Work Text:
“What’cha doin’?”
You smiled upon hearing Marcus’s voice behind you. He was starting to be a fixture in your house. Even on work days, he would sometimes come over and just sit in your office, in the plush red armchair by the bookshelf, and read quietly, keeping you company while you pored over invoices and receipts.
Of course, he’d also fuck you into oblivion if you so much as glanced his way with a flirty expression.
“Just some laundry,” you answered him, not that you really needed to--the fact that you were leaning over your bed folding the large pile of clothes that sat on top of the coverlet made it fairly obvious. One of the side effects of running five days a week was that you had to do laundry a lot . “What are you doing?” you asked after a few beats of silence, turning around to look at him and wondering why he was so quiet. Your breath caught when you saw him.
Marcus was leaning casually against the doorframe, making no attempt to hide the hunger in his eyes. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and he said darkly, “Just enjoying the view.” He made a show of sweeping his eyes up and down your figure.
“Folding clothes really does it for you, huh?” you teased, flushing a little under Marcus’s intense gaze.
“Hmm, I think it’s those leggings of yours that do it,” he replied, not bothering to hide the way he was currently looking at the way said leggings hugged your hips with hooded eyes. “These might be my favorite pair.”
You met his gaze with an equally heated stare of your own. “I didn’t realize you had a favorite.” You gestured at the pile of clothes. “I do have a lot of them.”
“You do,” Marcus agreed, “But these ones just…” he shook his head and clenched his fists as if he wished he was clenching them around your soft flesh instead. He couldn’t seem to find the end of his sentence.
You laughed and bent over to retrieve another shirt, leaning over the bed way more than necessary and arching your back. You heard him growl low in his throat, and you dared to look back with a seductive little pout, and playfully wiggled your hips, making the soft pillows of your ass jiggle with each little shake. Provoking him. Goading him.
Marcus stalked forward quickly, placing his hand between your shoulder blades and pushing down hard , causing your torso to fall onto the bed with a surprised “oh!” He leaned over, pressing his body against yours, making sure to grind his hips against your ass so you could feel his prominent bulge. His lips against your ear, he rasped out, “Is this what you wanted?” before biting down on your earlobe.
“Yes!” you squeaked out.
He brought one hand to the waistband of your leggings and underwear and ripped them down over your ass, leaving you bare to him. He palmed the flesh as he said, “Say it, then. Tell me what you wanted.”
You were moaning and grinding back against him already, spurned on by his rough treatment, by the feel of his mouth on your neck, the feel of his erection digging into you. You managed to gasp out, “I want you to fuck me,” your voice breathless with desire.
You cried out as Marcus brought his hand down on your ass with a satisfying crack . “Be specific,” he growled in your ear.
“I want, I want--” you started. Your mind was empty. How did sentences work, again? You began again, struggling to form a complete thought, but wanting, needing to obey him. “I-I want your big cock inside me,” you whimpered. “I want you to hold me down and take what you want, ta-take what’s yours .”
Marcus moaned at your words. He started scrambling to undo his belt and his jeans, only enough to free his erection, before bending back over you and asking harshly in your ear, “How do you want me to give you my cock, hmm?”
“Rough,” you cried out. “Use me, I-I’m yours, ” you said again. You could feel him teasing your entrance, coating the tip of himself in your arousal before retreating again. You whimpered in protest, wanting him to just do it already. He was always such a fucking tease, always wanted to see you gagging for it before he finally gave in. It was as if he wanted you to-
“Beg,” he hissed, teeth clenched. “Beg me for it. Beg for my cock like a good girl.”
Oh, fuck . “Marcus, please ,” you began. Your voice was high-pitched, needy. “Marcus, please fuck me, hold me down and fuck me hard , I want it so badly, need it, need you, Marcus…” you were babbling nonsense, begging for him just as he had asked--you would do anything for him, anything he asked--
“Need what , sweet little thing?” he crooned in your ear, dragging it out even further. You heard him stepping out of his clothes behind you, hastily ripping off his shirt before moulding his now-bare chest to your back.
“Your cock, Marcus, please , fuck --”
“This?” he asked through gritted teeth as he slid home. You gasped at the feel of him, grabbing handfuls of the blankets and writhing against him. He pulled out almost all the way, then slammed into you again, making the bed frame knock against the wall loudly. He mouthed along your neck, letting his teeth scrape the skin roughly. “This what you wanted?”
“Yes!” you cried out into the sheets.
“I’ll give it to you like this,” he murmured into your ear, the volume of his voice dropping, becoming softer and more gentle again, making you shiver . “All you had to do was ask.”
You were starting to figure out by now that the softer Marcus’s voice got, the rougher he was going to be with you. The contrast drove you crazy , and you were pretty sure that was the point. He would take you apart, slam his hips into you over and over again, slap your pussy, pinch your nipples, all the while talking in your ear in that sweet, gentle voice--whispering praises, telling you what he was doing, or what he wanted to do to you.
He reached one hand under and around your shoulder to grasp at you for leverage, his other hand holding your hip in a bruising grip, as he started to piston his hips, thrusting into you hard and pulling you back onto him as he did so. His mouth never left your neck and shoulder--biting, sucking, and soothing you with his tongue. The hand around your shoulder pulled you back onto his dick over and over as he drove into you. You could hear him grunting in your ear--with pleasure, effort, or maybe both--as he gave you his cock-- rough --just as you had begged him to do.
His teeth bit into your shoulder as he changed up the angle and started to fuck down on you, making you arch and cry out for him. He was hitting that spot inside you over and over again--he knew your body at this point, almost better than you knew it yourself, and he was rapidly becoming an expert in all the ways to get you off as quickly or as intensely as possible.
“Touch yourself,” he whispered into your ear. “Touch yourself while I fuck you. I want to feel you come apart around me.” He let go of your shoulder and brought his hand farther up underneath you, grasping you lightly around the neck, just enough for you to feel the pressure of his digits on the sides of your throat. “You feel so good, baby. Squeezing me so fucking hard. I can’t fucking think when I’m inside you--you have no idea what you do to me.” You started to tighten around him as you rubbed your clit and Marcus kept speaking to you, praising you, never raising the volume of his voice above a low murmur. “That’s it, sweet thing. You gonna come for me? Let me hear those pretty little cries of yours?” He sunk his teeth into your neck again and started to suck a dark bruise into your skin again before continuing to talk. “I want you to scream my name when you come, I want your neighbors to know who fucks you this good.”
You were whimpering, soft little pathetic cries every time he snapped his hips into you, as you felt yourself winding up, heat building at the base of your spine and rising up into your neck as your body started to tremble for him. Marcus increased his pace and started to squeeze just a little tighter around your throat.
“Who makes you feel this good, hmm? Who fucks you like this?” he hummed into your ear.
You were dizzy from Marcus’s hand around your neck and from all your blood suddenly rushing south. The tightly wound coil inside your body suddenly snapped and you loudly sobbed his name, over and over, crying out for him, as if his name were the only word you knew. Your body jerked against his with every wave of pleasure, causing him to have to wind his arms around your body and hold you against him, keep you there, as he chased his own end.
“ Fuck , you feel so good. Oh, fuck ,” Marcus groaned out. He slammed his hips into you a few more times, still holding you against him with his strong arms, before letting go inside you with a cry of your name on his lips.
The moment he was capable of coherent thought, Marcus started kissing gently over your back and neck, soothing all the little love bites, all the scrapes from his teeth. He brushed a few errant hairs over your forehead as he studied your profile, craning his head forward enough to press his lips to your temple reverently. He didn’t pull out of you yet, just kept covering every inch of skin he could reach with soothing kisses as he softened inside you. You hummed with satisfaction as he stroked your face again. You had closed your eyes, but you could still feel him studying you.
“Okay?” he whispered softly.
You opened your eyes. Marcus was regarding you with a soft smile, the one that sometimes made you think that his feelings for you were--you swallowed--were a lot stronger than he was letting on.
“Okay,” you agreed, matching both his quiet tone and the smile in his expression.
“Stay right there,” he said against your temple as he pulled out of your heat with a little sigh. “Don’t move.”
You obeyed, watching him walk over to the bathroom with a blissed-out expression on your face. He was such a beautiful man, so… so broad , and so clearly comfortable with his body--he never shied away, never worried about covering up, unconcerned with his nudity. He moved with a soft confidence that you loved, that never seemed to turn into egoism. You watched him run the tap until it was hot and then return to you with the warm washcloth in his hand to clean you up. He removed your leggings and underwear--which had still been around your knees--the rest of the way. You hummed in satisfaction at the gentle touch of the cloth between your legs. You let him linger there, cleaning you for longer than was probably necessary, just content to feel him touching you in such a sensitive area in a non-sexual way. He was clearly enjoying it too, going by the length of time he spent kneeling behind you, gently swiping the cloth over your folds, your inner thighs, the undersides of your cheeks. The intimacy of it threatened to bring a lump to your throat. He pressed a little kiss to your inner thigh when he was finished, and then stood. You rolled over onto your back to look up at him with an adoring expression, your legs still dangling off the bed on either side of his hips.
“L-lay with me?” you asked. You felt so incredibly needy around him now. You were starting to feel addicted to the way he cared for you. You wanted it all the time. You wanted to feel the safety and comfort of his arms as he held you, the softness of his voice as he spoke to you as his lips brushed your forehead. You wanted to let go and give all your trust to him all the time , letting him tend to you however he wanted.
Marcus’s eyes were soft, so soft. His lips barely moved as he said, “Of course, sweetheart. Always.” He made to move onto the bed and paused as the pile of unfolded laundry blocked his usual spot. You gave him a mischievous little look and pushed the pile over the side of the bed, letting it hit the floor with a satisfying thump . He laughed and settled against the pillows at the headboard, patting his chest for you to follow him. You scrambled up and into his arms a little too quickly; you knew you had just given away just how desperate you were for him, for his touch. If he noticed your haste, he didn’t say anything. He drew you to his chest, squeezing his arms around you for emphasis, then relaxing them and bringing his fingertips to the side of your neck. You trembled as he started to move them up and down. You hoped he didn’t mind how you were clinging to him.
He pressed his lips to your forehead. You could tell he had a big smile on his face just by the shape his mouth made on your skin. “When you’re ready,” he grinned, “I’ll help you fold the rest.”