
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9422792.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Assassin's_Creed_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Shay_Cormac/Reader
  Character:
      Shay_Cormac, Reader, Haytham_Kenway
  Additional Tags:
      but_haytham's_only_mentioned_like..._once, twice?, anyway_this_is_a
      sinfic_don't_read, Prompt_Fill, there's_a_little_dubcon, but_it's_not
      really??_it's_mostly_dirty_talk, speaking_of, Dirty_Talk, hella_dirty
      talk
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-22 Words: 5751
****** Imminent Disaster ******
by subjxctsixteen_(astxrwar)
Summary
     Shay agrees to take on an apprentice. He doesn't agree to the fucking
     disaster which follows, revolving mostly around the fact that said
     apprentice is really fucking pretty and he's an asshole who lacks all
     self control.
Notes
     As per a request posted on my Haytham fic:
 
It was Haytham’s idea for Shay to take on an apprentice.
He disliked it at first, the thought of some kid following him everywhere and
getting in his business and god forbidfucking up his missions, but--
He sees her for the first time and he meets her for the first time and his mind
changes almost instantly.
She’s such a pretty little thing, he thinks, with pink, pouty lips and wide
eyes and smooth, soft skin; she’s smart and she’s skilled and she’s obedient,
she complies with his wishes easily and basically livesoff of his praise.
Jesus, she’s kind of perfect.
It’s like Haytham wanted her to be exactly what Shay doesn’tneed.
Because it’s not right and it’s not fair and it has to be some sort of cruel
cosmic joke that she’s so goddamn beautiful but also so fucking young. They get
along well, she trusts him and Shay doesn’t mind her company, not really; she’s
shy and quiet and particularly soft-spoken in comparison to his brashness and
his personal brand of troublemaking. But it’s hard, when he’s teaching her or
guiding her or even just being close to her because sometimes her body brushes
against him in a way that makes his senses flicker to full awareness and his
body feel tense and christ,sometimes he thinks she does it on purpose.
He ignores the feelings, because it’s the right thing to do. He might be a liar
and a traitor and he might have killed nearly all of his old friends in the
name of this whole Templar thing but he’s not that stupid and he’s not that
awfuland he does, contrary to popular belief, still have a fucking conscience.
Until suddenly he doesn’t.
Suddenly he’s drunk and horny and it’s around midnight and she’s asleep down
the hall and in the privacy and the safety of his own bedroom he admits that he
wants her, he wants to watch her come and make her come and touch her and hold
her and fuckher, god, yeah--
He doesn’t hate himself even if he should, and he takes his cock in his hand he
bites his lip he chokes back a groan and he strokes, faster harder rougher ,
and he calls out for her when he comes-- Ah, (Name), Christ, fuck--
Hus breathing slows down, body slowly relaxing and he waits for any sort of
semblance of shame, but it doesn’t come.
Shit,he thinks dimly.
He’s screwed.
Yeah.
God.

So--
Six excruciatingly long weeks pass by.
Nothing happens.
Nothing happens because Shay doesn’t allow anything to happen because, God, she
would hate him and Haytham would kill him and it would be so, sobad even if,
possibly, wildly, she wants him even half as badly as he wants her.
She’s a fucking poison , basically, because she’s too young and he’s too old
and he can’t fucking help his attraction towards her, not with the way she
clings to his arm and leans into him when he cracks a shitty joke or the way
she watches him admiringly when he teaches her or how she absolutely fucking
beams at the smallest amount of his praise. It’s too fucking much and he’s not
a saint or anything, not even close, so he pretty much knowsthat eventually
he’ll end up making a terrible decision about this entire thing.
And eventually he proves himself right.
They’ve been working together for nearly a year and he’s barely kept control of
himself. When that finally changes it’s nearly midday and he’s already slightly
drunk and no matter how hard he tries not to, he keeps glancing over to her,
keeps thinking that she’s so pretty, laughing for him, smiling for him, all
bright and beautiful. And it’s not his fault that he likes her so much, not
when she’s fucking perfectin every conceivable way, except it totally,
completely is.
“C’mon, then,” Shay urges, grin crooked and scar stretched across his face and
eyes maybe a little too warm. He has a hip flask of brandy and it’s half empty
and he shouldn’t be around her when he’s like this because he’s not really the
most responsible drunk, but it’s already too late. “We’ve got training t’do.”
She pushes herself off of the stone ledge of the window sill where she’d been
sitting, weight rested on her palms and her legs crossed at the ankles with a
pretty little smile, and she follows him up through the stairwell. Shay brings
her into his room with a flimsy excuse that he can hardly remember and when the
door slams shut behind them with a thunk of wood and squeal of metal hinges, he
actually realizes where they are, he glances over at the bed and remembers all
the times he’d sat there thinking about her and suddenly the air feels too
warm.
She’s never been in his room before, he realizes. She shouldn’t be here now.
Instead of fixing this and telling her to leave, making up a lie and tells her
to sit on the edge of the bed. She does, of course, because she trusts him.
He’s never given her a reason not to, although there are plenty. Shay licks his
lips and rakes his eyes down over her body, not really slow enough to be
noticeable-- the training uniform doesn’t show much skin, but he can see the
curve of her collarbones, the soft, inviting expanse of her neck--
Shay swallows and his throat feels tight.
“Close your eyes,” he says, not really an order, but she obeys it like it is,
and it sends a wonderful sort of thrill through his stomach. Jesus.
“What are we doing today, sir?” She asks, kicking her legs back and forth where
she sits, impatient, with her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
“Told you t’call me Shay,” he says, making sure she can hear the smile in his
voice-- god knows she hates even thinking she’s disappointed him, not like she
even could, god, not at this point. “An’ you’ll know soon enough, love.”
She smiles at the pet name and nods eagerly; he can see how her eyelids are
fluttering like she wants to open them, wants to see him, but not quite as much
as she wants to follow his instructions. He can stare at her openly, now,
because she won’t notice. He licks his lips.
Shay sits down in a padded leather armchair across from the bed, makes sure his
movements are deliberately loud enough for her to hear. The exercise they’re
doing is familiar, it’s one he remembers doing with his mentor and he remembers
how much he hated it, but she doesn’t seem to mind; not yet, anyway.
“Tell me what you can hear,” he says softly. “Where am I?”
Her brow furrows, expression becoming so sweetly curious that he wants to
fucking kiss her. He could. “Why?”
Jesus, he could.
“Practice,” he responds, fingers tapping absently against the carved wooden
armrest, polish chipped and worn along the edge. The air is thick and every
word he speaks feels sharp and stilted. “Y’gotta be able to figure out what’s
goin’ on around you. Can’t always rely on your eyes.”
She nods, understanding, and adopts an adorable expression of utmost
concentration. “Yes sir.”
“Shay, love,” he reminds, taking a sip from his hip flask-- it sears his throat
going down, settles warm in his stomach like the embers of a low burning fire.
“Just Shay.”
She flushes pink and nods, crossing and uncrossing her ankles as she shifts
around on the edge of his bed. Shay stands up, trails his fingers over the edge
of the bed dangerously close to where her right hand lies splayed against the
sheets, supporting her weight-- but he doesn’t touch her, or he can’t bring
himself to touch her, or both. He makes sure his footsteps are muffled and
quiet, but she still tracks the movement with a slight turn of her head, brow
furrowed and focused. God, he thinks, she’s so pretty and god he wants to touch
her so badly and--
In hindsight, all of this was an awfulidea.
“You moved,” she says, voice unnaturally soft, as if she doesn’t want to
disturb the heavy, almost suffocating quiet of the room. “You’re by the
closet?”
“That a question or an answer?” Shay says, trying to keep his voice steady. She
needs to be more confident,god, she’s smart and skilled and strong and yet so
fucking dependent on his approval-- and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like
it maybe just a little, if he didn’t enjoy how much she needs him.
“You’re by the closet,” she says, stronger this time, and Shay smiles even
though he knows she can’t see it.
“Aye,” he affirms, and then he moves again, and she follows him with a turn of
her head. He takes a drink from his hip flask and it’s nearly empty; by now
he’s pleasantly buzzed and he’s finding himself staring at her and watching her
mouth and soon there are thoughts in his head about what it would be like to
kiss her. He wonders what she would taste like and what she would sound like
and he thinks about sucking on her lovely bottom lip until it’s red and rosy,
and slipping his tongue into her mouth, keeping her close and still with his
hands in her hair--
Christ, he thinks, a little frantically, trying to get a hold of himself-- he
just has to wait until this is over so he can go rub one out and pretend he’s
not thinking about her, but he needs to fucking stop.
“You’re by the window,” she says, “And- I can feel a breeze. Is the window
open?”
“Aye,” he says again, slightly shaken by just how much effort it takes to keep
his voice from slipping into something low and nearly seductive. “Good
instincts.”
She hesitates and squirms a little on the edge of the bed. “Is something
wrong?”
He swallows and he licks his lips and he takes half a step forward, the action
aborted and cut short as if a part of his brain is still functioning enough to
realize that this is a bad idea.
Shay can see the very tip of her tongue, small and pink and wet, as it darts
across her bottom lip and suddenly he’s wondering what her pretty little mouth
would feel like on his cock and fuckhe crushes that train of thought as fast as
he possibly can.
“No, love,” he answers, words low and rumbling in the empty space between his
ribs. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re doin’ good.”
She beams at the praise and Shay inhales, exhales, inhales again, tries to get
his goddamn dick under control because he’s half-hard and more than half-drunk
and he can definitely recognize the beginnings of a disaster when he sees one.
She bites her lip, rolls it between her teeth, expression curious.
Shay takes another step forward.
She doesn’t hear him or she isn’t paying attention or something because she
doesn’t react at all.  
She’s just so pretty.
He’s almost trancelike in the way he reaches out to brush his fingertips over
her knee, and she jolts and shivers in surprise at the contact, expression
slightly confused, not realizing just how close they had become. Shay says
nothing, and she says nothing, and neither of them move, neither of them so
much as breathebecause this has, he realizes, crossed a line, become somehow
more intimate than friendly touches and shoulder taps and the flimsy excuses
he’d used over the past year just to be close to her. This is different because
her lips are slightly parted and her expression is confused but not frightened
and the air is charged with crackling static electricity, sharp and hot and
bright, and one wrong move could potentially shatter the trust that he’d
established between them.
His fingers skim along the exposed skin of her thigh below her skirt, not quite
high enough to be considered wrong but not nearly appropriate, either, and his
movements are slow as he pushes her knees apart and steps into the space
between her thighs, rubbing small, soothing circles over her skin as if he’s
waiting for her to come to her senses and bolt.
“Keep goin’,” he whispers, voice rough and accent thick and tone slightly
desperate. “We’re not done yet.”
And for a second Shay is certain that speaking aloud had ruined it and that
he’d misjudged the situation and that any second she would move away and push
him back and tell him to stop--
She doesn’t.
A part of him wishes she would have but a larger part is painfully glad she
didn’t.
“You’re in front of me,” she starts, voice soft and small and quiet. “I can-- I
can hear your breathing.”
He inhales, screws his eyes shut for a second and then breathes out slowly.
“Not what you hear,” he whispers, palms smoothing over her skin, soft and warm
and delicate compared to his own. “What you feel, love.”
“Shay--”
“C’mon,” he urges, and her eyelashes flutter like she wants to look at him but
refuses to disobey his earlier command as she squirms below him, moving even
closer to the edge of the bed and closer to the warmth of his body--
“Callouses,” she breathes softly. “Your hands are warm. You-- there’s a scar on
your left palm, i think-- it’s rough.”
Her words falter as Shay lets one of his hands cup her jaw, guiding her chin
up, thumb smoothing over her cheek, and she seems mesmerized by the action.
Nothing has happened yet to prevent them from forgetting about this; they could
ignore it and pretend it never happened and they’d just go back to the way they
were. It isn’t too late, there’s still time for him to stop and do the right
thing--
Shay leans in and brushes her hair out of her face and kisses her so fucking
gently that it aches.
She doesn’t respond, not at first, paralyzed by shock and uncertainty and
inexperience, and then she kisses him back, and it’s sweet and it’s clumsy and
her hands curl in the collar of his coat like she needs something to ground her
in the wake of his desire.
Shay pulls back.
Her eyes stay closed.
“Tell me how it feels,” he asks softly, looking for a sign to keep going-
- because he wants more and he doesn’t want to take it; he wants her to give it
to him willingly.
“Good,” she whispers, flushed and breathless, hesitating as if she’s not quite
sure how to vocalize her thoughts. “I don’t-- I’ve never--”
Shay blinks slowly as the words register. Oh, shit, his mind screams, suddenly
guilty at the realization of what that means because beyond crossing a very
important line he also had no idea that--
“You’ve never kissed somebody before,” He breathes, awestruck and a little smug
that he’d been her first-- and he’s also kind of disgusted with himself, too.
“Christ.”
And he has to stop now, he thinks, because that’s a delicate business, being
somebody’s first anything-- and he knows she wouldn’t want it to be like this,
she’d regret it and regret him and jesus he’s not sure if he could handle that-
- but just before he moves back she licks her lips and she carefully pulls him
closer by the lapels of his coat and he feels an equal amount of lust and
longing stir in his stomach as she kisses him this time, chaste and brief, and
in that precise moment the remaining shreds of his self restraint just shatter.
“You’ve got no idea what you’re doin’ to me, love,” he says, slightly
strangled.
She tries to reply but her words are cut off and she chokes back a gasp as his
hands move up under her skirt almost against his own volition, and his
fingertips skim across the front of her panties and they’re lace oh christand
she’s-- she’s wet, god, desperately, terribly wet--
Her eyes snap open and meet his and they’re wide and innocent and pure and what
is he doing, goddamnit, he needs to stop.
“Fuck,”  Shay chokes out, the noise strangled and stilted and
unavoidablydesperate-- it feels like a fever dream, fantastic and impossible,
and he’s acutely aware of her shallow breathing and the soaked fabric of her
underwear and how tightly his other hand is gripping her thigh, pressing in
bruises with his fingers-
“Close your eyes,” he says, words spilling out almost against his will, and she
obeys immediately.
The seconds seem to drag on for years.
He moves his hand slowly, so slowly that she has all the time in the world to
stop him or to move back or to tell him he’s wrongfor doing this. She doesn’t,
and his hand slips into her underwear and she shivers and makes a sound almost
like a whimper when his fingers brush across her skin.
“Show me what you like, love.
“Shay--”
“Show me.”
She shudders at the command and her brow furrows and her uncertainty is nearly
palpable as she places her hand over his and urges him to make small, light
circles over her clit--
“Oh,” she gasps, “ Oh.”
“Yeah?” Shay asks, breathless and awestruck and so hard it fucking hurts,shit,
“Yeah? Like that?”
And his hands are much bigger, his fingers are larger and rougher and Shay
imagines that the sensation must be entirely different as he rubs gently and
her eyelids flutter and her thighs tremble-- it must be unlike anything she’s
ever experienced before, better and more than when it’s just her alone in her
room with the door closed and the lights off and her hand clapped over her
mouth to stifle her moans. And Shay knows he shouldn’t let himself consider the
possibility, but he still wonders if maybe sometimes she’d touch herself and
think of him or think of how good he could make her feel or think of how much
betterhe’d be than any of the fumbling, clumsy boys her age--
He’s no boy, and he knows this, just as he knows she’s not quite a woman yet,
just as he knows this is not the way a teacher should touch his student, but he
reasons that he’s already going to hell anyway, after everything he’s done. And
now that it’s too late to go back and he has his fucking hand up her skirt and
he’s painfully hard and she’s so wet that it’s making his fingers slick against
her skin, he finds himself thinking that even if this is wrong he neverwants it
to stop.
He moves his hand down, just a little, and she whines and squirms as the focus
is shifted away from her clit.
“Shay,” she breathes, not quite pleading, but close enough to make him sigh at
the sound of his name, so soft and gentle and perfect--
“Yeah? You want somethin’?” He whispers back, rubbing his fingers down over her
cunt, pressing gently, testing just how far she’s willing to go.
She rocks her hips forward a little at the pressure and his breath just fucking
falters, shit shit shit, he ignores his moral compass and pushes one finger
inside of her and she’s tight and warm and wet and the sound she makes at the
intrusion is gorgeous--
“You all right?” He asks, stroking her hair back from her head with his free
hand-- her eyes are still closed, just like he’d told her, and he feels pride
at just how obedient she is. “You’re fine, yeah?”
“Yes, sir,” she breathes-- the arm supporting her weight on the bed is
trembling, he notices, and her breathing is shallow, a delicious cherry-red
flush spreading slowly across her cheeks as she rocks into his hand and mumbles
“Please, Shay--”
And Jesus,does that do goddamn awful things to him.
“Fuck,” he curses, “Fuck, (Name), fuck, gonna fucking ruinme.”
He tries to ignore the way his voice wavers, and instead of actually addressing
it he starts to fuck her with his fingers and she just melts in his hands, her
mouth falls open and she moans and godfuckingdamnit--
“Shit,” he grits out, and he stops touching her and he yanks down her skirt and
her panties and tosses them aside with a level of roughness he didn’t know he
was actually capable of. He’s not sure what he’s doing yet, he’s not exactly
sure what he wants to do besides make her come for him over and over and
over,jesus, and before he really even has time to think about it he pushes her
back on the bed.
She makes a sound almost like a gasp and opens her eyes but shay growls keep
‘em shut and she complies instantly-- and then it doesn’t even matter anyway
because he’s kneeling down and spreading her thighs wide fucking open, he’s
staring at her cunt and thinking jesus christ because he wants to know what she
tastes like and she’s a fucking teenager, what the fuckis wrong with him--
“D’you want me to make you come?” He hears himself ask, and his eyes are dark
and lidded and his thoughts are fuzzy and he knows she can hear the intention
in his voice when he asks, half a promise and half a threat,really, if he’s
being honest with himself.
She nods, a microscopic bob of her head, but it’s not fucking good enough and
Shay’s already crossed enough lines that he doesn’t care to stop himself at
this point, “Yeah? Tell me what you want.”
She squirms, pants no no no Shay I can’t say it, but he doesn’t listen, he
presses sloppy kisses over her stomach and growls, “Tell me, love, you want my
fingers inside you again? You know you do. Or-- You want me to touch you? Make
you come like that?”
He moves down in between her legs and grabs her thighs and nearly grins at how
the muscles tremble as his breathing speeds up--
“Maybe you just want me to eat out your pretty little cunt.”
She makes a sound almost like a squeak and instantly claps a hand over her
mouth-- and she’s embarrassed, he knows, there’s a bright flash rapidly
spreading across her cheeks, but it doesn’t stop him or slow him down in the
slightest.
“You’re so wet,” he growls, the timbre of his voice low and absolutely filthy,
“so fuckin’ wet, christ. Is that what you want, then? You ever felt a man’s
tongue before? It feels good, promise, just let me show you.”
“Shay,” she mumbles, squirming aimlessly, like she’s not quite sure whether she
wants to move away or get closer, and he can tell that she’s deliciously close
to giving in to him, begging him to make good on all of his promises--
He can’t fucking wait any longer, though.
She never explicitly asks, no, but Shay is good at reading people and good at
figuring out what they want before they even know it themselves and he’s
perfectly aware that she isn’t going to tell him to stop when he pulls her legs
apart and delves in with his mouth and fuck he tastes salt and skin and she
makes a beautiful sort of choked out moanas he licks a long, wet stripe up her
slit--
“Taste so fucking good, love,” he rumbles, and pushes two fingers inside of her
and runs his tongue up and around and over her clit until her hands reach down
to tighten in his hair and she begs for more more more please Shay please --
“Yeah, fuck,” he groans, curling his fingers up and moving them in, out, in,
and her answering moan is shattered and helpless and before he’s entirely aware
of what he’s doing he takes his other hand and clumsily unbuckles his belt and
runs his palm down over the length of his cock and oh god he’s painfully
fucking hard and he just wants to make her come. There’s never been a time when
he was ever this obsessed with somebody else’s pleasure before but of course he
is with her because she’s perfectand he wants to make sure her first time is
equally as perfect because she deserves absolutely nothing less.
Her hands tighten in his hair and he fucks her open with his fingers and his
tongue and his chin is sticky and his eyes are dark and his words are slurred
and filthy as he hitches her leg over his shoulder and pulls her closer. “So
fuckin gorgeous,” he murmurs, “Pretty little girl like you, you’re so wet for
me. Look at yourself, you’re begging for it.”
He moves up and he traces the tip of his tongue over her clit and watches her
shiver and feels the muscles in her thighs tense and when he looks up he sees
her with her head tipped back and her eyes still, still closed just like he’d
told her to and, god, she just looks so fucking ruinedlike this with her
innocence gone, and that shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does.
When she comes, it’s beautiful.
Her lips part and her breath catches and dissolves into a moan and her hands
tighten in his hair so hard that it sends a prickling sensation of almost-pain
slinking down his spine that makes him shiver and groan as he continues to
touch her and tease her until her body is trembling and pliant from the
aftershocks. It feels like a fucking dream because he can taste her on his
tongue and he can feel her body under his hands and it has to be unreal because
stuff like this just doesn’t happen to him, ever,not like this--
Neither of them speak for what feels like years. Shay fumbles with his trousers
and kicks them to the floor and he’s so fucking hard and she’s so wet and her
eyes are completely locked on him as he takes his cock in his hand and strokes,
closes his eyes and exhales and trembles a little at just how much he
needsthis--
“Shay,” she mumbles, still focused on the slow languid movement of his hand,
like she can’t look away even if she wanted to, mesmerized by what she’d done
to him, how easily she’d torn him to fucking pieces--
“Tell me you want it,” he rasps, voice rough and deep and sure,and he feels a
flicker of pride at the way it makes her shiver on the bed. “Tell me you want
my cock.”
She gasps, bites her lip, looks up at him from beneath her eyelashes--
“Oh, no no no Shay I can’t--” she says, a little senselessly, still trembling
from her orgasm, and if Shay were in a better state of mind he would stop-
- hell, no, if he were a better man he would stop, but he isn’t a better man.
He isn’t even a good one.
“Wanna hear you beg for it,” he says, moving closer, kneeling on the edge of
the bed and then placing his hands on either side of her head, resting his
weight across her body, his dick sliding up between her legs, teasing, and it
takes all of his self control to keep himself from just fuckingher--
Her hesitancy doesn’t fade as much as it gets overwhelmed by something
dangerously, treacherously close to desire, something new and exciting and
different for her, and something that he made her feel, only him, alwayshim--
“Please,” she says timidly.
“Not good enough,” Shay breathes, demanding eye contact. “Not fucking good
enough, c’mon, love, you can do better, tell me how bad you want my cock. Tell
me how bad you want me to fuck you. I want you begging for it.”
When she says pleasethis time it’s a little more desperate, and she spreads her
legs and he teases her with the head of his cock but doesn’t push in, waits for
her to give in to him the way she always does.
“Shay ,” she says, so fucking needy, god, like she was made for this, made for
him--“Please, I want-- I want--”
“Yeah?” he asks, baring his teeth in a not-quite smile, and it feels like he’s
standing at the edge of a fucking cliff as he waits for her to speak, like the
ground might give out beneath him at any moment as the seconds drag on, and on,
and on--
“I want you to fuck me, please, Shay, please, ” she pleads, and it’s barely
more than a whisper, but it’s enough.
“Fuck, fuck,” he curses, and then he drags her into a kiss that’s mostly
tongue, filthy and slow, and he pushes in-- carefully, gently,he doesn’t want
to hurt her-- and as soon as she tenses up he stops moving and it takes all of
his willpower just to give her a moment to adjust because he needs this so
fucking bad--
“Oh,” she breathes, squirming a little, urging him to move and grinding her
hips down on his cock and fuck, she’s so perfect sometimes Shay wonders if
she’s even real.
“Yeah?” he asks, rocking forwards just a little, testing, and she tightens
around him in the most delicious way and the moan she releases is wonderfully
helpless and whatever remaining scraps of decorum he had left just fucking
dissolve as he buries his cock inside of her completely and she’s so tight and
so wet and holy shit he should notbe fucking his goddamn apprentice when he’s
probably more than twice her age and he absolutely should not be loving it as
much as he is--
He thrusts into her a little harder and she shudders and the sound she makes is
so fucking broken and needy and perfect. “Oh, oh God,Shay, I can’t--”
“Yes you can,” he growls against her skin, acutely aware that she’s fucking
lying because her hips are rocking up to meet his and he can feel how wet she
is and he can hear the slick sound of skin on skin that betrays how much she
wants it-- wants him-- “You are. You’re soaking wet, love, don’t lie to me.”
She keens a little desperately and squirms as he tilts her hips up, and the
angle changes and suddenly he’s even deeper inside of her and the look on her
face is a deliciously pretty mixture of embarrassment and pleasure as she lets
out an involuntary moan, shaky and mindless. “You’re doing so good. So fucking
good,” Shay grunts, and she flushes at the praise, strung out and trembling and
bordering overwhelmed by the host of new sensations as he fucks her harder,
digs his fingers into her skin and sucks a bruise into the delicate skin of her
collarbone. “Perfect, wish you could see yourself, see how bad you want my
cock, god,should’ve told me you wanted to be fucked like this, could’ve had you
months ago--”
“Shay,” she gasps, nails sinking into his shoulders and back arching and
breaths catching in time with his thrusts, until she can barely speak, much
less form a coherent sentence, and instead of slowing down he moves one of his
hands to her clit, rubs small, light circles with his thumb knowing that the
pleasure is quickly becoming too much but goddoes he want to see her come for
him again--
“You’re so wet, love,” Shay groans, kissing the curve of her neck and following
up with his teeth as she tenses around him-- “Jesus, you were fuckin’ made for
this, weren’t you, made for taking my cock, made for being fucked.”
And he knows that if she were in any other state of mind she would have been
too embarrassed to answer but right now she’s needy and defenseless and her
moans are growing closer to whimpers as he fucks her and the only thing she can
say is yes, yes, Shay, yes, for you, only you--
He decides right then and there that it’s his most favorite sound in the whole
entire goddamn world.
She tenses around him with a fragile, broken moan when she comes, goes boneless
and pliant underneath him as her body trembles with the force of it and even
though she shudders with every thrust she never once tells him to stop as he
fucks her faster, harder, enjoying how willing and sated she is beneath him--
There’s something about seeing her like this, seeing her willing to let herself
be used solely for his own pleasure, even as she gasps and shudders and shakes
with the rhythm of his body, overstimulated and hypersensitive-- there’s
something about it, fuck, something good,and soon Shay’s rhythm is faltering
and becoming erratic and he’s not going to last much longer, he realizes
distantly.
He grits his teeth, mumbles half a choked-out curse, digs his fingers into her
skin and then his hips stutter and falter and he barely has enough remaining
brain function to remember to fucking pull out--
“Shit ,” he gasps, as his orgasm is practically torn from him, intense and all-
consuming and so, sogood. “Fuck.”
There is a long moment where nothing happens, and the only sound in the room is
their breathing, ragged and shallow, and he knows they both smell of sex and he
knows someone is bound to find out and he knows there’s likely to be hell to
pay for what is turning out to be one of the worst decisions he’s ever made in
his life, but--
He doesn’t rightly care.
Shay opens his eyes to see her with her cheeks flushed and lips bruised,
looking utterly spent with a trail of hickeys down her neck and bruises on her
hips and his come on her stomach, and it’s everything right and wrong and
sinful and perfect--
There are a thousand and one things he shoulddo, and all of them somehow
revolve around apologizing and attempting to minimize the severity of what he
had just done.
Instead of doing any of that, Shay kisses her, and she cups his face in her
hand, smooths her thumb across the stubble on his jaw, and kisses him back.
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