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The door snicked shut behind him, and your heart raced in your ears.
“Sir?” you turned to face him, finding yourself so close that each breath brought your chest against his. You craned your head to meet his gaze, the man’s eyes heated as he purred, stepping even further into your space,
“I saw you staring at me,”
You flushed, stepping back, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
He stepped forward, you stepped back, “From the moment you got here, you’ve been staring at me. You haven’t been able to take your eyes off of me, I’d think there was something wrong but I know what lust is and sweetheart, you’ve got it bad.”
A step forward and you went to step back but your hips crashed into the rim of the sink, all you could do was lean back over it as he stooped over you, hands coming up to clasp the rims of the sink and pin you in.
“Now sweetheart,” he lowered his head to whisper and your eyes went wider and wider, heart stuck in your throat, flush going lower and lower as his breath ghosted over the shell of your ear, “If I’m wrong, just tell me and I’ll walk out of here and we can go on as though none of this happened. But if I’m not…”
One hand left the sink to rest on your waist - a soft weight, not enough to pin you, you could have pushed him off if you wanted - as he lowered his head and pressed a kiss, sugary sweet, to your throat. And you went soft, lolling your head back with a sigh that made his lips curl into a grin, as you stretched out, “I-I, yessir, I’d like that very much.”
“Good girl,” he kissed your throat, drew a line along it and you whined, arching your neck for better access and he laughed against it, sucking a hickey just under your shirt, the hand on your hip sliding up to palm your breast, finding what made you jump and pull away and what made you arch into him,
“Shh,” he laughed when you whimpered just that little bit too loud, “The boys are in the living room, they’ll hear you.”
Oh god. Oh god Arthur and John you’d never live this down if they found out, your vocal cords curled up and died - at least for two seconds, in which his hand left your breast to work its way into your pants, grumbling something about ‘tight pants these days’ when he had to fuss with the button and zipper and despite yourself you giggled, arching off the sink to help him, Dutch flinging your pants into the corner with perhaps a bit more rigor than was needed.
“It’s rude to laugh at a man,” he grumbled, and you pursed your lips to keep from giggling though he was quick to stop you, shucking your underwear too, hooking your thigh over his free arm and stooping, bringing his mouth to your cunt and attaching it to your clit. You arched clear off the sink, hand clapping so hard to your mouth it stung to keep you from crying out, stars flashing behind your eyes as he chuckled, the vibrations rattling through your cunt and leaving you shaking. He was merciless, suckling your clit until you were squirming and shaking on the sink then letting off, licking you desperately, and once you were squirming and whining but not desperate with it he’d move his mouth back to your clit all over again,
Finally, finally, when tears began to dribble down your face and you thought you were going to die from sheer need to come, he didn’t take his mouth off you and you unraveled, desperately bucking your hips on his face, the man’s grip tightening on your thigh as he continued to suckle your clit through your orgasm, your arousal soaking his face, and you panted desperately as you fought not to make a sound, to keep from crying out and giving you away even as you convulsed, wanting nothing more than to gasp his name and tell him just how good he was making you feel.
You slumped, back sweaty against the cold mirror, and gasped for breath as he gave your cunt one last lick before straightening up, letting you put your leg on the ground even as he put his fingers to your over-sensitive cunt and the sight of him made your mouth go dry, his face gleaming with your arousal, eyes dark with his own and lips swollen. “So good, girl,” you could have outright died, staring at him like a fool and he smirked, leaning in to kiss you and you wrinkled your nose at the taste of yourself on his lips but he flicked out his tongue and you let him in and then you could hardly breathe for the force of his kisses.
He pressed two fingers into you and you jumped, still sensitive from your orgasm, and he swallowed your whimper as he began to pump them, the squelching painfully loud in the bathroom. “Good girl,” he purred into the kiss, “so wet,” he crooked his fingers, a ‘come hither’ motion and pressed against that spot in you that made you go cross-eyed and cry out, only the kiss muffling the noise that would surely have made John and Arthur come running for fear you’d been hurt. “Listen to you, wish I could throw you down on a bed, hear you scream my name,” a third finger, and he began to spread them in between caresses of that spot, “make you scream, make it so the only word you can remember is my name.”
You sobbed, overstimulated tears dripping salty into the kiss, and finally he took mercy on you, pulled his fingers out and wiped them clean on his pants with a final parting kiss to your lips, straightening up and tugging on your thighs and though it scared you to put all your weight on the sink - yours and his, considering he was still half-leaning on the sink - you trusted him, bringing your legs up and wrapped them around his hips and he rumbled his approval, “Good girl,” drawing himself from his pants with his free hand and tilting his head back with pleasure. You’d never thought a penis attractive but if one could be his was, thick and veiny and red, and as he stroked it pre-cum beaded at the head.
He pressed the head to your folds before dropping his hand back to the sink, bracing himself around you and you twined your ankles together behind him, one hand pressing against the sink and wrapping the other around his shoulders, curling against him intimately, pressing your head against his chest and hearing his heart beat in his chest - though outwardly he seemed unaffected, his heart raced.
“Good?” he asked and you nodded,
“Yessir,” though you want to scream ‘Please Dutch, please! Fuck me please fuck me!’ that would give you away very quickly so you gritted your teeth and dug in your nails.
The man growled, beginning to press into you painfully slowly, clutching the sink so hard the toiletries rattled and then, with a sharp thrust, he was buried half in you and you yelped into the kiss, the both of you freezing as the toiletries clattered loudly to the floor.
Arthur called your name, his heavy footsteps rushing to the door, “Y’okay?”
You froze, staring at the door like a deer in headlights, and Dutch chuckled in your ear as if his son wasn’t on the other side of the door, continuing to push into you as the doorknob rattled, “Better answer darlin’, before he knocks that door down,”
“Y-yeah!” you squeaked, clearing your throat and slapping Dutch’s chest as he pulled out and thrust into you sharply, “Just… just lost my, hng, balance!”
“She okay?” and fuck, there was John.
“Y’sure?” Arthur tried the door again and Dutch growled a laugh in your ear, bringing his hand down to tweak your clit before planting his hand back on the sink as you slapped his chest in reprimand again,
“I’m sure! Just, just gimme a minute and I’ll be right out!” your eyes crossed as Dutch thrust into you so harshly it was a miracle the sink didn’t come clear off the wall and you arched, only the man’s lips on yours keeping you from giving you away,
“Alright,” although Arthur sounded not terribly sure what could he call you out on? Just randomly flinging shit around and sounding perturbed by it? His first thought, after all, wouldn’t be that you were getting railed by his father the first time you met him, “Be more careful.”
Once both their footsteps tromped away you smacked Dutch on the chest again, hissing “Fucker!” into the kiss and he smirked,
“Aren’t I already?” and you pulled back just to stare at him, thoroughly unimpressed, though he looked rather proud of himself.
“Just fuck me.” you finally decided on, squeezing around his cock that still pistoned inside of you, wrapping your arm back around his shoulder and kissing him to muffle your laugh because, dammit, it was kind of funny in a dad-joke sort of way (holy shit you were fucking John and Arthur’s dad how stereotypical could you get?) and he was more than happy to do so, stepping in closer and beginning to fuck you faster, harder, short snaps of his hips that took your breath away, struggling to keep your head up to kiss him, finally giving up and lolling your head back and the man laughed, lowering his to nibble and lick and kiss your throat though he was carefully to keep the sucking and biting below your collar line despite how much he wanted to leave hickeys that would proclaim you his, that would broadcast to the world he’d had you.
“Good girl,” he purred as he admired a quickly blooming bruise, “Such a good girl for me,” he hunched further over you until you were almost against the mirror, slumping back in a position that bordered on uncomfortable, clenching the sink with one hand so tight his knuckles went white, the other hand coming down to play with your clit as he growled, and it was only moments before he was cursing a blue streak and filling you up, fucking so hard you knew you’d have bruises the next day as his spend dripped out around him and then you were coming, his thumb working at your clit in just the right way, and he pressed his mouth against yours to swallow your noises as you bucked frantically against him, riding his cock, walls rippling and milking him, eyes rolling back with panted gasps please and gasps of his name.
He slumped over you, gasping loudly in your ear before lowering his head to kiss at your neck, praising “Such a good girl, you were so good for me, such a wonderful girl,” as he grabbed your waist and picked you up, your legs dropping from him limply; he scooped you up like a doll, cradling you close and pressing kisses to your forehead as he carried you, setting you down against the wall and grabbing a towel, dabbing your face clean as you buzzed pleasantly, Dutch grinning at the fucked-out pleasure obvious on your face, before stooping and you flinched as he wiped at your sensitive cunt before hesitating, setting the towel aside and swiping the mess up with his fingers, pushing it back into you. “My good girl will keep this in her, won’t she?”
All you could do was whimper.
He grinned, and finished wiping you down before dabbing the mess from his pants and going about wiping the spend that had dripped off the floor, righting the toiletries back on the sink as you gathered yourself. He even helped you put your pants back on when your fingers fumbled, pocketing your panties with a grin, holding them up for you to see.
Walking back to the boys without staggering was a feat in and of itself.
Getting through supper nearly killed you.
“Pass me the peas, will you darlin’?” this and “Hand me the salt darlin’,” that. And you thanked god the boys were oblivious as it gets (and you’d know it, watching women try to flirt with them only for it to go over their heads was a favorite past time of yours) or they’d surely know something was up, but they were absorbed in talking about the game they’d been watching, not noticing the alarming shade of red you turned every time Dutch dragged his fingers along yours or the ridiculous amount of times he had you pass him something.
By the time you were finished with supper, your core was burning and your pants soaked with his spend, and you could have jumped him right there and damn John and Arthur both.
When he gathered the dishes and took them to the kitchen, inclining his head, it took all you had not to jump out of it and beat your skin there, “I’ll help with the dishes, Mr. Van Der Linde!”
John laughed, “You don’t gotta, you’re a guest,”
and you could have cursed him, “I don’t mind, really! You two go back to the game, two people is faster than one, right?” and he shrugged, swigging his beer and walking back to the TV with Arthur, a hitch in both of their steps.
Thank god for alcohol, you thought, and tipsy idiots.
You hurried to the kitchen, flushing at the feel of his seed leaking down your legs. Damn that man, these pants were ruined for sure, but you didn’t have a minute to linger on it as Dutch was on you the moment you walked through the doorway and, absurdly, you were impressed with the speed with which he’d put the dishes in the sink as he manipulated you to lean over the kitchen island, marble cold against your chest and he chuckled as you squeaked, “Easy girl, I’ve got you,”
He kicked your legs apart and you arched your back, staring at the doorway where you could just make out the couch where John and Arthur sprawled out, sipping beer and watching the game. Shit, if they turned around there’d be no denying what you two were doing, the counter was hiding the worst of it but your faces would give you away, the way Dutch was hunched over you impossible to be anything else.
He pulled your pants down just enough to access you, rumbling low in his throat as his spend trickled down, sticky on your legs. “Oh, look at you. So sloppy with me,” he swiped his fingers through your folds and you flinched, jumping - you were still so sensitive and it made a squelching sound that made you flush all the more, “So beautiful, you’re dripping with me, so messy, you’re going to go home and when you wash these pants you’re going to remember me, aren’t you?”
You groaned, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you dropped your head to press your heated forehead to the cool marble, but that didn’t hide the flush that crept down your neck, much to his amusement. He swiped his fingers through the mess and pressed it back into you, leaning in and whispering “Can’t waste a drop, can we?” and you could have died then and there.
“You’re mine, aren’t you? This makes you mine,” he swiped his fingers through the mess again, pushed it into you, “and so do these,” he tugged at your shirt to pull it down, baring your hickeys and nipping at them, “My beautiful, messy girl,” and you had to bite your arm to keep from moaning, spreading your legs as wide as they’d go with your pants tangled around them in a plea.
“Dutch,” you hissed under your breath, “Please,” and he growled, tugging your shirt back up and beginning to kiss the crook of your neck as he freed his cock from his pants and lined it up with you, giving you no warning before sheathing himself inside of you, your eyes crossing at the stretch, the flush spreading down your shoulders at the loud squelching that followed, his cum slicking the way as he began to fuck you hard and fast, one hand gripping the edge of the counter next to you, the other tight enough on your hip you knew you’d have bruises.
“Good girl,” he purred, snapping his hips so hard you slipped on the counter and he had to catch you, propping you up with a smirk, continuing to fuck you though slower and gentler as you brought your hands up to cling to the rim of the island, stretching out as he picked up the pace, grunting and growling in your ear, stretching over you, the hand not on your hip coming up to clap down over yours, panting breath hot on the back of your neck.
His thrusts picked up, became more desperate as he neared his own orgasm, bringing the hand on your waist around to press against your clit, tweaking it just how he remembered you liking it and you sobbed, bucking desperately against his hand and onto his cock, scrabbling at the island, eyes rolling back as your orgasm rushed on you like a freight train and goddamn but did he have magic hands or had you just had awful luck in the past?
“Fuck,” you hissed, “Dutch!” and he growled,
“Quiet,” with a nip to your neck,
“I’m trying!” and he reached over with the hand that had been on your’s and slipped two fingers in your mouth and it was only instinctual to nip at them and start to suck, bobbing your head and there was a punched out groan as he dropped his head to rest it against your shoulder blades,
“Baby girl, you’re going to kill me,” and you nipped at him again just for laughs but that did it, he came with no warning, balls drawing up and beginning to empty you, sullying you more than you already had been, seed spilling out around him and he frantically rubbed your clit just how he remembered how you’d liked it, he refused to come if you didn’t and you went rigid as your walls convulsed around him, milking him for every drop and the sound he made was almost a whimper as he gave a few, last thrusts before pulling out, pumping his cock and finishing on your ass.
“Dutch,” you huffed, going boneless on the counter as your afterglow made you boneless, drowsy, and when he swiped the mess up with his fingers, only managing to smear it across your skin, before pressing his fingers into your dripping cunt with a low rumble,
“Don’t want you making a mess, do we?”
‘Fucker.’
Later that night, when you went to text the pictures of the ranch you’d taken to your friends, you choked when a picture popped up of a familiar thick, veiny cock, cradled by a familiar ringed hand.