I feel like people sleep wayyyyy too hard on dark angel. like sure the plot wasn’t as strong in season 2, but it was still interesting. it’s a shame because it really does have character. it’s also annoying that you can only watch it on like 2 websites with ads or on the dvd. I mourn its cancellation daily
An undercover mission leads you to stand in as a stripper at a bar, and much to nobody's surprise, a regular guest — who just so happens to be your coworker — is more than glad to assist you in playing your part.
pairing: alec mcdowell x fem!reader
fandom: dark angel (2000 - 2002)
tags: strip club .ᐟ undercover mission .ᐟ smut .ᐟ starts semi-public since it's at the club (but alec refuses to let all the creeps see so it turns private real quick) .ᐟ piv .ᐟ oral (f!receiving) .ᐟ teasing
word count: 5.4k
author's note: first time writing something smut-adjacent... i fear for my life right now... anyways for some reason i fell into the alec mcdowell rabbit hole, and feel like its my honored duty to act on it. what better way for that than writing my third oneshot about him this week, innit right lads? enjoy!! xoxo
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Max Guevara can go to hell.
This one singular thought ran circles in your mind for the past thirty minutes now. When she said that she wants you to help her in a mission — saying that she doesn’t want this either, but has no other choice —, you reluctantly agreed, too naive to even ask what it was at first. It was only when she took you to Logan’s house to change into a different attire that you began to realize that perhaps you shouldn’t have agreed just because she was your friend.
When she threw you the pile of clothes, you made a quick little joke about how you’ll look like a hooker in that. Little did you know, you weren’t too far off the truth.
Because now your ears were throbbing from the deafening music blasting throughout the whole building, watchful and lustful eyes locked onto your every move from every corner, everything discolored in the color-changing lights of the club. Of course the job Max gave to you was that you had to pretend to be a stripper. They call you 007: zero experience, zero confidence, seven panic attacks.
Whatever the full plan was, Max didn’t let you in on it, simply leaving you with a few faint orders: snatch an item from the dressing room, and wait for her to settle her part of the mission. Your half was done in the first minute of entering, all that was left for you was to wait for Max to show and get you out. Unbeknownst to you, the mission took enough twists and turns to redirect Max far from the club, fighting for her life on an unnamed rooftop miles away.
Still, her orders were orders, best to listen to her instead of going off the track. Or at least that was what you repeatedly told yourself, although the piercing gazes were starting to make you wish you stayed at home, alone, sound asleep by now, taking a mental break in preparations to show up to Jam Pony tomorrow. Not your dream workplace, but they paid — although the said pay barely scratched the limits of minimum wage.
No point dwelling on this now that you’re here, grappling in the middle of this mess, sinking yonder and yonder by the minute. Your foot vigorously tapped on the polished — but already drink-spilled — flooring, counting down the nanoseconds passing. It felt as if time had slowed down just to mess with you.
“Booth 2 in the talking pit,” the bartender’s voice suddenly cuts into your thoughts, your head shooting up to meet his eyes. What? Seeing your momentary confusion, he lets out a sigh before speaking up again. “Man at booth 2 down in the talking pit. Go,” he cocked his head in the direction of said booth.
Your heartbeat accelerated in no time, the thought that you managed to blend in a little too well not quite calming you. Being here and acting like you belong here was one thing, but actually doing the job? No, you didn’t sign up for that.
“Need a drink for confidence, or what?” the same bartender slides back to you, having already served three different customers while you were overtaken by panic. He doesn’t even wait for your response before tossing you some drink he made, perhaps a leftover from somebody ordering and not coming back for it. “Get going, or we’ll get another pep talk from the boss ‘bout how nobody’s doing their work right.”
For a moment, you stare at the drink, its surface rippling lightly from the bass shaking the countertop, before your eyes dart over to the bartender, his words marinating in your mind for a second. Would it blow your cover if you told him you don’t even work here? Of course it would. No matter how you looked at this, there was no escaping.
With a sigh, you grip the glass, downing its contents in one go before smashing it back onto the spot-filled countertop. Drink for confidence, ticked off the list.
Drawing in a final, deep breath, you turn on your heels, heading in the direction the bartender had motioned earlier, assuming that you’ll find your client one way or another. The men who come here probably like dumb women, they won’t even get mad at you if you tell them that you just didn’t know where the booth was. Talking pit, that was your best lead.
Sure enough, it was somewhat easy to see, a few stairsteps leading down to a smaller booth. Just when you were about to make peace with the thought that you’d have to play nice for some dude — calming yourself with the ‘they won’t see me after tonight anyway’ mantra —, your eyes lock onto who’s the one sprawled there. Fuck.
“Well, well,” Alec drawled, leaning casually against the sticky vinyl booth with one elbow, his emerald eyes glinting under the club’s neon glow. “If it isn't Jam Pony's fastest messenger and apparent secret superstar of Midnight Velvet,” he feigned a dramatic gasp. “Next thing I’ll find out you deliver hot packages by day and… other kinds by night?”
Alec leaned back against the cushioned seat, arms folded across his chest, one eyebrow arched with that trademark smirk playing at the corner of his lips. The bass from the music thrummed through the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice, his eyes locked on you like a predator who’d just caught something juicy.
You wanted to run away. To scream, to just pivot and leave this place, get out of its five mile radius and never come back. Your throat went dry, a wave of humiliation washing over you. Out of all the people, of course it was Alec McDowell. Who else, right? Just when you thought destiny was toying with you, the hard truth that it was majorly fucking you over hit you.
“Y'know, uniform’s definitely different from Jam Pony’s,” Alec continues, clearly amused with the little game you two got yourselves into. “Less spandex bike shorts, more... sparkles." A beat of silence passes before he continues. "Relax. Joking. Unless you are up there later? ‘Cause damn, that’d be one delivery I wouldn’t want to miss.”
“What’s this, McDowell?” you finally press out, although the words came out more pathetic than you would’ve wanted them to.
"I should be the one asking you. Here I was," he drawled, voice low and smooth over the beat, "thinking my night couldn't get any more interesting. And then BAM, there’s you. My wonderful coworker, in full gear." He tilted his head slightly. "Not that I’m complaining. Just… surprised is all."
He lowered his voice like you were sharing secrets instead of an awkward standoff in a strip joint.
"So what’s your act called? 'The Courier Catastrophe'? 'Bombshell Biker Babe'?" His smirk widened into a full-blown grin. "Wait, let me guess: you’re here doing reconnaissance for Jam Pony management? Undercover route survey?"
He paused dramatically.
"...Or are we gonna pretend you aren’t dressed like a stripper in a strip joint? The only women who can enter here are the workers, y’know… Makes one assume you’re here for—"
“Alright, enough,” you cut him off before anything that could worsen your situation could come out of his mouth. What the hell are you even supposed to do? Of course he ordered you over, the moment he recognized you at the bar it was game over. You knew Alec well enough to know that if he sees an opportunity to fuck you over, he’ll be more than glad to take it — and he just so happened to catch you in a moment of vulnerability.
Alec’s grin softened just a fraction, the sharp edge of his mockery rounding off into satisfaction. He slid over, patting the seat right next to him.
"Ouch. Touchy," he murmured, his voice cutting through the heavy bass. "Sit down before you pass out. You're shaking so hard you're rattling the sequins."
You stood frozen for a second, every survival instinct telling you to bolt. But a quick glance over your shoulder showed the bartender watching you from across the room, arms crossed. If you ran, you blew your cover. If you stayed, you had to survive Alec. With a tight jaw, you stepped down into the booth and sank onto the edge of the seat, keeping as much distance between you and him as the small space allowed.
Alec leaned in, the smell of the club and his familiar leather jacket cutting through the heavy atmosphere. He looked you up and down once more, the smirk returning, though his eyes were sharper now, assessing.
"Alright, let's talk strategy," Alec said, crossing his ankles on the table. "Because you look like a deer staring down a semi-truck, and I'm a nice guy who wants to help."
"You're a lot of things, McDowell. Nice isn't on the list," you muttered, glaring at the neon light reflecting off his boots.
"Hey, hurtful," he feigned a wound to the heart, placing a hand over his chest. "I'm keeping your secret, aren't I? For a price, obviously. Nothing in this life is free."
"What do you want?" you asked, your voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Money? Because if you haven't noticed, I work at Jam Pony too. If anybody, then you know we make pennies."
"Money? Please. I have standards," Alec scoffed, leaning his head back against the cushion. "No, I think we can work out a better deal. For starters, you're going to tell me exactly what you're doing here. Because you clearly don't want to be here, and you've been staring at the emergency exit like it's the holy grail."
He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with a sudden intensity that made your breath hitch. The playful banter died down, replaced by a calculating gaze.
"And second," Alec continued, his voice dropping an octave, "you're going to do my morning delivery route for the next two weeks. No complaints. No trading back."
You stared at him, your brain scrambling to find a way out of the corner he had trapped you in. Max was still missing, the staff was still watching, and Alec held every single card.
“It’s… a mission Max is on,” you press out, as much as it hurt. “Me being here’s part of her plan.”
Before you could even process the word plan leaving your mouth, Alec’s arm shot out. He grabbed you, and with one swift, effortless tug, he pulled you right across the small space and directly onto his lap.
A sharp gasp caught in your throat. Your hands instinctively flew out to brace yourself, landing squarely against the tough leather of his jacket. Your face burned a blinding crimson under the neon lights, your heart hammering so hard against your ribs you were certain he could feel it.
"What the hell are you—" you hissed, scrambling to sit up, but his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, locking you in place.
"Shh," Alec murmured, his breath warm against your ear as he pulled you just a fraction closer. The cheeky grin on his face was wide and entirely unbothered. "Stop squirming. Look at your bartender friend. He’s still watching."
Your eyes darted up toward the bar. Sure enough, the bartender was looking right down into Booth 2, his arms no longer crossed, seemingly satisfied that you were finally doing your job.
"See?" Alec drawled, his voice a low, vibrating rumble beneath you. "If you sit on the edge of the seat looking like you're about to vomit, you’re getting thrown out. Or worse, the manager comes over to see why the new girl is broken. I’m saving your skin here."
"By putting me on your lap?!" you whispered fiercely, your face still hot enough to melt. You tried to shift your weight, but the tight outfit Max gave you offered absolutely zero protection against the sheer awkwardness of the situation. Every point of contact felt magnified by a thousand.
"Hey, it's called method acting," Alec teased, his emerald eyes dancing with absolute delight at your sheer panic. He leaned back against the seat, making himself comfortable while you sat there completely rigid. "If you work here, you've gotta act like you work here. A customer pays for a talk, you give 'em a show. Relax your shoulders. You're stiff as a board."
He reached up with his free hand, casually flicking a stray sequin on your shoulder.
“If you say a single word about this at Jam Pony, McDowell, I guarantee that every one of your future deliveries will be to the farthest point in the city.”
Alec chuckled softly, his chest trembling gently beneath your palm. Your threat didn’t scare him in the slightest; in fact, his voice suddenly lost its mocking edge, shifting into a much deeper, more resonant tone.
"Oh, so you’ve still got some fight in you? Impressive," he whispered, his face hovering just inches from yours. The eyes that had previously held a mocking glint now studied you in a completely different way. His gaze swept over your face, lingering on your lips before returning to your eyes. "But while we’re at it..." he murmured, his hand shifting slightly at your waist as his fingers pressed gently into the soft skin left exposed by your tight dress. "...play the part. You don’t want the bartender to spot that you’re just acting. Just go along with the game."
Reluctantly, you took a deep breath and let go of the stiff lapel of his leather jacket. Instead of pushing him away, your hand slid slowly up to his shoulder, your fingers digging into the soft fabric at his neck. Alec’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but that satisfied half-smile immediately played at the corners of his mouth.
Slowly — deliberately slowly — you lowered your shoulders and leaned closer to him, just as a true Midnight Velvet employee would.
"Like this, McDowell?" you whispered, your voice drilling into his ear, while to the bartender it might have looked as though you were sharing your most intimate secrets with your guest. In response, Alec drew in a deep breath.
Your fingers raked through his short-cropped hair, gently tilting his head back. Alec’s arm tightened around your waist so sharply that the leather of his jacket creaked under the strain. He didn’t push you away, nor did he pull you closer, he simply froze, caught between sheer pleasure and the shock of having fallen into his own trap.
“Atta girl,” Alec mutters as he pulls you closer, your shoulder and side flush against his chest.
The denim fabric of Alec's jeans lightly scraped the supple skin of your thighs as you nestled right into his lap, sitting on his left leg, your arms draped over his shoulder and around his neck. His palm slides onto your thigh, calloused fingers brushing over the exposed skin, tinted red and hot pink under the flickering lights of the club.
The heat of his palm against you sends a jolt straight up your spine, a stark contrast to the sticky air of the club. Alec’s chest rumbles against your shoulder as he lets out a low, amused chuckle, clearly tracking the way your breath hitches at his touch. He’s completely in his element, thriving in the chaos he’s trapped you in.
"Look at you," Alec murmurs, his voice dropping into a smooth, quiet tone that barely carries over the throbbing bass. "A natural. If Jam Pony ever goes under, at least we know you've got a backup career."
"Shut up, McDowell," you snap, though the bite in your voice is ruined by how breathless you sound. You tighten your grip around his neck slightly, less out of affection and more to keep your balance as the room spins from a mix of adrenaline and the cheap alcohol you downed at the bar.
Alec chuckled softly against your neck. His warm breath grazed your skin, sending a shiver down your back. His fingers slid a little higher up your thigh, tracing delicate, almost imperceptible circles on your skin right where your tight dress ended. A cheeky half-smile played on his lips, yet the glint in his eyes betrayed the fact that he wasn't unaffected by the situation either.
"Besides, who said I minded?" Alec murmured, pulling your head a little closer to his as if whispering a secret. "In fact, I’m starting to think Max has brilliant ideas. Next time, I’ll ask her to send you here before every shift."
His grip on your waist tightened, holding you steady against him as the club floor all but shuddered from the next deep bass note.
"Relax a little," he whispered, his voice now truly devoid of mockery, thick and dark with desire. "Your heart is beating too fast. If some dude comes over, he might think I’m hurting you."
If Alec wanted you to play the role, he got his wish—but on your own terms.
You smiled slowly, deliberately fixing your gaze on the corner of his mouth. You leaned in even closer—the tip of your nose nearly brushing his, your warm breath washing over his lips. Alec’s eyes darkened and his body tensed with anticipation as the last sliver of space between you vanished. He was certain you were about to give in. But instead of kissing him, at the last moment you turned your head slightly to the side, just barely missing his lips, and whispered right next to his ear.
"Keep dreaming, McDowell..."
That was the moment Alec’s self-control spectacularly shattered.
"Oh, not a chance," he murmured hoarsely, and before you could even process what was happening, the hand resting on your waist moved decisively. He gripped your hips and, with a single, commanding motion, pulled you flush against him, his lips crashing onto yours, while his other hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers burying deep into your hair.
Alec tilted his head and claimed your lips with hunger. The kiss was sudden, intense, and all-consuming. Although the game had started because of the bartender, in that moment, you both forgot you were even in the Midnight Velvet. Alec held nothing back, his kiss deep, confident, and possessive, yet it held a desperate heat that instantly set your blood on fire.
Your hand instinctively gripped his leather jacket, then slid up to his jaw, your fingers tracing it as you surrendered completely. Alec groaned softly into the kiss, his tongue gliding gently along your lower lip, demanding you open up to him—and you did, pulling him closer as if your life depended on it.
When Alec finally pulled away, he released your lips just enough for both of you to catch your breath, his chest heaving wildly beneath your palm. He had lost his head just as completely as you had.
"See?" he whispered breathlessly, his voice deeper and raspier than ever. "I told you you were a natural."
Your gaze drifted to his moist, slightly swollen lips, and your inhibitions, along with the cheap alcohol, vanished completely. You didn’t answer, instead, you simply placed your hand over his — which was buried in your hair — and pulled him firmly toward you. That single movement burned away the last shred of reason.
Alec reached for you, his kiss was no longer a performance for the bartender. His tongue hungrily sought entry, and you opened yourself fully to him. The surroundings — the blaring music, the flashing pink lights, Max’s screwed-up mission — ceased to exist entirely.
Alec’s hand slid from your thigh to your hip, his fingers almost digging into your skin as he pulled you even closer, holding you tight against him. He shifted his position, leaning his back fully against the corner of the booth so you could sit comfortably astride his left thigh.
The fabric of your daring, sequined dress bunched up silently toward your hips as you pressed every inch of your body against his. Your hand left his jawline, sliding down to slip beneath his leather jacket and right under his thin T-shirt. You pressed your palm against Alec’s taut abdomen, eliciting a deep, hoarse groan from his throat that spilled straight into your mouth.
His kiss grew even more aggressive, even hungrier; the pressure made your lips ache, yet neither of you wanted—or was able—to slow down.
You no longer cared who saw you or what the bartender might think. Nothing existed but the heat radiating from his body and that overwhelming desire you had both so carefully concealed during the daily grind at Jam Pony.
Slowly, almost instinctively, you shifted in his lap and swung your other leg over his thigh. Now you were straddling him completely, your hips pressed tight against his. A deep, stifled growl escaped Alec’s throat into the kiss as he felt your full weight upon him. There was no trace of his usual cockiness left.
The hands that had been holding your hips suddenly ventured on a much bolder path: one palm slid slowly up your inner thigh, his fingers leaving a burning trail on your soft skin, grazing just shy of your most sensitive spot and making your back arch sharply. His other hand clamped firmly onto your ass, fingers digging deep into your flesh.
His tongue entwined with yours, hot and confident, while your hands clung desperately to his shoulders; you practically dug your fingers into his leather jacket to keep from losing your balance. Alec shifted his hips slightly, pressing and rubbing gently against you in the darkness of the cramped booth.
Alec suddenly pulled his mouth away from yours. His breath came in ragged, searing gasps, and his lips glistened, wet and flushed, in the flickering pink neon light. His hands were still gripping you, and his body beneath you was so tense it felt as though it might explode at any moment.
"If we don't leave right now... I won't be able to stop myself..." he whispered, his voice so hoarse and dark with desire that it was barely audible over the thumping bass. The fire in his eyes seemed to burn as he waited for your answer, ready to sweep you up and carry you out the nearest exit.
You, however, merely offered a slow, cheeky smile, even though your own chest was heaving wildly for air. You leaned in even closer, your lips grazing his earlobe as you parted them to whisper.
"You told me to play the role, McDowell..." you murmured. "So you're getting exactly what you asked for."
That retort snapped the last thread of Alec’s self-control. A deep, guttural growl tore from his throat, and the very fact that you were in one of Midnight Velvet’s public booths vanished completely from his mind. Instead of standing up, his hands ventured as his right palm, fingers curled, slid beneath the thin hem of your dress, pressing directly against your bare skin.
A sharp, stifled gasp caught in your throat as his warm fingers finally reached the silky fabric of your underwear, applying a touch that was gentle yet firm. Your back arched, your head instinctively burying itself in Alec’s shoulder, while your fingers dug into his leather jacket so hard your nails nearly pierced the material.
You surrendered completely to the pleasure, your body moving in rhythm with his hips as Alec reached beneath your clothes, bolder and deeper, claiming you entirely amidst the dark, pulsating depths of the club.
Waves of pleasure crashed over you so intensely that, eyes closed, you pressed yourself against him in total surrender. But just as the first loud sigh was about to escape your throat, Alec’s fingers suddenly stopped. With a deep, ragged breath, he pulled away from your neck.
"That’s enough," he growled, his voice so hoarse it seemed to vibrate. "I’m not going to let the bartender, or anyone else, stare at you while..."
Before you could even answer or fully process his words, Alec firmly reached beneath your waist and thigh. With a single fluid and confident motion, he lifted you from his lap. You let out an involuntary gasp at the sudden shift in height, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and locking your legs around his hips to keep from falling.
Alec didn't hesitate, he strode with firm steps toward a darker, more secluded corner of the club.
He stepped behind a burgundy velvet curtain that led into one of the club’s enclosed private booths. Inside, the club’s thumping bass grew muffled, and the flashing lights from outside gave way to a single, sultry, deep-red lamp.
A soft, plush sofa filled the room, completely isolating you from the outside world. Alec leaned his back against the heavy oak door, which clicked shut behind you. He was still holding you in his arms, his eyes seemed to glow in the red light as he looked down at you.
"So," he breathed, his cocky, confident half-smile slowly returning to his lips, though his voice still trembled with desire. "No one can see us here. Now you can continue your role... and I’ll continue mine."
Alec lowered you slowly, almost reverently, onto the soft plush. As your back touched the velvety fabric, your dress rode up even higher, but you didn't mind at all now. Alec immediately loomed over you, bracing his hands against the back of the sofa on either side of your head, ready to pick up exactly where he had left off outside.
You, however, refused to let him dictate the pace. Taking advantage of the total privacy afforded by the closed door, you flashed a cheeky smile. Before Alec could lean in closer, you placed your palm flat against his chest, right over his heart, and pushed him away firmly but slowly. Alec raised his eyebrows in surprise but complied, staying put, even as his breathing grew even more ragged.
You slowly sat up on the sofa, movements deliberately feline and provocative. Your hand moved toward the lapel of his leather jacket, but instead of taking it off, you slowly traced your fingers up his neck to his jawline. You leaned closer, just enough for a strand of your hair to brush against his cheek.
"In a rush, McDowell?" you whispered, your voice soft and sultry. "I thought you were the one who liked to strategize."
A low, stifled sound escaped Alec’s throat, you could see his last shred of self-control slowly crumbling under your slow torment. His hands wandered to your hips, his fingers digging deep into your skin as if begging you to end the game.
"You're driving me crazy..." he growled hoarsely. You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you helped him shrug off his jacket before you gently grasped the hem of his T-shirt and slowly pulled it up, revealing his taut abs inch by inch, while planting tiny, searing kisses along his collarbone and down onto his chest.
Alec’s head fell back and the veins in his neck stood out as desire all but paralyzed him. When the shirt finally hit the floor, your hand wandered to the waistband of his trousers.
Alec couldn't stand the distance any longer. He grabbed your waist and, with a single motion, pulled you beneath him onto the couch. His kiss was relentless now, leaving you breathless. His hands roamed your body wildly, pushing down the straps of your dress from your shoulders and baring your skin to his hot lips. Your body fell into perfect rhythm with his; you instinctively pressed your hips against his.
He still towered over you, his hot breath searing your neck as his hands firmly gripped the fabric of your dress. With a single, decisive motion, he stripped it—along with your underwear—down past your hips, leaving your body completely exposed against the velvet of the plush sofa. His eyes were dark, almost pitch-black with desire, as he gazed at you in the dim light.
"Alec..." you whispered breathlessly, your voice faltering as the cool air touched your skin, but Alec didn't let you finish.
Slowly, inch by inch, he slid down your body. His hot lips left a burning trail across your stomach and ribs, making your stomach clench involuntarily with pleasure. His hands settled on your inner thighs, his calloused fingers parted your legs firmly yet gently, laying you completely open before him.
When Alec sank to his knees in front of the sofa and his gaze fell upon your most intimate spot, your heart pounded so wildly it almost hurt. There was no time to think. Alec leaned closer, and his hot, wet tongue glided—at first cautiously and softly—along the sensitive inner curve of your sex.
A sharp, audible gasp escaped your throat as you helplessly buried your head in the plush cushions. That first touch sent an electric jolt racing down your spine. Alec sensed your shudder and gripped your thighs even tighter, holding you steady as his movements grew more confident and intense. His tongue worked rhythmically, deeply, and relentlessly, pinpointing the exact spot that made every fiber of your body go taut.
Your hands instinctively buried themselves in his hair, fingers tangling in the short strands—sometimes pulling him closer, other times helplessly pushing him away—as waves of pleasure began to crash over you. A low, satisfied growl escaped Alec’s throat against your skin as he felt your hips lift involuntarily from the couch, demanding the rhythm he was setting.
Alec teased you with his tongue until your body went taut and you crossed the threshold with a loud, stifled cry. Waves of pleasure were still coursing through your veins when he slowly straightened up. His lips glistened in the red light, his breathing was heavy.
He gave you no time to catch your breath, immediately climbing back onto the sofa over you, his weight gently pressing your body into the plush cushions. His hands tangled in your hair, and he claimed your lips as if he meant to consume you entirely.
His kiss was darker and more demanding now, his tongue eagerly entwining with yours. With a single, decisive movement, he shed his trousers, then gripped your hips, gently lifting and pulling your body against his. As he settled between your thighs, you felt the heat of his skin.
"Look at me," he growled hoarsely, right against your lips, as he interlaced his fingers with yours and pinned your hands above your head. You obeyed. Your eyes widened in the deep crimson gloom, and the next moment, a deep, fading sigh escaped your throat as Alec became one with you in a single, slow, yet ruthlessly decisive movement.
It instantly surged into an overwhelming, wild rhythm. Alec held nothing back as his hips moved in a deep cadence, and with every thrust, you felt the raw power straining his body. The plush sofa creaked softly beneath your combined weight, but the noise of the outside world ceased to exist entirely.
Your hand broke free from his grasp and clung desperately to his broad, muscular shoulders. You dug your nails into his back as fresh, even more intense waves of pleasure began to flood your mind. Alec buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin gently, while the pace grew faster and more demanding.
The wild rhythm finally culminated in one last, tense moment. A deep, hoarse groan tore from Alec’s throat as his body went rigid above you, his hips driving deep into you one final time. Clawing at his back and with your head thrown helplessly back, you followed him into the deep haze.
For long minutes, only your ragged, heavy breathing could be heard in the silence of the private booth. Alec slowly sank down beside you on the sofa, then turned and pulled you close, your bare back pressed against his muscular chest, while his chin rested atop your head, your skin still damp and hot from the storm that had just passed.
"Well..." Alec finally spoke, his voice still incredibly deep and husky, but that familiar, cheeky edge was already creeping back into it. "I have to say... you’ve definitely earned that tip."
You smiled in the dark and gave him a playful nudge in the ribs with your elbow.
"Shut up, McDowell."
"I’m serious," he chuckled softly, his arm wrapping even tighter around your waist, his fingers resting gently on your stomach. "But all jokes aside... I don't think walking into Jam Pony tomorrow morning will feel the same. Although, come to think of it, the morning briefings are going to be a lot more interesting now that I’ll be picturing you in that sequined dress."
