(a/n) Happy (very) belated Valentine's Day! (Kylo x reader) set in a Mission Impossible AU, specifically Ghost Protocol. Splash of insta-love and some smut at the end aha <3
CW: guns, car chase, violence, brief alcohol consumption
Word count: ~13.5k
"And what would you, personally, recommend?"
A leering gaze directly at your breasts, the man sniffs and rubs his nose, running the same hand through his dirty blond hair.
You smile politely while an uncomfortable shiver makes its way down your spine.
The low chatter around you is broken up by the quiet, intermittent clinking of glasses. Desperately wanting to be as far away from this man as possible, preferably, outside the freaking restaurant, you answer in a professional voice, not betraying your uneasiness.
"Well, sir, our seared scallops served with a brown butter and lemon sauce are particularly delicious tonight."
"Hm, I'm sure," he says, the last word in his Russian accent cutting through the air like a knife. A sharp laugh. His severe stare drags down your uniform.
When you first walked over here to take his order, the intense instinctual fear had taken you by surprise. He has not explicitly said anything weird. Well, he hasn't mentioned that he is expecting anyone to join him, which is odd considering what day it is.
But, even assuming he is just a creep, why has that persistent feeling telling you to run not subsided? Is that sweat on the back of your neck?
A wink. "I'll have that."
"Yes, sir, I'll put it in right away," you say, reaching for his menu.
It is too bad you cannot control the sharp intake of air when you spot the gun tucked into his suit jacket.
A coarse palm clamps down, trapping your hand on the tabletop. You do not drop your smile, but the fear must be entirely apparent in your eyes because he chuckles threateningly.
"And, the Moreau-Naudet...2018...a white burgundy would match the scallops nicely, don't you think, zaychonuk?"
A shallow breath. "Yes, sir," you repeat, feeling extremely uncomfortable.
He grins, sitting back in his chair with a flick of his hair.
Sweeping up the red leather menu, you smile and swivel around. You weave around the room, taking as little time as possible to check in on your other tables and input various orders into the system. By the time you push open the doors at the back of the room beside the bar, your erratic footsteps reflect the chaotic energy of the bustling kitchen perfectly.
Romantic candlelight switches to bright white LEDs. Pleasant conversation changes to infuriated swearing. "How long on the Halibut?!" Soft sounds of silverware on ceramic turn into the clangs of pots and pans.
"Coming now, chef." The doors swing closed behind you, but not before a busboy makes it through with an armful of dirty dishes.
A bewildered voice to your left. "You okay?"
"Yeah," you say automatically, turning to Enrique and getting out of the way for an outgoing cart of appetizers. You shake your head with a laugh, spotting him on a stool hiding behind a pastry rack. "Yeah, that guy was just...weird."
"Ah, man, I'm sorry, I would have taken him from you, but I had a reservation coming right at 8:00."
"No, no, it's fine. I've got to get used to having more tables," you say with a laugh, leaning your back on the wall beside him with a tired exhale.
"You're doing fine, hey, a week is more than most." He slaps you on the back, jumping down to the white tile floor.
"Don't stress me out like that!" you joke, adjusting your black waistcoat.
Dashing over, Enrique peeks out the circular window on the swing doors to the dining room, looking back at you with dramatized suspicion on his face. "He alone?" he asks.
"Seems like it."
"On Valentine's Day?"
"Behind!" comes an abrupt shout.
Enrique practically jumps out of the way, snickering at the saucier passing by with a large copper pot, who gives him a dirty look. Scurrying back to your side with a cringe, he says, "You're right, weird, he's sitting there looking angry, buddy if you had made a reservation, you wouldn't be sitting in the dark back corner near the restrooms."
"Maybe he got dumped, and he's here to spite all the happy couples," you say with a laugh, partially trying to convince yourself that there's nothing to worry about. The guy is simply odd. "Which, I guess, brings variety to the excessive sweetness in there."
Enrique snickers. "Someone's bitter."
Ava appears on your right, pulling her phone out of her back pocket. "Don't mind me, gonna hide back here too, my feet are killing me, thank god I have a break from the front for a few minutes."
Enrique clicks his tongue, leaning over you to shove at Ava's shoulder. "We are not hiding."
It goes ignored, her face slowly morphing into one of concern. "Have you guys seen this?" she asks, holding up the screen.
Explosion rocks Kremlin. 11 tourists thought to be —
Enrique rips the phone from her hands, dropping his jaw while scanning the article.
"The Kremlin?" you ask her, entirely shocked. "Is everyone okay?"
She nods with an equally stunned expression. "I think thankfully there were only people wounded yesterday, but the entire thing looks destroyed, like holy sh—"
"Ooh—listen—" Enrique blurts. "While Russian officials are continuing to blame a gas main break, experts are claiming it may not have been an accident, but a targeted attack."
You and Ava exchange aghast looks, waiting for him to continue.
"Ooh," he repeats with more panic, freezing.
"What?" Ava asks, crossing her arms. "You know, if you'd not have snatched my phone away, I'd probably be reading it faster than you right now."
"Table 14 was supposed to get the artichokes two minutes ago!" he exclaims, shoving the phone back in her arms and running to get the dishes.
The booming voice of the chef takes over the kitchen. "FOR THE FUCKING LOVE OF GOD ENRIQUE HURRY THE F—." It descends into a string of curses.
"Oh, crap." Ava quickly fixes her hair and veers off, calling out behind her shoulder, "I wanna hear about your first full day later, yeah?"
"Yeah!" You start towards the wine cellar. If I freaking survive it.
===============================
Kylo steps out of the car, already fucking bothered.
The scissor doors barely have time to close with a swish behind him before he is at the curb. A valet attendant bustles towards him, but he doesn't have the patience. Instead of any kind of greeting, Kylo slaps $300 from his coat pocket onto the guy's chest.
"It stays there."
Three paces, and Kylo is passing through the entrance, not giving the doorman a moment's notice. He has no time for this. In the middle of a mission, he got the alert for this meet. It better be fucking important.
Blowing an annoyed breath out his nose, Kylo checks his coat with the hostess, internally rolling his eyes at the choice of music while taking off his gloves. La Vie en Rose. Annoying.
As he is led through the cramped space, his eyes subtly dart to the exit at the back. To the bar. The door to the kitchen. On top of the nightmare of exits, it is packed in here. A single survey of the layout, and Kylo knows every way to get out of this sardine can, no matter the circumstances.
"Here you are, sir," the hostess says, rushing away.
Kylo unbuttons his suit button as he takes a seat, nodding in greeting to William Donloe, the analyst whose information he scanned on the drive here, promptly returning his attention to the dimly lit room.
A whisper. "Agent—"
"Don't."
Donloe adjusts his glasses and sits up in his seat, clearing his throat. A bothered tone. "I've been waiting since eight, Solo."
"Apologies," Kylo says, picking up the menu with a raised brow. Seven courses. No fucking way. He lets it tilt back to the tablecloth. "I was tied up."
A scoff. "It's no secret the way you operate, you know, it's exactly why the Secretary sent me here."
"Oh?" Kylo leans back in his seat, tilting his head. Donloe sips at his wine, trying to cover up a nervous glance downwards. He is not armed. There is nervous sweat beading on his temples. The IMF must be in the middle of a shit show to send an analyst with such minimal experience in the field. "He advised you to meet in public, then?"
"I thought it would be best, considering your—" Another glance. Left suit pocket. Hm. "History with the other..." A nervous swallow. "Fights...and whatnot."
Kylo allows the corner of his eyes to show his amusement. Other than that, neutrality.
Donloe shifts again, hand itching to reach into his suit though it barely moves half an inch. A sigh. "No one has heard from you in weeks, and I read your file, Solo, going dark has not cast the best light on your reputation."
"Have I come here just to be lectured?" Kylo leans forward impatiently, clasping his hands together once his forearms are resting on the dark red tablecloth.
An annoyed huff. At last, Donloe reaches into his suit. He quickly slides a flash drive across the table. Kylo scoops the drive into his sleeve in an undetectable move, letting it slip into the hidden pocket at his wrist as he leans on his elbows.
"That it?"
"Not quite," Donloe says quietly. "There is news, about the situation in Russia, not suitable for electronic communication..." He stutters into a pause.
"Spit it out. We have less than five minutes before blondie over there gets confident enough to make a move, don't look."
The analyst freezes, steeling his face.
Donloe was followed. That much is clear. And he didn't know about it until now, judging by the panic he is trying to conceal.
Out of everyone in here, one man is dining alone. To the left. Back corner. It is painfully obvious in its suspicion. He wants to be seen by Kylo and knows he has been.
Therefore, he is the distraction.
Kylo casually sits back and picks up the wine glass, a decent Bordeaux, by the taste of it. The dry liquid coats his tongue while he strategizes on exiting without causing a scene.
"The Secretary is dead," Donloe confesses in a frantic whisper.
Kylo calmly sets the glass down on the table, twisting the stem between his fingers. Clenching his jaw, he sucks in a breath through his teeth.
Shit.
===============================
"Stop whatever you are doing and come with me," Ava practically shouts, tugging at your arm.
Resisting for only a moment, you let her lead you towards the doors to the dining room with a confused expression. Thankfully, you hear the chime of table 24's order make it into the system as you are dragged away.
"Look who I just sat in E's section," she says in a giggle.
"Where is he, anyway?" you ask absentmindedly. Peeking out the window, you scan the tables you can see, searching for someone new. Your eyes glaze over the occupied seat before you do a double-take, jaw dropping open before you can catch yourself. The question is instantly forgotten.
"Right?!"
"Holy shit," you whisper, ushering her away from the busy doors while your mind reels. Dark wavy hair. Dark blue suit. You only caught a glimpse, but just his profile is...holy shit. Handsome is not even a good enough word.
However, the freakout comes to a complete stop when you remember he is seated across from another person. Couple. Valentine's Day. Right.
Ava presses her palms to her cheeks. "I feel so hot, like, it's not normal."
You laugh. "Me too, how dare he."
She groans, dragging her hands down her face. "And he didn't even talk, just pointed to the table, like, okay, rude, but hot."
You are about to reply when the chef bellows your name. Face dropping immediately, you are in the process of rushing over when he orders, "Fucking hell, YOU, yes, you—take over Enrique's section, I sent him to help the bar—you better not piss me off—" He whirls around. "Those steaks should be ready by now."
Widening your eyes, you turn back and find Ava staring with her mouth open. A building smile. She appears more gleeful than ever.
You groan under your breath, hoping your flustered appearance goes entirely unnoticed by the guest. Guests. It is all fine. You'll drop off the order. You'll check in on weird Russian guy. Go to the bar. Have Enrique sneak you a shot. It will all be fine.
By the time you are carrying out the steak through those swinging doors, the only thing your brain can concentrate on is preventing your hand from shaking so much that you drop the dish.
It is harder to do the closer you get.
Your heart is pounding as you ponder the inevitable disaster.
===============================
"You are clear on what needs to be done? If you come back here—"
"Yes. Crystal clear," Kylo grits out, pissed off. Of course, he is subjected to a menial task. The whole IMF is already fucked, but sure, he is supposed to find the one dead agent who is apparently not dead.
Burning holes in Dunloe's tie with his stare, Kylo rolls his jaw in annoyance, about to say fuck off in a polite way when there is a plate slid in front of the man. Steak. Unbelievable.
"Is there anything I can get started for you, sir?"
"No—" Kylo does a double-take.
Unseen forces whip his gaze back to the glamorous eyes staring down at him.
His lips part. Merely a millimeter or two, but it feels as though his jaw has dropped.
You have seized his attention completely. Effortlessly. Beautif—
No.
His heart thumps.
No.
Kylo is never caught off guard. Never surprised. Never— The faint sound of your shaky inhale has his cock half hard in an instant. Jesus. That is unnerving.
"No, thank you," he finishes slowly, brows faintly drawing together when your eyes tear away.
"Okay," you squeak, spinning around.
Kylo tilts his head to watch you, dragging his gaze down your form while you rush away, curling the corner of his lip. Fucking delicious. "—did you hear me?" Donloe's garbled voice comes back into existence right as the entire room's ambiance snaps back into reality. "The location—"
"I got it," Kylo snaps, darting a resentful look at the analyst when his concentration is broken. He returns to his tracking almost immediately, hungry eyes following you around the room.
"Right, well."
You are moving fast, swerving your way around the room. He consumes your every movement, analyzes glimpses of your facial expression, and studies your body language. You are nervous. New at this, perhaps. Your smile—Fuck.
Your trajectory quickly becomes apparent to him. The dread is quite sobering. Not there, sweetheart.
Shit. You go right up to the Russian, oblivious to the danger.
Protectiveness surges forward with more force than Kylo is ready for, and he suddenly finds himself standing.
What the fuck. What am I doing.
"What are you doing?" Donloe whispers.
Kylo changes his plan.
"Stand up five seconds after I walk away and leave calmly through the front entrance," Kylo says casually, buttoning his suit. "Do not rush."
He does not wait to hear the reply. Kylo is striding confidently towards the edge of the room, glaring at the Russian whose attention is preoccupied with you.
Get away, he thinks, worry and frustration overcoming him. The volatility of these unexpected emotions should be disconcerting, considering it is something he has spent years suppressing within himself.
He thought he had lost the ability to feel anything other than anger a long time ago.
And he forgot how goddamn thrilling the turbulence feels.
Walking in the shadows along the perimeter, Kylo stalks closer with a single-minded approach. Eliminate the threat.
—
"I'm glad to hear you enjoyed the scallops, sir," you say, gathering the silverware onto his empty plate.
Still stunned and feeling breathless, you are trying to convince yourself the intensity of that seconds-long interaction was more in your head rather than anything based in reality. Right. It was all in your head that you felt your feet being swept out from under you.
"Would you like to see a dessert menu?"
The man barks a laugh. You are about to take the plate away and straighten, internally pleading he does not try to grab you again. Too late. He is going for your wrist. "I would like to see—"
A booming voice. "Leo!"
You jolt at the same time as the man, snatching your arms away.
A colossal hand clamps down on the Russian man's shoulder. He winces. Hard.
Your eyes travel up that dark blue suit. Tight around the thighs. White button-down. No tie. First two buttons undone. A second later, they meet a pair of dark eyes. Him.
"So good to see you," he says with a shocking amount of intensity, staring directly at you with dark, sparkling eyes.
An angry sputter, "Ty che, blyad?"
He smoothly takes a seat opposite, a broad grin on his face with something menacing beneath it. "It's Ben! The party at Viktor's, you remember, surely." A cocky, upward nod.
The weird Russian man looks entirely confused. And angry. Frankly, so are you. Well, disappointed, really. If this guy, Ben, associates with people like this—
A dull thump.
Creepy guy is facedown on his plate. Limp.
You gasp, tensing in surprise.
"It's okay." Ben raises both hands, deep voice now entirely serious. He stands in the blink of an eye, clasping your upper arms and turning you towards his body. "We need to leave," he says calmly. The chatter around you has changed. People are starting to notice.
"We?" Your instinctual effort to move away is unsuccessful, but you feel strangely content when his response is to tug you into his chest.
Expensive cologne. Fresh linen. Holy—
He darts his eyes behind you, and a second later, an unfamiliar shout comes from behind you.
You swivel your head to look. One of the guests is storming over, shoving a server out of his way. Another man is to the right, similarly careless in his rampage. "Um," you stutter.
Kylo grunts, alternating his eyes between you and the threat. "The kitchen. Go to the kitchen." You still appear bewildered, frozen even when he removes his hands from you. A different strategy, then.
"Sweetheart?" Kylo asks softly, eyes on the man approaching behind you. Five seconds.
Four.
"What?" you blurt in confusion.
Three.
Fully expecting you to hesitate, Kylo braces his hand to your shoulder, prepared to push you out of the way.
"I need you to duck." Two.
You crouch down immediately.
One.
Mildly impressed, he pouts his bottom lip with a tilt of his head, curling his fingers into a fist and cracking the man in the nose with a satisfying crunch.
With a horrible yelp, the attacker stumbles backward into a table, clutching his bloody face.
The restaurant erupts in screams. Everyone nearby jumps up from their seats, briefly blocking the second hostile's path as they all try to escape.
Kylo spots you crawling across the floor, two tables over. Very quick. Good, but careless.
You could get trampled, for God's sake.
Assessing the situation once more, he grunts in frustration. There are two more hostiles by the bar. Right where you are headed. Simple. Draw their attention.
The second man finally makes it through the panicked crowd, coming fast from the left. Picking up the empty wine bottle on the table with his back to the guy, Kylo, pretending he is not aware of the imminent threat, casually flips it in his hand and grabs the neck of it.
Swinging his arm around with a grunt, the bottle strikes his opponent's head, glass cracking loudly. "Der'mo!" The incoming fist flails, easily blocked by Kylo's forearm.
Kylo punches him in the stomach, fist like a hammer into a feather pillow. Once. Twice. Three times. Rage fuels his strength. Four. A rib cracks under his knuckles. Five.
The man is tenacious, shouting as he blinks through the blood running down his forehead, interrupting the angry barrage by wrapping an elbow around Kylo's neck and attempting to connect his knee to a face.
Kylo doesn't let him, instead barreling forward and sending the two of them crashing into a table. It collapses. Glasses shatter on the hard floor. Screams get louder as they brawl on the floor, rolling over, again and again, trading punches with grisly thuds.
Really, the noise in here is reaching an annoying volume.
Unfortunately colliding with the metal leg of a chair to dodge an incoming fist, pain spikes up Kylo's shoulder.
The guy jumps up and pulls a knife. For fucks sake.
He has to hurry.
Realistically, he knows the men are not after you. Sure. But—
Kylo tackles the man by the legs with a loud grunt, using the momentum to slam him into the floor. The knife skitters away as the man groans in pain.
Pinning his opponent to the ground, Kylo seethes through clenched teeth and delivers a crippling fist right across the temple. The man goes unconscious.
Finally.
Kylo frowns. He is not usually this distracted.
A gunshot cracks through the air, bullet shattering the brick wall beside Kylo. Rolling left, he takes temporary cover behind a still standing table, drawing his gun and cocking it. The barrage of shots sends a chair beside him flying forward.
He clicks his tongue, impatiently sweeping the hair out of his face.
You better be in the kitchen by the time he makes it over there.
—
"Oh my god," Enrique practically shouts. Shushing him, you cover his mouth with a shaking palm, hearing gunshots erupt around the dining room. His terrified eyes dart around, muffled words barely audible.
You made it behind the bar barely seconds ago, having crawled all the way over here, thankfully passing through the room unseen.
"Have you seen Ava?" you ask him, slowly taking your hand off his mouth.
He shakes his head, glancing over to the two other customers who managed to make it back here. A bottle shatters above. You all yelp. Whiskey sprays out, pouring down the shelves.
"Okay," you say shakily, adjusting your feet. "I'm just going to—" Starting to raise up, Enrique tugs you back down by the sleeve.
"What are you— no!"
"I want to see if I can spot her," you say in a frantic whisper, pushing upwards again. He lets you go, covering his own mouth and making a worrying noise. A brief second, that's all you need. Subconsciously, though you don't want to admit it, you are also driven by curiosity.
Peeking over the bar, you notice the dining room is empty. No Ava. Another gunshot immediately sounds. You inhale sharply, freezing. The guy directly in your line of sight cries out and stumbles forward, clutching his thigh while his gun goes clattering across the floor.
"Oh my god," you exclaim, seeing Ben on the other side immediately lower his handgun, disbelief on his face. Shock. Outrage?
Unfortunately, your voice has drawn the attention of the attacker's partner, standing to your right. He looks at you. Looks at Ben. Then back at you once again, swiftly moving to point his gun in your direction.
With a sharp yelp, you disappear back behind the bar.
Your heart hammers against your chest.
Fear, yes. But out of the corner of your eye, you saw Ben sprinting towards the bar.
Enrique pulls you down further. "What?!"
There is no shot.
A furious grunt. A sickening thud shakes the entire bar, knocking over an entire row of liquor.
"Kitchen!" you shout in a whisper, ushering Enrique and the guests towards the swinging doors two meters away, crawling quickly across the broken glass.
You stumble through the doors last, following the group towards the back.
—
The kitchen doors slam into the adjacent walls right as Kylo yanks at the man's collar, preventing the motherfucker from reaching you. "Otva'li," the man curses, whirling around and trying to shove him backward with a lengthy string of threats in Russian that sink Kylo's stomach.
Not a chance, he thinks, dodging a jab to the gut. This concern for you is...intriguing.
Kylo spots you across the kitchen, heart rate briefly spiking when the top of your head disappears behind a metal table. His distraction, unfortunately, prevents him from evading the fist headed for his nose.
A gruesome crack across his face. Kylo grunts in anger, rolling his neck back and gritting his teeth.
Quite tired of this, he is delighted to see a rolling pin on a counter within reach.
Swiping it up, Kylo whacks the guy across the head, sending him straight to the ground.
Kylo swipes his thumb under his nose as he walks, making a "tsk" sound when it comes away with blood.
A door opens at the back.
His dress shoes stop clicking against the tile, and he listens intently.
Hushed whispers.
He starts moving again, having recognized your voice.
Rounding the corner, a woman is welcoming your little group into what looks like a wine cellar. You turn your head back at him, lips parting. On all fours. He raises his brows. The sight briefly relieves his annoyance that you have put yourself last to enter the room. Quite unsafe.
Someone could easily snatch you up.
Which is precisely what he is about to do, but the point still stands.
Grabbing your waist, Kylo drags you backward and up, speedily swiveling around and throwing you over his shoulder while you call out behind him, "Ava!"
You punch at his back, kicking your feet and flailing around. "What the fuck," you shout. A reasonable effort, but it's no use. A glance through the windows and Kylo kicks one of the swing doors open, passing into the dining room.
There is an angry shout, and Kylo remembers the man he left out here with a bullet in his leg. Still conscious. With a quick roll of his eyes, he deposits you onto the bar counter and pats your cheek, waking up that gorgeous, shocked face with a composed, "Stay right here, please."
"What—"
The man lunges for Kylo as he turns and is met with a brutal fist in the jugular. A right and left hook in vicious succession, and Kylo is hooking his elbow around the man's neck, whipping his body around like a doll into a chokehold.
Kylo bites the inside of his cheek, impatiently waiting for the struggling man to fall unconscious, enduring the scrambling hands uselessly fighting his unwavering hold as he studies your astonished expression with a tilt of his head.
It is quite endearing, he realizes, how your eyes never stray from his. A million different thoughts are running through your head, and your eyes are stuck on his, revealing them all.
It takes about ten seconds for the Russian to fall limp. Kylo drops him with a thud, not giving the man even a momentary glance as he steps up to you, all his attention on you.
"What's your name," he murmurs, grasping your waist and lifting you off the counter, fighting a shaky inhale when you hold onto his shoulders for stability.
A stuttered whisper makes it past your lips as Kylo hurriedly pulls you through the empty restaurant, somehow floating to his ears above the vintage music still playing. Such a pretty name. It fits you perfectly, he wants to say.
"What is going on?" you ask nervously, keeping up with him surprisingly well.
Kylo pauses at the front entrance, bracing a hand against your sternum to stop your momentum from sending you straight through the window he is currently glancing through. As he suspected, reinforcements are coming in through the back. Good.
"Listen to me."
It shocks his system to find you already staring when he turns to meet your eyes.
God, you look so flustered.
Sexy.
Sucking in a breath, he continues. "You need to come with me. Those men think we are working together."
He pushes open the front entrance, stepping into the cold air and reaching for the car keys in his suit pocket while shielding you from the frenzied crowd running every which way.
Police sirens are in the distance. Five blocks away.
"Why would—" A mechanical chirp.
You watch the sleek doors to the car open vertically, parting your mouth in surprise at the all-black interior. The hand on your arm tightens. Not painfully, but enough to deter you from struggling.
With a bothered frown, Ben shoves away a terrified man about to run into you. The crowd out here is screaming, countless frantic people on the phone yelling incoherently. "We don't have much time, sweetheart, either get in the car or run, although—" Another shove to a distracted person. "—that would make my night more difficult than I would like."
He removes his grip. There is no urge to sprint away.
"The people inside—" you say, worried.
"Will be fine."
You dart your eyes between Ben and the restaurant, noticing no more gunshots.
Wasting no more time, you slide into the car.
Seconds later, your door clicks closed, and he is in the driver's seat, starting the engine with the press of a button. It purrs to life.
He shifts the gear into reverse and winds an arm around your seat to help him look out the back.
"Seatbelt," he says.
You draw in a breath. His face is so close to yours.
You reach for the seatbelt with jittery hands and click it into place. There are cars parked in front and behind. You have no idea how—
The car accelerates backward insanely fast as he spins the wheel right, somehow managing to escape with not even a scratch.
You watch the street whiz by backward, widening your eyes at the speed as he weaves between traffic.
All of a sudden, the car swings right, back tires skidding with a loud screech. Your hands on the leather seat tighten, extra adrenaline pumping through your veins when you spot two black SUVs out your passenger window. That's not the police.
With an exasperated grunt, Ben changes gears and speeds down Sixth Avenue, lacing between cars. He races through a green light. A red. He does not hesitate, expertly knitting through the vehicles while you stay pinned to the seat with the force of his driving. He swerves and briefly bumps onto the sidewalk to miss a taxi, causing the entire car to tilt sideways slightly.
He mows down a row of trash cans, sending garbage bags flying. Pedestrians have to jump out of way, and their screams fade instantly as he accelerates even more, veering to avoid a light pole at the last second.
Out of the blue, the back windshield shatters. Night air floods in as bullets bombard the bumper.
With a shriek, you bend forward and cover the back of your head with both hands. You hear a tire pop, and he swerves right. Unstable now, your body tilts left.
A gruff sound beside you. "Sit up."
The order sobers you surprisingly fast.
However, you realize Central Park is right up ahead when you straighten. The driver's side window shatters, and so does the mirror to your right, falling away from the car. He seems completely collected, not flinching at anything. You shrink down, shivering in fear and adrenaline.
Startlingly, there is a spark of excitement as well.
He is speeding up.
"You're gonna turn, right?" you half-yell, grabbing the handle above your head with one hand and your seat with the other.
"Brace yourself," he grunts, changing gears and revving the engine.
"No no no—"
"Yes," he says, a slight amusement to his tone.
He speeds across yet another intersection and crashes through the wooden signs displaying Authorized Vehicles Only, tires screeching as he follows the curved path into Central Park.
Trees replace skyscrapers. Scattered people dart away with screams.
Whipping your head around to peek over the seat, those SUVs are still following. Men hang out from the windows, guns silhouetted in their hands by the city lights quickly disappearing in favor of the canopied darkness.
"Jesus—Get—" A sharp turn left. "Get down."
"Should I sit up or get down, I don't know what to freaking do, I'm freaking out!" you speedily confess in a shout, returning to your shrunken position in the passenger seat and reaching for your phone, aiming to contact Enrique.
Ben's laugh surprises you, deep and full. More gunshots ring out, hitting the pavement with loud cracks. Blinking up from your bright screen, you meet his eyes when they flick to the side, the chaos around you momentarily falling away.
However, the amusement on his face drops. Immediately, he grabs the phone from your hand and chucks it out his broken window.
"Hey!"
"Sorry, sweetheart."
That same hand goes to the emergency brake, engaging it as he drifts left around a curve. "You got someone waiting for you to come home?" He snaps it back and shifts gears, engine roaring.
You try and hold on as he takes a hard right. Seconds pass while you try to figure out why his voice sounded so different in that last question.
Ben glances your way, a flash of distress crossing his face.
"Just my—ahh!" He swerves to avoid a boulder splitting the path in half. "My roommate—well, Enrique can tell her—oh my god." The car tilts again as he drives up on the curb and around a bicyclist.
"Hm." He grunts with a nod, white-knuckling the steering wheel in a death grip.
You widen your eyes. The leather is squeaking under his fist. Any longer, and he might actually crack it in half.
"Because he's a good friend," you blurt, cringing as you look up at him.
He cocks an eyebrow. Tension vanished. Eyes shifting to the rear-view mirror, something passes over his face, and he orders, "Hold on tight."
A sharp turn.
The car hurtles straight into the dark greenery, barely missing a tree.
"Oh, my f—" A large palm clamps down over your entire face, pinning you to the headrest as the car goes careening over a small hill.
You scream against his hand, sound muffled, vision blurred by his fingers.
The impact a second later is jarring. If you were not being held in place by this fucking steel hand, your neck would have whipped forward at a dangerous speed.
The car skids to a stop in the grass.
And immediately, the engine shuts off.
His warm hand swiftly moves to solely cover your mouth as his broad body leans over the console. "Shhh," he hushes your muffled shrieks, bringing his other palm to the nape of your neck and meeting your terrified gaze with an intensely calm one. "Shhshh." Though complete darkness has enveloped your surroundings, it does not dull the sparkle in his eyes.
Your hammering heart calms by a fraction of a beat.
You fall silent, breathing frantically through your nose.
There are screeches of tires in the distance. Angry shouts. Random gunfire. The SUVs are passing by, sounds getting further away by the second.
Holy shit, you internally scream.
"...give yourself whiplash, I swear to God," Kylo mutters, shaking his head.
What you say in response, he can't make out.
Though it seems quite panicked.
He huffs in amusement and murmurs, "You aren't going to scream if I remove my hand. Right?"
The Russians are still close, and if they hear anything unusual, you both are fucked. It was lucky enough he managed to escape their pursuit. Too lucky. You shake your head, widened eyes staring up at him. He believes you. It's strange.
He slowly takes his hand away, instantly missing the softness of your lips against his palm, the warmth of your breath. Jesus. Unnerving.
"I said you were the one driving," you whisper.
"Ah, so I would have given you whiplash if I hadn't held that delicate neck in place," Kylo replies, not making any attempt to lean away and taking it as a good sign that you don't either. Your eyes dart down to his lips. Interesting.
He lets the side of his mouth draw up into a sly smirk.
"Are you kidnapping me?" you ask, a hint of mischief in those enchanting eyes.
Kylo blinks. "No." He strokes his thumb on the back of your neck, fascinated by how soft you feel.
"Okay, um—" you stutter. Again, your attention is drawn towards his mouth. Hm. "Good, 'cause, I'd...rather not be...kidnapped."
Kylo slowly nods, mesmerized by how your lips pop with the letter 'P.'
"Nothing to worry about then," he murmurs, skimming his lips across yours and brushing his nose against your cheek.
You inhale shakily. God. That sound could play on repeat in his head all day, and he would never tire of it.
You whisper, "We're crashed...in—in Central Park...with armed men after us, and you're telling me there's nothing to worry about?"
Kylo draws back an inch, amused.
"Yes," he says confidently with a wink. "Long as you stick with me."
"Who are you?" you murmur, eyes searching his face for answers, unaware that you have no hope of finding anything he does not want you to see.
"Hm," Kylo grunts, reaching across your body for the glove compartment. Mm. You smell so— light.
It clicks open, and he swiftly grabs the spare handgun. Sitting back before he devours you, Kylo pulls the old gun from his back waistband, checking the mag before sliding the new one into its place.
He is about to answer your question with his classic cover story when he freezes, catching a glimpse of your hands faintly illuminated by the moonlight.
The old gun drops to the console.
Grasping both your forearms, Kylo yanks you towards him and surveys the bloody mess with horror flooding his veins. Tiny shards of glass are stuck in the heels of your hands—fuck.
"Oh, I—" You pull back uselessly, bound to wait until Kylo finishes making changes to his mental plan.
A tense moment. A sharp exhale. "Okay," he states, objective set, tenderly releasing your arms.
He pushes open the car door next, pausing when he does not hear you move. Looking back at you expectantly, he says, "Haven't got all night, sweetheart."
Jolting as if you pop back into awareness, you shake your head a bit and then nod, getting out quickly.
—
"Your uniform," Ben says as you round the car.
Stepping over fallen branches and decimated bushes, you make a confused face, and he adds, "Take it off."
Looking down at your waistcoat and apron, you hesitate for only a moment before stripping them off and throwing them into the driver's seat, being left in a white blouse and black pants.
He pulls something shiny from his suit pocket, and with a metallic click, he tosses the small object through the same broken window.
He nods for you to follow him, walking purposefully towards the illuminated street up ahead.
You catch up to his long strides with a jog, about to ask what he threw when a muffled detonation sounds. Gasping as you turn back, white smoke plumes out from the interior of the car, filling it entirely and pooling onto the ground as concentrated flames erupt from within, bright and orange.
"What—"
Ben is still walking, already meters ahead.
You groan in frustration, rushing forward.
Another question takes precedence. "Where are we going?" you ask, looking up at him and poking his sleeve to get his attention.
He smirks as he glances down, looking humored.
—
Faint music plays from the tinny speakers above, and fluorescent lights flicker in and out.
"...beyond the sea..."
A brisk five-minute walk, through two alleys, avoiding three cop cars, and you have ended up in a 24-hour convenience store, just off 86th street. Cars pass outside, honks of traffic amplified by the open doors.
Other than the clerk, you are the only people inside.
Ben looks down at your hands for the hundredth time and promptly grabs another box of gauze.
"...she's there watching for me..."
Medical supplies are stacked in his arms. Band-aids. Tweezers. Hydrogen Peroxide. Antibiotic ointment. Duplicates of them all.
"It doesn't hurt," you try, following him down the aisle.
"It will." He stops at the back in front of the coolers, eyeing the drinks. "You're in shock."
"...I'd go sailing..."
He opens the door, refrigerated air rushing out. "Want anything?"
You raise your brows, gingerly picking up a sweet drink that looks good. It is the only thing he has let you carry so far.
He lets the door swing shut, briskly heading towards the shelves of liquor. Swiping up a bottle of whiskey off one of the top shelves, he turns on his heels back towards you.
You skid to a stop, startled, realizing you were following quite close.
Ben tilts his head, scanning your face intently.
"...I know beyond a doubt..."
For a moment, you simply stare back, contemplative.
And then, you slowly raise your hand to his right cheekbone, where a small gash runs parallel to his jaw. A grim, purple bruise is already forming.
Your fingers hover over the wound, trembling in the air as you move to study his bloody nose.
"Are you in shock?" you ask softly, genuinely curious. Also, slightly worried. However, you do not know if you need to be. He seems very experienced at all this, to say the least.
"...we'll meet beyond the shore..."
Barely moving, he shakes his head, lips parting as his jaw visibly relaxes.
Eventually, he speaks, conflict in his eyes.
"Not in the same way."
Kylo grunts, internally cursing himself as he abruptly pulls away and walks towards the register.
The clerk, a young man, lurches up from a nap when Kylo slams the bottle of whiskey down on the counter. It smells strongly of cigarettes over here. The supplies pile in the middle, tumbling over each other.
You set the drink down softly beside it all, appearing at Kylo's side once again. He flicks his eyes to you and, on the way, notices a bucket of individual red roses on the counter. A handmade sign hangs off the side, a heart drawn in sharpie with $1 scribbled in the center of it.
Hm.
With a yawn, the clerk begins to scan the items and toss them into a plastic bag.
Cordial silence against the busy sounds of the city and vintage music. It is all going well until the guy looks at you and exchanges polite smiles, ogling gaze drifting downwards.
Kylo narrows his eyes, watching carefully.
It would not be good to cause a scene here.
Although—
No. That would not be good.
Stop looking at my girl, you fucker—
"$120.67," the clerk says, looking between the both of you, visibly startled when he gets his first look at Kylo's beaten face.
Kylo jerks his chin towards the roses. "And one of those."
Your shoulder brushes against his arm. A delicate intake of air. Electricity surges through his chest, and Kylo suddenly has the impractical urge to buy the whole bucket. Unnerving. The clerk nods, drawing one out of the water and holding it out while he inputs the price.
Kylo takes the rose as he pulls a phone from his pocket, noticing the man's eyes slightly widen at his bruised and bloodied knuckles.
Sweeping the device over the keypad to pay, Kylo purses his lips and nods politely.
The system beeps in confirmation, transaction approved. Kylo wastes no time gathering the plastic bag and lifting it off the counter.
Meeting your eyes and nodding to the entrance, a moment later, Kylo is following you out onto the street when the clerk calls out from inside, "Happy Valentine's Day!"
Kylo blinks, pausing on the sidewalk for half a second before continuing his scan for threats while walking.
You look up at him with a confused smile as he leads you down the block. "Did you not know it was Valentine's Day?"
He meets your eyes, perplexed.
Not at his ignorance of today's date, holidays don't matter to him, and they haven't for a long time.
But, you spotted a cluelessness that he had not meant to reveal. Though trivial, you read his internal thoughts like they were plain on his face, and it is so unfamiliar coming from another person that his mind is at a standstill.
He frowns, speeding up down the sidewalk.
Hm.
You giggle, matching his pace with little clicks of your shoes. "Wait— so, you weren't on a date?"
Kylo does a double-take.
"No," he states in slight disbelief. He repeats the word in a grumble as he points to turn right. "No."
Your laugh rings through the air beautifully. "Oh."
Unnerving.
A few blocks later, he ushers you down an alley, wanting to hurry and get you to the nearest safe house even if he is not authorized to do so. Just a couple of hours. It's not like the consequences matter. The agency has gone to shit anyways.
"What was it, then?" you ask.
"A meeting." He prevents you from stepping out onto the street with a hand to your waist, spinning you to face him. Reaching up to a metal ladder to his right, he hauls it down and eyes the fire escape up the side of the building.
"About the Kremlin?"
Kylo does another double-take, a spark of surprise. He smirks. "Curious little thing, aren't you?"
You freeze, swallowing hard.
With a grin, Kylo scrunches his nose playfully, a dare in his eyes.
With a click of his tongue and a nod to the ladder he is holding steady, he says, "Ladies first."
—
"Ahh—" You hiss in pain as he pulls another piece of glass from your hand. Taking another swig of the whiskey, it burns as you swallow.
It took Ben five minutes to be satisfied by the condition of your right hand, and he has been working on the left for at least double that, quiet in his concentration.
You set the bottle down next to you with another wince, your own drink forgotten next to it.
He grunts, brows furrowed as he drops it into the bowl on the counter beside you. Taking a second to dip the tweezers in the hydrogen peroxide, Ben adjusts your hand and goes in again with intense focus.
You clench your jaw, trying not to breathe hard. Though it stings, badly, the pain is helping to distract you from how close he is.
Another piece clinks in the bowl.
Ben had hoisted you onto the bathroom counter by the waist, stepping between your legs like it was nothing. And, you had spread them to accommodate his broad body like it was an entirely normal position, not thinking about the consequences until his breath was hitting your face and his lips were inches from yours.
By then, it was impossible to form a coherent thought as he bowed over you to reach the bag of supplies, his cologne overwhelming you in the best possible way.
Your inner thighs are touching his legs. Hips, nearly connected. Though his are higher up on account of his height. Oh dear, you glanced down. A bulge that big— Honestly, you might be hyperventilating.
"Breathe," he says out of the blue, not looking up as he drops another piece into the bowl.
"Mhm," you whimper.
His dark eyes flick to your face, a slight twitch under the right one.
In this light, they look sort of...hazel.
You exhale slowly, and he tips his head in a slight nod.
"All done," he rumbles, setting down the tweezers and grabbing the antibiotic ointment. He is still cradling the back of your hand in his when he tears the box open with his teeth.
He tips it over and shakes the tube onto the counter.
Dazed, you watch him untwist the cap with one hand, large fingers shockingly nimble.
The ointment stings as he applies it, and you hiss in pain once again. To distract yourself, you blurt, "Um—that man, in the restaurant."
Kylo calmly picks up your other hand and applies the gel with the same methodical approach. "Yes?"
"Did you...how did you knock him out?"
Ah, the Russian at the table. Kylo sets down the ointment and smirks as he straightens, holding up his right hand with the palm towards you. He flicks his thumb at the black ring on his middle finger. A thin needle pops out.
"Oh," you say. A breathless, "Huh."
"Mm." He slides the cover back into place with a click, forcing the needle to retract.
He arranges your hands face-up on your thighs, patting your legs in a silent order to keep them there.
Picking up a box of gauze squares, Kylo tears it open rather indelicately, grabbing plenty more than he needs. He does the same with the Band-Aid's, ending up with an unorganized pile on the counter.
He works on each hand separately, putting Band-Aids on the scrapes that don't worry him and placing the squares on the heels of your hands. He layers two.
Three.
Four.
Five. Just making sure it's fully covered.
Next, he grabs the gauze wrapping and rips open the plastic package. You hold your hands perfectly still, palms up. Good girl.
"Can I ask something else?" You sound more hesitant. Interesting.
Holding the end of the gauze on your left wrist with his thumb, Kylo starts wrapping your hand, unrolling it he goes. The motions are automatic. With years under his belt of doing this on himself, he is finished in seconds, moving to your right hand once he secures the end with a clip.
"Go ahead," he says, glancing up. In all honesty, he can't remember the last time anyone asked him this many questions.
In fact, in a job where questions are designed to be nonessential, he works alone to ensure how avoids them because even by IMF standards, his methods are...unconventional.
But with you, the questions do not bother him. It is strange.
"Is your name really Ben?"
He lets the corner of his lip curl up, a dangerous lilt to his voice. "No."
Your exhale wavers.
Kylo finishes securing the wrapping on your right hand and takes hold of your delicate wrists, surveying the outcome and deciding he is satisfied.
A breath.
"It's...a name," he mutters, guiding your hands up and fighting a shiver when your fingertips reach out and trace along the lines of his suit jacket. He pulls your wrists closer, curious.
"Like—one of many?" you murmur, voice unstable.
Kylo tenses his muscles when you touch his abdomen over the dress shirt, groaning under his breath as your hands begin to explore.
He nods, chest tightening.
What the hell am I doing? His fingers trace the tops of your thighs, hands aching to grab. What are you doing to me?
His head tips forward on its own, pulled in by an unseen force.
Kylo takes a step backward, taking the whiskey with him. Your arms slump down, and sharp regret surges forward in his chest.
He takes a pull, two big swallows before he lowers the bottle.
Taking a deep breath, Kylo turns ninety degrees, shrugging the suit jacket off his shoulders as he walks out of the bathroom, suddenly hot. I can't look you in the eyes for this, sweetheart.
You gulp as his form disappears through the doorway, thinking that was the wrong thing to say.
The silent moment seems to drag on forever, nearly deafening, until a deep voice in the bedroom interrupts.
"What if I told you..."
You grip the edge of the counter tight, confusion and apprehension swirling together.
A deep laugh. "...that there was an agency within the U.S. government...top-secret...elite..."
His footsteps stop abruptly. A few seconds later, the click of his dress shoes on the wood floor returns. He is pacing.
Wide-eyed, you study the tile under your hanging feet and wait for him to continue, afraid that if you even breathe, he will stop talking.
"An organization that handles missions the CIA cannot...missions too dangerous, too sensitive...shit, I don't—" The words fall off into incoherent grumbles.
You hear him take a seat on the bed, frame creaking.
"And what if I told you, I am a senior field operations agent for it."
You can't stop the astonished smile that spreads across your face. Oh my god.
Kylo hangs his head and grips the back of his neck with both hands, tight.
Never in a million years did he think he would reveal this to a stranger, to anyone.
Then again, you don't feel like just anyone.
And, well, Kylo also never thought the President would disavow the entire IMF.
Ghost Protocol.
The fucker.
What loyalty does he owe an organization that no longer exists?
Nothing.
Shit. You are still quiet.
Too quiet.
Kylo abruptly lifts his head and does a double-take, inhaling sharply through his nose when he sees your glamorous silhouette illuminated in the doorway.
He is afraid even to breathe.
Afraid?
Jesus, Kylo.
You walk towards him, slowly, but, not apprehensive in your stride.
He straightens as you step in between his thighs, so enthralled with your beauty that he is almost shocked by the damp washcloth you bring to his cheek.
Giving in, his hands snap to your hips. A possessive squeeze. Mm.
Your hand stutters in its first gentle wipe, pretty eyes darting to his for a moment. He cannot get a read on your expression in the dim light.
It is killing him.
React, he silently begs.
Begs?
Jesus fucking Christ, Kylo.
You clean the dried blood off his face, working quietly, caressing his clean skin with soft fingers. There is no spark of pain. The nerves are too used to the feeling. But, a strange sort of comfort manages to make its way through him, calming volatile doubt and impatience.
When you are finished, you drop the washcloth where you stand, not attempting to move from his hold.
Surprising him yet again, you pull the antibiotic ointment out of nowhere, applying a small amount with careful concentration, then proceeding to toss the tube onto the bed. You open a large Band-Aid next, letting the wrapper fall as you position it over the cut on his cheek. Beautiful legs, not moving an inch. Perfect hips, secured in his hands.
You are swiping your fingers across the bandage to affix it when Kylo realizes he cannot remember the last time anyone touched his face without the intent to harm.
"Thanks, sweetheart," he says casually.
Your gaze floats up to his waiting one—a small smile.
A shallow breath. Your chest stutters on the second.
Your fingers lightly trail down his face as if following the would-be path of nonexistent tears. The graceful touch pours down his neck and catches on the collar of his shirt.
Three. Four.
"You're very welcome...senior field operations agent."
Five.
On a low groan, Kylo impatiently takes hold of your face and pulls you forward, halting at the last second from connecting his lips to yours.
It causes you to stumble, catching yourself with widespread fingers on his tensed pecs.
Ever so slowly, he tilts your head. Desperately deliberate, he slips a thumb underneath your chin, maneuvering your face exactly how he wants it.
Kylo can feel your nervous swallow, and blood rushes to his already hard cock.
A hairsbreadth from each other, trembles are freely traded, something exhilarating passing back and forth in wavering sighs of air.
Applying the slightest amount of pressure, he unhinges your jaw with eyelids on the verge of closing, fully entranced and wondering how you taste.
It is a small sound that is his undoing.
A sweet little whine from the back of your throat barely sounds before Kylo is devouring you, pressing his tongue to your waiting one and groaning into your mouth. You melt into him, arching into his upper half and eagerly returning the kiss, clutching his button-down in tight little fists.
It is a wave of passion, momentarily subsiding before crashing over the two of you again and again and again, bobbing heads succumbing to swells of lust, swirling tongues meeting with more and more intensity, groans flowing freely.
Kylo hurriedly gathers you into his lap, greedy hands everywhere. He meets your needy grinds with upward rolls of his hips, throbbing cock held captive in his slacks, wild desire tangling in his gut and forcing a moan deep from within.
You whimper, swearing you can feel his low groan vibrating in your belly as a restless tongue plunges into your mouth, powerful jaw working yours fast and hard. Colossal hands wind around your waist, thick fingers fiercely digging into your skin, helping you rock back and forth along his thick erection as your frantic breaths meld and encourage each other forward.
His mouth tears away, stealing your stability in the process. Reeling in lust, you catch yourself on his sturdy thighs right as he rips open your blouse like it is made of tissue paper—a sharp grunt of surprise. Buttons scatter across the floor while tattered fabric flutters off your shoulders.
"Look at you," he sighs, expression almost pained.
You glance down, breasts still snug in the white lingerie you bought yourself just yesterday. He takes hold of your middle, pulling you closer as if needing a better look, dark eyes darting around to each little red rose embroidered in the sheer fabric. "Wanted to feel nice..." you whisper, trying to calm your heaving chest.
"You look fucking delicious—" A sharp inhale as he brings your breasts close to his face, prominent nose brushing up your sternum as he groans on a long exhale. "My mouth is watering..." A wide lick over your left nipple, the texture of the fabric stimulating you astoundingly well. "...wanting to bite, suck, and lick all at once..." He takes the hardened peak into his mouth, a short groan before he moves onto the other one. "I want to tear this delicate little thing off your body just as much as I want to keep it on...see how those tits bounce in it if I pound into you how I've wanted to all night."
"Oh," you whimper, skin heating up, shuddering as he showers your chest in attention with broad licks and little bites, sucking hard while his hands hold you presented like a gift just for his pleasure.
"Hm, what do you think, sweetheart? Do you want me to make them bounce?" His mouth slides to your neck, pressing wet, passionate kisses under your jaw, dizzying you in his intensity. "Should I check if that warm cunt grinding along my cock is needy enough to take all of me? Does it need a good pounding?"
You wriggle your hips at the tension coiling within you, heart racing with his words. "Yes," you moan. "It does, sir."
"Fuck—" He yanks you into a kiss, roughly grunting as his hips drive upwards in rapid succession. You have no idea what compelled you to call him that, maybe the lack of an alternative, but it fits. His crude groan ignites in passion with your aching moan once again, lips slanting together in a frenzy as your tongues swirl and explore.
His hands slap to your thighs, guiding your pliant legs off his lap and helping you to stand.
Breaking the kiss again with a groan, he laves his tongue down to your tits, dipping down to kiss your stomach as his fingers undo the button of your pants. "Are you wearing a matching set?" he murmurs, meeting your eyes as he draws the zipper down. "Tell me, gorgeous."
"Mhm," you nod, hands on his shoulders.
He pauses with his hands gripping your waistband, cocking a dark brow with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Is that a yes?"
A shaky exhale. "Yes, sir." He groans through closed teeth, jerking the fabric over your ass and letting the garment cascade down.
Kylo swears he practically drools, head bowing forward like he has been reduced to an animal seeking his next meal. Sheer fabric covers the most perfect pussy he has ever seen. Kneading your bare ass with a powerful, impatient grip, he nips at the thin strip of cloth on your hip, tempted to tear it off with his teeth.
A heavy breath against your stomach, and he murmurs, "If you don't want this sexy fucking thong torn apart, I suggest you take it off for me so I can get my tongue in that pretty pussy, but—"
You tense in anticipation. He traces the tip of his tongue below your belly button, placing a gentle kiss on your warm skin before tilting his chin up and resting it on you. "—I can always buy you more...as many as you want, sweetheart."
Kylo watches your lips part, steadying your wriggling hips. A high-pitched, "Um—" The corner of his mouth lifts as he brings a finger to trace between your thighs, blinking slowly as he feels soaked fabric over exquisite softness. You whimper above him, "Lot of...lot of words...."
"I can't stop, gorgeous, I feel your warmth through this thin fabric, and I'm wondering how you would feel wrapped around my cock...sweetheart, you're making it throb," he says, gripping himself through his slacks, hard.
He adds a finger, stroking, rubbing tenderly, and building up a rhythm by applying more pressure. You move with him, rocking and softly moaning. He wrenches your bra down off one of your breasts, latching onto your bare nipple with a guttural sound. Muffled, he speaks, "Tell me who this cunt is begging for."
"You," you moan. "Sir—"
"That's right." Using both hands, Kylo shreds that triangle of fabric down the middle easily, fingers immediately greeted with warm, slick arousal as he dips two into you, thrusting to the knuckle. "Fuuck," he drags out. "I'd buy you hundreds just so I could fuck you through the holes I rip in the lace."
Curling his fingers, he watches with heavy lids as you bow forward with a choked groan, dragging your soft cheek against his, whimpers in his ear invigorating his movements. "Oh, I was right, you were needing it, and you're clenching like you need so much more, greedy girl...you need something deep, filling you again and again and again where nothing else can reach...that pressure of my hips slamming against you while you mewl like a fucking kitten for more."
"Oh my god—" you manage, fully hypnotized by his heavy thumb on your clit.
He sighs against your ear and a shiver races down your spine. "Just like that...but I'm the one you need to call for, not God." With a groan, he stands, fingers still buried deep as he rapidly walks you backward.
Right as your back hits the wall beside the bathroom door, he pounds them impossibly further, forcing you up the wall while he cradles the back of your head. Your hands grip his shoulders tight, and he kisses you quickly, letting you slip back to your tiptoes.
Desperately grabbing onto his shirt with an urgent moan, you endure three forceful drives of his arm, controlling your pelvis with a curl to his upper lip as he watches you fall apart. Then, they pull from you with a wet sound and circle around your clit. Abruptly tender. Sparks blaze through your core, a breathless moan escaping your lips in need.
He drops to his knees, lifting your left leg over his shoulder and pausing with his mouth not even an inch from your pulsing cunt. A low rumble, "I want a taste." A dart of his tongue. You breathe a moan. Sparkling, dazed eyes lift to yours. A tilt of his head.
Then, a broad stripe between your thighs, catching on the ripped lingerie before landing all its attention on your clit. It whirls, wet and sloppy against you, as a long, fevered groan fills the dark room.
Pressing passionate kisses all over your cunt and inner thighs, Kylo's hips roll forward against nothing. Your soft cunt melts in his mouth, sinful taste running down his throat like the finest wine. His hands on your ass serve your cunt to him like his last meal, and he is a starved man going down on the last delicacy in the world. He cannot stop laving his tongue against you, cannot stop the drawn-out moans directly into your quivering pussy.
His eyes flutter open, almost rolling back in his head when he gets a look at your face, fervent and flustered above him, looking as dizzied as he feels.
The entire evening, Kylo could not escape the urge to rush. To hurry. To race towards something.
And it is at this moment that it all falls away. Completely content, Kylo eats your cunt with all the time in the world, satisfied with studying every shiver, every tremble. The mission goes entirely forgotten for these few minutes he spends devouring you, unreservedly focused on your wet and needy cunt, licking to match the beat of his pounding heart.
"Oh—" A more uneven gasp one minute. A higher-pitched whimper the next. A quickened roll of your hips, and Kylo guesses you are getting close to orgasming. Mouth detaching with a lewd groan, he resorts to steadily sawing the tip of his tongue back and forth between your thighs, watching your shiver, satisfied with your pleading face looking down with widened eyes. You were close.
"When I make you come for the first time, I want my cock buried in this trembling cunt." Kylo kisses your clit, sucking it into his mouth as a dirty tease that makes you jolt. An incoherent whine above him has his lips quirking upward. Pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inner thigh resting on his shoulder, he guides the quivering leg off its support, standing ever so slowly to his full height.
With a knuckle under your chin, he tilts your face up as his other hand slips into his slacks.
Your knees feel weak. Your heart is racing. The strength of his tongue had you close to climaxing so quickly, the constant waves of pleasure had you devolving into a whining, moaning mess against the wall.
You blink, doing a double-take as he tears a condom off of the strip he just pulled from his pocket. Tossing the others to the side, he holds one between two fingers, a cocky tilt to his lips as he calmly undoes his belt. "Swiped them off a shelf when you weren't looking..."
Oh. You smile. Unsure of what urge takes over your mind, the need to serve maybe, you find yourself gracefully sinking to your knees, cautiously watching his expression turn dark, lips parting on a sharp exhale.
"Pretty girl wants to take it out for me," he says, abandoning his undone belt to cup the nape of your neck. "Go on, gorgeous, see for yourself how much you affect me."
With a hard swallow, you undo the button and pull down the zipper, skimming your fingers over the bulge that springs towards your face. He grunts above you, hips jerking at the touch. "That's it."
Using both hands, you pull at the top of his black boxer briefs, slowly revealing trimmed dark hair. You hold your breath as you draw the fabric downward, exposing inch by inch the thick length throbbing against your knuckles.
"Oh dear," you whisper, stretching the boxers even further down than you expected, jolting when he swings free, and the warm, hard flesh slaps against your cheek. You hear his fist pound on the wall above you, a restrained, rough grunt filling the air.
With your right hand, you cradle his veiny cock against your face and free his balls with the left, tilting your chin up and dragging your cheek along his length, so your lips brush the head. When your wondrous gaze meets his depraved, hungry one, he lets out a hoarse sigh, slamming his mouth to the crook of his elbow and moaning into it.
You take him into your mouth, sucking hard and whimpering at the erotic taste of it as you lave your tongue underneath the tip.
"Jesus Christ," he stutters, hanging his head down with a slack jaw. "I thought your cheek was the softest thing this cock has ever felt, but you just proved me wrong, sweetheart, look at that gorgeous little mouth stretched around me like...tight satin...all over..." A low grunt. "Can you take it deeper?"
You grip him tight, fingers not meeting around his girth as you guide him until he hits the back of your throat. Not even close to half of it, you realize, is filling up your mouth.
"Yes, yes, gorgeous, that tongue swirling around like it doesn't know what to do with the intrusion, fuck..." The hand on the nape of your neck squeezes as he brings the condom in front of your face. "I'm going to spill down that delicate throat if you keep doing that, take this, sweetheart, and pop those beautiful lips off my cock."
Immediately, you do as he says, a trail of saliva still connecting the head of his cock to your tongue as you gently grab the condom. His freed fingers swipe across your bottom lip, a marveling look on his face as you tear open the small packet. You stretch it over the head, and an immense hand encompasses yours, helping you roll the rest down. "Feel that? Feel it aching for you?"
He urges you to rise with the hold at the base of your head, sweeping you into a kiss once you are upright. It is a languid motion of your heads at first, lips slanting and tongues surging into each other's mouths as the kiss swiftly becomes frenzied. When he detaches, you both are panting, sharing fast breaths of whiskey and lust.
"Arms around my neck," Kylo orders, taking hold of your left thigh and slinging it around his hip, then having a sinful idea as he hooks his elbow under your knee and slaps his hand to the wall beside your waist.
Kylo sighs in relief when your arms instantly band around his shoulders, shivering at the frantic way you hold onto his shirt. "Going to fuck you against this wall," he rasps. "Need to take you right now."
You whine in his ear, rolling your hips forward, wet cunt riding along his rigid cock. Oh. He can't handle it, knowing that tight, wet, warm pussy is so near. His hand goes to your right thigh. A quick slap. "Jump."
"Oh—are you, sure—" You tense.
Kylo nips at your ear and licks under your jaw with a short groan. "I'm so fucking sure, I need you in my arms—" Not letting you hesitate any longer, he hooks his elbow around your knee and bounces you up against the wall, pinning you there with his hips. "—I've got you, honey, you don't even need your hands, in fact, use them to show those pretty tits to me."
He thrusts his hips upward, and you let out a small shriek, tightly gripping his shirt with a fearful whimper. A calming murmur, "Shh, I've got you, I've got you, you're not going to fall."
You swallow hard, meeting his eyes as the head of his cock finds its way between your thighs. Body folded almost in half, he feels even more massive at this angle, alternating nudging into you and sliding against your soaked cunt. An earnest expression washes over him. "You've trusted me this far..." he breathes, eyelids drooping, nose brushing against your cheek. "Trust me to hold you while I stretch open that tight cunt."
You wrench your bra downward, revealing your breasts right as his eyes flick to them. A strained groan and his cock prods into you. A hint of pain as the head pushes in, sharp and intense. Clenching your jaw on a whimper, you bring your shaking palms to the sides of his thick neck. "God—"
A heavy exhale as he kisses the side of your mouth, holding you suspended on the first inch of his cock, shuddering bodies nearly vibrating with the tension.
A low rumble next to your ear. "It's Kylo."
You inhale in surprise, quivering. He bites at your ear with a filthy, masculine groan, broad body caging you in, while bowing forward impossibly further. You feel completely safe.
You whisper, "Kylo?"
"Fuck—" He buries half his cock in you, jolting to a stop and cursing again, "Fuck."
You are getting more confident, being held so securely in his arms. Squirming against him, you rotate your head with a needy sigh and tenderly kiss his cheek. His entire body shudders, rippling muscles tensing and trembling while he lets out a husky sound close to a growl.
"Kylo," you repeat in a murmur, gasping when he saws those few inches out and in. It propels him into a sensual pattern, working your cunt open with upward pumps of his hips, each time going deeper. You wind your arms around his neck, feet bobbing with each of his sharp thrusts.
"Gonna stuff you full, gonna bury this big fucking cock in you, and you'll take it, won't you?" he says, pressing a fierce kiss to your ear, drawing back just enough to look you in the eyes. His brows draw together, lips parting at the sight, nodding his chin with each pump.
"Yeah...yeah, you will, sweetheart, and you'll call out my name as I do."
"Oh, Kylo," you moan, unable to hold back the scream when he buries himself all the way and splits you open in the process. He presses close with a choked gasp, and you bow over his shoulder, struggling for air at the immediate hammering, the frantic pounding into the wall, hips bucking into you wildly, savagely.
"Fuuck, 'ss so good," he rasps against your neck, slam, slam, slam. His hips strike against you, drenched smacks getting louder and louder as he works himself into your cunt. You are held in suspension, entirely at his mercy, bouncing, legs spread wide as he uses your pussy through the ripped lingerie.
He rambles into your skin, teeth catching on your ear. "Taking it so deep, honey...I had to work that tasty little cunt open, didn't I? But you're taking it so well, taking it with moans so pretty, taking all that I am."
Abruptly, he pauses, rolling his cock deep and rasping a curse. "Shit."
You wriggle your feet behind him, curled toes, pussy clenching him tightly. "Shit," he repeats, building up a new rhythm, like he cannot help but thrust.
He adjusts his hands on the wall behind you, dragging his cheek against yours and swallowing you in a kiss, plunging his tongue into you at the same tempo as his cock pushes in.
You thread your fingers through the wave hair at the base of his neck, matching his intense kiss and being the one to pull away this time. Lips are skimming against his with each of his pumps, you manage, "I'll take it all."
Kylo moans loudly through gritted teeth, whirling away from the wall with your folded body secure in his arms.
The bed is two steps.
Slamming your back onto the mattress, he kisses you fervently, groaning while bringing his knees beside your hips, drawing out partially with a squelch.
Hands gripping the backs of your thighs, Kylo presses up, curling his upper lip as he plunges to the hilt, heavy balls slapping against you with the force of it.
Out. "My name." In. "Say my name." Out. "Tell me whose cock you're taking." In with an aching groan.
The yellow gleam from the bathroom causes him to cast an all-encompassing shadow over your body, like an ominous figure doing sinful things to you in the dark, hiding you from the light it claims to be a part of.
Still fully dressed, he wrecks your lingerie-clad body, completely turned on by the sight of his cock disappearing into your stretched cunt, soaked lace forced to your inner thighs to make room for his girth.
"Kylo's," you whimper from below, voice uneven.
"That's right," he says. "Play with those nipples for me, that's it, such good listening, this little clit deserves some attention for that, doesn't it?"
You whine, arching your back and twisting those pretty nipples between your fingers, hips squirming against the bed. "Yes, sir."
With a stutter of his hips, Kylo brings a thumb to that soaked clit. He presses hard and rubs in tender circles while he fucks you with long, steady strokes ending in short snaps of his hips to yours, forcing little cries from your throat with each one.
His blood is pumping. His heart is racing. His skin, burning at a hundred degrees and still, he has chills. Nothing affects him like this. Nothing.
He feels so fucking alive.
"Fuck," he snaps, slinging your ankles up over his shoulders and speeding up his thumb, quickly becoming unhinged with desire.
He binds his forearm over the tops of your thighs, holding your legs to his chest as he unrelentingly fucks your trembling pussy, concentrating on stimulating that little clit with his coarse thumb.
"My hands aren't even worth enough to be touching such an exquisite creature..." If you knew how bloody they really are, you'd run. He sighs hungrily, easing the rocking of his hips, tensing his thighs to hold himself back.
"Need to keep my cock buried all day in this tight cunt...you'd milk me so well, clenching around me like you are right now." If you knew how I usually spend my days, you'd scream, sweetheart. Kylo brings his thumb to his lips, sucking your taste into his mouth and groaning before returning it to its rightful place.
"It's the words—how you talk—your voice." You whimper with another pump of his cock. "I've never been spoken to like this, don't stop, please—"
Kylo lets out a dark laugh, "Good—" No man will ever get his hands on you again, let alone talk to you so filthily. I'll kill whoever tries. "—I have no intentions of stopping, not when you keen at every word and whimper with every roll of my hips."
"Mm," you moan, nodding and impatiently raising your hips to meet his.
"Oh, you want it fast again, hm...." Kylo starts speeding up. Deep pounds. In and out. "Sweetheart likes it rough and dirty...hm...needs my cock splitting her open so much that she raises her hips to get more, but how will I know for sure if she doesn't beg."
"Kylo, I—I like it rough—" Your moan is cut off when he pounds impossibly harder. "Sir, please."
"Yes, sweetheart, just like that...." Kylo pumps, pumps, pumps, turning reckless and erratic. "Moan just like that—just like that, 'ss perfect, fuck—"
Your entire body tenses, a desperate, shattered scream filling the room as you orgasm, pussy wildly fluttering while you writhe beneath him.
Kylo shouts with a slackened jaw, eyes rolling back in his head briefly as he holds your legs with both arms, stuttered hips keeping his cock deep in that convulsing warmth. One shallow pump. You whine, thighs shaking. Two. Three.
Kylo meets your stunned gaze, just as astonished himself. Three... He loses count of his thrusts, dazedly plowing into you until it becomes too much, until he cannot hold it back and he is spurting thick come deep inside you, panting as he does, vision blurring, head spinning, muscles spasming.
Both his hands slide to your hips, rocking your pelvis onto his, guiding you both through the aftermath while your thighs stay parted for him, deliciously limp.
Kylo bows over you, white button-down sticking his sweaty chest as he presses flush to your body, gently drawing you into a kiss with a hand on your cheek.
He hears your delicate inhale, and his cock twitches inside you, hips jerking forward.
"Are you okay," he rasps, sliding a hand to the back of your neck and lifting, laving his tongue over your sweaty skin, groaning at the taste. "Tell me."
You nod. A quiet, "More than okay."
"Mmm," Kylo moans, kissing your cheek. A thick whisper against your ear, "For what it's worth...I've never talked to someone like that either..."
You shiver underneath him, hugging your arms around his broad back and pulling him down towards you, forcing his face into the mattress beside your head. "We should...do it again," you murmur, gently digging your nails into his back and locking your ankles around his hips.
Kylo grunts and swallows hard, heart pounding in blissful happiness. An intruding thought echoes around his mind. Stay with me, it pleads. Stay.
He pushes onto his forearms, just enough to look you in the eyes with a pleased look on his face. "Mm, we'll do it again as soon as we board the plane, don't worry, little kitten, I'll have you bent over the seat and well-fucked before takeoff and...then I'll eat that pussy again when we're cruising at 41,000 feet...take my time with it...."
You blink, an adorable look of confusion passing over your face.
He kisses you quickly, sharply exhaling in excitement as he reaches to the side, thankfully finding his suit jacket still neatly laid over the covers.
Heart pumping pure adrenaline into his veins, Kylo straightens his elbow to rise up and brings the rose in front of your face, watching you carefully take the flower with delicate fingertips.
"I suppose I should ask you first..." he murmurs, barely hiding the electricity in his voice as he places his freed hand beside your head. "...like any good gentleman would do..."
Kylo can hardly keep himself from grinning wide when you beam up at him, beautiful eyes glittering as if the entire night sky lies in your dilated pupils. Something has changed within him, a glimmer of hope piercing his heart. He stutters a breath, embracing the unnerving feeling and letting a small smile grace his expression.
The only thing left to do is ask.
"Would you like to come to Budapest with me, sweetheart?"