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Samira has read the same sentence three times when she hears the click of the front door lock followed by a heavy, chest-rattling sigh. Her ears perk up, following the sounds of Jack shucking off his shoes and the rattle of a hanger in the front closet as he deposits his coat and backpack inside. The scuff of his feet does not tread a familiar path toward the bedroom– where he’d normally go if he was having a truly awful day– but to the kitchen. She listens as he twists the knob of the faucet, filling up a glass of water. There’s a clink of the glass against the countertop and then the shuffle of his feet toward the living room. Toward her.
Samira has become something of a scholar on Jack Abbot.
It started long before that morning at the diner four months ago when she’d leaned across the table, pressing her lips to his for the first time. He’d tasted sweet, syrup sticky on his tongue as he opened his mouth to her, letting her devour him. As though he’d been waiting a lifetime to be consumed by her.
He’d said as much was true later as he dropped her off at her apartment, a shy smile on his lips. For more than a year he’d been waiting on her, hoping and praying she’d reciprocate the feelings he’d long been harboring but content to do nothing. He said being her coworker, her friend, was more than enough for him to be happy. Never dreamed he’d get this lucky.
No, her study of Jack Abbot started months–years, really–before that sweltering summer day.
Samira knows exactly how he takes his coffee (one sugar, one cream), knows the way his hip hitches when his leg is bothering him, knows that when the skin of his forearms is pink it’s because he’s spent the afternoon of his day off at a Pirates game. She knows he prefers the left side of the bed and that he sleeps better when she’s tucked into his chest, her thighs wedged between his. And she knows he likes his home better with her here. He tells her so as he makes space for her in his house, clearing out drawers and reorganizing cabinet space to fit her things.
So she knows from his sigh at the door and the way he leisurely makes his way toward the couch where she’s lounging, her book still gripped between her fingers though she hasn’t read a word in several minutes, that he’s had a long shift. But not necessarily a bad one.
She feels more than hears him settling behind her, thighs pressing against the arm of the couch where her head rests. His arrival blocks out the burst of light coming in from the window, casting a shadow over her book. She drops it to her chest, making sure to keep it open at the page she’d paused at as she tilts her head back to take him in.
“Long night?”
He towers above her at this angle, backlit by the early morning sun and she can just barely make out his face, only catching a flash of white as he smiles down at her. The pads of his fingers are soft against the shell of her ear as he tucks a few strands behind it.
“Better now.”
She hums at his touch, leaning her head into his hand so he can gently cup her cheek. They stay like that for a few seconds, letting the moment stretch around them, no hurry to rush it along or fill the silence with words. It’s enough for her to just exist here, his touch light on her skin and face warm from the sun pouring in the windows. Wrapping her fingers around his wrist, she guides his hand to her lips, playfully nipping at his palm before pressing a featherlight kiss to his knuckles.
Above her Jack laughs, hand moving to grip her jaw, tilting her head back as leans over the arm of the couch. The kiss starts slow and sweet, just the soft press of their lips together, tongues dancing in sync but not deepening too much. She’d let it go on as long as they are both able to be chaste but he’s already pulling back, grumbling about the angle and his back.
“You’re not that old,” she chides, gripping his wrist as he moves to step away to join her on the couch.
Instead she holds him to her, head shifting further back over the arm of the couch as she slides his fingers across her jaw until the pad of his thumb bumps against her lips. She sucks it into her mouth, tongue swirling around the tip of his finger. The rest of his hand tightens around her jaw as he lets her suck his thumb further into her mouth.
One of Jack’s eyebrows raise, as if to ask Are you sure? and she nods, the movement jostling his finger in her mouth. He pulls it out gently, a trail of spit leaking across her chin as he moves his hands to his belt buckle. The clink of metal feels so much louder in the stillness of the room.
She watches from below him as he tugs the zipper down, roughly shoving his pants out of the way as he reaches one hand down to palm himself through his boxers. His other hand snakes its way back toward her chin, tilting her face back a few more inches. From this angle she can practically taste him already, can feel the weight of him above her even though she’s not touching him. Yet.
Arching her neck just past the point of comfort, she lets her head fall backward over the arm of the couch so that she’s just below him. Darting her tongue up, she’s able to lick across his hardening cock through the fabric.
“Fucking hell,” Jack moans, fingers tightening on her chin. She gives him a few kitten licks, as much as she can reach as she watches the fabric stretch and expand with the heavy weight of him.
“Jack?” She blinks up at him from below, taking in the heaviness of his stare as he looks down at her. “Please?”
“Open for me,” he says, tapping his thumb against her bottom lip.
She does as she’s told, dropping her jaw as wide as she can.
He takes his time, moving a few inches back so he can pull himself out of his boxers, gripping himself between his fist. With the hand still on her jaw, he squeezes, forcing her mouth open wider than she thought possible.
Then again, Jack always has a way of always pushing her past what she thought her limits were.
The first slap of his cock against her lips startles her, eyes flying open just as he grips the head of himself, pushing it past her lips.
She takes a centering breath, inhaling the scent of him. It’s familiar, grounding. Despite the shift he’s just come off, he tastes clean, a little salty, and there’s a musk to him that she’s grown to love and misses when they’re apart. She breathes it in slowly as he lets her adjust around him.
“Okay?” His voice is low and gravelly, more of a vibration of sounds in his throat than a word. She understands anyway and nods, keeping her lips loose around the head of him. “Good. Just breathe, baby.”
Slowly, he feeds his cock down her throat and her eyes water at the fullness of him. She’s done this so many times, choked on his cock and lapped up his come while he fisted her hair between his fingers. But never like this. Not from this angle. If anything he feels bigger, stretching her jaw to the point of discomfort. Only his soothing words and a gentle thumb against her cheek keeps her from reaching back to pinch his leg to stop him.
“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” he murmurs, words soft and sweet. A direct contrast to the way he’s pumping himself into her open mouth. “Taking me so well. Like you were made for it.”
Tears prick at the corner of her eyes and she’s helpless to do anything to stop them, instead letting them cascade down her face and back into her hairline as she looks up at him.
His eyes flutter as though he’s fighting off the urge to close them, resisting the urge to sink himself fully into his pleasure. He keeps his gaze on her, on the way his cock disappears down her mouth, the way he bulges against the skin of her throat. He leans forward just a little and she gags around him, hands reaching back to grip his thighs.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” he assures her. One hand reaches down to clasp her fingers between his against his thigh as the other reaches down toward her neck, fingers bumping against the ridge of him inside of her throat. “Squeeze my hand, Samira. You’re doing so good.”
She wraps her fingers around his, nails digging into the soft skin of his knuckles and drawing a hiss out of him. It helps ground her, gives her something to focus on as he slides his fingers from her throat down her chest, plucking the book off of her and setting it on the coffee table, still open to the page she’d left off at. His fingers resume their journey across her sternum, dipping beneath the neck of her shirt. His touch is warm against her chest as he circles the bud of her nipple, pinching roughly the way he knows she likes.
It’s almost too much.
With his cock in her throat and his fingers on her nipples and her nails digging into his thigh, she’s overcome with her need for him. To please him, to be good so that she can make him fall apart above her.
Her stable, stoic Jack, always so ready to take charge and lead with a steady calmness no matter the situation. The first time she’d made him come apart with just her tongue and her fingers she’d felt incandescent, powerful in a way she didn’t know was possible outside of saving a life.
But he made her feel that way.
Whether she’s riding him or trapping his head between her thighs, his tongue fucking deep into her, Jack always has a way of making her feel in charge– of her future, of her pleasure, of him. She feels that way now, swallowing around his cock and forcing his hips to stutter. His fingers tighten around her jaw as he starts to lose control above her.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he moans.
She can’t take more of him, not at this angle, and she needs to keep her hands on his thighs for leverage so she squeezes against his leg gently, urging him to speed up his thrusts. He’s close, she knows he is. Can hear it in his voice, can see it in the way his balls twitch above her and she needs to feel him spill down her throat. Needs to know that she did that to him.
Pulling his fingers back from her nipple, he rocks backward so he’s fully standing again, both hands moving to grip her jaw between his fists, thrusting into her with abandon. It doesn’t take long for him to come, but it does take awhile for him to stop.
His come fills her mouth quickly and he pulls his cock out so she can swallow it down as he lets the rest drip off the tip into her open, waiting mouth. Softly, he caresses the skin of her cheek as he murmurs soft praises down at her.
“Did so good, baby,” he pants. “Always so good for me. So pretty covered in my come.”
She beams up at him, swallowing the last bits of his come. He smiles back, leaning back down toward her, lips pressing briefly to hers. Reaching back, she grips his curls between her fingers, holding him to her so that he can lick the rest of his come out of her mouth.
“Good morning,” he says eventually, pulling back just enough for his lips to brush against hers. “Forgot to say that.”
She smiles against his lips, pulling him down for another kiss.
“Good morning.”