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st_aurafinaTitle: Buying the Time on My Knees
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: Explicit
Words: Complete at 80k (chapters posted weekly)
Characters/Pairings: Jessica/John, Jessica/John/Nathan, John/Nathan, John/Harold, John/Kara, Harold/Grace, Rick Dillinger, Mark Snow, Grace Hendricks, Lawrence Szilard, Daniel Aquino
Warnings/Content: Pegging, D/s dynamics, Dubious Consent, Domestic Violence, Infidelity, Threesome - M/M/F, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe: Jessica lives, Alternate Universe: Nathan lives
Notes: This fic is complete at 80K and will be updated weekly. All the ships mentioned do happen, but some of them not for a long while. (Harold/John doesn't happen for a long while, for example, but it gets there.)
Dubcon warning is for the Kara/John relationship, which gets dicey from time to time.
Thank you tolilacsigil and talkingtothesky, who both helped me get this behemoth finished.
Title is from Iron and Wine's song, House by the Sea
Master post with chapter links
Summary:
After he joins the CIA, John stays in touch with Jessica as best he can without endangering her marriage or alerting the agency. He doesn't realise that these breaks from his professional life are as much a respite for Jess as they are for him.
Meanwhile, Jessica's number keeps coming up and Nathan has a plan to keep her safe.
Also at the Archive
In a good year, they saw each other three or four times. John didn't operate inside the US very often, and there had to be a perfect concurrence of events for an assignation to work: John had to be on the East Coast, Jess had to be able to get away without making Peter suspicious. Infidelity was as much about scheduling as it was about deceit, John had learned quickly, and they were both cheating on someone. For him, it was an entire agency.
He always knew better than to approach New Rochelle. Theoretically, agents were always under scrutiny when they were on home turf. Realistically though, the only person he had to fear was Kara, and this time she wasn't even in the country: Mark had sent her on a solo mission in Haifa. It was the kind of mission Kara particularly relished. John knew she wouldn't be rushing home in a hurry.
There were plenty of places between Manhattan and New Rochelle, and they'd had years to work out a routine, so in the back seat of a cab, John pulled a sim card from a tiny nick in the leather of his belt, slipped it into a new burner phone and sent a text to Jess.
Staff meeting today? he said.
Jess had taken easily to coded messages. She never talked much about her fiancé but John had picked up on the fact that he was more than a little snoopy. The second time they'd met, Jess had come without a phone because Peter had installed some GPS tracker app on it and had all kinds of questions about why she'd spent an hour and a half in the middle of town.
"I didn't know what to tell him," Jess had said, that second time, as she took off her jewellery, slipped her engagement ring off her finger. "I said I started my period early, and I just wanted to curl up and die." She made a face. "He's kind of squeamish about girly stuff. It's the best way to get him to drop a subject."
They had an agreement not to discuss her engagement. Jess had been very clear: if John wasn't able to make a lifetime commitment to her (and he wasn't, not when he could be killed at any moment), then she would make a life with Peter, and have fun with John for as long as they could. John hadn't said much that night she came without her phone – after all, Jess was here, and she was beautiful, he wanted to make the most of his time – but while she slept, he went out to get her a burner phone, taught her how to wipe the GPS data and tower signals so that even if Peter found the phone, he'd never know where she'd been with it.
"Leave it in the car, wipe the call history every time you use it, and tell him you had to buy a spare when you left your phone at home," John said, then pressed it into her palm.
Jess held it there for a moment, as if making a decision, then closed her fingers around it. She leaned over the bed and dropped it into her overnight bag. When she sat up straight, it was with that expression, the one that made John melt. She reached up for the front of his shirt and pulled him to his knees between her legs. "Get to work, soldier," she said, and he did. He always did.
In the cab, his phone jumped. 4:30 in the conference room,, came the answering text. That told John which hotel, and what time. He leaned forward to give the driver directions. The phone buzzed again and he checked it, surprised. There shouldn't be a need for more messages.
You'd better have done your prep work, Jess said. John's stomach dropped, a pleasant, adrenalised squirm. She must be in a hell of a mood, he thought, if that was what she wanted tonight.
At the hotel, he washed, shaved, brushed his teeth, gingerly poked the bruise spreading across his ribs courtesy of a Romanian forger who had caught him unexpectedly with a crow bar. He was supposed to be getting an x-ray to make sure there was no break, but he'd chosen to spend that time with Jess instead. It wasn't like they were going to give him time to heal properly anyway; he may as well do something he enjoyed.
Preparation time, he told himself, and reached for the lube. Jessica would expect him to be open and ready for her. Sometimes she liked to do this part herself – moving her fingers in and out of his ass, working him open while she told him how much she wanted to fuck him. Other times, she wanted to walk right in and find him on the bed, legs spread, head down and ass high like he was begging for her to take him. John didn't have a preference: for him, the thrill came from the expression of control on Jess's face as he obeyed and obeyed and obeyed. She was always proud of him, so delighted by him, and when (if) she rode him, she gripped him, tight and hot and powerful.
He propped one leg up on the bathtub, and slipped a lube-covered finger into his ass. His cock, half-hard since he arrived in the hotel room, swiftly came to attention, jutting upward against his belly while he fingered himself, all the while thinking about Jess, getting ready for Jess, getting ready for Jess to fuck him.
By the time he heard Jess swipe her key through the door, he was lying on his belly on a wide bath sheet spread over the coverlet. She came into the room, busied herself with arranging her things on the counter, fussing with her hair, freshening up her lipstick, all while John waited, his legs spread and his ass open for her. Finally she turned in his direction, and for all her faked detachment, John heard a soft noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan. He buried his face in his arms, hiding his pleased smile and trying not to grind himself into the bed.
"God, you're beautiful," she said. When she touched him – gently, so gently – it was a possessive thing, the way she'd stroke a horse's flank. When she got to the bruises, the roleplay slipped.
"John, Jesus!" She brushed a finger over the mottled skin. "Did you get this x-rayed?"
He turned sideways to watch her. "I'll do it when I get back to the city," he said. "I can do that while they're watching me. Not this." He grinned at her, showing teeth. "I'd rather be here with you."
"Hm," said Jess, unconvinced. "Are you sure you're okay for this?"
"It's nothing. I'm fine. I promise." To show her how ready he was, John leaned into her, so her fingertips pressed hard on the bruise. The pain was both sharp and deep, and it made his cock jump. He let out a moan, low and breathy and obviously aroused. He heard Jess breathe heavy behind him, despite her worry.
"You know what?" she said, letting her fingers drift back to his ass. "You're fucking insatiable, that's what you are." Her fingers slipped inside him easily, showing how well he'd prepared himself for her, and she sighed. John pushed back, arching up to take more of her in – she'd fisted him once, and he'd come so hard he'd seen stars for minutes – but she pressed down on his hip to keep him still so she could scissor her fingers, open him wider. "I love how you take this," she said. "You want it so much. I wish I'd seen this side of you sooner."
"Unnnh," said John, backside high in the air while she fingered him. "We were practically kids," he said. "The hell did we know about kinky sex, beyond Playboys and cheerleader fantasies?"
Jess let him go, shed her clothes and unzipped her bag. "I had this crush on Catwoman," she said. John heard her take out a harness: the metal buckles clattered together. He took a few deep breaths, smelled the leather dressing she used on her gear, felt his head swim.
"I didn't have the words for what made me feel that way," Jess continued. "I guess I wanted to fight with her, or fuck her, or for her to tie me up and fuck me, I don't know." She came over to face him, the harness sitting low on her hips. She lined three dildos up on the bedside table. "Choose your poison, soldier, and I'll load up."
John considered the three things that could fuck him tonight. They were all of them big; Jessica wasn't shy about her tastes, and she liked to see John squirm. The first – the narrowest – was basically three big balls, and he knew Jess would want to push them in slowly, watch his ass open to admit each one, then again to release them. John was in the mood for a hard, fast fuck, though, and when Jess used this thing, she went excruciatingly slow. The second was familiar: bright red, a good size, thick and hefty with a bulging head. John had taken it before; Jessica wielded it like a jackhammer, slamming it into him over and over. The third one was new: huge and gnarled, so wide he doubted Jess could circle her fingers around it. At the sight of it he swallowed, throat dry, and she stroked his hair to soothe him, fingers spread wide. He pointed at the middle one: it was big enough that was going to burn but not so big that Jess would have to be gentle to work it inside him.
"Sure, baby," she said, kindly. "I know how you like that one inside you."
John propped himself on his elbows and let his head hang. He heard the snap of the harness, and Jess's low groan as she seated the thing right where it would rub against her clit. She walked around the room a bit, to make sure that it was in place securely, and then stood at his bedside, waited there expectant, her legs spread and her arms crossed.
John raised his eyebrows at her, enquiring.
She stroked a hand up and down the red cock. "Are you as good with your mouth on a cock as you are with my cunt?"
"You want some references?" John said, batting his eyelashes, affecting a coy expression. "I've got some numbers you can call…" He gasped as Jess grabbed his hair and forced him to arch backwards.
"Stop bragging and get this in your throat," she said, stepping closer to the bed.
John laughed and slid off the bed to kneel in front of her, like he would if she were a man. He trailed his hands up her thighs until he reached the cock, which he held with a firm and confident grip, moving his hand up and down as if jacking it would feel as good to her as it would to him. When he looked up at her through his eyelashes, she was watching him, hypnotised, flushed, her mouth open as she ground her clit against the end of the cock.
John turned up the drama, sucking hard as he drew back on the cock, making his cheeks hollow, rolling the head around on his tongue, until Jess's legs trembled and she let out a low sound. He'd done this on missions, with targets being set up for blackmail, he'd done this for his own pleasure in filthy toilet stalls and dark, sweaty bars, but he rarely let Jess see this part of him, the part that knew what men liked, knew how to please them, how to work a cock deep in his mouth. When he felt her hand slide through his hair, he let her push him down and down onto the red dildo, until it was past the back of his throat, until he was swallowing with the gulping sound of deep throating. He could see how much this turned her on, and it make him want to take more, work harder, be as filthy and debauched as he could imagine, just to hear those noises she was making, to see her mouth open and her breath coming short and heavy. To smell how wet she was. He got the cock all the way down, and with an experimental nudge, tried to push it hard against her clit, tried to grind it on her through the harness.
Her eyes closed for a moment then she pushed him away, her expression filled with need. "Get on the bed, go." She gave him a shove on the shoulder, meant to topple him, but she couldn't really move him if he didn't want to be moved. Right now, entranced by her, John merely swayed. Then he realised what she had said, and scrambled to get up on the bed, get his legs open wide.
On the bed, his skin prickled, hyperaware of sensation: the warmth of the air, the scratchy towel under his knees, the quiet ache of his ribs from moving too quickly. When Jessica touched him again, her nails scratching gently over his back, he jumped, breathed out, then rested his forehead on his folded arms. Once she was behind him, she pushed his cheeks apart, leaned her weight on him to make sure he understood she didn't want him to fight. John waited, poised, and tried not to flinch when she pushed the crown of the dildo inside him.
It slipped into him without hesitation: he had done his prep work after all. As it entered him, he groaned, a low and guttural sound that felt like it came all the way from his heels. When they'd started this a few months ago, Jess had been cautious, careful, unsure of herself and worried that she'd hurt him somehow, but now she knew him, and knew what he could take. She eased the dildo in all the way, not fast but definitely not backing off at all. There was no back and forth on that first stroke: all John got to do was take it, and take it more. Finally he felt the smooth skin of her thighs against his, and the heaviness of her breasts on his back. He trembled – not because of fatigue; physically he could stay in this position for hours – but because this was Jess, this was Jess inside him, and he was safe. She knew him, and he could feel what he wanted, express what he wanted without being guarded or worrying that there would be consequences later. The only consequences would be his pleasure, and Jess's.
Jess started a steady back and forth, shifting slightly with each thrust, feeling her way for the right angle. John moaned on each stroke, widening the spread of his legs and deepening the lewd arch of his back, showing Jess how much he wanted her inside him, how much he needed her. His cock pressed up against his belly hard and hot, and he longed to take hold of it, but that was for Jess to decide. All John had to do was feel. When Jess found the right way to hit his sweet spot and settled on a long swift stroke, thumping hard against his legs, he let the sounds escape him uncontrolled: a long, low syllable that went on and on. He drifted away on the pleasure, felt it boiling inside him, driven on by Jess's cries from behind him as she rubbed herself to orgasm against him, inside him. When it felt like she'd been fucking him for hours, she finally took his cock in her hand, moved her fist smoothly, finding exactly the rhythm to take him over the edge.
"That's it, that's it, John. Yeah." Her voice was close to his ear, her breasts pressed close to him, and he turned in her direction so she could see how utterly destroyed he was by her, how much of him she held right now.
When he finished coming, he flopped face down on the bed with her splayed on top of him. She lay there a moment, then she giggled at the ridiculousness of their position: John's exaggerated position, arms and legs akimbo, as if her slender body had squashed him flat. She kissed him between his shoulder blades, and he smiled sleepily, half gone already, then she slipped off him, reached for one of the towels from the pile by the bed, and started clean-up.
There was a moment, just before their bodies separated, when John would have said, "I love you." They'd made an agreement not to say that – well, more correctly, Jess had said she didn't want to hear it – so John let it go, simply felt the absence of it while he floated, tranquil and relaxed, until Jess pushed at his side, avoiding the bruises.
"Come on, you big lug. I want to cuddle."
John groaned dramatically but rolled off the bed and pulled the covers away so they could slide between the sheets. He wrapped his arms around Jess, pushed his body against her, breathed in the smell of her hair, and the bliss held for a little while longer.
Later, after Jess had slept and John had dozed, she lay against him, hand on his chest, head tucked under his.
"Have you slept with many guys?" she asked, idly. There was no judgment in the question, John knew. There were no promises between them, no expectation of fidelity.
He shifted onto his hip so he could face her. "A few," he said. "Sometimes work, sometimes…" he wanted to say pleasure, but it wasn't that, and he wouldn't lie to her. "Sometimes because I want to let go of everything."
She traced his mouth while he was speaking. "I want to watch," she said. "Sometime, if we can set it up." Her hair slipped over her face and she looked at him through tangled strands, a dozen colours of wood and sun and sand.
That complicated things for John. "Set what up?" he said. He pushed his hand through her hair, and she hissed, pulled sharply away from him. Mood broken, he sat up, pulled her with him.
Colour flooded her face. "It's stupid," she said, rubbing at her scalp. "It's nothing."
"Let me see," John said, but she tipped her head out of reach.
She stood up, where he couldn’t touch her. "I caught my hair in the hinge of the closet at home, and it's still sore. And I feel stupid about it – you're like a big cat, you'd never do something that clumsy." She walked to the bathroom, gazed over her shoulder at him, her expression coy, as if she hadn't just reamed his ass with a red dildo. "Wanna take a shower with me?"
She rode him in the shower, with John's arms braced around her while she clenched hard on him. Afterwards, while she dried her hair, straightening all the curl out of it, he sat on the edge of the tub, leaning into her, stroking her belly.
"So, if I put something out on Angler, would that be safe?" Jess said. "I mean, safe from work. Not, you know, safe from having sex with a stranger. I can manage that kind of thing just fine."
John was still in a post-coital daze, warm and languid from fucking in the shower, his skin tingling. "If you give me enough warning," he said. "I'll do the background checks, make sure it's all on the level." He watched while she pulled her hair into a ponytail. "What kind of guy are you going to find for me?" he asked, curious and idly turned on by the idea.
"Oh, seven hundred pounds, loads of body hair, hibernates through winter," she said. "Likes to catch salmon with his paws." She laughed, and reached for her makeup bag. "I'll know when I see the right one," she said. "I'll put out some feelers on Angler; it's pretty good with profiles. Are you going to let me go? Or do you want me to make you up, too?"
John sighed. Time to go back to the real world. He stood, kissed the back of her neck, and went to dress.
Chapter One // Master Post
// Chapter Two
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: Explicit
Words: Complete at 80k (chapters posted weekly)
Characters/Pairings: Jessica/John, Jessica/John/Nathan, John/Nathan, John/Harold, John/Kara, Harold/Grace, Rick Dillinger, Mark Snow, Grace Hendricks, Lawrence Szilard, Daniel Aquino
Warnings/Content: Pegging, D/s dynamics, Dubious Consent, Domestic Violence, Infidelity, Threesome - M/M/F, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe: Jessica lives, Alternate Universe: Nathan lives
Notes: This fic is complete at 80K and will be updated weekly. All the ships mentioned do happen, but some of them not for a long while. (Harold/John doesn't happen for a long while, for example, but it gets there.)
Dubcon warning is for the Kara/John relationship, which gets dicey from time to time.
Thank you to
lilacsigil and talkingtothesky, who both helped me get this behemoth finished.Title is from Iron and Wine's song, House by the Sea
Master post with chapter links
Summary:
After he joins the CIA, John stays in touch with Jessica as best he can without endangering her marriage or alerting the agency. He doesn't realise that these breaks from his professional life are as much a respite for Jess as they are for him.
Meanwhile, Jessica's number keeps coming up and Nathan has a plan to keep her safe.
Also at the Archive
In a good year, they saw each other three or four times. John didn't operate inside the US very often, and there had to be a perfect concurrence of events for an assignation to work: John had to be on the East Coast, Jess had to be able to get away without making Peter suspicious. Infidelity was as much about scheduling as it was about deceit, John had learned quickly, and they were both cheating on someone. For him, it was an entire agency.
He always knew better than to approach New Rochelle. Theoretically, agents were always under scrutiny when they were on home turf. Realistically though, the only person he had to fear was Kara, and this time she wasn't even in the country: Mark had sent her on a solo mission in Haifa. It was the kind of mission Kara particularly relished. John knew she wouldn't be rushing home in a hurry.
There were plenty of places between Manhattan and New Rochelle, and they'd had years to work out a routine, so in the back seat of a cab, John pulled a sim card from a tiny nick in the leather of his belt, slipped it into a new burner phone and sent a text to Jess.
Staff meeting today? he said.
Jess had taken easily to coded messages. She never talked much about her fiancé but John had picked up on the fact that he was more than a little snoopy. The second time they'd met, Jess had come without a phone because Peter had installed some GPS tracker app on it and had all kinds of questions about why she'd spent an hour and a half in the middle of town.
"I didn't know what to tell him," Jess had said, that second time, as she took off her jewellery, slipped her engagement ring off her finger. "I said I started my period early, and I just wanted to curl up and die." She made a face. "He's kind of squeamish about girly stuff. It's the best way to get him to drop a subject."
They had an agreement not to discuss her engagement. Jess had been very clear: if John wasn't able to make a lifetime commitment to her (and he wasn't, not when he could be killed at any moment), then she would make a life with Peter, and have fun with John for as long as they could. John hadn't said much that night she came without her phone – after all, Jess was here, and she was beautiful, he wanted to make the most of his time – but while she slept, he went out to get her a burner phone, taught her how to wipe the GPS data and tower signals so that even if Peter found the phone, he'd never know where she'd been with it.
"Leave it in the car, wipe the call history every time you use it, and tell him you had to buy a spare when you left your phone at home," John said, then pressed it into her palm.
Jess held it there for a moment, as if making a decision, then closed her fingers around it. She leaned over the bed and dropped it into her overnight bag. When she sat up straight, it was with that expression, the one that made John melt. She reached up for the front of his shirt and pulled him to his knees between her legs. "Get to work, soldier," she said, and he did. He always did.
In the cab, his phone jumped. 4:30 in the conference room,, came the answering text. That told John which hotel, and what time. He leaned forward to give the driver directions. The phone buzzed again and he checked it, surprised. There shouldn't be a need for more messages.
You'd better have done your prep work, Jess said. John's stomach dropped, a pleasant, adrenalised squirm. She must be in a hell of a mood, he thought, if that was what she wanted tonight.
At the hotel, he washed, shaved, brushed his teeth, gingerly poked the bruise spreading across his ribs courtesy of a Romanian forger who had caught him unexpectedly with a crow bar. He was supposed to be getting an x-ray to make sure there was no break, but he'd chosen to spend that time with Jess instead. It wasn't like they were going to give him time to heal properly anyway; he may as well do something he enjoyed.
Preparation time, he told himself, and reached for the lube. Jessica would expect him to be open and ready for her. Sometimes she liked to do this part herself – moving her fingers in and out of his ass, working him open while she told him how much she wanted to fuck him. Other times, she wanted to walk right in and find him on the bed, legs spread, head down and ass high like he was begging for her to take him. John didn't have a preference: for him, the thrill came from the expression of control on Jess's face as he obeyed and obeyed and obeyed. She was always proud of him, so delighted by him, and when (if) she rode him, she gripped him, tight and hot and powerful.
He propped one leg up on the bathtub, and slipped a lube-covered finger into his ass. His cock, half-hard since he arrived in the hotel room, swiftly came to attention, jutting upward against his belly while he fingered himself, all the while thinking about Jess, getting ready for Jess, getting ready for Jess to fuck him.
By the time he heard Jess swipe her key through the door, he was lying on his belly on a wide bath sheet spread over the coverlet. She came into the room, busied herself with arranging her things on the counter, fussing with her hair, freshening up her lipstick, all while John waited, his legs spread and his ass open for her. Finally she turned in his direction, and for all her faked detachment, John heard a soft noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan. He buried his face in his arms, hiding his pleased smile and trying not to grind himself into the bed.
"God, you're beautiful," she said. When she touched him – gently, so gently – it was a possessive thing, the way she'd stroke a horse's flank. When she got to the bruises, the roleplay slipped.
"John, Jesus!" She brushed a finger over the mottled skin. "Did you get this x-rayed?"
He turned sideways to watch her. "I'll do it when I get back to the city," he said. "I can do that while they're watching me. Not this." He grinned at her, showing teeth. "I'd rather be here with you."
"Hm," said Jess, unconvinced. "Are you sure you're okay for this?"
"It's nothing. I'm fine. I promise." To show her how ready he was, John leaned into her, so her fingertips pressed hard on the bruise. The pain was both sharp and deep, and it made his cock jump. He let out a moan, low and breathy and obviously aroused. He heard Jess breathe heavy behind him, despite her worry.
"You know what?" she said, letting her fingers drift back to his ass. "You're fucking insatiable, that's what you are." Her fingers slipped inside him easily, showing how well he'd prepared himself for her, and she sighed. John pushed back, arching up to take more of her in – she'd fisted him once, and he'd come so hard he'd seen stars for minutes – but she pressed down on his hip to keep him still so she could scissor her fingers, open him wider. "I love how you take this," she said. "You want it so much. I wish I'd seen this side of you sooner."
"Unnnh," said John, backside high in the air while she fingered him. "We were practically kids," he said. "The hell did we know about kinky sex, beyond Playboys and cheerleader fantasies?"
Jess let him go, shed her clothes and unzipped her bag. "I had this crush on Catwoman," she said. John heard her take out a harness: the metal buckles clattered together. He took a few deep breaths, smelled the leather dressing she used on her gear, felt his head swim.
"I didn't have the words for what made me feel that way," Jess continued. "I guess I wanted to fight with her, or fuck her, or for her to tie me up and fuck me, I don't know." She came over to face him, the harness sitting low on her hips. She lined three dildos up on the bedside table. "Choose your poison, soldier, and I'll load up."
John considered the three things that could fuck him tonight. They were all of them big; Jessica wasn't shy about her tastes, and she liked to see John squirm. The first – the narrowest – was basically three big balls, and he knew Jess would want to push them in slowly, watch his ass open to admit each one, then again to release them. John was in the mood for a hard, fast fuck, though, and when Jess used this thing, she went excruciatingly slow. The second was familiar: bright red, a good size, thick and hefty with a bulging head. John had taken it before; Jessica wielded it like a jackhammer, slamming it into him over and over. The third one was new: huge and gnarled, so wide he doubted Jess could circle her fingers around it. At the sight of it he swallowed, throat dry, and she stroked his hair to soothe him, fingers spread wide. He pointed at the middle one: it was big enough that was going to burn but not so big that Jess would have to be gentle to work it inside him.
"Sure, baby," she said, kindly. "I know how you like that one inside you."
John propped himself on his elbows and let his head hang. He heard the snap of the harness, and Jess's low groan as she seated the thing right where it would rub against her clit. She walked around the room a bit, to make sure that it was in place securely, and then stood at his bedside, waited there expectant, her legs spread and her arms crossed.
John raised his eyebrows at her, enquiring.
She stroked a hand up and down the red cock. "Are you as good with your mouth on a cock as you are with my cunt?"
"You want some references?" John said, batting his eyelashes, affecting a coy expression. "I've got some numbers you can call…" He gasped as Jess grabbed his hair and forced him to arch backwards.
"Stop bragging and get this in your throat," she said, stepping closer to the bed.
John laughed and slid off the bed to kneel in front of her, like he would if she were a man. He trailed his hands up her thighs until he reached the cock, which he held with a firm and confident grip, moving his hand up and down as if jacking it would feel as good to her as it would to him. When he looked up at her through his eyelashes, she was watching him, hypnotised, flushed, her mouth open as she ground her clit against the end of the cock.
John turned up the drama, sucking hard as he drew back on the cock, making his cheeks hollow, rolling the head around on his tongue, until Jess's legs trembled and she let out a low sound. He'd done this on missions, with targets being set up for blackmail, he'd done this for his own pleasure in filthy toilet stalls and dark, sweaty bars, but he rarely let Jess see this part of him, the part that knew what men liked, knew how to please them, how to work a cock deep in his mouth. When he felt her hand slide through his hair, he let her push him down and down onto the red dildo, until it was past the back of his throat, until he was swallowing with the gulping sound of deep throating. He could see how much this turned her on, and it make him want to take more, work harder, be as filthy and debauched as he could imagine, just to hear those noises she was making, to see her mouth open and her breath coming short and heavy. To smell how wet she was. He got the cock all the way down, and with an experimental nudge, tried to push it hard against her clit, tried to grind it on her through the harness.
Her eyes closed for a moment then she pushed him away, her expression filled with need. "Get on the bed, go." She gave him a shove on the shoulder, meant to topple him, but she couldn't really move him if he didn't want to be moved. Right now, entranced by her, John merely swayed. Then he realised what she had said, and scrambled to get up on the bed, get his legs open wide.
On the bed, his skin prickled, hyperaware of sensation: the warmth of the air, the scratchy towel under his knees, the quiet ache of his ribs from moving too quickly. When Jessica touched him again, her nails scratching gently over his back, he jumped, breathed out, then rested his forehead on his folded arms. Once she was behind him, she pushed his cheeks apart, leaned her weight on him to make sure he understood she didn't want him to fight. John waited, poised, and tried not to flinch when she pushed the crown of the dildo inside him.
It slipped into him without hesitation: he had done his prep work after all. As it entered him, he groaned, a low and guttural sound that felt like it came all the way from his heels. When they'd started this a few months ago, Jess had been cautious, careful, unsure of herself and worried that she'd hurt him somehow, but now she knew him, and knew what he could take. She eased the dildo in all the way, not fast but definitely not backing off at all. There was no back and forth on that first stroke: all John got to do was take it, and take it more. Finally he felt the smooth skin of her thighs against his, and the heaviness of her breasts on his back. He trembled – not because of fatigue; physically he could stay in this position for hours – but because this was Jess, this was Jess inside him, and he was safe. She knew him, and he could feel what he wanted, express what he wanted without being guarded or worrying that there would be consequences later. The only consequences would be his pleasure, and Jess's.
Jess started a steady back and forth, shifting slightly with each thrust, feeling her way for the right angle. John moaned on each stroke, widening the spread of his legs and deepening the lewd arch of his back, showing Jess how much he wanted her inside him, how much he needed her. His cock pressed up against his belly hard and hot, and he longed to take hold of it, but that was for Jess to decide. All John had to do was feel. When Jess found the right way to hit his sweet spot and settled on a long swift stroke, thumping hard against his legs, he let the sounds escape him uncontrolled: a long, low syllable that went on and on. He drifted away on the pleasure, felt it boiling inside him, driven on by Jess's cries from behind him as she rubbed herself to orgasm against him, inside him. When it felt like she'd been fucking him for hours, she finally took his cock in her hand, moved her fist smoothly, finding exactly the rhythm to take him over the edge.
"That's it, that's it, John. Yeah." Her voice was close to his ear, her breasts pressed close to him, and he turned in her direction so she could see how utterly destroyed he was by her, how much of him she held right now.
When he finished coming, he flopped face down on the bed with her splayed on top of him. She lay there a moment, then she giggled at the ridiculousness of their position: John's exaggerated position, arms and legs akimbo, as if her slender body had squashed him flat. She kissed him between his shoulder blades, and he smiled sleepily, half gone already, then she slipped off him, reached for one of the towels from the pile by the bed, and started clean-up.
There was a moment, just before their bodies separated, when John would have said, "I love you." They'd made an agreement not to say that – well, more correctly, Jess had said she didn't want to hear it – so John let it go, simply felt the absence of it while he floated, tranquil and relaxed, until Jess pushed at his side, avoiding the bruises.
"Come on, you big lug. I want to cuddle."
John groaned dramatically but rolled off the bed and pulled the covers away so they could slide between the sheets. He wrapped his arms around Jess, pushed his body against her, breathed in the smell of her hair, and the bliss held for a little while longer.
Later, after Jess had slept and John had dozed, she lay against him, hand on his chest, head tucked under his.
"Have you slept with many guys?" she asked, idly. There was no judgment in the question, John knew. There were no promises between them, no expectation of fidelity.
He shifted onto his hip so he could face her. "A few," he said. "Sometimes work, sometimes…" he wanted to say pleasure, but it wasn't that, and he wouldn't lie to her. "Sometimes because I want to let go of everything."
She traced his mouth while he was speaking. "I want to watch," she said. "Sometime, if we can set it up." Her hair slipped over her face and she looked at him through tangled strands, a dozen colours of wood and sun and sand.
That complicated things for John. "Set what up?" he said. He pushed his hand through her hair, and she hissed, pulled sharply away from him. Mood broken, he sat up, pulled her with him.
Colour flooded her face. "It's stupid," she said, rubbing at her scalp. "It's nothing."
"Let me see," John said, but she tipped her head out of reach.
She stood up, where he couldn’t touch her. "I caught my hair in the hinge of the closet at home, and it's still sore. And I feel stupid about it – you're like a big cat, you'd never do something that clumsy." She walked to the bathroom, gazed over her shoulder at him, her expression coy, as if she hadn't just reamed his ass with a red dildo. "Wanna take a shower with me?"
She rode him in the shower, with John's arms braced around her while she clenched hard on him. Afterwards, while she dried her hair, straightening all the curl out of it, he sat on the edge of the tub, leaning into her, stroking her belly.
"So, if I put something out on Angler, would that be safe?" Jess said. "I mean, safe from work. Not, you know, safe from having sex with a stranger. I can manage that kind of thing just fine."
John was still in a post-coital daze, warm and languid from fucking in the shower, his skin tingling. "If you give me enough warning," he said. "I'll do the background checks, make sure it's all on the level." He watched while she pulled her hair into a ponytail. "What kind of guy are you going to find for me?" he asked, curious and idly turned on by the idea.
"Oh, seven hundred pounds, loads of body hair, hibernates through winter," she said. "Likes to catch salmon with his paws." She laughed, and reached for her makeup bag. "I'll know when I see the right one," she said. "I'll put out some feelers on Angler; it's pretty good with profiles. Are you going to let me go? Or do you want me to make you up, too?"
John sighed. Time to go back to the real world. He stood, kissed the back of her neck, and went to dress.
Chapter One // Master Post
// Chapter Two