can you PLEASE make a second part of the "who did this to you" fic? maybe some smut if its okay like she's frustrated that he treats her too gently now?? only if ur okay with smut requests
Breaking Point
Kylo Ren x Fem!reader Word Count: 10.79k Warnings: SMUT! Talks of being hurt in the past, oral (male and female receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, possesive!kylo, dirty talk, slow burn teasing, sexual frustration, kinda sorta bratty reader, some angst in there too. Authors note: Alright, I didn't mean for this to be so long. I love this request, though. The reader might come off as desperate at first, but, personally, I think the pay off is worth it.
Continuation from this request, but can be read as a one shot! Next Part
You were healed for almost a full week now. The last bruise had faded, the cuts were just small scars now. It had been over a month since your face was bruised and bloodied at the hands of some men who couldn’t stomach your rank. It had been over a month since you and Kylo realized what you had was more than just a surface level, physical relationship—and now you got to walk with him without being careful of the stares, or think of a way to explain away your time spent together.
But it had also been a month since he last touched you the way you needed him to. Not the way he used to.
With the kind of desperation that made it hard to breathe, the weight of the secrecy and adrenaline. Since that night that he saw you littered in bruises, he hadn’t laid a hand on you without care and caution. He hadn’t kissed you without pulling back. He hadn’t taken you, not even once, even when your mouth found him in the dark, hands pressed under his shirt, trying to coax something deeper out of him. You tried, you really did. Let your fingers act impolitely, soft moans into his mouth, shifting into his lap, whispering things that used to break him. He would only tell you that you needed to get some rest. Kissed you too gently, touched you like a feather.
You were going insane.
At first, it made sense. The bruises were fresh, you flinched so easily at every touch or when he shifted the wrong way. You couldn’t even sleep without sharp pains in your side.
But you were healed. Medical cleared you ten days ago and it didn’t hurt anymore. You wash your face with careless hands, stretch and eat without biting down on your teeth, you had been back in drills for weeks at this point. You never felt stronger. You were fine.
And he still wouldn't touch you .
Today was a big day for you. Busy with meetings, briefings, prep sessions. The halls were buzzing and boots were moving, orders barked faster than they could be acknowledged. You barely had time to breathe…
But you were leading your first mission team. Not just observing another officer, but leading. An official extraction op, leading troopers to retrieve an informant in the outer rim of a disputed system. Of course, Kylo was leading the entire mission, but you were in charge of your own unit. Your name was on the tactile file. Your orders would be followed. They didn’t hand this stuff out lightly. You worked hard for this and proved yourself.
But there was something else you wanted today. Something you hadn’t had since before the bruises and rumors. Before your relationship was something open for comment.
You had plans to meet Kylo before deployment, a short break in his quarters, just enough time to eat, check gear, maybe go over squad information for the last time… But you remembered what it used to be like before his missions. He used to grab you roughly, like the impending violence lit something in him, pushed you into a shadowy hallway and into a dark utility room. He’d take you like the galaxy was ending and he wanted to taste every inch of it before it did. He used to need you, remind you what all that power in his was good for, feral and focused. And you wanted that again.
It felt like a good place to get it, here in his quarters. A familiar ground you hoped he remembered.
Kylo walked in and he looked like a man. His cloak was slung low on his shoulders, sleeves unfastened, sweat still drying at the collar of his black undershirt from drills this morning. No helmet or gloves, hair pushed back into uneven curls, loose in his movements. You have to grip the edge of your chair to keep from standing too fast.
You watched his back rise and fall, staring down at a datapad. His discipline wasn’t present in his shoulders. And then he looked at you, like he just remembered you were there. Like he just realized what you were wearing. Your new uniform, layered and professional, but it hugged your waist tightly, the top four buttons undone to give you room to relax. The way you were already looking at him like you needed something…
God’s, you wanted him so bad.
And if he wouldn’t come to you, you’d go to him. You stood up quick and crossed the room with strides.
He raised a brow when you got close. “You’re early.” He noted.
“So are you.” You murmured.
He never had time to respond before your hands gripped his face and you kissed him. You tilted your head and pressed your mouth to his with hunger. Not too messy yet, but enough to show him what you meant. His mouth parted in surprise, hands lifting halfway, one hand just resting on your hips, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.
You pulled back an inch and looked up at him. “You don’t wanna..?”
He blinked hard, “I never said that.”
You reached up and slid your fingers into the collar of his shirt, tugging at him a little. “So prove it.”
You kissed him again, deeper, tongue brushing his lip and pulling a breath from his throat. You let your body press to his chest, and he set down the datapad, finding your hips and gripping. His other hand curled at the nape of your neck with pressure. His kiss turned greedy as he stepped forward, walking you backward toward the table with forward pressure. He kissed you like he meant it. Hard and breathless and messy, like he hadn't tasted you in weeks. Because he hadn’t.
You missed this.
But right when your spine hit the table edge and you made a sound in your throat, needy and aching. He broke the kiss quickly, his hands falling away from your body.
“Shit,” he muttered, stepping back like he had just remembered something important.
“Ky?”
He looked at your waist and ribs, wherever the worst of your bruises used to be. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Kylo, I’m fine.” You reach for him, grazing his wrist. “You didn’t hurt me.”
He hesitated when he looked at your mouth, the flush of your chest and the desperation in your eyes. He swallowed hard and looked away.
“We should eat before the mission.” His voice was so controlled now.
You stared at the back of his head when he turned. “Is that what you’re thinking about right now?” You asked quietly.
He shuffled around the drawers, pulling out two ration packs. “You need to be prepared for your first mission.” He handed it to you, performatively casual as his eyes didn’t reach up to your face, and you took it, pretending his answer was reasonable. Like you didn’t feel rejected, even if it really was just restraint. But your body was left hot, untouched, your mind spinning with things you didn’t have time to say right now.
Your uniform clung in too many places, sweat dried beneath your collar, lungs working through adrenaline when you took your seat at the round table. You had scanned for heat signatures, finding cloaked transmitters in the rocky canyons successfully. It was a dry and steep region, much more difficult to navigate than you expected, the comms interference was worse than you had been warned about. But you did it. No missed signals, no casualties, just an efficient extraction.
It was over, and now came the official recount for the sake of formality. An Admiral had given you a clipped nod of approval on your way into the debrief, and that meant something, even if no one else had caught it. The briefing room flickered red and blue display monitors and lines of intel updated data that scrolled against glass. Kylo sat near you, just in your line of sight.
You felt him staring when he looked away. You always felt it, even through his black mask.
You answered questions, reviewed your squads movements. You had clearly done better than most officers expected. But you were so warm underneath your uniform. The adrenaline hadn’t cooled, your collar sweaty against the collar of your shirt.
From across the room, Kylo’s eyes carved into you unapologetically. He tracked every inch of visible skin, gaze lingering at the stretch of your neck where your collar had dipped, sweeping down the line of your jaw as you spoke. He was cataloging you in hunger, like he was remembering the feel of your body. The exact weight of you beneath his hands and is trying to burn the memory back into his mind. You licked your bottom lip, and for a second, his lips parted under his helmet, jaw flexing and forcing his eyes away, like he had to physically rip himself away from the thought of you before he crossed the room and did something about it.
When the briefing cleared, officers filtered out until no one was left except you and him. Kylo didn’t move from his seat, legs wide as he leaned back a little. The tension in his shoulders gave him away. You didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him. Let him look at you.
The air between you two thickened as the silence went on. He wasn’t pretending not to stare, he wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore. You couldn’t pretend not to like it.
You stood slowly, knees brushing the edge of the table, arms loose at your sides, a heat crawling under your skin that had nothing to do with the afterglow of a mission.
His gaze followed you like a gravity field.
You tilted your head slightly as you approached him, leaning back slightly on the table in front of him, slotting just between his legs. His chest was riding slightly faster than it should have. His hands rested loosely on his thighs, fingers flexing now and then under the gloves, like he was fighting the urge to do something with them.
“Your sweep formation,” he said suddenly, low voice, “It was clean. You handled the canyon coverage better than most officers would have.”
“Wow,” a grin tugging at your mouth. “Thank you, Commander.” Light and airy.
You let the air thicken between you before you leaned in just a touch more, reaching for the sides of his helmet and took it off. It was almost ceremonial the way your movements slowed, fingers finding the release points like muscle memory, practiced, deliberate. You watched his face appear. A tense jaw, a parted mouth, a ridge between his eyebrows, endearing helmet hair. You set it down beside you.
His eyes were dark, still burning, absolutely lost in whatever was going on behind them.
You leaned in, voice like velvet and low. “It’s so hot in here.” You murmured. “My uniform’s clinging everywhere.” He blinked once. His throat bobbed with a swallow. You let the words drip from your lips like lava. “I’m dying to take it off.” You watched his eyes flicker everywhere. Down your throat, tracking the line of your collar. “Might need a hand.”
You stood from where you leaned, bracing your arms on the back of his chair. He fell back in his chair, face so close you could feel how ragged his breath was.
“I’m impatient, Ky. I’d let you take all this off. Right here.” You added, letting your fingertips trace the edge of his tunic. “Right now.” He looked like he might say something, but it was stuck in his throat. His lips parted again, but closed with another gulp. When the silence stretched so tightly it nearly snapped, you leaned in, brushing your mouth over his ear with an exhale. “You gonna do something about it?”
Finally, he did. He stood suddenly, so fast the table behind you rattled. He loomed, tall and sharp right in front of you, heat rolling off of him with intensity. His chest pressed against yours, hand finding your waist, flexing, but still all too gentle. You could tell though, he was close to snapping.
His eyes dropped again to your lips, huffing through his nose, completely in your space, nose brushing as you balanced yourself with a hand on the back of his neck. You saw the moment he caved into the thought of it, saw the hunger flash across his face.
His mouth opened—
Then a sharp blare of a comm echoes down the hallway.
He flinched, taking half a step back, but it felt like a mile of space opened up between you.
He cleared his throat, still where his hands hovered where they were about to grab you. His eyes flickered toward the door.
“I should go check that.” He finally spoke, voice annoyed at the interruption. He knew it could be nothing, but he couldn’t ignore his work duties. But still, he didn’t move. Not for a few seconds. His body remains right in front of yours, breathing slow and deep. He hadn’t quite pulled back his restraint. You could see the battle in his blown out eyes, the sheer effort it took to choose the door over you. “You can’t…” He started, then stopped. “You can’t just look at me like that before I have to leave.”
You just smirked, feeling like you had just won a small battle. “I’m not doing anything.”
His eyes dropped to your lips again as you bit them.
“I’ll see you later.” He muttered, grabbing his helmet off the table and tearing himself away from your space, turning before he couldn’t help himself again.
You didn’t see him later. He got caught up, pulled away into a meeting that went on too late.
But the training room was empty the next day, just like you’d both planned. Tucked away in a soundproof chamber near the edge of the starboard wing. Quiet, reserved for higher ranking officers, meant for privacy.
There he was. Waiting on a mat, turned slightly away from you. No cloak, no helmet, not even his tunic. Just a fitted black sparring shirt that clung so tightly on his shoulders, low slung combat pants, the kind he only wore in these rare, pared-down moments. He was adjusting the wraps around his wrists with focused precision. It made his arms flex just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.
You stopped just short of the mat, eyes dragging down the line of his back, the way his shoulders tapered to his waist. You swallowed, and he turned to you. There was no smile, no softness, just an expression that told you he was trying very very hard not to look at you.
“So,” you stepped on the mat, dropping your bag somewhere to the side, “you said you’d help me with my defensive stance.”
He nodded once. Brisk. “Your pivot leaves your back open. You’re relying on predictability. It works against most people, but you need to be ready when it doesn’t.”
You hummed. “Teach me.”
And he did for a while. He was all business, methodical and precise. He corrected your stance with a brush of his fingers at your elbow, adjusting your arms by lifting one and guiding the other, demonstrating a step, a dodge, a pivot with sharpness that told you he wasn’t thinking about your body the way you were thinking about his.
You tried to focus. You really did. You told yourself to remember his instruction, watch the movements of his feet and the lines of his hips… but the more committed he became to instruction, the worse it got. Because all you could think about was how his palm fit flat between your shoulderblades when he nudged your posture straighter. How the heat of his body was radiating every time he stepped behind you to guide your feet. How his voice was low, toneless, professional. It only made you remember the way he groaned into your neck when he wasn’t holding back.
A memory rushes to you mid-pivot. Just how many times he’s had you here before. He wouldn’t talk during those moments, just grunted against your throat, cursed low and deep as your fingernails clung to his back. It was ruthless then. Hungry. Rough. The kind of rough that made your thighs quake after. You used to walk out of this room hiding smirks and fresh marks under your collar.
He fucked you against this mat once. A fast, brutal thing where your hands fumbled for leverage and his grip never gave you the chance. You would be dripping in sweat and whispering his name. He would be growling into your ear like he was trying to keep it to himself.
He never used to hold back.
“You’re not grounded.” His voice behind you, too close.
You jolt slightly. “What?”
He circled, face tugged in a serious expression. “You’re distracted.”
“No, I’m—”
“If your weight’s uneven, you’ll fall.”
You simmered in frustration at the way he moved around you again without touching you. His eyes were only focused on your stance, his hands careful, his touch clinical, you wonder where that other version of him went. You hated it.
You want it back. You need it back.
You wanted to show him that you weren’t broken, and you were going to.
“Fight me, then.” You spoke.
He stared, almost like he didn't believe you. “Are you serious?”
“Very.” Your socked feet barely made a sound as you shifted out of position, putting your hands on your hips. “You want my full attention? Earn it.”
His mouth almost curled up… barely. But you saw it. He stepped forward. “This isn’t what this session was for. I’m not here to spar you.”
You toed closer, shrugging off your jacket in one smooth motion, letting it fall to the floor like it meant nothing. Your fingers skimmed lightly across your own hips, a casual flirtation disguised as a thoughtless movement. “I’m a hands-on learner.”
He gave you a sharp breath. “Don’t test me.”
“Why not?” You smiled. “Afraid I’ll win?”
He turned fully to face you, stepping into a position opposite of you. “No. Just don’t want you to get comfortable losing.” He nodded his head in guidance. “Get into position.”
You obeyed, walking back to the other end of the mat. When you looked over your shoulder, he was watching how your hips moved.
The air between you hummed. The heat was rising. You shook your wrists as you dropped into stance.
He lunged first, just to test you. You dodged left, ducked, turned your hips and caught his side with the flat of your hand.
“You’re slow.” You taunted.
His brow ticked up. “You’re cocky.”
Another sweep, this one higher. You ducked under it, letting your hand graze his thigh as you passed, maybe a touch longer than necessary. He noticed, you knew he did.
You smiled and kept yourself moving. His footwork was sharp and aggressive, but not dangerous. He was still holding back and you were done with all of that.
You pivoted, dropped low and tried to take his legs.
He stepped over you easily. “You’re too predictable.”
“And you’re too restrained.” You snapped back, using your momentum to pop back up. “Aren’t you supposed to make me work for it?”
He just circled you, eyes narrowing. You jabbed at his side, more of a test than a hit. He caught your wrist mid-swing and twisted. He used your arm as momentum to spin you into his chest. You hit him with a grunt, bracing your palms against the flat of his stomach, feeling tension ripple in his muscles.
For a moment, you both just stayed there, looking into each other. His eyes were darker now, jaw locked. You could feel his heartbeat in between your bodies.
And just like that, he pushed you back. Not hard, just enough to reset.
But you stepped in again immediately, forceful, and threw a real punch that he blocked easily. He caught your wrist again but you twisted out faster this time, countering with a jab to his ribs that he didn’t see coming.
A smirk pulled at his mouth, sharp and dark. Promising. “You’re really trying to get me to snap, aren't you?” His voice showed he was slightly impressed.
“It’s working.”
You circled and he moved with you. One step, two, then faster. Arms sweeping low, trying to catch your legs. You hopped, rolled, came up behind him. He turned and your eyes locked.
He grabbed your wrist again, spinning you and you swept his leg, foot hooking around his in a blur. He let it happen, yanking you down with him.
You yelped as the world tipped, body tumbling on to his with a startled squeal. You landed clumsily, limbs tangled, chest to chest, palms planted on the mat, breath caught between a laugh and a gasp.
He let out a low grunt like he hadn’t expected you to come down on top of him, but he was smiling. “That’s an illegal move.” His voice said, amused, the wrinkles in his eyes squeezing together.
“No such thing,” You grinned, shifting your weight to try and pin his hips. “Besides, you started it.”
He huffed, almost a laugh before suddenly rolling, twisting his torso and sending you both into another tumble.
This time, you landed on your side and he wrestled your wrist into his grip again, pushing you onto your back. You wiggled, giggling, trying to get out of his grip, but he dragged you right back under him by your hips.
“Asshole!” You accuse breathlessly.
“You’re terrible at sweeps,” he points out, grabbing both your hands with just one of his, “you always overcommit.”
He smirks, bracing both your wrists above your head, pinning you by your hip with the weight of his thigh. You bucked your hips, but he didn’t move an inch. You tried to squirm free, but all it did was shift the friction between your bodies until you stilled. Breathing deep, a flush rising in his neck to match yours.
You stared up at him, his body heavy on yours, arms bracketing either side of your head, breath ghosting hot across your face. The playfulness lingered in the grin on his lips, but his eyes told you something different.
“I win.” He declared.
Your mouth parted, voice dropping to a murmur. “Time to claim your prize, then.”
His breath stutters, his eyes dilate and flicker over your face, throat, any part he could land on. Everywhere he’s been looking even when you don’t notice. Even when you do. He feels your pulse in your wrists, keeping you beneath him, helpless and ready to be taken. You swear he’s about to devour you right there on the mat. Like you’re a reward he’s been denied for too long.
You arch into him, letting your body deliberately move against his. And for a moment, it works. He stays hovering, wanting to do something.
But…
Here we go again.
His fingers twitch. There’s a shift. A memory of your limp gait the week after, your hands trembling when you tried to hold up your form. The sound you made when he would help you lower yourself to the bed. It was locked into his brain. Rewired him into thinking of you as a frail bird that he needed to touch delicately.
His eyes shut, clenches his teeth together hard, lets out an agonizing breath. Then he peels himself away from you. The weight of him disappears inch by inch.
You reach for him, almost whining with frustration. “Wait—”
“We need to worry about your counterbalance.” He mutters, now crossing the mat swiftly, like the movement is the only way to keep himself controlled. His hands are in fists and he doesn’t look at you. “That’s where you’re losing your footing.”
You don’t answer. Just stare up at the ceiling before you push yourself up, breathing in the tension that was left hanging in the air. You don’t look at him. You don’t say anything. You just return to position, arms raised in form, feet squared.
Fine.
If he wants you to train, you’ll train.
He’s already touched you and pulled away. He won’t even look at you now, you won’t either. You bury it, swallow it. Let your stance harden.
His quarters were always cold. But it was warmer tonight. Not uncomfortably, but you felt it on your skin after the fresher. You’d leaned your forehead against the cool wall once you shut the water off, hoping the steam would wash off more than just sweat.
You wished he had followed you in there. There was tension when you walked away, disappearing behind the door, ready to wash up before bed. He insisted you stay over tonight, and maybe agreeing wasn’t going to do you any good.
You emerged from the fresher dripping, wrapped in a towel. And he only walked past you with his eyes on the floor, stripped down to his pants as he disappeared into the fresher. Not even a fucking glance.
You’re done making the first move. You weren’t gonna pout, or joke, or give him a cheeky touch across his back the way you sometimes did when he passed. If he wanted to keep you at arms length, fine. You weren’t going to beg him. Not to anymore.
That didn’t mean you didn’t pick that shirt deliberately, the one that hung off the back of his chair, sleeves worn at the edges, collar stretched from how often he tugged it over his head after he got back here. The one he put on after missions when he was tired, limbs loose and sluggish. You remembered the way he looked at you the first time you wore it, like you were some sort of dream… So, no. You didn’t put it on without thought. You let it hang loose over your bare skin. No pants, just bare legs stretched across his sheets, one bent at the knee, hips tilted just enough to tease, some book rested lazily in your hand, words only skimmed more than understood.
You heard him come out of the fresher, emerging with soaked hair and black pants that hung low on his hips. He moved around like he hadn’t had enough time to decompress, a tension living in his body, between every vertebra. That was all just from a glance, because you didn’t want to stare. You just turned the page, shifted slightly so your leg arched lighter against the bed, letting the shirt slide up your thigh with the movement.
If this didn’t work… if he didn’t do something about this… you were out of luck.
Kylo froze. You saw it in your peripheral. But you felt how his eyes dragged across your legs, helplessly, from the exposed bend of your knee, to the flash of your thigh, all the way up to where his shirt bunched around your hip. His gaze crawled higher, tracking your bare collarbone and the slope of your neck.
He didn't mean to let go of the small sound from his throat, one that sounded almost like he was scolding himself. He turned his head, trying to regain control, but it was already too late. His eyes snapped back to you.
“Think your humidifier’s broken.” You mentioned, flipping the page and not bothering to look up. “You should call maintenance tomorrow.” All too casual.
He didn’t speak, he just stared.
You stretch, arms overhead, pretending not to notice the way his eyes followed the movement. The hem of the shirt rose a little higher and you rolled to your back, continuing to ‘read’ whatever book this is.
Then, you heard him move in measure footsteps, each one closer and closer. You finally moved the book away from your face a little as he approached the bed, and you looked up at him. His chest rose and fell, eyes blown wide.
Kylo plucked the book from your grasp, tossing it on the nightstand. He didn’t say anything, just knelt on the bed, leaning down, and kissing you.
It was so deliberate. Gentle. Intentional. It felt like an apology, but you could taste the hunger beneath it. His hands found your waist, fingers brushing warm through the thick fabric around your ribs. Careful like always.
You kissed him back, tilting into it, adding pressure, hoping he’d match it.
He did, but only just. Still soft.
So, you slid your hand up the back of his neck, tangling in the damp hair at his nape, pulling him closer with a breathy murmur against his mouth. He let himself sink into the kiss, but his hands were still just hovering. Still, not enough.
You tried to lead him there, let your body arch against his, your leg curling behind his back, your mouth parted and pulled, desperate for something without restraint. He held his weight too high on top of you. He didn’t want to crush you, but you wanted him to let go of his inhibitions.
Your hands flattened against his sternum, and with one swift, practiced motion—one he taught you months ago—you flipped him. He grunted in surprise, back hitting the mattress like you’d punched the breath out of him.
You straddle him, the hem of the shirt now high over your hips, baring your thigh against his waist. You settled your weight over him, pressed your palms to the skin on his chest, harder, feeling the ripple of his muscles under your touch. And when you kissed him, you kissed him good. Desperate. Letting every sharp-edged ache in your chest pour into him.
His hands flew to your legs, gripping tight and sliding up slowly, but when they reached your waist, they slowed. Floated again. Ghosted like he didn’t trust the pressure. His thumbs only brushed your ribs like they were still bruised.
You took his wrist and dragged them down, over your hips until they landed on your ass, pressing them into the soft curve with permission. But his grip stayed light.
“Come on, Ky…” You spoke into the kiss.
He still hesitated. You broke the kiss and leaned back slowly, looking down at him, bare chest rising under yours.
That’s it.
All the frustration you’ve been feeling burned under your skin. You’d been set on fire. He looked up at you, flushed and stunned, blinking like he didn’t understand what had just happened.
“Okay—Is this how you fuck someone you want?” You breathed, voice horse. “It never used to be like this.”
His brows pull together. “What? I just—I didn’t want to do something wrong—”
“Wrong?” You echoed, a threat of a bitter laugh being held back. “You think touching me like you actually want me would be wrong?”
He sat up on his elbows and you were still straddling him.
“I’m trying to be careful.”
You gave him a huff and shook your head. “Yeah. I noticed.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He repeated, firmer in his voice now.
“You’re not going to hurt me, Kylo. I’m fine.”
“You say that but last time I stopped thinking, you ended up in the medbay."
“You didn’t do that.”
He looked away and that was worse. The silence, the swallowed guilt.
You climbed off of him, feet slapping the cold floor before he could even try to reach for you. You stood with your arms crossed, pacing a small line by the edge of the room. Your face was flushed for all the wrong reasons; in shame, anger, embarrassment.
“Yes, I was scared. I was hurt, I was injured. But I’m fine now.” You turned on your heel. “I’m here—I’ve been here. I’ve been trying, begging you to show me you don’t see me differently now… but all you do is look. Like you still want me, just not enough.”
He was sitting on the bed still, back hunched forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor. He shook his head.
You weren’t done.
“You treat me like my bones are gonna shatter if you breathe too hard around me. I want you, Kylo. I want you so bad, I’m going crazy. I’m fantasizing about how it used to be.” You scoff at yourself, not at all amused. “Do you know how pathetic that feels? Laying on your bed, wearing your shirt like some damn signal flare, hoping I don’t have to beg you to fuck me? I don’t want to feel like I’m chasing someone who doesn’t want me back.” He looked up, finally, his face contorted in a way that told you he wanted to interject, to call bullshit. “It’s like the second you saw me with a black eye, you couldn’t unsee it. Now… Now, I don’t know if it's pity or fear or guilt or what, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like you want me.”
His jaw was locked so tight you swear you could see a pulse in his temple.
“You think I don’t want you?” His voice was quiet, but he was holding back. His eyes were dark as they looked at you. “You think I’m holding back because I stopped seeing you?” And he stood, his frame feeling larger, more brooding than you remember. “I’ve spent the last couple weeks trying not to tear you apart. I get to wake up next to you now and it’s so hard. I don’t let myself touch you. I wasn’t the one who hurt you, but if I let myself loose control like I wanted to, I could’ve been.” He stepped closer, just one step at a time. “I carried you, sat there watching you try not to scream when you lifted a fork, and the whole time, I wanted to kill something. Anything. Do you know what it took not to drag those men to the center of the ship and kill them in front of everyone? Do you know how close I came?
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
His voice grew darker, his shadow engulfed you entirely. “I never stopped wanting to touch you. Not for one second.” His voice dipped along with his eyes. Lower than a whisper. “You want honesty? Hm? After that mission yesterday, I wanted to bend you over the command desk. I wanted to rip off your new uniform. I wanted you to have to tell them why you needed another one so quickly.”
You blinked, feeling yourself shrinking and your pulse going crazy. You could smell the soap off of him, feel his minty breath fan over your face with every word he spoke.
“When I had you pinned today, Gods, I almost fucking lost it. I could’ve done whatever I wanted to you. They would’ve been able to hear you two floors down.” He sucked in a breath. “I had to walk away. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to walk back to my quarters.”
Your back hit the wall before you even noticed you had been taking steps. He was still just inches away.
“I’ve been trying,” He said, teeth clenched, voice almost growling. “Trying to be patient. Trying to give you time. Trying to be what you need.” His eyes dropped down your body. “But you keep looking at me like that. Moving like that. Wearing that.”
Your breath was hitched. His eyes dragged down your body like he was already inside you, like the shirt you wore was just a formality. It was like he was trying to decide where to start. You felt the heat in your neck, the tips of your ears, your cheeks. He was caving. You can tell.
And you got him there. You had him. The restraint was gone. You should've thanked him for his honesty, he just told you exactly what you’d been dying to hear.
But instead, you tilted your head, raked your own eyes up and down his body with a slightly quirked brow.
“Go ahead, then.” Your voice like syrup, sultry, dropped to a whisper. You tutted your frame forward as much as you could without touching. “Keep pretending you're so composed if you want to. Like you don’t want me screaming your name. On my knees. Like you don’t want to mark me yourself, pin me down and fuck me until I forget my name. Keep pretending you don’t want me to fall apart under you.” You brushed your mouth against his cheek, biting back a grin in victory. “Unless…” You let it hang there, smug, lips brushing his earlobe just slightly, “you really don’t think you can do that anymore…”
In one movement, you were against the wall. Hard. His hands are already under your thighs, hoisting you up so fast the air punched out of your lungs. Your hands barely got around his neck before he crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you like he hated how much he needed you. His hips slammed against yours, caging you there, his breath already ragged. You yelped into his mouth from the force of it all, head thudding back against the wall, hands scrambling at his shoulders as he grinded against you.
“Say that shit again.” He growled, voice shredded. “See what happens.”
You couldn’t. You were too busy gasping as his mouth dropped to your jaw, your neck, biting, dragging teeth along skin like he’s gone blind with it. Your legs locked tighter around his waist and he groaned at how your middles pressed together. He gripped your ass like he meant to leave prints, slamming you against the wall with every roll of his hips. The shirt you wore—his shirt— rode up fast, bunched between your bodies. He shoved it up higher, exposing your hips, stomach, everything he wanted.
“You want to be ruined?” He snarled into your neck. “Then quit squirming and take it.”
His hands were everywhere now, possessive, grabbing fistfuls of your thighs, your waist. When you writhed against him, he fucking laughed, sharp and wicked against your mouth. The kind of sound that warned you.
“I can’t fucking stand you.” He panted and shoved his hips forward again.
You moaned, louder than you meant to, feeling the outline of his member against your core, hard and telling. And that was it. He dragged you off the wall, never letting your feet touch the ground before he tossed you back into the bed. You bounced, hair messy wherever you landed.
He was already over you before you could blink, tearing off your shirt in one rough pull. You felt it stretch at the collar, the sound of seams popping, but his eyes were devouring every inch of skin.
Your nipples pebbled, you were covered in goosebumps as he pressed you down. His mouth found your chest, worshiping a breast with his mouth while the other one was squeezed in his hand. He nipped, groaned into it before moving lower. He left his own marks on your stomach, sucking bruises just below your ribs. You were gasping, twisting beneath him, clenching the sheets around you as your eyes rolled back, arching into him.
He gripped your thighs hard, spreading them apart with a low growl in his chest. He settles between them like it was his rightful place, one hand sliding down under your panties, long fingers sinking into your clit with no politeness at all.
“Fuck…” Your eyes roll back and squeeze shut, fingernails digging deep into his biceps.
He let out a breath through his nose, lower lip completely taken between his teeth as he rubbed a harsh circle, dipping down and up.
He bit your jaw, sucking in a breath as he continued to listen to the little whimpers you gave him. “You think I don’t want this?” And he ripped his hand away. You take in a sharp breath at the loss, bucking your hips up. But he sat up on his knees, tearing off your underwear so fast you didn’t have time to complain. His palms slid under your knees, pushing until they bent wide open, fully on display. He locked in on you, breath ragged. “Look at you.”
His hands squeezed once and he was dragging you down the bed with a rough tug until your hips met his tented ones. You gasped, arms scrambling for the sheets.
“I’ve been dying to taste you.” He grumbled. “Dying.”
And he lowered, mouth on your inner thigh first. Kissing and biting. You yelped when he sunk his teeth in just enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue. He didn’t pause or hesitate, just mouthed up your thigh, trailing heat as he went.
When his mouth reached the center of you, you choked on a breath, leg twitching. His hand pinned it back open, unforgiving.
“Keep them open.” He demanded, hot breath glossing over you. “I meant it.”
And then… Oh…
He buried his face in you. Not slowly, not gentle licks. Absolute desperation. His tongue slid against you with force, like he needed to make up for every second he’s denied himself. Every moment he left you aching.
You cursed, moaned loudly, wrecked, hips trying to buck, but his arms looped over your thighs to pin you down.
“Don’t you fucking move.” His voice low, mouth still on you. “You wanted this. Take it.”
And you did.
Your hands flew to his hair, clutching damp strands as he devoured you, tongue relentless, lips dragging, sucking and licking like he’d been starving for you.
You were already so close, and he knew. He heard it in the way you stumbled through his name, how your breath stuttered, how the valley of your breasts moved quicker and quicker. His grip tightened on your thighs, angling his mouth just right until your entire body locked up.
“Yeah…” He whispered into you. “That’s it… fall apart for me…”
You gasped his name as you shattered. A moan louder than you could register heaved out of your chest and you trembled in his grip, thighs quaking, vision white hot behind your eyes.
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. Not even after you came and tugged at the roots of his hair. Your thighs forcefully kept on the mattress as he continued with closed eyes and low moans, seemingly lost in the moment he had been denying himself. Lapping up everything you gave him, fingers and palms leaving indents on your skin. You were so sensitive, wrecked as he spread you wider, locked you down as your hips tried to twist away.
And he liked it. A deep rumble vibrated straight through your core. “Don’t pull away from me.” Words muddled in your clit. “Don’t act all shy now.” He taunted, dragging his tongue through your slick with deliberate pressure.
His fingers, two of them, thick and rough, sliding in like he owned you with no warning. Your whole body bucked, but his free hand pressed down hard on your hip to keep you in place.”
You cried out as his fingers curled.
A grin brushed your skin as his fingers moved deeper, harder, pumping in rhythm with his tongue. “Can’t even think now, can you?” He taunted.
You hands scrambled for his shoulders, his hair, the sheets—anything to ground yourself for a second. But you were gone, completely undone, stretched wide and full and throbbing as he did whatever he wanted like a man possessed.
He wasn’t letting up. He even groaned when you clenched around his fingers, even when he tried to twist away again. “Oh, no,” he tutted. “You’re not going anywhere.”
You legs began to tremble again, a knot in your stomach building. Your whole body burned. “Kylo—”
“You’ll cum again.” He demanded, mixing his thumb in with his tongue until you cried out. “And you’ll thank me for it.” He slowed just a little, pulling back an inch. “Beg.”
You gasped. “Please.”
“Louder.”
He pressed his thumb into you, putting his mouth back on you.
“Oh—fuck—please. Kylo, please!”
“Mhm,” He murmured, fingers curling just right, mouth locking on the spot that made your spine arch off the bed. “That’s more like it.”
You were gone, you couldn’t stop it as he pushed you over the edge again, this time harder. So hard that your thighs clamped around his head and your whole body convulsed beneath him. You came with a scream, messy, helpless, trembling with the weight of it all, sobbing his name into the air of his room.
Only then did he lift his head, lips slick, eyes dark, chest rising like he hadn’t breathed that whole time. And he smiled. Wicked. Victorious.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
You twitched as his fingers dragged mindlessly over your core one more time, a grunt of overstimulation coming from your mouth. You’re too sensitive now, your hips jolting off the mattress.
“Fuck—Kylo…”
He grunted in satisfaction, watching you squirm. His lips curled up sadistically as you panted, completely ruined beneath him, legs still spread for him. Your body was limp, but his eyes never left yours.
He saw the flicker in your expression. The heat hadn’t dimmed, not even after everything he just pulled from you. His thumb traced the curve of your lips, slow now, like he was savoring the sight of what he’s done to you. You caught his thumb in your mouth, letting your teeth graze it just enough before releasing it with a little pop.
“You’re still not done?” He asked with a darkly amused tone. “After all that?”
You smirked despite yourself. “I thought you wanted me begging. You think you earned it yet?”
His entire presence shifted, stiffening like a cord as his jaw twitched.
“Get on your knees.” He growled, threaded with heat. “Now.”
You didn’t move. Just blinked up at him through heavy lashes, dragging your palms slowly down your own stomach. “You sure?” You teased, breathy, eyes flickering down to the tent he has been sporting in his pants. “You look like you might finish just watching me.”
His nostrils flared. And then, he was on you again. In one rough movement, he grabbed your jaw in one hand and hauled you upright with the other, dragging you to the edge of the bed before your feet could really find the floor. You yelped at the sudden movement as you found your balance before he spun you and pressed you down.
“Knees,” He repeated. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
This time you obeyed, letting your hands trail over the planes of his stomach, his hips, as you dropped to the floor in front of him. Your knees hit the cold floor, legs already shaking but steady as you looked up at him.
His eyes were hooded, half lidded as he breathed through an open mouth. His jaw tensed as you reached for his waistband.
“Show me, baby.” He said. “Show me how much you missed me.” He watches your every move.
Your fingers hooked under the fabric, dragging it down until his cock sprung free, slapping his stomach. It was flushed, heavy, tip wet from how badly he’d been wanting this. How long he’s waited.
You tilted your chin up, expression so smug, even from this angle. “You like giving orders, don’t you?” You whispered, licking your lips. “You like making me listen.”
He wrapped a hand in your hair, far from gentle. His eyes were molten.
“You don’t listen,” He dragged you closer. “That’s the fucking problem.”
You gripped his bare thighs, biting your lip with a teasing expression meant to get under his skin.
“Open.” The word dropped like a command. You did, but his grip in your hair twisted slightly. “Wider.” And you even stuck out your tongue a little for him.
He dragged his tip across it, slow at first, just for the sake of savoring the sight of you… your lips parted, your breath hot. His hand was wrapped around the base of his cock, guiding himself inside your offering hole deeper, inch by inch, until your lips stretched around him and your throat constricted with the depth.
He muttered a curse you couldn't quite make out, your fingernails curling around the back of his thighs. His head tilted back for just a second before his eyes dropped back down to you. “...so good…”
He didn’t let you set the rhythm, he just started to move. Firmly fucking into your mouth like it was his right to. And it was. You choked once and he hissed, but didn’t pull back.
“Too much?” His voice mocking. “Didn’t think so.”
You whimpered around him, tears already lining your eyes with how deep he pressed. You prayed he didn’t stop. Not when he sounded like that. Not when he finally gave in.
“You missed this, didn’t you?” He grunted, pulling back just enough for you to breathe, then shoving forward again, deeper. “Missed the way I use you. Mouth open. Just taking it.”
You moaned around him, trying to get some leverage on his legs, your knees scuffing the floor as he guided your head back and forth, using your mouth like it was his. His hand had never loosened in your hair, not even a little.
“Should’ve been doing this for weeks.” He picked up the pace, grunting between sentences. “Should’ve kept you on your knees so you didn’t forget who you belong to.”
You gagged as he thrusts deeper, rougher now, groaning low as your throat tightens.
“Can’t answer me, huh?” His voice was breathless, wrecked, lips parted as he watched his cock disappear into your mouth. “Nothing smart to say now, huh, baby?” He laughed at you. “Fucking perfect like this.”
Your eyes had fallen shut, jaw beginning to sore from how you stretched around him, throat working to take him all the way in. Every groan, every thrust, every stutter of his breath drove you deeper into a haze.
His grip in your hair suddenly tightened and he pulled you off of him with a wet gasp.
“Hey,” he called, leaning down to your level. “Look at me.” His voice was sharp, commanding.
You blinked your eyes open, tears at the corner, lips swollen, chin wet. You looked up… and the moment your eyes met his, something snapped again.
“Fuck,” he breathed and yanked you up by your jaw, fast and hard. You stumbled up onto shaky legs only to feel his hands catch your ass and lift, hoisting you up effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively as he pushed forward.
You gasp as your back is slammed against the wall. The frame rattled. His mouth crushed into yours, so sloppy and hungry and breathless. One hand gripped the back on your thigh tightly while the other roamed freely on your tits. His cock just pressed against your center, hard and leaking, rutting desperately through the soaked mess between your thighs.
“You’re fucking mine.” He growled into your mouth, biting your bottom lip before devouring it again. “Say it.” You only moaned, too dazed to speak. He rolled his hips again, dragging a filthy sound from your throat. “Need you to say it.” He barked, biting down on your shoulder, rutting against you like he couldn't take it anymore. “Tell me.”
You barley managed a gasp, but you did it. “I’m yours, Kylo.”
“Good girl.”
You didn’t even feel him reach down until the drag of his cock prodded at your entrance. He slammed into you. He buried himself in one hard and brutal thrust. It was so deep and sudden it knocked a breath clean out of your lungs. Your head hit the wall again, a cry from your throat that he swallowed instantly with his mouth on yours, hips already dragging back only to drive in harder. It all echoed through your body.
You whimpered against his lips, clinging to him with your arms wrapped around his neck, fingernails digging into his back so harshly you’re sure to leave marks. He never slowed down or hesitated. His rhythm was relentless, frenzied, filthy.
You moaned out something that sounded like his name, but you were so out of it he couldn’t be sure.
“Yeah?” He mocked, growling, biting down on your jaw as your head tipped back against th cool metal. “This is what you wanted? This is what you’ve been begging for?”
You couldn’t make out a coherent sentence. Just gasps and moans, your legs shaking where they were locked together behind him.
He rolled his hips harder, deeper, your whole body felt it.
“That shut you up quick.” He sneered against your neck, every work vibrating across your skin. “Can’t even talk now, huh?”
You let out a wrecked noise, your forehead pressed to his as he fucked you against the wall, as you clawed at his shoulder and held on for dear life. You didn't notice how loud you were being anymore. He was slamming into you like he wanted the whole ship to know.
“Touch yourself.” He snarled suddenly. “Right now.”
It took you a second to process, but you reached between your sweaty bodies with a shaking hand, fingers sliding into your own soaked heat just to feel where he stretched you open, where he was ruining you. He looked down and groaned at the sight of it—at the feel of your hand brushing his cock with every circle you made on your clit.
“Oh, fuck,” he bit out, then cooed. “That’s it. Fuck, that’s it. You gonna cum on my cock like this, baby? Squeezing me so tight I can’t fucking think?”
You lazily nodded, a tear spilling as you gasped against his cheek, thighs trembling. You were so close again, and he could feel it.
He slammed into you harder, faster, moaning and grunting as his hand wrapped around the back of your neck, holding you still and forcing eye contact.
“Don’t look away.” He kissed you sloppily. “I want to see it.”
It was right there. Your brows pinched, a whiny moan exploding slowly from your mouth before the knot snapped. You came hard around him with a strangled dry, your whole body shaking. He groaned, the tight wet clench of you nearly dragging him under too.
But he didn’t finish.
He groaned deep in his chest, and when your fingers stilled he pulled out. It was too sudden for your liking, but your mind was so cloudy with the after shocks. He let you collapse back against the wall, legs trembling too hard to hold your own weight, but he caught you before you could fall.
He turned, still holding you, dragging you back to the bed with a look in his eyes that told you he wasn’t done with you just yet. He dropped you onto the bed very unceremoniously—face down, limp, gasping to catch your breath. Your body was slick with sweat and barely able to move. You felt boneless as you shook, but, fuck, you could care less.
You felt the weight of his body climb over you, and he nudged your knees apart with his own.
“Stay just like that.” He murmured, voice rough from strain, pleasure, command. “Don’t move.”
You would've laughed if you had it in you. You couldn't move if you tried.
His hand gripped your hip, pulling you back against him. He didn’t waste a moment.
The sound he made when he slid back inside of you was nothing short of guttural. You gasped at the stretch, the angle, the ache. It was almost too much.
Almost.
He didn’t give you time to adjust.
He was slow at first, for his own sake. Just deep, dragging thrusts that pushed you forward on the bed… Then faster. More urgent. Bordering brutal. He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, his weight caging you there as your fingers curled into the sheets and your eyes squeezed shut.
“Fuck,” he breathed, lips near your ear. “You’re still so tight, sweetheart. After everything I’ve done to you…” He pressed a kiss against your damp temple.
You whine. It’s all you could manage.
He laughed, low and hoarse, fucking into you like he couldn’t help it anymore.
“You look so fucking good like this.” He mentioned, thrusts unrelenting, moaning before he continued. “Face down on my bed. You’re fucking brainless. You’re just taking what I give you. You were made for this, weren't you?”
You let out a sob into the sheet, too far gone to care how desperate you sounded.
“Shh,” He soothed, a hand brushing your hair back from your face so he could kiss your cheekbone. “I know. I know, you’re tired, baby. But you can give me one more.”
You shook your head, or tried to, your breath stuttering broken moans to the rhythm of his hips.
“Oh, but you can.” He crooned, pressing his hands over yours, threading your fingers together as he drove into you. “You’re gonna give me one more. You’re gonna let me have that. Just like this.”
Your body jolted with every thrust now, legs shaking, thighs clenching as your whole body fought to hold onto something.
“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmured against your shoulder. “Taking it so well. Almost there, aren't you? I can feel it.”
You were. Gods, you were.
He let go of your hands and reached between you and the mattress, between your legs again. He found your clit quickly and you gasped, the sound ragged and broken. His hips stuttered for a second at how your body clenched down around him.
His fingers didn’t let up. He pressed firm circles over your clit with the same rhythm as his thrusts, grounding you to the bed like he wanted you to melt into it. He was so deep, so close, louder now. Each breath punching out of him was with a ragged and desperate edge. His composure had shattered and all that was left was primal need.
He hissed through clenched teeth, lips dragging over your shoulder. You whimpered, mouth open, head tilted and cheek flat against the crumpled sheets.
“Come on,” he urged, rushed, gasping between thrusts. “I know that look. You’re almost there—let me have it, baby. Please, just one more.”
His hips jolted harder, but his rhythm was stumbling now like his control was starting to slip, but his fingers didn’t stop. His forehead pressed to the back of your neck, hot and damp.
“I need it. I need to feel you again.”
Your back arched despite your body trembling, and he let out the most broken sound yet. Almost a cry of the pending relief. He felt the way you clenched, the way your breath caught and your whisper pitched higher.
“Fuck, yes, just like that. That’s it. Good girl. You’re right there.” His voice cracked. “Let me have you. Please—please, just let go for me.”
It happened so fast. It rushed through you and you rambled something incoherent into the sheets just before the wire snapped. Your full body was trembling, muscles tensing and twitching against your will, only contained by the weight of his body.
He came undone with you, but you barely heard the sharp curse he groaned against your spine. The way his hands clutched you tight as he spilled into you in hot spurts, every muscle in his drawn taut as a bowstring. His hips stuttered before they slowed, grinding deep as he rode it out with a sound that could only be described as animalistic.
He stayed pressed to your back, chest heaving, one arm curled under your body, the other still tangled loosely with yours on the mattress. He didn’t move. He didn’t pull out. He didn’t say a word.
He was heavy on top of you, but it felt so comforting. Slowly, you regained some sort of consciousness of your surroundings. His breath on your back, the quiet hum of the ship, the feeling of his hand on yours.
He finally muttered against you. “...You happy now?”
It came out rough and barely coherent. As if he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or surrender, but his tone broke a quiet laugh that you muffled into the mattress, despite how your muscles trembled. He chuckled too, mouth brushing against the side of your neck. You could feel him smiling against your skin, the way his heart stammered quickly behind his ribs.
The laughter gave away to silence as your collective heaving stilled, muscles slowly unlocking. Your bodies are still stuck together, damp and shaking, still tangled in each other. But slowly, reluctantly, he slipped out of you.
The emptiness was instant. A space left behind made you whine without meaning to. He felt it too because he didn’t go far. Just enough to roll to your side and shift you gently with him until your back was curled into his chest and his arm was slung tight around your waist. His legs tangled with yours, his nose pressed behind your ear.
You were limp against him, completely spent. “Can’t move.” You whispered in a raspy voice.
He dragged a hand up your naked side, slow and possessive. “I’d be impressed if you could.”
You were defiant at heart, so you shifted. You tried to lift a leg and roll forward to prove him wrong.
But his arm tightened instantly, dragging you back into him with strength and he held you tighter.
“So fucking stubborn,” his voice thick with satisfaction. He kissed just below your ear with a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Brat.”
Your smile was small, but real. Relieved. You let yourself relax against him. “I win.” You sing. “I got you to break.”
“And now you can’t walk.” He said smugly, nuzzling into your shoulder. “Congratulations.”
You exhale a breathy laugh and his arms fully engulfed you.
You stayed there for a long moment, just laying with each other. Bones fusing with one another in a relaxed position that you could have laid in all night.
But he shifted.
“We should probably hit the fresher again.” He said so casually, sitting up.
You groaned into the sheets. “I already told you. I can’t move.”
“Mm.” He leaned in, brushed your messy hair back from your temple and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder. Slow, sweet, like maybe he was letting you settle again. Your eyelids fluttered shut.
Then, without warning, his arms slid under you and yanked you straight off the bed.
You yelped. “Kylo!”
He stood, your body dangling against his chest, your back pressed to him like a harness.
“This is a rescue mission.” He grunted, staggering a bit as he adjusted his hold. “You’re my hostage.”
“Oh my god,” you laughed, breathlessly clutching his forearm. “You’re delirious.”
“I’m serious,” he said, deadpan, marching toward the fresher. “You’re being detained for… sedition. Against my self control.”
You barked out another sharp laugh. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“I’ll add it to your record.”
“Oh yeah? What else is on there?”
“Indecent conduct in the field. Insubordination during active sparring. Unauthorized use of my training shirt.”
He kicked the door open and carried you in. “You are unwell.”
He set you down on the cool tile of the sink counter, leaning forward, arms braced on either side of you. “And I blame you entirely.”
You stared at him with a grossly genuine smile on your face, and he stared right back.
In that moment, you saw him, really. So honest and unfiltered. The look he gave you made your heart feel like it was swelling.
Your arms lifted, curling round his neck, drawing him in a little. You tilted your chin and brushed your nose slightly along his. He closed the gap first this time, meeting you in the middle. The kiss was soft, on purpose, like you both finally agreed at the same time.
You weren't teasing, or trying to prove anything. This one was for you. For him. Gentle and lasting. When you pulled back, a small satisfied hum left you.
A thought bloomed quietly inside your chest, curling deep beneath your ribs.
You really, really liked him.
All of him.
The one who could devour you like an animal and the one who made stupid jokes afterwards and the one who took care of you with so much intention it pissed you off. No one else got these versions of him… but you did.
Note: I'm so hot now. NEXT PART
