Archive of Our Own ^beta

He'll make a mess out of you

He'll turn you into devil's food

Fleming & John - “Devil’s Food”

You made it to Dave’s cabin in the Berkshires in almost exactly 3 hours, beating him there. You texted to let him know you had arrived as you stopped to buy some essentials at a little market in town, and he replied that he’d been delayed and would be late. You didn’t know what he’d been able to stock the cabin with, although he’d told you he’d take care of everything, so you picked up a couple bottles of wine and random things to eat. It occurred to you at that moment that, other than black coffee, you really didn’t know what Dave liked. He’d occasionally pick at things in your pantry and fridge after sex, but nothing more since he always was having to make it home in time for dinner. Your relationship didn’t afford the luxury of going out to dinner or ordering in and spending the evenings together. How odd it was to know each other’s bodies so intimately but not know each other’s preferences when it came to something like beer or wine.

The long dirt road ended at the foot of a gravel drive leading to a dark wooden one-story home that looked like the Brothers Grimm designed it themselves. The house was set back amongst the trees and backed up to a small brook, crossed by a narrow wooden footbridge. The soothing sound of the brook was all you could hear outside of a bird call here and there. Dave was right about the cell service: you had to find a spot with service and not move an inch to keep service bars on your phone. He also wasn’t exaggerating about no one being around, as you didn’t pass another driveway for several miles on your drive in. The cabin was secluded and private, and its color allowed it to blend well into the copse of trees surrounding it. If you didn’t know exactly what to look for, you would never know it was here.

You pulled your sweater tighter around your torso against the cold and started walking around the property. The back of the home had a small covered porch where a no-frills wooden outdoor furniture set was placed around a table. A stack of firewood sat in the corner next to what looked like a tall and narrow storage cabinet. Crossing the footbridge led you to a large brick fire pit that looked to have been used very recently, which was odd considering Dave had been in town.

You walked back around to the front of the house to wait on the front porch. Taking a seat on a bench near the door, you stretched your legs and enjoyed the peacefulness away from the ambient noise of the city. Exhausted from your drive and anticipation, you rested your head against the wall and your eyes drifted shut to the white noise of the brook.

You didn’t know how long you were out before you were startled awake by the sound of a screen door slamming shut next to you. Dave stood before you, his hand on the offending door, dressed in dark cargo pants with a gray t-shirt under a camouflage fleece jacket.

“Oh… I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You wiped the sleep from the corners of your eyes and moved to stand. “How long have you been here?”

He gave a half-smile. “Not long. Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Project ran longer than expected.”

“You had to work today?” You could’ve sworn he told you he had the day off.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open for you. “Yeah,” he said, offering no further explanation. “Go in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll get your bags.”

“Oh, thanks, my keys are—“

He held up his hand. “I’ve got them. Go inside and warm up.” Dave turned and headed to where you’d both parked.

“How did you find my keys?” you shouted to him. It was disconcerting, to say the least, that he was able to fish your keys out of your pocket while you slept and you hadn’t been the wiser.

“Go inside,” he yelled back, not turning around.

Some things weren’t worth arguing with him about. Considering this was a place where he claimed to have taken his family several times, there seemed to be no feminine touches anywhere. The front door opened to a large living room area with the open kitchen set to the back behind a small breakfast bar. A stone fireplace took up most of one of the white shiplap walls while the other was adorned with a large TV. Otherwise, save for the odd landscape or framed mirror here and there, the walls were largely bare. You didn’t see any family photos anywhere and nothing to indicate children had ever set foot in the place. The furniture was basic and nice but looked pieced together rather than of a set. Certainly nothing of what you had seen on his wife’s ridiculous “Cabin Fever!” Pinterest board.

You were about to look for the main bedroom when Dave came through the front door, your weekender slung over his shoulder and two black duffel bags in his hands. He jerked his head toward a closed door directly in front of you. “Bedroom’s through there.”

You opened the door for him, and he set your bag and one of the duffel bags beside the bed. The other he left in the hallway. “You don’t want that in here?” you asked.

“No, these are just some things Carol wanted me to bring up here. Towels and things.” He pointed, “Bathroom’s over there, kitchen over there. Help yourself.” He turned and walked away, heading back outside.

“Do you want some help?” you called out.

He didn’t turn around but yelled back a stern, “No.”

Making your way toward the kitchen, your boot accidentally nudged the bag outside of the closed door, and you heard what definitely was not just linens and towels. Checking to make sure you weren’t in Dave’s line of sight, you bent down and partially unzipped the bag. There was exactly one towel in the bag and it was wrapped around something. Something that when you peeked under the towel was most definitely a sheathed combat knife, a tactical vest, and what appeared to be some kind of long gun barrel.

You jumped, closed the bag, and moved to the kitchen as soon as you heard Dave stomping up the front porch steps. He brought two more duffel bags, larger than the other, and had your little bag of groceries in hand. You watched as he set the two other duffels in the hallway next to the other one, and then placed the grocery bag on the counter. “More stuff from Carol?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, tossing your keys on the counter.

You’d been standing there staring, not really knowing how to behave around him like this. It felt awkward, like you barely knew each other at all. He’d seen every single inch of you, been inside your home multiple times, been inside you multiple times in multiple ways, and yet this felt like a first date. You spotted a few bottles of liquor tucked in the corner on the countertop and made a beeline for them. As you found a tumbler and poured yourself some bourbon, you heard the locked door open and turned to look. Unfortunately Dave’s broad form blocked you from seeing anything.

“Pour me a scotch. I’ll be there in a second.” He slipped into the room and shut the door behind him.

You downed your drink and refilled your glass, the warm liquid relaxing you already. There were two different bottles of scotch among the liquor before you. You held them both and read the labels, trying to divine which he might want. Just as you decided on the one that was older, Dave’s hands moved around your waist. You never heard him approach and startled at his touch.

“Shit, I hate when you do that!”

He pressed his lips to your neck and pulled you back against him. “Don’t care,” he said. He peeked over your shoulder at the bottle in your hand. “You picked the right one. Good girl.” His hands roamed along your hips and upper thighs, occasionally dipping under the hem of your shirt. “Pour it.”

Any awkwardness between the two of you disappeared as soon as his hands were on you. Sex was familiar territory, and everything before and after was either rushed or comfortably quiet. The alcohol was helping, too.

As you poured his drink, he worked at the button on your jeans and shoved them down to your ankles. You tried to turn to face him when he reached for the glass but he shoved you back around to face the countertop. He finished his drink in one swig. “No. Stay like that.”

“What about my boots?”

“Quiet,” he told you, pulling your sweater from your shoulders and tossing it to the floor. He pressed himself against you again, the hardness of his cock evident through his pants. His hands came to your lower belly, and he held you against him with one while the other dipped between your legs.

His fingers brushed over the damp spot already forming and traced along your seam. “Already so wet…”

“Of course,” you responded with a smile. You arched into him as he traced over your clit and his other hand slid up your shirt to pull the cup of your bra down. He was kissing your neck and shoulder, nipping every so often, while his fingers pinched and pulled at your nipple.

You whined and mewled for him, reaching back to thread your fingers through his hair to pull him closer - something he allowed only when he was feeling generous. This time when you did it and let your nails scrape along his scalp, you were rewarded with a quiet moan.

You peeled your t-shirt off and he pulled the other cup of your bra down so he could pluck at your other nipple. He continued lightly circling your clit through your panties, not giving you nearly enough pressure as you needed.

“Been thinking about this cunt all morning.” The low timbre of his voice in your ear sent shivers down your spine. He bit down on your earlobe and grabbed your mound harshly in his hand. Rough groping alternated with soft kisses and licks along your neck.

Dave knelt down behind you. Distracting you with a harsh bite to the back of your upper thigh, you didn’t notice when his right hand left your hip to reach for the knife that he had in his pocket. So when you heard the unmistakable sound of the blade switching open and then felt the tip of the blade scrap along your ribcage to your hip, you sucked in a breath.

“Do not move.”

You didn’t dare, facing forward and trying not to squirm to alleviate the throbbing of your cunt. He slid the knife under the band of your panties on your right hip and drew his arm back. The fabric split easily, and he sank his teeth into the back part of your hip, licking and kissing over the mark before moving away.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped. By reflex, you turned to look.

Dave used his free hand to spank you. “Stay. Still. I won’t tell you again.” His fingers skimmed between your thighs, dipping inside you and sliding along your folds, feeling how absolutely drenched you became as soon as the knife touched your skin. “Dirty, dirty girl” he murmured with a grin.

“Please,” you begged. You weren’t even sure what you were begging for exactly, just that you needed more and more of whatever he wanted to give.

“Shhh…” He traced along your left side now, repeating the same action with that side of the waistband. The ruined garment dropped to rest between your ankles, still bound by your jeans. He grabbed them, stood, and you heard him set the knife on the counter. “That’s my girl,” he said, his hand coming to your jaw and tilting your head to look at him. “Open up.” He placed the crotch of your panties in your mouth and pulled the ends into a knot back of your head as a gag.

Dave pulled your hips back to bend you forward onto the countertop. Placing a hand at your lower back, he pressed down to make you arch, putting you on full display for him, then spread your cheeks apart. “Look at this wet little pussy. All this just for me?” he teased.

“Uh huh,” you nodded and moaned, your cunt clenching in anticipation of his next move.

He spit on you, letting it trickle down through your folds, nudged your clit with the tip of his nose and inhaled, finally placing a soft kiss on your clit. His mouth devoured every inch of you that he held open, keeping a pattern that began with flicks of his tongue over your clit, stopping to dip inside you, and then moving to tease around your asshole. You moaned through your gag, the taste of yourself on it heightening the experience, and rolled and pushed your hips back toward him. You assumed he would stop you like usual, holding your hips down or digging his fingers into them to keep you still, but now he allowed you to move along with the rhythm his tongue set and rock back against his face. You were so close. So fucking close, and then he pulled back from you and stood. You whimpered.

“Hush. Be good for me for once.” He rested his hands over yours on the edge of the countertop. “Keep these here,” he instructed, moving just slightly to your side. He smoothed his hands up your arms to your nipples, repeating the same pleasurable torture he’d performed earlier. You felt his breath on your shoulder and neck but he never gave you the touch of his mouth or tongue like you so desperately wanted. Instead, he placed one palm flat against your lower belly and the other between your thighs from behind. Pushing his thumb inside you and wrapping his fingers around to press just above your clit, he watched your face as he pushed and pulled his thumb against the inside of you, fingertips providing just enough pressure to stimulate your clit. Finally, he pressed his thumb forward inside you and pressed his hand harder against your belly. The warm rise of your orgasm began within you. You needed just a bit more, your hole pulsing around his thumb, when he withheld it once again. You tried to beg him for more, tears forming in the corners of your eyes from the denial, but your words just came out a garbled mess.

A mocking frown on his face, he laughed. “Aww… what was that, honey? I couldn’t understand you.”

You groaned in response, your eyes falling closed to concentrate on coming for him, and he pressed his lips to your temple, to your cheekbone, lips capturing the tear that leaked down your cheek. “You need to come so badly, don’t you? Were almost there, huh? I could feel you tightening around me.”

You nodded furiously.

“Yeah, I know. Not yet, though.” He moved his hand from your stomach and moved behind you. He unzipped his fly and pressed against you. Spreading you open once again, he moved back so the head of his cock dragged down. He stopped to nudge against the tight ring of muscle between your cheeks.

You inhaled sharply, and he laughed through his nose. “Tempting, but not right now. I’ll fuck this ass later, though, baby, I promise.”

He teased your clit with his cock first, sliding right past your entrance, then pushed himself into you all at once.

“Fuck,” he groaned simultaneously with your loud moan of relief. There was nothing in this world that felt as good as the way it felt to have him inside you. The first few minutes, when your body stretched and adjusted, sometimes painfully, to fit around him perfectly, were some of the most blissful moments you’d ever had.

He gave you a few slow strokes, his hand running up your back, before he grasped the back of your neck and your hip to maneuver your body to faster, harder thrusts. You pushed back, meeting his hips and causing him to go deeper within you. You lost yourself in the sounds of his skin against yours and your dual panting breaths. His hand at the nape of your neck moved around to your throat, pulling you back just enough to deepen the dip in your spine uncomfortably, and his hand at your hip grabbed and pinched at your flesh, sure to cause bruises that you’d wear proudly for him. Only ever for him.

“So fucking tight every fucking time,” he said, more to himself than to you. He tightened the grip on your throat, knowing what you needed. “Come for me,” he demanded through gritted teeth. “Want to feel you come on my cock.” Warmth bloomed within you at every punishing push, and you moaned loudly behind your gag to let Dave know that’s the spot, that’s it, that’s where I need it, please more.

He yanked the gag off your head, and the resulting ache in your jaw and the corners of your lips only added to your pleasure. He reached around to roll your clit gently between his fingers. You came blindingly hard, eyes squeezing shut and hands gripping the edge of the countertop. “That’s it,” he said. “Let me hear you.”

“FUCK,” you all but screamed as you rode out your orgasm on his cock. Your walls contracted around him and your thigh muscles tensed tight. “You feel so fucking good inside me, Dave, so fucking thick. Come inside me… fill me up…please, please, please…” He loved hearing his name when you begged for him. He didn’t want to hear “baby” or “honey” or any other pet name; he heard that enough at home with Carol, both in and out of bed. No, he wanted to hear you beg him, specifically, to fuck you like a whore, plead for him to come inside or on you.

His hands now on your waist, fingertips digging deep into your skin, he pulled your hips back into his own a few more times before holding you against him, pushing as deep as he could get, and coming inside you with a loud groan. His cock twitching inside you caused you to tighten around him, making him hiss from the overstimulation.

Dave released his grip on your waist and smoothed a hand up your back and rested it at the nape of your neck while you both caught your breath. After a beat, he leaned forward to pull out of you with a sharp inhale. You waited for a moment to stand upright, knowing he enjoyed seeing your cunt marked by his cum. Almost imperceptibly, he touched your hip, indicating you could move. Your panties ruined, you pulled your jeans up and fixed your bra. A sudden chill shot through you, making goosebumps rise along your bare torso.

“Here.” You turned to see Dave standing with your sweater held out to you.

You thanked him as you wrapped it around yourself, not bothering to put your tee on.

“Are you hungry? I can make us something or go into town and pick something up.” You appreciated it but were caught a bit off guard by his behavior. He was being… kind? You were silent a second too long, and he laughed. “Did I finally fuck you stupid?”

You relaxed a little, shaking your head, and laughed along with him. “Sorry, I… no, you…” You took a deep breath and started over. “Yes, I am hungry, but whatever you want is fine with me.”

Dave took a step toward you and wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for an oddly tender kiss. “Relax.” You nodded and smiled. “Go clean up, take a shower, and I’ll have something figured out by the time you’re done.”

When you finished with your shower, you came out of the bedroom to find Dave sitting at the kitchen counter and talking on the phone. He looked up and put his finger to his lips, then pushed a glass of wine toward you. While waiting for him to finish the call, you picked at the plate of olives, cheese, fruit, and nuts laid out before you.

“OK, glad you made it safely…uh huh…alright, well tell the girls I love them, and say hello to your mom and dad. Right…OK…I love you too, honey.” You looked over at him and raised an eyebrow at that last line as he ended the call.

“I’m so glad Carol and the girls made it to wherever the fuck safely,” you snarked. “I know you were also concerned when you had your tongue in my—“

“Don’t start,” he warned.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” he countered. “Come here.”

You walked around the counter and stood close to him, resting your hand on his shoulder as his came to your hip. You winced as he gently squeezed you right where bruises from his earlier grip on you were beginning to show. He noticed and lifted your shirt to see the damage done. He brushed his thumb over them softly but said nothing and put the hem of your shirt back.

“Why does she always have to…” you began.

He pressed his fingers into your bruises. “I told you not to start.”

You looked away and took a large gulp of your wine. Every single fucking time she interrupted your time together somehow. Or his kids did. And you couldn’t ever say anything about it. It was like they had some kind of sixth sense about you and Dave.

He interrupted your angry mental diatribe. “Listen, I’ve got to run an errand tomorrow morning. Should only take a couple hours. You’ll be alright here alone for a bit?”

“Of course. I’ve got some work to do anyway.” You paused, nibbling on a piece of fruit and enjoying feeling like an actual couple with his arm around your waist. But then: “What kind of errand do you have to do?”

“One that doesn’t concern you.” He replied, anticipating your nosiness. You didn’t think it was quite so obvious but apparently you were wrong.

You took a deep breath and finished your wine. As soon as you set the empty glass down, he refilled it. “Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me, Mr. York?” you teased.

He scoffed. “I’m trying to get you to fucking relax and be happy that I invited you here. Besides, you and I both know I don’t have to get you drunk to do what I want with you.”

His hand drifted from your waist to your ass, squeezing. His words made you tingly, but the soreness between your legs and your absolute exhaustion kept you from making any moves. Instead, you sighed, stretched, picked up the little tray of food, and took it to the living room. “I’m taking this party to the couch, York. Join me if you want,” you said, coming back to get your wine.

You spent the rest of the evening watching anything remotely interesting you could find on TV. As the night wore on, the options dwindled and Dave chose some boring war documentary. You fell asleep quickly, your feet in his lap under a blanket.

That's not love pumping through his veins

You're like the sun shining on his shade

Fleming & John - "Devil's Food"

You were awoken early the next morning with Dave’s mouth between your thighs, licking at you hungrily. He made you come easily shortly after you woke, with his tongue inside you, his hands on your breasts and yours woven through his hair. He made his way up your body, sliding his left knee under your thigh to hitch your leg high on his hip, and pushed into you fully. He buried his face in your neck and fucked you at the pace he wanted, as deeply as possible. You let him use your body in the way he needed that morning. He took hold of your hands, pressing them over your head, and thrust into you harder, watching as your tits bounced with every stroke. Your soft moans and sighs encouraged him along until his movements became stuttered and he came with a groan. 

He rested his forehead on your chest to catch his breath, allowing you to comb your fingers through his hair for a few dreamy moments then rose and eased out of you. He kissed you quickly, whispering for you to go back to sleep and that he’d be back later. You admired his broad form as he walked to the bathroom, and drifted off shortly after you heard the shower start. 

A few hours later, bright sunlight streamed in through the bedroom window, warming and waking you. Smiling at the ache between your legs as you stretched, you touched yourself, fingers gliding through the wetness that remained from earlier. If you could, you’d never wash him from your body, never let his bruises or handprints fade. Allow yourself to become his own personal debauched work of art. 

You spent the morning trying to figure out how to get into that locked room while you went about your routine. You knew next to nothing about guns but it didn’t look like a shotgun and definitely wasn’t a handgun. It looked more like some kind of military weapon but why hide that? Given his background, it didn’t seem out of the ordinary for him to have different types of guns, so why keep it behind a locked door?

You tried the door handle - still locked, of course. It was also a deadbolt, so you couldn’t easily pick the lock. You tried peeking under the door, but you couldn’t see anything but dust on the wood floors. You were wasting time, so you moved on, looking through the one bag that Dave left out in the bedroom. He was meticulous, so you took special note of how his things were organized so you could put them back without raising suspicion. There was nothing of interest, really, other than an old boarding pass to Belgium. Next you opened drawers and cabinets. You weren’t sure what you were looking for exactly other than something to explain the need for him to hide a duffel bag with weapons behind a locked door. There was absolutely nothing, including nothing to indicate that his wife or kids had ever been here. Shouldn’t there be something? 

You needed to refocus your energy. Channel it into something productive and beneficial, your therapist had told you. Stop and consider whether your actions are productive to your relationship. They weren’t productive - they hadn’t produced a goddamned thing so far. 

You checked the time. You weren’t sure when Dave would be back, and you didn’t think you should go venturing around without knowing the area and risk pissing him off if he came back and you were gone. You tried writing but gave up after thirty minutes. You found a corner of the house where you were able to connect to Facebook and Instagram to check up on Carol. She had uploaded a few photos to both profiles but nothing you cared about: photos of her parents with Dave’s daughters at DisneyWorld, the girls in goggles splashing in an indoor pool, a selfie of Carol in a lounge chair at sunset with a glass of rosé. “Mom’s time to relax!” she’d titled it, liking every comment beneath it by friends who wrote things like, “You deserve it, Mama!” She was truly unbearable. You hated her though you hadn’t yet met her. What the fuck did he ever see in her? What does he still see in her?

Your former therapist’s voice floated through your brain again. When you find yourself obsessing, stop and consider whether your actions are productive to your relationship and your well-being. With a deep sigh, you signed out of the social media accounts you really weren’t supposed to have anyway, and plugged your phone into the charger. 

You needed a change of scenery and some fresh air. You’d found a book in the nightstand during your earlier scavenger hunt, and now set off with it to sit outside by the fire pit and listen to the noise of the brook. 

Non-fiction about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan wouldn’t have been your first choice of reading material, but you didn’t think you’d be left alone long enough to need to bring your own book, and there didn’t seem to be any other remotely interesting books in the cabin.

Settling into an Adirondack chair, the noise of the brook successfully drowning out your obsessive thoughts, you opened the hardback, careful to make sure not to lose the place Dave had seemingly marked with a slip of paper. 

You were bored within fifty pages. Flipping forward to see if it got more interesting later, a small slip of paper fell to the ground. You picked it up and studied the writing. It didn’t look like Dave’s, though you’d never really paid close attention on the rare occasion you’d seen it. On the front, the word “M.P.” followed by a “4” with an X over it was written. Turning it over, it read “15m” and “BRU”. You flipped through more pages and found more pieces of paper with similar writing on them. There were at least fifteen in total tucked into various sections of the book. 

“There she is!” Car doors slammed and Dave’s voice carried across the property. The sounds of the brook and your focus elsewhere had covered the sound of vehicles pulling into the drive. You jumped up and hastily tucked the paper back into the book. Dave made his way across the footbridge toward you with a strange look in his eyes. He looked down and gestured to the book in your hand. “Doing some reading?”

“Yeah, I, uh, found this and it sounded kind of interesting, and I was bored, so…” You were babbling nervously, which seemed to amuse him. 

“Didn’t realize you had any interest in that,” he replied, his eyebrow raised. 

Before you could answer, the other two men caught up behind him. You smiled politely at them; one returned it, the other remained stone-faced. 

Dave gestured to the men. “Ran into a couple old military buddies while I was out. They need to borrow a couple of things.”

Dave introduced you as his “friend” to Kovac, a large and imposing bearded man who didn’t seem to know how to make any facial expressions other than one of stern stoicism, and Resnik, a smaller but no less intimidating man with a face like a weasel. You noticed both glance at the book you held and then at each other. 

 Dave told them to go inside to get what they needed. “Door should be unlocked,” he said by way of dismissal. As they walked away, Dave put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into an embrace that felt cold and threatening. You ducked your face into his shoulder and inhaled. You loved the way he smelled: a heady mixture of his shampoo and deodorant and the natural, masculine scent of his skin. Although, now, something was off. You turned your head slightly into his jacket - that same camouflage one from yesterday - and smelled something slightly peppery and sulfuric that you only picked up when your nose brushed along the fabric. 

“You’re back sooner than I thought you’d be. I missed you.” You tried to sound innocent, sweet. Not that he ever really responded to that kind of thing, but it seemed right at the time.

“Been keeping busy while I’ve been gone?” he murmured beside you. “Find what you were looking for?” 

The way he said it made your lungs freeze. He continued, his voice low next to your ear, “Be careful, baby. What you find might not be pleasant.” 

He knew. He knew about your searching and snooping this morning. There must be cameras. And if there are, he knew about you opening the bag the previous night. He saw everything you did earlier. He would have recordings of the two of you in the kitchen, in the bed. 

Kovac and Resnik came back outside, carrying the duffel bags Dave brought in when he arrived. You moved out of his hold and watched them load the bags into their SUV. You felt Dave’s eyes on you, daring you to ask questions. You stayed quiet, and he walked away toward the SUV. 

Kovac started the car while Resnik and Dave stood beside the car speaking. At one point, they both turned and looked at you, Dave swiping slowly at his bottom lip with his thumb, a move you’d recognized as a nervous tic. When they looked away, you eased your fingers between the pages of the novel, searching for one of the little pieces of paper while making sure to keep your gaze toward the men. You found one and managed to slip it out and push it up your sleeve with your middle finger. Crossing your arms over your chest, you pulled your sweater sleeves tighter down around your knuckles, pushed the paper higher into your sleeve, and began walking toward the house alone. 

You made sure Dave was still outside when you went into the bedroom and tucked the paper deep into your weekender under a small tear in the lining. You tossed the novel onto the bed and let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Looking around, you didn’t see any obvious cameras, and you weren’t about to go looking more closely. You turned your attention out the window to watch as Dave finished his conversation with the men. Those two men weren’t just old military buddies, despite what Dave claimed. There was only business in their interactions, not friendship. He had told you to keep it a secret that you were here with him, yet he’d obviously told them. Nothing was making sense. 

You heard Dave’s heavy footfalls on the porch steps, the front door swing open, then slam shut. You found him in front of the open fridge, taking out ingredients to make a sandwich. 

“Dave, what’s going on?” You crossed your arms tight around yourself. “Who were those guys?”

He answered without turning around. “I told you who they were. We were in the same platoon.”

“Right, but what…”

He turned and cut you off. “You really want to follow that line of questioning with me?” He stood glaring at you, awaiting your answer. 

You decided to veer to a different subject. “Are there cameras in here?”

Dave smiled and turned his back to you once again. “Now why would I need to put cameras in the cabin I bring my wife and kids to?” 

He was toying with you, batting you around like a cat with a mouse. You only wanted him to be straightforward with you. Trust you enough to be honest. Your voice raised. “Dave, I haven’t seen a single fucking thing here to indicate that your wife or daughters have ever set foot in here. So, what is this? Is this some kind of place where you only bring women you’re having an affair with or something?”

He sighed heavily, slamming the fridge door. “I knew this was a mistake,” he said under his breath. 

That stung. “A mistake? Really? So, maybe I should go, then, right? Since this was such a mistake?” You turned toward the bedroom, acting as though you were going to pack up and leave. You both knew you wouldn’t actually go unless you were absolutely forced to. Come after me. Chase me. Make me stay. 

He did. “Fuck!” He crossed the room and grabbed your arm to spin you around. “Stop being so goddamn dramatic. No, I haven’t brought anyone else here, and…” He paused, took a deep breath. “Carol and the girls don’t know about this place.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a work thing.”

“A work thing?”

“I can’t tell you everything, obviously, but I’m surveilling a target nearby. That’s why I was gone this morning. It’s a…long-term thing, so, we have this.” He gestured around the room. “And, yeah, there are cameras but I’m the only one who sees the feed. I’m not in the business of secretly recording myself fucking women.”

You regarded him carefully. There were so many more questions you had. You also wondered if he’d seen you stash that little slip of paper in your bag. 

“Does that answer everything so you can stop trying to get into locked rooms and searching my bags?”

You really wanted to believe him. It sounded believable, and you accepted his explanation for the time being. Your brain made the locked room, the gun and tactical equipment, even his former platoon members, fit into his explanation. Anything that didn’t or couldn’t fit, you filed away for later. Because at the time, that didn’t matter. The cameras inside every room didn’t matter. The strange slips of paper in the book didn’t matter. What did matter at that moment was something he’d said earlier: he hadn’t ever brought anyone else here. Just you. This place was for you and him - not him and his children, not him and his wife, not him and other women. 

Just the two of you. 

He's got his finger on the trigger

It's not a gun, it's something bigger

Oh, emotional warfare has been declared on you

See how he manipulates, berates you and humiliates?

He wants you to see what it feels like to be him

Fleming & John - "Devil's Food"

Dave suggested a walk on the trail that circled the property. He wanted to show you around, he said. Although apprehensive, you agreed, as he didn’t seem to be particularly angry with you anymore. After you’d accepted his explanation, his affect changed. He seemed relaxed, jovial, even. The lines between his brows softened, his smiles appeared warmer, his tone gentler. To say it was disarming would be an understatement. 

Even more disarming was when he held your hand. He had steadied you with a hand as you crossed over a fallen tree along the path, interlocking your fingers with his own rather than pulling away. You looked away to hide the beatific smile beaming on your face, afraid that he would let go if he noticed how much it meant to you.  

Dave pointed out things in the woods you’d have never guessed he knew about and described the wilderness survival training he’d gone through in the Marines. He told you with a particularly chilling passion of how he learned to create traps that would severely maim or kill the enemy, and move so stealthily over a wooded landscape that an unfortunate opponent wouldn’t hear you until you’d already sunk your knife into them. 

It was this last skill that he offered to demonstrate when you questioned it. 

“Walk ahead of me for a bit.”

You looked at him, wary and unsure. “Why? I believe you.”

“You’ll be fine. Just go ahead of me. I’ll show you.” He nudged you forward. “Keep walking and count to one hundred.”

Hesitantly, you proceeded, turning around to look behind you once you’d hit one hundred. He had vanished. You shivered, a slight sick feeling in your gut from anticipating a jump scare. You scanned the woods on either side of the trail for a sign of him. Nothing. You kept walking, ears straining for cracking twigs, crunching leaves. 

Just as you were about to call out to him, an arm grabbed you about the waist and a hand clamped over your mouth.

“Shhh…” he soothed, lips brushing against your ear. The hand around your waist moved up, and he rested his fist between your left lower ribs. “Seven inches straight into you right here, between these ribs.” He brushed his fingers over the area and pushed his hips against yours. “Puncture your lung and your heart. That would be it. You’d be done in seconds, wouldn’t stand a chance.”

He took his hand off your mouth but kept your body against his. You turned to face him and felt something solid brush against your hip that was most definitely not his cock.

“What…” You placed your hand on his waist under his jacket. “Is that a gun?”’

Without skipping a beat, he responded, “Would be stupid not to have one out here. Bears.” 

You took a step back. Seemed like a reasonable explanation, you supposed. 

Dave’s eyes narrowed and a corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk. “Did you think I was going to bring you out here and kill you?”

“No,” you responded too quickly. 

“Are you afraid of me?” He cocked his head to the side. He brought his hand up to your face, his eyes following the path of his thumb as it swept slowly over your top lip and then the bottom. 

You shook your head. “No,” you whispered. Not entirely truthful, but those fucked-up little parts of your brain that controlled arousal translated that fear into desire for that which scared you. Risky, potentially self-damaging impulsivity in sexual habits and relationships your therapist had written in your chart. You preferred the term you’d heard a former partner use describe what you enjoyed in bed with him: fear kink. That sounded much better. Less clinical, more… sexually aware.

He pushed his thumb past your lips. You watched his eyes as he focused on your mouth. He pulled it out, smearing your saliva over your lips, then pushed back in. “You sure?” You heard a soft click and the muzzle of the gun traced up your side, over your breast, to rest just under your jaw. Your pulse pounded, your breathing stopped, and your cunt throbbed. 

He smiled at you. “Keep breathing. You’re not afraid of me, remember?”

Your eyes closed, and you swallowed. Clearing your throat, you whispered, “No. I trust you.”

His brows raised, and he let go. His hand dipped beneath the waistband of your leggings and beneath your panties. A normal woman would have run from this. Run far from him and never looked back. Tried to safely break things off. Probably wouldn’t have even started anything with him. He would’ve let go, found someone else to be with in the ways he couldn’t with his wife. Instead, you stood in the middle of the woods, miles away from anyone else, with an obviously dangerous man holding a gun to you with one hand while his other worked between your legs. You’d never been more aroused. He was testing your boundaries, testing the boundaries of this relationship between you, testing your resolve and willingness to be what he wanted and needed. You’d been through worse, and you wanted everything Dave would give you. More, even. 

He withdrew his fingers and brought them to your lips. Ever obedient to him, you opened your mouth and tasted yourself on his skin. 

It probably should have ended there. Dave moved to put the gun away, satisfied with your response. You were the one who pushed it further. You knelt down in front of him, rocks and sticks on the trail digging into your knees through your thin leggings. You looked up at him. Slowly and cautiously you brought the barrel of the gun in front of you. “Make me do it. Make me do what you want.”

His brows twitched toward each other then up when he recognized your intent. He flicked open the button on his pants and pulled the zipper down, taking out his cock and stroking it before your face. 

You didn’t make any moves, just focused on him and the look in his eyes, which was getting more feral by the second. Dropping the last veil of control that he seemed to maintain for you and leaning into his basest desires, he tipped your chin up with the gun. “Open your mouth.”

You did, and he eased himself in then took hold of your ponytail. Your tongue traced the veins and along the ridge of his head, swirling around the top like you’d learned he loved. 

“Gonna come so far down this fucking throat,” he told you. “And you’re going to swallow it all, just like the fucking whore I know you are.”

This. This was what you wanted. And seeing as how he so easily slipped into the role, it was clear he wanted it, too. You were more than happy to give it to him. He pushed to the back of your throat, forcing you to take him deep, and held you there, your nose nestled in the soft thatch of hair at the base of his cock. He’d then pull you back and repeat. You breathed through your nose, relaxed your throat, let him take the things he wanted, how he wanted them. 

“This mouth was made to suck my cock.” He pulled your hair tighter and kept his gun trained on you. “You fucking love this, don’t you?” There was an undertone of wonder to his question. 

You nodded as best you could because you did. You loved every sick, depraved second of it. Every time you felt that gun bump against your chin or cheek, your pussy pulsed. 

When your eyes began to water, he told you to use your hands along with your mouth, cupping his balls and gripping him at the base while your tongue swirled around and over the head of his cock, teasing the slit and coaxing salty drops of precum from him. When he finally came, he shoved as far deep into your throat as he knew you could take. Salty, musky warmth spilled down your throat, and you swallowed around him, not missing a drop. 

He let go of your hair and tucked himself - and the gun - away as you remained kneeling before him, wiping your mouth and fixing your mussed hair. He held his hand out to help you up and stared at you for a moment with an expression that you couldn’t quite read. His thumb swiped across your bottom lip, before suddenly checking his watch and declaring that you should turn back to the cabin now. He walked ahead while you followed, beaming a few steps behind him, so proud of yourself. Proud of how you’d proven that you liked the fear, that you wanted his ugliness, his darkness. That you and you alone - none before you, none after you, and certainly not her - could handle that side of him and welcomed it. You were the only one worthy of him.

Oh my dear girl, he likes to say, what a nice

piece of meat you'll make.

Rebecca Dunham, Glass Armonica: Poems

Dave took you to dinner that night at a cozy and quiet Italian place he knew about. His usually cold brown eyes were warmed in the glow of the candlelight between you in the tiny back corner table as he readily divulged more of his past, especially the facts you hadn’t been able to discover on your own. 

You listened with rapt attention to how he’d been expected to enlist in the Marines like his father had. How he excelled as a soldier, enjoying it more than he thought he would, rising through the ranks and becoming an expert marksman in an elite squad. How, because of this, the CIA had recruited him for a special unit. When a particular mission went horribly wrong and he lost his partner and friend, the government shut the unit down. With strong influence from Carol due to their new baby, he left for a lower-paying, albeit safer, position with the DIA and has been there since. 

He spoke fondly of his time in the Marines and the CIA, but there was a marked shift in tone as he described being pushed into his current job. You had so many questions but didn’t want to stop his flow of information. He’d never been quite so open, so you simply listened, collecting and filing it away as you drank your wine and ate your dinner. 

He also inquired more about you. He asked how you came to be a freelance writer, what brought you to Boston and why you stayed. You didn’t tell him the whole truth. Now wasn’t the time, and you weren’t sure there would be a right time. So, you lied about why you came to Boston, lied about why you stayed. It was a particular relief that he didn’t ask any questions about prior relationships. You assumed he just didn’t care.

When the check came, you took note of how he didn’t correct the waiter when he referred to you both as Mr. and Mrs. York. You liked the sound of it. Your chest filled with a longing for it, and the fact that he didn’t remark on it watered that little seed of hope planted in your mind.

All the expensive wine you had to drink at dinner - much more than Dave - along with how well your first dinner out together went, had you feeling blissful and enamored with the moment and with him. Your fingers tingled with the urge to hold his hand, and you wondered what his reaction would be. You decided not to push it, instead reaching over to touch his thigh, sliding your hand to the inside and higher. 

He took your hand from his leg and placed it back on your own. “Not while I’m driving,” he scolded. He couldn’t hide the way the corner of his mouth turned up just slightly, nor the the noticeable hardening in his pants, though. 

Before he could place it back on the wheel, you caught his hand and held fast to it, watching him in profile as you pulled it under your skirt. 

“Can’t wait until we get back?” he asked without looking at you. You had let go of his hand but he kept his fingers there, lazily stroking the damp, silky gusset of your panties. 

“No,” you said. “I want you right now.” You slid your hips forward in the seat and opened your legs more for him. 

“Take these off.” He snapped the elastic around the crease of your thigh. 

You removed them eagerly, grinning as you tossed them in his lap. You reached for his hand again but he jerked it away. 

“You’re going to do it yourself,” he said. 

You whined, and he slapped your thigh. “Don’t be a brat. Fuck yourself with your own fingers. I want to hear it.”

Settling back in the seat, you closed your eyes and pulled the hem of your skirt up to your hips so he could see. You propped your foot up on the dash and started teasing yourself, two fingers tickling up your inner thigh to trace your outer lips first, working yourself up. As you dragged your middle finger up over your entrance to your clit, Dave set a goal. 

“We’ll be back in 15 minutes. You better come before we get there.”

“Or what?” 

He shot you a warning glance, and you smiled to yourself. You recalled one of your favorite times with him, same as you would when you were alone: the first time the two of you had sex. 

For a full two weeks, you’d managed to do everything but fuck. Issues of his availability and time alone posed the biggest problems. Those weeks, Dave was assigned to dad duty during most free time he had. His older daughter had some kind of extracurricular activity after school late into the evenings, so Dave was fully responsible for the transport and care of the younger one until Carol got home. The odd early morning or mid-afternoon rendezvous in his car in a dark corner of the parking garage beneath your building had to suffice. Those memories came in vignettes: Dave hunched over in the backseat of his government issued SUV with his face buried between your thighs, pussy for breakfast at 5 a.m.; you, bent across the center console from the passenger seat, your hands bound behind your back with his tie, giving him the most enthusiastic blowjob of your (and his) life with his fingers deep inside you from behind on his lunch break. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t try to fuck him during one of those times. You tried like hell from the first time you saw his incredible cock. He refused, though, insisting that he couldn’t fuck you like he wanted to in such a short amount of time. “The first time we fuck, I’m going to make sure you feel it the next day. That takes more than thirty minutes in the back of a car,” he said. 

Finally, finally , he was able to come up to your place after work, apparently getting his wife off his back by claiming the need to work late on a major new case. You buzzed him up, greeting him at your door. As you worked from home, you were usually in an old t-shirt and leggings, but decided to make just a slight effort when you knew he was coming over, donning easily-removed cozy wide leg pants, a tank, and a sweater. 

You looked at him through the peephole a bit longer than you needed to simply because he looked so damn good: black trench coat, blue Oxford shirt, and grey dress pants, an expression of slight irritation that it was taking you so long to answer the door but with a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. 

You doubted he even registered what you had on when you opened the door. As soon as you invited him in and shut the door behind him, he was pressed against you, pawing at your body and devouring your mouth with his own. You shoved his coat off his shoulders, he did the same to your sweater and lifted you up to wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Bedroom?” 

You pointed over his shoulder. “Hallway. To the right,” you said between kisses. 

He carried you into the room, his huge hands groping your ass, your tits, your thighs, and tossed you onto your bed. He began unbuttoning his cuffs and shirt and indicated with a nod and a grin for you to take yours off as well. Once you were down to only your panties and he in his boxers, he grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the end of the bed. He knelt down and pulled your panties off, tossing them over his shoulder. Two of his fingers slid inside you, as he sucked your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue rapidly over it. There was no need for teasing, no playing around. You both had waited for what felt like forever, and all you wanted was to finally feel him inside you. 

With the addition of a third finger curled up to drive into you in exactly the right spot, he grazed his teeth across your clit. You came hard and fast, gripping his hair and trying to pull his mouth closer to you as your back arched. 

He pulled at your hip to flip you over and guided you into a position with your knees on the end of the bed and your legs spread wide. It was so vulgar and filthy, being fully open and exposed to him, that you felt your cunt constrict with the need to be filled. Dave noticed. 

“Look how desperate you are for my cock. You need me to fill you up, huh? Fuck this tight cunt?” His thumb brushed up and down your folds, lingering on your clit. 

“Yes,” you moaned. “Please…”

“Please what?” He dragged the head of his cock over your cunt and notched right at your entrance, waiting. 

“Please fuck me, Dave… I want your cock so fucking bad. Please…”

His hand came down sharp on your ass and he pushed into you. He hummed. “I like hearing you beg for it,” he told you. Once inside you to the hilt, he paused, then bucked his hips into yours, pushing deeper and bottoming out. He used long, slow strokes that hit deeper inside you than you’d ever felt before. 

It was a stretch, to be sure, but it was incredible. So full as he slowly slid in and out to watch how you stretched around him and then tightened around nothing when he pulled out. 

“Christ, you’re tight… fuck…” You sensed he was holding back. 

Sliding your hand underneath you to rub your clit, you moved your hips back as he pushed forward. “Harder… fuck me harder,” you moaned. 

He pounded into you, his fingers gripping your waist tight, and his hips slapping loudly against your ass. It still wasn’t as hard as you wanted it. 

Egging him on, you gritted your teeth and looked over your shoulder at him. “Fuck me like you paid for it,” you told him. 

His brows shot up and he grinned. He reached forward, grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling you up to him. “Oh, you want it like that? Wanna be fucked like a whore?” He shoved you forward and you climbed up to the center of the bed, turning over to watch him as he prowled toward you. He pressed your wrists to the mattress on either side of your head and used his knees to spread your legs wide. He entered into you so hard that your body jolted toward the headboard, and you screamed out for him. 

“This how you want it? Huh? Not satisfied with what I was giving you?” He slammed into you over and over. It was exactly how you wanted it. 

“Fuck, yes… just like that,” you encouraged. Teeth bared, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat and hips working tirelessly against yours, he looked stunning. Your fingers flexed with the sudden desire to claw him apart, shred him into consumable pieces so he could never leave you. 

“God, you’re a fucking filthy thing, aren’t you?” he asked with a half grin. 

Your wrists throbbed when he let go to hook his arms under your knees to open you even more to him. You reached up to pull him down to kiss you, messy and rough and needy. And then, a shake in your thighs, a tightening of your lower belly, and your cunt pulsed around him. You could feel the gush of your release, hear the wetness as he fucked you through it. 

You had no idea how loud you were being, but he suddenly clamped his hand down over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

 “That’s it… fuck, that’s it…” he breathed. His rhythm stuttered and he slowed his pace as he came, groaning above you. He took his hand off your mouth and held himself over you for a moment, catching his breath. He eased out of you with a sigh and rolled onto his back next to you. 

“Jesus…”

“…fucking Christ,” you groaned and bucked your hips as you came on your fingers for Dave. Not a minute to spare, either, as he pulled into the driveway. 

You smiled at him, completely blissed out, and he took your hand from between your legs. He held it up between you, smirking at how your slick glistened in the low dashboard light of the car. You pushed them to his mouth and he let you, maintaining eye contact with you as he sucked your fingers clean, letting his tongue slip over and between them. 

You pulled your fingers away and replaced them with your lips, kissing him deeply to taste yourself on his tongue. “I need you inside me,” you whispered, palming his cock and kissing his neck. 

He tangled his hand in your hair and turned your head to kiss him. He pulled back and held out the keys to you. “Go inside, take your clothes off, and wait for me. I need to make a call.”

You smiled. “Who are you calling? It’s kind of late to make work calls isn’t it?” 

“It’s not a work call. Go in. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Realization dawned on you. You shoved away from him, sitting back against the passenger door. “Are you calling your fucking wife right now? I’ve got my hand on your dick, you just sucked my cum off my fingers, and you’re thinking about a call to your boring fucking wife?” 

“Watch it.”

“This is fucking bullshit. Is this some kind of game you’re playing with me?” You knew you were stoking a fire, and thanks to the alcohol, you really didn’t care. At that point, it didn’t matter if you got burned or blew the whole thing up. 

Dave scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re fucking drunk. Go inside and go to bed.”

You gathered up the keys, your bag and coat and got out of the car. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not a child.”

“You’re acting like one.” 

“Asshole.”

You slammed the car door and stomped up the steps to the front porch. Leaving the keys in the front door, you threw your things on the couch and kicked off your shoes in the middle of the floor. You hoped he’d trip over them. Would serve him right. The throb of a headache crept up the back of your skull, and you stopped in the kitchen to chug a glass of water before heading to the bedroom. You managed to wash your face, change into one of Dave’s t-shirts, and get into bed before you heard him come in the front door. Back turned toward the doorway, you pulled the covers up over your head, and closed your eyes. You weren’t tired, but if he was going to treat you like a child, then you might as well act like one and give him the silent treatment.

The sound of him throwing your shoes onto the hardwood bedroom floors startled you but you didn’t turn over. You heard him get undressed, change clothes. You wanted him to slip into bed with you, pull you against him, fuck you in the way he does that offers an apology with everything but words. You’d even settle for a screaming match. Something from him. Fucking, fighting, fucking and fighting, you didn’t care. Instead, you felt him standing beside the bed for a moment, watching you. Then he sighed, turned out the bedside lamp, and walked out, pulling the door shut behind him. 

You lay in bed for a couple hours, feeding that jealous little thing inside you. You stewed over your envy of Carol and anger at Dave. You didn’t want her life. You didn’t want their kids, their bland suburban lifestyle filled with PTA meetings, play dates, and boring, rare sex. There was nothing you wanted less than that. What you did want, though, now more than ever, was Dave all to yourself. You had a taste of having him to yourself this weekend, and you developed a craving for it. You needed him to yourself. 

You had the fleeting thought that you wished he’d never approached you in the first place, never had the playful banter with you about his excuse to approach you, never given you the number to the private cell phone Carol assumed was his work phone. 

Of course, emerging sobriety comes with clarity of thought, and you realized that in your jealous, slightly tipsy state, you may have overreacted. She would get suspicious if he didn’t check in. And although he never expressly stated it, you knew from his general affect after their calls that he liked talking to his daughters at least once a day while he was away. 

That little jealous creature came back to remind you that he could’ve called Carol earlier, prior to your dinner. You countered with the rationalization that maybe he’d forgotten to do so earlier. It wasn’t his fault for calling - it was hers for it even being necessary in the first place.

Back and forth you debated in your mind until you decided to get up and face him. You weren’t sure what you were going to say or do, but you aimed to get back on his good side. After all, you still had two more days here with him to enjoy; you didn’t want it all to go to hell now. 

Figuring that it couldn’t hurt your position to stay in just his shirt and your panties, you forewent pants on your search for him within the house. He’d made a fire in the fireplace that was now just crackling embers warming the room, but he was nowhere to be found. You heard him clear his throat from outside of the backdoor and spied him sitting on the loveseat on the back porch, drink in hand, smoking a cigarette. 

He had just finished and stubbed the cigarette out when you opened the door gently. “Since when do you smoke?” you asked. 

He glanced at you, his eyes dropping to your bare legs for a second, and cleared his throat. “Picked it up in the service. Don’t do it all that often now.”

You approached him cautiously but steadily, and sank to your knees in front of him. The discomfort of kneeling on the rough wooden surface of the back porch and the cold air on your bare arms and legs were your penance. He looked down the bridge of his nose at you but didn’t say a word, only taking a sip of his drink. You could’ve apologized, but you knew it would only serve to piss him off more. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Show me,” he’d told you on a prior occasion. You could’ve tried to explain your outburst, try to make him understand, cry in an attempt to manipulate, but you doubted any of it would work. Instead, you smoothed your hands up his thighs, moving inward as you went higher. You glanced up at him to gauge his emotions. His lips remained set in a straight line, and he stared down his nose at you, his expression giving nothing away other than his irritation with you. 

You felt for his cock through the sweatpants he wore, groping and working him so you could feel him harden beneath your touch. You noticed his breathing speed up just slightly as you continued. You looked up at him again as you wrapped your fingertips inside the waistband of his sweats, and he lifted his hips to help you pull them down but made no other movements or sounds. He didn’t move to wind your hair in his hand, or push you down; his arms remained propped along the back of the loveseat, one occasionally bringing his scotch to his lips. He simply observed your worship and let you proceed. 

His cock bobbed against his stomach when released, and you immediately leaned forward to lick the drop of precum from the top of him, hands remaining on his thighs. He inhaled at the first touch of your tongue, and widened his legs just enough to push himself closer. You moved your hands, intending to grasp him as you usually did, when he spoke. 

“No.”

You looked up, questioning. 

“Put your hands back where they were. Mouth only,” he said. 

You swirled your tongue around the head, then took him into your mouth deeply, pressing your tongue flat against the underside of his cock. Working him the way you knew he liked, you used your mouth and tongue to get yourself back into his good graces. Finally, you felt his hand slide through your hair. You gazed up at him with your mouth full of his cock, just like he loved to see, and his fist tightened around your hair. He held you like that for a moment, not allowing you to move, while he finished his scotch. He enjoyed seeing the way you tried to keep composure while an ache bloomed in your jaw and your tongue worked to keep from drooling. He waited until your eyes began to water and the strain in your jaw made you plead with your eyes to be allowed to move. He released his tight grip with a smirk, using your hair to pull your head back so you released him. 

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” You did as instructed. “Look at you,” he murmured. He slapped his cock against your tongue a few times. “So pretty like this. You’d do whatever I asked, wouldn’t you?” You nodded in agreement, your scalp burning from his grip on your hair. He leaned forward and licked your tongue before spitting into your mouth. “Such a dirty girl,” he whispered. 

You moaned and your eyes closed. You were so turned on, so completely thrilled that you had his full attention again. You shifted your hips in an attempt to relieve the ache between your legs, but it served only to make things worse. Your pussy clenched tight, and you briefly thought you might be able to come without him touching you at all. 

He tugged your hair sharply. “Eyes on me. Keep your mouth open.”

In the periphery of your vision, you noticed Dave’s hand pumping up and down his cock. He leaned back, his fist working faster, and he jerked you closer. You could tell he was about to come, his breathing heavier and his brow furrowed. Saliva dripped from your tongue over the head of his cock, giving him what he needed to finally send him over the edge. He came hard with a groan, covering your tongue, your cheeks, your chin. 

He let go of your hair but you stayed as you were, knowing he liked you like this: messy, debauched, and marked by him. He nodded at you. “Clean it up. Swallow it.”

You did, using your fingers to clean it from your face and sucking them clean. The ache between your thighs persisted, stronger than before. You stood as Dave tucked himself back into his sweats, assuming that you would be left to take care of yourself, but he reached to grab the hem of your shirt and tugged you forward so one of his thighs rested between your knees. He brushed his knuckles along the inside of your thigh, feeling for your wetness with the back of his hand. 

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes.”

He reached under your shirt and pulled off your panties. “Take off your shirt.”

You did as you were told and stood shivering before him. The cool night air made your nipples painfully tight, which Dave noticed and seemed to enjoy.

“Cold?” he asked with a smirk. 

“Yeah.”

“Shouldn’t have come out here dressed like that.” He made no more moves to touch you, simply sitting and observing your discomfort. 

“I wanted—“ you began. 

“I didn’t ask for an explanation,” he interrupted. His eyes roamed your body. “Well, go ahead. Make yourself come.”

You stared, puzzled. “What? How?”

He grabbed you by the wrist and jerked you down to straddle his thigh. “Do what you need to do.” As a hint, he jerked his leg upward, the slightest bit of friction from his sweats brushing against your clit sending a little thrill through you. 

Tentatively, you rolled your hips to grind on his thigh while he watched. You leaned forward as you rubbed yourself along his thigh, but you needed more. Just as you moved your hands from their grip on his leg, he grabbed your wrists. “Nope. No hands.” 

You stopped. “Dave, come on… I can’t.”

He bounced his leg again. “Yes, you can. Keep going.” You rolled your eyes, and he gave you a warning look. “You’ve been a pain in the ass since we got back. Come on… Put on a show for me.”

He wasn’t going to let this go. You closed your eyes and began swiveling your hips, trying to find the right rhythm. It felt good, but your body needed more. You leaned forward, relying on his grip on your wrists for balance, and it felt better but still not enough. Your brows knitted in frustration and concentration, you kept it up, trying to ignite the spark within you. Then, he began speaking. 

“I know you can do it because you’ve done it before.” He kept his voice low, and it sent tingles down your spine. “Remember? That very first time we met up?”

You nodded, recalling that night. You were incredibly curious about him from the first time you saw him, and even more so after finding out what you could about him before you actually met. When you had his number, though, you panicked a little. Had he seen you on one of your late night drives through his neighborhood? Did he recognize you as the stranger sitting in the park, peeking up from her book as he jogged by on the path nearby? What if his wife had casually mentioned that she’d seen the same woman throughout her day and found it strange that you’d been at all the same places? 

But then, one evening a few days later, you were bored and lonely and couldn’t stop thinking of him. You dialed his number. 

“York.” He had answered in a hushed tone, and you could hear what sounded like kids’ voices in the background. He said he didn’t think you would call but was glad you did. He got straight to the point, asking you to meet him in a parking garage near his office in twenty minutes. 

“You looked so pretty for me,” he continued. “You knew we were probably meeting just to fuck, and yet you showed up so gorgeous in that dark green dress. And those boots. Those fucking riding boots with the buckles on the sides.” 

Thrilled that he remembered little details of your first encounter, your lips parted and you ground yourself against him harder, listening to him replay that night’s events.  

“I couldn’t wait to fuck you. I was hard from the moment I left my house. Then I saw you in those boots and all I could think about was how you’d look wearing nothing but them while you bounced on my cock.” He leaned closer, the scent of scotch and tobacco on his breath as he spoke. “You remember how worried you were that someone would catch us? But then you were the one who climbed onto my lap, and that needy little cunt was pressed right against my thigh. I could feel how fucking warm and wet you were through my pants.”

It was working. You’d found the right rhythm, and could feel yourself getting closer. 

“Such a wanton fucking slut the way you got on top of me like that. Even more so when you started grinding this pussy on my thigh. And all I had to do was look at you in a certain way and shove my tongue down your throat.”

Everything he said was true. He insinuated things and gave you a look that made your legs weak, but you made the first move by crossing the center console to his lap. He kissed you first, but you took it a step further by making yourself come using only his thigh and moaning like a bitch in heat for him. 

You opened your eyes to see him smirking at you, and you pleaded with him to keep going. “More… please, more…”

“When you came, I wanted nothing more than to shove you down onto your knees and make you suck my cock. I’d have come all over that pretty face, told you to drive home like that.” He looked down and hummed. “Mmm… look at you. Working that pretty pussy so hard. How’s that feel? You gonna come for me? Come for Daddy, baby.”

Your thighs squeezed his own. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Ohhh god,” you moaned, feeling yourself soak the fabric beneath you. You kept grinding against his thigh through the intense waves of pleasure, listening to him coo in your ear, “There it is… so good for Daddy…” He released your wrists and pulled you to him, wrapping his arms tightly around you, holding you in silence until your breathing slowed and you shivered from the cold. 

“Up,” he said, tapping you on the hip. When you got up, you both noticed the large wet spot on Dave’s dark sweatpants. He gave you a pointed look. “That’s quite a mess you made.” 

You looked back at him, waiting for the next part of this humiliation to be doled out. 

“I really ought to make you clean it up.” He cocked an eyebrow at you.

It felt like a test. Whether of your resolve, your devotion, your adoration, or your pride, you weren’t sure, but you were too mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted to try to figure out the correct answer. You shivered again. 

“I want to go inside now, Dave,” you stated. The drop in dopamine now that your wine buzz was gone and the flood of hormones from your orgasm combined to make you tear up. You tried your best not to let it happen but one lone tear spilled down your cheek.

Dave spotted it immediately, and for a fraction of a second, you could have sworn you saw his expression soften. 

Do you understand? When I am done telling you these stories, when you're done listening to these stories, I am no longer I, and you are no longer you. In this afternoon we briefly merged into one. After this, you will always carry a bit of me, and I will always carry a bit of you, even if we both forget this conversation.

Hao Jingfang - Invisible Planets

if he’s a serial killer, then what’s the worst

that could happen to a girl who’s already hurt?

Lana Del Rey - “Happiness is a butterfly”

I warned you that you wouldn’t like what you found if you kept looking.

You stopped breathing. How did he know? Dave’s hands rested on your waist, his thumbs stroking your skin.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” His lips brushed your ear as he spoke.

Admit or deny? Deny. “Find out what?” You tried to pull back from him to see his eyes but he jerked you back to him.

He scoffed. “You have severely underestimated me. You thought you could get away with trying to dig around in my life, take things that aren’t yours.”

He allowed you to pull away from him just barely before spinning you around and back against his naked body. His hand came to rest on your throat just under your jaw, thumb pressing just enough for you to feel the struggle of your pulse beneath it. “Listen to me carefully: you and I are going to shower and get dressed. We’re going to leave the house, get into your car, act like I’m taking you on some fucking romantic little ride somewhere. You’re going to behave exactly like you would any other time. Until we get into the car, we are not discussing anything that has to do with the article you read on your phone this morning, or what you saw and took from the book.”

“How did-“

He jerked you back by the throat. “What did I just say?”

You assumed the question was rhetorical. When you didn’t answer, he tightened his grip. You felt the immediate slowing of blood through your veins.

“Repeat it.”

“We aren’t talking about anything until we get into my car.” Your voice came out strained but he was able to hear you.

“Good.” His hold loosened, and the pressure behind your eyes dissipated. He reached past you for the shower gel. “Now,” he said, popping the cap on the bottle. He drizzled it over your chest and put it back on the ledge. Hands roaming up your body, he kissed your shoulder and neck. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You did as you were told, letting Dave’s soapy hands roam your body in the name of “cleaning up”. Almost robotically you dried off, got dressed, did your hair, all under his watch. When he deemed it time to leave, you were led out the door to your car.

He refused to look at you the entire thirty minute drive, no matter how hard you stared at him or what noises you made. Rather than placing a possessive hand on your upper thigh as he usually did, he kept one hand on the wheel and the other to himself.

“Where are we going?” you asked quietly.

He didn’t respond.

“Are you going to ignore me the whole time?”

Still no response. He made no indication that he was even listening, his face an expressionless mask.

You sighed and resigned yourself to your never-ending thoughts and the ambient silence. You wondered if you were going to die soon, if Dave had the capacity to kill outside of war. If he had anything to do with the deaths of that Brussels family, he obviously could. Then, you weren’t sure of how you felt when you envisioned dying by his hand. The only part of it that made you sad was that you wouldn’t be able to take him with you. Otherwise, it was something that would be fitting of your relationship with him. You had wanted him to consume all of you, after all. Death by his hand would be the ultimate consumption.

Dave slowed and pulled onto a gravel forestry service road. You watched as eyes scanned the surrounding area for others as he drove. He glanced in the rear view mirror, and, satisfied that no one else was around and that you were deep enough into the woods to be seen from the road, stopped and turned off the ignition.

Turning to you. “Get out of the car.”

“No. Not until you tell me what’s going on. What are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to hurt you. Get out of the car.” It was clear from his tone you were testing his patience.

“Fuck you, Dave, it’s my fucking car.”

He shook his head, muttering a “fuck’s sake”, and got out. He came around to the passenger side and opened your door. You sat still. He lifted his jacket and sweater and turned around. “I’m not armed. No guns, no knives. I told you I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to leave you here. Now will you please get out of the goddamn car?”

He waited while you considered your options. You really didn’t have any. You couldn’t lock him out - he had the keys.

“Get out of the car, or I will get you out myself.”

You stepped out cautiously, trying to stay back from him. “I need you to tell me what the fuck is happening. Why did we have to leave the cabin or take my car instead of yours?” you demanded. “I didn’t find anything or go looking for anything.” The last part was obviously a blatant lie, but perhaps he was just fishing when he said that.

He took a deep breath and stood, hands on hips. “Where is the piece of paper you took from the book?”

You did that outside. How could he have possibly noticed? “What piece of paper?”

He took a step toward you. “Now is not the time to play stupid with me. I am already several steps ahead of you, so cut the bullshit. Where is it? What did you do with it?”

Your heart pounded in your ears and your mouth went dry. Fuck. “It’s in my overnight bag,” you began.

He interjected. “Why did you take it?”

“Because I… I was curious about it. There were so many of them, and…” You ran out of excuses and stopped trying to explain. Softer, you asked, “How did you know?”

“Because I know what every single piece of paper in that book says. And one was missing when I looked this morning. Now I know where it went.” He took another step toward you, held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”’

“What for?” Shit shit shit. You hadn’t cleared the website history after your search this morning. The fucking article would probably come right up as soon as you unlocked the screen.

“Are you going to give it to me, or do I need to take it?”

You hesitated for a moment then pulled it out of your back pocket and handed it to him. “Dave,” you said, starting to try to explain away what he’d find.

“Quiet.” He put in your passcode without issue and opened the browser. Sure enough, the article came right up.

“How did you know my passcode?”

“Cameras,” he mumbled. You didn’t believe him for a second as he immediately opened your browser app. He was looking for something specific. He scrolled through and read the article about the murders. Once he finished, he swore under his breath, and opened your email, your Notes app, your texts.

“You have a tracking app on my phone, don’t you?” He continued scrolling through your texts. “Stop looking through my emails and answer me, Dave. Do you have a fucking tracking app on my phone?”

He held your phone out, his eyes meeting yours. “Yes.”

“Why? When did you put it on there?” The panic started to rise when you considered the possibility that he’d been able to track your movements all this time.

“I didn’t put it there. Resnick did.”

“The other day?” Relief that he couldn’t know about your secret shadowing of his wife was likely evident in your voice.

He nodded. “We agreed it was best after seeing that you had been trying to get into the locked room and then had found that book, which was not supposed to be out. He had… reservations… about you. He thought you might be hiding something and wanted to check them out. The rest of us agreed.”

“We? Who is ‘we’? You and your buddies from the other day? You told me this was some kind of government place and that you were working and… do all of you work together?” Your thoughts were going in so many different directions and you voiced them, unable to hold back when that happened.

“And you think I’m the one hiding things? You’ve been recording everything we’ve done in that fucking place, and you think it’s me that is hiding something from you?” Your voice pitched higher with every word. “What the fuck, Dave?”

You felt the switch flip inside you. Rage, confusion, hurt, betrayal, anxiety, all swirled together into an explosive mix that you couldn’t control. You shoved him. He barely moved, so you did it again, harder. This time he was ready, taking tight hold of your wrists. Faster than your body could register, your back slammed against the side of the car, the air knocked from your lungs.

“Calm the fuck down right now,” he all but growled, mere inches from your face. His deep brown eyes were cold and dark, betraying nothing of his emotions.

Your struggle to pull your wrists from his grasp was futile, considering the sheer size and strength of his hands. He slammed you back into the car again. “Keep struggling and you’ll break your own fucking wrists.” You gave up with a whimper.

He waited a moment, brows raised in expectation. “You done?”

You nodded, letting your body go slack against the cold metal. If he hadn’t had a vice grip on you, you’d have probably just dropped to the ground.

“Now listen to me: there are some things I’m going to tell you that you are never to repeat. If I hear them from other people, I will know who they came from, and I will do whatever I need to do to silence them. Are we clear?”

You looked away from him, staring at the way your skin whitened where his fingers pressed into you. You hoped bruises would bloom later.

He shook you, regaining your attention. “Answer me. Are we clear?” You nodded.

“And in exchange for what I’m about to tell you, you are going to explain some things to me.”

“What?” Surely he didn’t know. He couldn’t… right?

Dave let go of you. “You want to go first, then?”

Confused, you shook your head and furrowed your brow. “I don’t…”

“Tell me why you left Atlanta for Boston two years ago.”

Your heart stopped. He did know.

A half-smile formed on his lips as he watched you struggle to find your words, jaw opening and closing like a fish. “Did you want to jump right into the court-ordered counseling to start?”

Fuck. “How do you know?”

“Called in a favor when I met you. Just needed your name and phone number.”

“I left Atlanta because of a… bad break-up.”

He smirked. “You and I both know that isn’t the full truth.”

“You seem to have the answers already. How much did you dig up on me?”

He ignored your question. “I do know about it, but I only know what I read. I want to hear it directly from you.” He stepped toward you, his hand coming up to the side of your neck. “I want you to tell me what you did.” He pressed his fingertips into the back of your neck, thumb under your jaw, turning your face up to his.

“I made a mistake in a desperate state of mind.”

“Taking a bat to your little boyfriend’s car sounds like more than a mistake.”

“Ex-boyfriend. He was my ex by that time. He just left our place one day. I came home and everything was gone. He moved in with some older woman he had been seeing behind my back. For weeks, I tried calling, emailing… sent him letters in the fucking mail. He wouldn’t respond. I just wanted an explanation. So, I found out where he was staying and I went there.”

Dave smiled, seeming to find the story amusing. “With a bat?”

You rolled your eyes. “I wasn’t going to hurt him. I just… needed to get his attention. He came out to talk to me but that bitch he was with got all upset and called the cops.”

“You ended up getting off pretty easy. Couple of restraining orders and therapy?”

“He felt sorry for me, I guess. Or someone did. Either way, he asked the judge to go easy on me. I was required to go to therapy for a while to ‘work on myself’. I did what they wanted me to, and I stayed away from him, but I needed to get out of there. So I came up here.”

Because he seemed satisfied with your answer, you suspected it was highly unlikely he was able to get hold of your medical records from that time or any of your juvenile records. The other stuff had been expunged from your record. You ended your story there. He let go of your neck.

“Why here?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Your turn now. Why are those pieces of paper so important to you?”

“They’re targets. They were targets.”

“Targets?”

He sighed like you should have known what he was talking about. “Marks. Hits.”

“What? Like… through your job with the government? I don’t understand.” You were pretty sure you did understand but it seemed so unbelievable. You had no idea people like him really existed.

“That’s not my only job.” He ran a hand through his hair. “My team-“

“Those assholes who came by the other day?” you interjected.

He tried not to but the corners of his mouth turned up into the smallest of smiles at that. “Kovac and Resnick, and there’s another of us. We take outside contracts.”

“To kill people?” You said it a little louder than you probably should have.

His eyes immediately darted to your surroundings anyway, likely out of habit more than a real suspicion of anyone nearby. “This is why we couldn’t talk in the cabin, by the way,” he hissed. “I can’t have any of this conversation recorded.”

“Did you kill those people in Brussels?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Not me personally. But my team, yes. The kids weren’t supposed to be home.” He took a deep breath. “I wasn’t there and they fucked it up. Timing was off. I went later with the agency, ostensibly to investigate but also to tie up some loose ends.”

“Does she know?” It was impossible to keep the sneer off your face when you asked.

“No. And it stays that way.” He shot you a pointed look. An unspoken threat punctuated his sentence.

“You keep a record of them? In that book?”

“Figured I should start. It helps us keep track of what, where… how much… in a way that’s easily destroyed.” He leaned forward and boxed you in against your car. “Does that answer all your questions? You done with all your nosy bullshit?”

You nodded. “I don’t want to know any more details than that.”

“Plausible deniability?” He grinned, eyes on your lips.

“Something like that. Do your guys know what you were going to tell me?”

He shook his head. “Also why we couldn’t talk in the cabin. Kovac suspected that you might be some kind of investigator or something. That’s why Resnick put the tracker on your phone. When they saw what you searched for online this morning, I got a call. Didn’t see it till after we finished.” His eyes traveled down your body. “I was just supposed to take care of it.”

“Take care of it? So if I were investigating you were supposed to kill me? Why not have one of them do it?”

“I volunteered. I let you get close, my mistake to fix.”

You wanted to ask how he would do it, why it seemed like it would be easy for him. Instead, he changed the subject.

“Why Boston?”

“I chose Boston because I used to visit when I was little and liked it.” Short and simple. No need to elaborate unless he specifically asked.

“Did you visit before or after your mother killed your father?” He wasn’t teasing or playful anymore. His voice settled over you low and serious.

Your chest tightened as a flood of red-stained memories came forth. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“That happened in front of you, didn’t it? When you were 6? You watched her do it.” He was taunting you, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Dave, please,” you pleaded. “I said I don’t want to talk about that.”

He talked over you, his voice steady and words measured, recounting a time you’d long pushed deep down in your psyche and locked away. “You saw her pull the knife across his throat. She nearly decapitated him, didn’t she? I read the reports, you…”

It was as though you suddenly went deaf, because although Dave continued to recount the horrifying details he was able to get his hands on, you didn’t hear a thing. You were there again, refusing to speak to the police that eventually came and pulled you from the pale, lifeless body of your father. You remembered the feeling of being picked up by a burly man in uniform and the sound of your favorite pale pink pajama pants peeling away from the blood-soaked floor. You’d stayed there on the kitchen floor with his body long enough that the fluids had glued the fabric to the linoleum.

The police arrived a few hours after it happened. You never called them, too afraid and in shock to leave your father’s side. They found out after pulling your mother over for speeding, the knife on the passenger seat next to her. She’d apparently just blurted it out when the officer came to her window, said she couldn’t bear for him to embarrass her with his cheating all around town anymore. You still didn’t know what you did to deserve what happened, though.

Later, you responded with only shakes or nods of your head to the “nice ladies” at the station. It was hard for you to speak with the way your teeth chattered from what you later learned was severe shock. You should have been consoled and comforted for the several hours it took your aunt and uncle to come get you. Instead, you sat in that cold, dreary station in clothes from your closet that didn’t match, clutching your Rainbow Brite doll like she could save you from the nightmare happening around you.

You were asked if you were hungry or thirsty or tired. You had no appetite and had been sipping on the same can of Sprite that was given to you when you’d gotten to the station two hours prior. And were you tired? Of course you were fucking tired. You hadn’t slept for nearly a full twenty-four hours. Every time your eyes closed, you heard the gurgling of your dad’s throat as the air escaped his body and recalled the way the blood turned a sickly, horrid brown-black as it dried.

But while you may not have spoken, you did listen. The women whispered about what a shame it was that your mother left you with his dead body and ran, how awful it was that she did it the way she did.

“So much blood… poor thing was just covered in it…”

“Mmm hmmm… One of the officers told me they think she tried to hold the wound on his throat together herself.”

“Oh, how awful ”

How could a mother abandon her own child like that, much less kill her father in front of her? They wondered why she hadn’t killed you, too. Truth be told, you had wondered the same. You still wondered. Sometimes you wished she had.

“STOP IT,” you finally screamed. Consequences be damned, you slapped him, your palm against his cheek making a satisfying noise when it connected. You screamed and screamed at him, your hands striking out at any part of him you could reach. He let you take it out on him at first, your pathetic attempts to transfer your trauma onto his body. Finally, he grabbed you, wrapping you into a tight bear hug with your arms pinned to your sides, and pressed your body against the car door. When you continued screaming, his hand clamped down over your mouth.

“Shhh,” he soothed. Once you’d stopped hyperventilating and your tears slowed, he turned you to face him. He smiled as he brushed away the tears on your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“You need me.”

You looked at him, puzzled.

“I’m the first person who hasn’t treated you like you’re damaged goods, aren’t I?”

He was. Everyone before him - every boyfriend, friend, distant relative, acquaintance - treated you like some delicate little thing. None of them ever knew what to say to you, how to be around you. It was infuriating. Their pitying eyes looking at you with the same expression. Poor thing. How awful. And for all their pity and claims of caring, they always left you to deal with it all yourself, a mess that no one wanted to help clean up.

Dave, though, treated you like you wouldn’t fall apart at his rough touch or crumble at his harsh words. He didn’t hold you with unsure hands. All this time, he knew about the disturbing event that fundamentally changed your life and you forever, and he didn’t run away or try to play white knight.

“Do you need me, too? Is that why you still wanted me even after you found out about everything?” Your voice sounded childlike and small. Weak and pathetic. What you’d spent years trying to keep down and away came back disgustingly quickly for him. A small part of you hated him for it. The rest of you adored him even more for not shying away.

He shrugged. “You know what it feels like. Can’t break any more than we’ve already been broken, right?”

He swiped his thumb across your bottom lip, his eyes following its path as he pulled down to open your mouth for him. Quieter, to himself, he said, “You take everything I give you and still ask for more.”

His thumb pushed between your teeth and instinctively you closed your lips around it, sucking gently. His other hand made its way to your throat, pressing just below your jaw on either side. You moaned softly and leaned into his hand.

“See? Just like that,” he whispered, pressing harder. The edges of your vision became fuzzy and pressure built behind the bones of your face, but you kept it up, sucking at his thumb like you would his cock. You were his best girl, the only one who understood him because she’d seen horrible things just like him.

You felt your knees buckling from the restricted blood flow to your brain, mind staticky and vision sparkling. He let go suddenly, and as the blood pounded back through your skull, his mouth was on yours. He pulled at the button and zipper of your pants while you tangled your hands in his hair, grabbing and pulling to try to get him closer and closer to you.

He shoved his hand down beneath the layers of denim and cotton keeping you from him and rubbed rough circles around your clit. You returned the favor, stroking him through his clothes and feeling him stiffen more with each pass.

He shoved your jeans down, cursing when they reached your ankles, and he fumbled to get one of your boots off. Kneeling before you, he threw your leg over his shoulder, pulled your panties to the side and wasted no time forcing his tongue into you.

Head thrown back, you grabbed hold of his hair in a desperate bid to bring him closer to you and hold him steady as you rolled your hips against his face. He made it clear that his purpose in burying his face between your thighs was solely to make you wet enough to fuck you. His nose nudged your clit as he focused on lapping his tongue over and into your pussy.

Just as that gentle, warm swell began to build low in your belly, he stood, pulled your leg around his waist, and entered you to the hilt in one thrust.

“Oh fuck!” Even with as wet as you were, the initial stretch around him was intense.

He took to fucking you hard and fast, one hand tangling into your hair to pull you into a kiss that was more teeth than lips and tongue. The iron tang of blood filled your mouth as you sank your teeth into his lip, the desire to mark him too strong to resist.

He responded with a growl, pulling you to him just to slam your back against the car again. He pulled almost all the way out of you then drove back in, deeper than before. “Fucking take it,” he demanded. “Take it.”

He tucked his face into your neck where he sucked and licked and bit bruises into the delicate skin there. “You’re mine,” he murmured against you. “Mine… this cunt is fucking mine.” Each word was emphasized with a stroke of his hips.

“It’s yours… I’m yours…” you babbled, clawing at his neck and shoulders, wherever you could get to his skin.

He slowed to lift you higher so you could wrap your other leg tight around his waist. You felt him at a different angle, the head of his cock hitting the exact right spot inside you, and he pushed your shirt up to your chin so he could bite your nipple through the cup of your bra.

His mouth back on yours, you didn’t think he’d ever kissed you this much in all the months since you’d known him. “I’m so close,” you told him, your eyes meeting his. “Please, please, please,” you begged, though you didn’t necessarily know what for.

“Come for me,” he told you, wedging his hand between your bodies to circle your clit. “Come on my cock.”

Your eyes met his and just as your orgasm overwhelmed your body, heart pounding and thighs squeezing his hips, it also overwhelmed your emotions. Your eyes filled with tears as your hips rolled against his and your cunt pulsed around his cock.

“Oh god, Dave, I’m coming,” you gasped. And as you rode it out, wave after wave of you voiced out loud what you’d been feeling for some time. “I love you… fuck, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He looked at you with an expression you couldn’t read, brows furrowed but eyes soft, then pulled out of you and pushed your legs from around him.

“Get on your knees.” He took himself in his fist. “Want to come in your mouth.”

You managed to hold back tears of disappointment at his response, but you knew you shouldn’t have expected him to say it back. In that moment, though, with your heart so full of him you felt it could burst, you’d have done anything he asked. You knelt gingerly onto the gravel, ready to receive his offering. He’d made a mess of you, your jeans still halfway up one calf, one foot booted and the other wearing just your sock, shirt pushed up over your tits, and panties askew. He combed his fingers through your hair, pulling when encountering the many tangles his hands created, and cradled your chin in his hand. You opened for him, tongue slightly out, and he fed you his cock.

You closed your eyes and savored the taste of yourself all over him. His thumb moved back and forth over your cheek, the gesture surprisingly gentle for a man who was fucking into your throat to hear you gag and choke around him. “Open your eyes,” he told you. “Look at me while I fuck your mouth “

You stared up at him, hands braced on his thighs, the muscles tensing beneath your fingertips with every movement. Your hollowed cheeks and moans around him brought him closer to the precipice of his climax with every pass along your soft tongue and into your throat.

“That’s it… fuck, that’s it, baby,” he whispered, eyes dark and intensely focused on yours. “God, you’re fucking beautiful on your knees like this. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

You nodded. It was all you wanted to be: his good girl, his best girl, his only girl. His, his, his.

Dave groaned loudly and you felt the strong muscles of his thighs tense. In response, you flicked your tongue harder and faster up along the underside of his cock, trying your damnedest to make him come. By the sounds he was making, you were close to succeeding.

“Beg me for it,” he said through gritted teeth. “Beg for my cum.”

You pulled your mouth off of him, sucking a little harder around the tip. Between little licks to collect the drops of precum leaking from him while you jerked him slowly with your hand to edge him just a little, you pleaded with him.

“Dave? Please come for me? Please?” You flattened your tongue and slapped his cock against it a few times for good measure before continuing. “I want you to come in my mouth. Let me taste you, daddy.”

And just like that…

“Oh sh-, oh… oh fuck,” he babbled. His mouth dropped open and he shut his eyes tight as he came. You quickly slid him back into your mouth, making him groan from the added stimulation.

You swallowed every last drop of what he gave, watching his face while you did it. And when he finally opened his eyes, you sat back on your heels, beaming proudly up at him.

His good girl. His best girl.