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━ 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 2 come into my bedroom (18+)

( tim bradford x girl!reader )

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

SUMMARY: it’s been a week since you stayed at tim bradford’s house and it’s all you can think about. so, when LA's heatwave rolls in again - and your apartment loses power in the midst of it - there’s only one place you find yourself seeking refuge. AUTHOR'S NOTE: y'all asked, i deliveredddd 🤪 nothing to explain here just that it's part 2 hehe hope this lives up to any expectations. i'm sorry i lowkey HATE IT it's not the best work i've done so i've repaid my shit writing with having tim as a filthy man in this. enjoy! MDNI PLEASE xoxo INCLUDES: enemies to fuck buddies lovers, swearing, pet names, praise, dirty talk, fingering, spooning sex, author regrets her shit writing, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap that willy!), no use of Y/N, orgasm denial (he does it once), dom!tim, sub!reader WORDS: 7K+ TAGS: @srjksr @theendofthematerialgworl

It's been a week since you stayed at Tim Bradford's house.

And let's be real, since that following morning when you snuck out of his bed, removing his arms from your waist and detangling his legs from yours, work has been absolute torture.

It's not the type of torture that includes pesky criminals fighting against their restraints, or the piles of paperwork handed to you just as you are to clock out.

No, this is different- torturous in a way that you feel like if you don't sleep with Tim again soon, you might just die.

In all honesty, it's been like this all week; your mind can't seem to shake off what memories intoxicate your brain from that very night and how much it has impacted not just your heart, but your fucking ovaries too. Because with how he spoke to you with softened eyes, looking you up and down when you wore his t-shirt and how he touched you with all of his warmth like a personal heated blanket, you really can't go back to the way things used to be.

Apparently, you're not the only one feeling like this.

Things have been...different between you two. Sure, you're back to being work colleagues- professional ones, at most, but the arguments you used to have aren't there anymore. Instead, a simmering of tension fills the loss of words shared amongst the two of you, along with other things.

You catch one another in a lingering stare. Your hands brush when you pass each other. Your shoulders touch when you stand too close together. Your conversations are charged enough to feel and know that there's energy between you too, and yet, they're too small that you find yourself chasing after it the more that days go by.

The hardest part of your shifts is when you share the shop.

Every ride on patrol since staying at Tim's has been quiet but so fucking loud that your heart pounds through your ears. Often, when your mind dazes back to that night - his muscly arms around you, his breath tickling the back of your neck - you glance at him, only to find his knuckles clenching hard on the steering wheel with a focused stare as he looks onwards...like he knew exactly what you were thinking about.

A week of this- of tension and desire.

And at this rate? You aren't sure you can survive another one.

Though it seems neither can he.

Like right now, as you currently sit at one of the desks, your gaze watching him from afar as you've completely disregarded whatever paperwork is sprawled in front of you.

Tim stands a few feet away, with the Sun's awakening catching his hair against it's stream, his jaw tight and brows furrowed as he listens to the officer speaking to him. He's unreadable to the majority of the crowd, but to you, he's focused and serious.

Your eyes drift down to his arms. His biceps, with no room for space, flex against the thin fabric of his uniform, and a twitch in your veins palpitates your heartbeat.

You falter lower to his hands.

Large, steady hands. Capable hands.

The hands that pulled you into his body by grabbing your waist.

His index finger idly traces the outline of his coffee lid in slow circles and your lips part slightly, thoughts spiralling at the gentle motion of his finger.

If he can circle a coffee lid that nicely, what would he be like circling your...

Fuck.

You shake your head.

What the fuck is wrong with you? You can't be thinking like this, especially about your superior. What happened to your disdain? Your irritation? Your solid belief that he's a pain in your ass?

Do you even remember what you were like before he cuddled you?

Then, he moves.

Tim gives a small thanks to the officer before parting ways with him, though it appears your presence has - once again - caught his attention.

Because he finds himself skimming the busy room with a small squint to his eyelids and ah, there you are.

Once his baby blues attach themselves to yours, there's that same flicker within them that has a small blush tinting your cheeks and your heartbeat quickening with every second that passes.

This time, he doesn't look away.

You...do.

You drop your gaze, diverting back to the paperwork that had been long forgotten from you. You run a hand through the loose strands of your hair in its ponytail, hoping that to others, your blush is a reflection of the blazing heatwave currently outside, and not because of a specific sergeant you've slowly grown fond of who still has his eyes on you.

━━ ✩*ೃ.⋆ ━━

Los Angeles’ heatwave did not let down today.

The scorching of air sticking to your uniform was relentless, pressing down on you like a weight- thick and suffocating. Even your consumption of water couldn't catch up to the amount of sweat you released today, ultimately wearing you thin with fatigue and emotional sensitivity.

And it doesn't help a certain someone's presence had been playing with your heart- your arrays of nerves throbbing in an imbalance amongst the heat of the day.

You have been counting down the hours until you could get home, imagining the sweet relief of your newly purchased portable fan blasting cool air onto your overheated skin. However, the second you had stepped through your front door, dumped your keys on the counter and kicked your shoes off with a huff, something didn't feel right.

You remember frowning at the sight of your fan and how from afar where it stood ominously in your bedroom, it appeared...motionless.

Stepping closer, you trained your gaze onto the cord where it was clearly plugged into the wall.

Then, a flicker to your light switch confirmed all that you needed to know when it didn't turn on.

A blackout.

"Fuck me." You had cursed yourself, a groan gravelling your throat as you darted your sight from the light bulb to the switch in disbelief.

Then, you pulled the curtains from your bedroom's window aside, peeking your head out. Only to notice that the rest of the city was alive- a sea of warm and cold home lights, neon signs and dim streetlights flickering across your eyes' exposure. It wasn't a neighbourhood outage, just you.

It's nothing out of the new- with how old the building is, yet the rent being so affordably cheap, unforeseen electrical issues that force an emergency shut-off are quite the reoccurrence. You just hadn't expected it to happen during a heatwave.

Currently, your clock reads 11:05pm.

And you can't sleep.

Laying wide awake in your bed, the sweat you've collected from your skin sticks to your tank top and mini shorts, wishing for nothing but fucking death. The window beside you doesn't bring any chill of Mother Nature's breath and your mind is hazy, overheated- it's too much.

Even the thin sheet that once draped over your legs has been discarded onto the floor, and your pillow has become far too uncomfortable, radiating what you least want to feel in this sudden moment...heat.

You glare at your fan and how it pointlessly stands on the floorboards, aiming directly at you and yet, offering not a single ounce of support to your sweltering body.

Absolutely. Fucking. Useless.

As you slam your head back down onto your pillow, an overwhelming sense of nausea withers deep inside of your gut and you try to blink away the pain you endure from it, hoping that there's any other way you can beat this heatwave just for tonight.

Trust in that you've thought of every possible situation: Sleeping in the fridge? But you're too small. Sleeping on the kitchen tiles? They may be cooler, but uncomfortable as hell. Lying in the bathtub? You’d still be boiling. Driving around all night with the AC on? You'll waste so much petrol.

You could crash at Lucy's...but- fuck, it'd be too late to call her.

But it wouldn't be too late to go to Tim's.

The thought slams into you like a train and you widen your eyes, stunned by the audacity of your own subconscious.

Tim.

Shit. Seriously?

You shut your eyes tightly, hoping to rid any thought of your superior.

But, to your dismay, the idea seems to have rooted itself within your brain. Because the more you think about it, the more you realise it's...actually not a bad idea.

He's got air conditioning, and a really big, comfortable bed. And you hate to admit it but, his body felt really fucking good wrapped around you.

And before the logistic side of your brain can even muster up a list of all reasons why you shouldn't go to his house, you're already swinging your legs over to edge of the bed, feet sliding into your slippers.

Your keys are right where you left them- awaiting impatiently on your kitchen bench.

Snatching them up, along with your phone, you're pushing yourself out the door and into your car.

Your car hums into it's awakening, and before you know it, you're already leaving your street with the AC damn not as cold enough as you need it to be. You can't even bring yourself to turn the radio on, too busy listening to the silence of your surroundings and, better yet, the overwhelming outbursts of your thoughts that fill said silence.

Thoughts like what the fuck you're doing, why you're doing this, and if you're making the right decision or not.

There's also thoughts of a phantom touch, illuminating his very large hands cascading around your waist, spooning you into his embrace once again.

You can feel yourself fluttering at the expense of your own imagination.

By the time you reach the familiar-looking home, your heart rate has exceeded the usual average rate and your hands shake on the gear stick as you pull it into park.

Your body supposes there's no time to waste as you yank yourself out from your car seat, closing the door ever so quietly as if anyone in the station will even notice you. But, with one last shaky breath, you reach one of your hands up and knock.

A tree's sway fills the silence, followed by the echo of your own heartbeat.

Then, a mockingbird's call can be faintly heard from afar and you inhale sharply.

The longer your skin stays out here, the worse it's reacting to the ever growing heat in the air...and deep in your core.

You go to raise your hand again.

However, before your knuckles can even clash with the lukewarm wood of the front door, it swings open.

You freeze with your hand mid-air.

Your superior, your sergeant stands there, his hand still holds onto the door's knob while the other rests by his side.

His hair is messy, the type that yells volumes of restlessness and tossing and turning, and his pyjamas - or should it be mentioned, just his blue plaid pants - are crinkled with the obvious-

...Oh.

The obvious tent in his pants staring right at you.

Your gaze quickly moves up, your attention desperate to just peek some more at the size of him, but you know you're better than that.

He's also shirtless.

Of course he is, it's fucking hot.

Yet, you seem to struggle to even look away from that too.

So, as you reel your hand back to your side, you train instead on his face and how his eyes are just barely open as he looks you up and down- a squint to his focus as it takes him a mere few seconds to realise the knock he heard amidst his dreams wasn't fake, but very, very real.

And you're standing there, true and authentic and raw and...flushed in the cheeks, trying your best to not look down there.

But it appears your appearance has him surprised too, swallowing hard as he finds that he's never seen you with such an absence of clothes on- a low-neckline tank top and mini pyjama shorts that might just leave even less to the imagination than when you wore his t-shirt (though, for personal reasons, he'd rather you wear the latter).

Noticing as you're too stunned to speak, he begins, "What the fuck are you doing here?" And oh, is his voice just so crisp and raspy. He whips his head to the left, searching for a clock to reassure his confusion, "Jesus- it's 11:30pm."

Your mouth opens immediately to speak, but then you close it, only to open it up against once your brain forms a coherent sentence, "I can't sleep," You mutter out, your fingers reaching for each other out of comfort as they fiddle together, "It's um- It's stupid, I know, but my apartment has a blackout so it's just too hot to even sleep in my bed-" You move your eyes away from his stare, embarrassed of your admittance, "and I thought about you and your air-con and your bed and how nice it was sleeping in it."

Tim takes a few seconds to process your ramble, but then he cocks his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips, "You thought about me?"

You look up at him, a blush heavy on your cheeks as you roll your eyes, "Don't get too excited now," You huff out, but you don't tell him he's wrong. "...Can I stay at yours for the night?"

Yes, fuck yes! is what Tim immediately yells out inside his head as his mind registers the fact that his colleague; you - out of all people - have asked to sleep with him. And while the smarter decision would be to say no and keep the professionalism between you two at a respectful level, he can't seem to pull himself to say that.

So he just shrugs, "Sure," And then he's opening the door even wider to allow space for you to enter, "Come in."

Relief washes over you, and so your feet carry you as they step past him and into the living room you've often found yourself dreaming about within this week.

Immediately, your body embraces the stark difference in temperature as the air conditioning glazes a fine layer of chillness to your skin. It's not too cold that your teeth clatter in response, but instead, it's a refresher to your situation and it's almost like you've completely forgotten the immense heat your apartment once cascaded on you.

The door behind you shuts with a click.

A waft of deja vu tingles throughout you when Tim walks past you while you stand and look around at his living room. Except this time, rather than coming up and greeting you, Kojo gives a sleepy nod of acknowledgement towards your way as he stays rested on his bed.

And the house itself does not feel foreign, it feels...familiar.

You're still yet to decide on whether that's a good feeling or not.

Tim is making his way to the kitchen while you're left overlooking the same couch you once struggled to sleep on, the same floorboards that have a creak when stepped in specific locations and the same homely furniture (though hard to spot in this dark room with only the moonlight to provide a source of light).

He looks over his shoulder at your statue of a figure, "Water?" He asks, his voice still gravelly from sleep.

You flicker your attention over to him and you nod, "Please."

He disappears into the kitchen, and you're left to be alone. Though, this time, your curiosity of looking at the living room instead trains right on the very room your mind has thought about every fucking second of every fucking day.

His bedroom.

It's been left open, and while you can't exactly see anything from where you stand, you need not be told for what is inside.

You know where his bed is, you know the side he sleeps on.

You. Know.

Apparently, this whole night has been caused by the abruptness of your body (and ovaries) because while your brain has been left searching for sanity far, far away, you begin to stroll over to his bedroom door.

Inhaling heavily, you step inside.

Your feet are no longer cool against the floorboards but instead, the soft carpet tickles your toes and heels. And just like last time, it smells of everything of goodness; a certain masculine earthy scent...a scent of him.

You can't help but shiver- the sensations you once felt last week all settle back into you.

"I'm guessing no couch tonight, then?"

You whip around to the sudden voice of your sergeant from where he leans against his bedroom's doorframe, a glass of water beading in condensation in his hand and his eyes are unwavering on yours.

"No! No...no, thank you." You exhale, a shaky laugh escaping your throat as you cross your arms over your chest and look away, memorising how awfully uncomfortable that couch was especially in contrast to the bed that awaits your body. You look back up at him, the urge for his reassurance rushing through your subconscious, "If...that's okay?"

He puffs out a little chuckle as he steps away from the frame, shutting the door behind him as one foot goes in front of the other until he's in front of you. He reaches out the glass of water to you, "More than okay."

You try to not take his words to heart, though it's hard when there's a sense of softness and genuity to his hoarse voice. Your chest can't stop pounding at the warm touch of his fingers as you brush over them to accept the glass.

There's a glint of heaviness in his eyes as he looks at you when you bring the glass to your lips, and while his stare is overwhelmingly hard to hold, you find that you're maintaining eye contact.

The cool liquid cascading down your throat does nothing to stop how hot your veins feel- a different kind that isn't blaring from the heatwave, but more of a response to the sudden closure between you and your superior.

You both can feel it.

And Tim...fuck, the moment he opened the door and saw you there, he knew he was done for. Even now, as you drink your glass of water, his eyes can't help but wander as they follow some of the condensation's droplets landing on your black tank top.

Your nipples harden through the thin fabric beneath his stare.

Holy shit.

He quickly looks back up at you just in time for you to lower your glass, your lips red and wet and it's taking him all of his strength to not pull you into him just to feel how plush they are against his own.

Instead of acting upon his primal instincts, he ignores his animalistic thoughts and his cock twitching within his pants by nodding at the inviting mattress with a small smile, "Shall we?" He asks quietly.

You swallow hard, flickering between Tim and the bed before you reciprocate his smile, "Let's do this." As if the innocence in your voice can secretly hide how fucking luringly sinful this whole situation is.

You don't wait for his response, already turning around to where the bed lies, and walking to the left side as you drop the empty glass on the bedside table.

Deja vu comes once again.

Except...it's not really this time. Because you know you've done this before; you've been here before, you know what his bed sheets feel like.

And whether Tim decides to cuddle you again, well, that's up to him.

(Your heart and core are begging he does)

As you slide into the sheets, you ponder on how many times you've fucking dreamt of this moment. And it only makes you shudder more when you realise that up until this point, as you pull the sheets over your waist and roll onto your side, usually your dreams tweak this scene.

Some dreams have ended that Tim embraces you, his warm hands skimming everywhere on your smooth skin and putting you in all sorts of different cuddling positions.

The other dreams? Oh...

You blush heavily at your mind's illustrations, your wet dreams only worsening the desire you feel in this tension-filled moment.

But right now, with your eyes oblivious to what is happening behind you, your ears perk up to the sounds of Tim's shuffling as he also gets into bed; his exhale is loud when he glides beneath the duvet with the friction of skin against sheets as he moves around to find a comfortable position, and then...

Silence.

Your heart pounds and your eyes widen as you grip the sheets tighter, hoping that perhaps he might grab you right...now.

You wait.

But all that you feel is the phantom touch your mind has often tricked you with.

He's very much there, alive and well, on the other side of the bed- you can fucking hear his breathing.

But, why isn't he touching you?

Why isn't he doing anything?

You frown.

It’s ridiculous, pathetic even, the way disappointment creeps in despite how insanely close you already are. But, of course, your body doesn't understand logic- it only understands desire and the electricity crackling in the mere inches of space between you and him.

Half an hour passes, and you feel like you might just die.

You're starving for him, and while your body screams at him to fucking do something, to do anything, he's just...lying there.

But, from what you can hear, his breathing doesn't exhibit that of a sleeping man; rather than deep and relaxed, it's steady and controlled.

Which can only mean that he's just as awake as you.

You sigh quietly, a dilemma coursing throughout your brain as a part of you thinks it's best to just stay still and wait it out.

Like you said to him at the front door, you just need a place to sleep and nothing more.

But then the other duality of your persona - your irrational side - can't handle the fast pacing of your heartbeat, and the amount of control you're trying to suppress against your temptations.

God, you want to turn around, to look him in the eyes, to fucking kiss him and take him as yours.

The battle of your inner psyche is too much to handle at this point.

The worst part about this? You can't even fucking sleep because of how much your mind races.

You can't close your eyes-

-Or breathe properly.

The sheets are too uncomfortable, too hot, too-

Tim moves.

Your thoughts stop.

And then finally- a hand.

His rough, large hand grasps your waist, and he's pulling you into him.

Your breath hitches at the familiar warmth of his chest. Except this time, you can feel every flex of his muscles that his t-shirt lacked to expose last week. He's so solid, so warm, so good. And rather than making a home within the dent of your waist's side, his arm tucks around your body in a way that feels protective and possessive- his palm warms your stomach.

"It's like I can fucking hear your thoughts," He murmurs, his lips so close to your ear that you shiver from his hot breath, "Those pretty eyes don't lie, sweetheart- I know what you've been thinking about."

"Tim." You flush in embarrassment because, no, you haven't been subtle with how you've been looking at him and acting around him.

But he continues, a tease to his tone as his hand suddenly begins to move upwards to your chest, "You can say all you want, but I don't think someone who doesn't like me would think the way you have."

You grip the sheets tightly as his hand reaches underneath your tank top, and the soft touch of his index finger as it traces up and down your sternum has you squirming. Breathlessly, you reply, "Could say the same about you."

Tim stops the motion of his finger.

He hums, "But I'm not the one denying my interest in you, am I?"

Your breath catches.

Fuck.

Your voice, weakened, tries to fight back, "Well, I'm sure you've been reminding yourself how much you hate me."

He chuckles lowly.

"You think I'm reminding myself right now?"

And then, with a gentle pull, you're pressed flushed against him and your lips part for a sharp inhale when you realise you can feel his hard cock digging into the curve of your ass.

Your pulse quickens at just the mere realisation of how fucking big he is, and you'd rather give up on sleep just to feel the sensations of him inside of you all night.

You whisper quietly in confession, "I...suppose not."

Suddenly, his hand leaves the enclosure of your tank top, and at first, you can't stop feeling disappointment from how close he was to touching your breasts- your perked nipples yearning for his attention.

But, any ounce of that emotion dissipates the moment his hand holds onto your chin, and he's moving your head to face his with a whispered c'mere.

By the time your head is angled to face him and your eyes attach to his own, there's a glint you find within them- a darkened sparkle reflecting off the Moonlight's shine and he looks needy and hungry.

You engrave those baby blues into your brain when he leans his lips into yours, and the first kiss is mesmerising.

Maybe it's all the pent-up emotions you have towards each other or the fact that you've thought about this moment for a long fucking week- whatever it is, it's what makes the kiss just that bit hotter.

Your sergeant is kissing you with an intense passion while his throbbing cock is pressed up against you, and it's so much better than any wet dream or maladaptive dream you've had for the last seven days.

His lips are wet against your own from the mixture of both of your saliva as you kiss, and you can't stop craving more as you grind your ass further into him.

He groans into the kiss, and oh, you melt.

But, Tim is a smart man for he gives you exactly what you want; his hand leaves the grip on your chin as he brushes his fingers down your warm, silky skin, and he's crawling back underneath your tank top as he lands right where you need him.

He doesn't tease either, immediately taking his thumb to flick your nipple, one, two, three times. And when you gasp at the first touch of Tim's rough digits, he takes that as the perfect opportunity to invite his tongue into your mouth.

You crumble at the velvet sensations of his tongue dominating your own mouth and the exploration he takes upon himself while his index finger meets with his thumb, rolling your nipple within their embrace.

"Fuck," You moan against his lips when he pinches your bud with just that right amount of pressure- playing on the lines of pain and pleasure.

"So sensitive, sweetheart," He murmurs, and you can feel his smirk against your mouth when you whine even more as he pinches your other breast, then circles it slowly and deliberately, "Wanna touch you more, though." To which his rough fingers skim ever so slowly down from your breasts, and as you bring your lips to interlock with his again, you can't stop your breath from hitching when you know exactly where he's going.

Because even in this chilled room with no bright lights to picture your current scene, with every curve he feels as he lowers down your waist, tracing a line on your pubic bone, his hands have already found your shorts and oh, his fingers perfectly slip beneath the clothing.

"Fuck me," He curses the moment he notices he's touching your skin, "No underwear?"

"Don't feel special," You gruffly reply, turning your head away from his face and back to facing the window as you hold onto his bicep and push yourself more into his hardened cock, "With this heatwave, less clothing is better."

"Oh, I couldn't agree more," His index finger continues its journey down further until he finds himself touching your begging clit and you flinch at the initial contact, "The moment I opened my door to you, all I wanted to do was rip these fucking pyjamas off you."

"Tim-" You groan out of frustration when he doesn't let on any more pressure or stimulation to your clit- just pressing his finger on top of your bundle of nerves.

"You know," He kisses your shoulder, his whisper breathy and warm, "For someone who hates me so much, you sure aren't acting like it right now."

"Says the one who invited me to his bed last week," You scoff, then moan quietly when he pushes down on your clit, his middle and ring finger joining as well.

Amidst the ambience of your heavy breaths and the moans that often followed, Tim's quiet chuckle breaks through, his lips vibrating against your shoulder as he begins to move his three fingers in a gentle circular motion, "Well, I don't think you'll be complaining once I fuck this pretty pussy, will you?"

But he's not looking for an answer, and you gasp at the mixture of both his dirty talk and how his fingers have just started to pick up a pace directly on your clit.

It feels so good- too good.

How can his fingers feel better than your own? How is he going to make you cum quicker than you can to yourself?

You arch more into him, and instinctively, your legs part just that bit wider for him- your body's way of pleading for more. And it seems Tim is satisfied by how well you're reacting to him, because his lips ghost hot, wet kisses on the back of your neck, whispering, "That's it, be greedy."

His fingers work your clit with a rhythm that's good enough that you can feel yourself growing more breathless by the second, but it's too slow that your impatience is wearing thin. And he knows what he's doing- it's like a test to see how far he can push you until you're begging.

From this angle, with his body flush against yours from behind, he's able to look down at you, watching every sharp inhale and shaky moan that escapes your lips. He notices how your eyes flutter in pure ecstasy and yet, never shut tight- caught in the push and pull of pleasure, unable to focus.

"Tim," You whine, your thighs trembling as you turn to meet his cocky gaze, "Please, I need more."

He tilts his head, his smirk audible, "What do you need, sweetheart?"

"Your-" Your moan cuts you off as he begins to fasten his pace on your clit, and you nearly sob as you stare up at him with pleading eyes, "Fuck- I need your fingers, please."

God, if only you begged for him like this before you stayed at his that first night would he be blessed with the sounds of your noises earlier in his life.

"But I am using my fingers..." He muses, amusement dripping off his tongue. And the bastard proves his evidence by quickening his circular motion on your bundle of nerves.

"Tim," You groan out in frustration, "Inside me. Now."

He stifles a laugh and he murmurs quietly, "I got you," before his fingers hook into your shorts, pulling them down inch by inch until they pool around your lower thighs. Then, from behind, the very same index finger that he was using to tease you before, trails up the back of your thigh, to the swell of your ass, before sliding down to where your leaking core is.

You both gasp when his finger glides through your slick folds.

"Jesus," He curses, his own breathing a little heavier as he gathers your juices onto his finger by continuously moving from your hole to your clit, "So fucking wet for me, aren't you?"

You don't reply- you can't, not when his thick finger pushes inside of you.

Your mouth falls open as he stills, letting you adjust, to ease into his touch, to allow your walls to stretch around you.

Then, he starts moving slowly, pumping in and out of you.

A chorus of moans spills from your lips as his finger squelches inside of you, and it feels so fucking good.

But, his pace is too slow, too teasing- it doesn't feel enough.

Your breath exhales, and you're about to tell him more, more! Give me more!

But it seems, yet again, he's listened to your wishes because he unexpectedly adds another finger into your pussy.

You cry out.

Tim's other hand, once rested underneath his pillow, clamps over your mouth quickly, muffling the noises that follow once he starts to fuck you open with both of his fingers. "Shhh," he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, "You don’t want the neighbours hearing you, do you?"

You whimper when he stops moving entirely, awaiting your answer.

Desperately, you shake your head.

"Attagirl," He praises lowly.

And then, he's thrusting his fingers back into you, hard, and you tighten your grip on his flexing bicep while your whole body shudders.

The room fills with the wet sounds of his fingers pumping into you, your muffled cries vibrating against his palm. But even with his hand covering your mouth, it does nothing to suppress the sounds you can hear- the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, the slick noise of him fingering you open, the breathy groans he lets out every time he feels you get even tighter around his digits.

Without warning, Tim leaves the hand once covering your mouth- only to push his index and middle finger inside your mouth.

And oh, does Tim moan in your ear when you obeyingly wrap your lips around his fingers, wettening them with your tongue.

"Fuck, such a good girl," He shudders from behind, rewarding you by adding a third finger to the mix and quickening his pace.

You're so overwhelmed by the difference in speed and the stretching of a third finger that you're seeing stars gently sparkling within the corners of your vision.

You're already so close, so embarrassingly close, and with his large fingers getting soaked by the saliva in your mouth, you can't notify Tim about it either.

But, it seems you don't need to anyway.

Because just as the pleasure builds to its peak, and that inner bubble within you is just about to burst-

Tim pulls his fingers out of you.

It takes a few seconds to realise that you actually didn't achieve your orgasm, and the weight of an unsatisfying pause to your moment has you pulling your mouth away from his fingers.

"Tim!" You cry out, anger and desperation leaking in your voice as you turn to him, "You dickhead- I was so close!"

But when you look at him, there's no hint of sympathy or guilt for the mistake he's made-

Because it wasn't a mistake.

Tim, the fucking asshole, curated that plan purposely to deny your orgasm. And by the feeling of his cock twitching beneath you, it seems he liked it too.

"Like I give a shit," He murmurs, his voice thick with arrogance, "You're cumming on my cock."

And then, contrasting to his ego, he's giving you a gentle, sweet, caring kiss on your lips- as if what he just said and did wasn't the filthiest and meanest thing a man has ever done to you.

There are no seconds to recover from what just happened before you can feel shuffling behind you while his lips lock with yours. And you don't realise it's his pants that he's pulling down until you feel his hardness leaking between your thighs.

You inhale sharply, the feeling of his thickness being enough proof of his massive size.

Tim pulls away from the kiss to brush his lips against your temple, and you're completely under his control with the way his hands move down to grip your hips, keeping you exactly where he wants.

"You have no idea how badly I've wanted this," His whisper is low, but the words are still clear to your ear as he moves the head of his cock to the entrance to your slick pussy, "Gonna feel how good we fit together."

And perhaps, out of the many interactions you've had with your superior, this might be the only thing that you two work well in- not that you're upset about it, or anything.

(Neither is he)

The way you're so pressed up against him gives you no room to do anything but just accept the warmth of his body, and - of course - the heat of his cock once he begins to push the tip in.

You cry out at this new sensation engulfing you and Tim shudders, releasing a low groan too. But, there's no room to stop, not when you feel this fucking good.

So, in one long thrust, he's pushing himself in, filling you so deep you swear you can feel him everywhere. Once he bottoms out you clench around his girth, his veins engraving within your walls and his breath is shaky from behind.

"Holy shit," You exhale when he takes a moment for your body to adjust. Your eyes search for his own and it's like looking into his dark, wide-blown ones make your juices cascade around him even more.

He doesn't give you enough time to adapt, for he's already pulling out just enough to thrust back in.

The angle is exhilarating and Tim might just cum at the sight of you arching into his embrace, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

So he turns your head away to the other side with the soft manoeuvre of your chin.

Your noises are uncontrollably loud when he sets a pace that’s deep, deliberate, and dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. But, this time, Tim can't find it in his heart to clamp your mouth again- your sounds are too precious, too pretty to silence. In fact, he joins you with his own groans and erratic breaths, his praises flourishing you every time he says something.

"That's it, baby. Take it." He mutters, his hips slapping against your body with every thrust, the feeling only overwhelming both of your senses the more he keeps up with his rough pace. "Being a good fucking girl now, aren't you?"

You can't respond, not when his hand slides down your stomach and his digits find your needy clit again, rubbing in gentle circles that have you gasping.

"Hmm?" He hums, his mouth breathing into your shoulder as he continues to thrust up into you, "Where's that loud mouth now, pretty girl?"

Your groan mixes with your whimper when he pushes down a specifically perfect amount of pressure on your clit, and his cock hits that spot, "Shut- oh my God. Shut the fuck up, you asshole."

You earn a chuckle from him, and he kisses the space between your shoulder and neck. He whispers, "Yes Ma'am." followed by his relentless concentration on fucking you into oblivion.

And, oh, does he keep to his word. His cock pounding into you so roughly your core squelches in delight, and your hot walls coat his dick with your juices so much that Tim knows he won't be able to last with how good it feels.

But, neither will you.

Because once he does actually shut his mouth, he's left to pant and blabber small words like so good and so close and you're able to focus on everything; how attentive his digits are to your clit as if he's listening to what your body wants, how close he's holding you to him like he doesn't want to let you go, how he's fucking you senselessly- like this means just as much to him as it means to you.

Maybe that's why you came back.

Not just for his bed, or his air conditioning, but because you felt safe in your sergeant's arms...because being with Tim under this moonlight in comparison to the hatred that once filtered the air between you two feels good to your heart.

And, well, when Tim quickens the pace on your clit and his thrusts grow deeper and he mumbles, "I got you, baby. I got you," when you gasp that you're going to cum, a part of you knows he feels the same way.

Soon enough, your orgasm crashes over you, sending you to Heaven and back with the amount of carbon dioxide it steals from your lungs.

Hearing his name sobbing from your throat is what sends Tim over, his hips stuttering as he burrows himself one last time inside of you, allowing his hot cum to spill within your walls.

A heartbeat of silence follows.

Then...another.

And it appears neither of you move- neither of you want to move. Not when the space you've created between your bodies is so warm, so comforting, so real.

You know you should get up, already feeling his cock softening inside of you and his cum escaping you drip-by-drip.

You know you should get up and clean yourself- but you can't.

Tim wraps his arms around you, tightening his grip in a way that's telling you also to not get up, to not leave him.

To just stay like this until tomorrow comes when he'll probably wake you up and fuck you again, whispering promises and sweet nothings that differentiate from what you two will be like at the station- back to work colleagues, to him being in your chain of command.

But, as Tim kisses your cheek, his breath warm and inviting as he then nuzzles his head against yours and whispers to you: "Goodnight, sweetheart.", you're left to your imagination's picturesque of the future, hoping that maybe things will work out for you outside of work when you go to stay at his for another night or two.

At least for those next times, it won't just be for his air conditioning.

#rahhh

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