#HES SO HOT PLSSSS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

killerplink · 28 days ago

Text

HOMECOMING

Pairing: Roy Harper x Female Reader

Plot: Roy's finally home after three long weeks, and you're not wasting a second apart. You missed his touch, his voice, the way he f*cks you like he means it, and tonight, you're making up for every minute.

Words: 9,3k

A/N: so uhm... 🥹 at some point some of you asked if I'd ever write for anyone other than Jason and Dick and I was like "nah I'm too obsessed" and then *cough cough* and THEN, Pinterest decided to show me some Roy Harper panels and my brain short circuited and went "this redheaded menace is so fucking hot and you WILL write for him" and uhm... I did. I spiraled. I wrote. I have zero regrets. hope y'all enjoy this horny little detour, besties 🏃🏻‍♀️

You're pacing around the apartment, practically vibrating with need.

It's been three weeks—twenty one fucking days too long without Roy. No lazy mornings tangled in the sheets, no filthy little whispers in your ear before bed, no warm weight of him sprawled half on top of you like you're his favorite pillow. Just the cold, empty space in your bed and the stupid ache between your legs that not even your own fingers can chase away right. Not the way he does.

Sure, he made sure to talk every night. Sweet little check ins, low raspy voice through the phone saying, "Miss you, baby. You doin' okay?"

There were even some breathless video calls, camera tilted just right while you touched yourselves together, whispering each other's names and pretending it was enough. But it's not.

You're so fucking pent up you can barely think straight, and it's all hitting you at once now that you know he's almost home. Your phone buzzed earlier, just a casual, "On my way, sweet girl", like he didn't just break you with five fucking words.

And now you're here, fresh from an everything shower and after digging through your whole lingerie drawer only to end up in one of his old t-shirts—because let's be real, he'd just rip anything else off anyway—pacing the living room, heart racing, thighs pressed tight every time you think about how desperate you are to feel his mouth, his hands, his dick.

You pause by the couch, biting your lip. You hadn't realized how much not sleeping next to him had fucked with you. You couldn't even rest properly these past few weeks, just rolled around at night in a nest of pillows, trying to trick your body into thinking it was him, but it didn't really work. Nothing works except Roy.

He's gonna be just as bad, you know that. That man clings like a damn koala when he's home, always got some part of him wrapped around you. Arm over your waist, leg slung over yours, face nuzzled into your neck while he murmurs half asleep all kinds of sweet nothings.

God, it's already been an hour since he texted, and you've been watching the clock like your life depends on it. Every little sound outside has your heart leaping into your throat, and you're this close to calling him, not even for an update, just to hear his voice, to make sure he's real and on his way and not just something you've been imagining for the last three weeks with your fingers stuffed between your thighs and your heart cracked wide open.

You're heading toward your phone when you hear the jingle of keys at the door.

Then comes a soft curse from the other side, metal fumbling against metal like he's trying to get the damn thing in the lock and not having the best luck. He's always been a little shit with keys when he's tired, and that sound—that exact sound—sends something wild rushing through your chest.

You don't even think, you fucking bolt. Your bare feet slap against the hardwood as you rush to the door, yanking it open just as Roy finally manages to get the key turned, and then he's there. In the flesh. Broad shoulders, wind tousled red hair, bag slung over his shoulder, that worn leather jacket, and a tired, hungry look in his eyes that softens the second he sees you.

You don't give him time to speak, instantly launching yourself at him, and he drops his bag, catching you effortlessly, arms locking around you as your legs wrap tight around his waist, hands tangling into his hair like you need to touch him just to believe it.

"Fuck, baby," he huffs out with a low chuckle, stumbling inside as the door swings shut behind you both. "Knew you were gonna hit me like a damn freight train."

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut as you breathe him in—leather, smoke, that stupid cologne he knows you like. Your heart is going a mile a minute and your grip on him is borderline bruising, but Roy doesn't even dare to complain.

One arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you flush against his body, while the other snakes up your back to cradle your head, his palm splayed wide as if he's trying to cover every inch of you.

"I missed you, Roy," you whisper, breath hitching against his skin. "Missed you so fucking much."

He exhales hard through his nose, lips brushing your hair. "Yeah? Missed you too, sweet girl. So much it fuckin' hurt."

And God, he sounds wrecked. Not just tired, but starved. For you. For your skin, your scent, your warmth. His arms tighten around you again—gentle, like he doesn't quite trust himself not to crush you—and he just stands there, right in the doorway, breathing you in like he's been drowning for weeks and finally got to come up for air.

You don't even realize how long you've been clinging to him until your heart starts to calm just enough to breathe again. Your hands slide through his hair, fingers tugging gently, and you finally lean back, just enough to look at him. His face is flushed, eyes heavy lidded and fixed on you like you're the only thing on the damn planet.

And then you kiss him, crashing your lips into his with all the weight of the last three weeks behind it. It's messy and eager and needy, and he doesn't even hesitate—his lips part instantly, like he was just waiting for you to give him the green light to fall apart. His tongue brushes against yours, and you moan into his mouth, swallowing the sound of his own as you suck on it just to make him feel how badly you missed the taste of him.

You can feel the shiver that runs through him, feel the way his hands shift under your thighs and then move up, gripping your ass in both hands like he's been fantasizing about it every goddamn night. Which, he has.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters against your lips, voice low and frayed at the edges. His fingers dig in harder, palms rough and warm on your bare skin. "You tryin' to kill me, baby?"

You just hum against his mouth, hips giving a little roll against him, just enough to feel it. That perfect dick, already straining against his jeans, rubbing against your bare, needy pussy like it belongs there. And it does.

The heat of his cock makes you gasp into his mouth, eyes fluttering as you tighten your hold around his shoulders. You weren't ready for how fucking good it would feel, even through his clothes. You weren't ready for how your body would light up the second he touched you like this.

And Roy? He's just trying to breathe. He's been going crazy these past few weeks. He missed you so fucking much. He missed your lips, missed the way you kiss him like you're starving, like you're trying to swallow him whole. Missed your hands in his hair, tugging at the strands when he kisses you. Missed the weight of you in his arms.

And now you're here. Warm and slick and so fucking wet for him already, the heat of your pussy grinding down on his cock like you're trying to mark him through the fabric. Like you're gonna burst if he doesn't fuck you soon.

"Fuck, trouble," he pants, forehead pressed to yours, hips bucking up into you once, rough and needy. "Gonna fuckin' cum in my pants at this rate."

"Roy..."

His name leaves your lips in a moan that's all breath and heat and broken need, and fuck if that doesn't go straight to his dick. He's got both hands on your ass, kneading it, gripping it like he's not sure whether to hold you tighter or just tear the damn shirt off you already. You can feel every slow drag of his cock beneath you as he grinds up into you—hard and hot and perfect, even through the denim.

He groans again, jaw tight as he kicks off his boots, barely managing to toe them off without stumbling. But he doesn't stop moving. Doesn't stop kissing you, doesn't stop rutting up against you.

His brain is absolute fucking mush, straight up short circuiting. Bedroom? Bed? Couch? Fuck that. He can't think that far right now. The only thing in his line of sight that can support your weight is the living room table, and that's exactly where he goes.

He steps in, crowding you up against it, and your ass meets the cold surface with a little gasp that makes his cock twitch hard in his jeans.

"Oh shit, sorry, baby," he breathes, but you're already tugging him in, not caring in the slightest.

One of his hands flies to the back of your neck, guiding you into another kiss—hot, open mouthed, messy. He kisses you like he's starving, like he's dying and you're the only thing that'll keep him alive. Lips plush, tongue greedy, teeth catching your bottom lip before he sucks on it. Your fingers tangle in the collar of his jacket, dragging it off his shoulders as you writhe beneath him, the kiss all tongue and spit and helpless little whines.

The second his arms slip out of the sleeves, the jacket hits the floor with a heavy thud, but his hands are back on you in an instant. Gripping your thighs, your waist, anything he can get his hands on, really.

Your legs lock around his hips again as he pushes in close, grinding against you harder, faster. The thick ridge of his cock drags right through your soaked folds and your slick is everywhere, soaking through the front of his jeans with every filthy, desperate little rut.

"Fuck," he mutters, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. "Y'gonna ruin my fuckin' jeans, baby. Feel that? You're so wet, Jesus Christ."

But even as he teases you, he loves it. Loves how wet you get for him, loves how needy your little pussy is when he's been gone too long. His cock is so hard it hurts, boxers clinging to him from how much precum he's leaked already, but he doesn't give a shit. Nah, he can't even think about getting his dick out yet.

Because all he can fucking think about is how long it's been since he had his tongue buried in your pussy.

Three goddamn weeks. That's twenty one nights of jerking off in some shitty safehouse, fingers wrapped around his dick while he groaned into his pillow, thinking about the way you sound when you cum on his face.

Twenty one fucking nights without feeling your thighs trembling around his head, without tasting how sweet you get for him, without you grinding on his mouth, whimpering like you're losing your mind. He needs it. Desperately.

"Lay back for me, baby," he murmurs against your lips, all needy and hungry. "Let me taste you. Shit—I need it. Missed this sweet little pussy so bad..."

And God, you're already melting for him. You whimper the second he pulls back, even though it's only a little, even though you know what's coming because the absence of his body feels unbearable after feeling him again. But he's not gone for long. Just enough to grab the hem of the t-shirt you're wearing and drag it up and over your head in one smooth pull.

Your nipples are already hard, your chest rising and falling with shallow, desperate little pants, and Roy's brain just... shorts out. His hands come up like he's on autopilot, big palms cupping your tits with reverence, with possession, thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, teasing circles that make your thighs twitch.

"Fuckin' hell, baby..." he mutters as he leans in, eyes locked on your tits like he's about to devour them. "You're so goddamn pretty. Missed these tits so much."

And then his mouth is on you. He licks one of your nipples first, slow and deliberate, flat of his tongue swiping over the sensitive bud before his lips close around it with a wet pop. The heat of his mouth makes you moan, your back arching, pressing more of your tits into his face like you need him to bury himself there—and he fucking does.

He groans, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his thumb keeps teasing the other, tongue swirling, flicking, mouthing every inch of your breast.

"Fuck, baby, you're so sweet," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin. "Love these tits. My perfect girl."

Your fingers bury themselves in his hair again as you shiver under the attention, head tipped back, thighs trembling around his waist. But he doesn't stop. His mouth moves to your other nipple, giving it the same greedy treatment—licking, sucking, moaning into your skin like he's getting drunk off it before he starts kissing his way down.

Down your sternum, over your stomach, his lips soft and hot and slow. He licks along the curve of your waist, his hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, kneading your thighs like he can't wait to spread them open. He sinks to his knees in front of you like it's instinct, like it's the only thing his body knows to do.

And the moment he gets a look at your pussy—already glistening, so fucking wet you're dripping onto the table beneath you—he groans.

"Jesus, baby," he breathes, voice full of reverence and pure lust, his thumbs spreading your lips open so he can get a full view. "You're fuckin' soaked. Look at that pussy. Missed me that bad, huh?"

You clench around nothing at the sound of his voice, already trembling with need, and he sees it. Watches your pussy flutter like it's begging for his mouth, and that's it. That's all it takes. He's fucking gone.

Roy dives in without a second of hesitation, tongue darting out to give you one long, slow lick from your slick little hole all the way up to your clit, the flat of it dragging through your folds, and he moans right against your pussy.

"Fuckin' knew you'd still taste this sweet," he pants, mouth already back on you, licking and lapping and sucking like he's been in the desert for three weeks and your pussy is the only goddamn water source. "Missed this. Missed you."

And you're already shaking because Roy eats pussy like he's on a fucking mission.

His mouth is everywhere—lips wrapping around your clit as he sucks, wet and messy, tongue flicking over the swollen bud in fast little strokes that make your back arch and your fingers yank hard on his hair.

And fuck, when you do that? He moans—a deep, desperate sound that vibrates through your whole body—and it makes your pussy throb, makes your hips jerk up into his face.

"Ohh fuck, Roy—" your voice is ragged, gasping, wrecked already. You're panting, writhing, barely able to hold yourself up on your elbows while his mouth works you over. "Right there, baby, holy shit—"

You're so fucking close you can feel it. Your clit is swollen, pulsing with every flick of his tongue, and it's almost too much, too sharp, too intense, too fucking good. You're leaking all over his mouth, slick dripping down to his chin, your slit wet and aching, and he's making such a mess of you.

Then his tongue slides lower. You let out a shaky little moan when he licks down through your folds and fucks his tongue into your pussy—deep and slow at first, and then harder, faster, like he's trying to tongue fuck the orgasm out of you.

And it's so wet. His spit and your slick mixing, drool running down his chin as he thrusts his tongue in and out of your hole, groaning every time your walls clench around it.

Every moan you let out, every whimper and curse and breathless gasp, he feels it in his dick. Feels it pulse through his jeans, soaked with precum, the ache unbearable, but he doesn't stop. Doesn't even think about stopping.

Because Roy Harper's got a problem, aaand it's between your thighs. He's obsessed. Fully, helplessly addicted to making you cum on his tongue. Doesn't care how hard he is, doesn't care if he's leaking through his fucking jeans, his only priority is you falling apart under his tongue.

He lives for it. For the taste of you, the feel of your pussy clenching around his tongue, the sounds you make when he does it just right. And the way you look at him—eyes half lidded, mouth parted, sweat on your brow—it drives him fucking wild.

He keeps flicking his eyes up, checking your face like he always does. Making sure you're still coming undone for him, that your thighs are shaking, that you're using his mouth just how he loves.

"That's it, baby," he pants, pulling back just enough to breathe before he dives in again, sloppier this time. "Tastes so fuckin' good… c'mon, pretty girl, cum on my fuckin' tongue—lemme have it."

His tongue slips out of your pussy with one last languid lick, your walls clenching around the empty space he leaves behind, and then he's back on your clit.

Sucking hard, lips sealing around it, the tip of his tongue flicking fast, hot little taps that make your thighs twitch. And then you feel his fingers. Two of them, thick and calloused, slick with your arousal as he sinks them inside you like he knows your body better than you do. And he does.

"Roy," your voice breaks into a moan as your head drops back onto the table with a dull thud, legs falling open wider to take him deeper.

He's curling his fingers with each pump, stroking that spongy spot inside you like he's trying to milk your orgasm out of you, all while his mouth stays locked to your clit—licking, sucking, moaning.

And oh God, the sounds. The wet, filthy squelch of his fingers fucking into your soaked pussy, the slurp of his mouth on your clit. Your moans, high and gasping, getting louder with every second. You can barely breathe, barely think.

Your hips start moving without you even realizing it, grinding against his face, desperate for more, for everything. Your pussy clenches hard around his fingers, slick gushing around them, and he groans into you like it's his favorite fucking song.

"Fuck—Roy, fuck, I'm gonna—" you sob, eyes fluttering shut, nails clawing at the table as your whole body coils tight.

And then it hits. Your orgasm crashes through you, sharp and overwhelming and so fucking deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. You cry out—loud and shameless—as you grind your clit against his mouth and your pussy clenches wildly around his fingers.

You're shaking. Full body trembles, thighs twitching around his head, hands flying to his hair like you don't know whether to pull him closer or shove him away.

But Roy doesn't stop. No, he's obsessed, completely fucking gone. He keeps sucking on your clit, keeps fucking his fingers into your spasming cunt like he wants to wring every last drop of pleasure out of you. Moaning into your pussy, licking you through it, soaking his face, smaller aftershocks tearing through your nerves, your slick dripping down his wrist, making a mess on the table under your ass.

"Roy—baby—I can't—"

You're gasping, voice wrecked, chest heaving as overstimulation starts to hit.

Your clit throbs under his mouth, every flick of his tongue sending sharp little shocks through your spine. And usually? You love it. Usually you'd let him keep going, let him tease another orgasm out of you while you cry through it. But right now? You need his dick.

You squirm, moaning again, fingers tugging hard at his hair. "Roy—baby, I need you—fuck—I can't—I need it, please—"

He groans against your pussy, nose pressed to your mound, but you're twitching, panting, too sensitive to take any more, and finally you yank him away from your clit with shaking hands.

He pulls back, lips wet, chin slick, his pupils blown wide as he pants against your thigh, fingers still slowly fucking into you.

He presses hot, open mouthed kisses to your skin, your inner thighs damp with arousal, your body limp and needy on the table.

"Please, baby," you whimper, voice all soft and wrecked, thighs trembling as your hands cling to his hair, "fuck me... please..."

Roy lets out a low, broken groan like he's trying to stay calm, but then he dips his head and sinks his teeth into your thigh, sucking a bruise right into the soft skin just inches from your swollen, wet pussy. You twitch and gasp, hips rolling up toward him, and he groans again, his mouth still hot against your skin.

He pulls back, breath ragged, and his fingers slide out of your still clenching cunt with a wet, obscene schlick. He doesn't even think, just lifts them to his mouth and licks them clean, tongue dragging over each finger.

And then his mouth is on yours. You moan into it immediately, hands threading into his hair, dragging him down as his lips crash into yours. The kiss is deep, messy, tongue and teeth and desperation, and you whimper when you taste yourself on him—salty and sweet and so fucking much. His tongue licks into your mouth like he owns it, groaning when you suck on it, both of you grinding against each other.

His hands are already on his jeans, fumbling with the button, the zipper, like he can't get them down fast enough. You hear the rough clink of metal, the drag of denim, and then he shoves them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock.

And God, you feel it. The heat of his dick, heavy and hard, dragging across your soaked folds, and you moan into his mouth, your whole body arching off the table as the head of his dick catches on your clit.

"Oh my God—" you gasp, breaking the kiss as your eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide.

Roy groans like he's in pain, forehead pressed to yours, hips rolling slow and filthy between your thighs. His cock drags through your slick, the head sliding back and forth, smearing precum over your already soaked pussy.

"You feel that, baby?" he rasps, voice dark and fucked out, one hand gripping your thigh as he rolls his hips again, "how wet you are? That's all for me, huh?"

You nod frantically, gasping, "Y-yeah, all for you—fuck, Roy, you're so hard—please, just—"

He cuts you off with another kiss, all tongue and groans, grinding his cock harder between your folds, the head nudging your clit again and again, until your whole body is shaking from the pressure.

"God, I missed this pussy," he growls against your mouth, "missed how she fuckin' melts for me..."

You pant into his mouth, barely able to kiss him back at this point, lips trembling against his as you whisper, "Please, Roy... I need you inside me—please, baby, I need it."

He lets out a breathless, choked off curse, his hips jerking forward instinctively like your words pulled the movement out of him. "Fuckin'shit..."

He reaches down, his cock thick and throbbing as he fists it, lining up with your soaked, fluttering entrance. You can feel the heat of his dick, that heavy weight just resting against you, and your hips roll up in pure desperation as he groans like he's about to lose it already.

"God damn, look at you, pretty thing," he breathes, one hand sliding into your hair, cupping the top of your head, holding you close, "you're fuckin' perfect, baby—so soft, so ready for me... always are."

The thick head of his cock stretches you open slow, dragging against your slick walls, and both of you shudder—your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your moans spilling into each other's mouths.

"F-fuck, Roy—" your voice breaks into a gasp, and he swears under his breath, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut as he sinks deeper.

"Jesus—tight," he pants, voice all fucked out and shaking, "this pussy's still so fuckin' tight, even after all that—shit, I missed this, baby."

You whimper, arms tightening around his neck as his hips roll forward again, slow and deep until he bottoms out—all the way, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

The stretch is unreal, perfect and overwhelming, and your pussy clings to him like it's been starved for this. You're both trembling, breath mingling in hot little gasps, your walls fluttering around him as he stills for a second, groaning low against your neck when he feels you squeeze around him, tight and pulsing like you're trying to milk him already.

"Fuck," he murmurs, voice thick with need, "You feel—shit—baby, you feel so fuckin' good. This pussy's got a fuckin' chokehold on me."

You moan at that, hips twitching against his as you grip him tighter. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your legs wrapped around his waist, holding him there, keeping him deep. Every inch of him buried inside, stretching you open so perfectly you could cry.

He doesn't move yet—he can't—just grinds in tiny, slow circles that make your head spin, the base of his cock nudging all the right places while your pussy clenches down around him.

He kisses you again, slow and lazy, tongue sweeping into your mouth, groaning into every little gasp you give him as he finally starts to move.

Long, deep thrusts, like he's trying to feel every inch of your tight little cunt, his cock dragging against your slick walls, making you cry out every time he pulls back just to slide in deeper.

His hand stays in your hair, keeping your forehead against his as he fucks you, the other sliding down to grip your thigh, holding you wide open for him.

"Taking me so good, baby," he rasps, eyes locked on yours, "fuck, this sweet pussy's made for me, huh?"

You pant against his mouth, noses brushing, lips barely parted between gasps as you breathe out, "Yes—"

He groans, low and shaky, like your voice pours straight into his cock. His lips brush yours, tender and breathless. "God, I've missed you so much," he says, barely more than a whisper, hips pressing forward in another slow, deep thrust.

You cry out, head tipping back just a little as your back arches off the table, and he chases your lips, his hand tightening in your hair to keep you close.

"I missed you too, baby," you moan, breath hitching with each grind of his hips, "so fucking much."

You feel everything—his lips brushing yours, his hands gripping you like you're the only thing keeping him upright, the hot weight of his cock grinding into your soaked, fluttering pussy. He bottoms out again, slow and deep, and your mouth falls open, eyes fluttering shut.

"God, you feel so good—"

That earns you a sharp inhale through his nose, his mouth ghosting over yours as he rocks into you again, slow but deep, each thrust forcing needy little sounds out of your throat.

"Yeah, baby?" he murmurs, voice wrecked. "You missed this dick, huh?"

"Y-yeah, fuck—"

"My sweet, good, hot fucking girl," he groans, hips slamming forward just a little harder, like he can't help himself anymore. "You got no clue what you do to me."

You swear your pussy clenches around him even tighter just from the way he says that.

His dick is drenched—slick, obscene, wet sounds filling the room every time his hips slap into yours. You can feel how soaked he is, how your pussy just keeps milking him, precum spilling and mixing with everything dripping down your ass. Every slow drag of his cock makes you twitch, and he's so thick, so hot, pulsing with every stroke like he's losing it inch by inch.

Your thoughts are a messy tangle because yeah, you missed his dick. The stretch of it, the way it fills every part of you, hits every sweet spot like it knows your body better than you do.

But it's him—his lips on yours, the way he holds you like you're something precious, the soft, desperate moans he makes into your mouth. His eyes locked on yours like he needs to watch your face. The way he fucks you slow like he's trying to memorize you from the inside out.

Every single part of him. His weight pressing into you, the smell of him, the warmth of his body, the feel of his calloused fingers brushing your skin as he whispers praise into your mouth.

You swear you could cry from how good it feels, how badly you needed this. Roy's hips rock into you again, slow and deep, dragging a broken moan out of your throat as he grinds against your clit. You're so wet, the slick squelch of your pussy echoing every time he sinks into you—it's filthy, raw, like the sounds alone could make him lose it.

He watches your face like he's starved for it, like the sight of you all flushed and desperate beneath him is the only thing that's kept him breathing the past three weeks. Your lips are parted, glossy from kissing him, moaning so pretty for him, all soft and whiny. You're fucking glowing, flushed and damp and trembling and perfect.

God, he missed this. Missed you.

He never stops thinking about it—about you. Not when he's out there, not when he's trying to sleep in some shitty cot somewhere, not even when he's jerking off to your voice in his ear while you moan his name through the phone.

Yeah, he's gotten himself off—fuck, he had to—but it's not the same. It never fucking is. His hand doesn't feel like you. Doesn't squeeze and flutter and pull him back in like your pussy does. Doesn't make him feel like he's home.

You moan again, soft and needy, and his whole body jerks, a growl rising from his chest as he grinds deep into you, just a little firmer, like he can't help it. Your pussy is so wet, soaking his cock, slick gushing out of you with every slow thrust.

He can feel the way your walls clench every time he drags over that spot inside you, the way your breath hitches when he grinds down right against your swollen clit.

His balls are tight, his dick twitching inside you, but he bites back the groan because he's not fucking stopping. Not until he makes you cum again. He needs it. Needs to watch you fall apart on his cock. Again. Slowly. Properly.

His voice is low, rough, nearly trembling when he murmurs, "That's it, baby... taking me so good..."

Your thighs twitch around his hips, and he moans as your pussy flutters around him, that delicious squeeze making his hips stutter.

“Fuck, you're perfect. Feel so good, baby. So warm, so wet," he pants, his forehead pressed against yours. "Could stay buried in this pussy all night."

And he means it. God, he means every word. He's obsessed—utterly, shamelessly obsessed—with every part of you. How you sound, how you smell, how you feel wrapped him, around his dick. He'll give you whatever you want, over and over again, but right now?

Right now, he just wants to keep fucking you like this.

"Look at you," he whispers, hips rocking into you again, dragging out another desperate moan. "My pretty fuckin' girl. So needy for me, huh?"

You brush your lips over his, a breathless little whimper caught between your panting as you gasp out, "Roy, baby... I need your cum... please—"

And that's it. That's all it takes. He fucking snaps.

His cock twitches deep inside you, and suddenly he's fucking you a little harder, a little faster, just like your needy little voice told him to. Every wet slap of skin against skin is filthy, your slick leaking down to the table with each stroke of his thick cock.

"Fuck, baby—fuck, you want it that bad?" he moans, voice cracking as he buries himself deep again, your pussy sucking him right back in like it owns him.

And it does. It fucking does. His thrusts grow desperate, hips jerking as his dick throbs deep inside you, the head swelling just before he spills, moaning into your open mouth like he's losing his mind.

"Take it, baby," he pants, eyes squeezed shut, forehead against yours, "fuckin' take all my cum—"

His cock pulses, and you feel every hot, thick spurt of cum filling your clenching pussy, each throb making you cry out as it hits deep inside you. You're already so close, your clit aching, your walls fluttering, and the second you feel him fill you, feel that warm gush deep inside? You snap too.

Your orgasm crashes into you all at once, a full body tremble that has your back arching, your pussy squeezing down on him, milking every last drop. Your thighs shake around his hips, breath catching as you gasp his name again and again, almost sobbing as the pleasure takes over.

He feels the way your cunt flutters and spasms around his cock, still trying to suck him in, and it drives him insane. He moans into your mouth again, hips jerking once, twice, before he stills, buried to the base, your soaked pussy choking his dick with how fucking tight you are.

His lips brush yours, hot and wet and messy before he leans in and licks into your mouth, hungry and desperate. You whimper into it, clinging to him, your tongues slick against each other as he keeps kissing you like he's trying to breathe you in, like he can't get enough even as he throbs inside you, his cum leaking around his cock.

You're both panting into each other's mouths, bodies still shaking, the table creaking beneath you as you cling together—his hand in your hair, yours fisted in the front of his shirt, both of you completely fucking lost in it.

You break the kiss, panting, lips slick and swollen as you lick them slowly, eyes half lidded, fucked out and begging. "Roy?"

His forehead stays against yours, hand still in your hair, the tip of his nose brushing yours. "Yeah, baby?"

You gasp softly, hips shifting under his, your voice a breathless little whimper, sweet and so, so dangerous. "Fuck me."

And he knows exactly what you mean. Knows this slow, sweet, deep thrust shit you've been doing? That's not how you two usually fuck unless one of you is half asleep or coming off a long night. This? This was the appetizer. You want the real thing. You want him rough, messy, fast, you want your brains fucked out and your body wrecked.

He doesn't even blink. He pulls back and slides out just far enough for the head of his cock to catch at your dripping entrance, the tip slick and soaked in your juices and his cum. And then he slams back in.

The wet, obscene slap of it punches a gasp out of your throat, and his cum spills out around his cock, leaking down your ass and pooling beneath you on the table. He swears under his breath when he sees it—feels it—and God, it just makes him go harder.

His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in bruisingly tight as he starts pounding into your pussy, dick drenched, driving in and out of your soaked hole like he's got a fucking death grip on your orgasm.

"Fuck—that's it, baby, that's what you wanted, huh?" he groans, jaw clenched, hips snapping forward so fast the table under you starts to creak dangerously. "Wanted me to fuck this needy little pussy just like this, yeah? Jesus Christ—"

And you're babbling, moaning so loud you're not even sure what you're saying, head thrown back, hair a mess, eyes rolling as he wrecks you. Every thrust hits deep, hard enough to jolt you against the table, the angle perfect every time he slams back in. You can feel him everywhere—his hips slapping yours, his nails biting into your skin, the wet drag of his cock, stretching you out, making your cunt flutter all over again.

You swear you're gonna cum again already just from how filthy it is. Just from the sound of him, the feel of his body driving into yours like he owns you. And he does.

"Look at you," Roy groans, breath coming out rough as he fucks into you, watching the way you whimper every time he slams his hips into yours. "So fuckin' perfect—"

Your tits bounce every time he drives in, fat and soft and flushed, and his gaze keeps dragging up to your face—that face, all scrunched up in pleasure, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes glassy and wild. You're a mess. His favorite kind. His perfect fucking mess.

"Fuck, you're tight—shit, baby, you missed this dick that bad?" he pants, eyes locked on your face, the way your lips fall open, the way your lashes flutter every time he bottoms out.

You whimper so sweet and broken he almost folds. Every word, every praise from him sends another pulse of heat through you, your pussy fluttering around his cock like it's starving. You're so wet you can hear it—slick squelches and obscene little pops every time he thrusts in and out, your walls clenching down like your body is trying to milk him dry. And Roy's losing it.

His jaw is tight, brow furrowed, face flushed and chest heaving as he looks at you—really looks at you. Fucked stupid on his dick, hair messy, tits bouncing, lips swollen from his kisses. You're beautiful like this. You're his like this.

"God, baby, you've got no fuckin' clue how much I missed you," he grits, voice ragged, hips stuttering for just a second before he slams back in. "Three weeks without this pussy? Without you? Nearly lost my goddamn mind."

You cry out when he grinds into you just right, clit catching the base of his cock, your pussy clenching around him like you're gonna cum again, wrecked and desperate and so fucking needy.

"Roy, fuck—" you choke on it, back arching off the table when his thumb finds your clit mid thrust, rubbing quick little circles over the swollen nub, and it's over.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a fucking wave—hot, overwhelming, dizzying. Your clit throbs under his touch, cunt spasming around his cock like it's trying to milk him, to keep him right there. You're moaning, twitching, shaking, your whole body slick with sweat, and all you can do is cling to him as he fucks you through it.

"That's it, baby," he pants, voice dripping with praise as he watches you come undone for him. "God, you cum so pretty for me. Look at you, fuckin' perfect."

Your thoughts spiral, scrambled and filthy and sweet all at once. You love the way he fucks you, love it. But every time he's been away for a while, every time he's had to go without, he always fucks you like he's starving, like he's never gonna get another taste of you again. And it drives you insane in the best, nastiest way. Like he's trying to crawl inside you, like he needs you.

And God, you love being needed like this.

He leans over you again, growling low in his throat as he grabs your thighs, lifting them higher, folding you nearly in half so he can stuff his cock deeper into your soaking wet pussy. He's buried to the hilt when he crashes his mouth against yours, desperate and messy, all tongue and teeth and spit. He licks into you like he's still tasting your cunt on your tongue, like he wants to drown in everything you are.

Your lips are slick, swollen, parted just enough to let him fuck his tongue into your mouth, and you're both groaning, panting, needy—his hips still grinding down, cock thick and heavy and pulsing inside you as your walls flutter around him from the aftershocks.

And when he pulls back just a little, he doesn't go far, just enough to mutter, "Fuck, baby, you're squeezin' me so tight," before he slams his cock in again, hips snapping forward, filthy, deep, obsessed.

Your arms wrap around his neck like instinct, your body already knowing what's coming, your thighs twitching from the last orgasm, your pussy still clenching around his cock when he groans, low and hungry, and slips his hands under your ass.

"Hold on, baby," he grits out, voice wrecked, sweat glistening on his forehead before he fucking lifts you.

Your pussy slides up on his cock and your head falls back with a gasped, "Roy—fuck—"

He doesn't even hesitate. He plants his feet, tightens his grip on your ass, and slams you down on his dick like a man possessed.

"Oh my God," you sob, clinging to him like your life depends on it. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your body bouncing as he starts fucking you, panting, sweat slicked skin smacking loud against yours with each brutal drop. "Baby—f-fuck—it's so—so fucking good—"

Your words break, stutter, melt against the heat of your own tongue because you're already gone. Dick drunk, legs trembling, head spinning from how deep he hits like this. Every thrust is dizzying. Every time he drops you onto his cock, it feels like he's rearranging something inside you—stretching you wide, fucking you open from the inside out.

And Roy? He's grunting with every bounce, eyes dark and locked on your face.

"You feel that, baby? Fuck, this pussy—"

He can't even finish that. He's too obsessed, too overwhelmed, every muscle in his arms flexing as he fucks you through midair like you're weightless, like you're his favorite addiction. Because you are.

"Tight little pussy takin' me so good," he hisses through gritted teeth, voice so rough it scrapes through your chest. "Mine. Fuckin' mine."

"Yours," you gasp into his neck, all breath and heat and raw need.

And it does something to him, snaps something in that already obsessed brain of his. Roy moans low in his throat, slamming you down harder, his cock plunging deep into your pussy with a wet, obscene sound that makes you wail.

"Fuck, baby—" he huffs, voice punched right out of him, your cunt so wet and tight and slippery that he has to fight not to slip out with every brutal thrust. "You're gonna make me lose my fucking mind."

You're both soaked, your thighs sticky where they wrap around his waist, his cock absolutely slicked up with your cum, his own mess still dripping out of you, making every thrust louder, wetter, nastier.

You can barely breathe, let alone think. Your moans stutter out in broken, breathy sobs, your head thrown back one second, then lolling forward against his shoulder the next, your body clinging to him like your bones have melted.

His cock hits so deep, nudging that perfect spot again and again, dragging against your walls on every thrust. You can feel every vein, every twitch, every desperate pulse of him inside you. And your pussy? She's greedy. Clenching around him like she knows he's close, like she wants to milk every drop he has to give.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging hard, dragging his mouth back to yours, and you don't kiss. Not really. You moan into each other's mouths, open mouthed and messy, tongues licking, teeth grazing, panting and gasping as you chase that high together.

"So good," he moans into your mouth, hips slamming up into you. "So fuckin' good, baby—shit—"

There's no rhythm anymore, no pattern. Just desperate, sweaty fucking, bodies pressed together like magnets, like you'll fall apart if you let go. No thoughts. Just you, him, and the filthy sounds of skin slapping and soaked cunt getting split open by the man who loves you more than anything.

"I'm so close, I—" Roy chokes out, voice rough and wrecked, every thrust getting sloppier, harder, needier.

And you cut him off, moaning right in his ear, "Yes, yes, fuck me full, baby, please, please—"

That's all it takes. Roy growls, a raw sound tearing from his throat as his hips jerk, once, twice, then he freezes, cock buried deep, his whole body shuddering against yours as he cums.

Hot, heavy spurts of cum flood your cunt, thick and deep and so fucking much of it you feel it bloom inside you. You sob out a moan, body arching, pussy clenching down hard as your own orgasm hits again, just from the sheer pressure of him filling you.

"Fuck," he pants, arms shaking as he holds you up, your body jerking with every throb of his cock, every pulse of cum painting your insides. "Fuck, baby, your pussy—"

You bury your face in his neck, whimpering, gasping, your thighs twitching as your cunt clenches greedily around him, sucking up every drop he gives you. The pressure of his release, the way it spills so deep it pushes against your cervix—it's overwhelming, hot, perfect—and your walls just keep gripping him, milking him for more.

Roy groans again, low and deep, hips twitching as he spills one last spurt of cum into your pulsing pussy. His arms tighten around your waist and he buries his face in your hair, inhaling you like you're the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

You're both trembling, breathless and sweaty, still fused together, stuffed full and soaked and so fucking in love it aches.

Roy finally kicks off his jeans and boxers—those poor things had been bunched around his ankles this whole time—and carefully shifts onto the couch, bringing you with him, still snug on his cock.

You let out a soft, breathy whimper as he settles down, and he rubs his big hand up your spine immediately, murmuring, "Shhh, I know, pretty thing... I know."

You stay curled into him, face pressed into the crook of his neck, still panting, still sniffling a little as the intensity of everything starts to settle. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, and he just holds you tighter, rubbing slow, calming circles into your back.

"You did so good, baby," he whispers against your hair. "So good for me." Another soft kiss, this time on your temple. "My perfect girl."

It takes a few minutes before you can even move again, before your heartbeat starts slowing down, your breath stops hitching, your body remembers it's not made of jelly. Eventually, you pull back just a little, blinking at him, eyes glossy and dazed but so, so full of love.

Your shaky hands rise to cup his face, thumbs brushing tenderly over his flushed skin. He melts into it, gaze soft as you lean in and kiss him.

It's not hungry like before. It's slow, gentle, deep. Tongues gliding together lazily, little moans slipping from both your lips as you kiss through slow breaths, like you're tasting every second of it. His dick twitches inside your cum filled cunt with each little shift, but neither of you move. You love it like this—full, warm, wrapped up in each other.

When you finally pull back for air, you don't go far. You keep pressing soft little kisses to his mouth—one, two, three, like you can't help it. He chuckles, low and warm, and you giggle, brushing your nose against his like you've got nowhere else to be but here.

"God, trouble," he murmurs as he cups your cheek, "I love you so much."

You grin, cheeks aching from how hard you're smiling, and you kiss him again, light and sweet. "I love you too, baby."

He presses a kiss to your forehead, lips warm and lingering. "You okay?" he murmurs, voice low and soft against your skin.

You don't even have to think. You just sigh, heart full, and whisper, "I am now."

Roy chuckles quietly, one arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah?"

"Mhmm," you hum, nuzzling back into the crook of his neck like it's the only place you wanna be. And it is.

You're both still wrapped up in each other, still full of warmth and cum and that slow, aching kind of love that settles deep in your bones when someone comes home to you. When he comes home to you.

Eventually, though, he mutters, "C'mon, let's clean up, yeah?" already bracing, because he knows exactly what you're about to say.

And of course, you start to whine immediately. "I don't wanna move," you mumble against his neck, brushing your nose there just like he knew you would.

He laughs, full and fond, pressing another kiss to your hair. "Trouble," he grins, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm all yours, baby. But we're sticky, and messy, and sweaty. And I'm starving."

You pout, just a little, lips brushing his throat as you sigh dramatically before pulling away. "Okay," you huff, and he chuckles again before kissing your forehead.

"Good girl," he teases as he cups your ass, and before you can even protest, he's lifting you up with ease.

You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, laughing softly as he starts walking toward the bathroom.

The second he steps inside, he pauses to set you down gently on the edge of the counter. You're still clinging to him when he finally eases his cock out of your pussy, and the sound you make is somewhere between a whimper and a gasp. His cum trickles out in thick, warm drops, sliding down your thighs, dripping onto the floor, and you both kind of pause to look at the mess before exchanging amused glances.

"Fuck," he mutters as he watches, "that's a mess."

You blink down, dazed, cheeks flushing a little. "That's your fault."

"Proud of it," he grins.

He finally pulls off his shirt, tossing it straight into the laundry basket, and you can't help but admire him—tattoos, muscles, that smug little grin that never goes away when he catches you staring.

You cling to him even as he leans forward to turn the shower on, arms wrapped around his waist, face smushed against his bare chest. He doesn't complain—he never does. If anything, he presses a kiss to your temple and runs his hand over your lower back like it soothes him as much as it does you.

He turns on the water, testing the temperature before guiding you under the spray, arms still around you. And the shower? It's not even about getting clean, it's about being close. You wash his hair slowly, fingers gentle as he leans into every touch, and then you press soft kisses to each of his tattoos as you rinse him off.

He does the same to you, taking his time, rubbing your back, cupping your ass, smiling when you squeak or shiver under his hands. You giggle into his chest as he kisses your wet hair and groans like a man tortured.

You're both clingy and silly and tender, laughing when the soap gets in your eyes, moaning dramatically when he kneads your sore ass in apology. You help rinse the sweat and sex off him, and he makes sure to wash you thoroughly, though his hands do linger in a few places, not that you're complaining.

Eventually, you towel off, still dripping a little as he grabs one of his shirts—soft and worn and way too big—and slips it over your head. You giggle again when he helps you into a pair of panties, tugging them gently over your hips with a kiss to your tummy.

"You're so cute like this," he mumbles, sliding his arms around your waist. "Drives me fuckin' nuts."

You help him pull on his boxers and shorts—because if left to his own devices, this man would just walk around naked—and the two of you head back into the living room to deal with the... aftermath.

He grabs some wipes and a cloth, scrubbing the table down with a shake of his head and a smile tugging at his lips. "Jesus, baby. We really did a number on this thing."

You snort as you gather your scattered clothes—his too—and toss them all into the laundry basket. "You mean you did."

He just smirks, glancing over his shoulder. "Oh, you weren't complaining."

You pass by him with a little smirk, and he swats at your ass playfully, catching the soft giggle you try to hide behind your hand.

You wander over to him, quiet footsteps across the floor, and wrap your arms around his waist from behind. His skin is still warm from the shower, bare under your cheek as you nuzzle into his back.

"Pizza?" you murmur softly.

Roy lets out a little laugh, all fond and low. "You read my mind, pretty thing."

You smile against his back and press a kiss between his shoulder blades before he turns around in your arms, hands sliding to your hips as he pulls you flush against him. He leans down, those warm green eyes locked on yours like you're the only thing he ever wants to see again, and then he kisses you.

It's soft—so, so soft. The kind of kiss that tastes like home, like love, like everything being exactly where it's supposed to be. His lips linger against yours, slow and gentle, his nose brushing yours before he finally pulls back just enough to press a kiss to the tip of it.

"On it," he whispers.

Neither of you moves at first. You just stand there, clinging to each other in the soft quiet of your shared space. But then he grins, and with no warning at all, he scoops you up into his arms, making you yelp as you grab onto him with a laugh.

"Roy!" you squeal through a giggle, and he laughs, walking you to the couch like it's nothing.

He plops you down gently and kisses your forehead. "Stay here. I'll order it."

You hum, pleased, and smack his ass as he turns to walk away. He throws a look over his shoulder, biting back a grin, and grabs his phone from the pocket of his jacket hanging on the hook.

You watch him as he orders, his voice calm and casual as he rattles off your go to order, the one you've both settled on after many lazy nights and far too many toppings.

Then he heads to the fridge and calls over, "Want some Coke, baby?"

"Yes pleaaase," you say, already curling up on the couch, voice all sweet and eager.

He chuckles under his breath. "Comin' right up."

As he pops the caps off two bottles, he catches himself smiling again. God, he missed this. Missed you. Missed being home, being around the little things that make it all feel worth it—your voice echoing down the hall, the smell of your shampoo in the bathroom, the way your laughter feels like sunlight.

He turns around, and his heart just fucking squeezes. You're already tucked into the couch, buried in that absolutely ridiculous fluffy blanket with his face printed all over it, the one he gave you as a joke a year ago, thinking you'd laugh and never use it. But you have, every damn time. It's far too big on you, swallowing you up completely, but it just makes you look that much smaller and softer as you flick through the TV with the remote, lips pursed in concentration.

His pretty little trouble, cozy and warm and waiting for him, and fuck if this isn't the best thing in the whole world.

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aureatelys · 5 months ago

Text

nobody does it like you do

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 10k.... a/n: dbf!hotch party ended months ago but im still here

summary:

You don't mean to start something with your dad's best friend during your summer break.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI PLSSSS, dbf!hotch yippee, no y/n, reader is mid-20s and hotch is mid 40s, kinda flirty/brat!reader, car sex, handjobs in car, v fingering, dom/sub, dirty talk, light degradation kink, size kink if u squint, light choking at the end!, unprotected sex, tbh some plot to mostly porn

read below or on ao3 here <3

You’re nearly half-naked when you first meet him.

It was the first morning back at home during your summer break in your first year of your Master’s program. You hadn’t been home in several months, blaming your rigorous coursework and the full-time job you had, but luckily you were able to use nearly a month’s worth of PTO to coincide with your summer off.

You had gotten in late after flying across the country, but your body still woke up like clockwork just before 9 am.

Currently, as you make eye contact with the tallest and most attractive man you have ever met while wearing a tank top and shorts that barely covered your ass, you couldn’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse.

You had heard your dad rave about what basically sounded like a crush he had over the phone for nearly a year. Aaron Hotchner apparently works with your father at the FBI, albeit in a different department, and they hit it off at a recent gala by discussing golf, expensive scotch, and being annoyed about the latest budget cuts. One Saturday at the country club’s golf course later, your father was hooked, and Aaron has been over at the house nearly every weekend since.

You remember your dad saying something about how he’s hardworking, better than he is at golf, and much nicer than he looks. He didn’t say anything about how hot he was.

You were stumbling out your bedroom and rubbing at your eyes when you had nearly run into him on the way to the bathroom. You’re still waking up, but you see the genuine surprise and something like want on his face before it’s gone, a neutral expression taking over his handsome features. The clench in his jaw betrays him.

“Excuse me,” he says. His voice is low, deep in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “I was just heading into the restroom.”

You blink at him, your mind still not having not caught up yet. “Uhm.”

“I can just go to the one downstairs,” he says, giving you an easy smile. It makes him look even more devastatingly attractive and you feel dazed. With that, he turns on his heel and makes his way back downstairs without another word.

You distantly hear your father downstairs calling your name and asking if you’re awake. You feel rooted to the spot, flustered.

You try your best to go through your normal bathroom routine, but your heart still hasn’t calmed down yet. It’s been a while since you’ve dated and even longer since you’ve slept with someone, thus you’ve had a lot of quality time with yourself recently, so seeing the way this older man reacted to you was enough to have you preening a bit. You weren’t imagining it, right?

You tell yourself that you’re feeling lazy after a long day of traveling and not wanting to change yet as you head downstairs into the kitchen, absolutely not hiking your shorts up a little and shimmying your tank top down.

“Good morning,” you chirp as you step into the kitchen. Your dad is already sitting at the dining table, most likely finishing his second cup of coffee, and his face lights up when he sees you as if he wasn’t the one to pick you up from the airport late last night. Aaron is standing in the kitchen next to the coffee machine, pouring into a travel mug.

You ignore the way you can feel Aaron’s dark eyes rove over you; the top of your breasts nearly threatening to spill out, your hard nipples poking through your top, and the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath your shorts.

“Morning, pumpkin,” your dad says cheerily, clearly oblivious to what’s going on between his friend and his own daughter. “This is Aaron, he works at the Bureau with me, I told you about him?”

You vaguely remember when you stalked through his Facebook profile several months ago after your father was tagged with him multiple times. The pictures of him were always blurry, never giving you anything to go off of.

As you stand next to him in the kitchen and crane your neck up to look at him, you realize the pictures really don’t do him justice. He’s handsome, almost boy-ish with the way his hair is clean and not gelled down like in the pictures, flopping in front of his forehead. He’s wearing a tight red polo, showcasing his broad shoulders and forearms in a way that makes you want to drool a bit. His brow is pinched, jaw tense, and you almost think you can hear his teeth grinding when he attempts to keep his eyes on your face and not on your chest.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hotchner,” you say, giving him an innocent smile. You ignore the mug your dad must have left on the counter for you and stand up on your tiptoes to retrieve one from the overhead cupboard.

You feel a rush of exhilaration when you hear Aaron suck in a breath at the way your tank top hikes up your stomach. When you turn back to him, because he is technically in the way of the coffee machine, you catch the way his eyes sharpen and the way his hand grasps at the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white.

And then it’s gone, just like earlier, replaced with something almost professional, probably the same expression he makes when something ticks him off at work.

Interesting.

“Aaron is fine,” he says, stepping out of the way of the coffee machine and then holds his hand out for you to shake.

You can feel your dad watching you, so you make an effort to tone it down a bit. You put your hand in his, swallowing when you notice just how large his hands are and the way he grips you a bit tighter than what would be considered professional. When you look back up at him, there’s something almost like a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Nice to meet you, Aaron,” you repeat. It’s worth it to see a smile grace his face, replacing that smirk, and causing something fuzzy settle in your chest.

When he lets go and makes his way to sit across your dad at the table, you ignore how your hand suddenly feels like it’s burning.

“We’re about to head to the golf course here in a couple of minutes if you wanted to join?” your dad asks as you pour your coffee and sit down at the head of the table.

You hum and experimentally kick your feet out in Aaron’s direction to where he sits to your left. You make contact with his knee, and you watch almost gleefully as Aaron just barely jumps in his seat. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, just quietly sips at his coffee. It really shouldn’t turn you on the way it does. “I’m okay, I was just planning on hanging out here and catch up on my shows.”

“You sure, pumpkin? I know it’s been a while since you were out on the course but…”

“I think that’s exactly why I shouldn’t come with you,” you laugh. You pull your chair up closer to the table, making it look like you were just trying to get comfortable, when really you just wanted to cop more of a feel of Aaron’s thighs.

“Alright, alright,” your father says, putting his hands up in defeat. “But don’t forget about the retreat later this week with the guys.”

You pause from where you were just about to dig your toes underneath his thigh. “Retreat?”

“I told you about it when I picked you up last night!”

“I think you forgot that you picked me up at one in the morning and I was half-asleep in the car,” you roll your eyes. “But of course I’ll go with you.”

“Great!” Your dad says with that big smile on his face that always makes you feel nostalgic. You don’t really want to go, was honestly just planning on relaxing at home, but if it makes your dad happy and you get to spend more time with him, then you’ll do almost anything.

And if Aaron’s coming too, then well…

Your dad gets up to put his mug in the sink and starts making his way out of the dining room. “You ready to go, Hotchner?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Aaron says, a barely detectable rasp to his voice that has you hiding a smile in your mug.

You’re about to put your foot down when you feel thick fingers circling your ankle and lifting your leg up until your ankle is resting on Aaron’s knee. You nearly squeak in surprise, but the look on Aaron’s face stops you.

He would look calm, composed even, if you didn’t pay attention to the way his eyes have darkened. His brow is pinched, lips pressed into a thin line, as he tightens his grip on your ankle and asks in a low voice “What kind of game are you playing here?”

Not expecting confrontation, you don’t know what to say. Your breath gets stuck in your chest, something about the glare he’s giving you keeps you rooted in your chair.

Because there’s really only two options here. He’s your dad’s best friend, at least 20 years older than you, and you really have no business in sexually riling up this guy you’ve never met before until today. You can apologize, give him a genuine and friendly smile, and go back to your room and pretend this never happened and you weren’t just throwing yourself at some hot older man.

But there’s something about Aaron that you can’t quite put your finger on. You wonder what it would be like to see him without those walls he undoubtedly keeps up all the time, see him come undone. You can tell from his Facebook pictures that he’s a bigshot of some kind, always wearing a fitted suit and not a hair out of place. You can see that now, in his pressed polo and matching belt, that he likes control, his skin nearly thrumming with it. And that’s something you’ve always enjoyed playing with.

You noticed the lack of a wedding ring on his finger, and the way he’s gazing into you now. The hot trail his hand leaves behind as he starts running up your shin, past your knee, and grip at the meat of your thigh says all you need to know.

“What game?” you say, innocently. You even play it up a bit by batting your lashes at him.

His grip on your thigh tightens, and it feels so good, and it’s been so long, you resist rolling your eyes back and instead spread your legs just a bit underneath the table.

“Your father didn’t tell me you were such a brat,” he mutters.

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” you say, hoping you don’t sound as out of breath as you feel.

Aaron doesn’t say anything at that, just hums thoughtfully. You don’t have a chance to backpedal, redirect the conversation if you were reading the whole situation wrong, before he’s placing your leg back on the floor with a gentle hand on your ankle and getting up.

“We can talk more about what you want to do after school later,” he says, raising his voice a bit in an effort to appear like he wasn’t just groping you underneath the table.

You almost don’t hear what he says because your gaze is fixed on the obvious tent in his khakis. Your mouth nearly waters, and just knowing that you’re having the same kind of effect on him as he has on you has heat pooling between your thighs.

You shake your head, resisting the thoughts of throwing yourself on your knees in front of him and taking him in your mouth right in the dining room. You grin up at him and, in an impulsive decision that you’re secretly proud of, you reach over to put a hand on his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

“Absolutely, Mr. Hotchner.”

Your smile grows wider at the stormy glare he gives you before he heads out of the dining room, imperceptibly adjusting himself in his pants. Your eyes follow him out, cheeks nearly starting to hurt from how hard you’re smiling because damn, does his ass look good.

It’s your summer vacation, you may as well have some fun, right?

Since then, you’ve barely seen Aaron.

You had made Aaron and your father sandwiches, knowing they’d be home by the afternoon. You tried not to let the fact that you were upset, disappointed even, show on your face when your dad came home by himself and told you that Aaron got called for a case.

You knew from your dad that this was a normal occurrence for Aaron and that they’ve both gotten used to it. So many times there would be a gala or a party at the house and he would be called away to chase down a murderer or a rapist or a combination of the two.

You tried not to let it get to you, because seriously, you just met him, but also, it’s not like he owes you anything. But you really hoped that he wouldn’t miss the retreat later that week. Just imagining spending time with him in your lone hotel room was enough to make you dizzy.

So, you distracted yourself. You caught up on your emails, watched those shows that had been piling up in your watch later list, and spent time with your dad at the golf course or whatever else he wanted to do that day. It was nice spending your summer vacation with your dad and catching up on what he does at his boring administrative job and the lack of both of your love lives.

By the time Friday rolled around, there was still nothing but radio silence from Aaron, at least you assumed since your dad hadn’t mentioned him. You almost wish you had asked for his phone number before he left, but it wouldn’t have done you any good to waste a whole week sitting by your cellphone, waiting for a probably dry text from some guy.

A really hot, older guy that definitely has control issues and could toss you around like a ragdoll.

You’re throwing your bag in your car’s backseat and was about to admit defeat, that maybe he really wasn’t going to make it, when a black Range Rover comes skidding down your street and into your driveway.

“There he is,” your dad said in a sing-song voice, sounding about as giddy as you felt.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see him stepping out of his car, because how the hell is it possible for a man to look so attractive doing something so mundane?

And then your eyes nearly bug out because he has his suit jacket hanging from his arm, a duffel bag in the other, and is wearing a white dress shirt so tight that you could see the bulge of his biceps and the softness of his stomach.

“Sorry I’m late,” Aaron says, jogging up to where you and father were. “We just got back a couple hours ago.”

He looks at you then with those pretty brown eyes, looking genuinely apologetic, and the disappointment that you were afraid was going to take a permanent place in your chest gently unravels.

“It’s no problem, Hotch,” your dad waves him off. “We’re still waiting for some of the other guys, so you made it just in time.”

“Great,” Aaron breathes in relief. “I’m going to go change then, I’ll be right back.” His eyes flit towards you again, and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t still staring at him. They’re piercing, undoubtedly beckoning you to follow him, and there’s a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth.

You feel a rush of excitement shooting through you as you watch him head towards the front door, eyes fixated on his hips. There was no clearer sign than that one, though you try not to roll your eyes fondly at the fact that your dad evidently did not notice as he goes back to playing Tetris with his bags in the trunk.

You wait a couple of minutes, pretending to play on your phone, and then exclaim “Oops, I almost forgot my phone charger! I’m going to run upstairs and get it.”

Your dad just gives an “Okie dokie, sweetie,” and then his phone rings with who you assume is one of his friends you’re waiting for.

You try to not sprint to the front door, instead taking a deep breath and walking in what you hope looks like a normal pace. However, as soon as the front door clicked shut, you run up the stairs, hoping Aaron chose your bathroom rather than the one downstairs.

Not spotting him waiting outside the bathroom, your heart nearly drops out from underneath you, however you notice the closed door and the soft golden light from underneath telling you that you were right.

You were right and maybe you weren’t imagining things. He knew you would listen to his unspoken instructions and follow him. You weren’t a profiler like him, not an expert at studying other people’s body language, but there was nothing fake about the fact that he got hard at your dining room table and you had only known each other for 10 minutes that Sunday.

The click of the door opening disrupts your thoughts. You’re about to grin up at Aaron, say something cute like how you’ve missed him or something more playful like asking why he hasn’t called you.

But you don’t get the chance because you’re suddenly being pressed up against the wall, warm hands on your hips, and Aaron’s soft mouth pressing into yours.

He swallows your gasp, his fingers inching up the hem of your tank top to touch the skin of your waist and kisses the life out of you. His lips are chapped and he tastes fresh, like he had a breath mint on the drive here, and the thought that he had that foresight just for you makes your knees weak.

He kisses you deeply, not even bothering to start gentle like so many other boys have tried before, and it’s overwhelming and not enough at the same time. You’re helpless to kiss back, your body finally catching up, and your hands come up to tangle at the soft strands at the nape of his neck.

He hums against your lips at that, his hands starting to move underneath your shirt to trace the swell of your breasts through your bra. It tickles, and you squirm a little and huff a laugh against his mouth before you can help it.

Before you could apologize and tell him to stop tickling you, his hands press your hips harder against the wall and his lips break away from yours. You attempt to chase him, because you were definitely not done making out, when Aaron tuts at you.

“Behave,” he warns lowly, but he has a full-blown smirk now. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, and his lips red and glistening. He looks so unbearingly sexy when he’s reprimanding you, he just makes it so easy for you to tease him.

“Or what?” You ask, smiling up at him. You watch as his smirk falters, brows furrowing, and something like frustration and exasperation blooms on his face.

“You’re ridiculous,” Aaron breathed, before he’s leaning in and pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck. He scrapes his teeth against the spot where your shoulder and neck meets and your knees actually buckle this time, something like a strangled moan coming out of your mouth and catching you by surprise. “Looks like you do know how to watch that mouth of yours.”

Any snarky comeback you have dies in your throat because you did not expect Aaron to have that kind of dirty mouth on him. Molten heat starts to pool at the bottom of your stomach, between your thighs, as he slips the strap of your tank top down your shoulder to trace your collarbone with his lips.

“Aaron…,” you whisper, letting your hands fall from his nape to grab at his shoulders, trail down to grope at his biceps. The sleek muscle you can feel even through the fabric of his polo that he changed into, tensing and flexing as he pushes at you, sends your mind reeling.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he mutters against your shoulder, his warm breath and the pet name making you feel paralyzed. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes roll back as you feel him biting a mark onto your chest, right underneath your collarbone, the pain and pleasure tingling all the way down to your cunt. You say something unintelligible, brain feeling muddled, because holy shit.

“Hey pumpkin, did your find your charger? We have to get moving!” You hear your dad’s voice from downstairs and barely swallow back a gasp before Aaron’s hand is pressed over your mouth to quiet you. You hate that that does absolutely nothing to help the growing arousal between your thighs.

Aaron’s eyes meet yours. His eyes have gotten impossibly darker, soft hair falling against his forehead. The wild desire and excitement are clear on his face, but he raises his eyebrows at you to signal you to behave before he lifts his palm off your face.

“Coming!” you yell back at him, hoping the strain in your voice isn’t as obvious to him as it is to you.

Aaron hums, something smug playing at his lips. “Maybe later.”

And it’s ridiculous. Aaron Hotchner, stoic Unit Chief of an FBI unit, best friend of your dad, and 20 years older than you just made out with you so hard that your knees buckled and made a joke about making you come?

You huff a laugh, pushing at his shoulder so you can wriggle out of his grip. He lets go immediately, stepping back to give you several feet of space, and you try not to think about how you already miss the heat and weight of his body against yours.

You’re about to run downstairs, an excuse about realizing you already packed your charger on the tip of your tongue, when Aaron is circling his fingers around your wrist. You look back at him curiously, because as much as you want to, there definitely isn’t time for him to ravage you in your bedroom.

He looks much more composed now, more like his professional SSA Aaron Hotchner self, but you catch the way his eyes linger on the way your shorts ride up high and the soft expanse of your thighs. “I’m serious. We’ll finish this later.”

And it’s the way he doesn’t pose it as a question, but rather a guarantee. Like nothing is going to stop him from having his way with you.

The thought of being completely at Aaron’s mercy has you breathless, feeling a flush rise on your face and your pulse between your legs. He has you stunned speechless, because you’ve never been with someone who has made you feel complete and utter want. You look at him now, chest imperceptibly heaving and making that olive green polo tug across the wide expanse of his chest, you realize that he may just ruin other people for you completely.

Your throat clicks when you clear it, and you only feel a little embarrassed when Aaron doesn’t hide his smirk at you. All words have died in your throat, so you nod instead, hoping that he will take that as an answer.

If possible, Aaron looks even more smug at that.

“Good girl.”

The drive to the hotel where the retreat is being held is only 2 hours away, which would’ve been perfectly easy, if you weren’t stuck in the car with Aaron.

You were planning on driving your own car with the top down, wind in your hair, and music blasting. You wanted to spend at least part of your summer vacation doing girly summery things, such as driving into the night with your hair whipping your face and feeling the humidity making your tank top stick to your back.

You also thought you would have time to yourself to think about Aaron and what the hell you got yourself into.

Instead, because you can’t tell if the universe loves or hates you, you have to take Aaron’s Range Rover because everyone else’s cars are packed full, and your dad wouldn’t let you drive by yourself. You tried not to show the excitement bloom on your face when your dad told you, but by the pointed look that Aaron gave you, you didn’t do a very good job.

So, it’s just you, Aaron, and the incredibly tangible sexual tension between you.

The first 30 minutes was easy. It took a while for everyone to find the correct route and there was a lengthy discussion over the phone about whether anyone wanted to stop anywhere for any reason. Eventually, you and at least 4 other similarly lavish cars made it onto the highway.

Aaron was silent for most of the phone call, saying that he didn’t have anywhere he wanted to stop at, and was just looking forward to the fancy clawfoot tub the hotel advertised on their website. You threw a glance at him at that, wondering if he was trying to tell you that he wanted to fuck in the bathtub, but nope. His eyes were firmly on the road, both arms on the steering wheel like a responsible adult or whatever.

You weren’t sure how he was able to act like nothing happened—like you weren’t about to let him just fuck you up against the wall in your childhood home, because currently, you felt like you were about to jump out of your skin from the nervous energy thrumming through you.

You fully ogle him now since it’s not like you have anything to hide. Even his side profile is attractive, but at this point you’re not surprised. Everything you’ve been noticing about him has been steadily driving you wild; the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint traces of stubble, and the way his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he deadpans “You’re staring.”

You grin at him before you could help it. “It’s not my fault you’re so handsome. They should study you in art classes, maybe you can even get naked for it?”

The snort that comes out of Aaron’s mouth is sudden, and by the way his eyebrows pinch together like he’s thinking hard, he notices as well. “You really are insatiable.”

“You say that like we’ve even done anything yet,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, turning your head to the window to stare at the sun setting. It would be nighttime by the time you got to the hotel, but you’re already sleepy and debating taking a nap while Aaron drives.

You jump when you feel his hand on your thigh, large and warm. You’ve had other men put their hand on your thigh while they drive and it’s nice, maybe even comforting at times, but with Aaron, the action feels darker. It feels more possessive, heated, and just the sight of his huge hand squeezing the flesh of your thigh has you unconsciously squeezing your legs, trapping the tips of his fingers between them.

“Can you behave?” he wondered out loud. “Because you’re not showing me that you can until we get to the hotel.”

The challenge is clear in the deep timbre of his voice, nearly condescending in a way that makes your breath quicken. You vaguely thought about what he had planned for you at the hotel, luckily you had a whole room to yourself since none of your dad’s friends’ daughters wanted to come. You don’t necessarily blame them—you probably wouldn’t have come either if it weren’t for Aaron and the undoubtable promise that you will have the best sex of your life.

And you do want to wait, honestly. But right now, watching the way his biceps flex in the golden light and remembering the way he desperately grabbed at your hips has you rethinking.

So, you give him an innocent smile, reminiscent of the one you gave him earlier this week, and take a hold of his hand to intertwine your fingers together. The action is slightly risky, implying something about your relationship that neither have you discussed. You may be overthinking it, worried that Aaron would think you’re jumping to conclusions, but all of your reservations disappear when Aaron’s hand squeezes yours and brings your joined hands to rest in his lap.

He gives you a soft smile, one you’ve never seen before that makes your chest tighten, and turns his gaze back on the road.

The following 10 minutes are quiet besides the soft roar of the engine and the gentle hum of the radio. The sun setting washes the interior of the car with a warm gold, and you can’t help but notice the way both of your hands, still clasped together, just look so good together. Like you perfectly complemented each other.

You blame it on the fact that you’re starting to get bored when you wiggle your hand to free yourself from Aaron’s grasp to run your fingers along the top of his hands. You trace each knuckle before tracking the visible veins with a light touch, your fingers running up his wrist and to his forearm. The dusting of hair is soothing when you place a firmer hand onto his forearm, gripping it, and your heart thuds in your chest when you notice your thumb and middle finger can’t even touch each other.

He's just so big. His arms, his hands, his shoulders. The way he can so easily overpower you, manhandle you, domineering in a way that makes you want to act out even more just to see what he would do.

He throws you a curious glance when your hand moves up to his bicep, squeezing and feeling.

“Just touching,” you say, and then Aaron’s eyes are back on the road.

The next thing you do is completely spontaneous, out of character for you even, however you know being impulsive is what got you here in the first place.

You place your hand on his crotch.

He doesn’t jump because, of course not. If anything, he was expecting it by the way he just gives you another curious look. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the way his tongue flicks out to wet his lips and the sudden clenching of his jaw.

“Still just touching,” you repeat and turn your focus to your phone with your free hand, leaving your other hand in his lap.

You scroll mindlessly through several different apps for a couple minutes, not even reading anything because you’re too stunned with the fact that Aaron didn’t say anything or remind you to be on your best behavior. Your hand is still precariously placed on his crotch, the seam of his jeans warm against the palm of your hand.

You start scrolling more intently now, reading the entirety of at least every other post, before you start tentatively rubbing your fingers on where you can definitely feel the head of his dick through his pants. Aaron inhales sharply, so quietly you almost don’t hear it, and it’s all the permission you need.

You start pressing more firmly, grabbing him through his jeans to the best of your ability and tracing the line of his slowly hardening cock through the rough material. You grope at him, nearly shamelessly now, and it takes all of your willpower to not throw your phone to the backseat and jump into his lap.

Instead, you place your phone at your feet and turn your body towards him. His back is ramrod straight and his hands are grasping at the steering wheel like his life depends on it. If anyone passing by looked through the window, they would just assume that Aaron was one of those extremely attentive drivers. However, up close, you can see the tense line of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched together, and the way he’s attempting to hide the way he’s starting to breathe heavily through slightly parted lips.

It's intoxicating, and you want more.

Your hand begins to move up his zipper to the top button of his jeans. His eyes dart to you then, craning his neck slightly to look at you but also making sure to keep his eyes on the road, as if the road is even that busy.

“You really can’t listen, can you?”

That condescending tone again makes your brain nearly short-circuit. It’s like a dam breaks because suddenly you’re leaning over the console, making your breasts nearly spill out from your tank top, and you want him in your mouth and coming down your throat if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. “Can I?”

“Can you what, sweetheart? Use your words.”

Christ. “Please, can I suck on your cock?”

He hums nonchalantly, as if you can’t see the way he shifts in his seat or the way he’s hurriedly unbuttoning his jeans with one hand. “’Please?’ Looks like you do have some manners.”

And then he’s taking his cock out and you nearly combust on the spot. He’s not fully hard, but you still want nothing more than to feel him on your tongue.

You’re just about to unbuckle your seatbelt to throw yourself into his lap before he stops you by placing his hand over yours.

“Not your mouth, we don’t want other people to know what a dirty girl you are. Use your hands,” he says, nonchalant again in a way that makes your heart race and the ache between your thighs grow.

Although the idea of being caught with your head in his lap and cock down your throat suddenly sounds extremely appealing in a way you’ve never thought of before, you have no choice but to listen and follow his instructions.

You hesitatingly wrap your hand around him, watching in near fascination at the drop of precum that leaks out. He’s big here too, satisfyingly thick and warm in your hand. You move your hand up to smear the wetness around him and then start a steady rhythm of pumping his cock.

A strangled groan comes out of Aaron eventually, and you watch as he attempts to throw his head back in ecstasy while still watching the road with half-lidded eyes. The wide expanse of his pretty throat tempts you, imagining what it would be like to pepper kisses up to his tense jaw to help him relax.

He’s fully hard now, precum steadily leaking out and coating the palm of your hand. You attempt to vary your actions; twisting on the upstroke, squeezing when you’re at the base, or tracing your thumb against the head of his cock. The loud squelching noise makes you feel embarrassed and hot all at the same time, the way it’s drowning out the radio’s music. Your mouth waters as you watch the head of his dick disappear in your fist, wishing you could taste him or see the sheer bliss on his face as he fucks your mouth.

“You couldn’t even wait to get your hands on me, could you?” Aaron murmured, nearly sneering at you. “I bet if I let you, you would let me pull over and fuck you here on the side of the road.”

You swallow nervously, clenching your thighs and trying to ignore the obvious wetness you can feel in your own panties. You squeeze him harder, enthralled by the feeling of his hot flesh against you, and breathlessly whisper “I would.”

He hisses at that, nearly bucking his hips up to follow your hand. “You would let me fuck you anywhere I want.”

It wasn’t a question, but you still feel compelled to answer. “Yes.”

Just then, Aaron’s phone rings from the phone mount on the dashboard. Dread and something awfully similar to delight prickles at the back of your neck when you notice the caller ID being your father. You’re about to retract your hand until Aaron gives you a look out of the corner of your eye, almost like a glare, before his own hand is hot over yours to keep you there.

“Keep going.”

Before you can think of a snarky remark, Aaron swipes at his phone to answer.

“Hotchner.” Nonchalant, casual, as if he doesn’t have his leaking cock in the hands of his best friend’s daughter.

“Hey Hotch, we’re coming up on a great burger joint here in a couple of miles and I wanted to see if you guys were alright with that? I think we lost you.”

You must have been extremely distracted because you’re just now noticing you can’t see your father’s car ahead of you anymore. There are only a few cars on the highway now after finally passing all the city traffic, now driving through a somewhat rural area. You don’t blame yourself after all, because how often do you find yourself giving handjobs to hot older men in their cars?

“I was actually thinking of pulling over at a rest stop, someone’s not feeling well.” Aaron cranes his neck, raising an eyebrow at you.

Even in the darkness of the summer evening and the sparse streetlights bouncing off the dashboard, the pure and primal desire swimming in his eyes is clear and causes a flush to rise to your face.

“Yeah, it must have been lunch,” you attempt to joke, hoping that the rasp in your voice doesn’t give you away. You feel Aaron’s cock twitch in your hand.

Your dad hums through the tinny speakers. “Yeah, you don’t sound so good.”

You notice the car slowing down, not realizing that you were pulling up to a secluded area of a rest stop, right underneath a tree. You glance out the window and take in the fact that the nearest car is over 10 spots away and the closest streetlight is burnt out. You think of the discreet dark color of the car and the tinted windows. Anticipation curls at the bottom of your stomach.

“We’ll let you know when we’re back on the road.” And then Aaron immediately hangs up, parks the car, and leans over the console to kiss you with a hand cradling your cheek.

He cuts to the chase again, kissing you so deeply that your head spins. His mouth is soft but he’s assertive even like this. His hand moves to the back of your neck, taking a hold of you, and your mouth opens in a moan before you can stop yourself, allowing Aaron’s tongue to brush against yours.

When he pulls back, something like a needy whine erupts from your throat. You don’t realize that your hands moved to grasp at his polo, leaving Aaron’s cock free and pressed against his stomach.

“You drive me crazy,” Aaron mutters, brushing a lock of hair behind your head. His gesture and words are impossibly soft, a complete contrast to how he was kissing you, making your breath stutter in your chest.

“You drive me crazy,” you whisper breathily. “Please fuck me?”

He huffs a laugh at that, something you’re slowly starting to become familiar with, and tightens his hold on the back of your neck. There’s nothing soft in his eyes anymore. “Get in the back, now.”

You scramble to get out of the car, legs nearly shaking. The summer humidity is cloying, suffocating, and you rush to open the door to crawl in the backseat.

The seats are just as large and plush as up front, however there’s definitely more foot room that you’re sure Aaron will appreciate. You’re waiting in the middle seat, legs tucked underneath you, as you watch Aaron tuck himself back into his jeans and step out of the car with an air of nonchalance that somehow makes him even more attractive.

When he opens the door to climb into the back, your eyes meet and you suddenly feel frozen to the spot, because he starts to encroach into your space, nearly predatory. There’s a glint in his eyes as he places his hand on your back, lowering you so you’re laying on the seats. You unconsciously spread your legs so he could situate himself between them, and the feeling of his large and warm body between your thighs has you hitching them up on his hips.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this,” Aaron murmurs before ducking his head to press his mouth against your jawline, down your neck, and finally finally sucking a mark where your shoulder meets.

You exhale a shaky moan, bringing your hands up to run down his back and feel how wide his shoulders are and how you can feel his muscles tense as he moves. The wet heat of his mouth, his obscenely large hands on your hips, and the way his figure nearly engulfs you is mesmerizing.

He pulls back to take a look at you, thumb coming up to press into the mark he made and putting light pressure against your neck. There’s something wild and possessive in his eyes, his lips parted like he can’t believe what’s happening. “There you go. Now you’ll remember who you belong to.”

It feels like your breath is knocked out of you and replaced with something equally possessive. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

Something dark passes over his face. “And here I thought you were going to behave.”

Before you could say anything, Aaron is swiftly lifting your tank top up and over your head, throwing it somewhere towards the passenger seat, and groping your tits. He thumbs at your nipples, watching in awe as you arch your back and push your chest further into his hands. The sudden sensation, pleasure zinging up your spine, after being teased for an entire week is dizzying and you want to drown in it.

“You’re so needy for it, aren’t you?” Aaron says, casually, as he pinches at your nipples. You choke on your moan, the initial sting melting into pleasure that makes you feel drunk. “You’re practically begging for my cock.”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out. Your hands scramble at his shoulders, running up to tangle the soft hairs at the nape of his neck between your fingers. “I need your cock inside me.”

He leans down to suck one of your nipples in his mouth, deft fingers continuing on the other. His mouth is so deliciously wet and hot, expertly licking around you in a way that’s slowly unraveling you, and you shiver when you think about where else his mouth can be of use. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head and you cant your hips up desperately in an effort to gain some sort of friction against the nearly overbearing ache between your thighs.

His hands come down to press your hips down in an effort to make you stop squirming and you feel him shift until his knee is pressing between your legs and against your pussy through your shorts. The feeling of his warm hands on you and the seam of your shorts rubbing against your clit causes an embarrassingly high-pitched whine to escape your throat.

“You’re teasing me,” you pant, tugging at his hair experimentally.

Another raspy groan erupts from Aaron and, if possible, you feel hotter. His mouth detaches from your nipple and you instantly miss the hot heat of his mouth, until he says “And what if I want to taste that pretty little cunt of yours?”

Imagining Aaron pressing open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, breathing hotly against your panties until he’s pressing his tongue against you, smearing even more wetness around until you’re nearly dripping onto the expensive upholstery has you whimpering. Your mind races as you imagine him pulling your panties aside so he can press his soft mouth against you, licking and lapping at your pussy like you’re a five-course meal, sucking on your clit until you’re screaming his name and begging him to stop.

No words come out, mind nearly melted just at the thought of Aaron looking up at you from between your thighs and his mouth on your cunt. Instead, you let out a breathless moan and attempt to grind down against Aaron’s knee, chasing the little stimulation you can get.

Aaron licks his lips as he watches you, eyes dark and predatory. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” His thumbs briefly traces your hips, and you nearly miss the tender touch, before he’s hooking them into the waistband of your shorts and tugs them down. “But we don’t have time for that, so I’m just going to fuck that needy pussy of yours.”

It took quite a bit of wriggling and Aaron hitting his head against the roof of the car to get your shorts and panties off of you, and you’re about to joke that this was an exercise in of itself, until Aaron is settling back between your legs with his own legs crammed underneath him. You suddenly realize Aaron is still wearing all of his clothes, polo wrinkled and pants hanging loosely at his hips, while you’re completely naked and vulnerable, desperate and needy like he said.

His fingers dance across the soft expanse of your thighs until he presses a finger against you, so close to where you need him. You breathe unsteadily and have to close your eyes, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, when Aaron gently grazes between your folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, honey. Is this all for me?”

You nod rapidly and push your hips down in an effort to tell him to hurry the fuck up.

Aaron tuts at you. “What did I say about using your words?” And then he’s forgoing your clit completely and pressing a thick finger inside.

You gasp, eyes shooting open and meeting his from where he’s watching your face so intently it would’ve been intimidating if you didn’t feel white-hot pleasure take over your body. “Yes, I’m wet, just for you,” you rush out.

He hums, satisfied. “Just for me, right?” He begins thrusting his finger inside of you, and the feeling of being filled and something finally happening has you arching your back against him again, soft whines escaping your mouth before you can help it. The lewd noises from your sopping pussy rings out in the small space of the car, jarring, but it just makes you feel hotter.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, attempting to rut your hips down to meet his thrusts, steadily growing in pace. Your hand shoots down to take ahold of his forearm, nearly distracted at the veins popping out, when you feel a second finger prodding at you. “Please just fuck me already, I’m ready.”

You watch Aaron’s mouth form what has to be a reprimand, scolding you for being so desperate, but then it closes and forms into something softer even as his gaze is fixated on his thick fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy. He leans in and kisses you before you realize, just a soft press of his lips against yours. When he pulls back, he’s still wearing a faint smile, and tucks a stray strand of your hair behind an ear. It’s all so painstakingly affectionate, you feel at a loss for words again but for a completely different reason you can’t name.

“How can I say no to you?” he mutters, almost to himself, and it shocks you to your core.

He doesn’t wait for a response and pulls out a condom from his back pocket. You watch as he’s about to tear the foil packet open, thoughts turning over and over in your head, before you exclaim “It’s fine, I’m on the pill.”

He pauses and stares at you, serious based off the pinch of his brows. “Are you sure? I don’t mind…”

“I’m sure,” you say, throwing your arms around his neck so you can run your fingers through his hair. And you are absolutely sure, confident, because you know the cherry on top of this whole experience would be feeling his cock spill in your pussy and filling you up. “I want to feel you.”

You watch as he groans, closes his eyes, and leans his forehead against yours, staring at the flutter of his long eyelashes. “You are killing me, sweetheart.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Are you kidding me? I can say the same for you.”

Because if you thought Aaron looked good wearing a suit in those blurry pictures on Facebook, it doesn’t even compare to how he looks now. His polo tightly stretched over his shoulders, slightly disheveled from where you were grabbing onto him, belt unbuckled and pants hanging deliciously half-open from his hips, and hair tousled, the gel maintaining his professional appearance giving way to make him look younger. He’s so unbelievably hot you almost believe you’re dreaming.

You watch as he pushes his jeans and boxers down enough to where his cock pops out, the head a sympathetic dark red from where he must’ve been achingly hard this entire time. Before you make another attempt to have him in your mouth, he’s pushing in, stretching you deliciously open and making you grip harder at the hair at his nape.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight for me,” Aaron grunts, his hands flying to grasp onto your hips.

Although you can feel him sink into you, inch by inch, you’re mesmerized by the sharp focus on his face, the pinch in his brow and eyes clenched shut. As if he’s trying not to throw away all abandon and pound into you, and the thought is so intoxicating it makes your head spin.

“Oh my god,” you mumble. He bottoms out, his cock finally pushed all way in your pussy, and he’s much bigger, thicker, than you realized. It feels so, so good—being filled up with his hard cock, his hips pressing against your thighs as they splay out the way you’ve been dreaming of for the past week.

“You okay?” Aaron asks, gentle again, and before you could answer, he’s pulling back and thrusting back into you.

A gasp wretches out of you and your hands scramble at his back, pulling him down because you need him to be closer, need his large body pushing down on you and making you take him.

He lets you, giving you a mockingly sympathetic look, and leans down to press an open-mouthed kiss against your jawline. He starts a steady rhythm then—thrusting in and out of you and knocking the breath out of you. “You’re going to take my fat cock, baby? I know you’ve been begging for it all week; you need it so bad, don’t you?”

Jesus Christ.

Words escape you again, instead, your mouth hangs open as you attempt to nod in response. Even though the car’s AC was blasting, you were covered in sweat and sliding up the seats with every thrust of Aaron’s hips. You definitely weren’t complaining, probably wouldn’t even be able to because sounds you didn’t even know you were capable of making kept coming out of you, eyes nearly permanently rolled back in your head. It felt so good, you didn’t think fucking could ever feel this good, but Aaron continues to exceed expectations.

You hitch your legs up his hips higher and let out a high-pitched whine at the change in angle, hot pleasure zinging up your spine. Aaron grunts, something dark and masculine that makes you preen, and his hips start snapping harder, faster.

“Look at you,” he murmurs lowly right into your ear. “Being fucked so good you can’t even speak.”

He shifts again, hands hooking underneath your thighs and, with your nod, presses your knees to your chest until they’re next to your ears, legs dangling over his shoulders. You wrap your arms around your thighs, holding them in place, and your eyes nearly roll back into your head when Aaron’s cock slides even deeper into your cunt with a wet sound. He feels heavenly, even despite not having touched your clit at all.

He fucks you relentlessly and you think your brain has melted out of your ears because you just take it. The sound of his skin slapping against yours, the litany of groans and praises that fall from his lips, and your nonstop whimpering gasps is heady. You don’t even care if you can’t come just from him rutting into you alone, it feels too fucking good.

He sits back up, not once breaking his brutal pace, and makes unwaveringly intense eye contact with you. “My beautiful girl takes my cock so well, making such pretty noises. I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my come.”

You really did not expect Aaron to have the dirty mouth he does, but again, you’re not complaining. Instead, you bring one of your arms down to snake between your thighs where you’re absolutely soaked in your combined wetness and sweat to circle your clit. The added stimulation, finally, has your thighs shaking and your pussy clenching around him. You squirm a bit, because his belt buckle has started to dig into you from where his pants are pooling around his knees, but you’re suddenly so close.

“Fuck, Aaron…”

He licks his lips at that, starts to fuck into you faster somehow. He knocks your hand aside to replace with his own and you absolutely mewl when you feel the rough callous of his thumb gently circling your clit, impossibly slow. “Is my good girl going to come? You’re going to come all over my cock, sweetheart?”

Your heart is pounding in your ears, and you can barely detect the strain in Aaron’s voice, like he’s close too. “Yes, yes, please,” you stutter, feeling your gut tighten and sweat breaking out on the back of your neck. “Harder.”

Aaron lets out a shaky laugh. “Since you asked so nicely.”

And then he’s rubbing your clit mercilessly, almost too rough if your nerves weren’t already so close to snapping. You let out a string of strangled whines, your hands coming up to hold onto Aaron’s free arm for dear life. You’re so wet that his fingers just glide over you, the wet noises of him fucking into you getting you hotter, making the coil in your stomach wind tighter, but it’s still not enough.

You watch with half-lidded eyes as Aaron lifts his right hand from where he was definitely leaving bruises on your hip to place at the base of your throat. Your eyes widen but you don’t stop him because the feeling sends your mind spinning, realizing that you have placed so much trust in this man and he’s thoughtful enough to care for you, treasure you, and fuck you so hard he’s definitely ruined you for anyone else.

His eyes are impossibly dark, hair falling into his face, and you meet his gaze unblinkingly as he puts light pressure on your throat. “Come for me.”

You don’t know if it’s the hand on your neck, his cock frantically fucking into you, or the soft baritone of his voice that has you pushing over the edge. You come with a choked gasp of his name, hips and thighs shaking almost uncontrollably. You swear your vision whites out because you don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your fucking life.

You distantly hear Aaron grunt your name, feel him fuck into you desperately and erratically. He lets go of your throat, you secretly already miss the weight of his hand, and he clutches at your hips as he chases his own orgasm. It doesn’t take long for his hips to stutter, coming into you with a guttural moan that sends a shiver down your back. He grinds his hips into you, like he’s making sure he’s giving you every last drop he has, and the thought has you whimpering.

You stay like that as both of you catch your breath. Your thighs and hips are starting to ache uncomfortably, pussy sore in a way where you know you’ll be feeling it tomorrow, but you watch the way Aaron runs his hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes so he can lean in to kiss you, and it’s all worth it.

He pulls out slowly, dick twitching half-way inside of you when you moan at the empty feeling. You feel his come instantly start to drip out of you and onto the seats, and the dangerous glint in Aaron’s eyes has you squirming, heat licking up your back.

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning over to open the console and hopefully rummage around for a hidden towel. You hope he doesn’t pull out old and scratchy fast-food napkins like the ones you have crammed in your glove compartment.

You laugh breathlessly, slowly dropping your legs down to dangle a bit more comfortably. “More than okay.”

He comes back with a pouch of wet wipes, slightly used, and you’re surprised at the sudden twinge of jealousy you feel when you imagine why he has wet wipes ready in his car and how many other women he’s fucked in his expensive car.

He’s thorough in cleaning you up, chest rapidly rising and falling as he continues to catch his breath. As if he can read your mind, he looks up at you curiously with no trace of the stern persona he had when he was fucking you mindlessly. You had thought you hid your jealousy well, however you find yourself glaring at the wipes in his hand.

He gives you an achingly sweet smile, a surprise dimple making an appearance, and leans over you where you’re still sweating all over his backseat. “Every parent has wet wipes in their car.”

You feel your cheeks heat at being caught, that he somehow knew you were drowning in the sudden onslaught of jealousy clawing up your chest. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” He throws the used wipes on the floor to pick up later, and then he’s wrestling around with you until you’re somehow laying on top of him across the seats, both of your legs bunched up and tangled together.

You’re sticky and sweaty, and Aaron has nearly sweated through his polo, causing it to cling to his chest in a way that has you wanting to put your hands all over him. So, you do, running your palms up and down him so intently that it gets a chuckle out of him.

“All of your clothes are still on.”

“Well, I was a little busy.” Oh, he’s a little cheeky after sex.

Both of you are laying in comfortable silence as you still catch your breaths, Aaron moreso than you, when his phone goes off where it hasn’t moved from the phone mount. The bright light causes you to squint, and you turn to press your face into Aaron’s chest with a whine. “Don’t pick up.”

“Alright, alright,” Aaron says despite him making no moves anyway to get up. He cranes his neck to get a good look at the caller ID and you can feel his body stiffen. “It’s your dad.”

And just like that, a bucket of cold water is splashed over you. You just had sex with your dad’s best friend in his expensive Range Rover in some sketchy rest stop.

You must have froze as well because then Aaron is running a hand up and down your back, making you shiver. He’s trying to comfort you, you know that, but honestly your thoughts immediately melt into other things that rely on his hands on you. Like pushing your head down between his legs. Maybe he’s right and you really are insatiable.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

The car ride the rest of the way to the hotel is mostly silent between you two, the only noises being the wind deafening you and your hair slapping into your face since he rolled the windows down.

To air out the stench of sex in the car, you remember.

You would almost think Aaron was mad, the way he didn’t try to make conversation with you, and you knew that you would be spiraling if it wasn’t for the fact that he held your hand in his lap the entire time.

You probably wouldn’t be much for conversation anyway—you’re already trying not to let your mind race about what you were going to do.

You’re only here for a couple of weeks, you go to school across the country, and technically, this was only supposed to be a summer fling. You don’t technically need to tell your dad about what happened.

You turn to look at Aaron, unabashedly. His hair is still tussled, thanks to your fingers, and there’s sweat beading along his forehead from the summer humidity. You stare at the sharp slope of his nose, the way the lights from the highway reflect in his dark eyes, and you’re suddenly wracked with the feeling of not wanting to let him go.

He squeezes your hand when he notices you staring for too long. He turns to you, most likely seeing the desperation on your face. He misinterprets it, thinking you’re running over what you’re going to tell your father over and over in your head. He has no idea that you want to keep seeing him, that you want to make this work somehow, whatever is between you two.

“We’ll figure it out.”

When you notice his gentle smile, the methodical way he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, you believe him.

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