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undersugarnights · 3 months ago

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Too Bad You’re Married…

✦ MDNI — 18+ Only ✦

✧ pairing: ashton irwin x reader

✧ summary: a dangerous meeting with a handsome stranger in a bar leads to the best sex of your life.

✧ warnings: face fucking, unprotected sex, cream pie, squirting, face riding, semi-public sex, rough sex, dom!ash, roleplay

✧ word count: 6.6k

✧ title: mascara — by Deftones

✧ author’s note: BITCH GUESS WHO’S BACKKKKK!! sorry for disappearing chat, it seems as though i had a bit of a writer’s block. the juice i was running on when i pumped out all of the previous fics seems to have run out, but alas here i am! i can’t promise i’ll be as active as i was before, but i hope you enjoy this little blurb because IT WAS SO FUCKING FUN TO WRITE. this was inspired by a certain line in the song mascara by Deftones. stick around till the end, i promise the fluff is worth it.

also, thank u soup for being my other braincell when it comes to writing ashton. you hyping me up helped a ton. ALSO TY FOR CHOOSING THE ASH ERA AND PICTURE AHHHH!!!

anyways leave requests if u want.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The air in the bar was thick—saturated with the cloying scent of cheap perfume and lingering cigarette smoke, all underscored by the raucous echoes of drunken laughter. You tapped your carefully manicured nails against the sticky tabletop, eyes flitting nervously from face to face, cataloging each stranger with uneasy precision.

The thrill of the night buzzed beneath your skin—sharp, electric, almost unbearable. Your heart pounded erratically in your chest as your gaze remained fixed on the bar’s entrance, each passing moment stretching thin with anticipation. Maybe it was the taboo of it all—the unspoken danger, the uncharted territory you’d sworn never to touch—but the butterflies in your stomach had taken flight with dizzying urgency.

The bartender made eye contact with you again—for the third time in ten minutes. You offered nothing back, just lazily nursed your drink, tracing the rim of the glass with a fingertip. Condensation clung to the outside, slick and cool, and you found mild amusement in watching a droplet race downward, faster than the others.

“Must be some evenin’ if you’re entertaining yourself with a damn water droplet.” The voice—low, accented, tinged with amusement—slid into your senses just as he took the seat beside you.

Your eyes flicked to him. Sandy stubble framed a sharp jaw and hollow cheeks, his dark hair falling messily across his brow. And then—those eyes. Bright green, catlike, studying you with lazy precision.

The corner of your mouth curled into a smirk, slow and knowing. Your gaze dropped—right to the glint of a wedding band wrapped snug around his ring finger.

Instinctively, you twisted your own wedding band, the familiar pressure grounding you as a wave of anxiety surged—unwelcome, but far from unfamiliar. You straightened in your seat, spine stiffening, willing your features into something resembling calm.

“I find that the simplest things can be the most surprisingly amusing,” you hummed, voice dipping into something sweet and slow, almost syrupy. Then, you met his gaze head-on. “You’d probably know that if you didn’t strut around like you’re God’s gift to the Earth.”

His eyebrow arched, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face as his tongue dragged across his lower lip. He nodded slowly, accepting the barb with practiced ease. “Terrifying,” he murmured, raising a hand to flag down the bartender.

His emerald eyes flicked back to yours with a lazy sort of confidence, and a single dimple appeared as he smiled. “You want a refill? For a water droplet rematch?”

You took a breath, steady and deliberate, refusing to acknowledge the way his gaze swept over you like muscle memory—lazy, familiar, sure. Like he already knew the answer.

“Get me something stronger,” you murmured, stretching languidly in your seat.

His eyes followed the arch of your back with a quiet, hungry reverence—the kind of look that sent heat cascading through your limbs.

His smile could undo a person. “A woman after my own heart,” he mused, a pleased hum curling beneath his words. “I like that.”

You rolled your eyes as he turned toward the bartender, ordering two whiskeys neat. Presumptuous. But, annoyingly, spot-on.

“I’m sure your wife could agree,” you said, voice cool and edged.

His gaze flickered back to you, the smile still etched effortlessly into his features. “Let’s let bygones be bygones, shall we?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes trailing down to your lips—lingering—before dropping to your hand.

“Unless you want to talk about that massive rock you’ve got on your finger, too.”

You didn’t reply.

He pressed on, tone light, teasing. “That really is quite the ring,” he said, amusement never fading. His gaze sharpened just slightly, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “You must be quite special, hmm?”

You narrowed your eyes, shifting in your seat. “I thought you wanted to let bygones be bygones?”

“You’re right,” he said with a nod, not even a flicker of shame. “My bad.”

Then he pivoted fully, turning to face you—his body leaning in like he’d known you forever. Like this wasn’t something dangerous.

“My name’s Ashton.”

You paused. Then, evenly, “Y/N.”

Ashton pursed his lips in thought before letting a slow grin curl across them. “Y/N,” he repeated, rolling the name across his tongue like he was testing its weight. The way he said it—deliberate, slow, far too familiar—sent a flash of heat cascading down your spine. “Pretty name.”

You shrugged, biting your lip as you toyed with your glass, carefully considering your next move. “For a pretty woman,” you purred, casting him a look from beneath your lashes. “It fits.”

“Damn right it does,” Ashton murmured, taking a slow sip of his drink—his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “So, enlighten me, Y/N… what’s a beautiful married woman doing in a hotel bar at—” He glanced at his watch. “One in the morning on a Saturday, wearing lipstick that screams bite me?”

You inhaled slowly, gaze drifting over him with a lazy, deliberate hunger.

“Maybe I’m looking for a victim,” you mused, voice laced with danger and promise. Then you tilted your head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “What about you? What’s a handsome, married man doing alone in a bar… buying drinks for someone else’s wife?”

Ashton raised his hands in mock surrender, though the easy smile on his lips didn’t so much as flicker. “Just being a good Samaritan,” he said with a casual shrug. “You never know what kind of people lurk around at this hour… or the intentions you might encounter.”

“Oh?” you purred, tilting your head as you blinked up at him with feigned innocence. You slowly rested your arm on the table, exposing the delicate inside of your wrist—the soft skin catching in the low light. His eyes tracked the motion instantly, just as you expected. “And what makes your intentions so different from theirs?”

Ashton’s gaze lingered for a beat too long before lifting back to yours, something darker now swimming beneath the surface of his smile.

“Just looking for a way to kill some time,” he said, tone sincere but low. “Something to help with the jet lag, ya know?”

You hummed softly, lifting your glass of whiskey to your lips. “Jet lag,” you echoed, taking a slow, deliberate sip—Ashton’s eyes tracking every movement with the kind of hunger that would put a starved man to shame. A single bead of amber clung to the corner of your mouth. You reached up, wiping it away with the tip of your finger, and let your lips curl just slightly. “And here I thought you were just bored of your wife.”

Ashton let out a quiet, amused laugh—open, easy, a sound that vibrated in your chest. “She does get a little repetitive at times,” he said with a mock sigh, lifting his glass to his lips.

“Excuse you,” you said, feigning offense, narrowing your eyes as you tilted your head. “I’m sure she’s a lovely woman.”

His smirk deepened, eyes flicking once again to your left hand—your very occupied ring finger. “She sure is. Just like I imagine your husband’s quite the catch.”

You rolled your eyes, resting your cheek against your hand. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Another flash of those damn dimples, and your breath caught just slightly. “The funniest, love.”

You let out a quiet chuckle—soft, reserved, almost unsure. Another sip of whiskey gave you something to do, something to hide behind. “You must be a nightmare at any social event.”

Ashton raised a brow, amused, and leaned into your space without apology. The scent of citrus and musk clung to him—rich, clean, and heady. Your eyes fluttered shut for just a moment, involuntarily letting it sink into your senses.

“Only if the conversation’s dull,” he murmured, glancing down at his glass, swirling the amber liquid with lazy ease. “Or if the wives look… particularly restless.”

“Oh, yeah?” you challenged, leaning in just enough to mirror him. “So tell me, Ashton… what is it that you think I’m looking for?”

He moved slowly, deliberately—lifting one arm and dragging the pad of his index finger down the soft skin of your forearm. The touch was featherlight, but it left a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“I think you’re looking for a thrill,” he whispered, voice dipped in heat. His breath brushed your ear. “Something dangerous. Something to remind you you’re not just someone’s well-kept prize.”

Your pulse spiked.

You turned your head toward him—lips dangerously close, eyes locked. There was no hesitation in your expression. You wanted this. You both knew it.

“Mm. That’s a tempting offer,” you murmured. “You are offering, aren’t you?”

Ashton’s grin was slow and wicked, his head tilting like he was insulted by the question. “Darling, I’m not here to talk about your husband’s diamond preferences—though credit where it’s due, the man’s got taste.”

“Hmm.” You let Ashton hang there, suspended in the tension you both had carefully spun, letting the silence tease him just a little longer. The anticipation only sharpened your craving. “Does your wife know you’re out here complimenting diamond cuts?”

Ashton leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and full of intent. “I’d much rather be doing more than admiring a ring on your finger,” he murmured, each word soaked in heat. You could feel the warmth of him, pulsing between you like a live wire.

Then he pulled back, slowly—reluctantly—and stood. He towered over your seated frame, casting you in shadow and possibility. His hand reached out, gentle yet firm, tilting your chin up until your eyes locked.

“You take control a lot in your life?” he asked softly, like he already knew the answer.

Your gaze held his, unwavering. “I’m looking for something that’ll let me give that up,” you replied, voice low, deliberate. “Is that what you’re here to compliment now? My willingness to obey? My need to surrender?”

His eyes darkened, hunger flickering across his features like a spark hitting gasoline. His jaw flexed, tightly restrained, and you could feel the war inside him—between restraint and abandon.

His eyes kept darting to your lips, and his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom one. For the first time, you saw something shift—surprise, almost awe—behind the heat.

“Do you want me to test just how compliant you are?” he rasped. “Or do you think your husb—”

“Let’s go,” you cut him off, the heat between your thighs finally boiling over. The game was over. “Take me.”

The air felt sucked from the room the moment your words left your lips. Ashton’s mouth parted slightly in surprise, but you knew there would be no hesitation. And there wasn’t.

His hand reached for you—delicate, yet firm—as his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The moment his skin touched yours, heat surged through your body, sealing your resolve.

The bar blurred into irrelevance as he led you past tables, past strangers who didn’t matter. His pace was confident, deliberate—like a man who already knew the outcome.

The hallways were quiet, save for the occasional couple stumbling toward their own late-night regrets, not sparing either of you a second glance.

When the elevator arrived, you tugged Ashton inside without a word, blindly slapping the correct floor button as he pushed you back against the mirror.

The door slid shut just as your spine hit the cold glass. He caged you there, body pressed against yours, hands gripping the railing behind you as if to anchor you. His eyes devoured your face—lips parted, breath shallow, pupils blown wide.

And then he kissed you.

No hesitation. No pause. Just heat.

His mouth crashed into yours, fierce and ravenous, like he’d been waiting all night to taste you. His tongue slid past your lips without resistance, drawing a soft gasp from your throat as he explored you—confident, controlled, hungry.

His hands wandered too—down the curve of your waist, to your thigh, lifting it slowly. One hand slipped beneath the hem of your dress, savoring the heat of your skin, rough fingers skimming delicate lace.

A quiet moan escaped as he bit down on your bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth. He groaned in return when your hips rolled against his, chasing friction like oxygen.

One hand came to your neck, strong fingers bracketing your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, feeling your pulse race beneath the skin. It made your head spin.

The elevator dinged.

You pushed him back—breathless, flushed—and grabbed his hand, fingers lacing tightly with his as you dragged him into the hallway.

“Jesus,” Ashton laughed, voice low and wrecked. “Impatient, are we?”

You stopped in front of the door, turned on your heel, and grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking him down to meet your lips again.

“Just open the fucking door,” you murmured into his mouth, already losing yourself to the next kiss

Not surprisingly, one of Ashton’s hands came up to cup the back of your neck, keeping your lips locked with his as his other hand swiped the keycard and swung the door open.

The two of you backed into the room slowly, the door shutting behind you with a soft click that left no room for hesitation.

Ashton pulled away just enough to shed his jacket, letting it fall to the hotel floor. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the city lights seeping through the open blinds—just enough to see by, just enough to want more.

The green of Ashton’s eyes was almost entirely overtaken by the black of his pupils. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as his gaze dragged down your body, sharp and electric. This was different. This was new.

“Strip,” he said, voice eerily calm. Controlled. “And get on your knees.”

You turned, brow raised in a questioning glance. “What?”

“I said strip,” Ashton repeated, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate step forward. There was no trace of the charming, cheeky man from the bar. This was something darker—something raw, unfiltered, and burning.

You bit your lip, fingers moving behind you to find the zipper of your dress. The seconds stretched, molasses-thick, as Ashton stood still—watching, waiting, hungering.

You slid the dress down your arms, letting the fabric whisper to the floor and pool at your feet.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, stepping closer. His eyes roamed your body like he couldn’t quite decide where to settle. “Keep going.”

Biting your lip, you reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, letting the straps fall slowly down your arms until the fabric slipped to the floor, joining your dress. Ashton had begun circling you like a predator stalking its prey, and the weight of his gaze alone made your thighs instinctively press together in a futile search for relief.

With deliberate slowness, you slid your panties down your legs, stepping out of the lace and nudging your discarded clothes aside. Ashton came to a stop in front of you, and wordlessly, you sank to your knees—eyes locked on his the entire time.

He licked his lips, head tilted slightly, savoring the way anticipation coiled tight in your body. His steps toward you were slow, deliberate, like he was drawing out your need on purpose.

His rough hand cupped your face, his pinky settling just under your jaw, tilting your gaze up to meet his.

“You look good like this, Y/N,” he murmured, voice low and gruff with want. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, then pressed between them, slipping into your mouth without resistance.

“Your husband’s lucky,” he added, dark amusement laced in the words. “Let’s see just how lucky, though.”

Your breath hitched as his hand dropped to his belt, undoing it with the kind of practiced ease that made your pulse stutter. The other hand left your face to pop the button, then the zipper, his movements unhurried and confident as he pushed his jeans just low enough.

He was already hard—thick, glistening, beautiful.

Your mouth watered at the sight.

You looked up at him through your lashes, your breathing shallow as he stepped in closer. Slowly, he pressed the tip of his cock to your lips, the salty taste flooding your senses as his eyes met yours in a silent question.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your lips parted, and you took him in—slowly, deliberately—just the tip at first. Ashton let out a low moan, his head tipping back as he eased deeper into your mouth.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he growled, voice rough with pleasure, one hand sliding into your hair to guide you as he hit the back of your throat.

You let your tongue swirl around him, your hand wrapping around the base to take care of what you couldn’t fit. The weight of him on your tongue was addictive, the stretch of your jaw delicious as you began to move—slow, steady, intentional.

“Oh, fuck,” Ashton groaned, his eyes dark and half-lidded as he watched you. “So fucking pretty… just like I knew you’d be.”

His encouragement only spurred you on. You bobbed your head faster, wrist moving in perfect time as your tongue traced the underside of his tip—right where you knew he was most sensitive.

“God, you look like a fuckin’ dream on your knees,” Ashton gasped, his voice coming out rough and breathless. One hand came to brace against the wall behind you, the other still tangled in your hair, keeping you close.

Your lips were stretched around him, swollen and slick. Spit coated your chin, your cheeks flushed with heat. You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the way his hips twitched slightly with every pass of your mouth.

Then you opened your eyes again—wide, glassy, unafraid—and met his with a look that dared him.

Take it. Take me.

Ashton recognized that look instantly. He smirked, a dark and pleased curve of his lips, and then his hips began to move—slow at first, then harder, faster, more demanding.

He fucked into your mouth with purpose, hitting the back of your throat again and again, and you let him. You gave yourself over to him completely.

“Pretty little thing,” he gritted out, breath ragged. “God, your mouth feels so fucking good.”

You moaned around him, and the vibration made him curse under his breath. It only made him go harder, faster, more desperate. Tears sprang to your eyes from the force, slipping down your cheeks without mercy—raw, messy, beautiful.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Ashton growled, fisting your hair tighter, the pace unrelenting. “You look so fucking pretty with my cock down your throat.”

You could imagine exactly what he saw—your body on your knees, mascara streaked like black lightning across your face, lips swollen and glistening, eyes wet and glassy, mouth full of him. Completely ruined, completely his.

And you loved it.

Without warning, Ashton pulled out of your mouth. You gasped, your throat raw, vision blurred as the world rushed back in too fast. The sudden loss made your body ache.

“You’re such a good little whore f’me,” Ashton panted, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes met his. “But I need to come inside you.”

A whimper escaped before you could stop it. “Please, Ash,” you rasped, your voice hoarse and trembling from the effort of holding him so deep for so long.

“You did such a good job,” he murmured, thumb stroking along your jaw. “Such a good girl. And good girls get rewarded.”

You bit down on your lip, swallowing the moan building in your chest. The slick heat between your thighs was unbearable now, every shift of your body sparking friction you couldn’t ignore. You squirmed, desperate for more.

Ashton leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that stole what little breath you had left. His hand fisted in your hair, anchoring you there as your hands clutched at his shoulders. Your mouths moved together with practiced, hungry precision.

With trembling fingers, you began to unbutton his shirt, pushing his jean jacket off in the same motion. His skin burned under your touch, the heat of him making your own skin feel too tight. His hands found your waist, dragging you into him as the two of you collapsed to the floor in a messy tangle of limbs—your body falling on top of him.

His tongue slid into your mouth again, slow and sure, drawing out a moan that vibrated between your lips. One of his hands roamed your back, the other dropping to squeeze your ass, fingers digging in possessively. The press of his cock between your bodies was firm, heavy, demanding.

You shifted your hips to grind against him, seeking friction, and he groaned against your mouth.

“I want you,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to breathe, “to sit on my face.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs.

“Ride my tongue,” he growled, eyes dark with want. “Until you fucking come. That’s your reward.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, but Ashton’s gaze was already locked on yours—wide, dark, and desperate. Your entire body buzzed like a live wire, and God, you’d dreamed of this. Of his mouth. Of that stubble dragging along the sensitive inside of your thighs.

“Fuck,” you breathed, voice trembling as you took in the sight of him sprawled beneath you—an absolute dream of a man, waiting to worship you.

One of his hands fell away from your back as he propped himself up on an elbow, his eyes burning into yours as he waited.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured, voice low, rough, and sweet like sin. “You don’t get to be shy. Not after you choked on my cock like you were fucking made for it.”

You bit your lip as he leaned back against the floor, lifting a hand to gesture toward his face.

“Up here,” he ordered, voice firm. “Bring that pretty pussy to my mouth.”

There was no hesitation. You moved up his body, thighs bracketing his face as you settled above him. The sight of you—wet, glistening, need dripping from every inch—made Ashton groan like he was in pain.

“God,” he rasped, eyes fixed on you. One hand came up, his finger lightly trailing down your slit, making you hiss. “You’re fucking soaked, baby.”

You began to lower yourself slowly, but it wasn’t fast enough for him. Ashton gripped your hips and pulled you down against his mouth in one swift, hungry motion.

The second his tongue touched you, your moan echoed through the room—loud, helpless. He licked a long, deliberate stripe through your folds, savoring the taste, before circling your clit in slow, maddening motions.

“Oh my—fuck,” you gasped, the words dissolving into a strangled cry as your hands scrambled for purchase on the nearby nightstand.

Ashton’s lips wrapped around your clit, sucking gently, then with a little more pressure. Your hips jerked in response, grinding down instinctively, chasing the searing high he was building with every flick of his tongue.

His stubble burned deliciously against the soft skin of your thighs, only heightening the sensation. He alternated between languid, lazy licks and pulling your clit between his lips, suckling it like he had all the time in the world—and every intention of wrecking you slowly.

Your thighs trembled uncontrollably on either side of his head as you rode the delicious flicks of his tongue. When Ashton groaned into you, the deep vibration sent shockwaves straight through your core.

It felt so good—too good. Your free hand tangled in his dark curls, your head tipping back in pure ecstasy as a crescendo of moans spilled from your lips. He encouraged the slow grind of your hips against his mouth, both hands gripping your thighs as you chased your high.

The room was filled with the sound of wet, sinful pleasure—his mouth working you over with no mercy. You chased every swipe of his tongue, every deliberate kiss to your throbbing clit, your hips stuttering with every stroke.

A deep throb coiled low in your belly, tightening fast as your breathing grew uneven and your moans climbed in pitch.

“Oh God, Ash,” you whimpered, voice cracking on his name. “Your mouth feels so fucking good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Ashton hummed in response, the sound rumbling against you as he squeezed your thighs tighter.

“Come for me,” he growled, voice muffled and rough. “Be a good girl and come all over my fucking face.”

That was all it took.

With one last flick of his tongue, your orgasm slammed into you, stealing your breath and darkening your vision. Your entire body shook, thighs quivering as a sob wrenched free from your throat—his name falling from your lips like a broken prayer.

Your spine arched, hips jerking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Ashton didn’t stop—not for a second—his mouth working you through every pulse, every aftershock, until your cries blurred into whimpers of overstimulation.

By the time you came down, your arms gave out and you collapsed forward, catching yourself on trembling hands. Ashton eased you off his mouth gently, and you rolled off him until you were seated back on the floor, chest heaving.

“Fuck, your wife is lucky,” you muttered, pushing damp strands of hair out of your face as Ashton propped himself up on his elbows, wearing a thoroughly smug grin.

“She is,” he said, voice thick with satisfaction as he sat up and got to his feet. “But I’m here with you… and I’m not finished.”

You blinked up at him, still dazed, trying to piece your mind back together.

Fuck. He never came.

Ashton extended a hand, and you took it. With his help, you stood on shaky legs, and he placed a steadying hand at the small of your back.

“You can handle more, can’t you, sweetheart?” he growled into your ear, sending a fresh shiver down your spine.

He guided you toward the balcony, pushing the glass door open. Warm spring air hit your flushed, naked skin, and you gasped at the contrast—the city lights glowing just beyond the railing, the hum of the night surrounding you like a secret.

“Hands on the railing, babygirl,” Ashton instructed, voice firm as he stepped in behind you and bent you forward.

Your hands flew out to grip the railing, knuckles turning white with anticipation.

Ashton let a hand trail slowly down your spine, the light touch making you shiver. He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?” he murmured, voice low and dark. “And I need everyone in this goddamn city to know it. Got it?”

You bit your lip, nodding eagerly, the thrill of his words pulsing between your legs.

He moved your hair gently over your shoulder, exposing the curve of your neck. His lips followed, soft and deliberate, as he kissed the sensitive skin. You exhaled a content sigh, eyelids fluttering as he scraped his teeth along your pulse point.

Then he sucked—slow, deliberate—drawing a deep mark that made your knees nearly buckle.

You could feel the heat of him behind you, the weight of his cock as it was pressed against your ass. Gently, Ashton adjusted his grip on your hips, the warm night air doing nothing for the goosebumps that decorated your skin at every minor touch.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Ashton groaned, voice thick with lust. “You look so fucking good like this—bent over, gripping the railing, dripping for me like the cockwhore I know you are.”

His hands roamed slowly down your back, spreading you open with a deliberate touch that made your breath hitch. You were completely exposed, completely at his mercy—and he reveled in it.

“Keep those hands right where they are, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. His voice softened just enough to make you melt before his fingers teased your entrance.

You let out a stifled moan, your body already throbbing for him. When he pushed one finger inside, your eyes rolled back.

“So fucking tight still,” Ashton hummed, pleased, like he wasn’t already obsessed with how you felt. “Gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

A second finger joined the first, stretching you out, filling you. The sensation was intense, especially with how sensitive you still were—your climax from his mouth barely in the rearview.

You clenched around his fingers, hips shaking, legs trembling from the effort to stay upright. His pace was unhurried, torturous, and you could feel the smirk on his face even without looking.

Then, without warning, he pulled them out, and you whimpered at the loss.

You heard the slick sound before you even saw it—the unmistakable sound of him sucking your arousal off his fingers.

“Taste like fucking candy,” he groaned.

“Ash, please—” you started, only to be cut off by the slow, maddening drag of his cock teasing your entrance. He rubbed against your clit deliberately, and your knees nearly buckled.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried, hips jerking.

He chuckled darkly behind you. “You like that, baby?” he asked, taunting. “Look at you—clenching around nothing. You’re so damn desperate.”

“Ashton, please,” you begged, voice wrecked. Your fingers tightened around the railing, white-knuckled, as your whole body cried out for him. “I need you.”

And finally, finally, he gave in.

The air left your lungs in a gasp as Ashton pushed inside—inch by inch—stretching you open in a way that made your mind go blank.

He bottomed out with a low, guttural moan. “Oh fuck, that pussy’s perfect,” he hissed. “So tight around me, so wet. You feel fucking amazing.”

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises—marks you knew you’d wear proudly tomorrow.

Then he moved.

Without warning, Ashton pulled back and slammed into you, drawing a loud cry from your throat. The sound was lost in the buzz of the city below—but you knew you were only going to get louder.

His hips were relentless, slamming into yours with the kind of force that had your body jolting forward, the railing shaking beneath your grip. Your cries mixed with his breathy groans, the air between you thick with sweat, heat, and need.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Let them hear you. Let this fucking city know who owns this pretty pussy.”

Your head fell forward, resting against your arm as your body trembled with every deep, punishing thrust. The pleasure was blinding—overwhelming—consuming every thought until the only thing you could register was Ashton’s cock driving into you over and over again.

Your legs barely held you up as Ashton continued to pound into you, merciless and relentless. Your skin buzzed with electricity, every nerve ending alive, your moans dissolving into broken, choked-off cries as each thrust hit deeper than the last.

“Right there, Ash,” you gasped, voice echoing into the open night. Anyone could see you—if they stepped onto their balcony or even glanced out a window, they’d be greeted with the filthy, breathtaking sight of Ashton fucking you senseless.

And Ashton wasn’t faring much better. His composure had shattered, his strangled moans mixing with yours, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the night air.

You were gone—completely undone. Your body no longer felt like your own, just a desperate vessel for Ashton to use, to ruin, to worship with every precise snap of his hips. He kept hitting that spot inside you—over and over—that made your vision blur and stars explode behind your eyes.

Your thighs shook violently, every thrust knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, yes—right there,” you cried, the words barely intelligible, your mouth working around them between moans. But he understood. Oh, he understood.

His grip on your hips tightened like a vice. He knew from the way you were trembling, the way you clenched around him like a vice—you were close. So fucking close.

“You gonna come for me?” he growled into your ear, voice a low, filthy rasp. Each word was punctuated by a brutal thrust that had your hands gripping the railing like your life depended on it. “I can feel it. This tight little pussy’s begging for it. Begging for me to fuck it dumb.”

A choked sob ripped from your throat just as Ashton’s hand left your hip and slipped between your thighs. His fingers found your clit instantly, rubbing tight, ruthless circles that made your back arch and a scream claw its way from your chest.

The only sounds were your cries, the wet slap of your bodies, and Ashton’s ragged breathing at your neck.

“You’re gonna milk my cock dry, aren’t you?” he snarled. “Fucking wring every last drop out of me, you dirty little whore.”

You bit your lip, mustering just enough strength to nod—but even that felt impossible. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming every thought, every breath, every nerve in your body. Words were out of the question.

“Come for me,” Ashton snarled, his fingers rubbing ruthless circles on your clit. “Fucking come for me. Make a mess, baby—I wanna feel you soak my cock.”

With one final, devastating snap of his hips, your body seized up and you screamed his name into the night. Hot, blinding, electric pleasure crashed over you like a wave, so intense it shattered every thought. You were reduced to nothing but a gasping, writhing mess—your back arching, toes curling, mouth open in a silent cry.

And then it hit.

Just as your orgasm peaked—when you thought there couldn’t possibly be more—your body let go completely. A powerful gush spilled from between your legs, soaking your thighs and Ashton’s hips, the force of it making you collapse against the railing with a broken moan.

“Holy fuck,” Ashton breathed, voice wrecked, completely stunned. “That’s it, baby—good fucking girl. Squirt all over me. Goddamn.”

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The sight of you losing control like that only pushed him further. His thrusts turned savage, unrelenting, and your legs gave out beneath you. Ashton didn’t falter—his hands clamped around your hips, holding you upright as your body went limp.

“Look at this pussy,” he panted, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder. “Fucking soaked for me. You’re a mess, Y/N—the hottest, filthiest fucking mess I’ve ever seen. And I’m not stopping till I’ve come so deep it drips out of you for days.”

You whimpered, exhausted and overstimulated, but fuck if his words didn’t light you up all over again.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, chest pressed to your back, one hand gripping the railing while the other snaked around to hold you still. “You drenched me, sweetheart. You’re mine. You hear me? This pussy—this sloppy, dripping, perfect fucking pussy—belongs to me.”

“Only to you,” you managed to breathe, voice raw as another moan tore from your throat. “It’s yours, Ash. No one else’s. Ever.”

He groaned like he was losing his mind, lips dragging across your skin as he chased his own release. “Fuck, you look like sin,” he growled. “Bent over like a perfect little slut, dripping down my cock, soaking my thighs—you love this, don’t you?”

After a particularly brutal thrust, you let out a strangled gasp.

“I fucking love it,” you sobbed. “I love how deep you are. I love how you ruin me.”

That was all he needed.

One hand fisted in your hair, yanking your back flush to his chest as his other hand slid up to grab your tits, fingers rolling your nipples between them as your head fell back against him.

“God, you’re so fucking filthy,” he hissed into your ear. “Still begging for my cock even though you can barely stand. You squirted all over me and you’re still taking it like a good little whore.”

You moaned loud and broken—speech long gone.

“You want it?” he growled, cock throbbing inside you. “You want me to fill up this tight little cunt? Pump you full until you’re leaking down your thighs?”

“Please, Ash,” you begged, vision swimming. “Come inside me. Fill me up—I want to feel it dripping out. I want your cum fucking everywhere.”

He snapped.

With a loud, guttural groan, Ashton slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock twitched deep inside. You could feel the heat of it—thick, hot spurts filling you, spilling into every inch.

“Fuck—fuck, take that,” he gasped, grinding into you through every last pulse. “Take my cum, baby. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full. This pussy was made to be ruined by me.”

You cried out, shaking as the warmth of his release spilled out of you, dripping instantly down your thighs. His hips jerked through the aftershocks, unwilling to let go of the moment.

He stayed there, pressed tight against your back, panting hard, fingers bruising your hips as he came down.

Finally, with a low groan, he pulled out—and the slick sound of his cum dripping out of you made him hiss through his teeth.

Before your legs had the chance to give out, Ashton scooped you up effortlessly, one arm behind your back, the other under your thighs. You sagged into him, boneless and ruined, as he carried you back inside.

He kicked the balcony door shut with his foot, his lips brushing your temple as he carried you through the room. Slowly, he walked you over to the bed and laid you down with care, then padded into the bathroom to grab a towel.

Your mind was still a haze of afterglow and overstimulation, but clarity gradually returned. The trembling in your legs faded, replaced by a deep, warm relaxation that spread through your entire body.

When Ashton returned, he wore a dopey, satisfied smile as he sat beside you. He gently spread your thighs, the towel in his hand already damp with warm water. With careful, tender motions, he began cleaning you up—wiping away the mix of arousal and cum with quiet focus.

You hissed when the fabric brushed over your still-sensitive skin, and Ashton’s head immediately shot up. A stray black curl fell over his eyes as he checked your face for any sign of discomfort.

You slowly sat up, your hand reaching for him. With a soft touch, you brushed the hair from his face. His expression softened as your fingertips skimmed his cheek.

“That was fun,” you murmured, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips.

Ashton grinned, setting the towel aside on the nightstand. “Yeah, it was.” He paused, eyes gleaming with mischief as he added, “Too bad you’re married…”

You arched a brow, already bracing for it.

“To me,” he finished with a shit-eating grin.

You let out a dramatic groan, dropping your head to his shoulder. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

He burst into laughter, clearly pleased with himself. “Oh, baby, come on!” he said, cupping your face with both hands and forcing you to meet his eyes. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t the hottest sex we’ve ever had.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into his touch, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm. “Maybe,” you grumbled. “But did you really have to keep bringing up the wedding band you picked out mid-fuck?”

Ashton grinned, entirely unashamed. “I really outdid myself, what can I say?”

Your glare was unimpressed. “I pity your wife.”

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, his teasing fading into something tender. He tilted his head, studying you with the kind of reverence that could only come from someone completely, hopelessly in love.

“She loves me,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nuzzling deeper into his hand. “I do.”

Ashton smiled, flashing you a dimple. “I love you too, baby.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷