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You watch, as always, from afar.
You stare at him fondly as a wide grin spreads across his features, scarlet sprinkling amongst his freckled cheeks when he gulps down the umpteenth sip of that East Blue beer you all have a weakness for. Your eyes are trained on the bob of his Adam’s apple, and on how a rogue line of alcohol travels down his chin once the hem of the jug is out of the way. Your stomach flutters when he catches it with a quick flick of his tongue. You feel yourself warming up—and not from the booze alone—when he throws his head back and laughs proudly, the muscles in his abdomen spasming in tandem.
But no matter how much he affects you, you keep yourself at a respectable distance.
Because he’d stormed into this crew with the sole intent of taking your Captain’s head, and then he’d just... Changed his mind, like it was nothing. A man like that is not to be trusted. Flimsy as the wind. Brighter than the sun. You’re doing your best not to be blinded by his act like everyone else around you.
The entire fleet has been charmed by his bravado in a matter of weeks. All he had to do was go around flashing dashing smiles at all the women on board; fill the men's heads with sweet talk about his hopes and dreams, and let them root. He’d feasted upon your father’s generosity and the kindness of all of his daughters and sons. He’s sneaked past their defenses, and he seems to be, slowly but surely, breaking into yours as well.
You’re still reticent to accept him. You’ve sensed a darkness in his heart that immediately guarded you off, and you’ve seen firsthand how fickle and susceptible he could be. One second, he’s all grins and merry-making, the other, he’s averting gazes and grumbling to himself in a corner. It’s only natural to be wary of such behaviour. That’s your duty as division commander, your responsibility as daughter of one of the most powerful men in all of the four seas.
It doesn’t stop you from admiring his features, tho. Nor does it dissuade your damn stupid heart from racing madly at the sight of his smooth skin and cute dimples. Especially now, after having downed a few drinks too many, and especially when he’s looking all joyful and radiant, laughing alongside Marco and Thatch while winning what must be the fourth round of Poker in a row.
Ace.
Ace, Ace, Ace...
Your mind starts to chant. You’re exhausted by this wicked fascination of yours for him.
Portgas D. Ace.
The name blurs in the buzz of the moment; it starts to sound weird. More so, it does in the name of how much time your tireless eyes have spent tracing the line of his strong arms and shoulders, and are only now leisurely crawling up the curve of his neck. There’s a spot there, a few inches short of his ear—a spot you find particularly interesting for some reason. When he laughs, and his thick, raven black hair sways around with the rhythm of his chortles, the patch of skin throbs faintly in response. It thrums along with him. You wonder what muscle that is, if it’s even a muscle, and how it may feel to lightly press your lips upon the spot, and breathe in his scent. The scent of salt and beer, and his evergreen confidence.
But your eyes don’t stop there. They never stop when it comes to him. They keep waltzing across his features, taking in the sharp line of his jaw, and how it twitches ever so subtly the moment Marco lays a bad card on the table, one Ace knows could result in his resounding defeat. You smile then, because you can read him so well. You’d win each round of poker against him. You watch as his eyes—those beautiful, soft slits of pure darkness—shrink considerably as he frowns.
You take a peek at Marco and Thatch’s hands, and you smirk. You forecast an inevitable doom for the man whose fire powers have granted him a spot in the ranks of none other than Whitebeard himself.
He’s hesitant, tho. Surely he can sense the danger approaching. You doubt Marco’s poker face to be as good as yours. Ace fidgets with his cards, grips at the edge of the table, his leg squirming nervously beneath the wooden surface they’re all gathered around. And then—as if the strings of fate had then decided to entrust you with the decision of leading him either towards or away from his doom—his eyes suddenly dart up to lock with yours.
Your heart skips a beat, and you catch your breath, the rest of the lively crew’s rowdy celebration suddenly dimming into nothing more than background noise. There’s not much anyone could say or do to make you look away, and somehow, you think he knows. Your blood starts violently pumping at the speed of light, your head spinning out of control. The corner of his mouth pulls up, his cocky grin aimed at you, and you realize he’s awaiting instructions. His dark, piercing gaze won’t let go until you provide him with the answer he’s seeking.
There’s not enough time to ponder your options.
Your palms are sweating when your hand pulls up, your lined-up fingers swaying back and forth at the height of your neck. Your heartbeats are thumping insanely loud against your temples.
The sign is clear. 'Back off '.
There’s a flicker of gratitude glinting in his eyes before he draws them away from the warmth of yours, and then his smirk widens even further the moment his gaze falls back on his friends. He resigns from the hand, igniting animous protests from your crewmates.
You start to feel weird, then.
You think you may have drunk a bit too much this time around. You shouldn’t have done that. Selling out your comrades for the likes of a man you don’t even fully trust yet.
It was that damn devilish smile, you wager. It got to you. Somehow, it had momentarily breached through your resolve, and you’d caved in to the temptation of being closer to him on the account of sharing a secret. The thrill of cheating, the buzz of the beer, and the electrifying sense of him having to rely on you. It had all been way too much to resist.
You watch him stretch away from the wooden table, watch as his hands rest behind his back, and he laughs again. So boisterous, so arrogant, absolutely unbothered by the weight of the little indiscretion he’s just committed; one that seems to fall on your shoulders entirely, instead.
You need fresh air.
The fever of booze and oogling him up is getting to your head, and you need to breathe in something different, something like ocean waves in the dead of night.
You drag your feet away from the party, the light autumn breeze instantly engulfing you the moment you’re out the door of the enclosed quarters you’ve learned to call home.
The deck of the Moby Dick is dimly lit by a few dying lanterns, and the sound of the calm sea hushing beneath you serves as the perfect means to ground your reality into a more familiar sensation. The peaceful feeling of belonging to something as powerful and unrelenting as the ocean, to be one with its incessant motion. You even manage to forget all about Ace and his insatiable search for trouble.
Until his voice cuts through the daze of your thoughts.
“ There ain’t nothing like it, huh?”
You shiver.
You hadn’t even realized you’d closed your eyes before they opened again, and you grip the banister just as you take in the view before you.
Nothing but the vastness of the unknown. Nothing but dark, hungry waves crashing against the keel and begging for you to pay heed to their cries. You can make out the contours of several small islands in the distance, and a headlight occasionally breaching through the shadows, but nothing more.
He’s not wrong—you absently consider. This is the kind of sight that had made you sail out to sea when you were nothing more than a reckless little girl thriving for adventure.
You hum back, then, deeming far safer the option of not speaking for now. You’re still too high on liquor to trust your tongue with the task of talking to him.
Nevertheless, he doesn’t give up.
You see him in the corner of your eye, stepping up right beside you to look at the view. A few moments of silence pass like this, and you can hear your heartbeat drumming in your chest. The simple proximity to this man is enough to ignite within you a whirlpool of exhausting emotions.
You don’t trust him.
You can’t put a finger on the reason why, but you can’t for the love of God seem to be able to let your guard down around him. It feels as though you expect him to sneak up on you at any given moment, chest against your back, with the blade of a dagger brushing across the skin on your throat.
But that’s not even the half of it.
Your mind might be reticent, sure, but your body’s in a whole other realm. You’re inexplicably drawn to him, no matter how much you’d prefer to keep yourself at a safe distance. Survival instincts scream to run as fast as you can, but you’re paralyzed by this deceiving attraction of yours for him. It’s verging on obsession, lately. It won’t let you breathe.
He’s tall, lean, and handsome. Strong and brave like few, even amongst the lots of you Whitebeard stock. The type of man who’s impossible to ignore.
“ Thanks for before, by the way,” he adds, once you’ve stayed quiet for too long.
You shrug, and he chuckles.
You love the sound of it. So effortless, almost feather-light. If it reached the clouds above, you’re sure it could persuade them to withhold whatever rains they would otherwise decide to unleash on you all come morning.
“ You’re awfully quiet.”
He’s looking at you now, and you can feel the flush on your cheeks spreading, your chest heaving from the mere promise of his attention.
“ I’m not sure why I did that,” you hush.
Had you been in your right mind, you would’ve never confessed that to him. But it seems as though your thoughts can’t keep up with your lips for the time being.
“ I know why.” You can hear the mirth in his voice, can feel the self-assured sound of his words and how they pour out of his mouth, that infamous cocky smirk still in place once your eyes finally wander towards his. “ ‘S ‘cause you like me.”
“ I do not.”
The retort is too quick. Too presumptuous. It’s nothing more than a lie. You just hope for him to be drunk enough not to be able to tell.
He frowns at that and turns around to lean both elbows on the handrail.
“ There’s no need to lie, y’know?”
Your teeth sink into the flesh of your bottom lip. You realize he’s giving no room for argument. He’s not voicing a suspicion, more so than stating a fact.
“ And what makes you so confident?”
“ ‘Cause.” He shrugs. “ ‘Can’t keep your damn eyes off of me, woman.”
Your heart falters at the use of such a nickname, a bright flush creeping up your neck.
Who does he think he is, calling you that?
“ It’s because I don’t trust you,” you defer.
“ ‘S that so?” He turns to look at you, eyes dark and dangerous. “ ‘Don’ trust my neck, heh?”
Your throat suddenly feels very dry, the sound of the wind crashing against you now only partially muffling that of your mad-paced heartbeat.
“ I beg your pardon?”
“ ‘Cause you sure spend a whole lot of time dwellin’ on it.” He inches closer, lips a shred away from yours, and you’re quickly enveloped by the strong musk he constantly exudes. Briny like sea water. Thick like burning coals during a bonfire. It’s rich and tempting, and you absently press your thighs together as you let yourself bathe in it.
“ Or maybe ‘s my lips, huh?”
You instinctively look at them, your cheeks now a shameful crimson, your eyes glossy at the thought of how close you are to getting a taste.
“ What d’ya think?” One of his hands grabs you by the waist, and with one quick pull, you’re flush against him, hands trapped between you and his toned chest. “ Check ‘em out, baby, see if they as bad as you think they are.”
He leans in, but you manage to dodge his attempt at kissing you.
“ Ace.” You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and you can feel your own dose working wonders in various fields, as well. Your head’s spinning, reeling with impure thoughts. But you’re dazed, can barely keep yourself upright. His fingers are dipping hard into the meat of your hip, his arm securely snaked around you. Hot puffs crash against your cheeks as he looks at you sternly, his eyes teary with need.
“ You wan’ me,” he states, yet again. Unfaltering and unrelenting, he squeezes your side to urge a confession out of you, and you yelp in response.
“ I don’t.”
“ Why d’ya keep lying to me?” he whines, face dipping in the crook of your neck, and he takes in a long breath.
You freeze against him, the warm wave of arousal pooling down with the low sound he emits once he releases the air he’d taken in.
“ Mhmm—” His tongue trails up your neck, slow and intentional, and you shiver. “ ‘Smell even sweeter than I thought.”
Godness, he’s hot. His skin is boiling up, and his hold on you is stronger than any you could ever hope to oppose. He draws back and flashes you a grin. One of those charming, sly grins you could get an eyeful of. His freckled cheeks are red, and his pants are broken by hiccups.
“ ‘S okay. I like you too, y’know?” His nose bumps against yours, and he giggles again when you try to back away to no avail. “ You’re the prettiest thing on board, easily.”
You look away at the flattery, but your heart’s thumping madly, roaring for you to listen, demanding of you to give in.
His lips press on yours all of a sudden, and you feel like you could melt.
They’re so incredibly soft, yet so impatient, so rough that it’s almost scary. They clumsily clash against yours a couple of times, and then he’s breathing on your skin again. “ I saw you lookin’ at me, always lookin’ at me, you drive me crazy…” His right hand sneaks up to cup your cheek, and your heart leaps in your stomach.
“ I told you.” You try to push him back, but it’s no use. He seems to be made of concrete. “ You’ve misunderstood.”
He chortles again, this time deeper, right from the gut and bubbling up his throat.
“ ‘Ain’t no mistaking those eyes, dove.” He kisses your neck, and you can’t refrain from moaning, can’t help your arousal from growing greedier. “ Just say ‘ya wan’ it, an’ I’ll give it to ‘ya.”
“ That’s—” you gasp, eyelids falling shut at the feeling of his lips pressing on your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, “ That’s jus—”
Crass.
Unforgivably inappropriate of him.
But oh, so tempting that it would be mortifying to even attempt a denial.
You can feel his need for you throbbing against your stomach, famished and greedy, just like the rest of him is. And you’re hanging on by a thread, too. Everything’s so blurred and dizzy, the world spinning around you while the sound of the raging waves beneath drags your mind in a blissful haze. It almost feels like a fever-dream. If it weren’t for the smothering sensation of his hot limbs pressing against you, squeezing you into this incredibly tight embrace, you could even manage to let yourself slip into a torpid state of slumber.
“ Ace.” You try to keep your voice steady, even while your head’s spinning and your stomach’s upside down.
He stills, catching onto the hard edge of your voice, and he stares at you, hanging from your lips with a look that staggers over the edge between fascination and primal desire. And no matter how much it frightens you, nor how much your racing pulse begs for you to continue to put up a fight against him, tonight it seems that your body won’t listen to the rioting of your heart. No. It is too preoccupied pleading for more, instead. More of his hands on you. Taking savagely. Urging your surrender. You want to feel his skin burning against yours until dawn. You’ve longed for him in silence for long enough. Tonight, you want him to satiate his hunger with you, to feast upon your moans and drown you in pleasure. And he smirks as if he knew, a lazy way of reassuring you that he will provide.
“ You can’t say a thing of this to anyone here,” you pant a meek warning now that you can manage.
His spread palm rests on his heart. He’s breathless, and there’s a dangerous glint of victory swimming in the darkness of his lustful gaze. “ ‘Swear to God.”
Your eyes waltz between his, and then you kiss him. Quick—as if to test a theory.
Maybe he won’t taste good, you think. Maybe he will feel terrible against you.
But even before diving in, you knew those’d be useless prayers. Nothing that looks as good as he does could ever be spoiled by the taste. His lips are soft and firm—scorching hot, just like the rest of him. As soon as he wraps his arms around you, your knees give out. You let him manhandle you into a dark corner, away from prying eyes, kept in the shadows like the secret you want this to be.
He kisses you harshly, fingers impatiently rummaging through you like you were never supposed to have clothes covering you up in the first place. He squeezes, pinches, and plays with your flesh. And you immediately cave and arch against him, whimpering in his mouth whatever would otherwise reach any passerby strolling around the deck late at night.
He chuckles often, just as much as you sigh and squirm. He bites at your lips and doesn’t apologize when he cuts through skin. Your blood stains his mouth a deep shade of red, having him look even more feral in the darkness you’re soaking into. It makes your insides coil, your hands gripping at his shoulders to claim his lips in another searing kiss.
“ ‘Want ‘ya so bad,” he moans, bucking his hips into you, letting you feel him. He’s hard and straining, already starving for you.
Your arms circle his neck, your eyes shoot up to look for his. “ I’m here.”
He grins and places a soft peck on your lips, another bump on your nose, before swiftly spinning you around.
He goes slower, then. His palm leisurely trails up your abdomen, then gently feels the weight of each of your breasts. You wiggle against him, ass searching for a way to reciprocate the teasing, and he lets you. You grind up and down his throbbing cock like a whore in heat. He groans in response, squeezing your tits roughly and biting your neck as if attempting to keep you in place with his teeth. It hurts. It makes you yelp, pain desperately flowing down to gather at your apex.
Yes. Yes. This is exactly what you wanted, what you knew he had in him.
None of the men of the fleet knows how to take you. They’re far too gentle for your taste. But you could tell at first glance that Ace had what it takes. You just knew he was the type to leave bruises behind. Maybe that’s exactly what scared you so much about him.
He lifts your skirts and sneaks his hand up your thighs, moving your briefs out of the way so that his fingers can start prodding at your entrance, already testing for sensitivity. You’re dripping wet and so ready that it only takes a few lazy circles to have you trembling, breaths broken by the burden of anticipation.
“ D’ya wan' me?” he is laboured, his tone low and sultry. It makes you keen.
Can’t he feel it?
“ I—” You choke on the words. It seems that no matter how much your body’s giving up, your mouth’s still reticent to this one simple confession.
He grunts in dissent, closing in on you so that there’s barely even any air left for you to breathe. You’re trapped between his body and the cold surface against which you’re oh, so foolishly letting him fondle you.
“ C’mon, baby,” he huffs, restlessly grinding against you, twitching and spasming to have you, “ Ya gotta tell me.”
His fingers dip inside of you, but they promptly retreat as soon as you moan, legs spreading wider to welcome him deeper. You cry at the emptiness, womb throbbing, hands scraping the wood to which you’re plastered. He’s so cruel. And you just love it.
“ I want you, Ace,” you whine miserably, every morsel of you aching terribly for him.
He laughs in heavy pants against your bare neck, and the mockery sends shivers running down your spine, heat flooding through you like never before at the sound of a man’s voice.
“ What d’ya want from me, pretty?”
Oh, he’s evil. He’s a terrible man, indeed. The kind you thrive for, the kind so akin to sin that makes your skin pearl in goosebumps, guts churning and burning for more. More teasing, more taunts, more of his savage touch. Until you can’t stand. Until all that’s left is your insatiable need for him.
“ I want you to ruin me. Please, don’t hold back.” The words come out low and throathy, laced with arousal, and he grunts in return, shaking behind you as if high on the sound. Your ass fiercely bucks into his hips, and his fingers dip into you in one go, having your knees shaking, threatening to fail. Good thing he’s keeping you up and anchored to him, or you would’ve already miserably pooled at his feet.
You feel him arching inside of you, your vision blurring into pure ecstasy, stars gathering up at the corners. You’re a shred away from completion already, and tho you know it should mortify you to be so easy to crack for him, you can’t help the way you feel beneath his touch. Like you were meant for him to play with you like this. A mere instrument at his disposal. And so, for just one night, you wish to forget all that useless resentment you hold in his regard. You only want to remember how much you’ve wanted him. The endless months spent admiring him from afar in the hopes of meeting his gaze.
Every single detail of him you’ve gathered in the making is still crystal clear in your mind, even while it thrives on liquor. The curve of his smile and the soft dip of his dimples when he makes a toast. The flushed shade of red covering his freckled cheeks whenever he heats up during an argument. The hard edges between lights and shadows running down his sweating body after a long day of moving barrels beneath the sun-rays.
You could draw out a map of him, and you would happily spend a lifetime sailing through his waves.
But now you feel incredibly empty inside. His fingers are thick and expert. You can feel them exhausting themselves in the attempt to coax an orgasm out of you. However, you want something else right now. You yearn for it.
“ Ace, fuck—I need your cock inside me, please. 'Need you to fill me up.”
He laughs, and you feel his palm smacking against your ass, the quiet fizzling of the hit spreading over your hips and up your spine.
“ Ya really got no shame, huh?” He breathes hot against the shell of your ear, nibbling the flesh while his fingers draw out, coated with your slick. He licks them clean, humming in approval at the taste of you, and then you hear him fumbling with his belt. Each jiggle of the metal makes your cunt twitch, each brush of his skin against yours has even more juices miserably streaming down your thighs in expectation. “ D’ya wan’ me to take you that much?”
“ I’d do anything. Please. I need you.”
The words bleed into his system like a drug. They are far more intoxicating than the alcohol coursing through his veins. He would love to put them to the test by having you drop to your knees and let him fuck your throat sore before granting you your wish. But he’s drunk. He’s aching. His dick is rock hard and throbbing. He needs to be inside of you, buried within you so deep that you’ll regret giving yourself to him so easily. He wants you to remember this night until your dying breath.
He guides the flushed tip to your entrance, and you cry and push against him to try and have him sink in faster, desperate to wrap around him. His head is spinning, instincts taking over at the sight of you so pliant and needy. It drives him insane to see you so restless. And so he growls and dips his fingers into your flesh, keeping you in place before breaching into you, lethally slow. So slow that he knows you’ll be wailing for more.
But you’re not the only one feeling helpless. No matter how much he would like to tease you, all it takes is for the head of his dick to be engulfed in your essence, and his knees threaten to give out. You’re hot, drenched in lust, and you’re squeezing him tight enough to make him stagger.
One woman can’t be so perfect. It’s just not possible. And yet you are. You feel like heaven around him, your cunt just as tantalizing as the call of the ocean whirring in his ears when he was seventeen.
“ Ace, please. Go as deep as you can.”
“ Fuck—Calm down, now.” He squeezes your meat in his hands to refrain from complying. “ ‘Yer not prepped enough.”
Hot white floods his vision, his heart throttling against his ribcage fast enough to pose a threat to his life. But even in this state, he knows he should’ve spent more time on you. You’re not ready for him to thrust as hard and fast as he would like to. He needs to keep a measured pace, on pain of hurting you in the making.
“ I can take it. I need it. I asked this of you, please.”
Oh, lord. You beg so sweetly. You’re making him lose any shred of sanity that tonight's beer hadn’t already washed away during poker.
He can’t focus. All he can feel is you. Your damn perfect cunt hugging his cock so tight he fears it’ll shrink. Your soft, welcoming walls spasming around him. The slick gathered at your folds and dripping down your thighs, allowing him to slide in so easily that it makes his skin buzz as if ready to catch fire at any given moment. And then there’s the wretched sound of your voice, shrill and cracked by arousal while you ask him to fuck you like an animal. It's all too intoxicating for him to remain in hold of his wits.
And so he caves.
He thrusts hard and punishing, your face slamming against the rough texture of the wood ahead of you, and you yelp in surprise despite your begging.
You feel it all together. His cock punches up your gut, knocking air out of your lungs, forcing the stretch required of your hole to fit him in properly. He is thick and heavy. He is perfect. Your eyes roll right into the back of your skull with that first hit. You feel the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening, growing hungry for more.
“ Again,” you beg with tears in your eyes, your voice already threatening to fail beneath the waves of pleasure he’s submitting you to.
He shoves his hips into yours, and you almost collapse. But it’s still not enough.
“ Don’t stop,” you heave out, “ go faster, please.”
There’s nothing on earth that could stop him from complying with such delicious sobs now. He wouldn’t even come to a halt if any of your crew mates turned around the corner to find you bent and begging, crying his name as if it were a prayer. In fact, he would probably attempt to kill any of them if they so much as tried to draw you away from him right now. And he knows you feel the same by the way you plead and how you keep pulsing around his shaft, high on this restless pace you’ve implored for him to lavish on you.
He slams against you fast and stunning, the crown of his cock ramming against your cervix so violently that he knows you’ll bruise. But you’re mewling as if this were a mercy. You’re drooling, hands holding to the wall manically tight, knuckles turning white with the pressure.
He wants to feel you ‘cum on him. He wants you to lose your voice, wants to see you go mad with pleasure. And so he snakes an arm around your waist and dives down your panties to look for the swelling flesh just above where you two are connected. The one spot where all your tension’s now gathering up to bring you to ecstasy. He’s purposefully slow when he pulls out of you this time, snickering once you fret and beg desperately to have him abuse you again.
“ One second, love.” He shushes your protests with a kiss, and you moan and open your mouth to let him dive in deeper.
He’s in disbelief at how savage you’ve turned out to be. You'd sure made a point not to let such intensity transpire from your demeanour in any way since he'd decided to join the crew. You've kept yourself in the corners of his life as he adapted to your routine—watching attentively, pondering his every step with excessive care. He could see past that. He'd sensed how desperately you've been yearning for him despite your resistance. But not like this. You've turned out to be far greedier than he could've ever forecasted when fantasising about you.
It’s like you need him to consume you.
When he draws away, your eyes are glossy, tears copiously streaming down your cheeks.
“ ‘Wanna feel you squeeze me tighter. Can ya do that f’me?” His heavy breaths crash against your heated lips, and you mewl a soft ‘yes’ against his.
“ Good girl,” he rasps before kissing you again. Sloppy and eager, as if he meant to devour you.
Sparks race down your spine as he breaks the connection, and you lose yourself staring at him, pondering how handsome he looks while soaking in the light of the moon. His features must have been carved by the Gods above, you think. There’s no other explanation for such perfection. Those damn bastards are probably feeling so proud of themselves, too, with what you've turned into at the mere sight of their majestic work.
“ Now spread your legs wider, and lemme make you feel good, huh?” He kisses your neck softly, continuing to piston in and out of you at a steady pace. It’s meant to let you savour him, to have you relax and shift your focus to the feeling of his fingers tenderly massaging your bundle of nerves.
And he manages. Your muscles unwind under his guidance, thick waves of pleasure beginning to unravel within you as soon as you give yourself time to accommodate to a more peaceful tempo. The delicate jolts erupt from your clit and leisurely crawl up your abdomen, turning your brain into a mess of confounding sensations.
You want to drown in him. And so you let your head fall back to rest on his shoulder, catching a fleeting glimpse of his expression as he carefully leads the way for you to follow him through this blooming garden of endless bliss. His brows are furrowed, eyes lidded and languid. His lips are parted while he mumbles praises to your ear, cheeks flushed red with arousal. He seems almost devoted to the idea of seeing you succumb to your lust.
You whine pathetically, still wiggling in complaint at the pace, despite how much you like the delightful waves that his slow circles are stirring up within you.
“ Shhh—” His head dips down to tear a bite from your neck, and you promptly melt against him. His breath hangs over your ear, delivering sweet strokes on your sensitive flesh. “ ‘Cum for me, woman. Nice and quiet. An’ then I promise, I’ll fuck you as hard as I can. Yeah?”
You sheepishly nod at the words, eager but lost in this torbid whirlpool of emotions and feelings. You allow your mind to wander to him. Your eyes trail down his limbs to look at the muscles in his arm twitching as he pleasures you. It makes you catch your breath, dazedly reminded of how strong he is.
You’d seen him fight so many times that the image of his sweaty body, exhausted and tampered with wounds, is now burned in the back of your skull. His rashness and vigour have always been enough to have you lose your focus at the worst possible times during battles. Your eyes flutter just reminiscing of the first time you’d seen him use his fire fist. You’d never seen such indomitable passion pouring out of anyone during a combat before, whether it be friend or foe.
That was the moment you knew you were done for, that you would never grow out of your obsession for him. You were destined to ache for him for eternity, dreaming of him every night until you’d finally let him have a taste. Because you knew this day would come. That you would be too weak to resist the temptation once it came knocking on your door. And here you are, shuddering in his arms while he delivers you to ecstasy, ushering you into the most intense orgasm of your life. Your breaths hitch, your hips bucking desperately against his hand while you dip your face in the crook of his neck, too embarrassed to let him see how much you're liking what he's doing to you.
" Like that, yeah... Shit— ' Feel so good 'round me, babe. Keep squeezin' me like that. 'Yer so good f'me, huh?"
You want to tell him that he feels wonderful, too. That you've never felt so full and grateful to have a man inside of you before. But the orgasm has taken the words away from you, and so all you're able to do is shed a few tears instead. He smirks and pokes at them with the tip of his nose, before pressing a gentle bite just inches short of your jawline.
" 'That good, baby?" he hushes at your ear, breaths hitching and setting your skin ablaze as he resumes smacking against you at a faster rhythm, " did that make you cry?"
He sounds condescending now.
You feel his other hand traveling up your abdomen, sliding past the hem of your top to start toying with your hardened nipples, and it tears a shrill wail out of you. Your body's still digesting the aftershocks of your climax, your limbs still too weak to even attempt a protest. And he knows it.
All you're left to do is sob your distress against the rough wood ahead of you.
" 'Yer so loud, too. " He teases with his words and with his hips, rolling them against your ass in a way that makes your eyes turn blank, knees buckling with the sudden harshness of his treatment. " Weren't ya worried someone would find us out?"
He pulls at your hair, hisses his words to your ear. " 'Been goin' 'round telling everyone that I'm no good, that they shouldn't trust me. Now look at you… So easy."
That's not what you did, but you lack both the wits and the strength required of you to tell him as much. And so he takes it out on your burning flesh, pulling at it as if he meant to tear it apart, and you forget to mention that he shouldn’t leave marks. You forget to care.
Marco will ask about it tomorrow, and you will blush and cover your neck. You will attempt to make up an excuse, and he will know you’re lying. He always figures it out. You will feel your guts twist just remembering the feeling of Ace’s dick digging into you so deep it hurts, emptying your head of any thought but the need for him to break you.
His fingers curl in the strands of your hair, they scrape over your scalp, and you shiver, whining and thrusting against him to demand of him to go even deeper. You know it’s not possible. He’s practically bruising you already as it is. But somehow, it still isn’t enough for you. You want to feel him coursing down your bloodstream. You want him to be everywhere.
He slips a few digits in your mouth, and you suck on him eagerly, delighted by the taste. There are remnants of you left behind on him. You can savour the sourness of your juices mixing with the one of his saliva and the aftertaste of beer, and you’re spurred by the mix to attempt to lick him clean.
Ace groans at your surge; he feels short of another pair of hands to enjoy you to the fullest. He needs so badly to touch you wherever you’re aching for him. Your breasts, your hips, your thighs. He wants to tease them all to no end, thrusting within you so savagely that you’ll bleed on him, so much that you’ll beg for mercy. He wonders what it would take for you to do that. Nothing seems to be enough. Doesn’t matter if he smacks your ass or bites and cuts through the surface of your delicate flesh, nor if he tugs at your hair and wraps a firm hand around your throat—you remain pliant. No. Even better. You ask for more.
It’s like you’re never sated, your need for him a restless cascade of pleas and cries that threaten to have his ears go numb.
It feels like he’s been going on for hours when his hips finally stutter, and he feels his balls tighten, an abrupt orgasm taking over him. He continues to fuck you even through his high, spilling hot ropes of his ‘cum deep inside your fluttering walls.
You like it. Of course, you do.
You don’t ask him to draw back. You don’t warn him about having to pull out. He can only assume you’re on the pill. But frankly, he doesn’t give a damn whether you are or not. Because you’ve felt so good that getting you knocked up right now seems like the perfect ending to this depravity. In fact, the thought of you round and swollen with his child even kicks the high up a notch. It makes him shiver, grunting against your fiery skin while he empties himself into you.
Fuck. What have you turned him into?
He’s always thought that such an important decision required a great deal of pondering. That if he ever decided to have a kid, it would be a rational, conscious choice. He thought that the childhood he’d endured had been enough to have shaped him into a sensible man, on that one subject at the very least, if not about anything else. But one taste of you had been enough to turn all that resolve to sheer dust.
You’re still shaking and panting once he comes down from it. You're marred with hickies and bruises over your shoulders and up your neck, and he can’t help himself from smiling proudly at the view.
He knows he shouldn’t, that you wanted this to be a secret. You’d asked so nicely for him not to say a thing of this to anyone else. And he won’t. He gave his word, after all. But the idea that what you’ve shared tonight will remain imprinted on your skin regardless, making it impossible for you to hide what you’ve let him do to you, it swells his chest with a sinful satisfaction. You can’t just ignore your feelings for him. He won’t let you so easily.
He’s been kept a secret his whole life. He’s not keen on experiencing such dreadful loneliness all over again.