Summary: your husband is a monster. You know this, and yet, his bed is still your favourite place to be.
Content/Warnings: reader is described as "younger" than Titus, but there's no specific age gap || pregnancy (light theme) || Titus comes with his own warning tbh || dirty talking || pussy slapping || Dom/Sub dynamics heavily implied || unprotected PIV || begging || spanking || oral sex (f! Receiving) || edging || reader has no physical description but is AFAB and able to get/be pregnant ||
Notes: I have no excuse for this. It's been sitting in my drafts for almost a month and then I saw the movie at an early screening and uh. Yeah. This will probably be part of an ongoing series. Oops.
Titus Danforth is a brutal, complex man. This much, you know. He doesn't so much make love to you as he does claim you. You'd been a nobody, really, before he'd met you. Chosen you for your quiet, pleasant nature. Your willingness to obey him, and your interest in the occult.
His twin sister had hated you at first, hated your dirty, common blood, and the way that you seemed to have her brother's ear. The way you could so easily control him.
She tolerates you now, well enough. Or at least hides her disdain.
You never thought you would see the day where your husband was anything but almost feral whenever he took you. Not that you minded. Titus often left you a complete mess, his age and experience making it almost too easy for him to fuck you senseless, until you couldn't feel your legs and the only thing you could say was his name. Even then, it was usually more of a whimper.
While he might automatically default to roughness, you love it. He never once left you harmed or unsatisfied, spoilt you rotten on a daily basis.
Titus never showed you overt affection in front of his father and sister, regarded you with a kind of predatory possessiveness. But in private, he was softer, more open to gentle touches and keeping his hands on you in ways that weren't reminiscent of a kept pet.
He had explained it to you, once, when you had both been in the afterglow of particularly good sex. That he had once had another lover that he had thought he might marry, only she hadn't received the approval of his father, nor the dark entity that his family served.
But shortly after he had introduced you to his twin and his father, the family lawyer had come to all three Danforths, claimed you as the future of the family line.
Even if Ursula wanted to, she couldn't touch you.
You had known that your life came with a price, but you had gotten to marry the brutal, sensual man that you loved. You would have willingly given your soul for that, regardless.
Titus liked that you were soft, obedient. That you took what he gave you and thanked him for it. That you embraced the occult and the darkness of his family line. It didn't hurt that you liked the way he fucked you, had soft curves and curled into him when you slept.
He also loved that you could play the part of controversially younger wife perfectly. Slid into the roles of socialite, hostess, partner in crime, almost with a scary ease. He's not a criminal mastermind, more of the brawny type over a man of immense intelligence, but he loves to show you off.
Titus loves the way his name sounds, mewled through your soft, pouty lips. Lips that he likes best when they've been kissed plump, like right now.
You chase his kisses, and he lets you. Licks into your mouth like he's claiming you over and over again. He doesn't restrain your hands often anymore; you have a tendency to claw at his broad shoulders, leaving red marks in your wake with your perfectly manicured nails. He wears those beneath his expensive clothes like badges of honour.
Becoming his wife didn't make him handle you with any more care, but now you're carrying his child, it's a different story.
He's almost gentle with you now, by his standards. Spent the better part of half an hour with your thighs draped over his broad shoulders, his big hands holding your hips down so you couldn't squirm away while he practically made out with your drooling cunt. Sucked on your clit, fucked you with his tongue, drinking down your slick like the expensive wine in the cellar that he favours.
When you'd first met him, you'd assumed he would be a selfish lover, thanks to his occasionally petty nature. He'd fast dispersed of that assumption, still ensures you never think it again.
He'd made you fall apart for him at least three times before he crawled back up the bed; now, finally, he has you caged in beneath him, one hand caressing your curves, over where your abdomen is just slightly starting to round out.
You give him some of those pretty little mewls as he takes his thick, aching cock into his hand, slaps it against your swollen clit.
"Come on, princess," he purrs, voice low against your throat, "beg for it."
Titus loves it when you beg. Loves to watch you lose your mind pleading for him to fuck you. He's always gotten off on power, but there's something particularly sensual to him about his pretty younger wife begging for his cock that gets him achingly hard. Always has, but now you're carrying his heir? Something about that little detail threatens to have him on his knees at your feet.
"Please," you beg him, "please, I need it so bad-"
He smirks down at you as you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes, lets his heavy cock rest on your mound, sliding his hand between you to circle your clit with his fingers.
You know that look, that condescending little smirk as you whimper, know that he isn't going to show you any mercy.
"You don't need anything, you want it." Titus corrects, applying just a little more pressure to your clit, making you mewl before you can even think of something to say back to him.
He thinks you look so pretty like this, spread out for him, whimpering and writhing beneath him in the soft, expensive sheets.
"Mmhmm-" you agree, moaning again as his hand cups your pussy, just resting his palm over you.
The urge to slap your clit is strong, half because he likes dealing it out, and half because he knows you love his particular brand of sadism.
But Titus has to remind himself that he has to handle you with a little more care now. That he can manhandle you a little, but that he can't go as far as he usually might.
You're still looking up at him with big doe eyes, lips parted slightly. His cold hazel eyes search your gaze for a moment, the briefest silent check in, to ensure that you are, in fact, okay.
By now, you can read him perfectly. Know that beneath the cold, brutal monster, there is still a man with a heart. And whilst your husband may not ever be vulnerable with you, he's never given you any reason to doubt that he cares about you. Loves you, even though he's almost afraid to.
"Please..." You whisper, as he removes his hand, slides his palm back up, pausing to caress your abdomen again with a surprisingly tender touch.
No matter how rough he can be with you, he keeps finding his hands returning there, brushing over where his child - your child - grows.
Your eyes drop closed at the unexpected touch, which gives him a moment to regard you with an almost softness in his gaze before he shifts, adjusting your body beneath his.
He buries his face in your shoulder as he stuffs you full of his cock; the filthy groan that rumbles in his chest is half muffled into the soft skin of your neck.
Your reaction doesn't disappoint him; you inhale in a sharp gasp, the exhale coming out as a drawn out, breathy moan.
"O-ohhhhh, fuck, yes-"
You whimper as his hips meet yours, giving him a breathy little whine as you stare up at him, your hands sliding up his forearms, over thick biceps, settling on broad shoulders.
That's something Titus likes, but won't ever admit to you; that he enjoys the soft touches you give him, regardless of how brutal he is.
Even more, he likes the way you stare up at him with such desire and love in your eyes. Being desired isn't new to him, but the love in your gaze whenever you look at him is more precious than any antique he owns.
"Shhh, shh, I know, it's a lot, but you can take it, can't you? Yeah, you can, baby, that's it, good girl-"
He coos at you, drags the pad of his thumb over your kissed plump lower lip. You nod, still speechless as he slowly starts to move, giving you shallow little thrusts, barely allowing you any friction.
The little whimpers and moans you give him as he starts to pick up the pace only serve to make him harder somehow, more determined to have you coming apart around his cock.
He has to almost force himself to take his time, giving you deeper, heavier thrusts but still not fucking you the way he knows that you love.
"Ohhhh, ohhh fuck-"
You moan, each pretty sound more high pitched and needy than the last; truthfully, Titus is glad that you have an entire wing of the family mansion to yourselves, because he's certain that the sound is echoing.
He groans softly as you cling to him, pull him down into another greedy kiss. He allows it, almost melts into the embrace as he grinds against you.
"That's it, there you go," he grunts thickly as you mewl, start to tighten around him as he works you up to the edge.
By now, he knows exactly how to move, how to kiss and touch you to make you come apart for him; which is how you know for certain that he's deliberately edging you, making sure you get close only to pull away at the last moment.
You give him pretty little frustrated whines, trying to rock your hips to meet him, but he's much stronger than you, keeps you pinned with almost extraordinary ease.
"No, no, you know better than that. You cum when I tell you to, remember?"
His voice is dripping condescension, and yet somehow still low and sensual and only makes you more desperate.
Titus has spent so much of his life under the control of others; his father, his sister. You're different. You know he isn't someone to be controlled, know that he's powerful in his own right. Submit to him willingly.
After your own painful past, you were happy to switch off. To be claimed by him, to belong to him, knowing he would burn the world down before he let anyone ever lay a finger on you again.
The sort of love you share is intense, probably a little toxic, but you want nothing more.
You writhe beneath him in the luxurious sheets, gasping breathy little whines as the fat tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each thrust, each deep, deliberate grind of his hips.
"Please-" you beg, elaborating when he raises an eyebrow, "- kiss me?"
The smirk he gives you is gorgeous, lightens every detail of his handsome face as he leans down. He kisses the way he fucks - passionate, rough, not so much kissing you as claiming you.
He licks into your mouth, your lips parting automatically to let him in; sometimes you think about the other women before you that he's kissed, that he's had in his bed, and it makes your heart twist with jealousy.
You're just as possessive as he is, just as needy.
One hand slides down your side, grabs hold of your thigh and hikes it high up around his waist, making you both moan in satisfaction at the sudden angle change.
All restraint he's been clinging to snaps; planting his free hand on the mattress to brace himself, he starts to pound you into the bed, harder and faster with each thrust.
The room swiftly fills with the obscene wet slap of his hips against yours, your high pitched moans, his filthy groans. He isn't quiet, never has been, never feels the need to pretend that he isn't taking immense pleasure in ruining you.
"Ohhhh, ohh- please!"
Your hand moves to card through his soft silver curls, tugging lightly at the roots. He lets you, for a moment, but when your other hand reaches up, he releases your hip, catches your wrist and pins your hand above your head.
He can feel your velvet walls tightening around him, your thighs starting to tremble just ever so slightly, knows you're close again. For a moment he considers edging you again. Making you cry with how badly you need to cum.
But he feels merciful today. Likes the feeling of you coming apart for him more than he likes to torment you.
He looks down at you, at your parted lips and your lust blown pupils, listens to every perfect, sweet moan you give him as he fucks you.
"Cum." He orders you, voice low and raspy, expecting you to obey.
Blissfully, you do, letting go, your back arching up off the bed as best you can with his broad frame holding you down. The climax seems to go on forever, peaking and then dropping, only to reach a new crescendo as he fucks you through it.
Titus is older, wealthy, handsome - he knows how to fuck a woman, how to draw pleasure out. So you're still barely through it, dimly aware of the obscene wet sounds of his cock stuffing your still fluttering cunt, when he pulls out of you.
You whine at the sudden loss, but he has you flipped onto your front before you can form a proper thought.
Big, rough hands seize your hips, pull your body up so that there's no pressure on your abdomen; face down, ass up, he stuffs his cock back inside you with a satisfied, filthy grunt, planting one foot on the mattress to give himself better leverage.
"Mmmffff, you love that, don't you? Yeah, you do. You fucking love it. Sold your soul for this cock, didn't you, princess?" He purrs, landing a heavy slap to your ass, groaning when you clench around him.
You gasp, hands balling into the sheets as you keep yourself upright, choked moans muffled until you turn your head to one side.
"Nnghhh- fucking... Take it-"
You love the raspy, low gradient to his voice, the way he leans over and purrs in your ear as he fucks you into the mattress, alternating which side of your ass he slaps every so often, hard enough to bruise.
He keeps himself in good shape. Better than good. Peak physical condition, stronger than most men half his age.
His endurance and stamina may be incredible, but even he has his limit; his thrusts start to become sloppy, brutal, less rhythmic.
You have no strength left in you, can only mewl and sob as he uses you to get himself there, groaning thickly as he spills inside you in a series of particularly deep, intense thrusts.
"Ohhhhh, shit-"
He chokes out, finally slowing inside you, hips stilling, palm soothing the deep purple hand prints he's left on your ass cheeks.
Once he's caught his breath, he pulls out of you, helps you turn over, watches the way you look him up and down with an expression of sheer desire and satisfaction.
"Fuck," you manage to get out, giggling breathlessly. "Every time... You manage to surprise me."
Titus shakes his head, lays down beside you, makes grabby hands, pulls you against his chest when you're within reach.
"And every time, you surprise me by just taking whatever I give you."
He sounds impressed, runs his hand up and down your side as you rest your palm on his solid pectoral muscles, fingertips tracing the soft greying curls that litter his chest.
"Did I not swear my mortal body and eternal soul to you? In this life and the next?" You remind him of the ritual vows you spoke as your blood mingled in the ceremonial bowl at the altar.
His palm caresses your abdomen once more, rests there.
"You did. And I to you."
Again, you smile, your hand moving to brush sweat damp curls from his hazel eyes, your own expression soft and loving as he reiterates his own vow.
"I love you," you whisper, uncaring how soft it may make you seem, how weak.
Titus Danforth is more monster than man most days, but you make him feel human again, evident in the way his gaze softens as he kisses your forehead.
"I adore you. I would burn this world down for you."
Perhaps from anyone else, that sentiment would unsettle you. But from Titus? It's different. As comforting as a kiss, and his arms around you.
Perhaps you and he aren't so different, after all.
Tags/Warnings - MDNI (obviously), FEMALE reader, Age Gap (at least 10 years), Titus obviously his own warning, canon typical sociopathic behavior, Pregnant Reader, I am probably writing Titus poorly, no use of Y/N, Set before the movie, Titus is soft only for the reader, Reader matches Titus's freak, Possessive Titus, obvious mention of violence, arranged marriage, they do love eachother in their freaky weird way. Oh, Family Drama BS.
A/N: Okay, so I have quite literally not written reader insert or in second person in about 10 years, so if it's not as smooth as it could be, please forgive me. I am trying, and I hope it improves. Also, about the first third of the first chapter serves basically as a prologue. Unlike a lot of my other fic I don't plan on posting this to AO3, if you specifically do want me to post it please let me know, and I will consider it. Oh, all this stuff is small, but the actual text of the fic is normal font because I like of the aesthetic of small text, but I am old and hate reading tiny text, so sparing all of our eyes.
Word Count: 3.5k
Chapter One: Love and Marriage
Marrying into the Danforth family was not for the weak.
Your father had arranged the whole thing while you were still in college. Which made the four years that you had spent studying to eventually go to Law School feel so redundant. You always knew that your marriage would be arranged and not one based on love. That was the way things were done in the world you lived in. Your father may not have been powerful enough to be one of the six families, but he was powerful and, more importantly, the man was ambitious. Which is why he got close to Chester Danforth in the first place. Chester had a son, and your father had you.
Titus was more than a decade older than you, but handsome. You knew him on a social level. You had paid him no mind. You were obviously polite, would smile sweetly at him at social events but it was not as if you were friends. He was never outright rude to you, but you hadn’t thought he had paid you very much mind either. So when your father told you that Titus had picked you specifically for his bride out of a group of potential wives, it shocked you. Perhaps it was on looks alone but you had also performed exceptionally well on your first hunt on your 18th birthday. That was what you suspected made you stand out. You could match his level of ruthlessness if need be and more importantly. You could very likely survive your wedding.
As soon as you graduated from college, your next-to-useless degree in hand. The wedding arrangements began. You obviously had no say in them. They were all handled by the Danforths. From the venue, gown, food, and even guests. It was all out of your hands, and you realized this was something you were going to have to get used to. The wedding itself was ostentatious, extravagant, and bloody.
The ceremony itself in the black temple was lovely. You and Titus said your vows, had your first kiss, and then the real festivities began. The hunt. Which you were not worried about in the least. You knew that to survive the night, you were going to have to turn yourself from the hunted to the hunter. Which was exactly what you did. You had put on one of the most impressive shows during the hunt. You had killed five guests, one being a Danforth cousin. Even Titus’s own mother had not put on such an impressive performance.
In the morning, when you walked up to the front door of the main house of the Danforth compound, covered in blood. Your five-figure wedding gown was ruined, but in that moment, you had proven you were worthy of the Danforth name.
Titus walked up to you, with a smirk playing on his lips as his hand rested on the back of your neck. “Perfection.” He whispered as he kissed you, the most primal passion you had ever seen, a passion you had never experienced. His hand wrapped tightly against the back of your neck, not just holding you longer as he deepened the kiss because he was afraid you would pull away, he was claiming you openly as his.
Over the next few years, you and Titus settled into what would pass as a comfortable marriage. He was not what you would have ever called a loving husband by normal social standards, but in your world, he was more affectionate and loving than you had ever seen your own father be to your mother. He doted on you. You never wanted for anything. Jewels, the finest clothes, round the clock servants to cater to your every whim. You were his wife, and that meant something in this world and more specifically to him, even if you had come from a lesser family. That no longer mattered. Your family no longer mattered. You were a Danforth now and he would never let a single soul, even his own sister, look down upon you.
Particularly not once you had become pregnant.
It was four years into your marriage.
It was far from a surprise. At this point, a child was expected of you both. The fact that you had gotten this far into your marriage without one had raised questions. It was not from lack of trying. You had always said that it would happen when it was meant to.
So when you walked into his office on a bright spring morning and set the pregnancy test down on his desk with a demure smile, it was a monumentous moment. You crossed your arms in front of your chest as you tilted your head, as his hazel eyes glanced down at the simple little stick. “You’re not?” He said almost in disbelief. In typical marriages, you knew these types of moments were often filled with overwhelming joy, but that was not the expression that Titus had on his face. He was pleased, but he was already calculating how this would benefit his standing within the family you could tell that simply from the way his eyes narrowed in on the test lying just an arm’s length away.
You let out a breathy sigh as you take a single step forward, as you lean forward, tapping the stick once with your index finger. “Oh, I am very much am, my dear husband,” you respond calmly, your smile growing warmer. “There are a dozen of those upstairs in the bathroom, all saying the same thing because I didn’t believe it as well.” You had been shocked when you noticed it had been more than two months since your last period. You had been busy with the life you had been building, too busy to even really notice till the morning sickness started coming in waves. That was when both delight and panic swelled. This was a big life change for both of you. One that needed to happen.
He leaned back in his chair, a smile growing on his face as he held out his hand for you. “Father will be pleased.” His tone was as gentle as he ever managed to be, but his words stated a simple fact. His father would be pleased. He had mentioned more times than you could count that your marriage had yet to prove fruitful, and he questioned if it was a good idea to marry Titus to someone from a ‘lesser’ family with little proven value. Though to Titus, your value was never in question. He adored you, in his own particular way.
You took his hand as he pulled you into his lap. It always amused you how he liked to have you close in private moments like this. Pulling you into his lap was a common occurrence. His arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you firmly in your place as your eyes met. “I do not care if your father is pleased.” You state simply as you smile over at him. Whether his father was pleased meant very little to you. What really mattered was whether Titus was pleased. You were delighted when you were able to please him in any manner. In the bedroom, in hunts, in your day-to-day lives. If you managed to get Titus’s approval, it meant everything to you. “Are you pleased, my love?” You ask softly as you thread your fingers through his hair.
Thinking for a moment, Titus looked at you before he reached up and pushed a few stray strands of hair off your face and tucked it behind your ear. His tenderness in these quiet moments between the two of you was not new. It had developed over the past four years as his trust in you grew. He allowed you to see a side of him that no one else saw. That was how you knew, deep down, this was more of a marriage of convenience. That something real had grown between you. “Yes.” He whispered gruffly. “We need this.” His voice was tight as he added the second part to his statement. He let out a harsh sigh, “This will be something to set us higher than Ursula.” He stated it as a matter of practicality. His twin sister loved to hold the fact that she was more trusted by their father over Titus’s head, but this was the one thing he could give the family that she had failed to. “She is not married, she is not furthering the Danforth line.”
“We are,” you finish with a smirk as your hand rests on the back of his neck. “Our child will be heir, the first of their generation. Even if she married tomorrow, she couldn’t give your father that.” You leaned forward and pressed your lips against his, Titus smirking as you kissed him. He nipped at your bottom lip as you pulled back. “We are giving the Danforth’s a future.”
“That we are.” He said, pleased as his hand moved down and rested on your thigh. “I will make the arrangements for the doctor to come to the compound so you don’t have to worry about a thing.” You knew that he was going to tighten security. There was no way you were going to have the freedom that you have become accustomed to. Even with your own personal security guard, you were allowed to go out as you pleased. Go into town, go shopping on your own. Now in the back of your mind, you know that Titus was not about to let you off the compound without him if he even let you out of his sight. It was not what you would have wanted, but it was what was necessary given the Danforth’s standing within the organization. You were now too valuable to the family to be left to your own devices.
“So when will we tell your father and sister?” You ask softly.
Titus shrugged. “Once the doctor has seen you. Coming with proof in hand, more than this.” He gestured to the pregnancy test on his desk. “Would be best.”
And that was exactly what you did.
+++++
A week later, a few days after your appointment with the doctor, who to your knowledge was the best obstetrician in the state, you had all the proof they would need. Blood tests and ultrasound images confirmed you were just under twelve weeks along. So, at the weekly family dinner, it was time to share the ‘joyous’ news. Titus cleared his throat. “We have some news.” He said slowly as he gestured for you to hand him the ultrasounds that were carefully tucked in the small clutch purse you had carried with you to dinner. You reached into your clutch under the table, pulling them out before you slowly slid them across the table to him. He lifted the strip of images up and presented them as he smirked. “We are expecting.”
There was no happy chatter that filled the room. No smiles. In fact, his sister looked almost annoyed at the announcement. “Oh, so you finally managed to get her pregnant. After four years.” Ursula quipped as she brought her wine glass to her lips. “I was starting to worry that you were incapable of continuing the line.”
As Ursula spoke, you watched Titus’s jaw tighten as his eyes narrowed on her. This teasing him about his ability to continue the line was nothing new. For years, she had dropped subtle and not-so-subtle jibes at his ability to father a child. Something that had earned Ursula little love from you because you had to console Titus’s ego each time after she had wounded it. Just as you knew you had to calm this storm before it exploded. Slowly, you reached over under the table and rested your hand on his thigh. Silently telling him to let this go. He glanced over at you for a brief moment, a half smirk flashing across his face just for you, before he chuckled. “I just wanted to enjoy my wife before I had to share her with our heir.”
“How very sweet,” Ursula smirked.
All eyes fell on the old man sitting at the head of the table. Chester Danforth was an intimidating figure at the best of times, but as he turned to you, Titus placed his hand over yours that was still resting on his thigh under the table. “How far along are you?” He asked with very little emotion in his voice.
“Eleven weeks, almost twelve. The baby will be born in December.” You smile softly as you turn to Titus. “We are very happy.” Which was a true enough statement. You were very pleased to be carrying Titus’s child, and Titus had actually smiled what you believed to be a genuine smile when he heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time. He lifted your hand to his lips, placing a tender kiss on your knuckles as he smiled at you. The moment was brief, but a real moment of genuine affection before you both collected yourselves. Faces went back to a stony, cold expression as you both looked towards his father for any sign of approval. He only gives a solemn nod. It was not the response either of you had hoped for, but you took what you could get.
Ursula was barely able to hide her disdain for the whole matter. “Oh, you will be pregnant all wedding season. You won’t be able to participate in the hunts I know you love so much.” Her words were meaningless to you, but Titus shot her a sharp glare. You enjoyed the hunts, true enough. However, you enjoyed them because you were at Titus’s side, in the element of your world that you both understood and excelled at. That was why you had delighted in the hunts over the years, not just for the pure sport as she assumed.
There was a pause as Titus’s jaw clenched again. You knew he hated it when anyone slighted you in the smallest way. You were his wife, a reflection of him and his power. Showing you disrespect was showing him disrespect. He shifted, leaning slightly forward as an insincere smile flashed across his face. “You will finally have a chance to prove you can still hunt, dear sister,” Titius says sharply. “My sweet wife has outshone you at every event since we married. It is only fair she give you a chance to impress one of the other families so you mayhaps might find a husband yourself.” Ursula sneered as she took another swing of her wine.
Ursula, however, never missed a beat. “You two are quite a force. The wedding season will lack your particular brutal brand of spectacle.” She made a flippant gesture before leaning forward slightly, spotting an opportunity to twist the proverbial knife. “Will you be sitting out the hunts as well? To keep your sweet wife company.” She asked mockingly as she pursed her lips.
He let out a low grumble, a signal to you that this was going past a place of simple back-and-forth jabs. It was rare you stepped in, but in this moment, it felt called for. You leaned forward, you hand never moved from it’s place on his thigh. A subtle reminder to him that he was not alone and, more importantly, that you were always on his side. Not his family’s - his.“I would never dare ask him to do such a thing. The hunts bring Titus such joy.” You reach up and rest your hand on the back of his neck as a devious little smirk plays on your lips. “I want to see my husband happy.” Titus leaned towards you and pressed his lips against yours, as your fingers threaded through the back of his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. You two rarely openly showed affection in front of his family, but you knew he was making a point. So you played along. He leaned back, breaking this kiss with a self-satisfied smirk, watching as Ursula’s face twisted with disgust.
“You two are disgusting.” She spat.
You smirked, emboldened by the fact that you had managed to get a reaction from her, as you shifted in your chair to be a little nearer to Titus. “Are you jealous of what we have?” Of course she was, how could she not be? What had started as a simple arrangement orchestrated by their father had grown and blossomed, and now was about to usher forth a whole new generation of their family. You knew deep down, as much as Ursula may have stated otherwise. She dreamed of finding her match like Titus had with you.
“You are such a stuck-up bitch.” She snaps as she stands up.
You knew that was a line too far. Titus stands matching her as he leans forward, resting his hands on the table. “Don’t you dare speak to her like that. That is my wife and the mother of my child.” You knew the look on his face all too well. He was going to rip her throat out. In the back of your mind, you believed she deserved it. You were Mrs.Danforth, which meant that you were the one person in this family who had to earn your place. You had sent five souls to hell for that title with your own two hands for it. To be disrespected by the woman who just happened to be lucky enough to be born into this family could not be tolerated.
“What are you gonna do, Titus? Kill me?” She laughed.
Foolish girl has no idea. You silently mused as a brief snarl replaced your otherwise emotionless expression.
You remained in your seat watching the exchange. Titus would handle this. He always did. Just as Titus was about to unleash on his sister, Chester slammed his hand on the table. “Enough.” He bellowed as he stood up. “Ursula, let your brother have his moment.” He turned to Titus and you, “Congratulations on the child, but neither of you forget that as of this moment, Ursula is still my heir. While I am pleased that the Danforth line will continue, you both must remember your place.”
Our place, you thought as you glanced over at Titus. Your gazes met for a moment, and you both felt it. The pang of humiliation of being lower back down into your places as the brutes, the enforcers. Not where either of you felt you deserved. It should be him, he should be the one to get all this. She is too soft, too petty. She will ruin us all. You fumed.
Titus’s jaw twitched as he stood up and offered you his hand. Taking it, you stood giving Chester a silent bow. “Let’s go.” He growled, not even acknowledging what his father had just said. You knew better than to fully get into the middle of the fight between the twins. This was a dance they had been doing since childhood. While you had married into the family, you were a Danforth by name. This was not your fight unless Titus told you it was.
You and Titus silently walk out of the dining room and start the short walk back to your home on the compound. As soon as you both were outside the main house doors, Titus leaned in and whispered. “I am going to kill her, and the high seat will be mine. I will not settle for less for you and our children.” You knew he meant every single syllable he had just spoken to you.
“That is almost romantic, my love,” you laugh as you slip your arm around his waist. “However, since when are we having more than one child?”
“This one is just the first.” He smirked deviously as he looked down at you. “This is the first in what I suspect will be several in the next generation of Danforths. We can not let my fucking idiot cousins try to usurp the family. We need several in case the first does not meet expectations.”
You shake your head as you let out a low chuckle. “This is our child, Titus,” you begin softly. “They will be a ruthless killer by the time they can walk. Some things are taught, others are purely instinct.”
He let out a low hum of a laugh as he smiled down at you. “I picked the right wife, not that I ever doubted you. Even I didn’t get into double digits on my first hunt.”
“Call me a prodigy.” You beam up at him. “Just like our children will be.”
For the perfect match - reader is Titus’s lover and also his love. He’s got her knees pressed to her chest in his bed when she looks up at him with that pretty fucked stupid expression, cards a hand through his hair, and gasps out “good boy”.
He loses the rhythm and his mind mid thrust - just goes fucking feral about it, comes so hard so fast. Likes it so much he’s running the risk of dehydration by morning.
✶ match box 03 — 3k follower event.ᐟ
✦. ─ cw: titus danforth x fem!reader, 990 wc, smut, praise on both ends, unprotected sex & , nicknames [bunny, love, wife], prob missing a few.
— have i told you lately i love like every request you’ve sent me? swear i love your brain.
Titus despises dealing with family and council matters when he knows you are waiting oh so patiently, sitting pretty in his bed. He had been getting ready for the night with you before Ursula pulled him away. He left you with a kiss on the forehead and whispered “Be a good wife and stay awake f’ me, i have plans for you my love.”
Said plans involved stripping you out of your black silk nighty he adores and burying his cock inside you til you are a whining tear stained mess below him. He never cared much for routine before, but sinking into your heat each night has become his favorite way to wind down before bed. Holding a satiated, cloudy headed you against his chest as the two of you drift off to bed. He’s growing more antsy as he taps his foot on the expensive hard wood floors, the mental image of you laid out in bed being the only to get him to push through. A growl of “Finally” leaves his lips when he’s told they’re about done, Ursula barks out something at him that he doesn’t hear as he makes his way back to his bedroom and could care less to have her repeat.
As he pushes open the door he finds you right where he left you. “Good girl bunny” he praises, with a slam of his door he’s on you.
Pressing you into the mattress of his large four poster bed, kissing all over your face and down your neck. You let out a small giggle and wrap your legs around his waist. The action pushes the black sweats he threw on before the meeting down a bit til they sit low on his hips now. “Missed you” he groans out against your neck, his hands already working at pushing up the skirt of your night dress to grab at the sides of your thighs and the plush of your ass. “Ty baby you were only gone for like 10 minutes”
You squeal softly when he nips at your bare shoulder in response as he tugs your straps down off them. “S’ too long” he mumbled out before his mouth was on yours. “Need you” his hands frantically trying to strip you of anything in his way, tugging your panties down and off your legs. “M’ right here my love” You moan softly into the kiss as his fingers push at your pussy and part your folds to rub at your clit. “All wet and ready for me already? Fuck, such a good wife” he sighs out. Your pussy throbs at his words, your hips bucking up at his touch as he rubs faster circles on your bud.
Your nails claw at his stomach, pushing up under the black t-shirt he had on to scratch at him before tugging down at his waistband. “Off please” you ask so sweetly against his lips and who is Titus to deny his love of what she wants.
Reluctantly he pulls away from you to lay back and rid himself of his sweatpants. “Boxers too” you add, his eyes drift to you just in time to watch you pull your nighty off over your head, leaving you bared completely to him. He can’t help the shaky breath he lets out, he’s seen you naked numerous times and it never stops affecting him the same. His cock twitches in interest at the sight of your tits before he quickly rids himself of his boxers to free himself.
He’s back on you in an instant, pushing your legs up against your chest as his hands land at your hips, squeezing the flesh of your ass. He planned to tease a little longer but when you reach between your legs and grab at the base of his leaking cock, lining his tip up with your entrance. Growling lowly he inches forward to push all the way inside.
The second your cunt is fully wrapped around his cock he can’t hold back any longer, using his grip on your hips he drives forward. “Titus!” you whine out at the brutal pace he immediately sets, your thighs pressing harder against your chest as he leans forward to peck your lips. “M’ sorry love you just feel so fucking good” he moans out, his hips snaping forward hard. With each thrust of his hips his cock is hitting right at that spongy spot deep inside you already. Leaving your head to go hazy and your eyes to go lidded, staring up at Titus in that lust filled, cock drunk way he loved. He tilts his head down to watch the way your pussy engulfs his cock before you are threading a hand through his curls and pushing his head back to look at you again. “Good boy” you gasp out breathlessly.
A pathetic noise bordering on a whimper leaves his lips and his hips start to flatter. With a press forward so your legs are sandwiched between your bodies and his cock buries deeper inside you, he hides his face in the crook of your neck. “Bunny-” he whines out desperately hoping you understand. And you, ever in tune with your lover, claw at his back, your pussy clenching down hard around him. “Cum f’ me Ty” you whine.
With a strangled little moan Titus's orgasm crashes into him, his body shaking as he fills you up with ropes and ropes of cum. Your own comes not long after, your hips bucking up lightly against him as you ride out your high. Though just when you think he’s satisfied and tired out, his hips draw back again before snapping forward hard. With a broken gasped out moan you realize he is far from done with you. “Gonna keep in this bed til morning, got that my good little wife?”
And boy does he until you are both coated in sweat, having cum about 3 more times each and damn near pass out.
Pairing: Titus Danforth x fem reader
Word count: 4.4K
Warnings: Not proofread, Titus being a bit odd and down bad (very very bad), arranged marriage, probably the least angsty and closest to fluff we've gotten in the series! I think that's it?
A/N: Hello, I hope you're having a nice weekend! The longest interactions that reader and Titus have had so far! That's pretty much the whole chapter! I didn't notice until finishing how much food is mentioned here oops, can you tell I was feeling snackish while writing a lot of this? Thank you all for reading and also the comments! I really appreciate hearing what you think, it definitely helps as a motivator for writing and I love your thoughts! Do lmk what you think, comments, reblogs, and asks are appreciated. Bon appétit, enjoy💚
Dividers: by @/strangergraphics
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6
Once the hunt had finished, a stillness that buzzed in the ears and was ripe for rumination was all that filled the guest room. The door had stayed locked and leaving it wasn’t an option, so you hid in there for as long as you could, there was a vase on the bedside table, something that had been preemptively arranged by Titus, no doubt. You padded to the ensuite to fill it with cold water, the sounds of your panicked, adrenaline crashing pants the only musical accompaniment with you.
With great care, you handled the large bouquet of lilies, they looked pretty in the ceramic vase, you allowed yourself to indulge in a sniff of the blooms even though the scent was mild at best. The flowers would stay seated on the bedside table for as long as you’d stay in that room.
It was only a fitful night of sleep as you spent most of the early hours staring at the ceiling. When your phone finally said seven thirty you quickly went to the ensuite to shower again, there was not a speck of dirt or blood on any inch of your skin but you could still feel a stickiness lingering on your skin, only one that the hunt could taint you with. You rushed through a sloppier than usual version of your morning skincare and the bare minimum of efforts to look presentable so that you could slip out and knock on your brother’s door to check on him. It’s now after eight and he might be conscious, yet groggy, after last night’s sleeping pill.
He’s practically half asleep when you go in, driving into slumber so you leave him after checking him. You won’t tell anyone that you checked his pulse four times before leaving his room, but it’s what he would’ve done too. So you went back into the guest room, locking the door again and deciding to haunt a velvet armchair by the large window and look out into the grey sky. Of course it was grey today, it was an eternity before the flight of a bird even disrupted the still sky, the trees looked duller and the promise of rein was a thinly veiled threat over the outside world.
A soft rain eventually came at 10:24AM, you checked your phone and ignored the notifications piling up, filing away the rain into your mind as if it mattered. You sat in this daze and felt out of your body for as long as the world would let you, which was only half an hour more before there was a steady and strong knock on the wooden door. One that you decided was best to ignore.
The longest and most quiet minute of nothing followed. Then you were further pulled out of your daze by hearing your name from the other side of the door, that on its own would be easy enough to ignore but it was the voice that said. It was Titus standing on the other side of the door. He knocked on the door again before you went over.
The unlocking of the door was audible and Titus quietly sighed with relief as he waited for you to open the door, which you did to be greeted by his face calmly looking at you.
“You skipped breakfast,” his tone is so matter of fact, it’s a statement not a question coming from his lips. The hallway’s darkness makes his eyes look darker today, you’ll remember that. “Is that a habit of yours?”
“No, it isn’t. I didn’t want to see anyone, to look at any of their faces.”
Titus nods at that, relieved it’s not a habit and he can perfectly understand where your mind is at. “Okay,” he pauses for a second and then leans his shoulder against the doorway. “Do you think you can stand to see mine for a bit?”
You look up at him hesitantly, a shy smile starting to peek out from the composed mask he knows you live with but has a couple of cracks starting to break it. “Yeah, I can manage that.”
You follow Titus through his home that one day soon you’ll be walking through and knowing all the rooms of like secrets passed on. There’s a silence as you walk a few steps behind Titus and it’s something you’re grateful for, it’s comfortable and doesn’t feel heavy. No bones are crushed as you walk and Titus doesn’t look back more than once, he can hear the soft click of your shoes against the floors. He’s assuming you’re only wearing shoes inside of here because of his father, after seeing your home he remembers that he needs to have someone order a shoe rack for you so his home can at least accommodate you in some way when it’s your home too.
He leads you into a dark room, all dark hardwood floors and a heaviness in the air that you immediately feel but don’t comment on. Titus turns another light on and you step in further. The floors are dark and clean, there’s no dust motes lingering in the air but the room feels forgotten, like it has existed on its own in isolation for years. A sleek grand piano sits in the middle of the room, there’s an elaborate minibar in a corner, some furniture spread around the piano, including a soft looking chaise and by it a table with a breakfast spread laid out.
Titus glances at you for a moment and your eyes meet, you feel your cheeks heat up slightly. “Eat, have some brunch, before you miss breakfast and lunch.”
You nod and go to sit on the chaise, carefully kicking your shoes off with a grace and ease that tells Titus just how natural that is for you as you bring your sock covered feet up to tuck them under yourself. There’s everything and then some on the table; fruits, crepes, french toast, several different types of eggs, slices of a couple of cakes. Titus goes to sit at the piano bench, he watches you for a few moments as you start to eat a crepe, he then turns so his back is partially facing you and he’s looking out the window. He doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable because he’s watching you eat, so he tries to not weird you out since you’re going to be his wife and even he knows that you shouldn’t make your wife uncomfortable. He’s just glad you’re indulging this unique moment.
You lean back on the chaise and look out the window, it’s starting to rain and a soft patter falls onto the glass panes. It’s soft, a comforting sound that lulls the moment into feeling more peaceful as the sky becomes more murky. Titus fidgets with a couple of the ivory keys and you lay back on the chaise and listen, there’s a delay in his notes as his fingers get used to the cool smoothness, waiting for muscle memory to kick in. Then a familiar and lyrical trickle starts and there’s grace in his movements as he’s now recovered into a state of knowing.
Clair de Lune fills the room and you close your eyes, resting your hands on your stomach and focus on that and the sounds of the rain. An ear like yours can tell Titus hasn’t played in awhile but he’s more than competent, there’s a peace that fills the room as you lie down only a few steps away from him as he plays and there’s not a single noise except for what he’s pressing out from the piano and that of the rain.
“Was that okay? Too simple?” He asks once he’s finished, his hands hovering awkwardly over the keys as he shifts slightly to look at you. You look so pretty like that, lying down with your eyes closed and having just listened to some music, escaping from the rest of the world, there’s peace on your face and he thinks he’s learning how your mask works. But he waits with bated breath, he wants to impress you and he is worried that he’s done anything but that, he’s not as musically gifted as his future wife.
“Not at all.” You turn your head slightly to look at him, blinking tiredly as you see his face and the need to please written all over it. “Clair De Lune is pretty,” you whisper as you stay there on the chaise.
“Really?”
You nod. “Yes, Debussy had some nice work, I quite like Prélude à l'Après-midi d'un faune.”
Titus nods and smiles at that. He hadn’t asked you to play which did seem odd to you, he often asked you about music or requested you to play for him, or saying he’d like to hear you play again. That has been a consistent statement across your interactions. But you didn’t mind, for today you’re content to just listen. Titus starts to play again, notes filling the room and he smiles as you stay there, lying on the chaise with your eyes closed and humming quietly. The room has never felt so warm in his life, a light was clearly glowing and he wouldn’t let that be put out.
The lilies had stayed in the vase and had been something to greet you constantly, a gentle reminder of something that was hard to articulate into words that would make sense and could be deciphered and processed on the other end. The flowers weren’t travel friendly and realistically, they only had a few more days of life left, so it was difficult to justify the worth of the trouble it would be.
There were two books sitting in your bag, fortunately you had the habit of always traveling with books, even when it’s highly unlikely you’ll sit down or have the time to open them let alone read a few pages. Both books were hardcovers, one was thicker and had a heavier weight, it would be the better candidate for this job. There was a pair of scissors in the desk, so you’d cut a single bud off of the bouquet, you’d tried to dry any possible moisture away but knew you’d have to live with gambling in that department. You carefully removed the anthers as if you were performing a delicate surgery, doing this would prevent a mess of pollen staining the pages. This would have to do for now, until you could try to preserve this single bloom better at home.
You barely see him on the day of your family’s departure, a couple of small smiles. But it’s Ursula haunting gaze that you catch more and the looks from Chester that make your skin crawl. You don’t trust him and you know that calling him your father in law won’t change it in the slightest. After this weekend it fills you with more dread, one that you can’t quite name. Because again, how do you articulate it? There’s a slight nod before you leave and a plan for lunch with Titus, to discuss the arrangement more, something needed but something you’d been tip-toeing around for too long.
When you’re back at your home, the flower is now flattened thin and waxy like crepe paper. You’ve been able to preserve it well enough with its pressing, maybe if there’s more bouquets you’ll collect more flowers for a framed collage of every single bouquet from Titus. Or leave them pressed in between heavy pages to haunt a library of books. It surprises you that this bloom has not yet fallen victim to mold.
It’s been two weeks since you left the Danforths and that cursed hunt, it’ll be the first time you've seen Titus since then. The plan was to meet up for lunch because that was totally normal, it was what people that were going to get married did. They just usually did these things well before a wedding was even a topic of conversation. You’re stepping into an elegant but noticeably quiet restaurant, after giving your name you’re greeted with a polite smile and are being guided to a table.
There’s a few employees visible, buzzing around with different tasks that barely meet your eye. The one thing that is noticeable in a glaringly obvious way is that there’s not another soul seated at any of the tables here. It’s not a question, but simply a fact that Titus would’ve paid to clear the whole restaurant out so that it’s just his for the day. It doesn’t surprise you but it does make you feel more anxious.
Titus is already seated at the table that would’ve been considered the romantic, secluded spot on a busy night, let alone when it’s a ghost town. There’s a soft glow from the lighting that fills the space and softens Titus’s features into something more gentler. You had been hoping you’d arrive first, you were technically early, a whole twelve minutes. But it was no surprise that he was already sitting there. It still annoyed you in an illogical way, it felt like Titus had the whole upperhand, he had chosen this restaurant and him sitting at the table first felt like the equivalent of having the home advantage in your eyes.
“Hi.” You looked at him for a second and gave him a small smile as you went to sit down across from him.
Titus looked up, head tilting in surprise to finally see you again in front of him and it not be stained and crowded with family or High Council meetings. His eyes did a quick once over, taking in your outfit and he was naturally drawn to the perfect shape of your lips before darting back up from them to meet your eyes. “You look divine.”
Those are the words you remember him saying weeks and weeks ago and your cheeks heat up a little, it’s all still overwhelming. “Thank you,” you whisper a little awkwardly, struggling to know what tone and volume you’ll need for this. “You look handsome too, nice ascot.”
“Thank you,” he smiles, it’s soft and genuine. “Are you hungry?” He asks and his eyes sober up slightly.
“No.” You answer and it’s the truth, you’d snacked before leaving for this date-meeting whatever it’s meant to be, you were hoping maybe this would shorten it or you wouldn’t be overwhelmed with trying to eat and keep food down when this made you feel so nervous. Sharing a meal just with him was something that was far too normal, it was domestic in a way that felt slightly off and uncomfortably.
“Well I ordered already.” He sighs and a hand lifts to rub at his jaw loosely before dropping down again. “Engaged couples go to restaurants and eat together.”
“Have you been engaged before?” There’s a slight playfulness in your tone now and he looks back at you, you were slightly amused at his words.
“No, I haven’t and I know you also haven’t been. But I am familiar with some concepts of normalcy.”
“That’s impressive.” You whisper softly and look down at your hands that you’re holding together.
“Speaking of engagement norms.” He clears his throat and then pulls out a small black box onto the table. Titus then holds his hand out, a silent question waiting for you to answer by giving him your hand. Somehow your body knows what’s going on first before your brain does enough to process it, but you immediately oblige by giving him your left hand. The grasp he holds your hand in can only be described as delicate, he runs his thumb over your knuckles silently before he eventually opens the box and then takes the intricate ring out, gently sliding it onto your ring finger.
With a soft sigh, he holds your hand for a moment longer and looks at the ring on your hand, it looks right, like it was always meant to sit there. You don’t move your hand away, you’re unsure of what to do with this moment, so you just look down at the ring. It’s large - which doesn’t shock you in the slightest - it’s intricate and clearly old, a beautiful antique. Written all over your face sits a silent question of how sentimental this ring is to him.
“It was my mother’s.” Titus says as he rubs his hand fingers over your knuckles, one hand still holding yours, he notices the question before you could verbalise it and understands your hesitancy to ask. “I asked your family about your ring size and it’s been adjusted, but if there’s any other adjustments you want made, we can do that.”
You give a slight nod as you look at the ring, after a few seconds of glancing at the rock shimmering in the light, it could do damage in the right light. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”
“Are you… You’re happy with it?” He asks and there’s an edge of worry in his voice that you’re not quite familiar with.
“Yes, it’s perfect, Titus.” You give him another soft smile, giving his hand a soft squeeze. Titus nods, breathing in and giving you a small smile, hesitantly his hand leaves yours but his eyes stay glued to your hand a while longer.
The new weight on your finger feels foreign and odd, you shift it slightly as if you can shake away any of the slight offness that comes with it. But instead, you just catch how it shifts in the light and give Titus a tight smile.
“We have some wedding planners with the resorts, Anna Velázquez is more than competent, she’ll handle it. I’ll text you her details, in case there’s anything you feel strongly about or cultural traditions you want taken into consideration.”
“You’ve already started with that?” Your voice is timid and he sees how your eyes widen.
“Yes.” He nods and looks down at his glass, taking a sip before he continues. “Ursula is planning to subject you to her opinions on dresses and cream vs ivory. But you’re more than welcome to tell her to kindly or unkindly, go fuck herself. You can have whatever you want. But I’d like to plan the honeymoon.”
Your eyes watch him as you feel overwhelmed by this, there’s a million things you’d rather do than go wedding dress shopping with Ursula and hear her opinions, one of them being stung by bees, multiple bees. The honeymoon comment makes your eyes widen. “You’re planning a honeymoon, seriously?”
“Yes, again, it’s what normal newlywed married couples do. I’m thinking of somewhere with snow, I won’t have to bother with sunscreen.” He seems somewhat pleased with himself and you chuckle awkwardly and shake your head.
“Sure, snow.” You run a hand over your face. “It’s committing to the bit…”
Titus looks at you, his hazel eyes so focused to the point that the rest of the world is unimportant and unintelligible to him. “I am nothing but committed.”
Those words make your cheeks heat up and look away, thankfully you’re saved by several dishes being brought out and carefully placed onto the table, aesthetics very much in mind even though neither you nor Titus are the type to take pictures of that. A teapot and teacup is put down near you and you smile as a server tells you it’s hibiscus and pear, your gaze going to Titus.
“I know you like tea, the herbal ones, seemed like something you’d drink.” He says as he watches you quietly.
“Thanks,” you smile with a nod and once you know the tea has brewed long enough, you take a sip, it’s perfectly fragrant, the hot brew warms you up immediately and it’s a lovely blend.
After a few more minutes you keep quietly sipping, avoiding the thoughts of your warm cheeks as Titus sits across from you, he’s eating a creamy pasta dish quietly. A silence that is somehow comfortable and calming fills the space, part of you is glad that you two can function like this. That it doesn’t feel heavy like how silence can become bone crushing as it weighs down limbs and a whole room. That doesn’t sit on your ribs with Titus and neither does a need to fill the space with words for the sake of noise.
Once he’s swallowed a few mouthfuls of a creamy pasta dish, he places his fork down and then he pushes a plate closer to you. “You look like someone that likes persimmons.”
An awkward chuckle leaves your mouth as you look at him, you don’t know what to say to that. “That’s a very unusual assumption to make.”
Titus only shrugs as if it was a natural one, you see him lift his fork and he watches you back quietly, clearly waiting. “I wasn’t sure what cuisines you liked, so I ordered a few different dishes.” Titus looks at you, you haven’t picked up any of the cutlery so he leans forward slightly, putting his salad fork into the persimmons, pear, and pomegranate salad in front of you and lifts the fork so it hovers near your face.
“Titus,” you feel your cheeks heat up more and you’ve never been more embarrassed in your life than how you feel now, as your eyes look anywhere but his.
“Indulge your fiancé, please.” Titus raises his eyebrows as he looks at you, you meet his eyes and feel embarrassment swallow you whole. The way he says that word feels strange too, you don’t know if there’s a world where you’ll ever get used to hearing words like fiancé and wife.
“It’s very unnecessary.” You whisper one last time.
“Indulge me.” He says and you slowly open your mouth and he gently moves the fork in and stills it as your pretty lips close around it, one day he’ll get to kiss those lips and it makes the tip of his ears redden at that thought. You’ll be his perfect wife. You tilt your head back as you quietly chew, he watches you with a small proud smile and you roll your eyes, looking away. He’s not dissuaded in the slightest and you feel embarrassment burning through every nerve at the fact that you will have to look at him again after this moment.
“Happy?” You whisper tilting your head slightly with an awkward and playful smile after you've swallowed that mouthful of salad.
“Sure, but there’s always room for more joy in life.” His voice is a little hoarse and he smiles smugly and you shake your head, taking a sip of water as a reprieve from whatever game it is you two are in with the other.
“I was thinking of two ceremonies, there’s a precedent of that happening for some Danforth marriages.” Titus watches you and he taps the table a couple of times and you look down. A whole life of living in this world makes you notice the habit and your brain goes to try to see if that was Morse but it’s just Titus trying to distract from how nervous he is about you rejecting him in any way.
“Why two ceremonies?” You ask, your eyes looking up to meet his hazel eyes that you’ve now decided are most definitely more green today. It’s a pretty colour. Again, you’ll have to file this particular shade away. Somebody would have a total field day trying to paint his eyes and capture all the different shades you’ve seen, that you’ll now get to see over a lifetime.
“One for the High Council, the Lawyer, the traditional garb, that one should be first and then a second more conventional wedding,” you look at him and nod after a moment, he can see there’s a flicker of uncertainty in the most breathtaking eyes in front of him so he doubles down. “With actual guests if you wish… And it can be a photo op.”
“A photo op?” You chuckle and then run your hand over your face. You know it makes sense but it’s so ridiculous. “Okay.”
“And it would be nice for the future grandchildren to have some photos that seem normal for when they’re too young,” too young to know of hunts and that they’ve been born into a cycle that has already sold their soul for wealth. Mr Le Bail is one of the few beings in the world that could tell you the actual price of the soul, the High Council is proof of that.
“Grandchildren already?” You give him a shy smile and lean back in your seat, your head is barely wrapping around the concept of children, let alone grandchildren.
“It’s inevitable.” He says with a shrug and you look down.
Little children running around the Danforth estate, possibly with your hair and Titus’s everchanging hazel eyes fills your mind. You could see photo albums worth of memories of these lives, it’s sweet but also twists something deep inside of you. You don’t know what to do with it. But you don’t miss the implication of Titus’s words, they give the hint that he would do things differently than what he endured and that is its own form of relief in your mind.
The first Wednesday after that meeting sees you seated in your office going over emails when a delivery arrives. From a florist you haven’t heard of, it’s a large bouquet with dozens of peonies against tastefully chosen and arranged foliage to frame the delicate pink and white petals.
It won’t be long before you learn and accept that this is another thing Titus will do, large bouquets delivered twice a week, various flowers until he figures out which are your favourites. But now it’s fun, you keep pressing them in your books so that there’s always one bloom missing from the decaying bouquet as it’s thrown out, your books in your bag all carry a subtle floral perfume now. Nobody acknowledges the flowers after a couple of weeks of this, your father doesn’t say a word and the only words you speak about it are the thank you cards you start sending to Titus, first a bit as a joke but now it’s stuck and he loves how delicate and archaic that feels. He’ll keep a collection of them too.
If you want to be removed or added, please just comment, message or send an ask! There were a few people that asked to be tagged but I wasn't able to, will try to let them/you know later today for those I couldn't tag, so maybe check your settings when asking, thank you for reading! 🫶
synopsis: being ursula's danforth's secretary comes with a lot of benefits. shopping sprees, traveling the world, sitting at the right hand of the world's most powerful family. too bad it comes at the cost of being by the side of her absolutely vexing twin brother. oh, and selling your soul.
w.c.: 3.6k AO3 ver. series masterlist next part
tags: cursing like a sailor. reader and titus are FREAKS, both of them are bad people and they kinda don't care. somewhat dark!fic. abusive/toxic power dynamics: titus x secretary!f!reader. this is gonna be a slowburn y'all. enemies to friends(?) to lovers/partners in crime. NO BETA, WE DIE LIKE MEN. not proofread either, whoops. proper capitalization and grammar used in actual fic. GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE
disclaimer: i do not condone all the fucked up shit that happens in this fic. if your lover does this shit to you, run the other direction. this stuff stays in fiction and in our imaginations.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
There’s something deeply wrong with this manor. Something about its high ceilings resembling a sky with no sun and the candlelit dark oak walls tricking you into seeing shadows at the corner of your eyes.
You set your jaw tight, eyes flitting around to find whatever is making your skin crawl. You feel someone’s eyes on you, but where is it coming from?
…
There!
You spin around as you catch something fly behind you in your periphery. What behind you was a man in his 50s, dressed smartly, but not as if he is headed for an event. No, he’s dressed like all he has in his closet is custom and designer. This is his regular attire: archive Balenciaga on a Monday.
“Woah!”, he puts his hands up, “Just who the fuck are you?!”
Titus Danforth, you recall from the family profiles you read, He sounds way different from how he looks. Thought he’d be more…refined.
You easily collect yourself, “Mr. Danforth, I presume.”
“Yeah?”, his childish tone clashed with his curly gray hair, “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”
“I apologize for the intrusion.”, you nod and take a step back, “I am your sister’s new assistant.”
“Ah.”, he drawls out the vowel as he’s actively remembering the detail he previously didn’t give a shit about. "So, you're the replacement.”, he tsks, "What a joke."
You ignore his comment. “I’m aware that Ms. Danforth will be arriving from her engagement soon, but I wanted to be early.” Titus walks around you, studying you. You hold your guard, refusing to buckle under his intense gaze. You turn to face him with a soft smile, “Could you please direct me to her office, so I could wait for her?”
He scoffs, “What do I look like to you?”
“Mr. Danforth, sir.”, you answer matter-of-factly.
“Exactly.”, he steps closer towards you as you fall back, “So, why the hell do you think that you can boss me around my own house?”, he practically spits at you.
Jesus, it’s just directions. It’s not that deep, you think - but what comes out was, “My apologies, Mr. Danforth. I shall wait for her in the foyer.” Your tone was steady and your smile still plastered on.
As you turn to head back to the front of the house, you hear him mutter, “Huh. The assistant needing assistance, what a fucking joke.”
Dick.
You retrace your steps back to the front entrance. It’s too hot outside, so you decide to stand in the hall, blankly staring at a Danforth family portrait. The oil paint feathers about the canvas, colors desaturated with age. Chester Danforth’s face is grim with Titus mimicking the same frown, but instead of it conveying the same stoicism, it comes across as a child wearing his father’s suit. Ursula’s chin is held up high, a smile on her face. Assured, confident, capable. Both of the twins’ hands are on their father’s shoulders, but Chester’s right shoulder is towards only one.
And she has arrived.
The rushing of staff towards the hallway alerts you to the sound of a car pulling up outside. You straighten and brush whatever lint you imagine is on your suit and put on a soft smile. The doors open.
“Oh, and clear my afternoon. I have a new-”, Ursula walks through and stops in front of you, “Speaking of… You must be my new secretary.”
You nod, once and deep, just under a bow, “Yes, pleasure to meet you Ms. Danforth.” You introduce yourself, eyes glancing to the older lady behind her - your predecessor. She speaks, her posh accent cutting through, “Interviewed her myself, ma’am. I believe she is… a good fit for my position.” Ursula eyes you up and down with a smirk, “High praise coming from you, Miriam.”
You remember that interview process. Felt more like you were interviewing for the CIA than an assistant job, but you figured “It’s the Danforth’s. Probably just rich people bullshit.”
One thing stood out to you that whole process.
They had you kill a goat.
It was between you and this other guy for the position. Well, you, the guy, and this black goat bleating at you. You admit you were curious, but you let the guy ask the question for you.
“Why?”, he asked, voice watery.
Miriam didn’t answer, simply handing him the knife and repeating her prompt, “Kill it.”
You remember how he gripped the handle. The blade shook as the water in his voice came out onto his face. Maybe he was as desperate for work as you were. Maybe he didn’t know what else to do. Maybe he had a past with goats and this thing was getting real personal for him. Either way, the way the yell ripped from him as he charged the poor thing. Swinging wildly, viscera flying everywhere. He plunged it over and over into the crying goat. You think he wasn’t really looking since sometimes the knife hit the dirt.
“Stop.”, Miriam ordered curtly.
He didn’t. His hand gripped the neck of the corpse and the other kept plunging the blade into its guts.
“Christopher. Cease immediately.”, Miriam’s tone now tinged with annoyance. It finally makes him stop.
He gets up, suit stained red, knees covered in dirt. He doesn’t speak. He stopped crying too.
Another goat is brought in. White as snow, curiously sniffing the air. It doesn’t even glance at its dead brother on the ground next to it.
Miriam passes the knife to you. “You have the same task. Kill it.”
The handle is sticky against your palm and hard to hold. You take out a handkerchief to wipe off the blood, “Is there a specific manner in which you would like the goat killed?” Miriam’s mouth twitches, “No…but maybe don’t make such a mess.”
“Yes, ma’am.”, you respond as you kneel before the goat. You let it sniff your hand. It allows you to run your hands along its head. Through the skull, maybe?, you consider, It’s too thick and I don’t have that strength. I need to make this as quick and painless as possible. You catch its pulse on the side of its neck. There!
You pet the goat’s fur one more time.
“I’m sorry.”, you whisper softly.
You plunge the knife deep into the goat’s carotid. The blood gushes out onto you. You quickly stab at the other side of the goat’s neck before connecting the two cuts. The white creature falls over, wet with red. You can see it’s heart pump furiously against its chest. You watch its chest rise and fall slower and slower.
Not as quick as you hoped.
Its blood seeps into your clothes, warm with guilt. You want to throw up, but you just stand there.
Miriam looks pleased.
She makes you carry the goats to dispose of them into some kind of pit. Christopher kept muttering next you about the paintings, but you can’t really see anything past the goat in your arms and the floor in front of you.
When it was over, you two change into new suits and handed over your old ones. On your way out, Christopher grips your shoulders, screaming about, “This is beyond fucked up. We gotta go, man! We gotta call someone. The police, the news.” You can’t feel him shake you because all you can feel the warmth of the goat’s blood. You don’t respond. You barely even react. You just walk home.
You never saw Christopher again, but you did get an email in the morning beginning with “Congratulations!”
Now, you’re here. Walking behind Ursula, holding a tablet with a color coded calendar on your screen.
You zone back in to catch the tail end of the tour. “And this is where my office is and where you’ll be!”, Ursula smiles as she gives Miriam her coat to hang up and sets her bag down. “Ok,” she claps her hands together as she sits down, “quick trial run. Let’s see what you got.”
You straighten and hold your pen at the ready, notes open.
“Move my 4:00 pm meeting to tomorrow at noon. Move my noon meeting to 3 and email Mr. Field a reminder that the documents need to be sent at the end of the week. I need you to pick up my usual at Starbucks before my flight tomorrow, speaking of which, you need to wake me at 6:30 AM sharp for that. Book me a spa appointment, I’m thinking in about 3 hours, and tell the chef that I’m craving Italian today.”, she lists off, “Actually. Cancel the noon meeting. I’ll have it on Friday instead.” Urusula looks up at you with a smirk, “You got that?”
You look down at your shorthand on the screen, “4:00 pm meeting moved to Friday. Noon is moved to 3. Your usual of a caramel macchiato with your custom add-ins will be ready before you leave for your flight. Your spa will be ready for you in three hours and it will be at the Danforth resort since I believe you’re too tired to travel anymore today. Don’t worry, I’ll ensure that the spa is all yours with everything available. I will send the emails and inform the chef shortly. Is there anything specific you would like during your 6:30 AM wake up? Breakfast in bed or a specific outfit ready for you?”, you finish with a smile that is not smug, just polite.
Ursula tries to hide that she’s impressed, “I’ll have breakfast downstairs, but make sure that my Nour Hammour jacket is ready for my flight tomorrow. I’m trying to do that comfy, yet chic thing with my airport fashion.”
“Will do, ma’am.”
“That will be all.”, Ursula shoos you away as you’re left with Miriam to figure out the rest of the job details.
As you round the corner, you turn to Miriam, “What does she want in her macchiato, again?” Miriam’s face betrays her amusement, “Cold foam, caramel drizzle, and a dash of cinnamon.” You scribble down the order and file it away. As you walk alongside Miriam, you start making calls to the Danforth resort before ultimately sitting at the kitchen counter writing emails as Miriam fetches the head chef.
You finish writing up the last of it before Titus glides into the kitchen, sparing you a withering glance like he’s offended that you’re still here. You keep quiet and try to ignore him, but it’s proving to be a difficult task since he’s decided to lean against the counter, peering over your shoulder. Hitting send, you swivel around to face him, “Can I assist you with anything, Mr. Danforth?”
He is much closer than you expected. His arm, propped up next to you, is radiating heat and you can see his stubble pepper the sides of his jaw. His eyes look almost shark-like with how dark they are, but now that you’re so close you can see that they’re actually hazel.
“Can you get the fuck out of my house?”, Titus gestures with his hand, the spoon clicking against the small jar of caviar.
Asshole. Comically, so., you think.
“Unfortunately, as I will be your sister’s personal assistant for the foreseeable future, I cannot leave. Is there anything else I can do for you?”, you say with a smile. Your professional, almost robotic tone makes his eyebrow twitch. Good.
He mutters a “Yeah, go fuck yourself.” as he slips away.
Is he contractually obligated to say fuck in every single sentence? He probably learned the world yesterday. Immature, son of a-
“Miriam, do you have to go?”, Titus whines as Miriam enters the room, “I don’t like the new girl. Maybe you could postpone your retirement a few more years.”
Miriam gives Titus a stern look, “Now, Titus, play nice. She’s perfectly capable of doing my job.”
Selfish of him to ask that of her. I mean the lady looks like she’s two decades past retirement age and who knows how long she’s been doing this shit. Let her rest, man. See her grandkids. If she even found the time to have any with this family.
Titus pouts and digs back into his caviar, eating thousands of dollars worth of it like it’s nothing. It probably is nothing to him.
Miriam clears her throat and gestures to the man next to her, “This is Chef Martin. He’s been cooking for the Danforths for as long as I can remember.”
Chef Martin and you shake hands as you introduce yourself to each other. “‘Ave you any experience with fine dining and cuisine?”, his accent is thick through his honey-warm tone. You shake your head, “Unfortunately, not, sir.” He tsks, “Well, we have to change that.”, he wags a finger in your direction. “This kitchen is only for show, the real one is on the lower levels since we need a much, much bigger space for the things we will be cooking.”, he gestures in a way you find very endearing, “I ‘ear that Madame Danforth wants Italian for dinner, tonight.”, he dramatically puts a hand over his chest, “Breaking my ‘eart. But! What the Danforths want, I shall deliver!”
You can’t help but smile, “If you ever find the time, I’d love to come down into the kitchen and watch your craft. It’d be a shame to not see you in your element, sir.” He laughs, loud and deep, “I like this one, she’s cute.”, he gives Miriam a playful bump as he heads back down to the kitchens.
Miriam has trouble forcing the corners of her mouth back down as she turns back towards me. “There is some free time left in the schedule. Have you fully moved in yet?”
You shake your head, “No, ma’am. My things were taken by some of the other staff when I arrived, but I have not been to my room yet.”
“I’ll take her.”, Titus interjects, much to your confusion, “It’s your old room, right?”
Miriam confirms, “Yes. I’ve already moved out, so the space is free to make your own.”
Titus sucks whatever was on his thumb, setting his finished jar on the counter. “Come. Follow me.”, his face is hard to read, but his eyes are boring holes straight into you. A sense of dread creeps up your neck and you glance over at Miriam for a possible out, but she’s already making her way down the hall away from you.
Dammit. Ok, whatever. Just keep it together.
You compose yourself and quickly gather your things and rush to catch up with Titus. He guides you up the staircase, the incoming night making the candlelight glow even brighter and casting even bigger shadows along the paintings on the wall. “Since we need to have our assistants by us at all times, their rooms are not too far from ours.”, he walks down a dark green hallway, “In fact”, he stops at a door, “yours is right across from mine.”
You brows furrow, Weird layout, but ok.
You shouldn’t ask questions, you really shouldn’t, but everything about this man is such an oddity and it’s eating you alive.
“Do you have a personal assistant as well, Mr. Danforth?”, you keep your tone as neutral as possible. A desperate cry of not being alone in this cloaked in a softball question.
“No.”, he gives a small shake of his head. You despair.
He continues, “No, I don’t. I don’t really need one since Father tends to give Ursula all the responsibilities. I did ask for one, though.”, his voice drops to a mutter, “None of them really stuck.”
You nod, trying to convey understanding despite you not knowing what to say. Right as you open your mouth, you’re slammed against the wall, hands gripping your arms. Your head thuds against the wood behind you, not enough to see stars, but enough that you know you’ll have a migraine soon.
Titus sneers above you, “What are you really doing here, huh? Tell me.” He’s so close, you can smell his cologne. Sage, woody, and warmed with spice. Why did your pulse pick up now?
“Tell me!”, he shook you at your lack of a response.
You hold his glare, “Alright. I’ll drop the pretenses.” Titus doesn’t seem like he wants a flattering lie right now and you don’t plan on giving one to him. “I’m here for a job. Yeah, I know your privileged ass has never known what its like to need to labor to have enough to survive, so let me make it painfully clear to you. I am here for work. To get money. Like everybody fucking else. You guys pay well and I want to live comfortably for once in my life and that is it. I do not give a single shit about whatever the hell you guys do or don’t do. I am here for the roof over my head, food in my stomach, and some cash in my pocket. That’s fucking all.” You shove him off of you, which only works because he is caught off-guard. You straighten your blazer as he stands there still slack-jawed.
Is he really that surprised? No way he doesn’t know how bad shit is out there.
“You’re really not here to infiltrate my family or something?”, Titus asks and you can see the dunce cap start to form around his head, “Couldn’t you get another job in like, I dunno, some start-up or whatever the hell pays this much.”
Oh. Oh, he really doesn’t know.
“No, Mr. Danforth.”, the title comes out more sour than you intended, “There are no entry-level jobs out there that pays 100K a year. I honestly thought the listing was a scam when I applied.”
Titus furrows his brow, “Can’t you go to college or something? Get a job with a better pay?”
“I did go to college.”, you tell him your degree, “and I was working part-time waitressing jobs.”
Titus looks real confused, so you decide to indulge yourself.
“Minimum wage is $15 an hour, by the way.”, you revel in his widened eyes, “Technically less since I was working for tips, too.”
“Well, isn’t that enough?”, he does the mental math in his head, “A shift with good tips is like, what? Around $300 bucks? That’s enough for shit.”
“Titus”, you sigh, “how much do you think rent costs? Fuck that, actually. Tell me how much you think groceries cost?”
He shrugs, “I dunno. $350 for the rent, $30 for groceries?”
You want to laugh, but you’re too irritated. “I paid $1,500 for my rent and about $45 on groceries if I ration enough to not starve.”
Titus looks at you like you’re stupid, “Then don’t get such a big apartment then.”
“I lived in a studio!”
“What’s that?”
You put your head in your hands and groan. Oh, to live such a life.
You take a deep inhale, “I digress. I needed a job and I didn’t want to live like that anymore. That’s all.”
Titus is scanning you up and down, probably for show at this point. “Alright.”, he says like you passed the crudest interrogation known to man. He starts to walk to his room, but changes his mind to give one last remark: “But, I got my eyes on you.”
“I’m sure you do.”, you mutter, completely over this attempt to seem threatening. Titus huffs and saunters into his room.
When the door shuts, you sigh out the last bit of tension in you. What the hell was even that, man?, you rub your eyes, drained from whatever that was. Your heart is still thumping against your chest, but the rush of adrenaline as long since subsided.
I wonder what cologne he uses.
You shove that thought way down deep and hone your attention into unpacking your suitcase. Your whole life can be tucked away into a duffel bag and one suitcase that cost more than the furniture you picked up from the road in your old apartment. You justified the purchase since you’re going to be traveling alongside Ursula now.
Your spirits lift at the thought. Finally, you can see the world - a luxury you could never afford on your own and now its part of your job. You plop into bed, cheeks hurting as you start to romanticize the thought of the first paycheck hitting your bank account. No more overdrafts, no more debts, no need for loans. Shopping trips without needing to check the price, takeouts replaced by world class chef cooked cuisine. You fall asleep dreaming of a life without financial stresses and burdens, head pressed against a silk pillow.
On the other side of the hall, Titus stared at the ceiling fuming over you. You frustrated him from the moment you met. Waltzing into this world, fitting in like you were meant to be here.
That voice., he fumes, That stupid voice she does is so… Titus thinks about how utterly lifeless and fake your voice was. Calling him Mr. Danforth, asking if he needed anything. The only thing worse is if it was sycophantic - but, it wasn’t. There was something underneath your perfectly professional persona. A twitch of your eyes that he caught when he was looking at you. A softening when you talked to Chef Martin.
Titus smiled as he remembered how he finally got you in the hallway, only moments ago. The fury lighting up your eyes, the exasperation breaking through the even tone you tried so hard to maintain. God, he swears he can feel your heart pound when he held you against the walls. What a rush, he muses.
A feeling blooms in the back of his mind, a want, no, a need for more. More of you.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
next part >
reblogs/comments/feedback are appreciated and lets me know to continue this series! thanks for reading :D
Figured I’d start a masterlist of my fics and works in progress! Heavy on the yearning and I’m a slut for a good slow-burn. All of the stories are strictly 18+, have smut/smut-heavy. MDNI!
Please let me know if you want to be tagged in a specific fic list or all of them!
The stories are also available on AO3 🖤
andrew “pope” cody x reader
in progress
pope’s girl 🖤 | series masterlist | age gap + angst + smut + yearning + emotional slow burn
Summary: You hate Titus Danforth - privileged, controlling, infuriating - until one night you don't. When he corners you and makes it clear he wants you, the line between hatred and obsession shatters.
Warning/Rating: 18+; explicit, graphic sexual activity (oral sex, manual stimulation, penetration, multiple orgasms described in detail), rough/aggressive sex, protected sex, language, power dynamics/dominance, degradation/humiliation, marking/biting, control and submission themes
Parts 1/2/3
Word Count: 6.6 K
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime that felt obscene in its politeness. You stepped into the hallway of the executive floor, your heels clicking against marble so polished you could see your reflection. Everything here was designed to intimidate - the soaring ceilings, the modern art that probably cost more than most people’s houses, the floor to ceiling windows that made you feel exposed even when you were alone.
You weren’t alone.
Titus Danforth’s office waited at the end of the hall like a throne room, and you were about to walk straight into the lion’s den.
Your fingers tightened around the folder in your hand. Three weeks of research, documentation, proof that his latest acquisition was built on lies and manipulation. You'd worked under him long enough to know how he operated - with the casual cruelty of someone who'd never been told no, who'd inherited power and wielded it like a blunt instrument.
The door was already open. Of course it was. He'd been expecting you.
You stepped inside without knocking.
Titus sat behind his desk, a massive thing of dark wood and clean lines that dominated the room. He didn't look up immediately, his attention fixed on whatever was on his computer screen, and you knew it was deliberate. A power play. Make them wait. Make them feel small.
You'd stopped feeling small around him months ago.
"You have thirty seconds before I have security escort you out," he said, still not looking at you. His voice was smooth, cultured, with an edge that suggested violence lurking just beneath the surface.
"Good thing I only need twenty." You crossed the room and dropped the folder on his desk hard enough to make a sound. "The Blue Harbor deal. You might want to look at page seven before you sign anything."
That got his attention.
Titus Danforth looked up slowly, and you felt the full weight of his gaze. He was handsome in a way that felt dangerous - sharp features, blue eyes that seemed to catalog every weakness, every vulnerability. He wore his expensive suit like armor, and his expression held the kind of cold calculation that had probably ruined lives.
"Page seven," he repeated, his tone flat.
"The environmental impact report. It's fabricated. The land you're buying is contaminated, and someone's been very creative with the paperwork." You crossed your arms. "If you go through with this, you'll be liable for millions in cleanup costs. Not to mention the lawsuits."
He leaned back in his chair, studying you with an intensity that would have made most people squirm. "And you brought this to me because...?"
"Because I don't work for criminals. I work for you, unfortunately, but I have standards."
Something flickered in his eyes - amusement, maybe, or irritation. With Titus, it was hard to tell. "How noble. Tell me, do you practice that self-righteous tone in the mirror, or does it come naturally?"
"I practice it specifically for conversations with you. It gets a lot of use."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. "You have a remarkable talent for forgetting your place."
"My place?" You laughed, sharp and humorless. "I'm the one who keeps this company from imploding while you play king of the castle. My place is wherever I damn well choose to stand."
Titus stood slowly, and you hated how your body tensed in response. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and he moved with the confidence of someone who'd never had to fight for anything in his life. He came around the desk, each step deliberate, until he was close enough that you could smell his cologne - something expensive and dark that probably cost more than your rent.
"Careful," he said softly, and there was something almost gentle in his tone that made it worse. "You're starting to sound like you think we're equals."
You held your ground even though every instinct screamed at you to step back. "We're not. I actually earned my position."
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you saw the temper everyone whispered about - the petulant rage of a man who'd been given everything and still wanted more. But he controlled it, channeled it into something colder.
"Get out of my office."
"Look at the report first."
"I said -"
His hand shot out, gripping your jaw firmly, forcing your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His fingers pressed into your skin, not painfully, but with unmistakable command. There was no gentleness in the gesture - it was pure dominance, a physical assertion that he controlled this space, controlled you.
"When I speak," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "you listen. You don't interrupt. You don't walk away. You look at me."
Your breath caught. Every nerve in your body screamed at the contact, at the raw power in his grip. You could have pulled away - should have - but instead you held his gaze, refusing to show fear even as heat pooled low in your belly.
"Look at the goddamn report," you managed, your voice steady despite the way your pulse hammered beneath his hand. "Or I'll make sure every board member knows you ignored a direct warning about fraud."
For a moment, his grip tightened fractionally, and you saw the flash of something dark in his eyes - anger, yes, but also something else. Something that looked dangerously like desire.
Then he released you, his hand falling away, and you had to resist the urge to touch your jaw where his fingers had been.
"Your choice," you finished, breathless.
The silence stretched between you, taut as a wire. You could see him weighing his options, his pride warring with pragmatism. Finally, he picked up the folder and flipped it open.
You watched him read, watched his expression darken as he processed the information. When he looked up again, there was something new in his eyes - a grudging respect mixed with irritation.
"Who else knows about this?"
"Just me. For now."
"Smart girl." He closed the folder. "You've bought yourself a stay of execution. Now get out before I change my mind."
You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you at the door.
"And next time you want to play hero? Remember who signs your paychecks."
You looked back over your shoulder. "Hard to forget when you remind me every chance you get. Must be exhausting, needing that much validation."
You left before he could respond, but you felt his gaze burning into your back all the way to the elevator.
The conference room was too cold, the air conditioning turned up to uncomfortable levels that you suspected Titus controlled just to watch people squirm. You sat across from him, three other executives between you, as he tore apart a proposal with surgical precision.
"This is amateur work," he said, sliding the document back across the table. "Did you even read the market analysis, or were you too busy congratulating yourself on mediocrity?"
The executive, Jenkins, a man twice Titus's age, flushed red. "The projections are sound -"
"The projections are fantasy. Try again." Titus's gaze swept the room and landed on you. "Unless someone else has something actually useful to contribute?"
You'd been waiting for this. "The projections are optimistic, but the core strategy is solid. Jenkins is right about the market opportunity. He's just wrong about the timeline."
Titus raised an eyebrow. "Enlighten us."
"Push the launch back six months. Use the time to build partnerships instead of trying to muscle into an established market. It's not as flashy, but it's sustainable." You held his gaze. "Unless you'd prefer another Blue Harbor situation."
The room went silent. No one mentioned Blue Harbor—the deal Titus had killed after your warning, though he'd never publicly acknowledged why.
His expression didn't change, but you saw the flash of anger in his eyes. "Interesting theory. Tell me, when did you become an expert in market strategy?"
"Around the same time you became an expert in listening to people who actually know what they're doing."
Someone inhaled sharply. Jenkins looked like he wanted to disappear into his chair.
Titus stood slowly, buttoning his suit jacket with deliberate precision. "Everyone out. Except you." He didn't point, didn't look at you, but everyone knew.
The room cleared in seconds.
When the door closed, Titus walked to the windows, his back to you. "You have a death wish."
"I have a low tolerance for incompetence. It's a problem we share, apparently."
He turned, and you saw it then - the barely controlled rage that everyone feared, the temper of a man who'd never learned to handle being challenged. "You think you're clever. You think because you were right once, you can speak to me however you like."
"I think I'm the only person in this building who isn't terrified of you, and you don't know what to do with that." You stood, matching his energy. "It must be confusing, not getting your way for once."
"Careful." He crossed the distance between you in three strides. "You're not as untouchable as you think."
"Neither are you. That's what really bothers you, isn't it? That I see exactly what you are."
"And what's that?"
"A spoiled child playing dress-up in daddy's empire. All that power, and you still need everyone to be afraid of you to feel like you matter."
His hand shot out and gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. The touch was firm, possessive, and you hated the way your pulse jumped in response. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know enough." Your voice came out steadier than you felt. "I know you're used to people cowering, and I know it drives you crazy that I won't."
His thumb brushed your lower lip, and the gesture was so unexpected, so intimate, that your breath caught. "You should be afraid of me."
"Why? Because you'll fire me? Ruin my career?" You smiled, sharp and cold. "You need me too much. We both know it."
For a moment, neither of you moved. His hand was still on your face, his body close enough that you could feel the heat of him. The air between you felt charged, dangerous, like touching a live wire.
Then he released you and stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Get back to work."
You left without another word, but your hands were shaking.
It became a pattern, but not the pattern you'd expected.
The first time it escalated beyond words was three days after that initial confrontation. You'd been in the break room, pouring coffee, when Titus walked in. The room emptied within seconds, people suddenly remembering urgent tasks elsewhere.
"Running away your audience?" you asked without turning around.
"I don't need an audience for this conversation."
"There's nothing to -"
He was on you before you could finish, spinning you around and backing you against the counter. His hands caged you in on either side, his body close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.
"You wore that on purpose," he said, his eyes dropping to the V-neck of your blouse.
"I wore a shirt. Don't flatter yourself."
"Everything you do is on purpose." His hand came up to your throat - not squeezing, just resting there, a promise of pressure. "Every word calculated to provoke. Every outfit chosen to distract. You want my attention? You have it."
Your pulse hammered against his palm. "Get your hand off me."
"Make me."
You should have been afraid. Any sane person would have been. Instead, you felt heat pooling low in your belly, your breath coming faster. "This is harassment."
"Is it?" His thumb stroked along your jaw. "Your pupils are dilated. Your breathing's elevated. You're not scared - you're turned on."
"Fuck you."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "But not yet. Not until you admit what this is."
Then he was gone, leaving you gasping against the counter, coffee forgotten.
You'd been presenting in a meeting, making your case for a new initiative, when Titus started tearing it apart. Not professionally - personally. Every word designed to humiliate, to make you look incompetent in front of the entire executive team.
You held your ground, fired back, refused to back down. By the end of the meeting, the tension was so thick the other executives practically fled.
"My office," Titus said. "Now."
You followed him, fury making your steps sharp. The moment his office door closed, you rounded on him.
"What the fuck was that? You made me look like an idiot -"
He grabbed your wrist and yanked you forward, your body colliding with his. "You made yourself look like an idiot by not doing your research."
"I did my research -"
"Not well enough." His grip on your wrist was bruising. "You want to play in my world? You better come prepared."
"Let go of me."
"Why? So you can storm out and pretend you're not wet right now?" His other hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. "So you can go home and touch yourself thinking about this?"
Your free hand came up to shove at his chest, but he caught that wrist too, pinning both behind your back with one hand. The position arched your body against his, and you felt exactly how much he was affected by this.
"You're a fucking psychopath," you hissed.
"And you're a masochist who keeps coming back for more." He leaned down, his mouth hovering over yours. "Admit it."
"Never."
He smiled, dark and dangerous. "We'll see."
He released you so suddenly you stumbled. You left without another word, but you could feel his eyes on you the entire way out.
You'd been thinking about it for days - the way he'd held you, the barely leashed violence in his touch, the dark promise in his eyes. It was driving you insane, the wanting and the hating tangled up until you couldn't separate them.
You found him in the parking garage, late, most of the cars already gone.
"We need to talk about the Morrison account," you said.
He looked up from his phone, and something flickered in his expression - surprise, then understanding, then hunger. "Do we."
"Yes."
"There's nothing wrong with the Morrison account." He pocketed his phone and started walking toward you. "You're here for something else."
"Don't be ridiculous -"
He backed you up against a concrete pillar, his body pinning yours. "You're here because you can't stop thinking about it. About me. About what I could do to you."
"You're delusional."
"Am I?" His hand slid up your thigh, under your skirt, stopping just short of where you were aching for him. "Tell me to stop."
You couldn't. The words wouldn't come.
"That's what I thought." His mouth crashed against yours, and it wasn't gentle - it was bruising, claiming, his teeth catching your lower lip hard enough to sting. You kissed him back just as roughly, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as you hated yourself for it.
His hand moved higher, fingers brushing against your underwear, and you gasped into his mouth.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he muttered against your lips. "All that fighting, and this is what you really want."
"Shut up," you managed, and kissed him again to make sure he did.
He pressed against you harder, his thigh between your legs, giving you friction that made you moan despite yourself. His hand was in your hair again, controlling the angle of the kiss, and his other hand was everywhere - your breast, your hip, your ass - touching you through your clothes with a possessiveness that should have infuriated you.
Instead, it made you burn.
"Not here," he said, pulling back, both of you breathing hard. "Not like this. When I fuck you, it's going to be somewhere I can take my time. Somewhere I can make you scream."
"Presumptuous."
"Honest." He stepped back, adjusting himself, his eyes dark with promise. "Go home. Think about it. And when you're ready to stop pretending you don't want this, you know where to find me."
You were working late, the office mostly empty, when Titus appeared in your doorway. No warning, no announcement - just suddenly there, filling the space with his presence.
"We need to talk."
You didn't look up from your computer. "Make an appointment."
"Now."
Something in his tone made you pause. You saved your work and turned to face him. "What?"
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The click of the lock was loud in the quiet office.
"What are we doing?" he asked.
"I'm working. You're interrupting."
"Don't." His voice was sharp. "Don't play stupid. You're many things, but stupid isn't one of them."
You leaned back in your chair, affecting a casualness you didn't feel. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." He crossed the room, planted his hands on your desk, and leaned in. "This. Us. Every conversation that turns into a fight. Every meeting where you go out of your way to provoke me."
"Maybe I just don't like you."
"Maybe." His eyes searched your face. "Or maybe you like it too much. The fighting. The tension. Maybe you get off on pushing my buttons."
Your heart was racing, but you kept your expression neutral. "You're delusional."
"Am I?" He came around the desk, and you stood to face him, refusing to be cornered. "Tell me you don't think about it. About us. Tell me you don't wonder what would happen if we stopped pretending."
"There's nothing to pretend about. I work for you. I don't like you. That's all there is."
"Liar." He was close now, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. "You want me. You hate that you want me, but you do."
"Your ego is showing."
"So is yours." His hand came up to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a promise and a threat. "Admit it."
You should have pushed him away. Should have told him to go to hell, should have walked out. Instead, you heard yourself say, "And if I do? What then?"
His smile was dark, triumphant. "Then we stop lying to ourselves."
"I hate you," you said, and meant it.
"I know." His thumb stroked the side of your neck. "I hate you too. Hate how you question everything I do. Hate how you look at me like I'm something you scraped off your shoe. Hate that I can't stop thinking about you."
"This is a terrible idea."
"The worst," he agreed.
You grabbed his tie and pulled him down to you. "Your place or mine?"
"Mine. I want you in my bed when I fuck you."
The crude words should have offended you. Instead, they sent heat pooling low in your belly. "Presumptuous."
"Accurate." He released you and stepped back. "Follow me in twenty minutes. Penthouse level, private elevator. Code is 6639."
"And if I don't show?"
His smile was all teeth. "You will."
He left, and you stood there in your empty office, heart pounding, wondering what the hell you were doing.
Twenty minutes later, you were in the elevator, punching in the code.
The doors opened directly into his apartment, and you stepped into a space that was exactly what you'd expected - sleek, modern, expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, and everything was done in shades of black, gray, and chrome. It looked like a magazine spread, beautiful and cold.
Titus was waiting in a leather chair positioned to face the elevator, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up. He didn't stand when you entered. Just watched you with dark, predatory eyes as the elevator doors slid shut behind you, trapping you in his domain.
"You came," he said, and there was satisfaction in his voice.
"Don't sound so smug about it."
He gestured to a side table where two glasses of whiskey sat waiting. "Pour."
You bristled at the command but crossed to the table, aware of his gaze tracking your every movement. You poured the whiskey with steady hands, refusing to let him see how your pulse raced.
"To terrible decisions," you said, raising your glass.
He stood then, crossing to you with deliberate slowness. He took the glass from your hand and set both aside without drinking. "We'll toast later. Right now, I want something else."
"And what's that?"
"I want to see how far you'll go. How much of that defiance is real, and how much is just armor."
"I'm not playing games with you."
"Yes, you are. We both are." He stepped back, returning to his chair, and sat with the casual confidence of a king on a throne. "And I want to see you surrender. Just a little. Just enough."
"I don't surrender."
"No?" His smile was dark, challenging. "Then prove it. Come here."
You started to walk toward him, but his voice stopped you.
"No. Not like that." His eyes locked on yours, and you saw the command in them before he spoke. "On your hands and knees. Crawl to me."
The words hit you like a physical blow. Heat flooded your face - humiliation and arousal warring inside you. "You can't be serious."
"Completely serious." He leaned back in the chair, spreading his legs slightly, utterly relaxed. "You said you wanted me to fuck you. But first, I want to watch you crawl across my floor. I want to see that pride of yours bend, just for me."
"Go to hell."
"You're already here." His voice dropped lower, darker. "And we both know you're going to do it. Because as much as you hate me, you want this. You want to know what it feels like to give in. To let someone else have control for once."
Your breath came faster. Every instinct screamed at you to turn around, to leave, to tell him exactly where he could shove his demands. But your body betrayed you, heat pooling low in your belly, your skin hypersensitive.
"This is fucked up," you said.
"I know." He didn't look away, didn't blink. "Do it anyway."
The silence stretched between you, taut as a wire. You could see the challenge in his eyes, the absolute certainty that you would obey. And God help you, something in you wanted to prove him right.
Slowly, your hands shaking slightly, you lowered yourself to your knees. The plush carpet was soft beneath your palms, but you felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with being clothed.
"That's it," he murmured, his voice like velvet and steel. "Now come to me."
You started to crawl, each movement deliberate, your eyes never leaving his. The distance between the elevator and his chair felt infinite. You were acutely aware of how you must look - on your hands and knees, moving toward him like something he owned. The humiliation burned through you, but so did the arousal, until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
"Beautiful," he said as you drew closer. "You have no idea how fucking beautiful you look right now. All that fire, all that defiance, and you're crawling for me anyway."
"I hate you," you said, your voice rough.
"I know. That's what makes this perfect."
You reached him finally, kneeling between his spread legs, looking up at him. His hand came down to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone with surprising gentleness.
"Good girl," he murmured, and the praise sent a shiver through you that you couldn't suppress. "See? That wasn't so hard."
"Fuck you."
He smiled. "Soon." He stood, pulling you up with him, and his mouth crashed down on yours in a bruising kiss. "But first, I'm going to take you to my bedroom and make you forget your own name."
His hands were everywhere—in your hair, on your waist, sliding up under your blouse to find bare skin. You worked at his shirt buttons, frustrated when they didn't cooperate fast enough. He pulled back just long enough to yank it over his head, and then his mouth was on your neck, teeth scraping sensitive skin.
"Bedroom," you managed.
"Impatient?"
"Practical. Unless you want to fuck me against the window where half the city can watch."
He pulled back to look at you, and something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "Don't tempt me."
But he led you down the hall to a bedroom that was all dark wood and darker sheets, dominated by a bed that looked custom-made. He pushed you down onto it and stood over you, drinking in the sight.
"Take off your clothes," he ordered.
You raised an eyebrow. "Ask nicely."
"I don't ask. I take." But he smiled, sharp and predatory. "But if you want to play games..."
He knelt on the bed, caging you in with his body, and started unbuttoning your blouse with deliberate slowness. Each button revealed more skin, and he followed the path with his mouth - kissing, biting, marking you.
"You're going to have bruises," he murmured against your collarbone.
"Good. So will you."
You dug your nails into his shoulders hard enough to leave crescents, and he hissed in pleasure-pain. "Fuck, you're perfect. Perfect and infuriating."
He got your blouse off, then your bra, and his mouth found your breast. You arched into him, fingers tangling in his hair, and he bit down just hard enough to make you cry out.
"Too much?" he asked, not sounding sorry at all.
"Not enough."
He switched to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention while his hand slid down to your skirt. He made quick work of the zipper, dragging the fabric down your legs along with your underwear until you were bare beneath him.
"Spread your legs," he said, and the command in his voice sent a shiver through you.
You did, and he settled between them, his fingers finding you wet and ready. "All this for me? And you claim to hate me."
"I do hate you." Your voice came out breathy, unconvincing.
"Sure you do." He pushed two fingers inside you, and you gasped at the intrusion. "Is that why you're so wet? Because you hate me so much?"
"Fuck you."
"Soon." He worked his fingers in and out, his thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy. "But first, I want to watch you fall apart."
You wanted to resist, wanted to prove you had more control than this, but he knew exactly what he was doing. His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made your vision blur, while his thumb circled your clit with perfect pressure.
"That's it," he murmured, watching your face. "Stop fighting it. Let go."
"Make me," you challenged, even as your body betrayed you, hips rocking against his hand.
His smile was wicked. "With pleasure."
He added a third finger, stretching you, and increased the pressure on your clit. The combination was devastating. You felt the orgasm building, inevitable, and you hated how easily he could do this to you.
"Come for me," he ordered. "Now."
And you did, your body obeying him even as your mind rebelled. The pleasure crashed over you in waves, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out his name.
He worked you through it, fingers gentling as you came down. When you could focus again, he was watching you with dark satisfaction.
"Beautiful," he said. "But we're not done."
He withdrew his fingers and stood, stripping off the rest of his clothes with deliberate slowness. You took in the sight of him - all lean muscle and controlled power, his cock hard and thick, already leaking at the tip. He was beautiful in a dangerous way, like a blade catching the light.
"On your knees," he said, his voice low and commanding. "On the floor."
You met his eyes, seeing the challenge there. "Ask nicely."
His smile was dark, predatory. "I don't ask. Get on your fucking knees."
Something in his tone - the raw dominance, the absolute certainty that you would obey - sent a thrill through you that you refused to acknowledge. You slid off the bed and knelt on the plush carpet, looking up at him with defiance still burning in your eyes.
"Better," he said, threading his fingers through your hair. Not gentle - possessive, controlling. "Now open that smart mouth and put it to better use."
"You're such a -"
He tightened his grip, cutting off your words. "Careful. I can think of much better things for your mouth to be doing than insulting me."
You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the heat and hardness of him, and watched his jaw tighten. "Like this?"
"Don't play coy. You know exactly what I want." He guided your head closer, the head of his cock brushing your lips. "Open."
You did, taking just the tip into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head. He tasted like salt and skin and something uniquely him. His grip in your hair tightened, and you heard his breath catch.
"More," he demanded. "Take more of me."
Instead, you pulled back, releasing him with a soft pop. "Say please."
His eyes darkened dangerously. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
He used his grip on your hair to pull your head back, forcing you to look up at him. The position was vulnerable, exposing your throat, and you saw the hunger in his eyes as he took in the sight of you on your knees before him.
"Last chance to do this the easy way," he said softly, and there was a threat in his voice that made your pulse race.
"I don't do easy."
"I know." His smile was sharp. "That's what makes this so fucking perfect."
He guided his cock back to your lips, and this time when you opened for him, he didn't wait. He pushed forward, filling your mouth, stretching your lips around his thickness. Not brutal, but firm, insistent, making it clear who was in control.
"That's it," he groaned as you took him deeper. "Fuck, your mouth feels incredible."
You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard, and his hips jerked forward involuntarily. You took him as deep as you could, fighting your gag reflex, determined not to show weakness. Your hand worked what you couldn't fit in your mouth, stroking in rhythm with your movements.
"Look at me," he commanded, and you raised your eyes to meet his. "I want to see those defiant eyes while you suck my cock."
The crude words should have offended you, but instead they sent heat pooling between your legs. You maintained eye contact as you worked him, watching his control start to fracture, and felt a surge of power despite your position.
"You like this," he said, reading your expression. "Like being on your knees for me. Like having my cock in your mouth. Admit it."
You pulled back enough to speak, your hand still stroking him. "I like watching you lose control."
He laughed, breathless. "Is that what you think is happening?"
Before you could respond, he thrust back into your mouth, deeper this time, hitting the back of your throat. You gagged slightly, tears pricking your eyes, but you didn't pull away. His grip in your hair was almost painful now, holding you in place as he started to fuck your mouth with shallow thrusts.
"You can take it," he said, his voice rough. "I know you can. You're too stubborn to tap out."
He was right, damn him. You relaxed your throat, breathing through your nose, letting him use your mouth. It was degrading and intense and so fucking hot you could barely stand it. Your free hand slid between your legs, finding yourself wet and aching.
"Touching yourself?" His voice was strained. "Fuck, that's perfect. Show me how much you want this."
You worked your clit while he fucked your mouth, the dual sensation overwhelming. Saliva dripped down your chin, tears leaked from your eyes, and you'd never felt more wrecked or more alive.
"I'm close," he warned, his thrusts becoming erratic. "You're going to swallow every drop, understand?"
You hummed your agreement around his cock, and the vibration made him curse. His control shattered, and you felt him pulse in your mouth as he came, hot and bitter on your tongue. You swallowed like he'd ordered, taking everything he gave you, and felt his whole body shudder.
He pulled out slowly, his hand gentling in your hair. You sat back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and looked up at him with a challenging smile.
"Adequate?" you asked, throwing his earlier word back at him.
He pulled you to your feet roughly, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss. "Fucking perfect, and you know it."
"Your turn to return the favor?"
"Not yet." He walked you backward toward the bed. "First, I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name."
"Promises, promises."
He pushed you down onto the mattress, his eyes dark with renewed hunger. "Turn over. On your knees."
You hesitated, and he raised an eyebrow. "Problem?"
"I want to see your face."
"No." He gripped your hip and flipped you over himself, positioning you how he wanted - ass up, face down. "You don't get that. Not yet. You don't get to pretend this is something it's not."
He was right, and you hated him for it. This wasn't making love. This was fucking, raw and primal, two people who couldn't stand each other giving in to something they couldn't control.
You heard the sound of foil tearing, felt the bed dip as he positioned himself behind you. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks. The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, and he didn't enter you right away, just teased, making you wait.
"Beg," he said.
"Go to hell."
He laughed, low and dark, and thrust into you in one brutal stroke, filling you completely. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your fingers gripping the sheets, your body struggling to adjust to his size.
"Still want me to go to hell?" he asked, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in.
"Yes," you gasped. "Fuck, yes."
He set a punishing pace, each thrust deep and hard, exactly what you'd asked for. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he fucked you with an intensity that bordered on violence.
"Is this what you wanted?" he growled. "Is this hard enough for you?"
"Harder," you demanded, pushing back against him, meeting each thrust.
He obliged, one hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck, pressing your face into the mattress. The position was degrading, dominant, and you were so turned on you could barely think. The angle let him go even deeper, and you felt him hitting spots that made you see stars.
"You feel so fucking good," he muttered, his control starting to slip. "So tight. So perfect. Hate how perfect you feel around my cock."
"Hate you too," you managed, but it came out more like a moan.
His other hand snaked around to find your clit again, and the dual sensation was overwhelming. You were already sensitive from your first orgasm and from touching yourself while you sucked him, and it didn't take long before you were climbing toward another.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice rough. "Come on my cock. Show me how much you hate me."
The orgasm hit you like a freight train, your whole body tensing as pleasure ripped through you. You heard yourself cry out his name - finally, helplessly - and heard him groan in response.
"Fuck, yes," he growled. "Say it again."
"Titus," you gasped, and he thrust harder, chasing his own release.
His rhythm faltered, became erratic, and then he was coming with a guttural moan, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough that you knew you'd have bruises tomorrow. The thought sent a dark thrill through you.
He collapsed over you, both of you breathing hard, sweat-slicked and spent. After a moment, he pulled out and disposed of the condom, then pulled you against him, your back to his chest.
"Don't get comfortable," you said, even as you relaxed into his hold.
"Wouldn't dream of it." His lips brushed your shoulder, then your neck. "Though you're welcome to stay. I'm not done with you yet."
You turned in his arms to face him. "Who says I'm done with you?"
His smile was slow and dangerous. "Round two, then?"
"After I catch my breath." You traced a finger down his chest. "And maybe after you admit that was good."
"It was adequate."
You pinched him, and he caught your hand, bringing it to his lips. "Fine. It was incredible. You're incredible, even when you're being insufferable."
"Same to you." You kissed him, slower this time, less desperate. "This doesn't change anything, you know. I still think you're a privileged asshole."
"And I still think you're an insubordinate pain in my ass." He rolled you onto your back, settling between your legs again. "But maybe we can work with that."
"What are you suggesting?"
"That we stop pretending we don't want this. That we see where it goes." His hand cupped your face, surprisingly gentle. "I'm not good at relationships. I'm controlling and demanding and I have a terrible temper."
"I noticed."
"But I want you. Not just for tonight. And I think you want me too, even if you wish you didn't."
You considered him - this complicated, damaged man who'd somehow gotten under your skin. "This is going to be a disaster."
"Probably." He kissed you again. "But it'll be an interesting disaster."
"Fine. But I have conditions."
"Of course you do."
"I'm not going to stop challenging you at work. I'm not going to become some yes-woman just because we're sleeping together."
"I wouldn't want you to. That's half the appeal." His smile was genuine this time. "Anything else?"
"If you ever pull rank on me in the bedroom, I'm out. This works because we're equals here, even if we're not anywhere else."
He studied you for a long moment. "Agreed. Though I reserve the right to be bossy."
"As long as I reserve the right to ignore you."
"Deal." He kissed you again, deeper this time. "Now, about round two..."
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Show me what you've got, Danforth."
You walked into the office with your head high, ignoring the curious looks from your colleagues. Word had gotten around that you'd left with Titus on Thursday night, and the rumor mill was working overtime.
His office door was open. You walked in without knocking.
Titus looked up from his computer, and something hot flashed in his eyes before his expression smoothed into professional neutrality. "Can I help you?"
"The Morrison contract. Your proposed terms are garbage."
He leaned back in his chair, a smile playing at his lips. "Is that so?"
"Completely. I've drafted revisions." You dropped a folder on his desk. "You're welcome."
"You're insufferable."
"You're predictable." You turned to leave, then paused at the door. "Oh, and Titus? Your place. Eight o'clock. Don't be late."
You left before he could respond, but you heard his low laugh follow you out.
