Here to Misbehave | S.R.

Ch. 37 | The Drop

Summary: Unfortunately, a new case couldn't have come at a worse time for Reader, who's starting to feel that dysphoria Spencer's alwayswarning her about.

Content Warning(s): Adults w/ Age Gap (10yr), fingering, penetrative sex,unprotected sex, rough sex, BDSM, Daddy Kink, D/s relationship, degradation, brief mention of consensual dub-con, aftercare included, Sub Drop!

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The television was playing for itself, the sounds only serving as the background soundtrack to Spencer's lips as he kissed his way down my neck and over my shoulder. I wanted to be angry or annoyed, but each time his mouth met my skin, my body gave in to him.

And when you gave this mouse a cookie, he took everything else with it. Within a single second of my hips rocking back against him as we lay together on the couch, Spencer's fingers dug into my hip, forcing me against his painfully obvious erection.

"Spencer!" I whined while my hips continued to move with him, "You said you would watch the movie."

I had known it was a lie when he said it. We both knew it was always going to end like this. But at the same time, I enjoyed teasing him over the fact that out of the two of us that night, he was the one who couldn't keep his hands to himself.

"Then tell me to stop," he slurred between his kisses that were sure to leave bruises behind. "Tell me that you don't want me to do this."

We both also knew there would be no protest from me, and yet Spencer deemed it necessary to continue to shift the odds further in his favor. The same hand that had pulled me to grind against him pushed forward at a torturous pace until it slid into my underwear.

Once the soft whimper left my mouth, he knew he had won. He'd barely even touched me, and I was already a mess. The flashing colors on the LCD in front of me looked just like the backs of my eyelids. I could hardly tell if my eyes were even open anymore.

"How quickly you change your mind when I do this," Spencer breathed into my ear as he finally slipped a finger inside of me. "I might be flattered if I didn't know any better."

It wasn't the first time we'd had sex since the disaster; it had been a few weeks since, although it had felt like a lifetime. A lifetime that led us back to where we'd begun, wound so tightly together that my mind couldn't follow his hands or his lips as they traveled wherever they could, memorizing the way each muscle tensed and twitched in response to his ministrations.

"Please, I—"

"Please what?" he ordered, "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"Whatever you want."

There was nothing else to say. It was, apparently, both the right and the wrong answer. I say that it was right because I felt his cock twitch against my backside, and I heard the way the breath shuddered from his lungs. But it was also wrong, because I could hear his teeth clack shut and grind together as he growled, "Do you know what you're asking for, little girl?"

I wanted to be a brat— to remind him how well-acquainted I was with his methods, and that he'd really mostly been all bark and no bite— but something in the rough drag of his finger against my walls made me pause.

So, I said nothing. That wasn't the right answer, either.

Everything about him became more feral with every passing second. His breath fanned against my ear and burned my already heated skin. When he spoke, the words felt similarly laced with a heat and rage that almost seemed foreign, "Do you have any idea how many filthy, disgusting things I've dreamed about doing to you while I couldn't touch you?"