Cocked & Loaded. (Hans Gruber x reader)

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"Is that so?" He spoke low and gravely, teasingly sucking on the tip of his finger before letting it go with a quiet 'pop'.

The stretch of your leg caused the freshly stitched up bullet wound to throb in pain, earning a gasp of air from your parted lips. Hans hooked that very finger underneath your chin and tilted it upward, hovering his lips over your plump ones. He didn't kiss you yet, he enjoyed teasing you and watching you struggle far too much.

"You know what I think?" He whispered to you, feeling the warmth of his breath tickle your mouth with each word he spoke.

"What?"

"I think you enjoy it. I think you're a dirty girl, and you like when it's filthy and gross."

He was pressing his pelvis into yours now, and you could feel the growing bulge beneath the fabric of his suit as both hands gripped the counter beside you. Trapping you in. As much as you were in denial and refused to admit it out loud, he was right. He was entirely right and that pissed you off.

Hans started to grind his hips into you, not shy about letting you know just how aroused he was and what exactly he wanted from you. Taking it upon yourself, you reached a hand down and latched it right into his crotch, giving it a hard and rough squeeze. You certainly weren't trying to be gentle.

"I get fucking shot in the leg because of you, and you think you can just make me forget it by coming on to me?"

He grunted and stiffened beneath your tight grip, but it only seemed to backfire because you could've sworn you felt his dick twitch against your palm. This man truly was crazy, absolutely psycho. And no matter how much you put up a front, you found it attractive. You were suckered in to his charismatic charm, his wit, and his power.

He chuckled lowly, his pupils darkening as his upper lip curled. "Yes."

Hans crashed his lips to yours and without really thinking too much of it, you immediately kissed back. Both hands gripped the collar of his fancy suit and yanked him down even closer to you, letting out the softest of moans into his mouth.

His hands moved from the counter and up to the buttons of your blouse, quickly working to open them up and yank the fabric of your shirt down your shoulders. The quick and hasty movements put pressure on your thigh, but you made an effort to focus your attention on Hans and nothing else.

You shrugged your blouse off and went right back to kissing him, tracing the outline of his lips with the tip of your tongue as a silence beg of entrance. He happily obliged and allowed you access, flicking his own tongue over yours.

You realized, tonight, that you were very much attracted to toxic men. Toxic, rich, borderline psychopathic, terroristic men. Or perhaps only one, and his name is Hans Gruber. His hands were running up and down your sides, wasting no time in brushing over your breasts covered by the thin fabric of your bra.

He made no effort to be gentle with your bra, reaching around and practically yanking apart the clasp so he could pull it down from your shoulders. As soon as you were bare, he leaned down and attached his lips to one of your nipples. Sucking and kissing, you arched your back and pressed yourself more so into his mouth with a sharp gasp of pleasure. His teeth left tiny nips and nibbles in between flicks of his tongue.

You could already feel the wetness building between your legs, as it didn't take much from him to turn you on and get you going. It seemed as though it didn't take much from you for him, either. One hand latched itself to your other breast and squeezed it, kneading with his fingertips and pinching your nipple in between them.

"Fuck..." you purred, lashes fluttering and eyes falling shut as your head leaned back against the mirror.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and for a moment, completely forgetting about your literal bullet wound and jumped as it brushed against the belt loop of his pants. Pain rushed up through your leg and you winced out loud. Hans paused his ministrations and gazed up at you from your bare breasts, a subtle look of concern in the depths of his hues.