Work Text:
You shut the lid of your laptop with a little more force than necessary - not enough to get IT pissed off at you, just enough to satisfy your urge to shove the memory of that three hour long meeting-that-could-have-been-an-email out of your mind for the rest of the night.
You definitely didn’t want to be thinking about work right now.
Because Marcus was coming over tonight.
Your handsome, sweet, caring boyfriend Marcus.
A silly, girlish grin steals over your expression before you can stop it.
You’d just went “official” with Marcus last week, after the two of you had talked about how amazing the last couple months had been. You’d met at a café - a stereotypical meet-cute that you were only a little embarrassed by, both for its eye-rolling cheesiness and your role in the entire thing.
You had been on the phone, negotiating a contract and had accidentally grabbed his coffee when it came up. He had chased you down, there was an awkward exchange and you’d apologized profusely. But you’d run into him a couple more times after that and eventually neither of you could ignore the mutual attraction. A few dates had gradually turned into spending most nights and days off together and eventually both of you had realized you had no interest in seeing anyone else right now.
So, now he was your boyfriend Marcus.
Your heartbeat does a little skipping series of flutters and you huff in amusement. It seems so silly, reacting this way at your age, but really, you’ve never felt this… light, before. Being with Marcus is so comfortable, so effortless.
So vastly different from your previous experience.
After twelve years of trying to make a toxic marriage work, you had finally seen it for what it was and filed for divorce. Now, two years later, ink dry on the divorce papers and several therapy sessions giving your step a little more confidence, you’re finding out what it means to be in a healthy relationship with someone, and you’re practically giddy with it, despite your efforts to stay level-headed.
Which is all well and good, but you know what’s best. You shouldn’t dive right into another serious romantic relationship, not after the last one. So you’re moving slowly with Marcus, keeping a little bit of yourself in reserve, just in case.
Including your… proclivities.
Your nose wrinkles in sudden self-awareness, idly sifting through your thoughts.
Marcus is a sweet guy. The definition of sweet. Tooth-rotting, saccharine-sweet. And so kind, and understanding, and supportive - he’s been your rock over the last couple months, making sure you don’t get too lost in your work, sending you silly cat memes throughout the day, patiently listening to your venting about your issues with work and family with genuine sympathy.
The exact opposite of your ex-husband, who was usually too wrapped up in his own shit to have any clue what was going on with you.
Marcus has been exactly what you need in your life right now. He’s happy to move slowly, too, having just got out of a cancelled engagement and a failed marriage before that. His own therapy sessions had taught him to find validation in himself and not others, allowing him to ease into relationships instead of immediately going all in. In fact, you had been seeing each other for three weeks before you had sex, even though you had definitely wanted to before then, and only held back on mutual agreement.
A little frisson of arousal wends its way through your core, remembering that night.
God, what a great night.
You’d been practically swimming in your panties after lusting after him for weeks, and fuck, did he ever make it up to you. There were still parts of that night that were blurry, you’d come so many times they all just ran together at one point. He was amazing, the perfect mix of attentive and confident, and of course, his signature sweetness had your heart squeezing tight in your chest.
Sitting back in your chair, you tap your fingertip against your laptop thoughtfully, your nails clicking on the plastic.
Yeah, the sex is great. Some of the best sex you’ve ever had in your life, actually. And you definitely don’t want to give that up. You don’t want to give Marcus up.
But.
There’s that little part of you, the part that you’ve shoved away deep down, never allowing it to see the light of day, hidden behind a queasy feeling of uncertainty. It’s a part that wants a little bit more, a little harder, a little rougher. A part that you’ve never shown anyone, for fear of ridicule.
Also for fear of how far you would let it take control.
But after your divorce, after realizing how much of yourself you had pushed aside for the sake of keeping your ex-husband happy, you had realized… maybe you wanted to see. Maybe you wanted to let that instinct take over, and see what it felt like, with a partner you could trust not to shy away from it.
And sweet, sugary Marcus?
Marcus, who presses soft kisses along your temple as he undresses you? Marcus, who holds you gently while he carefully pulls pleasure from your body? Marcus, who murmurs tender admirations into the crook of your neck as he slowly slides inside you?
There was no way he’d be into that. And you’re not willing to bring it up and risk scaring him away.
You’ve survived this long without giving that more… intense part of you any satisfaction. Maybe right now you need to focus on just being happy, and not worry about the future. You don’t need to give in to that darker side of you to enjoy sex, and you definitely don’t need it to be happy with someone.
And you are.
You’re happy.
That silly little grin curves your mouth again. You try to temper it with a healthy dose of easy, girl, taking it slow, remember? but you can’t help it when your phone buzzes and you see it’s a text from Marcus asking how your meeting went and saying he can’t wait to see you tonight.
Ok, so maybe a giggle even slips out.
But you’re happy.
Standing up with a purpose, you look around your office.
And why shouldn’t you be? You had worked hard to get here, almost a decade’s worth of toiling to prove yourself, shoving your way into your dream job and succeeding on pure determination and skill. With some sweet-talking to cover up the simultaneous arm-twisting, yesterday you had finally earned your spot in a role where you could make an actual difference.
Which was exactly why Marcus was coming over tonight. He wanted to celebrate your promotion by making you dinner, and even though you had protested at first, he’d won you over with a little sweet-talking and arm-twisting of his own.
He’d been getting better at that, talking you into letting him do things for you, but it was still weird to you. For pretty much your entire life and certainly your entire marriage, you had been extremely self-sufficient, independent to a fault. You never asked for help unless you truly needed it, and had exhausted all other options. You didn’t exactly hate people doing things for you, but you did feel a sort of guilty about it. The thought of putting someone out, making someone feel obligated to do things for you made your stomach turn.
But it was deeper than that, too.
The possibility of liking it when people do things for you, maybe even growing to need it, was terrifying.
Your life had been full of abandonments, let downs and disappointments. You had learned not to rely on anyone but yourself.
But sweet, kind Marcus, with his adorable dimpled grin and warm brown eyes and soothing voice…
Sighing in a manner that you refuse to label as “dreamy,” you head out of your office to the bathroom for a quick shower before Marcus arrives.
Sure, Marcus had wormed his way through the tiniest of cracks in your defenses. Which was fine, as long as you were aware of it. And, of course, made sure that’s all you allowed him.
***
A polite rap on your front door snaps your attention from the kitchen counter you’re wiping down, and you only have a split second to register the sound before all hell breaks loose.
Two hundred pounds of canine in the form of two bull-mastiffs tear through the house toward the front door, your shouted command to calm down lost amidst the scramble of large paws on the floor and deep, rumbling barks that echo throughout the entryway.
“Seriously guys, calm down.” You make your way to the door, weaving in-between the masses of brown fur and beefy muscle. “Fred, Ginger, hush, go on, get out of here.”
The dogs reluctantly obey, even if only enough for you to open the door.
Marcus.
Warm brown eyes and a dimpled smile fill your vision, and you pause for a moment to take in the sight of him, dressed in blue jeans and a dark red henley that does all kinds of wonderful things to his chest and arms.
Meeting his smile with one of your own, you lean a shoulder against the door-frame, feigning nonchalance while your heart flutters with excitement. “You know you can just come in, you don’t have to knock.”
His grin widens. “I like to give the welcoming committee a chance to feel important.”
As if on cue, the dogs squeeze past you and out the door, immediately swarming Marcus, tongues lolling through big grins and tails thwacking against his legs. You snort softly in amusement as he leans down to scratch them both behind the ears, one at a time since his other hand is holding a bag of groceries.
“Here, let me.” Stepping forward, you snag the handle of the bag from his fingers. “Better come in or they’ll have you trapped out here all night.”
He steps into your space, hand cupping your jaw and tilting your lips up for a kiss. It’s gentle and sweet, and so quintessentially Marcus - as is the mischievous twinkle in his gaze when he pulls away. “There are worse ways to spend my time.”
Your hands drift up his chest, feeling the warmth of him underneath his shirt. “Like this, you mean?”
His mouth curves in an answering smile as he pulls away to look at you, brown eyes warm with affection. “Not even close.”
“Such a charmer.” You press another quick kiss to that boyish smile before turning to step back inside.
His chuckle of amusement as the big dogs try to weave between his legs follows you through the house and into the kitchen.
Setting the bag down on the counter, you start parceling through the groceries, avoiding his gaze. “So what are we cooking?”
“‘We’ are cooking nothing. I am cooking dinner while you relax.” He slides closer to you, arm looping around your waist and tugging you gently away from the counter.
You hold your ground, planting your feet. “I can help. You don’t have to -“
His lips suddenly press to yours, soft but insistent, and you’re temporarily overwhelmed by the feeling of Marcus, warm and broad and steady, mouth moving oh-so-sweetly against yours as he chases the whimper that squeezes from your throat.
Suddenly he’s pulling away and your hands grasp at his shirt on instinct, tugging him back. Your eyelids drift open and you catch the smirk on his face, and realization clicks. “Distracting me won’t work.”
“I beg to differ.” His fingers curl around the nape of your neck, tilting your head back so he can trail his lips over your jaw, pausing to press a kiss just below your ear, and you stifle the sigh of pleasure that slips from your mouth.
The curl of his lips on your skin tells you he caught the sound anyway.
His hand on your waist slides up, thumb brushing the curve of your breast, but you resist the urge to arch into his touch. “If you keep this up neither of us will be cooking tonight.”
He huffs softly against your neck. “Fair enough.” Pulling back, he meets your gaze, playful smirk replaced with open earnestness. “Let me make dinner for you. Please.”
“I swear, you’re one second away from actually pouting.”
“If that’s what it takes to get you to sit down for once.”
You roll your eyes, smiling at his determination. “Fine. I won’t help with dinner. Compromise: I’ll get the dogs set for the evening while you cook.” He opens his mouth to protest but you keep talking. “That way we can just relax after dinner, maybe watch a movie?”
The slight narrowing of his eyes means he sees your diversion, but after a moment he relents, hands smoothing down your back as he shakes his head. “One of these days I’m going to convince you to let me take care of you like you deserve.”
A sharp twinge of guilt and shame stabs through your stomach, nauseating, and you shove it deep down as you step away from Marcus. “And one of these days I’m not going to cave to those puppy dog eyes of yours.”
His begrudging chuckle follows you as you head toward the patio door to let the dogs out, their heavy paws scuffling along behind you.
***
Dinner was delicious, the movie an old favourite that allowed the two of you to chat quietly about your day without missing anything. Marcus had tucked you into his side as soon as you’d sat down, his presence warm and steady through the night, his hand casually stroking the curve of your waist. Fred sprawled at your feet, snoring softly, and Ginger took her usual place when Marcus was over, curled up on the cushion next to him, big, heavy head lying in his lap as he scratched her favourite spot, the divot between her eyebrows.
It was a perfect night.
Except for the anxiety fluttering in your stomach.
Marcus had let you help clean up after dinner, at least. But you still felt bad - he didn’t have to cook. You liked cooking, and you really liked cooking for other people. It felt good to take care of others. You’d done it your whole life, it was a well-practiced habit, one you felt comfortable doing.
The anxiety is still buzzing under your skin as you get ready for bed, pulling on a pair of sleep shorts and a loose tank top, then a chime from your phone catches your attention. Skimming through the long list of notifications, the last one catches your eye, and you open the related email.
“Are you kidding me?” You grumble at the phone screen, thumbs already typing out a reply.
Marcus walks into the bedroom carrying the bag he uses for overnight stays at your house, pausing as he takes in the expression on your face. “Everything ok?”
You sigh, quickly flipping over to your calendar on your phone. “This supplier is saying they can’t fulfill our last order, so they’re canceling it. He wants to book a meeting to discuss, I’m going to have to pull up his contract and - shit.”
The block of time the supplier proposed shows out of office in your calendar. Vet Appt.
“What’s up? Anything I can do?” Marcus sidles closer, furrow forming between his brows.
You groan in frustration. “The dogs have a vet appointment for vaccine booster shots at the same time the supplier wants to meet. And apparently that’s the only time he’s available, he’s traveling the rest of the day.”
Marcus shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly. “I can take the dogs. They’re pretty comfortable with me.”
“No, it’s fine.” You start typing out a reply to the supplier asking that he free up his schedule more to resolve this issue, gaze focused on your phone screen.
“I really don’t mind. I’ve got a light day tomorrow, just paperwork to close up a case.”
Your thumbs fly too fast over the keyboard and you have to backspace to correct a typo. “It’s fine, I’ll handle it.”
“Hey. Let me help.”
His voice is quiet and polite but it snaps through the tension you’ve been holding on to all night, and it pours out of you, clipping your words sharply. “I said it’s fine.”
You growl as you make another typo, throwing your phone on the bed in frustration. Marcus watches you, something unreadable in his expression, and for some reason that just irritates you further.
Crossing our arms in front of you, you give him a leveling look. “You knew what my work was like when we started dating. These things happen, and it’s my responsibility to figure out how to make it all work.”
His eyebrows flick up, obviously taken back by your tone. “I know. I’m just saying I can help.”
“I don’t need your help, Marcus!” Inwardly, you cringe at the volume of your voice. It’s too much, too different from his gentle cadence. A little voice whispers that you’re being unfair, lashing out at him, but you can’t stop yourself. “I’ve handled everything in my life just fine up until now, and I can handle everything moving forward.”
The furrow between his brows is back and he shakes his head once. “I know that. There has never been a single moment of doubt in my mind that you can’t handle anything that’s thrown at you.”
His soft tone of admiration is jarring, a clear contrast to your sharp, heated words that throws you off balance, and you can only look at him in silence as your thoughts race to find footing again.
He watches you for a moment, that warm gaze contemplative. “You are the most capable person I’ve ever met. To deal with everything that’s on your plate and still have the capacity to care as much as you do - it’s incredible. You’re incredible.”
He pauses, a faint flush pinking his cheekbones. “I’m… I’m in awe of you. I know that sounds cheesy but I really can’t think of any other word for it. So please believe me when I say I didn’t offer to help because I don’t think you can do it yourself. I know you can handle everything. I guess I… I hope you know that you don’t have to. You can lean on me, if you want. I’m here.”
I’m here.
Two words, softly spoken, land on your skin with the delicacy of a butterfly.
And send a shockwave through your entire system.
I’m here.
You know it’s true. From the moment you met him, he has been. His presence has been a constant, even when he’s not physically with you, whether it’s a warm smile as you tell him about your day or a quick text message saying he can’t wait to see you tonight. He’s here, supporting you, making you feel special, making sure that you’re taking care of yourself.
I’m here.
Never once has he given you reason to doubt the truth of those two words.
Even now, as you childishly take your frustrations out on him.
Even as you hold him at a distance that keeps him safely outside of your carefully constructed walls. The walls you built after too many people had hurt what’s inside, used you until there was nothing left, took what they needed with no regard for what little they were leaving you with.
Marcus never takes from you.
Marcus only gives.
Something cracks inside you, and a flood of emotion catches in your throat, brings tears to your eyes. He sees it, concern twisting his expression, hands lifting to reach for you before they pause, unsure of if you want him or not.
And oh god that hurts, the thought that he doesn’t know, doesn’t know how you feel about him.
How you feel right now.
Three quick steps and you’re on him, hands cupping his face to draw his mouth to yours. His startled sound gets lost in your kiss and his arms come around you, steadying, as the two of you sway with your momentum.
It feels so good and perfect and he feels so good and perfect and you press yourself tighter to him, some wild instinct trying to mould your body into his, needing to be as close to him as possible. Needing to show him that you don’t want to push him away, despite what you might say, that you want him right here with you.
An instinct that almost instantly flares into arousal, heat sparking down your body to settle between your thighs. Your hips move with it, seeking friction, seeking more of him, pressing into his.
He groans, low and rumbling, sliding a hand up your back to curl around your neck and tilt your head further back, giving him better access to delve into your mouth, pulling a keening whine from you and taking it into himself.
His hand shifts and his thumb suddenly rests over your racing pulse and your thoughts are flooded with something, a thick haze that erases all logical thought, allowing that instinct you’d felt a moment ago free reign to lock onto your awareness.
Panic floods your thoughts and you shove it away, recognition flickering with anxiety.
It’s that instinct, that part of you that you’ve pushed away for so long, afraid of what it meant.
The part of you that wants to let someone else be in control for once.
Then his thumb gently brushes over the throb off your pulse, soothing, while his long fingers hold your head firmly, and you don’t want to resist anymore.
It takes barely a thought and the thick haze swarms over your awareness in full.
Everything else fades away and you can feel only him, his palm on the curve of your lower back, strong and steady. His broad chest pressed against yours, warm, solid. His mouth expertly pulling pleasure from your lips and tongue, stoking the heat of arousal in your core.
His long, thick fingers curled around your neck, holding your very heartbeat in his hand.
Him him him Marcus -
You want this. You want to feel this, only him.
It takes a couple tries to get your body to obey, to pull back from him enough to speak. “Marcus.” Your voice is high and wavering in the air between you. “I-I need…”
Too many words, too many things you could say next but can’t, your tongue frozen to the roof of your mouth.
Your gaze lifts to meet his just as some kind of understanding flashes across his expression.
Those warm brown irises grow darker, almost black, bottomless.
He sees you.
And you should be terrified of being so exposed, but all you can think about is how much you want him to know all of you.
He tilts his head a little, watching you closely as his thumb presses ever-so-lightly over your pulse, his breath catching when your eyes widen and your hands clutch at his shoulders, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. “What do you need, beautiful?”
He knows.
You can hear it in his voice, see it swirling in those deep brown eyes.
The last frisson of logical thought left in your mind tries to panic.
But the haze on your thoughts doesn’t care.
“Don’t hold anything back.” You lean into his grip, pressing his thumb even tighter to your pulse, heart skittering against it.
His warm baritone drops even lower, rasping down your spine, holding a note of something you haven’t heard in his voice before.
“Do you know what you’re asking for?”
Something that calls to the thick haze that’s settled over you, something that tells you even if you don’t know the answer to that question, he does.
A moment of stillness, just his gaze watching you, just your heartbeat pounding in your ears and against his grip.
You swallow hard, throat flexing under his hand. “Show me.”
He looks at you for a long moment, searching your features for any sign of hesitation, brown eyes meeting yours once more to read the certainty there.
Then he moves.
It’s lightening-fast.
One moment you’re standing and the next you’re face down on the bed, his hands on your waist, pressing you firmly into the mattress.
The air leaves your lungs in a rush and your fingers claw at the blanket, trying to ground yourself, a dizzying wave of arousal coursing through your body.
“You want me to show you, huh?” Marcus leans over to murmur into your ear, making sure you hear his every word, trailing his fingers down your back as he speaks. “You want me to show you what I’ve been thinking about since I first saw you? Standing in line at the café, listening to you talking on the phone, so focused, so confident, insistent on getting what you wanted. God, it was so fucking sexy. Then you turn around and this perfect ass -” his hand suddenly squeezes the plush flesh, fingertips digging, sending little stabs of pleasure-pain straight to your core. “- is right there in front of me, and all I could think about was how it would look bouncing on my cock.”
Fuck.
The dampness between your thighs grows, a warmth that makes the cloth of your underwear stick to your folds.
Your thoughts move sluggishly, words trying to make sense of instinct. “Please, Marcus.”
“Please what, baby?” His voice is gentle, coaxing, even as his hand on your ass grips tighter, tiny pinpricks of pain making you squirm.
Frustration worms its way through the haze. “I-I don’t know.”
“Beautiful girl, doesn’t know what she needs but knows she needs it.” He shushes you softly, relaxing his grip and smoothing his hand over the stinging bruises. “You said you want me to show you, and I can do that. I can show you what you need. But you have to do something for me, ok?”
He presses a tender kiss to your temple, gently tilting your chin up over your shoulder so he can meet your gaze fully. “I need you to use your words, especially if it ever gets to be too much. I know it might be difficult in the moment, but you’re so strong, sweetheart, I know you can focus enough to tell me to stop if you want me to, at any time and for any reason. Can you do that for me?”
You swallow against a dry throat, push the word out. “Yes.”
He smiles, eyes dark and full lips curling. “Good girl.”
The praise shoots through the haze and that primal instinct inside you preens, making you whimper at the fresh wave of arousal, back arching your hips higher as your fingers curl into the sheets.
His smile grows, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, did she like that? When I called her a good girl?”
You huff against the mattress, thighs squeezing together as your core throbs. Oh god why was that so hot? Him talking to you in the third person? “Yes, I like it.”
Out of the corner of your eye you watch his gaze track the movement and then he shifts down the bed, out of sight again. “Are you wet for me, baby?”
“Mmmph.” Your hips lift off the bed instinctively, body trying to supplement where your voice can’t.
“Use your words.”
Oh fuck -
The soft note of command in his voice makes the haze of your thoughts pulses and words burst free, fall gasping from your lips. “Yes, oh god I’m so fucking wet for you, please Marcus -”
He growls - growls - and suddenly his hands are tearing your shorts and underwear off and the sting of the fabric scraping down your legs with the harshness of the movement only amplifies that primal instinct to feel more.
Then his hands are lifting your hips and pushing your legs so you’re kneeling on the bed, his movements just as sharp and fast as before, and you’re gasping into the sheets at the feeling of the cool air swirling over your wet cunt.
He hums behind you. “Mmm, look at you, all spread out for me.”
Those big, warm hands cup your curves, steady on the sensitive skin where your ass meets your thighs, and he clicks his tongue in mock sympathy. “Poor girl, beautiful pussy is so fucking wet you’re dripping.”
His thumbs glide up to press and pull you completely open, and you keen, senses overwhelmed, vulnerable. He chuckles softly and you feel your inner walls flutter at the knowledge that he’s enjoying this, just watching you like this. “Look at you, clenching on nothing. Need something to fill you up, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.” Fuck, you can’t even talk, you’re so turned on, you’ve never felt so much before.
“Shh, it’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ll fill you up, nice and full, but I’m going to taste you first.”
Before his words can even sink through the haze of your thoughts his tongue is laving over your entrance and your hips twitch with a wave of pleasure, the hot wet muscle gathering the slick that’s formed there and flicking inside for just a second before disappearing, leaving you panting.
You hear him swallow and moan at your taste, and oh god that’s hot.
His tongue glides down to your clit, swirling lightly, over and over at a pace that instantly steals the breath from your lungs.
Pleasure builds, your core clenching, back arching as your body begs for more, and he moans into your cunt, open-mouthed and breathy, and the feeling of warmth ghosting over your slick folds makes you writhe on the bed, shuddering cry muffled against the sheets.
Over and over his tongue works your clit, pulling it into the wet heat of his mouth and flicking tight circles as he suckles, drawing your pleasure higher and higher.
Then his arms are curling around your thighs to hold you in place and his tongue is rolling against your clit and his nose is brushing against your entrance and your orgasm is right there, blindsiding you, yanking you closer and closer to the peak as his tongue presses over your clit and flicks hard and you’re crying out wordlessly as you fall -
His hands grip you hard as your hips flex, the deep groan rumbling from his chest vibrating against your pussy and shoving another wave of pleasure through your body.
You whimper and claw at the sheets until finally it releases you, leaving your limbs quivering, your cheek limply pressed to the mattress.
There’s one brief moment, one breath to fill your lungs, for the world to start to reassemble around you and then he’s shoving his cock into your still-fluttering cunt, straight to the hilt.
The force of his thrust threatens to push you across the bed but his hands grab your waist firmly as he pulls out, only to immediately shove forward again, driving his cock deep. A strangled shout stutters from your throat, lips mouthing at the sheets.
He holds your waist with one hand while the other slides under your tank top, up your back and down again, caressing the curve of your hip. “Fuck, you look so good like this. Does it feel good, beautiful?”
You almost choke on your own words as he thrusts into you again, the zipper of his jeans - fuck, he’s still fully clothed - biting into the sensitive skin of your ass. “Y-yes.”
“Do you like it when I fuck you like this? Bend you over and fuck your pussy as hard as I want?”
The haze of your thoughts throbs as he takes up a rhythm that has the edges of your vision going dark. The entire world narrows down to just the feeling of him inside you and around you, the sting of his thrusts against your ass and thighs, the not-quite bruising grip of his hands on your waist, the blinding pleasure radiating from his cock as it glides over some spot deep inside you again and again -
Then suddenly he stops.
Your entire body shudders hard, cunt clenching around his cock, begging for friction. You whine into the sheets, a garbled questioning sound, your thoughts reeling at the shift.
His hands smooth down your back, soothing, voice firm. “Answer me, baby. Do you like it when I fuck you like this?”
That instinct, the haze that forces your focus to only Marcus, seems to speak for you, pushing words from your mouth, rough with need. “Yes I love it please fuck me like you want to -”
He groans, picking up his brutal rhythm. “Good girl, such a good girl for me.”
And then your words are lost again, all senses blinded by pleasure.
His cock drives through your core and every thrust feels like he’s punching into your fucking soul and then his hands are pressing down on your shoulderblades, forcing your back to arch even more, tipping your hips at a sharp angle and the head of his cock hits that spot inside you and you’re coming again -
And again and again and again -
You don’t stop you can’t stop it’s just wave after wave before one let’s go another begins and -
He picks up the pace with one-two-three quick, deep thrusts and pleasure explodes across your vision, white noise flooding your ears, inner walls pulsing around his cock over and over and your lungs scream for air.
A split second, a flash of time, you hang there then you drop and your awareness falls back into your body.
You’re moving slowly, his hands guiding you onto your side as your limbs continue trembling with aftershocks.
He slides behind you, warm and steady along the length of your frame, one arm curling underneath your shoulders to pull you close and the other tucking you into the curve of his body, his hand splayed just under your collarbone.
Your body obeys the silent command, drawing a deep and shuddering breath, gasping and choking like you had stopped breathing for ages.
The white noise ebbs and you hear his voice, quiet and unfaltering, right next to your ear.
“Breathe for me, sweetheart, nice and slow, just breathe and relax.”
The haze of your thoughts follows his instruction, focusing on expanding and retracting your lungs, bringing your heartbeat down to a reasonable pace. His hands never leave you, one resting over the centre of your chest, while the other strokes your temple, his arm cradling your head.
Finally your limbs relax, fingers uncurling from where they’ve fisted in the blankets so hard they hurt. You focus on feeling him behind you, the softness of his shirt against your bare shoulders, the rough denim of his jeans against the back of your thighs, the faint, steady warmth of his breath on the curve of your neck.
He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Are you with me?”
“Yes?” The word falls from your lips, rough and strained.
“Good girl.” The soft chuckle makes you smile, belatedly hearing the uncertainty in your own voice. His hand suddenly leaves your chest and cups your pussy, making you start, the heat of his palm a shock to your oversensitive flesh. “I think you need to come like that again, hmm?”
Your sluggish thoughts register that he’s asking a question. “Can I?”
“Are you asking if it’s possible? Or asking for permission?” He rises up on an elbow to look down at you, keeping your head nestled on his forearm, his dark gaze a hypnotic mixture of amusement and lust. “Because the answer to either question is ‘yes.’”
Your whimper is caught by his mouth, his lips coaxing yours open to slip his tongue inside. The taste of him floods your senses and your entire body arches toward him, needing to feel him.
He groans at your movement, hand between your thighs gliding up your body to curl around your neck, leaning slightly on his forearm, pressing your chest down just enough to prevent you from moving.
The sensation is overwhelming, a shiver runs down your spine and your breath stutters against his lips.
He pulls back just a bit to look down at you again. “You need this, pretty girl? Feeling me on you, my hand on your throat like this?”
His hand on your neck squeezes once, a barely-there movement, and a white-hot thrill shoots through your body, throbs in your core. “Y-yes I like it.”
“Hmm, I think it’s more than that.” He whispers as he trails kisses down your jaw. “I’ve seen it, sometimes, when I’m fucking you just a little rougher, something in your eyes that begs for more.”
His tongue laps at the skin of your throat right over your fluttering pulse. “A part of you that needs this.”
The hand squeezes again, for longer this time, and for a moment you can’t breathe, can’t move, frozen, and then he loosens his grip and oxygen is rushing through your system with a flurry of endorphins and cortisol as your fight or flight instinct flares into action, tensing every muscle.
But Marcus is right there, long fingers moving in soothing strokes up and down your neck, lips pressing tender kisses over the bridge of your nose and cheekbones.
Endorphins win out, sweeping you away into the warmth and security that he’s layering on your body with his gentle touches. Your hands clutch at his arm, holding tight, your breath coming in quick pants that almost sound like whimpers to your own ears.
His voice is soft, gentling yet direct. “Open your eyes.”
Your eyes are shut tight and it takes effort to open them, the haze on your thoughts delaying any communication with your body. But you want to obey, to be good for him, so you slowly open your eyes, meeting his gaze above you.
Something like awe forms on his features, an open amazement, as his hand strokes up to cup your jaw, fingertip brushing along the corner of your eye. “God, look at you. Absolutely perfect. Just… lovely.”
He dips down to kiss your forehead gently, runs his nose down along yours, his words brushing over your parted lips. “My lovely one.”
Something twists in your chest, turning and turning until it’s knotted around your heart and it hurts but it feels so good at the same time. A broken cry is pushed from your chest, sounding something like his name and a curse and a plea all at the same time.
His lips meet yours briefly, a reassuring kiss followed by a soft susurration, his hand returning to your neck, a comforting weight. “Tell me what you need, lovely one.”
Tell me what you need.
What do you need?
The haze of your thoughts narrows, sharpens for just one moment.
And you know.
You know what you need.
What he’s been trying to show you.
It’s this.
This state of hyper-awareness that allows you only to feel, all logical thought locked away behind a fog of pleasure.
There’s nothing else here, no problems to solve, no one who needs you to care for them, no one here to take from you.
It’s just you and him - Marcus, the shield protecting you from everything, the guiding hand showing you how to achieve perfect bliss, how to find pleasure in only receiving.
Marcus, who now holds your life in his hand with a tenderness that speaks to how aware he is of this responsibility, and that sincere, open gaze that tells you he will never break your trust.
Slowly, but with no hesitation, you curl your fingers around his wrist, pressing his hand tighter to your throat. “You. I need you, like this.”
He leans down to rest his forehead against yours, taking a moment to simply share your breath before kissing you oh-so-softly. “Good girl. My beautiful, smart, strong girl. You have me.”
Your heart throbs and your eyes sting with emotions you’re not ready to name.
He shifts, hand on your neck moving to grasp your thigh and lift up, baring your cunt to the cool air of the room. Your breath hitches in anticipation as he lines up, the head of his cock brushing along your soaked folds, catching on your entrance, then he’s pushing in, a slow, relentless movement that instantly has your legs trembling.
It’s a moment that seems to stretch forever, your entire body strung tight, focus centred on the split of your inner walls around his cock. And the whole time he’s watching you, those burning-dark eyes just inches from yours, gaze flickering over your features, noting every pull and crease and twitch as your expression shifts to one of pure need.
Finally his hips are flush with your ass and he pulls you back a bit more so your weight rests on him, your head tucked into the curve of his arm, his hand on your thigh gliding up until your knee is hooked over his elbow. You squirm helplessly, stretched open and pinned in place, stuffed full of his cock.
The need to move claws at your skin, threatens to bring tears to your eyes, so you squeeze them shut to stop it. Your thoughts are spiraling, frazzled, near panic, and you don’t know why, the sensation of being pulled open and vulnerable overwhelming and you can’t -
Then his hand glides up your chest, fingers brushing the curve of your breast over your tank top, the motion pulling your knee even higher until his fingers curl around your throat and there that’s it yes -
The weight of his hand, warmth of his palm on your racing pulse, smooth calluses on his fingertips along the sides of your neck.
It anchors your thoughts again, pulls you back into place, and the haze settles, firmly shutting out any anxiety.
Your eyes drift open, meeting his gaze. He’s still watching you, assessing, as if he knows what just happened inside your own mind, as if he can see the moment you let the haze take over once more.
His mouth curves into a gentle smile, full lips pursing slightly. “That’s it, keep your eyes open. I want to watch you feel this. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.” The haze speaks for you again, firm and confident.
His thumb strokes over your pulse. “Good girl.”
He moans softly at the subsequent pulse of your cunt around his cock, a thrill of pleasure coursing through your core at his praise.
Then he starts to fuck you.
It’s an unending series of long thrusts that drive deep, with a snap of his hips that punches up into you, setting every nerve in your body afire, shoving little whimpers from your lungs and sending starbursts across your vision as the slick glide of his cock spreads your cunt deliciously.
Words fall from your lips among the choked sounds. “Oh god - I - so good - don’t stop please - don’t -“
“I’m not stopping until you come. Wanna feel you flood my cock.”
He pants above you, voice rough with the effort of his movements and his own pleasure, and that instinct inside your thoughts preens, knowing you are the reason.
It spurs on your own pleasure, climax rising quickly, and your hands fly for purchase, one gripping the forearm of the hand on your throat and the other reaching up to find his free hand. He grasps your fingers, twining them with his own, holding your joined hands just over your shoulder.
A jagged moan rips through your chest - the contrast is devastating, this tender embrace and the soft open-mouthed kisses along your cheek as he fucks you roughly, cock spearing hard and deep and hitting that spot every time, pushing your pleasure up and up and the hand on your throat tightens just a bit, pressing just so along the sides of your neck and your vision blurs until all you can see is those dark eyes that see all of you.
His words float through the haze. “You’re gonna come so hard, I can feel it, can see it. You’re gonna come like this, spread open on my cock, pinned down with my hand on your throat, and you’re gonna love it, aren’t you? Come for me, my beautiful, perfect girl.”
Your orgasm crest, sparking all along your skin and tensing in your muscles and you’re suddenly untethered, floating in that haze, needing an anchor to pull you back and keep you safe and you call out -
“Marcus - “
He doesn’t let up, fingers flexing just a little harder on your throat, cock splitting you over and over as his words sink deep into your soul. “Let go, lovely one. I’ve got you.”
His grip on your throat slackens and oxygen floods your lungs and -
You come.
Hard.
Harder than you’ve ever come in your entire life.
Every muscle seizes, ripples, spasms, your heartbeat rushes in your ears, and for a moment you can almost hear his, his pulse, throbbing against your neck through his hand and against your inner walls through his cock. Your awareness flares and envelopes him until all that exists and has ever existed is just him and you, singular and eternal.
Then the release snaps you back into your body.
Marcus shudders, corners of his eyes tight with concentration, thrusts faltering as your pussy throbs around his cock, squelch of it filling the air. “Fuck, so good, so fucking tight -“
You want him, all of him, need all of him.
“Marcus please -“ your fingernails scrape along his skin as you try to tug him impossibly closer, words lost in your own pleasure spiraling upward again.
Something almost possessive crosses his features, gaze growing somehow darker, and he leans over you, hand shifting to cup the back of your neck and tilt your face up to look at him as he drags his cock in and out. “Want me to come inside you, pretty girl? Fuck, you know how much I love that? Filling you up, watching me drip out of you?”
Your fingers curve around his shoulder, looking up at him with as much sincerity as you can muster, voice wavering as he pulls out only to push back in with a snap of his hips. “I love it, too, please, I need it, need you -“
“Oh, fuck, yes you do, don’t you?” A shiver runs along his shoulders and he drops his forehead to yours, dark gaze completely filling your vision. “Come with me and I’ll come inside you, lovely one.”
The haze of your thoughts ripples, throbs, exalts.
You lift a hand to his face, cupping his cheek, holding him right there with you, his breath and his sounds of pleasure mingling with yours as they grow louder and faster, rising with your orgasms until yours breaks, cunt clutching and gushing around him and he cries out, thrusting home once-twice more before burying himself deep. All you can do is hold on tight, fingernails digging into his skin, riding the wave of your pleasure with him, that primal instinct shouting with joy as the warmth of his spend floods your core.
There’s a moment of calm as your heartbeats sync and your breathing starts to regulate, and you look at him, emotions too deep and weighty to name filling your thoughts, amplified by the haze that still envelopes them.
He looks back at you, those same emotions reflected in that dark, beautiful gaze.
For a moment it’s just the two of you, in the entire universe, a moment too big to fit in the space between you and yet somehow it does, squeezing into those cracks in your walls and curling around that part of you that’s been hiding for so long.
Then he’s moving, carefully pulling out of you, shushing your soft whine at the sudden emptiness with a kiss.
For a brief moment you panic, overwhelmed with the need to be close to him and your arms wrap tight around his shoulders, drawing him back.
He huffs gently into the curve of your neck. “I’m just going to grab something to clean you up.”
You make a wordless sound of protest, pulling him back down to you, and he follows, turning to roll onto his back, an arm curving around your waist to tug you into his chest. Gratefully, you tuck your head under his chin, curling your limbs around him as tightly as possible, pillowing against his broad chest.
His heartbeat thrums under your ear, keeping time with the smooth strokes of his hand up and down your back, the small circles of his other hand on your shoulder, fingers brushing your neck occasionally.
It’s safe and warm and… like home.
The haze of your thoughts flutters, starting to dissipate. Not yet, don’t go yet, I don’t want to go back to… to…
The tears that have been hovering behind your eyes since the moment Marcus laid his hand on your neck finally catch hold, pooling behind your closed eyelids. You try to swallow them back down but it’s useless, you’re still too open, too raw.
Two teardrops fall onto his chest just as you fail to hold back the sob that’s burning in your throat and his hands pause their circling path.
“Hey? You okay?” His voice is so soft, murmuring against your hair.
You try to answer but only a whimper comes out, more tears squeezing onto his skin.
His arms pull you in tighter, lips pressing kisses to the top of your head. “Talk to me, baby. What’s wrong?”
The sob finally breaks free, and you turn your face into his chest as if you could hide from it, wrestling your voice under control. “Nothing, I’m fine, it’s just -“ you sniff back another onslaught of tears, the haze of your thoughts making all these emotions seem so much bigger, so much more.
Then his hand is cupping your face, gently shifting you to look at him, and there he is, those beautiful brown eyes warm with concern, with care, for you. “It’s ok, just breathe for a minute, all right? Focus on me. I’m here.”
I’m here.
Those words again.
You meet his gaze, letting yourself fall into it, into the feel of his hands holding you steadily. Your body moves to obey him, lungs filling, shifting into a calm rhythm as you focus on the one thing anchoring your thoughts, guiding you back to yourself.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Marcus.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Marcus.
Slowly, the haze begins to pull away, the last of it evaporating with the sweep of his thumbs brushing away the tears from your cheeks and the caress of his fingertips along your jaw.
A smile suddenly breaks through your tears, and it feels like the sun itself is warming the inside your chest. “You are, aren’t you?”
His brows pull together slightly, a little crease of confusion forming between them. “I’m what?”
Your hand cups his to your face as you turn to plant a gentle kiss to his palm, your eyes steady on his. “You’re here.”
Understanding flashes across his face, and he smiles in return. “Always, lovely one.”