hotchnerbau

izzy

| she/her | 20’s |

584 posts

My Exact Reaction To This Fic

my exact reaction to this fic

Loose Morals

MINORS DNI

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Younger!Fem!Reader (college student)

Summary: You and Jack have been friends for two years when you start having hot dreams featuring his father. Unfortunately, Mr. Hotchner happens to be just your type...

Tags: age gap, daddy issues, migraines, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, implied daddy kink, daddy kink if you squint, praise kink, Jack isn't necessarily a good friend, trauma bonding in a way, masturbation, smut, fluff, etc.

Word count: 11.2k

A/N: I wanted to take a break from editing Vanilla Twilight by writing a short one-shot. The thing is, I don't know when to shut up... Anyway, this ask and this pic inspired me, and I opted to write an entire fic around them. I just really needed to write smut after all the fluff and angst these past few times. I hope you like this one!

Being Jack Hotchner's best friend had its perks.

For one, he was honest and kind, and he was simply different than the rest of the guys your age.

Honesty had always been at the core of your friendship, through your first two years of college, you’d not only found a friend in him, but a brother.

You weren’t sure he saw you as his sister, but you didn’t care. He was still your family.

You were the first person he came out to, and he was the first person to whom you had admitted you had major daddy issues (which you still believed had been caused by not having a father around growing up).

Considering your mother had punched out when you turned 18, Jack was without a doubt the most important person in your life even if you weren’t the most important person in his life.

But being Jack’s best friend was sometimes a curse.

A sharply dressed, tall, and broad man disguised as a curse, that is.

Jack had an incredibly handsome dad, and to make matters worse, Mr. Hotchner was exactly the type you went for when you needed company.

Jack knew you had slept around with older men, he knew what your type looked like, yet he had never once mentioned his dad fit that pattern to a T.

Of course, you knew Mr. Hotchner was off-limits. You’d never try anything, you’d never do anything to jeopardize your friendship with Jack. But you couldn’t help how your eyes lingered on Mr. Hotchner sometimes, and it didn’t hurt anyone to just look.

You could control yourself, but forbidden things always had an extra appeal to them, didn’t they?

It was why, very early on in your friendship, you had reached an unspoken agreement with yourself: You would never spend the night at Jack’s house and you would avoid being alone with Mr. Hotchner at all costs. Thus, when party season was in full effect, you never drank to make sure you could drive yourself home after dropping Jack off.

Ironically enough, Jack loved having you around even more during that time because since you didn’t drink when you went partying, you could always be the designated driver.

Tonight had been no different in that regard, but a recent breakup had made Jack miserable and he had ended up drinking way more than usual.

Bringing him home was something you were happy to do, and each time you did, Mr. Hotchner thanked you profusely for bringing Jack home safe.

Each time, you tried not to make a fool of yourself, and you smiled and left without adding anything.

Truth was, even tired beyond words, Mr. Hotchner was extremely handsome. He was so effortlessly beautiful that you didn't trust yourself not to say something incredibly stupid to his face, and thus you actively chose not to talk to him alone when you could avoid it.

Sure, you could engage in small talk when Jack was awake and responsive, but when he was nearly passed out drunk, you did your best to avoid Mr. Hotchner.

There was something about the way his eyes bore into you that you couldn’t deny you liked, but you often explained it away by reminding yourself that Mr. Hotchner looked at everyone like that, with intense fixed gazes that could remind you of every wrongdoing you had ever committed.

Nothing you had tried had ever stopped you from blushing when you felt his eyes on you, and your high-pitched nervous laugh was only deafened by you chewing your cheeks furiously each time Mr. Hotchner said something nice to you.

You were positive Mr. Hotchner already thought you were a nutcase, or at the very least, that you were too shy and awkward to function properly when you were around him.

So, whenever you could, you avoided him out of self-preservation.

You had had to start evading him more in the past weeks when recurring sex dreams featuring him had started invading your nights.

It didn’t help that you were convinced that he was a sex god walking on two delightfully long legs. It didn’t help that you were sure that he had two muscly thighs that surely showed how he ran every other morning.

You had seen Mr. Hotchner sweaty and breathless only once, with his chest heaving big breaths that drew your attention to how deliciously large he was, and you had risked a glance at his whole body, licking your lips at the sight of his hairy legs, instantly concluding that coming over to study before noon wasn’t going to happen again for the sake of your sanity.

From that day, you had started having torrid dreams about grinding down on his damp thighs, dreams which had startled you awake and kept you on the verge of climaxing. Each time, you had woken up too worked up to care, and you had brought yourself to orgasm with only a few flicks on your clit before you screamed his name into your pillow.

It wasn’t right, but it was the only thing that did it. You had tried thinking of other things, you had even tried watching porn, but nothing worked except thoughts of Jack’s dad.

While it was great to be living alone because it meant that whenever the urge was too strong, you could get yourself off, it also meant that you had absolutely no control or restraint since nothing satisfied your incessant hunger for him, since nothing could scratch that particular itch…

You had managed to break two magic wands in the past three months, so you never stayed home too long when you had nothing to do, too afraid you’d turn into a sex addict.

But then there were the other dreams you were having, dreams way scarier than having Mr. Hotchner get you off.

Those dreams, dreams in which you shared a whole life with Mr. Hotchner, were your favorite. Yet, they were also heartbreaking because once realization hit you, once your mind was clear enough, you knew it would never happen, that it could never happen, and that hurt you a little more every time.

You had had so many dreams in which domesticity was the norm, in which you danced around the kitchen to great tunes while cooking together, in which his arms wrapped around your waist as his chin rested on your shoulder, as he hummed and squeezed you into a tight embrace, as he turned you around to kiss your forehead before he told you how much he loved you.

Your longing for him had only intensified in the past weeks as vivid fantasies muddled your mind, and you had had to escape any situation where you would find yourself talking to Mr. Hotchner even when Jack was around just to make sure Mr. Hotchner wouldn’t suddenly realize that every waking thought you had included him.

Mr. Hotchner probably knew most of the signs of attraction. Having been a profiler for the greater part of his life before he got a steady desk job meant that he was talented at observing, and you knew for a fact that he was brilliant and astute. You often chose not to dwell on those facts, instead, you averted your gaze so he wouldn’t read behind your eyes, so he wouldn’t magically deduce how detailed your imagination could be, as if he could know from a quick glance how you had envisioned him around you in every possible position and scenario.

You focused on Jack in the backseat, his blond hair ruffled by the wind coming in through the cracked window. The car smelled like alcohol and bad decisions, and your heart dropped in your chest when you noticed Jack shaking, hearing choked sobs every few seconds.

Fortunately, while you attempted to find the right words, he slumped and grew quiet.

The way it usually went when you brought him home was, you got Jack inside with your spare key, you dropped him on his bed upstairs before you left without making a sound.

But Jack was way drunker than usual, and you weren’t sure you’d be able to make him walk up the stairs by yourself. He was in no state to get himself up the stairs either.

You tried to talk to him to gauge if you could shake him awake just enough to get him up the stairs once you reached his house, but he just muttered strings of syllables.

The closer you got to his house, the more you realized you’d need help bringing Jack upstairs.

He was still mumbling things that made no sense, and you admired how the car ride didn’t make him throw up because he made no effort to hold up his head as he slouched in the back seat.

You chastised yourself for not asking someone to tag along to help you with Jack because now you would have only one option, and you weren’t sure you wanted to wake him.

It didn’t matter what you wanted, though. Jack was your family. You’d do anything for him.

Reluctantly, you asked Siri to call Mr. Hotchner.

He picked up on the first ring and you were relieved that perhaps you hadn’t woken him up by calling at this hour.

“Hi, sweetheart. Is Jack okay?” he muttered sleepily.

Shit. Maybe you had woken him.

Mr. Hotchner often called you ‘sweetheart’ but at this time of night with a husky voice? If this wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever heard…

You berated yourself for being distracted, intently focusing on the road and what needed to be done.

“Hello, Mr. Hotchner. Yes, he is. He’s just too drunk for me to bring him upstairs. Can you come down and help?” you asked, keeping your voice as even as you could.

“Of course. ETA?”

You looked around as you put on the turn signal. “I’m turning on your street.”

“Good. Thank you.”

You hung up just in time to park, getting out of the car swiftly to try to bring a clingy Jack out of the backseat.

Mr. Hotchner joined you before you even noticed he was outside, and a hand on your shoulder made you move back from trying to pick up Jack.

“I got him. Just help me when we get to the stairs, okay?”

You nodded.

It was all you could do because the sight of Mr. Hotchner in pajama pants and a tee shirt was apparently enough to bring your cerebral functions to a halt.

You were unable to comprehend how his hand had even ended up on you and how you could still feel the imprint of his palm on your skin.

Mr. Hotchner grunted from the effort it took to pick up his son, and you did your best not to memorize the sound for later use.

You shut the car door and followed him inside, taking some of Jack’s weight off Mr. Hotchner’s shoulders as you both brought him up the stairs and into his room.

You removed Jack’s shoes as Mr. Hotchner brought the covers over his son’s frame, and you tried not to think about the fact that you made a great team to get Jack into bed so efficiently.

Mr. Hotchner placed a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder, smiling a little at how unresponsive he was.

Clearly, he found the situation relatable and you wondered if Mr. Hotchner had ever been this drunk when he was Jack’s age.

You found it endearing to see how a good father could be so loving to his grown-up son, and even if it hurt that you had never gotten that, you still loved seeing it when it happened.

“Goodnight, bud.”

You didn’t want to intrude so you made your way out of the room just in time for Jack to mutter under his breath something that made you flinch and stop in your tracks. “I fucking hate you, Dad. It’s your fault Mom isn’t here.”

The room was dark, but the silver sheen of the moon glimmered enough that you could make out most of his frozen features. You saw Mr. Hotchner recoil and you heard his breath hitch.

It was fair to assume his face had probably contorted into a deep frown as you witnessed his arm going up, his palm meeting his forehead.

You knew the story. But you also knew Jack didn’t blame him. He never had. He had always said his father was his hero. You had heard him ramble on and on about how proud he was, and he had almost given you a formal presentation to celebrate him and every achievement of his. Every time he spoke about his dad, his eyes sparkled with joy, and getting to know more about how extraordinary Mr. Hotchner was had never helped lessen your deep-seated infatuation with him. If anything, it only magnified it.

So why was Jack saying this now when his dad had always been his role model?

Had he been lying to you this whole time?

You debated saying something, but in the end, you and Jack constantly called each other out on your bullshit or whenever you were out of line, and this time, he was clearly out of line.

For all Mr. Hotchner’s faults, you knew he was loving and present, and Jack shouldn’t take that for granted. You certainly wouldn’t.

“Jack, what the fuck?” you snapped. You clenched your jaw to abstain from scolding him, it wasn’t your place, but you wanted to bark at him to apologize.

The cold glow shone and lit the room just enough, making it easy to see how Mr. Hotchner’s shoulders dropped, and the silent shock that plagued the room made his bleak expression all the more distressing. Luckily, before you could question your next move, he turned his back so you couldn’t scrutinize how pain stained his gaze.

Jack turned towards you, baring his teeth. His glassy eyes and his jutting chin betrayed a rooted but still gaping wound, sadly mixed with an obscure and previously undisclosed fury. “This is a family matter. Leave,” he snarled.

Jack had never once said anything of the sort to you, and to have him belittle your importance so freely hurt you profoundly.

He was your family, but perhaps he was right, you weren’t his.

You left the room before your vision got too blurry to walk out, and you heard harsh whispered tones before you went down the stairs.

You wiped your eyes and were halfway out the door when a firm hand grasped your arm and brought you back inside swiftly.

Your face met a firm chest and you knew who it was before you could try to hide your tears, and you didn’t care about anything other than comfort right now.

It occurred to you that Mr. Hotchner was probably seeking some comfort too, after all, it couldn’t have been easy hearing his son tell him that.

Your arms encircled his softer middle section naturally, and you banished the thoughts that started to emerge. His tummy was a part of him you longed to cherish in your most lucid dreams, but it was unfair to bask in the sensation of his tall build covering yours because this was simply two sympathetic bruised souls engaging in friendliness.

You shut your eyes for a second, trying to breathe in and out, hoping the pain would subside.

“He didn’t mean any of it. He just gets like this sometimes,” he said softly.

You slightly moved away from the hug, still holding on but barely, aware it wasn’t appropriate for you to indulge too much.

You looked up into Mr. Hotchner’s eyes, and his distant stare and set jaw made your heart ache.

He was hurt. He was holding it together, but he was evidently tormented by trauma, and his tense stance wordlessly confirmed that some invisible wounds lurked and continued to run deep.

His gaze softened all at once as it met yours.

“He loves you. He always says you’re his hero. He even told me he never once blamed you for–”

A tentative hand came up to cradle your cheek, and a flick of his thumb picked up a few stray tears. “Sweetheart, even if he hates me, I’m his dad. I’m always going to love him.”

You forced a smile as tears welled up in your eyes.

You truly admired the father before you, and as much as you felt crushed that Jack didn’t consider you important, you could almost forgive him because it had led to this soothing closeness.

“Are you okay?” he fretted with genuine concern in his voice.

You suddenly realized how close he was, how he hadn’t loosened his hold on you when you had.

You could feel how strong he was every time he breathed, you could smell his aftershave and detergent, and a blaring thought reared its ugly head; his scent and his presence made you feel more at home than anything else ever had.

You couldn’t entertain that thought.

Not now, perhaps not ever.

You moved back, hugging yourself as a chill ran over you. “I’m fine.”

Mr. Hotchner frowned, but he didn’t push it.

Truth was, you weren’t emotionally equipped to deal with any of this.

Jack and Mr. Hotchner would have to be on the back burner for a few days, and you would have to go home to lick your wounds before you would even consider talking to Jack again.

You turned away, opting to leave before you did or said something stupid, but again, a firm hand grasped your arm before you could escape.

“You’re not driving anywhere at this hour and in this state,” he protested.

Fuck.

"I'm just going to sleep in the car," you explained, knowing it wouldn’t work but nonetheless hoping it would.

As if he sensed your discomfort, he released your arm and held his hands up in front of him.

"Just take my bed. I'll take the couch."

Sleeping in his bed? Sleeping where he slept? Sleeping where his scent would overwhelm you?

Considering how often you had dreams about him…

You knew danger zones. And this was one.

Hell, no.

"Oh, no. It's fine, Mr. Hotchner. The car seat reclines–"

He chuckled, startling you with the unexpected sound. "When are you going to stop calling me that? We’ve already talked about this. You make me feel old."

"You're not–"

A small lopsided grin graced his face, and the sight reassured you on the spot. “You can either stay the night or you can finally tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’m not–”

He quirked an eyebrow, and you should have known the profiler would notice you avoiding him at all costs when you used to talk to him a lot more, even if most of the time Jack was present, you still used to interact with him more frequently than you did now.

“It’s nothing you did,” you stressed.

He gave you a tight-lipped smile at that. "Come on. Get some rest. I'll wake you early in the morning if you really want to leave before Jack gets up."

You knew there was no saying no to him, so you nodded and made your way towards the stairs.

You knew where his room was because there weren't many rooms upstairs, and Jack had made you visit the entire house early on in your friendship.

"Goodnight," he breathed as you trodded up the stairs.

"Goodnight, Mr. Hotchner."

You walked into his room and looked down at yourself. Sure, a summer dress would be fine to sleep in, but if you closed the door and slept in your underwear, no one would know.

You discarded your dress before you lay down in the middle of the most comfortable bed you had ever been in.

You shut your eyes, smelling Mr. Hotchner all around you as you had a bit earlier.

It didn't take long for you to find restful sleep, and it took even less time for your mind to drift off to thoughts of Mr. Hotchner.

You were in the throes of the hottest sex dream you had ever had, so close to reaching your peak untouched as you woke up with a glaring pain behind your eyes and at the base of your skull.

Oh, shit.

You were no strangers to migraines. You had had them for years, but getting one when you were far away from your meds, and in someone else's home, someone else's bed...

Someone's bed.

Right.

You had just been dreaming about that particular someone going down on you.

Great.

You needed something for the pain and you knew where the ibuprofen was, so you tip-toed down the stairs, making your way to the main bathroom.

You were trying to look through stuff in the dark when the light was turned on, instantly stilling your movements.

"I'm just– I have a migraine," you stuttered before he could ask what you were doing in his medicine cabinet.

Mr. Hotchner wasn't frowning, and he didn't look unhappy you had woken him up in the middle of the night again, but as soon as you shared the reason why you were awake, he furrowed his brow with concern.

Then he looked up and down at you.

Shit. I'm in my underwear.

Mr. Hotchner raised an eyebrow as he smirked, removing his tee shirt and offering it to you so you could feel less naked.

His gaze made you feel more naked than anything you could wear or not wear.

He was such a gentleman that he gave you his shirt even if he was the one who ended up half-naked next to you.

Well, better him than me.

You put it on and Mr. Hotchner just waited until you cleared your throat to let his gaze fall back onto you.

You tried not to look at his bare chest or at the scars you knew were there.

You failed within seconds, but you had enough decency to make an effort to keep your eyes locked on his face.

"I'm sorry about your migraine, honey. What do you need?" he uttered in a soft hushed tone.

You shrugged, taking two pills from the bottle before looking away and down at your feet. "Cold compress? I don't know."

Mr. Hotchner offered you a glass of water before he moved around you to wet a cloth with cold water, and instead of giving it to you, he just took your hand and made his way to the couch.

He sat with you, facing you with his legs crossed. Somehow, he looked younger sitting like this, waiting for you to join him.

"Put your head here," he said, gesturing to his lap.

You had no idea what to do, but you were in pain and emotionally unstable, apart from being sleep-deprived, and you would never turn down an opportunity to be close to him under those conditions because your judgement was certainly impaired.

You lay down your head in his lap, looking up at him looking down at you.

He placed the cold compress on your forehead, making you sigh in relief as your eyes fluttered close. Gentle hands started massaging the back of your neck, your temples, and your scalp, making you shudder as he pressed on spots where the pain stabbed and blinded you.

For his apparent rough exterior, Mr. Hotchner had a very tender touch, and you wondered in what world it was okay for you to know that.

"How's that?" he pondered.

Your tense shoulders went limp as you relaxed even more, his fingertips rubbing your nape expertly. "Really good," you purred.

You were at his mercy, lax and drowsing in his lap unashamedly.

“I used to get migraines and tension headaches at your age. You know, law school was– I used to be permanently stressed out, living my life on high alert.”

“You?”

“Yes. Why is that so surprising?” he asked.

You opened your eyes to meet his, watching him wait for an answer.

“Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Hotchner, but you just look like the kind of person who has it under control all the time,” you stated.

He looked pensive for a split second, but he resumed massaging your temples, removing the cloth and folding it the other way around before putting it back on your skin. He was apparently making sure it remained somewhat cold enough to provide relief. It was a small thing really, but it spoke volumes that he cared enough to do that.

“Not all the time–” he said calmly. “Anyway, I wished I had someone take care of me when I was– and I didn’t so…”

What about your wife?

You let that go as soon as it echoed around in your head. It wasn’t any of your business why Mrs. Hotchner didn’t take care of him when he wasn’t feeling well.

To be fair, you’d always thought marriage was about finding someone you wanted to take care of. Someone for whom you’d cook soup, someone whose tummy you wanted to rub, someone to hold, someone to pet your forehead when you’re feverish. But that was perhaps the daddy issues talking.

He picked up the TV remote, and he offered it to you.

“Do you want to put something on while we wait for the pills to make you feel better, honey?”

You nodded. “Let’s just keep it low.”

That was mostly for your sake rather than Jack’s since he would have deserved to be woken up by a movie blasting in the living room, considering.

He seemed intent on letting you choose so you settled for something corny that wouldn’t require you to focus. You selected The Fault in Our Stars since you had already seen it and you were certain you would be able to follow the story without having to think.

You decided to move before you dozed off in his lap, but Mr. Hotchner just held you down as he stretched his legs on the sofa, leaving you with some leeway to find a comfortable way to lie down while still keeping you close. You shifted on your side, hugging his leg as your face rested sideways on his firm thigh. It allowed you to see the TV while still feeling his warm hand palming your scalp.

You removed the cloth from your forehead after a while, and Mr. Hotchner took it from you before he set it down on the coffee table.

You pretended not to feel him tremble when the movie took a sad turn, and as his hand came up to wipe his eyes, you had to shut yours to avoid getting tempted to offer to lick his tears away.

You also had to compose yourself because knowing Mr. Hotchner was the kind of softie who cried at sad films only made your longing more acute.

Having your head on his leg was enough of a treat as it was. You just had to reel it in and keep a tight lid on whatever it was you felt.

Your plan to compose yourself with your eyes closed completely backfired when you realized you had fallen asleep.

You woke to soft whimpers and a bulge protruding near the side of your head, right before you realized your name was being moaned.

Repeatedly.

You opened your eyes to find Mr. Hotchner asleep in a way that would surely hurt his neck, and he was rock hard next to your head, moaning your name as if chanting it like a prayer.

It's just a dream. It doesn't mean anything.

You turned on your front to fully see what was poking at your head. The tent in his pajama pants was huge, and the flimsy material of his pajama pants did nothing to hide the fact that he was big.

You salivated at the sight, incredibly aware that everything you wanted was within reach.

A particularly throaty moan escaped his lips and this time, when you looked up, he was frowning at you.

You got down on your knees in front of him, making him turn to follow you, letting him plant his feet on the ground, and you weren't sure how to proceed from there but the man had just moaned your name and followed your move on instinct.

He was sporting an impressive erection, and you wanted.

How you wanted.

It didn’t take much but you were done questioning it.

You smiled softly, deciding to bend down and mouth at his clothed cock.

If he really didn't want this, he would have tried to hide, he would have moved, he would have been embarrassed, he would not have been moaning your name, and simply put, he would stop you.

Instead, the second your lips were around his clothed hardness, his hips jerked up into your face and he groaned loudly.

You were thankful Jack was passed out drunk because surely, this would have woken him up.

"Are you sure you want this?" he hissed.

You just mouthed at his dick with more conviction, making his eyes roll back in his head.

His hands ended up at the back of your head, pushing your face infinitely closer.

“I knew from the second I saw you that you had raging daddy issues. Are you about to prove me right, sweet girl?”

You were putting a wet spot on his pajama pants, trying to taste him through layers of clothing. You placed both your hands on his thighs, sinking your fingernails into his hard flesh. Your fingers dug through the material as your mouth moved on him, but you wanted so much more than this.

“Mr. Hotchner–”

“You’re always so formal–” he tutted. He put a tender hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb on your soft skin. “Maybe one day, I’ll have you calling me by the right name.”

You let your hands roam on his bare chest as you continued to wet his pants with your saliva, trying so desperately to get some friction as you started rutting on his foot.

Mr. Hotchner stopped you, palming himself through his pajama pants.

“Please, Mr. Hotchner,” you pleaded, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“If you really want this, come up here,” he said, gesturing to his lap.

You got up so fast your head spun, but you straddled his lap without hesitation, patting his solid chest with determined hands. You felt him grip your waist, and you opted to trace his sideburns with the tip of your fingers before you let your fingers run through his hair.

He groaned instantly, rocking his hips up into you.

Mr. Hotchner leaned down to put his lips on your clothed breasts, savoring each one with warm breaths and enthusiasm, making you moan gently before he looked up at you on top of him.

He cocked his head while you panted above him, desperate to grind down on his erection to get some sort of relief.

His hands were on your rib cage, his fingertips so close to your breasts that even clothed, it felt like he was voluntarily teasing.

“How often I’ve dreamed of having you like this,” he noted, pushing your hair out of your face and behind your ear.

You started grinding down on his lap, making him gasp as you rocked your core against his. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, exhaling hot air onto your face, reminding you how close you were like this. It didn’t take long for your rhythm to falter and for the shirt to ride up your waist.

You were so lost in everything you felt that you had shifted away from his erection and you were left breathing hard as your panties slid back and forth on his hard thigh.

You saw Mr. Hotchner look down, his smirk wide as you both realized how wet you were. You were leaving an impressive spot on his pajama pants through your panties.

“You’re soaking me,” he croaked, his voice betraying he was as affected by this as you were.

You steadied yourself on his chest, feeling his hands grip your waist more forcefully, and without the tee shirt, he’d surely be leaving a mark.

He helped you rub yourself against his thigh, undoubtedly sensing you were consumed by the kind of craving that made you tingle from head to toe.

“Good girl. You’re doing so well,” he praised.

Of all the things he could have said, he happened to say the one thing that made you clutch his chest with biting nails.

“Mmffhm—”

“Oh, you like being called a good girl, sweetheart?”

You started shaking with need, feeling the coil in your stomach heating up and tightening.

His hand came to wrap itself around your throat, his eyes dark and filled with lust. “Answer me.”

“Yes, Mr. Hotchner.”

“Good girl,” he cooed with a smile, releasing your throat.

The flutters in your stomach melted with the burning desire raging inside you.

“Will you touch me?” you stammered, drunk on the feeling of his stiff thigh.

You could probably come like this if you continued.

Mr. Hotchner smiled cheekily, barely ghosting his finger over your drenched panties.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he grunted.

“Please–” you begged.

“I think you can come just like this, sweetheart. For me…”

You knew you probably could. You were close already.

He put his hands back on your waist, guiding your movements on his thigh, watching your hips rock back and forth intently.

“Are you going to make a mess, dirty girl? Am I going to need to wash you?” he asked huskily. “Maybe I should punish you for avoiding me. For not letting me talk to you or look at you.”

You were too far gone to wonder whether it had been as difficult for him to stay away from you as it had been for you to stay away from him.

You moaned as your hips moved without restraint on top of him, rolling them back and forth just right so the friction of your panties rubbed your clit perfectly.

“Oh, god.”

You were so close to reaching your peak, and you felt unbearably hot on top of him. You knew you were soaking his pants, making a mess on his thigh, and the thought of him wanting to wash you, of him being angry and punishing you because you had avoided him… It only spurred you on. The thought of him missing you in the slightest set you alight.

“Look at you, so beautiful wearing my shirt.”

“I’m too hot,” you whined.

“Do you want me to help you with that?”

You nodded eagerly.

His fingers pulled at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over your head, his eyes stuck on your face as you continued to grind down on his thigh. “You’re breathtaking.”

You smiled at the compliment, doing your best to ignore how delightful it felt that he thought you were breathtaking because you were sizzling from the inside with thirst, and you couldn’t deal with the weight of his admission while you chased your orgasm.

“Mr. Hotchner, you are so perfect–”

Lost in all the sensations and the sea of feelings that you were drowning in, he leaned down, his breath fanning over your breasts. He kissed a spot between them so softly, you thought you had imagined it for a second.

“You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he whispered.

The throbbing started to hurt, and you needed a bit more than just his thigh. You unhooked your bra, freeing your breasts, making your boobs bob up and down as you rubbed yourself on his erection a few times.

“Please, Mr. Hotchner.” You didn’t even know what you were asking for, but you needed him to do something.

He grinned at you before he wrapped his lips around a nipple, licking it before sucking on it, making you whimper on top of him.

He brought his other hand up around your throat before he decided to tap on your lips with his digits.

“Suck on them for me, sweetheart.”

You opened your mouth, and his index and middle finger sank between your lips. You sucked on them instantly, making him hiss your name as you felt him twitch in his pants.

Mr. Hotchner started licking your other nipple, sucking on it before he nipped at it gently, blowing hot air onto your skin as he alternated between them.

He removed his wet fingers from your mouth, making you whine at the loss before he mouthed at one nipple, pinching the other with his fingertips.

“So good, Mr. Hotchner–”

You shifted again as your rhythm faltered, rutting on his thigh again.

“Do it. Come on my thigh, sweet girl.”

You moaned loudly into the room, unable to keep the sounds from leaving your throat.

“Quiet,” he warned.

“I can’t,” you pouted with a whimper.

“Do you want me to keep you quiet?”

You nodded.

He put his middle and ring fingers into your mouth while his other hand came up around your throat, barely squeezing it, but it was enough. Sucking on his fingers with a hand wrapped around your throat, having him put pressure on your windpipe whenever you were about to be too loud, well, it did wonders.

You spared a thought for your sleeping friend upstairs, but as petty as it was, you couldn’t care less if you woke him right now.

Mr. Hotchner looked at you adoringly, showcasing his dimples as his lips curled into a dazzling smile, and the sight was enough for you to let go, the coil in your stomach ripped to shreds.

Your high came in violent waves as your body was overtaken by sharp shudders.

Yet, you felt as centered as ever when a soft palm tenderly stroked your back.

You opened your eyes, unaware you had closed them, and you found his gaze instantly, watching his hooded eyes, heavy with desire, survey you. He wasn’t scanning you for signs of uncertainty, his eyes simply darted over every inch of your face as if to take in your bliss.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

You let yourself fall forward, reveling in the feeling of him under you, surrounding you with his warmth, his cologne, his soft hands running up and down your back, his fingertips as they grazed your spine and made you shiver in delight.

“Thank you,” you muttered in the crook of his neck.

You’d probably regret this come morning, you’d probably question it, go over it a thousand times, but right now, he felt too solid underneath you to do anything but appreciate his enveloping comfort.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

You weren’t sure if your coming undone on his thigh would be the end of it, but you were thrilled that it apparently wasn’t.

You quietly entered his room with him, watching him lock the door before you let him remove your panties, watching him discard his pants and boxers eagerly.

He was indeed huge, leaking pre-cum and throbbing in need. The head was almost red, and you knew without a doubt that you wanted to take care of him as well as he had just taken care of you.

But Mr. Hotchner took the lead, and you willingly followed. You would always willingly follow him, and as terrifying as it was, the thought helped you draw in a full breath.

It took a matter of seconds for him to hover above you completely naked, and you couldn’t help but cup his cheek, feeling the shadow of a stubble scraping your palm.

He closed his eyes as if to savor it, and you cupped his other cheek, startling him enough to have him look into your eyes.

“You are so handsome.”

He looked giddy and shy for a second, two things you never would have thought to associate with him.

“This is way better than my imagination,” he admitted.

Wait. Had he thought about this too?

“You–” you started, your mind spiraling with a thousand questions.

“Yes, sweetheart. I’ve had to touch myself a lot because of you.”

“Show me?” you prompted.

He searched your features but he surely found you were dead serious about this.

Seeing his huge paw stroke his cock would fuel every last fantasy you would ever use to get off during your alone time.

“You really want to see, sweet girl?” he queried, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yes.”

“I’ll– Okay. But on one condition: Would you say my name?”

From your very first interaction with him, he had insisted on having you call him something other than ‘Mr. Hotchner’, and you had always been afraid that overstepping that boundary would be crossing a line, that you wouldn’t be able to come back from it if you engaged in something less than formal.

You smiled at him, assured that you wished to trespass.

“Aaron.”

“Hmm…” he hummed contentedly. He positioned himself with his back to the headboard, looking at you sitting down between his legs, facing him. He watched your hands caress his thighs before he looked at you again. “Say it again.”

“Aaron.”

He beamed at you, offering his left palm to you. “Spit.”

You obliged him, spitting into his hand a few times before he wrapped it around his erection, immediately mewling your name as he relieved some pent-up pressure.

Watching his hand move up and down on his dick made you swoon, and the level of intimacy of this whole display wasn’t lost on you.

He trusted you.

And you trusted him.

You leaned down to kiss his thighs, watching his hand speed up on his cock as you gently started biting his flesh, making him growl your name above you.

“You’re doing so well, Aaron,” you applauded.

His hips jerked up at the praise, making him thrust into his fist. He not only loved hearing his name, he decidedly loved this, too.

Aaron looked absolutely delicious, and you would have to appeal to every last ounce of self-control you had not to touch him or taste him.

“Ever since you came into our lives, I haven’t been able to get you off my mind,” he declared, and his voice completely mesmerized you as you observed his movements on his cock like a hawk. “Haven’t been on a date. Haven’t had sex. I can’t even watch porn without thinking of you, sweet thing. Fuck–” he added, gritting his teeth. “I don’t even like porn.”

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, your face so close to his cock you could almost taste the tangy salty pre-cum leaking from the tip.

“I touched myself to thoughts of you, too. I touch myself thinking of you. A lot,” you disclosed candidly.

His hand lost its pace when his thighs started trembling, and he grabbed your chin, smiling at you.

“My sweet forbidden fruit.”

You hummed his name again, kissing his thighs in quick succession, biting him gently to elicit deep guttural moans to come flying out of his mouth.

You were positive the soundproofing in this house was decent by now.

“I’m close– Do you want me to come like this, sweetheart?” he asked.

You knew this was Aaron’s way of inquiring where this could go, where the limit was, and whether you wanted this to stop, but you wanted all of it. If this happened only once, you needed to experience all of him.

You shook your head, raising yourself up. “As beautiful as this is, I want more.” You leaned down, kissing his chest gently before you sucked on a nipple, biting it a little as he had done to you earlier. It made him gasp in surprise. “Sorry.”

“No– I– I liked it.” He paused, caressing your face. “Way too much.”

“I want to cherish you. All of you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he uttered smoothly, cupping your face. “We’ll do that some other time. I feel almost ready to explode.”

Another time?

You really wanted another time, more than you cared to admit, and you were beyond happy he wasn’t rejecting the idea of having this happen again.

“I need you,” you blurted out.

He chuckled breathlessly, in no way mocking you but visibly, he was amused by your impatience.

“What do you want? What do you think of when you touch yourself?”

“Just you. Your mouth. Your fingers,” you clarified.

“We can make that happen.”

He flipped you, pulling you down on your back before he started kissing your neck, sucking on your pulse point and making you rock upwards, seeking friction.

Aaron started kissing his way down your body, lending great attention to your breasts again. He licked and sucked before he nipped gently, making you bury your hands into his hair. He groaned against your skin, thrusting his hips into nothing.

“What you do to me…”

He made his way down, kissing your stomach with so much affection that you felt cherished from head to toe.

You’d do the same to him some other him. You promised yourself that right there and then.

You were about ready to lose your mind once he settled between your legs, blowing hot air on your aching cunt.

“Please.”

“Say my name,” he demanded.

“Aaron.”

He grinned before he kissed your inner thighs, spreading you wide and pulling your legs over his shoulders.

“You smell delicious, sweet girl.”

He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, not losing any precious seconds before he sucked on it, making you rock your pussy onto his face.

He pressed down on your stomach with one hand, keeping you in place. He flicked his tongue over your clit repeatedly, making you arch your back, thrashing against his face regardless of the hand that he kept on you.

You pulled on his hair as he started sucking more vigorously, shaking his head with the movements of his tongue, making you whimper as you bit harshly into your hand to silence your cries.

He whined the more you pulled, and you released your hold on him. Aaron instantly gathered your hand into his and put it back in his hair.

You resumed the motions, this time gently tugging, and he growled against your cunt, making you thrash more violently under him.

The coil started tightening in record time, threatening to tear incessantly, and you were helpless to his oral assault. He seemed to understand his hand was pointless on your stomach the more you moved, and he removed his mouth, licking his fingers before he breached you with one, putting his mouth back where it belonged before you could protest.

He devoured you while he finger-fucked you, and you were left trying to find the right words to express how absolutely wrecked you were. He was ruining you for every other man, and he looked as if he knew it. He looked way too smug to be able to get you off this easily.

He added another finger, arching them into you just so.

You saw stars before you could even warn him, and you came with a loud shudder as you heard him growl your name from between your legs.

He didn’t relent, and when you started whining because of how sensitive you were, it seemed to fuel him. He was trying to milk this orgasm out of you bit by bit, and he was succeeding. Your legs quivered and unexpectedly, you felt a spurt of wetness drip down your pussy and onto his face.

You could barely comprehend what had happened when you got lost in subspace, but the sound of his voice kept you firmly tethered in the here and now.

Aaron made his way up to your face, kissing your cheek so delicately after basically eating you out like a five-star meal.

His face glistened with your juices, and you realized how soaked his face was, how sticky and warm it was, but he didn’t seem to care and you certainly didn’t.

You cupped his face with one hand, letting the other gently pat his hair to make up for the fact that you had pulled on his roots.

He definitely liked having your fingers massage his scalp, he shuddered as you traced his scalp with your fingernails.

He looked at you with a simple question in his eyes, but the only thing you could think to say was, “Please fuck me.”

He met your gaze with a serious look, his frown deepening. “If I take you, there’s no going back, sweet girl. I don’t share.”

He was making a statement but offering you an out. He was opening the door, but he wasn’t letting it close behind you. He was serious about this whole thing, and it occurred to you all at once that he liked you enough to not want to share you.

And while you were ready to agree to anything to feel him inside you, while you needed it like you needed air, you liked him enough to know what you were agreeing to.

What you felt for him was sometimes inexplicable, but there was no denying that you would not want any other man to touch you after this.

You caressed his raven hair once more, smiling at him without a single doubt clouding your mind. Two orgasms would tend to make anyone carefree, but above all else, as bare as you were, you felt safe. Protected. Cared for. At home.

He smiled back when he didn’t find you uncertain, and he kissed your forehead before he moved to find something in the drawer of his nightstand.

If ever this was the one and only time you got to be with him, you needed to feel him. If ever your morals got to you in the morning, if your head went against your heart, you needed to be as close to him as you could.

“Aaron, I’m on the pill. Please… I need to feel you.”

He nodded and positioned himself between your legs again, but something overcame him as you tried to bring his face closer to yours to finally find out how his lips felt against yours.

He flipped you on your stomach as if you weighed nothing at all, a hand found its way to your stomach, bringing your ass up in the air.

On all fours, you felt incredibly naked before him. But he stroked your skin lovingly, and somehow, it felt right. It felt magnificent.

You didn’t feel all that naked anymore.

He tapped his cock on your ass a few times before he breached you with the head of his cock, making you clench around the width unwillingly.

You groaned and whimpered the more he sank into you, stretching you out and splitting you in half painfully slowly.

“So fucking tight–” he grumbled.

A hand settled on your waist, gripping it tightly as you felt him twitch inside you. He would probably leave a mark if he continued to grip your waist this way, but you would admire it for days to come if he did.

Fortunately, you were still dripping wet so it didn’t take long for the pain to subside and blend with pleasure, a dull throb echoing around your inner walls and making you clench around his dick.

He was fully sheathed, but he made sure you remained bent over, your face breathing in his scent on the pillows.

It was intoxicating to be surrounded by all of him, but it was also troubling because you would never get enough.

He slowly pulled out before he drove his cock back in in one go, and it was obvious as you tried to think that you had been rendered dumb and mute by his dick.

“Mmffhm—”

“You feel so good, sweetheart.”

His hips started snapping abruptly, his rhythm unforgiving as he thrusted in and out of you sharply.

Aaron was surely driven by forces of nature or by sheer animal instinct as he gripped your ass cheeks with his hands, chewing your flesh with his fingers.

It felt absolutely amazing to be taken.

It felt empowering to know he was making you his.

“Go on, tell me this pussy’s mine,” he drawled as his thrusts became sloppy.

“Yours. All yours,” you affirmed, chanting his name into the pillows as each thrust of his hips made your cheek rub against the sheets.

His thumb gently tapped on your asshole, letting you know you were at his mercy.

“All those pretty little holes are mine,” he groaned. “You are mine. Say it.”

“Yes,” you whimpered. “I’m yours.”

He let a hand wander down to your stomach before he reached your clit, palming you enough to make you shiver and thrash relentlessly on the bed.

The only sounds in the room were skin tapping against skin, muffled moans, and low groans.

He worked his fingers on your clit with harsher flicks, rubbing and pinching in succession.

“You’re clenching so hard around me, sweet thing. You have a vice grip on my dick.”

You could only partially moan incoherent syllables. “Mmffhm—”

“That’s right. I’m fucking you so good that you have to keep quiet or we’ll make the entire neighborhood.” He punctuated his sentences with harsher thrusts. “One day, though, I’m going to make sure to memorize all your pretty sounds while you beg and scream my name.”

Would there be another time? It wasn’t the first time he had suggested it tonight.

You couldn’t even think straight.

“I can feel your walls fluttering. Is the coil in your stomach tight?” he whispered breathlessly.

You barely nodded and a few soft slaps landed on your ass cheek, making you miss his fingers on your clit, but the sting of his palm was exquisite, sending an electric shiver down your spine before you felt flutters in your chest. Your stomach burned with need, you overflowed with happiness, and you were so close to losing it for a third time.

“Oh.”

“You like that, too, huh?” he teased. He said it as if he was making mental notes of everything that turned you on, and knowing him the way you did, he probably was. He was nothing if not observant, and he would surely make sure to know exactly how to get you off if the occasion presented itself again.

You couldn’t blame him, because regardless of the fact that you couldn’t form a single sentence, you had still taken note of everything that made him moan somewhere. You’d probably even get to revisit those things in your fantasies.

Aaron was all you could think about and he was all you could feel. He was everything that you wanted, and he would be everything you would ever want.

He drove his dick into you with longer thrusts, hitting so deep you saw stars as you chanted his name. He was not just grazing your g-spot, he was actually hitting it with precision every time he sank into you, and when his fingers found your clit again, you had to bite into his pillow to refrain from screaming your lungs out as your orgasm rocked you in waves.

You hadn’t had time to warn him, but it seemed to be a blessing when you felt him still behind you, his deep groans filling the room.

You felt him throb inside you, pulsating with each shot of cum you felt painting your walls.

He seemed to come for longer than you were used to, shaking violently enough to rattle the bed, but you wouldn’t move because you weren’t sure you could, and you wanted nothing more than to have his seed everywhere inside you.

Aaron suddenly let his entire weight fall down on you, seemingly unable to hold himself up any longer, toppling you over before he pulled you close to him as he rested on his side, watching you on your front as he started to delicately trace your spine with his fingers.

He smiled at you lazily, like a man who had just fucked you silly.

He looked proud, but he also looked genuinely happy.

You smiled back, finding it easy to be lost in this silent moment with him.

Nothing needed to be said or acknowledged.

His cum was shoved so deep inside you, his dick had stretched you so good you’d feel it for days, and he was smiling at you with affection in his sparkling eyes.

You didn’t want to wonder whether it would happen again because you were determined to make sure it would.

You remained transfixed for a few minutes, waiting for your trembling limbs to stop tingling.

Aaron started drifting off, but he shook himself awake and he grabbed your hand with determination. “Come on, I’ll wash you.”

You tried to follow him to what looked like an ensuite bathroom, but your legs were too wobbly to sustain you.

“My legs–” you explained as you almost fell face first.

His arms held you up effortlessly, and he just looked way too smug to have made your legs surrender.

“Oh, I’ll take care of you,” he cooed.

Aaron picked you up bridal style without notice as if it was normal to do so, bringing you to his shower as he started it with one hand.

He made it seem easy to hold you up, and you put your arms around his neck, indulging in the proximity he was providing.

He brought you inside the shower once he seemed satisfied with the water temperature, putting you down worriedly, holding you close as you verified that your legs could hold you up.

He was so gentle and careful, you wondered if this was the same man who had just fucked you senseless into the mattress, the same man who had told you to tell him you were his.

The same man who is your best friend’s father.

It came crashing down on you all at once.

You felt guilty, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret any of it.

Truth was, you would do it again.

All of it.

Am I a horrible friend?

It didn’t matter when Aaron was looking at you like you were the most precious thing he had ever held.

He kissed your forehead under the spray, letting his lips linger there before he kissed your nose and hovered above your lips.

You didn’t let him hesitate, knowing he had probably not kissed you until now because this was sacred. This was more. This wasn’t about carnal needs or desires, it was about having a real emotional connection.

It was about acknowledging this was more than just fucking.

You grabbed his head and closed the distance, finally finding out that his lips were soft and sweet, and that his breath was warm and soothing.

You kissed him until he let you graze his tongue, until you sucked on his lower lip, until his knees buckled and you had to hold him up as much as he was holding you up.

He was out of breath by the time you pulled away, his eyes dark but soft.

This time, he was the one who couldn’t find the right words.

“Can I wash your hair?” you inquired.

You knew he liked having your fingers in his hair, and you figured that since you were both wet anyway...

He nodded and kneeled, picking up his bottle of shampoo before handing it to you with a grin.

His eyes gleamed with anticipation, and he hugged your waist as you patted his head, watching how much younger he looked like this. The lines on his face were nothing if not incredibly attractive, but his whole demeanor as he kneeled innocently before you was simply adorable. He looked carefree, but above all else, he was unguarded.

Aaron moved back just enough to let you work, his hands on your legs, looking up at you like a golden retriever looked at his favorite human, with pretty and big brown eyes filled with adoration.

You finished washing his hair and you used his body gel to wash yourself clean swiftly, loving that you would smell like him for hours if you wondered whether your mind had played a sick trick on you when you woke up.

Aaron let his head fall down and for a second, you admired his fleeting vulnerability. You had caught a few glimpses of it tonight, but you knew without a doubt he was having second thoughts because of his son.

He was a good man. You were a good person. At least, you thought so.

And you had both just done something very… questionable.

But questionable shouldn’t feel this good, right?

“He doesn’t hate you, you know,” you whispered softly, hoping to calm the quiet storm which seemed to rage inside him.

You lifted his chin with your fingers, meeting his tender but apprehensive gaze. He wasn’t hiding and he wasn’t panicking, he was just calling his morality into question. You knew because you were, too.

He was completely bare before you, in every way possible. “Thank you.”

Aaron didn’t voice that Jack would probably hate him if he found out about this, and you were grateful for that.

Nothing needed to be said. You had both risked your relationship with Jack tonight.

He didn’t mention that he was concerned that his son already hated him either, but you knew he was worried. To be fair, Jack probably hated the entire world because of his breakup right now, and you didn’t think it had been directed at Aaron in particular. You were both just caught in the crossfire earlier.

While he and Jack had had their fair share of hurt, their relationship wasn’t rocky. You knew that much. After all, you were around for the last two years and not once did you feel any animosity between them.

You got on your knees, hugging him close under the warm spray. Whatever this was, whatever happened, he deserved comfort.

You got out of the shower still holding on to one another, wrapping yourselves up into towels before you walked back into his room.

He offered you a tee shirt before he kissed your crown, his arms wrapping themselves around your waist. “Are you hungry? I could make us something.”

He was so thoughtful, so considerate…

I am in love with him.

It wasn’t a scary realization, it wasn’t even unsettling. It was just there.

“I’m good. Thank you.”

He smiled and put the tee shirt down over your head before he put on a pair of boxers. You wondered what the right course of action was as he got settled in bed, but it became obvious as you watched Aaron opening up his arms to you. You didn’t hesitate and you wrapped yourself around him like a koala, your arms finding their rightful place around his waist.

He kissed your forehead again, his lips lingering there.

“What does this mean?” you finally asked, addressing this pleasant energy between you.

“It means that you should sleep here more often.”

“Aaron–” It still sounded foreign rolling around in your mouth, after all, you had called him ‘Mr. Hotchner’ for over two years, but it was not unnatural. “What are we–”

“I don’t know. Just stay with me?”

“This can’t ever happen again, right? Jack would never forgive us if he found out.”

“Why? He doesn’t want you for himself–”

Wait. How does he know that?

“Sorry?”

"I know my son isn't attracted to women, sweetheart. I figure, when he's ready, he'll tell me."

Apparently, Aaron was as observing as you gave him credit for.

But Jack wouldn’t be mad because he was jealous. He would be mad because he brought you here, and you had betrayed his trust.

“It’s not that. He’s my only friend. He’s–”

“Taking you for granted most of the time. He’s everything to you but–” He paused. He clearly knew how much it hurt you to hear it voiced out loud. “You’re a great friend, honey. He’s not. I know my son. I still love him but he’s not perfect– Look, you might have convinced yourself he was the closest thing you had to a brother, but I’m telling you, a friend– a brother– gives back. You bring him back from parties, you make up cue cards for him when he needs to study, you do some of his essays… When was the last time he did something for you?” He paused again, letting you think. “And if he knows exactly who you are like you think he does, he must know what kind of men you like–” he added, tracing your arm with the tips of his fingers, raising goosebumps as he painted your skin with soft touches. “And still, he brought you here…”

“Aaron–”

He kissed your forehead, angling his body so you could curl into his embrace a bit more. His lips were slightly parted as he looked into your eyes, and a faint taint appeared on his cheeks.

You crinkled your nose in amusement at the sight.

He was buried inside you minutes ago, and now he was blushing because you had used his first name unprompted.

He loved hearing his name leave your lips, that much was obvious from his dilated pupils and long lazy blinks.

“I’ll be good to you, sweetheart. I just need you to let me,” he murmured.

His hand finally sat on your rib cage, and you involuntarily pouted because this was exactly what you wanted, and he was offering it to you on a silver platter without any reservation.

“I just–”

“Sweetheart, we could find a million reasons not to but I want–” He paused, long enough for you to admire his pursed lips and furrowed brow. He was gorgeous self-assured, as you knew, but he was somehow even more stunning when he was insecure. He tugged on the hem of the shirt he had put on you, bowing his head down before zeroing in on your face. A fond expression ghosted over his features, looking at you through eyelashes that should be illegal on a man. “Look, we’ll figure it out, okay? You live alone, we can sneak around and… I don’t know. We don’t have to decide anything just yet, but I’d like to explore this. I really like you.”

“I– uh– yes. Me too.”

He set an alarm on his phone before he kissed the top of your head, squeezing you tightly into his arms.

“Sleep, sweet girl. I’ll wake you. Jack sleeps in till noon when he’s hungover anyway.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

You didn’t miss how his breath hitched at the nickname or how his pulse quickened as you yawned against his chest.

He let out a long breath as his arms engulfed you, lulling you into peaceful safety and unwavering comfort. He played with your hair and massaged your neck, tracing the lines of your face with his fingertips as if he wanted to be able to draw you from memory, effectively rendering you oblivious to the world before you could think about the possible repercussions of what you had just agreed to be for one another.

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