide, making his way over to you with one of his girls, and one of his boys in tow, both of them roughly your age.
Marcus saw him approach, and you felt him tense.
"I see you have been blessed by Fortuna, found yourself in the house of General Marcus," He smiled at you, benevolent. "and he has brought you here, much to my delight-" He ran his finger down your arm softly, you felt nothing. "Come, let us move to a private room and indulge as we did-" His words were cut short, when Marcus' hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you away and onto his lap.
"I think you have forgotten who she belongs to, I have not given you leave to touch." His hand lands on your thigh, heavy and so welcome where you were draped across his lap. Your hands instantly wrapping themselves around his neck.
"Oh come now Marcus, what is it to share amongst friends-"
"We are not friends." He places a kiss at your throat, his voice like ice despite the petal soft feel of his lips on your skin, "and I do not share."
Your heart raced, and you couldn't help but giggle softly, this was what you wanted, for him to claim you in front of all.
The other man let out a huff, half laughing, half disbelieving.
"They are but slaves, why bring one as lovely as her if not to tempt, I offer mine to you freely, in the spirit of good will." He thrusts his girl forward, the boy too, both of them staring at the way Marcus pulls your tunic to the side to kiss your shoulders, their gaze devouring the path of his big hand sliding under your tunic to caress the wet slit between your legs. His mouth pulls away, but his fingers glide between the lips of your sex slowly, slipping over your clit in soft, wet strokes.
"What I do with what's mine, concerns me, and me alone." He turns to watch your face, how your mouth hangs open, how your breath catches with every delicious swirl, "What say you, girl, should I share you?" He punctuates his words by sliding two thick fingers inside you as deep as they can go and you moan, wantonly.
"No Dominus, please no, just you." You press forward, pressing your lips to his despite not being given leave to have his mouth and he laughs into the kiss, pulling away after a moment and you whimper when he takes his fingers out. He rubs them against your lips like a rich Roman woman would with the juice of a pomegranate, before sliding them into your mouth.
"You may leave us." He speaks to the man, keeping his lust blown eyes on the way you hollow your cheeks around his fingers.
Once the man walks away, tail tucked between his legs, you shift, feeling him hard and heavy underneath you.
"Shall we return to the Villa? Or would you like me to take you here and now?" His lips bite at your ear and your heart races to have him offer this to you, control, choice, luxuries that you have not been afforded in this life. It is such a vast difference from the life you led up until you came to be in his service. Servitude is servitude, that will never change, but you've never wanted anyone as much as you want him, you sometimes think that what you feel for him, might be more akin to obsession, something dark and all encompassing.
You bite your lip, smiling conspiratorially in the strong cage of his arms.
"I would have you take me here and now Dominus, I would have you show them who I belong to." You speak into his ear, sucking a mark into his neck, he rewards you with a deep groan and a heavy palm on your ass.
"Stand." His voice is commanding, and makes your nipples hard as pebbles. "I will take you from behind, so everyone can see how well you take my cock." He whispers it in your ear, turning you so you lean against the lectus, he hands another blow, a loud crack on your backside that makes you jump.
Gooseflesh spreads across your skin as you feel him lift your tunic, rolling it in on itself at your waist so it doesn't fall, and within a heartbeat you feel the blunt tip of him prodding at your seam. His hand slides around, and he puts it to your mouth, palm up.
"Spit." He commands, and you obey. It's filthy, and your heart beats like a hummingbird in your cunt at his tone. Eyes find you, of slaves and owners alike and they smile, enjoying the show and you smile back, the arousal like the teeth of some great wolf around your neck.
His first thrust was like a punch, and your body bent forward, your face pressing to the silky fabric of the lectus both in relief, and on fire.
"No, no girl, you will stay up, and see how they watch you take my cock." He lifted you up, pressing his hand to your throat to keep you upright.
"Yes Dominus." You replied, eyes half lidded in pleasure as he pulled himself out and thrust back in. He was harder than you'd ever felt him, hot and heavy inside and you couldn't do anything but stand there, on the tips of your toes and take what he gave. His breath came out in pants in your ear, his thrusts hard enough to make your breasts bounce, the hardened tips of them tickled by the fabric of your tunic.
Eyes of other slaves watched, and a wave of slick seeped out to find them almost covetous of the pleasure your Dominus so freely gave you, of the way his hand slipped around once more to find your neglected little clit, to pinch it between wet, spit-soaked fingers and pull your world apart. The sharp, starburst of pleasure spreading like a tidal wave throughout the network of your veins and he laughed in your ear.
"Already? just a little pinch and you gush all over me, girl?" He sped up, drawing out the pleasure until you all but wept, his cock kissing something divine inside you. "You like them watching you take it, you like it when I claim you for all to see, you like being mine don't you, girl?" His pace stuttered, affected by his own words and you turned your face to meet him in a misaligned kiss, whispering into his mouth that yes, yes you did, holding one hand on his at your throat, while bringing the other to hold the weight of your breast.
"I want your gift Dominus, please, may I have it? Please?" You begged him, relishing the way he couldn't contain himself, pushing himself deep enough to hit your womb, pleasure and pain mingling together as he ground himself almost too deep and painting your insides with his spend.
"It's yours-" His whisper was gravel in your ear, softer words following and for a moment you can almost convince yourself you’d heard him say I'm yours but you ignore it, your imagination and your arousal running rampant. Instead you wait until he pulls himself out, and turn in his arms ignoring the eyes that follow you and wrap your arms around his neck. You claim a kiss, licking into his mouth with an authority unavailable to you in any other aspect of your life. His seed leaks out of you, dripping onto your inner thighs as he pulls you close, letting you take your fill.
"Can you take me home Dominus?" You press kisses to his throat, running your tongue across where you feel his heart beating there, "I desire for you to take me again." He shudders softly and never in your life, have you ever felt more powerful.
I'm wondering, when was the exact moment he realized (and admitted to himself) that truly loved Girl? Was it the moment in battle when the blade hit his side and he thought he was at death's door? Was it during a routine when she helped him with something? Was it watching her sleep after a particularly steamy tryst?
Obsessed with this- please enjoy xoxo
warnings: injury, Marcus coming to terms with his feelings
Masterlist series masterlist
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The sword is so sharp, he barely feels it. There’s a strange gratitude borne of that realization, the other man is a worthy opponent, a man who cares for his weapon enough to keep it honed. Marcus found himself remembering injuries from his youth, from knives and swords that had not been so well cared for.
He kills the man all the same, but he makes it painless. A tribute to the fighter and his tenacity.
“General!” One of his men calls out to him, eyes wild at the loss of blood and then he really feels it, a steep, rapid decline in his energy. His mind brings one thing to mind as his body fails him, her face. A sharp image of her smiling at him as he almost falls onto his face, his man manages to catch him before the world goes black.
Flashes of consciousness greet him over the next few days, men fussing over him, cups of strong wine pressed to his mouth. Mostly, what he sees is her. His fevered dreams were filled with her face, filled with the smell of her, the taste of her.
When he finally woke a few days after the injury he knew that he’d been changed. He’d never given much thought to his death, it was inevitable, especially given his station in this life. It had never scared him, never given him pause, until now. He had to survive now, had to see her again, had to tell her how he felt. The thought of it kept him conscious, kept his heart pumping to the tune of her name, kept him going until he finally made it to her. Made it home.
Hi, thanks for continuously expanding the story of The General. I like reading it. :) I'm just wondering if you might feel like writing kind of like sci/fi time travel troupe where a woman (willfull and stubborn) from the present gets transported back to ancient Rome and meets Marcus Acacius. How would their dynamics be?
Obsessed with this, genuinely—I started a little something 👀
Not sure if I’ll continue it or make it into something big but I loved the idea of them not even understanding one another.
Hope you enjoy! 💕
(Not beta’d, barely proofread)
—
Warnings; threat of violence, language, shifting POV, plenty of historical inaccuracies I’m sure lol
Pairing; Marcus Acacius x Modern F!reader (time travel shenanigans)
Word count; 1.4k
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The sigh doesn’t fix anything, but it helps with the frustration. So you let out another one, deeper than the original while you gather your wits. This was Rome, a massive city with millions of tourists trekking through it just like you, surely if they could do it without getting hopelessly lost, you could too.
The ruins were a maze, incredibly easy to get mixed up and turned around in. It was just a matter of retracing your steps and rejoining your group. Easy peasy.
With renewed optimism, you follow the sounds of people ringing through the remnants of the temple, or bathhouse, or gladiatorial training rooms… where the fuck even am I again?
You backtrack through the doorway, turning left into what must have been an antichamber, or dormitory? The mosaic under your feet isn’t familiar and a sense of dread creeps along your spine, should you have turned right? There’s a giant arch in the distance, one you distinctly don’t remember walking through. It doesn’t look as aged as the rest of the structure, most likely preserved when the site was excavated.
Walking through the arch fills you with a foreboding dread, like being dunked in ice water. It leaves you dazed, stumbling into the light of the sun almost drunk. An open door all but manifests and it’s with a relief so great it almost pulls tears from your eyes that you finally exit the building and step into the open air. You cannot help but laugh at yourself, embarrassed by your reaction, by the silly fear of getting lost.
The sun is hotter than you remembered it being when you left the hotel that morning and all at once the desire to explore and take in the culture all but evaporated. Resigned to abandon the tour, you decide to make your way back to the hotel. The new goal, the new prize for the day is a shower and an ungodly amount of pasta.
The road is nowhere to be found. The tourists have disappeared, and have been replaced with what looked to be actors. A fresh horror spreads through your veins, the exit you came out of must have led somewhere you were definitely not supposed to be.
-
He’d been called forth to deal with a strange situation. A woman had somehow infiltrated his camp. He frowned at the news, scoffing at the sentinel who’d brought it to him.
“A woman? Solitary? One woman snuck passed you and made her way into my camp?” He all but sneered at the soldier, anger pulsing in his head to learn that his guards were not as observant as he would have thought, as he trained them to be.
“General, by the Gods, we did not see her. One moment there was no one and then the next she was there, like some apparition.” He seems rattled, Acacius didn’t blame him. A lapse in protection meant death and dishonour. It meant his army was not in the shape it should be. Rome was not safe, not protected.
“Well, what has she to say for herself? What explanation did she provide for her miraculous presence here?”
“We do not know, we cannot understand her.”
He sighs. Anger bleeds into his tone when he orders her brought to him, dismissing the useless soldier in the process.
When they bring her to him, he frowns. Her robes confuse him, the fabric almost painted in the strangest shades, some he’s never even seen. She clutches at a bag, at a strange jar and although her voice is clearly agitated and angry, he cannot understand the words she speaks. Her face is painted, eyes darkened with some sort of kohl, lips shiny with oil and for a moment he thinks she might be one of the women who sold herself.
“Peace, woman.” He puts his hands up and speaks slowly, “I need to know where you come from, and why you are here. What is it you seek?” She twists her face in confusion, anger colouring her voice more still. She screams at him in more words he doesn’t understand until the soldiers that had brought her approach to no doubt silence her. At the sound of their footsteps her eyes widen with what he knows is genuine fear.
“Don’t.” He commands them, and they stop in their tracks. “Leave her with me. Go about your business, and tighten up the borders of this camp.” He sends them away with daggers in his voice.
“But General-what if she attacks?” They hesitate for a moment.
“I can handle her. Go.” They leave, her eyes follow them before turning back to him. She speaks again but he shakes his head.
“What am I to do with you then, hm?”
-
If you had known that you’d land in some insane fucking ancient Roman reenactment, you would have stayed in the hotel.
The older man is really into his role, some high and mighty soldier or general on a power trip or God fucking knows what, holds you in his tent. You try to explain to him calmly and then not so calmly that this is a mistake, that you didn’t mean to crash their party and that you just want to make it back to the hotel. He frowns, and shakes his head with confusion. He responds in his own language, what you imagine is Latin and the frustration floods you once more.
“If you cannot help me, I will leave. I’ll just go back through the stupid building and see if I can catch up with my tour group. If they haven’t already left, God if I missed my shuttle I will lose my fucking mind.” With a sigh you clutch at your bag and turn towards the entrance. You don’t make it three steps before he grabs at your arm, holding you in place with what sounds like a stern warning.
“Listen, I appreciate the realism and everything here, but let go, I need to leave.” You try to shake out of his grip but it’s iron, his big hand tightens enough to hurt.
“You’re hurting me, let me go!” With a growing fear, you try harder until he pulls a knife from a hidden pocket and presses it to your throat. He points to the entrance, to you, and then presses the tip to your neck once more.
You cannot understand his words, but the warning is crystal clear. If you leave, he will kill you.
“Intellego?” You can infer what he must mean, and so you nod. He returns the gesture and puts the knife away. He moves about the tent while you stand there, arms aching from clutching at your things, body trembling with fear and adrenaline at his threat of violence. He continues speaking, his deep, clear voice filling the space while he moves things around and gestures to a giant scroll.
Stuck like a fly in honey, you watch him pointing and talking, half listening while you try to formulate an escape route.
He comes close with a huff, pulling you gently towards his table.
It looks like a map, but it’s not like any map you’ve ever seen.
“What the fuck am I meant to be looking at here?”
He continues speaking, pointing at the map, and then gesturing outside. He points again, at a different spot and then to himself.
“Oh.. okay you’re from here?” He nods, then he takes your hand and puts it on the map, repeating his words and you can assume he’s asking you to point out where you come from.
“Dude I don’t know, this map is wild as hell and about a thousand years out of date from the looks of it.” You move your hand away but he persists, a bulldog with a bone. He takes your hand and puts it on the map, then taps your chest, asking his question once more.
“I’m not on this map!” You tap your chest, and then to the edge of the map, “I’m not here, we’re not on the map yet. Understand?” You gesture again, pointing to an empty edge, and point to yourself.
The look on his face is almost funny, he’s either really committed to his role, or this is the weirdest fucking dream you’ve ever had.
He’s quiet after that, ruminating, studying you with a critical eye and after the day you’ve had you don’t have the patience. You sit in one of the chairs, resigned to endure the ride until you find an opportunity to get off, and away as quickly as you can.
imagine her helping him shave, maybe during her slave days, and he makes her sit in his lap, legs danging on either side of his, her chest almost pressed to his while she gently scrapes his face, concentrating really hard as not to slip accidentally
and its SO hard because he’s making her so nervous, staring at her with the hint of a grin, watching her try so hard
omg I love this so much!!!!! 💕
Let's get into it! 👀 (Allusions to sexy stuff, promises for later, mentions of slave / master relationships - power imbalance, shaving accidents, Marcus being a secret soft boi)
-
The tray is heavy with foods to break his fast. Soft eggs and warm bread, bowls full of berries and a lighter red wine to begin the day. You focus on it, carrying it slowly through the hall and into his chamber. His huff of frustration greets you when you make it through the door. There's a hiss of pain when you set it onto his table.
"Fetch me a cloth, Girl." He sighs the words out, and you rush to obey.
"Oh!" You gasp, he's made a massacre of his face.
"Is it very bad?" He grimaces, looking closer into the mirror he holds in one hand.
"It looks very painful, Dominus, shall I help?" You hold your hand out for the sharp blade he held.
"I suppose you cannot do any more damage than I have." He hands it over.
"I will take care, Dominus. I beg of you to sit here, closer to the light." You gesture to window and he drags the heavy iron chair over to face it. Once he's sat, you bring his wash basin over and set it on the ledge.
He looks up into your face when you approach him, sun shining clear into his eyes, turning them to pools of honey. With gentle hands you wipe the blood away, assess the damage he has done before reaching for the cleansing oil.
Silently, you rub some of it onto his face, careful not to get it into the scrapes and cuts.
"I would ask you not to move, Dominus." He nods, and then you begin. Slowly, you scrape the edge along his face, focusing on the whiskers he wishes to remove. Carefully, you carve out the neat shape of his beard, over one cheek, and then the other, shaking the dirty razor into his washbasin with every pass.
"You are skilled at this." He breathes the words out low, careful not to move. You smile and nod. "When did you learn?" His hands settle onto your hips and your heart skips a beat.
"In my younger days, I had a master that detested hair. He ordered all of his slaves to be completely free of it. And so we had to learn to remove it on ourselves, I learned quickly." You tip his face back gently to work on his neck.
He pulls you closer, and you plop onto his lap before the next pass. You huff out a nervous laugh, smile, feel the heat of him through the tunic and focus on not cutting him, instead of the warmth pooling between your legs.
"I confess, you are gentler and more skilled at this than I. You might have to do this for me from now on." His hands travel, a slow, caress across your thighs, up towards your waist, up to your back.
"Your will, Dominus." You finish strong, smiling at your handiwork. A damp linen removes the little hairs you've cut away, and he looks handsome as ever.
"Gratitude, Girl." He feels his face, gifting you with a rare smile. He's so solid underneath you, so warm and strong.
"Shall I disrobe?" Your hands land on his shoulders, creep up to curl into the curls at the base of his skull. A knock sounds outside his door and his guards call to him, visitors he must greet, duties he must perform and he answers them with a tired voice.
"There is nothing I desire more, but alas, I am summoned." You stand, disheartened and unfulfilled, resigned to desire him for the rest of the day but he pulls you into his arms, presses his lips to your mouth.
"Come to me later, and we will finish this." He winks, and then leaves you with your lip caught between your teeth.
Hey there! Not sure if you're still taking submissions to expand your creativity, but I'd love to see what you come up with for everyone's favorite murder daddy, Dave. You have some great Dave stories, just curious if you still vibe with him. I love the look on his face when he gets caught in a lie, how he just lets the act drop.
Ouuu I DEFINITELY still vibe with Dave, I’ve been kicking around this idea of Dave and the surrogate him and Carol hire. Thank you for this ask!
Please enjoy the (possibly first part if I am inspired enough to continue🫣)
Dave (Murder Daddy) York x F!Reader
Pairing: David York x F!Reader
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings: **TRIGGER WARNING** NSFW 18+ INFIDELITY! (reader is a surrogate, David is married) language, Smut, PIV sex (wrap it up), dirty talk, Dave has a pregnancy kink 👀- let me know if I missed any!
(please note this is not beta'd and barely proofread)
Masterlist
-
He’s not exactly sure how to feel about the situation. Carol, his wife, is set on it though, and everything just feels easier to accept than to fight. There’s no real reason to deny her request, not unless you count the glaring fact that Dave York didn’t technically love his wife.
He respected her, he appreciated what she brought to his life, he valued her as the perfect cover, but he never loved her. Not really. He’d made the commitment though, he’d said the words, he’d done all of the things that were expected of him as a man and husband and he’d committed. He’d even stayed faithful, he was in it for the long haul despite his lukewarm sentiments for her in the emotional department.
When she broached the subject of children, part of him–the part that hated being tied to someone he felt nothing romantic for–rebelled. It set off warning bells and alarms about the finality of the whole thing. If they went through with this it would signify the complete intertwining of their lives. Even if in the future, for whatever reason they separated, a child would be the bonding element. The zip tie around his ankles.
These fears, and a million more flooded his brain within seconds of her bringing up the subject, spiking his blood pressure and widening his eyes before he reigned it all in. He’d gotten his shit together though, and shifted the deer in headlights expression to a benign smile. He’d agreed with her, ignoring the cold sweat trickling down his spine. She’d gone to bed happy that night, excited to embark on the journey while he stayed up, terrified and apprehensive in the dark cavern of their room.
He’d expected their sex-life to have a dramatic increase, he’d expected her to keep track of her cycle, to schedule their trysts according to her fertile periods and ovulation windows but she’d shocked him by suggesting a surrogate a few days after the initial talk. He’d always known her career was a priority for her, it was one of the main reasons he’d committed to her in the first place. The one characteristic they shared for real, their devotion and commitment to their respective jobs but he’d been a little taken aback at her not wanting to carry the child herself.
“It’ll be so much easier for me, I won’t have to give birth, I won’t have to quit my job and with childcare I’ll barely be away from the office at all.” She’d said it with a toothy smile, so proud of herself for having thought of it, it had rubbed him the wrong way. Not for any of the archaic, sexist reasons you’d imagine, but he expected them both to take time off once the baby was born. He was all for her hiring someone to help should she want it but with the way she spoke, it sort of seemed like she expected their lives to continue without interruption after the baby was born.
Despite his reluctance, despite his concerns and his general disagreement with her in how their lives would change with children, he said nothing.
“Whatever you think is best, honey.” He’d smiled his agreeable smile and she’d accepted it happily.
-
You almost didn’t answer the phone call, the name of the agency flashing meant another potential pregnancy and while the money was great, the emotional toll was a little more than you’d expected. You answered anyway, cursing yourself but smiling through the conversation all the same.
With nails chewed down to the bone, and the raw edge of your t-shirt pulled until light blue strings hung like tinsel at your hip, you agreed to meet with the new couple and see how it went.
-
The Yorks meet up with you at the coffee-shop down the street from your house.
Carol is a lovely woman, a little manic maybe but there hasn’t been one potential mother you’ve met up with that hasn’t been. There is grace in you by the mile for her.
Her husband, David, is another story, and it isn’t a new one–different flavour maybe. The men usually puttered around, awkward and detached while their wives took the lead. It wasn’t always a malicious, uninterested thing, you just found that sometimes it took them a little longer to connect to the idea. Once that baby was born though, they were usually just as emotional, just as invested in the whole thing.
David isn’t so much detached, as clinical. His questions are concise, practical and intelligent. He supports his wife, even if he seems a little cold. His looks are…something to be impartial to on your part. Tall, broad, clean-cut and handsome–completely your type. Completely gorgeous in that, ‘you could be sort of dangerous’, ‘tell me what to do’ sort of way.
You do your best to ignore the initial attraction, ignore the heavy way his eyes seem to bore into you and focus on the objective. This couple wants a baby, and you’re open for business.
The agency called a few days after the initial meeting, congratulating you on being chosen, and a whole host of appointments lined up for check-ups, blood work and for insemination. There’s a request from the wife, Carol, though, for a private phone call before everything is to begin and you accept.
When she calls you a few days after that, you’re taken aback by what she wants to discuss.
“Okay, so I know this is a lot to spring on you but I was wondering if you’d be open to donating your own eggs, I know it’s usually just the surrogacy–my fertilized egg implanted and done, but I wanted to know if you’d be up for it. I would pay of course, the agency has given us the fee for the surrogacy and then I would add the fee for egg donation. You don’t have to agree right this second, and if you find you aren’t comfortable with that then I understand. Let me know once you’ve thought it through.” You can hear the smile in her voice, when she hangs up, you’re shocked. The idea of the extra money is appealing, that can't be denied but something about it gives you pause.
You sit with it for a few days, weighing the pros and cons. The money is the biggest pro. It would be enough to finally buy the little house you’ve been dreaming of, enough for a down payment and to have a few months worth of mortgage payments. On the other hand though, there would be a child out there that is partly yours, a little girl or boy with your hands or eyes or your quirks living with another family. It’s all a little dramatic, but you always thought your children would be yours, with the love of your life.
Your future ends up winning, and after a brief call to confirm that yes, you would be willing to donate your egg for the surrogacy, the process begins.
-
The regiment of vitamins is insane, the shots and the fertility clinic visits are just as overwhelming as they’ve always been, despite there being no monetary aspect to worry about. You go through with it though, sometimes Carol is there with you, but mostly you go it alone. When the time comes to harvest the eggs, they end up with five. David makes his own contribution and all are fertilized.
Carol smiles as the doctor explains the process, that there are two boys and three girls and something inside you wilts a little. She is happy, and the whole thing snowballs, what keeps you going is the thought that by this time next year you’ll be happy and living in your own home.
They implant the first embryo, the sex of which is left to the doctor's discretion. Carol doesn’t want to know until it’s born and part of you thinks that might be for the best. It would help keep the emotional aspect of the whole thing separate. Might help to keep you objective through this whole ordeal, remember that it’s just like the other times.
This is Carol and David’s baby, not yours.
-
The morning sickness hits a couple of weeks after the procedure and you know it took. You can feel it in your bones. You wait though, do things the right way and test at home, call for a follow up at the clinic to test thoroughly there and when the time comes they tell you what you already know.
Carol and David send a massive gift basket to your apartment, so big you can barely lug it over to the sofa. It’s full of prenatal vitamins, treats to satisfy every craving. There’s a giftcard to a maternity store, one for a fancy local cafe, and then another one for the expensive grocery store. There’s a pregnancy pillow and soft pajamas, it’s very thoughtful and you genuinely appreciate the thought.
Communication between you and the couple–well, Carol–is pretty consistent, David joins in on the random facetime call but you’ve accepted that he’s one of those men that only connects with the child once it's born. You push away that constant little thorn in your brain, the one that reminds you that he’s the father, and that the egg is yours.
-
Their house is a lot nicer than you’d imagined, it had to be for the amount they’re paying.
Carol holds your arm as you walk through, even though there’s really no need. Although at twenty weeks and showing quite a bit, the baby isn’t a hindrance yet. Not in terms of getting around anyway. Hormonally however, that’s an altogether different story.
She prattles on while you eat, chattering happily about studies she’s read and the food and its beneficial properties. She speaks about nutrition and the size of the baby while you smile around your bites.
David stares.
He barely speaks at all, a complete contrast to his wife and instead studies you as you sit there, in his house. It's a bit unnerving, intimidating and the heaviness of his gaze makes your hands tremble. There's something in his eyes that sets off those hormones you’d been battling, the ones that begged for a partner, for a man to rip your clothes off and give you the business.
Your mind gives your libido a serious talking to, all but dragging your imagination by the ear while smiling at them both.
When the meal is over, David blessedly excuses himself, clearing the table while Carol ushers you to the sitting room sparing you from your unsavoury thoughts about a married man, about the father of the child you were carrying for them. About her husband.
“Okay tell me what you’re feeling, has the sickness gone away now?” It’s the first question she’s asked all night.
“Yes, thankfully the nausea has relaxed, I’m not throwing up as much. I’m feeling pretty good actually, despite being alone.” You smile, huffing a frustrated laugh. She tilts her head in confusion.
“Despite? Is there something you need help with? I could hire a nurse to come check in on you—“
“No no, it’s nothing like that. It’s more to do with the hormones.” You wave it away, dismissing her worries.
“Is it more supplemental? Should I get more prenatal vitamins for you?” You sigh, maybe you aren’t being clear enough.
“No, nothing like that, I have everything I need, believe me. It’s just, being single, and hormonal sucks. This is probably too much information but I’m just incredibly horny.” You laugh, half embarrassed and half amused by the expression on her face, it’s replaced with an empathetic smile.
“Oh! Oh gosh I’m sorry, yeah I can imagine that must be frustrating.”
“It is, incredibly so. I am five months pregnant and all I want is to be fucked into my mattress you know? I’m sorry that sounds horrible—“ you cover your mouth but she waves away your concerns.
“Not at all, in the books I’ve read it’s completely normal. I’m sorry you’re going through it alone.” She pats your hand, kind above everything else.
David walks in then, broad shoulders filling out his white shirt so nicely. There’s a tightness in his frame that gives you pause, an intensity that wasn’t there at dinner and it only highlights the loneliness, highlights the absence of a man like him in your life. There is no David waiting for you at home.
“Would you ladies care for a coffee? Or maybe a tea for you? I’m not sure if coffee is okay–”
“I would love a coffee.” You smile, in your previous pregnancy coffee had been a no-go but luckily, this time it was something you still enjoyed.
“How do you want it?” The question is simple, and appropriate in context, but your body can’t tell the difference, and the desire to say ‘hard’ is on the tip of your tongue. You blame the baby, and the tornado of hormones flooding your system, as well as your panties.
“Um. Just–uh–” You flounder for a moment, mouth watering at the thought of him asking you the same question in bed, “Um.”
“Just bring the tray with the cream and sugar, honey.” Carol smiles, oblivious to the torment.
“Can I use the restroom?” You rise quickly, body warming, nipples hardening at the barrage of images flicking through your mind.
“Sure, it’s just through here.” He points you in the right direction and once you close that door behind you, you let out the sigh trapped in your throat. You wipe away the arousal, annoyed with the sticky damp seat of your underwear, and splash some cold water on your face before rejoining them. The rest of the evening goes by smoothly, and once you’re home again you vow to put it out of your mind.
-
Another basket arrives at your door a week later.
With a smile, you open the card, curious as to what Carol has sent this time since it’s wrapped up in brown paper.
Just between you and I,
Wish I could help.
Enjoy, xoxo
David
His writing is neat, block letters so different from Carol's loopy script and for a moment you’re lost as to what he means. The paper rips under your fingers and what you find shocks you into frozen silence. It’s a collection of sex toys, different sizes, things that vibrate and thrust and alongside them are bottles and vials of arousal serums and lubricants. A whole menu selection of self-exploration. Your cunt clenched at the thought of using them, at the thought of him thinking about you using them.
Your conscience chimes in, knocking down the door your libido had barricaded yourself behind and picked up your phone. WIth a shaky hand, you look through your emails and finally find his number.
“David York speaking.” He answers and his voice sends a thrill through your body, you push it away, focus on the anger that should be there.
“David, It’s-”
“I know who it is,” he sounds amused, and it only fuels the fire inside, whether it's in anger or arousal you cannot be sure, “I’m assuming you received my gift.”
“Yes. I–I think you should come by and pick it up.” The wobble in your voice betrays you but you push through, “I am guessing by your note that Carol has no idea you’ve done this.”
“No. She doesn’t.” there is no wobble in his voice, and that only annoys you.
“Then why?”
“Because I heard what you said about how you’ve been feeling, the hormones, how horny you are and since I cannot fuck you myself, despite how badly I’d like to, I want you to be satisfied.” Your cunt clenches at the thought, at the knowledge that despite the way your body is changing, he still finds you attractive. Your hormones rage, they cloud the sense that screams that this is wrong, that he should not be saying these things to you.
“It’s, um. David, this is so–inappropriate. I need you to come pick these things up, Carol wouldn’t be happy to know you’re speaking to me this way.” You take a deep breath, gathering your good sense. He’s silent on the other end, the sounds of people milling about in the background coming through and then he hums softly.
“Understood, I’ll stop by after work.”
“Thank you.” You hang up, and bask in the rightness of putting him in his place, even though your body screams and rebels at the loss of everything.
When your doorbell rings just before four-thirty, your heart races. He’s smiling when you open the door, the basket waiting on your table. He says nothing when you step aside for him to come in but the mistake becomes obvious when he fills your space. His eyes bore into yours and the smell of him, the crisp lines of his suit, the breadth of him clouds your brain.
“There’s really none of this you’d like to keep?” He opens the package, pulling a little bullet out of the package, testing it against his palm before turning to you. Your heart races, your nipples harden, your cunt leaks.
“Um. No–no I shouldn’t–”
“Shouldn’t?” He smiles, “Sort of sounds like you want to.”
“What I want makes no difference, you’re married, and I’m carrying a baby for your wife.”
“My baby. You’re carrying my baby.” He takes a step forward, “and you’re suffering, and to be honest, hearing what you said made me harder than I’ve ever been in my life.” He towers over you, stepping close enough that you have to tilt your head to keep eye contact.
“It did?” Your conscience screams, begs you to see reason and to back away, to shove the basket at him and shut the door in his face.
“Oh yes.” His fingertips brush against your shoulder, sliding up to curve around the column of your neck, “You just need someone to give it to you, don’t you baby?” He tightens his hold and a moan slips out, something filthy and his smile is sharp. When he presses his mouth to yours the dam breaks and you clutch at him like your life depends on it.
He groans when he pulls your clothes off, his mouth engulfing your nipple, the gentle scrape of his teeth turning your cunt to liquid on your couch. With shaking hands you loosen his tie, shoving his shirt off as he rips your leggings down.
“Turn around, I want you on your knees.” He moves away, leaving your nipples puffy and shiny with this spit. You swallow thickly before getting on your knees on your couch, your heart races at the sounds of him taking his clothes off, all of you a raw nerve when he presses up behind you.
When he slips inside, the world makes sense.
His cock is perfect, thick enough to make you gasp, that tiny edge of pain amping up the pleasure. Your face dips down, pressing against your forearm on your sofa but he pulls you up, your back hitting his chest, his hips snap roughly, pulling you apart with every thrust.
“That’s it baby, just take it–” He talks into your ear, one hand holding onto your belly possessively, and the other slipping around and when he touches you your body tightens up. The bullet is on and he presses it against your clit, shoving you into an intense orgasm.
“That’s so good huh? Fuck you’re squeezing me so fucking tight–” He doesn’t stop his rhythm, his cock kisses your cervix as he fucks you through your peak, the vibrator making your legs shake. Your hands reach back to hold onto his hair, clutching.
Tears slip out, his hand moves from your belly up to your breast, he pants his exertion into your ear and the pleasure builds again, ramping up until you reach down to pull his hand away, it’s too intense.
“David–” The voice that comes out of your mouth isn’t yours, it’s some wounded, desperate animal and he laughs, swirling the bullet quicker until you scream, clenching around him hard enough that he groans and spills his own passion deep inside.
He kisses your shoulder as you float back into your body, thumb strumming at your oversensitive nipple while the other lets the bullet go and cradles the swell of your belly.
You feel his come when he pulls out, part of you gets horny all over again, part of you feels incredibly ashamed but it's hard to focus on it, especially when he sits back on your couch and pulls you into his lap. Wordlessly you straddle him, pressing yourself close.
“We shouldn’t have…” You speak mostly to yourself before giving into the urge to kiss him, his tongue licks into your mouth, his hands sweep from your shoulders to your back, down to the swell of your ass, kissing you like he’s done it a million times.
“No, we shouldn’t have, but we did, and if you give me like twenty minutes we’ll do it again.” He skims his nose against your throat, and you hate that it excites you so much you feel both your arousal and his come drip out of you.
He stays another hour, fucks you in your bed, and again in your shower before getting dressed and leaving you sore, and more satisfied than you’ve been in years.
