SMUT ONESHOT 2

Adam Driver was never supposed to be more than a paycheck. You took the gig because the money was good and his kid, Ellie, was an easy six year old who mostly wanted juice boxes and bedtime stories. The first night he came home late from work, smelling faintly of rain and cologne, he just handed you cash and a tired smile.

"Thanks for looking after her."

That was it. By the third week he was texting you mid-shift. Everything okay?. Then You eat yet? Then Don't walk to the bus stop alone after dark. I'll drive you. When you insisted you were fine, he started waiting in the driveway anyway, engine idling, eyes tracking you until you were inside the car. Protective, yes. But the way his gaze lingered on your mouth when you laughed, the way his hand brushed the small of your back guiding you towards the passenger seat, none of that felt fatherly. Tonight Ellie is already asleep upstairs. You're in the kitchen folding the last of her tiny shirts when the front door opens. Adam steps in, rain still clinging to his dark hair, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. He locks the door behind him with a quiet click that somehow feels louder than it should.

"You stayed late," he says. Not a question.

"She waned one more story. I didn't mind."

He crosses the room in three long strides. Stops close enough that you have to tip your head back. His eyes drop to the thin tank top you're wearing, the soft curve of your breasts under the fabric, the way the waistband of your shorts sits low on your hips. Heat flares in his expression, controlled but unmistakable.

"I don't like other people looking at you the way I look at you," he says, voice low.

"The guy at the coffee shop. The neighbor who 'just happens' to be out when you arrive. I've noticed. And I don't share."

Your pulse kicks hard.

"Adam-"

He cups your jaw, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth.

"Tell me to stop and I will. But if you don't..."

His other hand settles on your waist, fingers sliding under the hem of your top to press warm against bare skin.

"I'm going to take what's been driving me crazy for weeks."

You didn't tell him to stop. He kisses you like he's been starving for it, deep, claiming, tongue sliding against yours while he backs you towards the hallway. Your back hits the wall beside the stairs. He hikes one of your thighs up around his hip, grinding the hard length of his cock against the thin fabric of your shorts.

"Fuck, the sounds you make," he mutters, nipping your lower lip.

He peels your tank top and off in one motion, tossing it aside. Your bra follows, His mouth finds your breast, hot and wet, sucking hard on one nipple while his fingers pinch the other. You arch into him, fingers threading into his damp hair. He drops to his knees right there in the hallway, dragging your shorts and panties down your legs. The second they're gone he spreads your thigh and buries his face between them. His tongue drags slow and deliberate through your wet folds, circling your clit before pushing inside you. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep quiet- Ellie is only upstairs- but Adam growls against your cunt and pulls your hand away.

"I want to hear you," he says, voice rough.

"Every fucking sound."

He works you with ruthless focus, tongue, lips, two fingers curling inside until your legs shake. When you come it's sudden and sharp, thighs clamping around his head, a broken moan spilling out of you. He keeps licking through it, slower, tasting every tremor. Then he's standing again, lifting you easily. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to the living room couch. He sits, settling you in his lap so you're straddling him, and frees his cock. Thick, flushed, already leaking. He rubs the head through your slickness, teasing, then looks up at you.

"Ride it. Slow me who this pussy belongs to now."

You sink own slowly, taking every inch until he's buried to the hilt. The stretch burns in the best way. Adam's hands grips your hips hard enough to bruise, guiding you into a deep, rolling grind. Each downward push makes him curse under his breath. You brace your hands on his chest and start moving faster, bouncing on his cock while he thrusts up to meet you.

"That's it," he groans.

"Fuck yourself on me. I've been hard every night thinking about this-about bending you over the kitchen counter after she goes to bed, about filling you up so full you walk funny the next day."

He leans forward and sucks a mark onto the side of your throat, then another lower, claiming. One hand slides between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. The dual sensation shoves you toward another orgasm fast. Your walls flutter around him.

"Come for me," he orders.

"Soak my cock."

You do, hard, shaking, burying your face in his neck muffle the cry. Adam follows a few strokes later, slamming up into you and holding deep as he pulses, hot and thick, spilling inside you with a low, guttural sound. He keeps you there, still joined, stroking your back while both of you catch your breath. Eventually he lifts his head. His eyes are dark, possessive, but soft at the edges.

"You're not just the babysitter anymore," he says quietly.

"You're mine. I'll take care of you- drive you home, buy your groceries, keep every asshole who looks at you too long away from what's mine. And evert night after Ellie is asleep, I'm going to fuck you like this until you forget anyone else ever existed."

He kisses you you again, slower this time, and you feel him already starting to harden inside you once more.

"Stay tonight," he murmurs against your lips.

"I'll wake you before she does. Or don't. Either way, you're not walking out of here without knowing exactly who you belong yo."

You stay.