Sinful!Henry Waking You Up With An Orgasm.

Sinful!Henry waking you up with an orgasm.

Summary: Ever so in love with you, he can’t hold back and decides to please you even in your sleep.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader (2nd person POV)

Words: 650

Warnings: 18+, RPF, smut, somnophilia, fingering, female orgasm, male erection, hinted sexual intercourse, savouring on bodily fluids, body worship, male POV, Freya’s use of poetic sex metaphors.  

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

N/A: Decided to try something different, told from a male pov while it’s still reader inserted. Not beta’d; we die with our typos like August getting hit with a hook, falling off a cliff and crashing into an explosion. Divider by @firefly-graphics 

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed my work. 🖤

Midnight Glow.

The shades of a midnight glow veiled you, slumber an unjust kiss that kept you away from my bewildered gaze. Leaning on my forearm to watch you sleep, I was in awe, but of course, forever will I be taken by your deity.  

My dear love. My definition of beauty. 

Not wishing to wake you from your sleep, I carefully reached a knuckle to brush upon your cheek - the surface of your skin so supple it felt like silk. The faintest flutter waved through your lashes, and a dark crease parted your lips though you did not wake.

"Are you dreaming?" I whispered while carefully, my hand glided below the blanket shielding your perfect body. God, your flesh simmered below my palm as if my trail left a path of blazing flames behind it. I took your left breast and gave it a light squeeze, my thumb massaging your hardening nipple, making the beat of your heart quicken, and a shudder of breath left your quivering lips.

"Are you dreaming about us?"

A part of me wanted to wake you, to sink between your parted legs and make slow love to you, but I couldn't resist the temptation of bringing you to ecstasy within the tendrils of a delirium. 

My hand continued to survey down the valley of your torso, following the warmth calling me from between your thighs. I leaned closer with my upper body, almost hovering from above while two long fingers parted your soft petals, and my thumb found the jewel hidden at your apex. I wanted to breathe in the silent moans that escaped your lips as slowly my thumb began to draw languid circles over your clit. 

The moan that cracked from your throat thrummed through my lungs, and just then, I felt dew pooling at the honeyed crease that longed for my penetration. 

"I love you," I uttered and kissed below your eyes. The pillowy pads of my digits traced the seams of your dripping slit, raking the smooth wetness on and on before entering your succulent cove.

Little wrinkles formed in your brow. You moaned even harder, your entire body writhing and coiling, spine rising from the matters with the invasion of my fingers into your heavenly cunt. It almost seemed as if you would levitate, possessed by the spirits of pleasure I provoked within you. In and out, I continued to tease your clit by my thumb and pumped in you, my cock stirring in unfulfilled desire to conquer while your hot canal milked around my fingers.     

Hanging between fantasy and consciousness, you bucked your hips into my hand and called by my name. 

"Henry..."

Enamoured, I entered you knuckles-deep, pressing into the sensitive spot that made you quake with rapture. Finally, your beautiful eyes flared open, your mouth did too as your pussy clamped around me. I could feel you spasming against my hand, the tidal convulsion of your ecstasy spurring before you fell back to pillow gasping with astonishment. 

"Good morning...?" you panted, looking at me semi-amused and semi-stunned.

Leaning in, I drank the mead of your lips and brushed my nose over yours. 

"Actually, it's the middle of the night..." I retorted with a sheepish grin and then slowly slid my fingers out and brought your elixir to my mouth. 

Your sharp fangs grazed the pillow of your bottom lip as I savoured on your taste. Impressed by my devotion, you ran your hands down my abdomen, weaving through the hair of my body. 

"Then why did you wake me?" 

"Couldn't sleep again," I shrugged and groaned as I felt your nails scratching below my navel.

"Well, it seems like someone else is up. Should I... fuck you to sleep?"

I smiled groggily and flipped onto my back, letting you climb onto my body and take the reins.

The last thing we were going to do tonight was sleep. 

omg that's the stand in by @oh-for-fic-sake !!!

Hi! I’m looking for a Henry cavill series fic where YN is the makeup artist ( I think) on the set of the Witcher and they fall in love. Random part that I remember is that YN has a dachshund😂and YN has overprotective brothers. Anyone know the fic that I’m talking about?

Hello dearest anon!

I'm sorry it's taken me a while to get around to answering but I've been checking and looking and I can't find anything although it rings a bell!

Can anyone else help anon out?

💕

Talk about worth the wait 😥😥😥😥😥😥😥😥😥 JUST ABSOLUTELY AMAZING RABBIT 💙💙💯💯💯 cant even begin to put into words how awesome this is.

Even If You Don't Mean It - Part Three

Summary: Your reunion with Sy is just as passionate you hoped it would be, but things start to become strained when you suspect he isn't being honest with you.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 10.5k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Smut including oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, dirty talking, implied masturbation (m and f), showering together, slight praise kink, anal play (f receiving), mentions of PTSD, descriptions of PTSD, mentions of war, angst, fluff.

Part Three Warnings:

Smut including fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, intimate touching, showering together, dirty talk, slight praise kink, discussion of PTSD, insomnia, illusions to war, angst, fluff.

Authors Note:

Thanks once again to my wonderful friends and beta readers @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed . Your constant support and friendship means the world to me.

A massive thank you to @radiantheartbeat for editing you have truely lifted my writing and inspired me to be better. It has meant the world to me and I have enjoyed getting to know you through the process as well. Everyone, if you want some more great Henry content, please check out her blog here . You won’t be disappointed.

Divider made by me.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part 2 Part 4 (Coming Soon)

Sighing contentedly, you put your hand on his still panting chest and run your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. It curls slightly around your fingers, and you like the way your feminine hand looks against his masculine chest. Slowly, his breathing evens out and he takes long, deep breaths.

“I could stay like this all day,” Sy says, wistfully, and you hum to let him know you agree, “But, I should take a shower.”

“I don’t mind if you’re a little sweaty,” You kiss the still humid skin on his neck to prove it, “Your cuddles are nice.”

Sy’s head is tucked deep into your neck, his breath is hot and harsh against your cooling skin. He’s mostly still, but occasionally his lips sweep over your skin so lightly that it could barely be called a kiss. When you hear him exhale with a moan, you quickly realise that he’s not actually kissing you; he’s yawning.

Sitting up straight, you catch him in the act, with his bearded mouth wide and his nose all scrunched up, looking as tired as a Grizzly bear ready to hibernate.

“You’re tired!” you utter, as your fingers dive into his beard. You still can’t tell if you like his facial hair. His ruggedness, an obvious display of machismo, is definitely a turn on and it feels so much better than you thought it would. On the other hand, you miss seeing his perfectly sculpted jaw and his dimpled chin. The beard makes him look older too, and no one except old men wear beards anymore. Maybe he’d look good with a goatee, lots of guys were wearing those recently.

“No, just getting used to the time zones again, that’s all.”

“What time did you get to bed last night?”

“Baby, I’m fine,” Sy insists.

You consider arguing the point. You know how little sleep you got last night, and you assume Sy would have experienced something similar, not to mention the travelling he’d done all day. His eyes are a little red around the edges and he’s blinking a lot. He reminds you of a kid who’s trying to stay up to see Santa Clause, barely able to keep their eyes open, but insistent on not missing out.

“You want to take that shower now, Chewbacca?” you ask, giving Sy’s beard a little tug. You climb off his tree trunk like thighs and collect your discarded clothes.

Sy stands, following you, and grabs hold of your hand with a raised eyebrow, “You don’t like it?” he asks, bringing your hand to his chin and rubbing his whiskers on your palm. It tickles and you squirm. Smirking, he adds, “I didn’t hear any complaints earlier.”

Playfully you jerk your hand away with a giggle, “I’m not used to it is all. Never even kissed a guy with a beard before, let alone…” your face feels like it's on fire and your ears burn, “the other thing.” Now that your blood has cooled, so has your confidence.

Sy keeps smirking as he gives you an amused look and bends to pick up his clothes, “Never been eaten out by a guy with a beard?”

Oh God! A jolt of energy tingles your spine and your core clenches. Shit, just hearing him say those words gets you worked up again.

You shake your head, “Never,” you say softly.

“You liked it though, didn't ya?” Sy’s smirk turns to a full grin, and his cheeks crease into dimples just above his beard. His eyes no longer seem tired, instead they shine with roguish intent, “It’s alright, baby, you can tell me. It’ll be our li’l secret.”

You bite your lip. He is such a flirt, how had he hidden this side of himself all this time? Turning away from him you make your way down the short hallway.

“Of course I liked it,” you say a little shyly, glancing behind you to make sure Sy is following, “You know I did! You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?”

“I ain’t gonna deny that, I like hearin’ you say you enjoyed it. ‘Specially in that voice of yours,” Sy’s voice grows raspy, and his register lowers as he speaks. You feel his body behind yours as he wraps an arm around your belly and growls into your ear, “Listenin’ to you moan my name— shit, you could make a man lose his damn mind, ya know that Sugar?”

Lose his mind? If that’s the case, you aren’t going to be far behind. One turn of phrase and he can melt you. It’s been a long time since a man has had that effect on you and the only thing that stops you from being embarrassed is that it’s obvious you have a similar effect on him.

“Give me your clothes,” you say with a warble in your voice.

Sy passes you his bundle and taking his bag from the hallway, you open the door to your room.

“My bedroom,” you tell Sy. His lips seem to grow tight into a line as he sticks his head through the door while you drop his clothes and his bag on the bed.

“You ok?” you ask him as you reenter the hall.

Sy eyes you up and down as he draws his lower lip into his mouth. Whatever the look he had on his face a few seconds ago was gone, replaced by a lusty grin.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he says lewdly.

Fuck. It didn't cross your mind that without the bundle of clothes to hide behind you are completely naked. You have a sudden urge to cover up despite it being completely ridiculous, he’s already seen you naked and is about to get into the shower with you. But context is everything, and casually standing naked in the hallway feels different and so much more bold.

Fighting the urge to run and hide, you try to draw out the confidence you had not fifteen minutes earlier, and you stand still for a moment to let him look. He looks at you for a long time, his eyes slowly sliding down your body, as he takes a small step closer to you. For the first time you take in his whole naked form; he is magnificent. To you, he is masculinity manifest; the powerful muscular frame, the sheer size of him, and the hair covering his body that seems to be so perfectly manicured. You can’t stop your gaze from going lower to the thicket of curly hair and the leviathan that lay there, unhidden.

Imitating Sy’s reaction, you bite your lip at the sight of him. He’s not soft, but not entirely hard and he points to the floor. His length isn't much different from when he is hard, but he gets so much thicker. You know, when that moment arrives, he’s going to fill you up and stretch you wide. You think about grabbing his hand and taking him to your bedroom instead of the bathroom, but Sy takes another step closer and rests his hand on your cheek.

“I thought you were shy or something,” Sy says, moving his thumb slowly over the apple of your cheek. You must have looked confused because he continues, “You were reluctant that one time we talked about sex on the phone. I thought you were nervous about it, or really inexperienced.”

“Are you… disappointed?”

“Are you crazy?” Sy says quickly, and you can’t help but laugh. “Don’t you know…”

Sy stops mid sentence, his brows draw low, and his tongue works over his teeth as he begins to feel you. His palms rub over your body, occasionally stopping at random spots, squeezing you there, sometimes getting a handful of flesh, sometimes bone. His eyes follow the path of his hands until he sighs with a smile and looks at you.

“You are so fuckin’ gorgeous,” Sy shakes his head, “Remember the night we met?”

You nod, “At The Baron.”

“Yeah. The second you walked in, the whole bar got quiet. It made me—”

Sy’s jaw juts out, and he holds it there a moment as he seems to stare at nothing over your shoulder. You cover his hand with yours and his face relaxes a little as you slide your hand over his forearm. He smiles a little at you, but his eyes still seem distant.

“I remember turnin’ in my chair and watchin’ you, tryin’ to get it straight in my mind what a girl like you would be doin’ in a place like The Baron.”

You laugh and go to the small closet next to the bathroom to pull out a couple of washcloths and a spare towel for Sy.

“Pre-gaming,” you tell him with a grin. He looks surprised and you shrug, “One of my friends is dating the manager, he gives us cheap drinks.”

Sy narrows his eyes, “You ain’t still goin’ there, are you?”

“Sometimes.”

Sy gives you a long, hard look with raised eyebrows, then shakes his head.

“What?”

“It’s a rough bar,” he says, “It ain’t safe.”

You wait for him to tell you not to go there anymore, but he doesn’t, and even though you can tell he wants to, he bites his tongue. There is something reassuring about the way he suggests his displeasure at the thought of you going to that bar, but restrains himself from forbidding your actions. He seems to respect your autonomy and trusts in your ability to make decisions for yourself. These little parts of him that you’re discovering are only serving to increase your attraction to him. You pull on his neck, and give him a quick kiss to let him know you approve.

“Bathroom,” you say, indicating the next door in the hall. Sy points at it and you nod, waiting for him to go in before you follow, using the towels to hide behind, “I met you at The Baron,” you point out, bringing the conversation back to the first night you met as you pass him a washcloth.

Sy grins, his cheeks crease into dimples that peek out from just above his beard. He takes the cloth and draws you into his arms, “And look where we’ve ended up.”

“As if this isn’t where you wanted to be that night.”

“Course it is,” Sy’s voice drops low again, becoming softer and deeper, “Same with every other man there that night. You were otherworldly in that bar, Sugar. As out of place as a thoroughbred ploughin’ a field,'' Sy breathes in a little shakily, as if he’s reliving the moment. His voice is husky when he speaks again, “Then you smiled in my direction… and it was like a punch that knocked the wind out of me. You were so beautiful, baby, I couldn’t breathe.”

Goosebumps break over you as your body warms and your skin stays cool. Had he really thought that? He had never indicated he felt that way before. You think back to your date. He hadn’t been anything like he was today. Yeah, his kisses had been amazing, full of passion and desire but he’d also been very respectful. He barely touched you anywhere below your shoulders, his hands only occasionally wandering to your hip.

“So,” you lick your lips, unsure if you should ask the question that’s plagued you for over a year, “Why didn’t you ask me out again?”

Sy doesn’t answer for a while, not because he’s ignoring you or trying to come up with a lie, he just seems to be thinking, wanting to make sure his words are appropriate. It strikes you suddenly that this must be how he looked when he was quiet on the phone.

“I was given my orders a couple of days after I took you out.”

That isn’t a surprise. You thought he would have been given more notice than the week before, which is when he told you he was leaving.

“I thought,” he smiles briefly, “incorrectly, that if I didn’t see you again, it’d be easier on me. I couldn’t ask ya to wait for me, not after just one date. And a girl like you wasn't gonna be single for long. I figured by the time I got back, you’d be seein’ someone else. Thought if I kept my distance and didn’t start anythin’…”

Sy steps back and runs a hand over his short hair, as if he is signalling he was done speaking. You wait a while to make sure before you speak.

“I thought you weren’t interested,” you say.

Sy looks at you shaking his head, “How on God’s green earth did ya get that idea?”

You shrug, “Look at it from my perspective. You hit on me at the bar. You get my number. You call me the next day, and take me out the following weekend. We had a great time, then we came back here and…well…”

Sy grins, “I thought that was makin’ it clear I was interested.”

“It was,” you say slowly before sighing heavily, “Then you didn't ask me out again, and that pretty much told me I wasn't going to hear from you anymore.”

Sy takes your hand in his, lifting it palm up and kissing it. His nose hovers above your wrist and he inhales deeply through his nose. He growls playfully and nips at your fingers, “God dammit, woman. This perfume of yours, what’s it called? I’m gonna buy you a lifetime supply so you never stop wearin’ it.”

Though he’s obviously trying to distract you, he’s so skillfully charming you can’t help but giggle. “Quit it, Sy!”

Sy gives your finger one more bite before he stops, but he keeps hold of your hand. He’s smiling widely, as broadly and mischievously as a school boy. He’s so attractive, but when he smiles like that, he’s dazzling; it's so stunning you forget what you were talking about before he became playful. Dazed, you turn on the shower one handed, unwilling to let him go and unsure if he would release you anyway.

Despite your small apartment, your shower is spacious, obviously designed for couples and it accommodates you both with ease. However, it turns out you don’t need much space; Sy locks his arms around you, guiding your bodies so each of you has a shoulder under the spray. You lay your heads against each other and for a while that's how you stay, wrapped in each other’s arms, the embrace as warm as the sultry, soothing water.

When you lift your head, Sy has a small smile on his lips and he leans into you, nudging his nose against yours as his beard caresses your skin. Then his lips stroke yours softly and your eyes slide closed as the sensation of his kiss makes you float away.

“I fucked up, baby. I never meant for you to feel like I'd lost interest in you,” he says. It takes you a minute to remember what he is apologising for, “I thought walkin’ away early would keep you from gettin’ hurt too.”

“So why did you call a couple of months later then?”

Sy laughed ruefully, “’Cause I’m an asshole.”

You shake your head at him with a soft chuckle.

“It’s true. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. I thought about ya so much that I couldn’t remember what I used to think about before I met you.”

If that wasn't one of the most romantic things you had ever heard, and he just said it like it was no big deal. There wasn't any emphasis or stressing the point that he was trying to be romantic. He said it like it was a fact, which only increased its impact. You’re stunned into silence, not quite understanding how Sy can be so nonchalant when he makes these little declarations of his affection for you.

Sy doesn’t seem to be expecting a reply and he guides your head to his shoulder again. With a deep, satisfied sigh, you lean into him and wrap your arms around his waist. Slowly he sways with you, a gentle rock back and forth that is just shy of dancing.

“This is nice,” you whisper, making your voice just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the spray echoing through the room. Sy hums in agreement.

“Can I wash you, Sy?” you boldly ask.

Sy has said that you’re responsive, but he really should see himself right now. His lips part as he breathes harder, and a soft flush blooms over his cheeks. Most telling though, is the feel of his cock as it jerks against your belly. He nods slowly in response.

Lathering the washcloth, you start with Sy’s chest, the dark, coarse hair suds up quickly as you sweep the cloth over his body. You wash his neck, his wide, sloped shoulders, and his thick, brawny arms, and then his taut stomach. At first, he is stiff and still, moving only his eyes as he tracks the path of your hand. Then he starts to breathe, deeper and longer, and moves his body beneath your touch, helping you by turning slightly and lifting his arms.

You gesture for him to face the other way and you wash his back, laying a chaste kiss against his spine. He’s smooth to touch and warm against your lips as you kiss between his shoulder blades. He leans into the cloth as you scrub a little harder, and makes a growl of pleasure. His skin is pale on his chest and back while his neck and arms are deeply tanned. You inventory the small scars and his perfect imperfections, trying to commit them to memory. Once again, you’re struck by how phenomenal his body is, how hulking and bullish. He looks so powerful, strong, raw, and so fucking masculine. Though you love the tender way he touches you, part of you wants to know what it would be like to feel his strength, to feel helpless in his arms, to be completely and utterly overpowered by him.

“Hmm, that's good,” Sy hums.

“Yeah?” Pressing your body against his back, you bring the soapy cloth over his ass and thighs.

“Yeah,” Sy confirms throatily.

Wrapping your arms around him, you reach between his legs, “And this?”

“Fuck!” Throwing an arm out against the tiled wall, his hips roll as your cloth covered hand moves over his now fully erect cock. You feel his hand cover yours and he guides your movements over his sex in quick, gestures.

Sy turns around swiftly and takes the cloth from your hand. You don’t understand, he seemed to be enjoying your touch and he was as hard as steel in your hand, but he pulled himself away.

Your confusion is short lived as he lathers the other washcloth and grins at you wolfishly, “My turn.”

Sy waits for you to nod before he turns you, laying his hand flat over your belly he gathers you close as he starts to wash. He leans his chin on your shoulder and watches as his hand moves over your breasts, slippery, but pleasantly rough, and your nipples harden in seconds under his languidly sensual touch.

He kisses your neck, softly and gently, dulcetly humming into your skin. Sy is so hard where he presses into you, just the feel of him makes your core throb maddingly. You ache to move and a near desperation fills you to do so, and soon you find yourself rubbing your body against his cock trying to entice him for more.

“Shh, baby. Easy,” Sy drawls in your ear.

Holy fuck. His voice is so gravelly, so coarse; and the commanding way he stills your movements by placing a firm hand on your hip, it makes you feel boneless, and your knees almost give way. Your fingers clutch at his forearm, gripping tight to hold yourself upright.

“I’m not fuckin’ you in here,” Sy tells you, then chuckles softly as you whine, “We’re just gonna wash.”

At first he is true to his word as he moves the cloth over your arms, shoulders and breasts again. Then he drops all pretence and the washcloth, which makes a splash as it falls to the tiles. His soapy hands are all over you, gliding over your skin as he teases your neck with soft brushes of his lips, his warm breath, and the constant rumble in his throat. Using his foot, he edges your feet apart and washes you gently between your legs. It’s arousing and erotic. Your body burns, but strangely your eyelids grow heavy and you lay your head against Sy’s shoulder. He hums and presses a tender kiss against your temple.

“Good girl,” Sy murmurs into your ear, “Hmm, you’re so soft.”

“You keep saying that.”

“‘Cause I keep thinkin’ it,” Sy says, “Your skin is soft, your lips are soft, your mouth is soft, and dear God your pussy,” he groans, pressing his swollen cock against you, “It's like smooth, wet, hot silk.”

You close your eyes and let your arms fall lazily at your sides, opening your body up completely for Sy, silently inviting him to take his fill. You’re well and truly clean, there’s no soap left but Sy keeps touching you, his hands moving over you with the same easy confidence he’d had earlier. You think he’s going to forget what he said about fucking you as his fingers graze teasingly over your now slick and swollen pussy.

Instead he sighs and wraps his arms around yours, effectively trapping you beneath his arms as his hands cover your breasts. He doesn’t caress you or squeeze you, he just seems content in holding you. Slowly the blazing heat he built up in you reduces to a manageable smoulder. He kisses your neck a few more times, short chaste brushes of his lips before he sighs again.

“We should get out,” Sy grumbles with obvious regret.

You don’t want to get out either, but you don’t stop him as he leaves the shower while you shut off the water. When you turn around he's holding your towel and as you step out of the cubicle he lifts it over your head and places it around your shoulders. He hums and kisses your forehead before wrapping his own towel around his waist.

“Thank you,” you say.

Sy smiles in acknowledgement and follows you to the bedroom. He ogles you as you dry off, his cock is still stiff and you pretend not to notice. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him too. More than seeing him naked, watching him towel off is strangely erotic and intimate.

A sudden longing fills you as you realise that this piece of domesticity could become normal if this thing between you and Sy can last. This yearning, for him to be with you day and night, and for him to be at home with you, it feels like he’s holding your heart on a string and each moment you’re together he tugs you closer and closer.

“Which side do you want to sleep on?” you ask, pulling on your robe. You don’t bother with underwear because you hope you won’t stay dressed long enough to need them. Sy has put on a pair of track pants with a wife beater and he looks at your bed irritably as he gnaws on his bottom lip.

“Huh?” Sy looks at you, his eyes a little wild as they dart around the room then back to the bed. He rubs a hand over his short hair, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

Your heart sinks. What the hell happened in the space of a few minutes? “Why not?” you ask tersely.

“Bed’s too small.” His voice is cold and distant.

Scrunching your face up, you look at your bed. It doesn’t look too small to you. Sure, Sy is a big guy, but you had also figured there would be quite a bit of snuggling, and you certainly don’t need a lot of room for that. Besides, aren’t army beds small?

“It’s a queen,” you tell Sy, trying to refute his argument.

He grunts as you come closer, “It’s too soft,” he mumbles and you can barely hear him.

“Sy, if you don't want to spend the night with me, you don't have to make up excuses,” Although you try to bite back your agitation, it carries in your voice and Sy picks it up easily.

“That’s fucking bullshit, Sugar, and you know it,” Sy barks, his harsh tone reflecting your annoyance. He’s never spoken to you like that before and it makes you take a step back. His eyes widen as he realises how he sounded and he tempers his expression, “Fuck, baby, I’m sorry. I…” he cuts himself off, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Something is wrong. He was allusive earlier when you had asked if he was spending the night, and you recalled that he had a similar attitude on the phone when you talked about sleeping together. At the time, you had thought it was because he wasn’t sure how far you were willing to go with him and he hadn’t wanted to pressure you, but now it all seemed suspect. Surely, he knew that you wanted to have sex at some point tonight, especially if you slept in the same bed; there was far too much sexual tension between you for it not to happen.

“I do wanna stay with you,” Sy says, drawing you into an embrace, “You gotta know I want nothing more in this world than to wake up with you in my arms.”

“Then why are you making such a big issue out of it?”

“It’s nothin’, baby… I’m just…” Sy grins at you, “I’m hungry.”

You aren't sure if you believe him. The smile on his face doesn't quite reach his eyes and it leaves you feeling on edge. There's something he’s not telling you, and the fact that he isn’t being open with you makes you wonder if he’s ever been honest with you at all. You return his smile with a disingenuous one of your own while your mind furiously tries to decide if you should call him out on the suspected insincerity.

You let it go, hoping that you’re just reading too much into things, “Come on then. I’ll cook you dinner.”

In the kitchen, you give Sy a beer and tell him to have a seat while you prepare dinner. He seems more relaxed now as he sits at the island bench watching you with a more genuine half-smile as you gather your utensils. Maybe he really isn't hiding anything. Shaking off your doubts, you concentrate on preparing the meal.

“We could order in if ya want,” Sy says, “I do owe you a few dinners.”

“When was the last time you had a home cooked meal with fresh food?”

“It’s been a while,” Sy admits.

“So, let me cook for you. I cook for myself, it’s not that much more to cook for you too.”

“Okay,” Sy agrees, “The offer is there though, maybe tomorrow night?”

His words make you pause momentarily as you reach for a head of lettuce in the crisper drawer. After the conversation you just had in the bedroom, his plan to see you again tomorrow seems odd. If he doesn’t want to spend the night, but still wants to see you tomorrow, why not just stay?

You continue gathering the ingredients, trying to push away the nagging uncertainties. It isn't much, just a couple of steaks and a salad but Sy’s eyes grow wide at the sight of the two beef ribeyes on the plate. You silently congratulate yourself as he stares at the food and licks his lips. Then you stifle a giggle as you realise that, sometimes, he really does look at you like you’re something to eat. Maybe that should upset you, but it doesn’t. Maybe there isn’t anything to worry about, maybe he just likes sleeping alone.

There are so many unanswered questions in your mind, you’re relieved when they dissipate as you immerse yourself in the meal prep. Sy seems content to watch you, barely making any conversation until you ask him how he likes his steak cooked.

“Medium rare,” he says, “Cooked on the outside, a little bloody in the centre.”

“You’re a man after my own heart,” you agree.

“Yes ma’am,” Sy says with a roguish grin, “Among other things,” He winks at you, well he tries to, but it’s more of an exaggerated blink.

Pressing your lips together, you hold in your laugh, feeling your face heat with the effort.

“You laughin’ at me, darlin’?” Sy asks, playfully.

You shake your head still avoiding looking at him, but he moves his head into your line of sight still wearing the same puckish smirk and you release your laughter with an embarrassing bark.

The moment of light-heartedness breaks the tension between you and you both begin to talk about what foods you like, the conversation flowing as easily as it had on the phone. You feel relieved, in the back of your mind there has always been the worry that perhaps your relationship wouldn’t be the same in person; or worse, that once sex was introduced, the friendly ease you had with each other would disappear. Of course, you are attracted to Sy and it's what made you agree to a date with him all those months ago, but it was your conversations that convinced you there was the potential for more.

Watching Sy eat was a joy unto itself. You had only ever cooked for a couple of men and none of them seemed to eat with the level of gusto he was exhibiting now. You marvel at how he could be so quick but also maintain his manners. It was like he inhaled the food rather than chewed it and he sat back nursing a second beer while you finished eating.

“Want to watch the movie?’ you ask when you are done. You look at Sy and see him staring at you, or rather through you, “Sy?”

“Sorry,” Sy says with a start. He sniffs and seems to give himself a shake, “I was… somewhere else there for a minute.”

“You alright?” you ask and it suddenly dawns on you what his problem could be. The phone calls when he was too quiet, the worry about sleeping, how distracted and far away he looked sometimes, he reminded you a little of your father, “We don't have to, we could watch something else, or we could just talk?” Please talk to me Sy, you want to add, but bite your tongue. If his problem is what you think it is, he’s probably not going to discuss it easily.

“We’ve talked a lot,” Sy says, “About everythin’, and nothin’,” he puts a hand on your face and his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek, “How is it we still find things to say?”

You shrug, “There’s still so much that I don't know about you.”

“You know me, Sugar. You may not know all the details, but you know me.”

“Details are important, Sy.”

He grunts and drops his hand. He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs, resting an ankle on his knee, “What kind of details are you lookin’ for?”

“I don’t know,” you say slowly. His guard has gone up again, even his eyes are narrowed and full of suspicion.

He nods and frowns slightly, looking at you with raised brows, “Are you talkin’ about my tour?”

Jesus, he’s blunt. You try not to shift uncomfortably under the weight of his stare. He does not look impressed, “I mean if something’s weighing on your mind… if something’s bothering you…” You trail off as his eyes darken.

“You don’t wanna know about that shit,” He shakes his head and folds his arms across his broad chest, “I thought you’d understand that… you more than most.”

“Because of my Dad and brother?”

“Yeah. How much do you know about what goes on over there?”

Your throat feels dry and you reach for your wine, gulping it down hard and filling the glass again, “More than you’d think.”

Sy looks surprised, “Your Dad told you stories?”

“He didn’t have to tell us. He used to scream during the night,” you say, keeping your tone low, “One time he actually got me and my brother out of bed and had us in the car before Mom found us and redirected him back to bed. He was asleep with his eyes open. He’d even responded to questions.”

Sy grunts but makes no comment.

“I didn’t know at the time what was going on, but… I know now,” You inhale sharply; just revisiting that night in your mind feels like reliving the trauma, and you can’t imagine how the men in your life lived through the real thing, night after night, “I’m not telling you about my father because I understand what you might be going through, because I don’t, and I know that. I only know that he had to talk about it.”

Sy’s chest starts to heave, and he looks away from you, his jaw juts forward as he runs his tongue over his teeth. His arms drop by his side, and his ankle falls off his knee. You bring your chair closer to his, your knees almost touching. You lay your hand out palm up on his thigh. He stares at it so long that you think about taking it back, but then he sighs and takes it in his.

“What do ya want me to say, Sugar?” He asks, folding both of his hands around yours. They’re so big that just the tips of your fingers peek through.

You move to the edge of the chair to be closer to him. You want to take him in your arms, to hold him and console him. Not just for this moment, but for all of the other times you had heard the need for comfort in his voice and you were unable to provide it.

“Whatever you want to. Just know that you don’t have to hide from me Sy, I don’t scare easily.”

“Come here, baby,” Sy tugs on your hand and you stand, intending to sit on his lap like he seems to like. Instead he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his face into your belly. Immediately, that deep feminine instinct to soothe kicks in and you run your fingers over his soft, short hair.

“Shhh,” the gentle shushing noises seem to also come from that same primal urge. As you stroke his head and tenderly scratch at his neck and back, you wonder if this is another thing Sy thought about: how it would feel to have his woman hold him like this. His woman. Even if you think of yourself with that title, it's never been addressed. Like so much with Sy, you talk and talk, but so much gets left unsaid.

“I can’t sleep,” Sy says, his voice muffled, and you stop breathing, not wanting to do anything to stop his admission, “I haven't slept more than a couple of hours a night for a few weeks now,” He’s quiet for a second or two and you lean back trying to get a look at his face, but he stops you, “I can’t… please… just stay like this for me, baby.”

“Ok, Noah,” you lull.

Sy squeezes you gently, “You’ve never said my name before,” he murmurs.

“You don’t like it?”

“I do like it,” he says, his voice still a little smothered by your robe. Then he takes a deep breath and speaks clearly, “Sometimes I wake in a sweat, kicking at the blankets cause I feel… trapped, I guess.”

“That's why you don’t want to spend the night with me?”

“I haven’t slept with a woman for a long time,” he confesses, and you feel him tense before adding, “I mean I’ve had—”

“I know what you mean,” you interrupt, surprising yourself at how quickly the seed of jealousy bore fruit in your mind.

“I don’t know if I’d lash out at ya, if I’d— I don’t want to hurt you,” Sy finally raises his head and meets your eyes. Your heart skips and you’re barely able to suppress a gasp. He looks awful, and so tired; his eyes are bleary and wild and rimmed with red, “I want to spend the night with you,” he says as he stands up, keeping his arms firmly around you, “God damn, I want to so badly,” He drops his head until your noses meet, “I wanna go to bed with you every night and wake up with your pretty li’l head on my chest every mornin’.”

You smile at the thought, “I want that too, Noah.”

“I just don’t know if I can,” Sy says in a pained voice.

“Has this happened before? The nightmares, I mean?”

“Occasionally,” Sy admits, “But not like this.” He looks above your head and you worry that you’re going to lose his focus, so you hold his face between your hands and direct his gaze back to yours.

“Can we try?” you ask.

Sy frowns, and it seems like time slows as he assesses you before letting out a long breath, “Are you sure?”

“I told you Sy,” you smile a little, “You’re gonna have to do better than that to scare me off.”

Sy chuffs, a small smile appears on his face too, “Ok baby.”

His eyes drop and you sense a swift change in his mood as he sucks in a breath through his teeth. Puzzled, you follow his gaze and notice that your robe has fallen open, revealing the centre of your chest and inner curve of your breasts, down to your navel.

“Sorry,” you mumble, as you take a couple of steps back and fumbling to close the garment.

“Stop.” His words are a command and you drop your hands almost immediately.

Sy closes the short distance between you, stopping before your bodies can meet. His chest starts to expand a little faster, the air whistles through his teeth with each panting breath. With slightly shaky hands, he pulls at the belt and the knot falls apart. He looks at you briefly with narrowed eyes and a slightly open mouth before he looks down at his hands. He grips the lapels and parts the robe at your waist, opening it wide.

The tension slowly leaves his face as he takes you in and his tongue glides over his bottom lip before he draws it into his mouth and bites it. His eyes are everywhere, staring at you greedily, as though he were seeing you for the first time. There’s an open yearning to his wide eyed gaze, a vulnerability he doesn’t try to disguise. He raises his hand to your waist but stops and meets your eyes before he makes contact with you. You don’t dare move, because you fear if he keeps looking at you like he is, your legs won’t be able to hold you.

Heat.

That’s the only word you can think of as his eyes seem to want to burn through yours, and all you want in the world is to go up in flames. He doesn’t drop his gaze as he puts his hands on your waist. He’s gentle, the pads of his fingers making contact first, leading with a tender caress.

Sy hums softly as he slides the robe off of your shoulders before wrapping an arm around you. The energy between you feels like electricity arcing; he draws you in closer until your chest meets his and a jolting spark shoots down your spine, straight to your clit.

Barely suppressing a moan, you put your arms around his shoulders and bring his head into your neck. You can hear and feel his muffled groan as he nuzzles into you and tightens his arms.

“I’m gonna take you to bed,” he rasps as his lips move gently over your skin, “God, I want you. I want all of you.”

“Then take me, Sy,” you whisper because you couldn’t speak any louder if you wanted to, you’re so breathless.

Sy doesn’t wait for a second invitation, keeping an arm around you he walks you to your room. He shepherds you backwards until your legs hit the bed and you let yourself fall onto the mattress with a giggle. Sy pulls his tank off as he climbs onto the bed, smiling as he sits with his back against the headboard and pulls you over him, your legs on either side of his.

The sun is starting to set and brilliant red and orange light seeps through your curtains and hits Sy’s face just right. You stare at him, struck by how handsome he is. His cheekbones are so perfectly highlighted by his beard, and although his skin is marred by scars, it only adds to his rugged perfection.

“What are you lookin’ at, baby?” he asks slowly, drawing your attention to his lips that are stretched into a gentle smile. Now they are perfect. Big enough to suit his face, and so surprisingly soft. Without conscious thought, your thumb sweeps gently over them and he chases it with his teeth, giving you a delicate nip and a kiss.

“Just you,” You keep your voice low too, like any loud noise would break the spell of this moment, “You’re so good looking.”

Sy holds your hand to his lips and kisses your palm, “I could say the same about you, but it wouldn’t do you justice… you’re so much more than ‘good looking’.”

“Sy,” you shake your head, you can feel your cheeks heating, “I–”

He shuts you up with a kiss, lips firm against your mouth. His arms tighten around you and he rolls you over onto your back, “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs emphatically as his hand moves down the side of your body with a tender touch. His hand is hesitant as he sweeps it over your belly, and his voice shakes ever so slightly, “I told you, I’ve never wanted a woman like I want you.”

His fingers trace the curve of your breast, and your nipples tighten as his touch sends a pleasurable shiver down your spine. Sy bites his lip as he watches your reactions.

“I wanna know all the ways I can make you tremble like that. I’m gonna take you every way I know how. I’m gonna make love to you, and I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t breathe. I want you on top of me and under me. I want you on your fuckin’ knees,” he growls, and for a moment you think that’s exactly what he’s going to do. His eyes are wild and hungry, like he’s doing everything he can not to flip you onto your stomach and take you from behind.

Instead he lowers his head to your breasts, taking you into his soft, warm mouth. He peers at you from beneath his brows as he moves to your other breast and his tongue comes out to circle your nipple slowly, his breath cooling the wetness he leaves behind. With a faint moan he draws the tight bud into his mouth, and you gasp as you feel his fingers caressing higher on your inner thigh.

“Open for me baby, let me touch you.”

Your legs part without any thought, it's nearly embarrassing how quickly you obey. But you’re ready for him, so ready, and you want him to know it.

“A little more,” he shifts his weight, giving your legs more room, “That’s it. That’s what I want.”

His fingers keep moving higher, and your thighs quake in anticipation. You drop your head back to the pillow, closing your eyes. God he’s so much, how does he know just what to say, just how to touch you to make you so malleable?

Then he’s on you, his hand is between your legs and the heat of his skin burns your already hot centre.

“Oh God, you’re so wet! So soft and warm,” he moans, burying his head into your chest. Your body surges and your hips move against his palm, “Oh fuck, you’re killin’ me here, baby.”

His teeth sink softly into the flesh of your breast as his finger slips inside you followed swiftly by a second. You hold on to him, gripping his forearm tight, holding him inside you as you rock against his palm, and his mouth moves over your body.

Sy moves behind you, tucking your body in close. Lifting your leg over his and wrapping an arm around your waist, he presses his hardness against your undulating body, grinding and rocking with you. He crushes his mouth against your ear, his beard and lips scratching at your sensitive skin.

“Baby, look at you move, you’re so close ain’t ya? I can feel ya squeezing my fingers. You’re makin’ me so fuckin’ hard.”

You moan, reaching behind you to pull his hips closer to yours. You close your eyes, focussing on the feeling of his fingers, his hot breath on your neck, and his cock rubbing against your ass.

Sy hums, “You like the way my cock feels, don't ya?” Even though you know it's a rhetorical question, you nod emphatically, “Soon as you come, baby, I’m gonna be inside you. God, you’re gonna feel amazing, I’m gonna make it feel so good for you.”

His fingers slide out of your core and press against your clit and your hips buck as you cry out. He growls, the arm around your waist tightens and his teeth sink into your ear. He’s suddenly rough with you, his kiss is full of harsh need, all sucking and biting, and he holds you so tight you can barely breathe. His raw power is so potent, but his touch between your legs is still so gentle where he moves over your clit.

“Sy, I…” you stutter, panting so hard you can’t make the words form.

His arm leaves your waist, fingers sliding up to your cheek to turn your face to his, “Call me Noah, baby,” he kisses you and keeps your face close to his, his voice just a whisper, “I want you to call me Noah.”

You bring your hand to his bearded cheek as you teeter on the edge of your release, “You’re going to make me come, Noah.”

“Good girl. That’s all I want, baby. Do it, come, I want it.”

You close your eyes, so, so close.

“Look at me, I wanna see, I…”

You open your eyes, but barely. You feel intoxicated, so high you could touch the ceiling. Then whatever was holding you up falls away and your body explodes as warmth floods you. Your eyes slide shut again and you can barely hear Sy’s whispered praise.

“That's good, baby. You're so good for me…so beautiful…so fucking perfect,” His kisses move down your neck and across your shoulders as you come back into your body. Still tingling with warmth, your skin feels so sensitive, each brush of his lips stokes the heat in you and you know you must have more of him.

You roll over in his arms and kiss him, letting your hand slide over his head and neck like he enjoys. You thought he’d already be pushing himself into you; he feels so hard and ready. Instead, he moves under your hand like a puppy who wants pats, guiding your touch to where he wants it as he presses his face between your breasts with a groan.

Then, quite suddenly, he pushes you onto your back, rising between your legs until you feel the hardness between his, pressing against your hot center. He’s so heavy above you, but you like it; you want to feel his weight, feel how open you are beneath him as he spreads your legs wide to accommodate his body. He kisses his way back up to your neck, trailing his lips over your throat and jaw.

“Noah,” you murmur, and you squirm beneath him, feeling the length of him slide easily between your slick and swollen slit.

Sy hisses in your ear, then pulls his hips away with a curse.

“Shit, I… do I need a condom?” he asks.

“You’ve been tested, right?” you ask, knowing your brother is tested after every deployment, “And I’m on birth control.”

“Yeah, I have, but I’ll wear one if you want me to.”

“I trust you, Noah,” you tell him sweetly and matter-of-factly.

His brows come together and he looks away, his jaw is hard and you can see the muscles clenching. His chest pumps harder and you feel his already rock-hard cock pulsing against your thigh. He looks at you and lowers himself back down until his weight is on you again, holding his head above yours. His eyes glisten, and you wonder if he is going to cry.

“Are you…”

“Baby, I…” he sighs and leans on his elbows while his fingers stroke your hair, “I’m in so deep with you. You know that right?” Your furrowed brows must have been an answer because he continued, “I’m in so fuckin’ deep, I can barely see the surface.”

Your eyes widen, you’re not stupid, you know what he’s trying to say. Suddenly, your chest becomes tight and tears sting your eyes, “Noah–”

His mouth covers yours, “Don’t say anythin’,” he says into your mouth, “you don't need to, just kiss me.”

And that’s what you do, letting your need for him speak through the hard collision of your lips and the soft insistence of your tongue. Your desire for him is as strong as his is for you. You’re in just as deep as he is and you don’t even try to hide it.

As if of one mind, you each reach a hand between your bodies for his cock. You both let out a short laugh, and instantly you’re nervous again.

“Sorry,” you apologise shily.

Sy shakes his head, “It’s okay. Here,” he takes your hand in his and places it around his length. He moves your hand over him and whispers, “Together.”

You nod and suddenly you’re both serious, eyes locked onto the one another, your breaths coming hard and fast. The silky, soft skin of Sy’s dick slides over your slick folds and your eyes flutter closed with a gasp as his head brushes your clit.

“Look at me baby,” Sy urges and you open your eyes, “Keep lookin’ at me. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

His hand tightens around yours as he guides himself into your core, and you inhale sharply as he slides in, inch by blissful inch. Your eyes widen as you feel the pressure of him sinking into you, and you squeeze his hand as your pussy stretches to welcomely accommodate his girth.

“Oh, fuck,” Sy groans as your bodies meet, lifting your hand off of him and lacing his fingers in yours as he pins your hand against the mattress above your head. He swells within you, filling you, owning you so completely that you don’t know how you ever felt satisfied before him. He kisses your mouth and chin, cheeks and neck, but he still hasn’t moved, his hardness bound within you.

His free hand clutches at your hip like he wants to be deeper than he already is, and his face tightens as he huffs his breaths like a bull, nearly snorting through his flaring nose. Holding his weight on his elbows he moves his free hand to caress your face, he’s so gentle, despite how much he wants you. You feel like he’s holding back, he seems so tense, and you want to tell him to let go and be wild, but— God you want him like this too! His tender touches make your heart skip like the needle jumping on a record. You run your hand up his arm and shoulder and lay it against his fur, watching the billowing of his chest with each panting breath.

“You’re so…” Sy says before slamming his mouth shut and with a low growl, and pressing his lips to yours. His kiss is intense, urgent and needful, with no finesse at all. His lips move roughly over yours, opening them, licking and sinking his teeth into the flesh of your lower lip. Then he moves and it feels like satin gliding over your silken walls. You feel him everywhere, like he’s invaded every cell of your being as his body rolls above yours in a powerful, yet gentle rhythm, so different to the way his lips are moving.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, so… so… fuck! You’re everything, Sugar. You’re everything.”

You kiss him with an intensity to match his, neither of you are holding back now, you need him so desperately.You tug your hand out from beneath his, grabbing at his back, feeling the way his spine rolls and his muscles ripple as he undulates above you. His skin is searingly hot and you pull on his shoulders, wrapping your legs around him, craving a closer proximity to all of that heat, all of that muscle, and all of that raw power.

“More,” you implore, fingers digging into the hard muscle of his ass, “I need more.”

“Like this,” he growls, his voice rumbling like an engine, deep and throaty. He keeps the same easy flow but pushes into you with a hard grunt.

“God, yes,” you moan as your back arches.

Your body catches his new rhythm and you move together, eyes firmly locked on each other, neither of you can look away. How can it be like this? How can it feel this good when it’s never been like this with anyone else. Suddenly, all of those months of waiting, all of the worry and build up, come crashing down over you. Your vision blurs and you can’t blink fast enough to stop the tears from falling.

“Sugar, I…”

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, pulling on his neck until his whole body rests on yours. “Please— please don't stop,” You kiss him hard, begging him with your mouth, demanding more with your hips.

“Shit, baby, I don’t know if I should…” You close your eyes with a shuddering moan, and feel the rough pads of his thumbs wipe at the tears that spill over your temples. Sy groans, and drops his head into your neck, his arms wrap around your back, “It’s okay, you’re good. I'm here, I’ve got you,” he mumbles as his lips gently kiss along the side of your neck.

Sy slides an arm further up your back and cradles the back of your head, while the other lifts your leg, holding it under his arm. Oh God! He moves, pushing so much deeper, and he’s hitting that spot that makes you go wild. Your fingers dig into his neck and back, his skin is slick with sweat and he wipes his face against his arm before he leans over you, pressing his forehead against yours.

You feel the soft pillows of his lips skim over your face, gliding over the planes of your skin as he mumbles your name, so softly you’re not even sure he said it. You open your eyes and you feel him as you’re held by his gaze, you feel his love, his passion, his need. And as he whispers your name again, you feel him so profoundly that it seems as though he has seeped into the marrow of your bones.

You’re close to your peak, and you cry out wordlessly as your body pulls tighter and tighter, “Noah, I’m…” you're so breathless, panting, you can't even say it.

“It's okay baby, let it happen, I want it. Give yourself to me, come on my cock. I wanna feel you, I fuckin’ want it all, give it to me, Sugar,” Sy grunts out his encouragement through hard gritted teeth. His head pushes so hard against yours it almost hurts, but his thumb strokes your cheek softly and his fingers move over your neck.

Your eyes squeeze shut as that welcome and familiar tightening grows in your gut. You know you must be close to shouting, but all you can hear is Sy’s muttered urgings, the slap of your bodies colliding with one another, and the rustle of the pillow beneath your head as Sy pushes you further up the bed with each thrust.

“Christ, look at you, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful, so fuckin’ hot,” Sy whispers before his tongue slides over your parted lips, “Come for me, baby. God, I wanna feel you.”

You kiss him, clumsy and desperate, clutching him closer and tighter, not letting go until you crest your peak and fall into your orgasm. Waves of pleasure make your whole body contract and release, you can feel your core tighten around him, feel him as he keeps fucking you through your climax and the little, shivering aftershocks that ripple through you as he hits that spot again and again.

He doesn't stop, doesn’t slow down, if anything, he’s going harder than before. His arms slide under yours and he grabs your shoulders in his hands using them for leverage. His eyes stay on yours until he can’t hold back anymore and he swears, his lip rising into a snarl before he throws his head back with a deep primal growl. You’re awestruck as his neck fills with tension, rivulets of sweat run down his reddening skin and the muscles tighten, tendons and veins popping as he strains with effort. Your already stretched core is spread wide again and you cry out as you feel him thicken and release into you.

Then he stills, his head drops back to your neck and his hot, panting breath roars in your ear. For a moment, you feel all his weight as he pulls an arm out from behind your back and searches until he finds your hand, slipping his fingers between yours. With a hum you squeeze his hand and using your free arm and both legs you hug him, and Sy chuckles softly.

His laugh makes you grin and his kiss on your neck makes you want to melt for him all over again. “God damn,” he murmurs. You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are closed and a Cheshire grin has spread across his face. You kiss his lips, and his eyes open, his smile widening until a dimple creases his cheek.

“Yeah,” you say, “God damn.”

For a while you both lay there looking at each other while you catch your breath. Sy’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, and you bring it to your lips giving it a lingering kiss.

Sy closes his eyes and kisses your cheek. His slowly softening cock falls from your core as he rolls onto his back and you protest with a whine.

“Don't worry, I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he says, pulling you into the crook of his arm. You smile and rest your head on his shoulder, your fingers are drawn to his chest hair like there's a magnetic pull. Although wet and matted by sweat and friction, it’s still comforting as your fingers comb through the coarse curls and you close your eyes. Sy yawns, and you imagine his eyes have closed too as his fingers lazily dance up and down over your arm.

Not wanting to imagine it, you lift your head and rest your chin on his chest. Sure enough, his eyes are closed, the muscles in his face seem to be at rest and you stay there, transfixed, watching as he seems to flirt with the edge of consciousness. Soon his fingers stop their caress and his hand falls limply over your arm, presumably asleep.

There’s a part of you that is still disbelieving of his presence here, that you’d actually just had sex. You felt like if you fell asleep now, you would awake to find it had all been a dream. You fight the urge to trace the lines of his features: the straight, but bumpy nose, the strong, prominent brows, the high, chiseled cheekbones, and those soft, plush lips. Instead you rest your head back onto his shoulder and watch him slumber peacefully, enjoying your uninterrupted study of him.

With a rumble in the back of his throat, Sy opens his eyes with a start, eyes wild and rolling in his head before they quickly settle on you. He sniffs as he takes a second to get his bearings then rolls onto his side, pulling you in close with an exaggerated grunt and a squeeze.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to doze off,” his voice is husky and deep with the remnants of sex and sleep.

“Would you just admit that you’re tired, Sy?” you say teasingly.

He chuckles. He’s got you so close to him, tucked in so tight, that his chin hits the top of your head when he speaks, “I am tired, baby.”

“C’mon, get under the blankets with me.”

You can feel him swallow against your forehead, “I’d like to shower first,” he says.

You kiss his still damp chest. “I told you, I don’t mind you being a little sweaty.”

“Darlin’, I’ve spent about 12 months without a proper shower. I’m gonna take one every chance I get,” he reveals and you can hear a grin in his voice.

“That's fair. Want me to come too?”

“It's ok, I’ll be quick.”

“What I should have said is, I want to come too.”

The shower is much quicker this time, Sy washes himself so fast that he was almost done by the time you finished fussing and got in. Through the frosted door, you see him wrap a towel around his waist and leave the bathroom, coming back with a toothbrush. Finishing just as he returns, you towel off and join him at the sink, the two of you brushing your teeth together.

You both keep looking at one another through the mirror, smiling at each other. Sy grins and gently bumps your shoulder with his, you shake your head with a silent chuckle then lean over the sink to spit out your excess paste.

As you straighten and lift your gaze, it's as if you’ve had a vision, deja vu. In that moment, it was as if the two of you had done this a million times before. Standing here together, preparing for bed at the end of the day, like it was your normal, natural, routine. With a sudden clarity, you could see it, your future with him became crystalised, set in stone, and you wanted this to be your life forever.

Even If You Don't Mean It - Part One

Summary: An unexpected phone call from a brief fling grows into a new long distance romance.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 7.8k

Warnings:

Series Warnings:

Smut including oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, dirty talking, implied masturbation (m and f), showering together, slight praise kink, mentions of PTSD, descriptions of PTSD, mentions of war, angst, fluff.

Part One Warnings:

Implied masturbation (male), mild discussion of sex, mentions of war, mild angst, fluff.

Authors Note:

So this has been a lengthy saga. I need to thank @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed for their wonderful beta reading and guidance. As always they curb my crazier ideas or encourage me to go further and without them I wouldn't have pushed myself to get this done. I also need to thank @radiantheartbeat for her brilliant and ruthless editing. I have enjoyed working with you immensely, my writing definitely needs some tidying up and I thank you for your honesty and openness and for offering to help me out. I cannot thank you enough.

This story ballooned from a small one-shot to a three (maybe four) part series. I was inspired by a non-Sy moment in the movie Sand Castle. The scene where Harper calls home before the big operation always struck a cord with me. My heart ached for him, and was a glimpse into his private life. The scene made me think, would Sy make a phone call like that? Would Sy ask someone he probably shouldn't be for a promise? Anyway, thats what lead me down this crazy path. I hope you enjoy it.

Divider made by me.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part 2 (Coming soon)

2003

4.30am Iraq

6:30pm USA

The phone rings.

Absent-mindedly, you pick up the cordless phone from the dock and put it between your ear and shoulder to keep your hands free.

“Hello?”

Picking up the wooden spoon, you stir the chicken stir-fry, that’s nearly ready, making sure nothing sticks to the pan as you give the vegetables another minute to cook through.

In your ear the line sounds strange; a digital, robotic hum buzzes in the background, like cicadas on a late summer’s day. Perhaps it’s a long distance call from a college friend, something.

A deep male voice, with a hint of a southern drawl, says your name. He sounds hesitant, as if he’s not sure he has the right number.

“Yeah,” you say, “That’s me.”

The receiver crackles, sounding as though the man must have released a held breath. There’s silence for a few beats. Then a few more; no sound except for the drone of the robot bugs. You sigh, wondering if this was a prank call or a wrong number. But that couldn’t be, this person knew your name. Maybe the call was dropped.

“Hello?” you ask irritably.

You impatiently turn off the gas and get a plate from the cupboard. You’re about to hang up, when you hear the man clear his throat.

“It’s Sy,” he says simply.

Sy? You almost drop both the stir-fry and the phone. You think fast, placing the pan on the stove and taking a seat at the small dining table in your kitchen. Gripping the phone in one hand, you quickly bring the waiting wine glass to your lips with the other, gulping down the dry Pinot Grigio and nearly finishing the glass.

“Syverson?” you ask stupidly.

Why on earth was he calling you? He should be overseas. At least that’s what he had told you two months ago.

“Are you home already?” Then you gasp, your hand covers your mouth. Oh my god. What if he was shot or injured? “Did you get hurt?”

“No… uh — I’m in Iraq.”

Images from the fall of Baghdad came unbidden to your mind. You prefer not to watch the news, but these days it is impossible to avoid. Between the 24-hour news stations, newspapers, magazines, or the homepage where you check your email, it was difficult not to absorb at least some knowledge of what was happening in the Middle East; bombings, firefights, IED attacks, and countless other presumed horrors.

It didn't explain why he was calling you though. The two of you hadn't known each other very well. You were barely even friends, having only seen each other a few times before he left for Iraq. You were undeniably attracted to him. To you, he was the total package: ruggedly good looking with his buzz-cut, chiseled jaw, blue eyes to die for, and a tall, powerful, burly physique. The fact that he was a soldier hadn’t put you off either. Your father was a retired marine, and your brother was currently serving, so you knew enough decent military men to not instantly dismiss Syverson.

“Hello?” Sy says.

Shit.

What do you say? How do you talk to him? Why was he even calling?

The one date he had taken you on was good, the make-out session on your couch at the end of the night had been even better. As far as you were concerned, the date went well and you were sure he would ask you to go on another. Over the next few weeks he had called a handful of times, but when he didn’t ask you out again, you assumed that he wasn’t interested. The last time he called was to tell you he was being deployed. He gave you no promises and you offered none in return, knowing what deployment meant, especially during wartime.

“Sorry,” you say with a short laugh, “I’m surprised you’re calling me.”

“Want me to go?” His voice became gruff and guarded, but his tone softens your demeanor.

“No, not at all. I… I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Silence again.

You wrack your brain trying to think of something to say, anything to fill this awkward silence. You don’t know why he’s calling you, but you’re sure he doesn’t get to sit around making overseas calls all the time. You think back to when your father was deployed in the Gulf War, trying to remember what you would talk about. You remember telling him about school, about a new song you heard, you told him boring, everyday things.

You’ve been silent too long and you don’t want the short time he has to be wasted, so you say the first thing that pops into your head, “Hey, remember when we were talking about how I’d never seen Ghostbusters?” You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“Yeah?” You sit up a little straighter in your chair, he actually sounds interested.

“Well, I watched it a few weeks ago.”

“Ya did?” His voice became lighter, as though he were smiling.

“Yeah, it was on TV,” you say, smiling, “I sort of understand why you had a crush on Sigourney Weaver back in the day.”

“Hell, Sugar, you ought to see her in Alien.” Sy whistles, “She is fine.”

“I saw Alien: Resurrection,” you laugh, “She’s still looking pretty good.”

“She’s great in that, but ya gotta watch Alien. And Aliens as well. Ya can probably give Alien 3 a pass though.”

“Ok, I’ll put those on my list then.” Shit, there goes that topic. You quickly try to think of something else. “Oh my God! Have you heard they’re making an Alien versus Predator movie?”

“You’re kiddin’,” Sy says, “Really?”

“Yeah, I can’t decide if it will be awesome or terrible.”

“It could be awesome. The Xenomorphs will fuck shit up,” Sy says confidently.

“But the Yautja had a Xenomorph skull in the ship at the end of Predator 2, so we know they hunt them.”

From there the conversation between you both simply flows.

You go back and forth, each arguing for your side and gently ribbing the other in jest. The conversation is easy, as comfortable as it had been when you went on that date.

“Yup,” Sy says in an altered tone. It’s short and cold, and noticeably different, you realise instantly that he isn’t talking to you. Your father has a similar tone.

“Give me a minute,” Sy adds in his work voice.

No, not his work voice, that’s his Captain’s voice. Your heart flutters. Christ, that’s hot. The subtle air of authority in his baritone makes your knees weaker than you care to admit.

“I gotta get going, Sugar,” Sy says.

“Yeah, of course.” There is a sinking feeling in your belly, you don’t want him to go yet.

More droning bugs. This silence is short though and not as awkward. Progress.

“I don’t know when I can call ya again,” Sy says apologetically, as if you were expecting this phone call in the first place, let alone more in the future, “I’d like to, when I can — that is, if you want me to.”

“Sure.” You giggle a little, thinking about your conversation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask you how you were or anything. Just talked your ear off about a stupid movie.”

Sy hums, “No, Sugar, it was...” you hear him take a deep breath, “it was exactly what I needed.”

You shift in your seat as a feeling of pleasant warmth radiates through you, “Well then, next time, I’ll give you a review of Freddy versus Jason.”

“Hold on, now! Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees? They made a movie ‘bout that?”

“Like I said, next time,” you deliberately tease.

Sy chuckles. It’s a short laugh, more indulgent than amused, but you’ll take it.

“I look forward to it, Sugar. Bye now.”

“Bye, Sy.”

The phone goes silent.

For a while you sit looking at the receiver in your hand with a mixture of happiness and confusion. Was he just bored? Did he try to call other people and they weren’t available? Did this mean he liked you like you had originally thought? Will you have to wait another three months before he reaches out again? Maybe he does this to all the girls, calling them while he’s away to make them feel special so that when he comes home he doesn’t have to work so hard to get with them.

Shaking your head, you admit you can’t possibly know why he called. No amount of guessing or theorising would answer that question. Finishing the wine in your glass, you pour another before finally eating your stir-fry.

It’s a little cold, but you don’t mind.

About two weeks later Sy phones again. You’re in bed, comfortably reading, thinking about letting the call go to the answering machine as you normally would this late at night, but ever since Sy’s phone call, you rarely let the machine take them.

“Hello?” you ask, feeling a little silly when you hear the hopeful note in your voice.

“Hey Sugar,” Sy says, and your mood soars.

“Sy! Oh my God! How are you? What’s been happening? It’s good to hear from you,” you gush.

Sy chuckles, and although you feel a little embarrassed by your obvious excitement, you’re pleased that he seems happy.

“I’m glad I caught ya,” Sy says, “I’ve been curious about this Freddy versus Jason thing. Can’t stop thinking ‘bout it.”

“It’s just a movie, Sy,” you laugh, “It’s a good movie, but it’s no Citizen Kane.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve been lookin’ forward to hearin’ you tell me all about it.”

“Oh,” A warmth spreads over your cheeks at the playful way he emphasises those last few words, making them suggestive and flirtatious. You swallow hard as your words get caught in your throat and manage to rasp out, “Um, ok.”

Over the next couple of months, Sy calls you regularly, usually two or three times a month. The calls aren’t long, ten or fifteen minutes at most, but you look forward to them like a kid looks forward to Christmas. After each call you’re on a high for a day or two, replaying the conversations in your head. When that thrill wears off, you start to think about the next call you'll have with him and the excitement builds anew.

“Are you seein’ anyone?” Sy asks during the fourth or maybe fifth call.

The question seems to come from nowhere, but you’re relieved because maybe he will give you an idea of why he’s been calling you. Is this just friendship? Are you just a person to anchor him to normal life, someone to talk to so he can have a break from whatever it is he’s seeing and doing over there? Or is there the potential for more?

“I’m not dating anyone.”

Sy falls into silence and the robotic hum is back. Although you always do most of the talking, he hasn’t gone this quiet since your first call. Maybe he’s expecting you to say something else.

“Are you?” you ask with trepidation. What if he says yes?

“No, Sugar,” Sy chuffs and you feel a rush through your body as your heart pumps faster, “Now, uh, tell me more about this car you’re thinkin’ of buyin’?”

Months pass by and nothing changes. This thing between the two of you is never discussed and you’re mostly okay with it. Sure, when you think of him your stomach flips and you can’t concentrate, but you enjoy his calls, and you tell yourself that his friendship is enough.

One call seems to change everything. Sy is about to hang up when he asks you a question.

“Hey, before you go, I wanted to ask you a favour.”

“Sure. I can try.”

There’s a beat of silence while you hold your breath.

“Will ya send me a picture of yourself?” Sy asks.

Your eyes widen.

“A picture?” You shift awkwardly on your couch, bringing your knees to your chest, “What kind of picture?” you ask with a shake in your voice.

“Whatever you want, Sugar,” Sy says lightly, “One from your birthday, maybe from a party, or weddin’, or somethin’. I'll take anythin’.”

“Oh,” You let out a giggle of relief, “Oh, I can do that. I thought you meant…” Heat burns your ears, you aren’t going to finish that sentence.

“Thought I meant what?” Sy asks before suddenly barking out a laugh, “Oh, no. No, I didn’t mean a picture like that,” He pauses and while he still sounds amused, his voice lowers, “I wouldn’t say no though.”

“Well, I will say no, to that kind of picture,” you say, still thoroughly embarrassed by your misinterpretation, and a little shocked. It’s the first time he’s really flirted with you.

“Cain’t blame a man for tryin’,” Sy jokes.

“But, I will send you a nice one, if you send me one of yourself too.”

“Deal. Now, ya got a pen handy? I’ll tell you how to get it to me.”

The next day you look through the last couple of rolls of film you developed, and check the images on your new digital camera. There is one photo you like, taken at a game of putt-putt, but it’s casual and you aren’t dressed up. It’s a candid shot, you’re laughing and half looking at the camera while lining up for your putt. You decide to send that one, along with a picture you'll take this weekend when you go out with friends.

On Monday, you place the photos in a box along with the latest edition of Rolling Stone, a book, some pretzels and trail mix, hot sauce, a foam football, and some socks that your brother said all the guys were raving about. You wonder if it is too much, if it’s crossing a line, but your brother assures you that Sy will love it.

Nearing the end of the conversation with your brother, he becomes serious, giving you the third degree, and warning you that those Special Forces guys are a different breed.

“They’re gone six to nine months of the year just for training when they're not deployed. On tour, he could be gone anywhere from six months to two years. They frequently won’t be able to tell you where they’re going. Communication is difficult, coms black outs are common. I don’t know this for sure, but they seem to move more than we did growing up.”

“Are you saying I should stay away?”

“No. I’m just giving you the facts. You have to decide if he’s worth the price you’ll have to pay. Being alone and waiting isn’t easy, you saw how hard it was on Mom.”

He’s right, you know that. But the way your hands start to shake, and the way your mouth goes dry whenever you hear the phone ring, that can’t be ignored.

“We’re just talking,” you retort. “He’s never said he wants more than that anyway.”

“You know I love you. You’re my little sister. But, if you think he’s calling you every week…”

“Sometimes every two weeks,” you correct him.

“Fine, every two weeks,” You can practically see him rolling his eyes, “If you think he’s calling you that often because he wants to be your friend, then you’re a dumbass. He’s interested in you. He’ll ask you out at some stage, you wait and see.”

The call with your brother leaves you in a strange headspace. Part of you wants more from Sy too. Well, a large part of you wants that, but your brother's warning has got you all tied up in knots. Even if Sy does want more than friendship, would you be able to deal with that? Truthfully, you don’t know.

You stare into the shipping box, feeling like it’s missing something. Other than the photos, there’s nothing tangible of you in there, and it feels too impersonal. You think a letter might be nice, you’ll make it short and keep it light, just like your phone calls.

Dear Sy,

Forgive me if I’ve overstepped by sending you some gifts. I know my brother always loves getting packages from home, so I hope you do too. He recommended the socks, and hopefully the recommendation of a Jarhead is okay with you. Haha!

I can’t wait to hear from you again. I’ve really been enjoying our phone calls. I was thinking that I could keep writing to you too, if you’d like, and maybe send you some more magazines or snacks. Next time we talk you'll have to give me a few ideas.

I bought two copies of the book I sent you. I thought it might be fun to both read it so we can talk about it together. Maybe that’s silly. I don’t even know how much time you have to read. I don’t even know if you like reading, or if you do, what kind of books you like. But, I’d like to know Sy. I’d like to know those things about you.

Take care.

You sign the letter with just your name, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you throw it in the box, tape it shut and take it to the Post Office.

When you check the mailbox a week later, you see a small white envelope with your address handwritten in a small, narrow, but neat, script. You quickly turn it over and see that it’s from Sy.

It’s embarrassing how quickly you race to get inside your apartment. With shaky hands you unlock your door, dump your bag on the floor, and try to get comfortable on the couch. You’re too excited, your body tingles with goosebumps, and your fingers tremble.

He touched this, you think, he wrote this for me, this is his handwriting.

You carefully open the envelope, peeling back the flap slowly, watching as the glue pulls away in strings before it snaps apart. Inside is a photograph and what looks like a letter on white paper with faded blue lines.

You pull out the picture first. It’s a headshot and it’s a little blurry, but it still takes your breath away. Sy is wearing a dark brown shirt with a green and black scarf wrapped around his neck. He’s staring into the camera. His brows are drawn together in a serious expression. He looks different to the way you remember him; his face is a little slimmer, and the beard is new. You didn’t think they were allowed to have beards.

All at once you remember the night he took you on that date, and you subconsciously draw your thighs together. Looking at his short hair, you remember how it felt, soft like velvet as you ran your hand over it when you kissed. He was so warm, his skin was almost hot to the touch as your hand had caressed his neck.

You wonder if he’ll have the beard when he comes back. You wonder what his kisses would feel like with the beard. His lips had been smooth and strong. Would his beard prick at your lips? Would it chafe at your skin like a five o’clock shadow, or will its length make it softer? Would its coarseness add a layer of sensory pleasure that you haven't felt before?

Knowing that those kinds of questions will only lead you down a path of distraction, you put the photo down, and take out the letter. You have to read it several times before it starts to sink in.

Sugar,

Sorry about the quality of the photo, I didn't have many options. I got it from one of my team, he took pictures of all of us a few months ago before we left the city. If I don’t look impressed, it’s because I wasn’t. Thought it was a stupid idea, but I’m glad I let him take it cause now I can send it to you myself instead of asking my sister to send you one. Although, if you want a better one, I can ask her.

I want to thank you for talking to me. You didn’t have to, and I don’t know how to tell you how much I appreciate it. Talking to you has been just what I’ve needed. Remind me to tell you about the other girl who’s keeping me sane this tour, she’s a little smaller than you, much hairier, barks when she’s hungry, and answers to the name Aika.

I also want to apologise for not spending more time with you before I left. I was an idiot, an asshole really. I wanted to, it’s only that I was leaving and thought it would be better that way. I regret that now, I should have made more effort and not been

There’s more I want to say, but I want to say it to you in person. For now, I want you to know that I look forward to speaking to you, just thinking about it makes me smile, and more than once I’ve been caught thinking of you by my guys.

I’ll call you real soon and I look forward to your photo. I’m laughing now, thinking of how cute you must have looked, all embarrassed, when you thought I was asking for a dirty picture. I remember how cute you looked when I kissed you that night. I think about that sometimes. I think

Thank you,

Sy

By the time Sy calls you again, you must have read his letter a hundred times and looked at his photo twice that amount. You keep both on your nightstand, committing his words and image to memory before you sleep each night, strengthening your recall whenever you think of him.

“I gotta make this quick, Sugar. I ain’t got much time, but I got your package today and had to thank you,” Sy greets you.

“Yeah? You got it? Is it ok that I sent you the other stuff? I wasn’t sure. If you don’t want any of it, you can give it away. I don’t—”

“Hell no, baby! I ain’t givin’ any of it away,” he sounds a little outraged at the suggestion, “I love everythin’ you sent me,” his voice softens and you would give anything to see his face, “You’re just as gorgeous as I remember.”

You smile and you feel your body heat up. You’re glad he can’t see you right now, you would barely be able to look at him.

“Sy…” you murmur. “I, uh, thank you. That’s sweet.”

“Ain’t nothin’ sweet about it. It’s the truth.” Sy chuckled. “And you sent me two photos. And all the other things. Not gonna lie, darlin’, I feel a li’l spoiled.”

You laugh, feeling a little uncomfortable. Not because of anything Sy has said, but rather it’s your brother's advice that plays on your mind. You change the subject, first asking him about the book and if he wants to do a read-along. He does. Then you ask if he wants you to send more packages. He does. However, it takes a while for him to admit it, he doesn’t want you to go to any trouble.

“I should be the one buyin’ you things, and givin’ you surprises,” There’s a hint of flippancy in his tone, but not much, “Takin’ you out somewhere nice to eat.”

Oh. Maybe your brother was right.

You laugh it off, “It’s 2003, Sy, women can pay for themselves.”

“I’m serious, Sugar. No woman of mine would be buyin’ me dinner.”

Woman of mine? Did he even realise what he just said? Or was he just speaking in a general sense?

“Well, I’m not trying to pay for dinner. I just want to send you some more magazines and socks.”

“You’re a sweet thing ain’t ya?” Sy says and his words set fire to your cheeks. “You takin’ the time to talk to me is more than enough.”

“What if I send you another picture with each package? I'll—”

“Deal,” Sy interrupts and you giggle.

Sy laughs, it’s a little teasing and you think about the last paragraph of his letter, the part that until now you haven’t wanted to acknowledge. You two have grown comfortable with each other, and a little light flirtation at this point of a relationship is natural, even for friends. You’re both testing the boundaries, seeing what you can get away with, probing for the potential of more. But, even so, you still aren’t sure you want to go there with Sy because there’s too much to unpack, so you redirect and ask him about Aika.

“Should I be jealous?” you ask with faux petulance. Shit. You aren’t supposed to be flirting back.

“Maybe,” he concedes, “She makes me smile almost as much as you do.”

You fall into silence, dropping your head with a grin. Fuck, you do want him to flirt with you. You can hear him breathing, suddenly heavy, and so loud that the robotic buzz is drowned out, and you like that too. When he speaks again, his voice is husky and deep.

“I’ll bet you’re smilin’ right now, ain’t ya, Sugar?”

“Sy…” you say softly. You’re more than just smiling, your body tingles and your heart beats so hard, you can feel it in your toes.

“Yeah, you are. You don’t have to tell me, I can hear it in your voice.” He makes a noise in his throat, like a groan, “I gotta go. I… Things are a li’l crazy ‘round here right now. It may be a while before I can call you again.”

“Okay,” you say, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice, “Sy, I…”

“Yeah, baby?”

You shouldn’t say it. It’s on the tip of your tongue. You know you aren’t going to be able to stop yourself, because you want him to know. So much for working through how you feel about him later. Your heart already knows, it’s just taken your brain a little while to catch up.

“I think about that night we kissed too,” you whisper, referencing his letter.

He makes that noise again. You wonder if it’s the same noise he made in your ear that night and your spine feels like jelly.

“I gotta go,” Sy says so softly, you barely hear him, “I’ll be thinkin’ about you.”

Before you can say goodbye, the line goes dead.

It takes a while before you feel like you can move. You hold the phone tightly in your grasp, not wanting to let it go, because you fear if you do, you’ll forget the sound of his voice.

It’s over a month since you've heard from Sy. You know he said he was going to be busy, but after the second week of not hearing from him, you begin to doubt. You question everything, you stop reading his letter and looking at his picture. You remind yourself that he is on the other side of the world, and you remind yourself to protect your heart.

By the fifth week you’ve almost convinced yourself that he’s finished with you. You were just a distraction, a way for him to pass the time; a warm female voice to drown out the sounds of the cold men he dealt with daily.

What really messes with your mind is that even if he’s not calling because he doesn’t care about you, you’re incomprehensibly okay with that. You’re okay with it because it means he’s alright, it means he’s safe. He’d be a complete asshole, but he’d be fine. You can’t stand to think about other possible reasons for his silence.

When the phone rings, late on Sunday morning, you’re still in bed catching up on sleep. No longer do you answer the phone with your heart in your throat, indifference is all you can manage. It’s probably just your mother anyway, calling to remind you about meeting her for lunch.

But as soon as you raise the receiver to your ear, you know it’s him. The line crackles with the same robotic humming that you thought you’d never hear again.

“Sy?” you whisper, or at least you try. Your voice sounds strangled, even to your ears.

Blood roars in your head, from anger or relief you can’t tell because you feel both. You open your mouth to tell him you hate him, tell him you miss him, tell him you’re glad he’s okay. But you don’t. You slam your mouth shut, you keep it inside, you don’t want to give away too much. It was too painful after last time.

So you wait. As the silence stretches, the strange pulsing static of the line grows intolerable, and you begin to worry. Is this even Sy? Are you hearing things because you desperately want it to be him?

Then he clears his throat, a short cough that sounds wrong. As soon as he speaks you know something isn’t right.

“Hey, baby,” he sounds tired, but not just tired, depressed. Oh my God, what happened?

“Hey, Sy,” you say gently.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, you want him to tell you what happened, but you know he won’t. In all the time you’ve been speaking to him he hasn’t told you a thing, he hadn’t even mentioned Aika until his letter. You don’t take it personally, you knew next to nothing about your father’s or brother’s deployments. Sy may not even be allowed to tell you anything, that’s just the way things are in most military units. Still, after all these weeks, he must be calling you for a reason, you just can't put your finger on why.

“You never call me at this time of day, Sy. Are you okay?” you prompt lightly.

Sy sucks in a breath. It’s been so long since you saw him in person, and you can’t remember what he looks like when he does that. You wish you could remember. You wish for so much.

“I needed to hear your voice, Sugar,” he says softly, and your heart stutters as his reason for calling emerges. He’s speaking so slowly that his accent has become thick, and his voice is so heavy that it flows like syrup into your ear, “It's been too long.”

“You’ve been busy, huh?” you say, surprised at the lack of bitterness in your voice. You can’t bring yourself to be upset any more, not when he sounds so awful.

Sy hums in what could be agreement. He’s quiet for a while and you wait, hoping he’ll say something before you tear your hair out in frustration.

“When I—” Sy starts, then stops, and it takes a few moments for him to speak again, “I think about you, Sugar. A lot. More than I probably have a right to.”

You don’t know what to say. After all this time, are you finally going to have an honest conversation about your relationship? Are you going to talk about where this is going? If it’s going anywhere at all?

“Will ya do somethin’ for me?” He asks.

“Sure,” you say, “If I can.”

“Will ya tell me that you’re waitin’ for me? That you’ll be there when I get home?”

You’re a little taken aback, so you hesitate in answering. You think about the last month, the pain of not hearing from him, and the constant worrying. This is what a relationship with Sy would look like more often than not, irregular communication for months or years at a time. Is that what you want? Was he worth it?

“I won’t hold ya to it,” Sy says, “I just—”

“Sy—”

“Fuck, forget it—”

“Wait—”

“I shouldn’t’ve asked—”

“Sy, stop!” you say firmly, “Just stop,” Sy stops talking but he’s still there, you can hear him breathing, “I’m not going to say something like that just because you ask me to.”

“I know, I—”

“Would you let me finish, Sy?”

He grunts, low and guttural, his frustration as evident as yours. You wish you could see him. You wish he could see you. You don’t know if you have the right words to tell him how you feel, but you try.

“I want you to know that if I say something like that it’s because I really mean it. I don’t want you to doubt it, and if I tell you that now, like this, you will.”

The silence from Sy feels heavy, the dead air is thick with unspoken words. Your gut twists as you think of him alone, obviously going through something, and he reaches out to you, only to be rejected. But that’s not what you mean, and you need to let him know that.

“Can I tell you some other things? Some things you’ll know are true.”

“Please,” he murmurs.

“I can tell you that after we speak, I smile for hours, days, weeks,” your voice quivers and you take a deep breath. He doesn’t need your tears. “I think about how you laugh and how wonderful that sound is.”

You wonder what he’s doing in this moment. How is he sitting? Is he laying down? Is his head in his hands? Is he petting Aika? Is he alone? Has he showered? Can he shower? Is he wearing the socks you sent?

You want to comfort him, you want to tell him that it’s going to be ok, but you know you can’t. He knows you can’t promise him that. What do you say when you don’t know why he seems to be in so much pain? You don’t know what he could possibly need from you.

The truth. You tell him your truth.

“And I smile because for those moments that we’re talking, I’m not worried about you. I know you’re safe.”

You hear him expel breath into the phone. The speaker crackles and shudders, or is that him? Is he crying? Is he okay? You wish…

“I wish I could see your face when I talk to you. I wonder what it looks like when you say certain words or speak in a certain tone. I’d like to know what you look like when you’re quiet. Like now, I want to see your face so bad.”

“Me too baby,” his gravelly voice is throaty, his drawl is so strong.

“I want to see you when you get home, Sy. I do. I’m not making any promises, but I like you... a lot. I've liked you from the start. You’ve kept me at arm’s length though, and that just isn’t going to work for me.”

“Because I knew I was leaving,” he repeats the excuse he wrote in his letter, but his tone makes you wonder if he's not trying to convince himself more than you.

“When are you comin’ home?” you ask softly.

“Officially, my tour is up in a few weeks,” Sy’s voice is stronger now, more like what you’re used to, “But after what went down…” More silence, “Could be tomorrow, or six months from now.”

Six months. Or tomorrow. Or…

“Keep calling me, Sy. Or write if you can’t call. Do you have email where you are? Send me an email, even if it’s just one line.”

“I will, but I can’t email. There’s no internet at this camp.”

You hear him breathe in, long and deep. Then you hear that noise again, that deep rumble in his throat. Your thighs clench together and your face heats up.

“Sy, what are you doing?” you ask, just above a whisper.

“Right now? Layin’ on my bed. Just… thinkin’.”

“Yeah? What are you thinking about?”

Sy chuffs, “Not what, who.”

“Who are you thinking about then?” you ask innocently, not realising until too late what he means.

“You,” Sy says, and his voice takes on that low husky tone. Your thighs rub against one another, you can’t stop them, “I’m always thinkin’ of you— You wanna know what I’m thinkin’ about?”

“I don’t know,” you swallow, feeling breathless, “Do I?”

“How ‘bout I tell ya one thing I’m thinkin’ about, then you can tell me if ya wanna hear more.”

You want to know. You want to know if he’s having the same thoughts as you.

“Okay,” you murmur, and restlessness sinks deep into your bones. Your body is so hot, and you already feel the wetness ebbing from your center.

“I’m thinkin’ about that night I took ya out. Thinkin’ about that dress ya had on... God, you were so pretty. All night I wanted to kiss you.” He pauses, and you hear that sharp inahle again, “Then we went to your place and— fuck, baby, you really let me kiss you.”

“I liked that,” you tell him as you sigh, and he makes that noise that keeps driving you wild, “I liked you kissing me.”

“That’s good, baby,” Sy says, “That’s what I want... to make you feel good.”

“You did, Sy.”

“I wanna do that again. When I come home, I’m gonna kiss you just like that,” Your body heats even more at his suggestion. Would you let him kiss you again?

“I want that too, Sy,” you say firmly, despite your trembling voice, “I really want you to kiss me like that again.”

Sy hums, his deep voice rumbles in his throat, “Whenever I imagine that, making you feel good, it doesn’t stop at kissin’, Sugar.”

He just says it, a little tentatively perhaps, like he’s testing your reaction, but he just admits he’s thought about being intimate with you. And from the way he says it, he’s thought about it often.

“Do you wanna know more, or should I stop?”

You let out a small noise, like a squeak. You hope he knows that means yes.

“Where are you?” he asks. Is that a grin you sense in his voice?

You look around, like you've forgotten your location in this universe. God, he truly makes your brain shut down. He makes you stupid in the best possible way.

“Actually… I haven't gotten out of bed yet.”

“Shit,” Sy groans, drawing the word out.

His reaction makes you bold, and although your heart thunders, you close your eyes, and manage to speak, “I’m still in my t-shirt, the one I wear to bed.”

You hear him swallow, “Anything’ else?”

“Just my panties,” you barely breathe.

“Fuck,” Sy groans again. “You’re makin’ it really tough for me not to grab my cock right now, baby.”

“Oh,” you say on a long exhale, because you feel like you have to say something.

What you really want to say is: do it.

“Why don’t you?” you add quickly, squeezing your eyes shut in mortification.

Sy is quiet, all you hear is his quickening breaths. “Do ya want me to?” he asks, his voice is hoarse and breathy.

“Yes,” you admit. God, you’re shaking, your hands are trembling.

The speaker fills with static as he breathes out. “God dammit, I wanna touch you so bad. You gonna touch yourself too, Sugar?”

Shit. Oh shit. You weren’t expecting that. You’re definitely in the mood, but this is still too new and you’re insecure. You’ll probably end up replaying this moment later and cursing yourself.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Too much?” he says hoarsely, but gently. There’s no anger in his tone.

“I… I feel like I want…,” you don’t know how to explain yourself.

“Tell me, Sugar. It’s ok, tell me what you want.”

“It just feels… strange, to do this on the phone for the first time, instead of together, in person.”

Sy hums mulling it over, “But… you would want that?”

You don’t say anything. What can you say? You’ve just teased the hell out of him and now you feel like an ass.

“How bout we save all that ‘til we see each other again?” Sy suggests.

“I feel bad.”

“Nah,” Sy laughs, “I’ll just wait until ya hang up to finish.”

“Sy!” you exclaim, but you laugh along with him.

You talk for a few more minutes before you tell him that you have to go, “I’m meeting my mom for lunch. I’m already going to be late.”

“Yeah, I should go too. I’ve used every privilege I have as an officer, and some I don’t, to get the phone for this long,” He pauses and becomes serious, “I know what you said earlier, but… will ya do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me if you start seein’ someone.”

“I’m not going to start seeing anyone, Sy. I’m not sure where this is going with us, but I’m not about to throw it away either.”

Sy calls you more frequently now, usually once a week. There hasn’t been another call like that one, but you feel as though your relationship has changed again. It’s subtle, but tangible.

Sy says things like, “When I get back, we should see that,” or “I’d like to take you there when I get home.”

Tentative promises are made, and restrained flirtations are thrown around. You tell him you think about him, you tell him sometimes you want to see him so bad you ache. He tells you he wants to see you, he wants to kiss you; he hints that he wants you to be his, but the line you established on that earlier call is never crossed.

You both send more packages, more photos, and more letters. Sy sends you a picture with Aika, in it he’s wearing sunglasses, shorts, and a red shirt. He seems bigger than you remember. So broad in the chest. You wish he’d have taken the glasses off though, so you could see his handsome face.

Then the day finally comes, the day when he tells you he’s coming home. At first you can’t process it, like you had accepted that Sy was just a disembodied voice, not something to see, or touch, or smell. Then, as he lays out the process of returning home, you start to believe.

“I’ll really get to see you? In two weeks?” You ask incredulously.

“I’ll be all yours for thirty days. No work, nothin’.”

“What about your family?”

Sy grumbles, but you can tell he’s putting it on, “I suppose I’ll have to go see them for a few days.”

“Yeah, you should,” you say, smiling.

“Will ya come with me?” he asks.

“Sy…” You can’t fault his tenacity, “Let’s see how things are between us first?”

“There ain’t no way we won’t work,” Sy says, “I've never wanted a woman like I want you.”

“That’s only because you’ve had to wait over a year.”

“That ain’t it, baby,” Sy says seriously. Then his voice lowers, getting so gravelly he practically growls, “That’s why I’m so fuckin’ horny... but that ain’t why I want to be with you.”

As it always does when he talks like that, a fire ignites in your gut and radiates through you, heating your blood until you feel hot all over. You can’t imagine how it will feel to have him touch you and talk to you like that. You shiver just thinking about it.

You want to ask him why he wants to be with you, but he diverts the conversation and tells you he has to get you clearance to visit him. Sy lives on base, and he says it’s easier for him to pick you up to bring you to his place.

“Less paperwork,” he explains.

“Don’t you want me to meet you when you arrive?” The party atmosphere of homecoming was one that soldiers usually look forward to. If he doesn’t want you there, maybe he’s not as serious about you as you thought.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about that. As much as I want you to be there,” Sy makes a noise like he’s sucking in air through his teeth, and says amused, “I don’t think you’d wanna meet the guys that way.”

“Yeah ok, good point,” you concede with a laugh. The thought of meeting his group and their families in an atmosphere like that is a bit intimidating.

“We’re plannin’ a barbeque for a couple of weeks after we get home. I’d like to take ya with me, and you can meet the guys then.”

“Sounds like a much more relaxed way to meet them.”

“Good,” Sy says, sounding pleased.

“Shit, I’m nervous just thinking about it.”

“What?! Meetin’ the boys? Baby, they love you already.”

Your eyes widen, “You told them about me?”

“I didn’t say anythin’, they just figured somethin’s up. Been a few comments about my mood having improved this deployment, and the packages I’ve been gettin’, and how they wanna meet the girl that keeps makin’ me smile.” Sy chuckles.

Your cheeks burn, but it's a pleasant feeling and you smile widely. You like hearing that he’s happy.

“Okay.” You don’t know what to say, so you steer the conversation back to his homecoming. “Will Aika be coming home with you?”

“Yeah,” Sy says and you can hear the joy in his voice. “She’ll be quarantined for three months though.”

“Oh, that’ll be tough,” you say sympathetically. “You’ll miss her.”

“I will,” Sy agrees. “But I’ll have you.”

God damn him. Four words and he renders you speechless again.

“Baby? Are ya still there?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking,” you scramble, trying to remember what you were talking about. “Oh, yeah. So, if you’re coming to get me anyway, why don’t you just stay with me?” you ask.

“Cause your couch is too small for me to sleep on.”

“My bed’s not too small.”

You hear Sy suck in a breath. “I can just go home at the end of the night. It'll be easier that way. You should still fill out the forms though, so you can visit me when ya want to and—”

“Sy,” you interrupt with a smile. It suddenly dawns on you that he’s nervous.

“Yup,” His lips make a small pop when he says it.

“You don’t want to sleep in my bed?” you ask, playing a little coy.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” Sy says roughly.

“Me neither.”

“I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself.” There’s a question in his statement, like he’s unsure that you would want him to touch you.

“I wouldn't want you to,” You hold your breath in anticipation of his answer.

“From the second I see you, all I’m gonna want to do is touch you,” he groans.

A moan leaves your lips as your arousal wells between your legs. “I want that too.”

“And baby... Once I start, I ain't gonna stop,” Sy says.

His voice sounds strained, like he’s struggling to lift something. Then he clears his throat, his voice is back to its normal deep, soothing baritone, and he changes the subject.

“We’ll play it by ear then, Sugar.”

Part 2 (coming soon)

The Devil’s Tongue

Summary: A mask of virtue hides a man riddled with lust and while his stoicism proceeds him, even he can’t withstand a begging girl. 

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (3rd person POV)

Warning: 18+. Manhandling, abuse of power, MaleDom/FemSub, some thigh riding, unprotected sex, deflowering, loss of virginity, mild mentions of blood, sex in front of mirror (auto-voyeurism), profanities, bodily fluids, possessive behaviour. 

Words: 4.5k

A/N: Many thanks to my muse @agniavateira for supporting me through this story and for betaing. This was inspired by a certain scene in the film. My pervy mind took it elsewhere. Sincerely, I am not sure how I feel about it, so I’ll let you be the judge while I’m having my panic attack. 

Please reblog and give feedback if you enjoyed. 🖤

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Title: The Devil’s Tongue

Keep reading

Rich certified daddy in his late 40s early 50s!Henry Cavill x College student!fem reader

Summary: You were on your spring break and one day, you and your friends end up on a yacht and... the man who owns said yacht, is quite something.

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: fingering, eating out, sex, loud sex, doggy style, squirting, orgasms

A/N: I know the girls in the pictures are white, but these pictures had the sets I had in mind and i didn't want to make them black and white because that didn't fit the aesthetic. Please know that the reader in the rest of this drabble is totally neutral, as I didn't describe hair color, skin color, etc.

This was already the best time of your life. You were in your senior year of college and finally, you had found the time—and money—to be part of a real spring break. It was filled with booze, with dancing and all while wearing different types of bikini’s, matching it with cute flip-flops, shorts and skirts.

And now, you were sitting—totally illegal and in the wrong attire—on a jet ski with your friends, all soaring over the waters. You screamed in excitement. This was so much fun. You were far of shore, however closing in on a yacht. You slowed down your jet ski and looked up. It appeared to be a party on there. Your friends and the jet ski’s were making quite the tumultuous noise, causing the guests to look over the railing, down at you. They seemed fancy and a few guys were talking to someone else, clearly eager to get your friends on board. 

They managed to succeed. Three guys helped the four of you with making sure the jet ski’s won’t drift away and after you left your dirty flip flops on the bottom of the stairs, you and your friends made your way to where the real party happened.

It wasn’t the booze fest you had been part of for the last few days. It was fancier in everything. The music, the drinks and the appetizers. You were almost afraid that what you wore screamed “tacky spring breaker”.

Your friends all gained the utmost attention of the three guys who had helped you all on the yacht. Their loafers were probably worth more than your monthly rent. 

To say you were feeling slightly out of place was a gross understatement. You grabbed something to drink and plopped on a very fancy lounge like couch. You took a sip, when you heard someone clearing their throat next to you.

There was someone sitting next to you? You had totally missed that, as you were drowning in self pity. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said, looking to your side only to make eye contact with the most handsome man you had ever seen. In between his brown hairs, were streaks of grey. His bright eyes looked intense. He wore a white blouse, however it was totally unbuttoned, revealing a hairy and broad chest. His shorts appeared way too expensive and unlike the other male party goers, he was bare foot. 

His face showed some signs of maturity and you thought he was in his forties, pushing the fifties, but it was still evident how gorgeous he was. 

You were at a loss of words. He had some whiskey in a glass and brought it to his lips. 

‘Was someone else sitting here?’ you asked.

He shook his head. ‘It’s all good, doll.’

You felt your face heating up at the sudden nickname. You took a sip of your drink and plucked your pink short, that matched your bikini. 

‘Spring break?’ he then asked.

You chuckled. ‘What gave it away? The atrocious outfit or the stench of beer and booze?’

He smirked and he looked so handsome doing so. ‘You look too colorful.’

You nodded. ‘Is this your yacht?’

‘Correct.’

‘So you’re like really rich.’

‘Something like that,’ he said. 

‘You’re kind of a cliché,’ you told him, which caused him to be interested. ‘Whiskey, a yacht, an unbuttoned blouse, handsome. The only thing that misses, is a cigar.’

‘I’ve got some downstairs,’ he chuckled. ‘I’m a walking cliché.’

‘How unoriginal.’

You discovered the handsome rich man was named Henry and he was a real looker. You hated how gorgeous he was, but what you loved about him, was that he was approachable. 

You started to sit closer and closer to him, up to a moment where you were seated on his lap, your legs draped to his left side, his large hand resting on your thigh, toying with the bottom of your short. He brought the glass to your lips, allowing you to take a sip of his whiskey, but it was so strong and not at all what you loved.

Especially not after those nearly sickening sweet drinks you had all those days. 

You had placed your hand on his chest and damn, did he feel strong. He kept staring at your lips and you felt his thumb caressing them. You parted your lips and his thumb slipped inside. With his pad, he pressed down on your tongue. ‘Good girl,’ he whispered softly, only for your ears to hear. ‘Want some more privacy?’

You nodded and as his thumb exited your mouth, you followed him like a lost puppy. He walked down some stairs and after stalking around a little bit, he closed the door behind him and you were in a bedroom. 

As you admired the art pieces that hung on the wall, you felt Henry’s fingers pull on the straps of your bikini and the flimsy material fell with a soft thud on the floor. He was still standing behind you, his lips attacking your neck, pressing soft and sloppy kisses on the delicate skin, while his hands descended from your breasts, to your waist, all the way to the hem of your short. Together with the bikini bottom, he pushed those on the floor as well and like that, you were totally naked. 

Normally, you’d never give yourself over to someone this easily, but this wasn’t just someone. There was something so mesmerizing and enchanting about Henry, you were willing to just give yourself over like that.

He pushed you on the bed. The covers felt so clean, so expensive and luxurious. You crawled back on the bed and watched him get on the mattress as wel. Gently he made you lay on your back, before he spread you legs apart. He took your entire frame in, causing you to feel a little bit exposed, but he simply patted your legs. ‘Gorgeous,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Absolutely breathtaking.’

Henry’s lips were everywhere. Your neck, your breasts—sinking his teeth softly in your nipples—your stomach, your hips, the inside of your thighs, when finally you had enough and you pushed his head towards that aching spot.

His mouth did wonders and while you managed to keep quiet for quite some time, you can’t help but let sounds of pleasure leave your lips. No man had ever eaten you out like this before, sucked on your clitoris and made you already see stars. Right before you’d cum, he would stop, making damn sure you weren’t going to reach your high anytime soon. 

Henry smirked when he looked up as he sat up straighter, as he witnessed you panting and looking quite frustrated. First he buried one finger in, but with how desperate you were, he added another one and the digits brushed passed your sweet spot. The fingers of his other hands were assaulting your clit and you could feel it happening way too quick, your quivering legs giving it away. 

You expected him to stop, however he didn’t. You were caught blindsided by your forceful orgasm, moans filling the room. You cried out when he didn’t stop, pushing your limits. His hairs that had been so neatly styled minutes before, were covering his forehead and he lost a little bit of his perfect demeanor.

He looked way hotter now.

He replaced the fingers on your clit with his mouth, while he kept on brushing passed that spot. You tugged his hair and crushed his head between your thighs. However when you bucked up your hips as you were once again thrown over the edge and were a shaking mess, you felt an unfamiliar feeling washing over you.

Your juices squirted passed his fingers. You finally managed to push his face from your sensitive bundle of nerves and he gently pulled out his fingers. 

You had drenched the covers, but before you could apologize, he kissed you, his hand wrapped around your throat. He wasn’t exactly choking you—though he had full authorization to do so—but knowing that he could squeeze and that would do something to your airflows, made you moan in excitement.

‘Good girl,’ he whispered and you let your teeth sink in his bottom lip. The kiss turned rougher and you wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him closer as his hands were on your back, his finger tips digging into your skin. You tasted yourself on his lips and his bulge was prominent through his shorts.

‘Fuck me,’ you mumbled against his lips. ‘Please, I need you to fuck me.’

He only darkly chuckled, before he pulled back, undoing himself from his clothing. The clothes dropped on the floor and you nearly started drooling once your eyes fell on his hard cock. Never had you ever fucked someone who was porn star sized. 

Without words he made loud and clear he wanted you on all fours. He massaged your asscheeks after he pressed your face into the mattress, your back masterfully arched. His tip teased your slit and your moans were swallowed by the pillow. 

‘Already so needy and loud,’ he noted. He allowed you to get used to his length and girth, as he slowly slid in. He totally bottomed out, getting a tight grip on your hips and he gave you one more second, before he started to roughly pound in you. Moans were stuck in your throat, totally overtaken by the pleasure, as you stretched around his cock. 

You were on the verge again, desperately wanting to cum once more, however Henry could tell and he pulled out entirely, leaving you yearning for more. 

‘Henry,’ you whined. ‘I need you!’

You pushed yourself up, only to see he was literally pouring some whiskey in a glass. He snickered when he saw your pouts and he took a sip. You stood up from the bed and made your way over to him. You took his face in your hands, slamming your lips on him, tasting the whiskey on his lips. You let one hand slide down and you wrapped it around his cock. He clearly did not expect that, because a moan escaped his lips, as your thumb swirled around his tip.

Your knees hit the bed and before you know it, he was in between your spread legs and didn’t waste a second. He pushed himself in and you gasped, hardly used to how thick and long he was. He wasn’t so patient anymore. His lips locked with yours, his thrusts rough and the noises of his grunts, your whimpers and skin slapping against skin was all around you. 

While the party continued on the deck, he was fucking the daylight out of you.

He was close, but so were you and desperate to reach that final orgasm, you slid your hand in between your bodies, rubbing your clit so feverishly, that you were seeing stars before you knew it. You were shaking underneath his broad frame, and while it felt so sensitive for you, he was still chasing his high. His hand holding your face in his hand, kissing away the tears of your face, before looking you deep in the eyes.

His thrusts turned sloppy and he groans as you felt his seed shooting deep inside of you. He collapsed on top of you, still making sure you were able to breath, as he buried his face in your neck. It took you quite some time before you were able to move and when he softened, he pulled out and you whined at the loss of contact. 

You don’t know how long you were snuggled against him, but after awhile, you cleaned yourself up and decided to get dressed again. The two of you barely shared any words, but right before you left the room, he gave you a kiss and a smack on your bottom, causing you to squeal.

You walked back onto the deck, only to see your friends staring at you with wide eyes. ‘What?’ you asked.

‘We heard you having lots of fun,’ one of your friends noted.

‘Never expected you to be so loud,’ another said.

Oh my, had you been that loud? You started to stammer, but then two strong arms wrapped around your waist and when you look over your shoulder, you saw Henry with a smirk plastered on his handsome face. He kissed your temple. ‘We had loads of fun, didn’t we, darling?’

Your friends were surprised to say the least, because they were literally at a loss for words as they were gawking at what was unfolding in front of them.

Somehow you forgot all about your humiliation, because you nodded simply. ‘We had fun,’ you agreed.

He brought his lips to you ear and asked: ‘You need to go back to your hotel or can you stay the night for some more fun?’

You smiled before you whispered for his ears only: ‘I can always stay the night with you.’

☀︎ ☀︎ ☀︎

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