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As you and Jack find your seats at the back of the theater, a small group piles in to your right, a few seats away, laughing and chatting a bit too loudly. They are in their early 20s, you figure. You successfully tune them out until one smiles over at you and says hello- friendly, if a little flirtatious.
You smile back, and return to watching the movie trailers, but you notice Jack glancing in their direction, too expressive to hide his annoyance. Patting his knee, you give him a knowing look, and he relaxes. “Good boy,” you whisper in his ear, watching him blush.
As the final trailer finishes and the film is about to start, the same boy- sitting nearest to you- leans over again, asking, “have you seen the first-“
Lightheartedly, you press your finger to your lips, shushing him, and he half-laughs as he turns back to the screen.
The third time he glances over in your direction, you notice him out of your peripheral vision, but he seems to think better of speaking. Jack lowers his head to you. “Do you want to switch seats?” He offers.
Though you are less bothered than Jack, their constant motion and whispering to each other is mildly distracting. You stand up to change seats, ignoring a small, derisive laugh from one of them. As you move past Jack and he goes to take your seat, he brushes his hand against your hip- a light, quick touch, but a deliberate one.
After you settle, Jack lays his arm across your shoulder, leaning into you. When you feel his warm breath on the top of your head, you look up to see him gazing down at you, preoccupied.
“Watch the movie, not me,” you remind him gently.
“Sorry.” He turns back to the screen, but when he hears another snicker, his eyes flash, and you see his chest rise as he inhales sharply.
He dips his head down, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Don’t be mad at me,” he whispers. “Okay?”
Before you can question him, he turns to the group, leaning in and blocking their view of you with his broad shoulders, one of which is twitching in agitation.
“I’d like for all of you to shut the fuck up now.” His voice is quiet, but there is a gravelly edge to it that you rarely hear. “And keep your eyes on the screen.”
You know exactly the stare that he is giving them. You can’t see their responses, but whatever they are, it satisfies Jack.
“Thanks,” he adds, his voice clipped, then sits back and puts his arm around you, melting into you again. You don’t hear the boys for the rest of the film.
As the credits roll, the group stands to move past you and Jack. You’re closest to the stairs, and without thought you lean back to give them room as you talk to Jack.
Still watching you, still listening to you, Jack lifts one leg up, planting his foot against the back of the seat in front of him and blocking their path. He ignores the subsequent murmuring and shuffling as the boys make their way down the other end and file through the aisle in front of you, still averting their eyes, as if looking in your direction is a death sentence. With that glare, Jack could make it seem like one.
On the drive home, Jack says, in a tone that is unconvincingly casual, “I hope they didn’t ruin the movie for you.”
“It’s fine,” you assure him, holding back a smile. You knew he would have more to say about it. “They were just annoying kids.”
“Kids,” he scoffs, his brow furrowing. “They weren’t that much younger than me. It’s not like they didn’t know better.”
“They’re kids to me. They were being noisy, that’s all.”
“I don’t like how they were leering at you.” He glances over, and when he stops at an intersection, he presses his hand to the inside of your thigh, squeezing you softly. “I’m not in trouble for scaring them, right?”
”Not this time, no.” You add teasingly, “but I think you’re jealous.”
“I am.” His voice is low. Slowly, he moves his hand up your summer dress, brushing a finger over your underwear and feeling your slit.
You gasp, your hips lifting, but before he can continue, the light turns green. Pulling his hand back, he smooths down your dress, as considerate as always. His breath is heavy, though, his expression darkening when he catches your gaze.
When you arrive back at the apartment, Jack slams the door shut and grabs you, carrying you into the bedroom and laying you on your back, your legs hanging off the edge.
Before you can react, he’s lifting your head, positioning a pillow under you. He studies you with wide eyes, leaning over you so that he takes up your entire view. “Is that comfortable?” He asks, his voice coarse with desire. “May I… please…”
You look up at him with exhaustion and affection, wishing you had his energy. His lips are parted in a soft pant, and his body strains toward you as he tries to control himself. All that is holding him back are your words. “It’s been a long day, so be gentle.”
“I will, I promise,” he breathes. He runs his fingers over the deep plunge of your neckline, his expression pleading. “But I need everyone to know that I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this.”
He presses his lips to yours. At first he moves slowly, easing his weight onto you and slipping his tongue between your lips, but once you lay your hands across the back of his neck and begin to caress him, his kiss becomes messy, urgent, his teeth scraping yours as he moans into your mouth.
Pressing himself against you, his kisses move from your lips to your neck. His hands tangle in your hair and you feel his heart pounding against yours.
“You’re mine.” His voice is rough, his words a promise to you, and a warning for anyone else. “You’re fucking mine.” His fists tighten, tugging your head back to give him access to your neck. Pressing his mouth to you, he takes the soft, sensitive skin of your throat between his lips, sucking lightly. Suddenly, you feel his teeth, a quick, bruising bite that makes your back arch.
“Jack!” You gasp, immediately squeezing his shoulders so he knows you’re not upset. “Baby, not so hard.”
He kisses the aching spot, soothing it. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, almost childlike in his sincerity, and then his mouth is on you again, softer this time. He sucks and nips hungrily at the side of your neck, your collarbone, the top of your breasts. Each bite leaves a little burn that flushes your skin and makes your shoulders tremble.
As he pulls back, he lets go of your hair and begins stroking it. His eyes wander proudly over each bright red mark- six of them, at least. “You look beautiful like this,” he whispers.
Reaching up, you hold his face and brush your thumb over his unkempt beard. “Is my naughty boy satisfied now?”
His eyes half-close with pleasure as he nuzzles into your hand like an attention-starved pet. “No… not yet…”
Without warning, he hitches up your dress and takes the hem of your underwear between his fingertips. “Please?” His pale eyes, as passionate as they are imploring, are impossible to resist.
“Gentle,” you remind him.
“Yes, ma’am.” In a second he is ripping your underwear down, kneeling and burying his face in you. His tongue is thrusting deep into your cunt and lapping at your walls, but his hands hold you tenderly, massaging your legs.
He’s desperate, moaning into you as he drags his tongue up to your clitoris. He sucks lightly, letting his teeth just barely graze you. When you shudder, he pulls back, asking you earnestly, “do you like this? Am I being good for you?”
“God yes, don’t stop,” you encourage him, “you’re doing so well, now make me cum…”
He groans with excitement at your praise, kissing your folds before working his tongue between them again. A finger is rubbing your clitoris, bringing you to climax as you reach down and grab his messy curls in your fist.
”Just like that, baby, you’re so good, such a good boy…” You buck against his mouth, dizzy with pleasure as he drinks your fluids and cleans you with his tongue. With a final gasp you release him, and he stands slowly, a soft smile on his wet, pink lips.
With his help you sit up, and he lays you fully on the bed. He crawls over you, nuzzling between your cleavage, pulling down the fabric of your dress enough to take one of your nipples between his lips, whining loudly as he suckles. His hands are gripping your waist, his body shaking with need.
You pet his hair with one hand, holding his back with the other to ground him. “Jack,” you whisper. “What’s gotten into you?”
He pulls back with a groan. “You only want me, right?” He asks, and it isn’t a demand; it’s a request, a plea. “I need you, I need all of you, okay?”
“Of course, dear.” You pull him close for a kiss, tasting yourself on him, and biting his lip as you break apart just to hear him whimper. “Only you.”
Suddenly he’s a flurry of movement, yanking his shirt off, struggling to unbutton his jeans with trembling hands.
You grasp those large hands in yours, stopping him. “Easy, easy.”
”Y- yes, ma’am,” he mumbles. He waits, whining insistently while you ease his jeans and boxers down to his knees. “Thank you,” he whispers, dropping them on the floor.
As he lines up his cock to your wet slit, he says breathlessly, “I need to cum inside you, I need it spilling out of you. Please, please, I know you like to take care of me…”
You can make him wait, just like this, as long as you want. Until he’s close to tears, until he’s begging you on his hands and knees for release. But you are too soft to deny him, and you love that look of bliss on his pretty face that he always has when he’s inside you.
Silently, you glide your fingers around his cock and feel it pulsing for you, twitching as you stroke it. You help him, guiding it inside you slowly, his hips jittery and tense, until he’s flush up against you. He sighs, the muscles in his face relaxing as he goes slack-jawed.
Rubbing his sweaty, hairy chest against yours, he licks across your cheek with a soft groan. “Gonna make you smell just like me, too.”
His thrusts are frantic, deep. He doesn’t last long. When he climaxes, he whimpers your name as he pumps you full of his semen- that familiar, warm rush deep inside you.
Gasping, he shudders as sweat drips down his chin and onto your neck. He pulls out of you and sits up, his body heavy and slow, and takes your dress off, leaving you in nothing but socks. He checks between your legs, opening your folds with his thumbs to watch his cum dripping out of you.
Finally satisfied, he lays his heavy head on your chest, gazing up at you. “Mine,” he whispers sweetly, brushing his thumb over the little bruises already forming.
“Yes, baby. Yours.” You wrap your arms around him, letting him bury his face against you. Bringing your hand to the back of his head, you massage your fingers through his damp curls.
He nestles closer against you, and falls asleep in your arms with the most content smile on his face.