#Wolffe was so happy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jetii · 1 month ago

Text

Until Morning

Pairing: Wolffe x Jedi!Reader / Wolffe x fem!Reader

Words: 12,758

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, forbidden relationship, smut, soft dom!Wolffe, orgasm denial, fingering, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, marking (in both ways), the beginning is filthy but he's actually so sweet in this, well ok it's all filthy, they are in looovvve

Summary: After confessing your feelings for each other, you and Wolffe carry on. During the day, you're nothing but professional, but what happens behind closed doors is something else entirely.

Prompts: 67. “It’s taking all my self control not to bend you over the table and fuck you right here.” & 92. “Fuck, knowing that you’re walking around filled with my cum has me so hard.”

A/N: I spilled angst all over the smut again, sorry! Hope sweet, affectionate Wolffe makes up for the bits of sad. I'd recommend reading For One Night first if you haven't already. Thanks @aynavaano for the inspo I needed to write this sequel and for inspiring the original!

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Waking up next to someone was a feeling you had yet to get used to, but it was certainly not something you would complain about. The warm, firm body beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his breathing — it's a balm on your weary soul, and a reminder that for a little while, at least, you aren't alone.

You open your eyes and watch him, his features soft and peaceful. In sleep, the lines of stress and worry are gone, the scar stretching across his eye less harsh, and Wolffe looks almost boyish, his expression open and vulnerable. Your heart clenches at the sight, and you resist the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek.

In the early hours of the morning, it's easy to forget what awaits you both outside this room. To imagine a world where you could stay like this forever, the two of you lost in each other. You'll take what few moments you can get, though, and treasure them.

Wolffe stirs beside you, his face scrunching up in annoyance, and he lets out a grunt. That was something you were used to — how grumpy and irritable he could be in the mornings. It's endearing, and you stifle a smile, knowing he would grumble even more if he saw it.

"I can hear you thinking," he mutters, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Go back to sleep."

"Good morning," you reply, amused.

"No, it's not."

He turns his face, burrowing deeper under the covers, and you bite your lip hard to keep from laughing. He's a notorious grump in the mornings, and you'd learned the best way to deal with it is to leave him alone and let him wake up at his own pace, but when you try to get up, his arm snakes out, pulling you back against him.

"Wolffe!"

"Where do you think you're going?" he rumbles, his voice husky.

"To start the day," you tell him. "Some of us have a meeting to get to."

"No," he protests, his arm tightening around your waist. "Canceled."

"It's not canceled," you huff, but the protest is half-hearted, and when his hand slides down to your hip, squeezing the flesh, you can't help but lean back into him, a soft sigh escaping you.

"Not yet," he murmurs as his fingers trace circles on your skin. "Stay here a little longer."

"Plo is expecting you," you say, the reminder more for yourself than him. "You have a lot of work to do."

"I'm sure the General will understand," he says.

You know you should be the responsible one here, but it's hard to resist him. Especially when his lips are ghosting along the sensitive spot beneath your ear, his breath hot against your skin. It's tempting, too tempting, and your resolve crumbles.

"Fine," you relent. "But not too long."

Wolffe smirks, triumphant, and his lips find yours, capturing them in a deep kiss. You melt into him, your body sinking against his, and you lose yourself in the sensation, the feel of him surrounding you. His hand drifts down, tracing the curve of your waist, and he tugs you closer, his hardness pressing into your hip.

"Wolffe," you mumble, breaking the kiss. "We shouldn't. I need to report to Plo, and you—"

"Are busy," he interrupts. "Very, very busy. Right now."

"You're impossible," you groan.

"Mm," he hums, his lips trailing down your throat. "Don't worry, jet'ika. I'll make it quick."

Before you can protest, his hand is slipping between your legs, his fingers seeking out the wet heat of your core. He finds your clit, his thumb rubbing lazy circles on the bud, and you gasp, the sound lost in the kiss.

He's insistent, his touch firm and purposeful, and he wastes no time in delving deeper, dipping into your wetness. Two fingers slide inside of you with little resistance, and the stretch is just shy of too much, his thick digits filling you in a way that has you trembling.

"Kriff, you're so wet already," he growls, his mouth pressed against the hollow of your throat. He nips at the sensitive flesh, his stubble scraping against your skin. "Tell me, jet'ika, does the thought of sneaking around turn you on?"

"No," you gasp, even as your hips buck against his hand.

"Liar," he chides.

Wolffe pulls his fingers out, and before you can whine in protest, he flips you over, pinning you beneath him. His gaze is dark, pupil blown in his single gold eye, and the predatory look on his face makes your toes curl. He leans down, his mouth pressing against the shell of your ear.

"Do you know what I'm going to do?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm going to fuck you. And I'm going to make it quick, just like you asked. But I'm not going to let you come."

"Wolffe—"

"You're going to walk around today with my cum dripping out of you, and every time you see me, you're going to remember how good it felt. You're going to be thinking about how hard you came on my cock last night, and how badly you want to do it again. And you're not going to get to,” he continues. "You're going to have to wait, like a good girl, until we can sneak away again. Until I can fuck you properly."

The words make a wave of heat wash over you, and your cunt clenches around nothing, a desperate ache forming between your legs. You arch against him, seeking friction, but his hands pin your hips to the bed, preventing any movement.

"Understand?"

"Yes," you breathe, your voice shaky, and he rewards you with a sharp nip to the neck.

"That's my girl," he murmurs. He moves to straddle your thighs, and the sudden shift of his weight makes you gasp. You can feel his length, hot and heavy against the curve of your ass, and you can't help but push back, teasing him.

He chuckles, the sound rough.

"Oh, I see how it is," he says, and he pushes you flat, his palm splayed on your lower back. "You're not very good at being patient, are you?"

"You're taking too long," you grumble.

"I told you I was going to make this quick," he says. "So be a good girl and keep still."

He grips your hips, pulling you up, and then he's pushing into you, his length sliding in easily. The stretch is delicious, and you bite your lip, the ache settling low in your belly. He fills you perfectly, the angle allowing him to sink deeper than before, and you moan, the sensation of being full almost too much. Your head drops down, resting on the pillow, and he gives an experimental thrust, the motion slow and deliberate.

"Maker," he hisses, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips. "You feel so fucking good."

He sets a punishing pace, his thrusts hard and fast. He fucks you like a man possessed, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing in the room. He's not gentle, not sweet, and the contrast of his tenderness the night before and his roughness now has you panting, your fingers twisting in the sheets.

He leans forward, his chest pressing against your back, and the change of position has him hitting a spot deep inside of you, the friction sending sparks dancing across your vision. You whine, and he shushes you, his breath hot against your skin.

"Shh," he whispers. "Gotta keep quiet. Wouldn't want anyone to hear you, would we?"

The thought makes you tremble, and he huffs a laugh.

"Yeah," he says, "you'd like that, wouldn't you? For everyone to hear how good I'm fucking you."

He punctuates his statement with a sharp thrust, the head of his cock hitting the spot again. You clamp a hand over your mouth, muffling the moan that threatens to slip out.

"So good," he growls, his voice low and ragged. "You're so fucking good for me."

His pace becomes frantic, his thrusts losing their rhythm. You can tell he's getting close, his breathing heavy and labored, and you can feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the anticipation of his release making your cunt clench around him. Wolffe hisses, his grip tightening on your hips, and he slams into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt.

The sensation is enough to make your eyes roll back, and you feel him twitch inside you, his cock pulsing. His release is hot and sticky, coating your inner walls, and the knowledge that he's filling you up, marking you as his, sends a rush of arousal through you. The idea is depraved, filthy, and it's only your hand covering your mouth that keeps you from crying out.

You can't help but grind back against him, the pressure inside you almost too much. His hands grip your hips, holding you still, and he chuckles, his lips trailing along the shell of your ear.

"Ah, ah," he chides, "be a good girl and take it."

You bite your lip, trying to ignore the desperate need building inside you, but the friction is almost too much, the sound of his voice whispering in your ear making the ache worse. You're trembling, the tension in your body coiled tight, and the only thing you can focus on is the feel of him inside you, his cock stretching you wide.

And then he's pulling out, his length sliding free. The sudden emptiness inside you is a shock, and you can't help the small whimper that escapes. He shushes you, his fingers stroking the curve of your hip.

"What did I say?"

"Wolffe," you gasp, your voice hoarse. "Please, I need—"

"No."

He moves off you, the mattress shifting, and the loss of his warmth is almost enough to make you sob. He runs his hand along your spine, the touch soothing.

"Turn over."

You do as he asks, rolling onto your back, and the sight of him, his pupils blown and his chest flushed, is almost enough to undo you. He leans over, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, and his thumb traces the curve of your cheek.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes burning. Your cheeks flush, the compliment making your heart skip a beat, and he gives you a soft, almost sad, smile.

"You really are, you know," he says, his voice thick. "Beautiful."

His other hand trails down, brushing against your thigh, and he grips your leg, his fingers digging into the flesh.

"I want to see you."

You open your mouth to ask him what he means, but the words die in your throat as he pushes your legs apart, his gaze zeroing in on the spot between your thighs. The action is intimate, almost obscene, and you can't help the flush that spreads across your cheeks, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Perfect," he mutters. "Kriff, you're perfect."

His fingers move, his knuckles brushing against the wetness that's gathered between your folds. You whimper, the touch almost painful, and he lets out a rough sound before sliding his fingers into you. You can feel him pushing his cum back inside you, the action somehow more erotic than anything else he's done, and the thought makes you blush even more.

"That's it," he murmurs. "There you go.”

You can't help but push back, grinding yourself against his palm, and his fingers press against the spot deep inside of you, the pleasure making your vision blur.

"Oh, fuck," you breathe.

He leans forward, his breath hot against your ear.

"If you can make it through the day," he says, his voice low and rough, "I promise I'll make it worth your while. I'll take my time. I'll taste every inch of you. I'll lick my cum out of you, and then I'll fuck you until you can't walk."

The promise makes your toes curl, and you whimper, the ache inside of you almost too much.

"Wolffe, please—"

"Commander?"

There's a knock at the door, and the sound of a voice just outside is enough to make your heart drop through your stomach. Wolffe's head snaps up, and he curses, his expression shifting from lust to irritation in an instant.

"What?" he calls out.

"Sir, it's Sinker," the trooper replies. "General Plo wanted me to remind you of your meeting with him. You're late."

"I'm aware," Wolffe grits out.

He glares at the door, jaw clenched, and then he turns back to you, his expression softening. He runs his fingers through your hair, smoothing down the messy strands, and the touch is so tender, the look on his face so vulnerable, that it almost makes your heart stop.

"We'll finish this later," he promises. He glances down, his gaze taking in the sight of his fingers buried inside you. "Fuck."

You look at him, and his expression is torn, the desire to stay, to continue where the two of you left off, clear. You bite your lip, trying not to whimper, and he closes his eyes, his nostrils flaring.

"I wish I could just—"

He cuts himself off, and then he's pulling his fingers out, leaving you empty and wanting. You watch, mesmerized, as he brings them to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste the slickness that coats them.

"Fuck, I can't wait to have you on my tongue," he says.

You whine, the image of his face buried between your thighs making the ache in your core flare, and he smirks.

"I know, cyare," he murmurs. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

"Okay," you whisper.

"Get dressed," he says. "I'll see you at the meeting."

"Right."

He gets up, moving away from you, and the sudden loss of him is enough to make the knot in your chest tighten. The room feels empty, colder, and you swallow hard, the feeling of him still lingering on your skin even as he pulls on his blacks and starts to clip his armor back into place.

"Wolffe," you say softly.

He pauses, turning to look at you, and the tenderness in his expression makes your heart skip a beat. Wolffe was not a soft man, and the thought of him looking at you like this, like you were something precious, was enough to bring tears to your eyes.

"I love you."

He smiles, a real smile, the kind you don't see often. The kind that reaches his eyes.

"I love you too," he says. "I'll clear the way. You wait five minutes and then follow. Don't make eye contact."

You nod, and he hesitates, the look on his face making it clear that he's just as reluctant to leave as you are. His hand hovers over the control panel, his fingers trembling, and then he lets out a sigh, pressing the button that slides the door open.

"Five minutes," he says.

"Five minutes."

And then he's gone, the door sliding shut behind him. You stare at it, your chest aching, and then you bury your face in your hands, pressing hard against your eyes. You take a few deep breaths, trying to get yourself under control, before you climb out of bed, searching for your discarded robes.

The next few hours are going to be difficult, if not downright painful. You had no idea how you were going to get through them, how you were going to look at him and not see the man who'd held you, touched you, whispered the sweetest things in your ear.

It's a cruel trick, one the universe is playing on both of you, and you know it. But despite the pain, the longing, you would choose him. It's been months since the two of you started sneaking around, stealing moments here and there, and while it's far from ideal, you can't bring yourself to regret any of it.

Despite everything, you're happy. Happier than you've been in a long time. And if the price for that happiness is the constant ache, the longing, the knowledge that you'll never truly be together, then so be it.

Because in the end, it's worth it. He's worth it.

So you dress, ignoring the way the fabric brushes against the sensitive skin between your thighs, clinging to the dampness of your skin, and you steel yourself for what's to come. The rest of the day is going to be miserable, the hours dragging on as the two of you struggle to keep up appearances, but when the night falls and the lights dim, he'll be waiting.

And that is the promise that keeps you going.

"Five minutes," you say to yourself.

You count down the final seconds, the minutes passing agonizingly slowly. When the timer finally hits zero, you let out a shaky breath and push the button, the door sliding open with a hiss.

You step into the hallway, closing the door behind you, and then you square your shoulders, the resolve in your gut steeling you for the hours ahead.

It's going to be a long day.

But the promise of the night to come makes it a little easier to bear.

It's a familiar routine now, the two of you sneaking around.

Hiding in the shadows, finding quiet places where no one will find you. Kissing him, touching him, and letting him do the same. Whispering promises, sweet nothings, and holding him close. The stolen moments, the brief seconds when it's just the two of you and the rest of the galaxy fades away.

It's a dance, a game, and it's one you and Wolffe have been playing for months now.

And yet, there's something new about today. Something different.

This time, there's a hunger, an intensity, to his gaze that wasn't there before. Wolffe has been watching you all day, and each time your eyes meet, it's like a current running between the two of you, an awareness, an acknowledgement.

You know, and he knows, that when the two of you are alone, nothing will stop him from taking you. From claiming every inch of your body. From showing you exactly how much he needs you, how badly he wants you.

The knowledge makes you ache, and the hours crawl by, each second feeling like an eternity. The two of you haven't had the chance to be alone since this morning, and the anticipation is making you tremble. It's a cruel thing, this game, and you've spent the better part of the day trying to keep yourself from looking at him.

It's hard, though.

Wolffe is an imposing figure, his presence commanding. And even with his armor, even when he's not touching you, the pull between the two of you is electric, magnetic.

It's almost painful, this dance the two of you are doing.

He's standing at the front of the command center, his hands clasped behind his back. His shoulders are tense, his expression stoic, and his gaze is trained on the holotable. You know he's only half paying attention, his thoughts no doubt elsewhere.

On you, you think.

You try not to fidget, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, but the longer you stand here, the more aware of him you become. His scent, the way his breath hitches every time someone gets too close. The heat of his body, the way his eyes track your every move.

It's maddening.

You've spent the past few hours working in silence, the two of you trying to avoid raising suspicion, but now, with the day almost done, the tension between you is palpable. You're wound tight, your body thrumming with nervous energy, and the thought of spending another second in this room is making you antsy.

Your gaze flickers to Wolffe, just for a second, and his eyes find yours, the intensity of his stare sending a thrill through you. His expression doesn't change beyond the working of his jaw, but the gold of his iris burns bright, the color shifting as his pupil dilates.

It's a simple gesture, but it's enough.

And it's enough to make the ache between your thighs throb.

He looks away, his focus returning to the hologram in front of him, and the moment passes. But it lingers, the ghost of his gaze, the weight of his attention, settling on you like a physical touch. You're trembling, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to glance over at him again.

Wolffe is a patient man, a trait that had served him well as a soldier, but when it came to you, that patience was a thin thread. A single strand that could snap at any moment.

And if the look in his eyes is anything to go by, it won't be long before that thread breaks.

"You've done well, Commander," Plo Koon says, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

Wolffe inclines his head, his expression neutral.

"Thank you, General," he replies.

"I appreciate the hard work you've put in. As well as your dedication. It hasn't gone unnoticed."

"It's my duty, sir," Wolffe says stiffly.

"I'm aware that these have been... difficult times."

Wolffe's jaw clenches, but he doesn't respond.

Plo turns, his gaze sweeping the room, and his eyes linger on you, the corners of his mask shifting in what you've come to recognize as a smile. You struggle to return it, and his expression softens. You have a sinking feeling that your former master is aware of more than you'd like, but he doesn't seem upset. If anything, he looks understanding, perhaps even a little sad.

"These are trying times for us all," he says, his voice soft. "I understand that this mission has been particularly difficult for the two of you."

You glance at Wolffe, and the look in his eyes is enough to make your breath catch. The raw hunger, the naked need, is enough to make your knees buckle. He doesn't look away, and his gaze is intense, searing.

"Yes," he rasps. "It has."

"Then perhaps we should call it a night," Plo says. "The both of you have earned a rest."

"I—" Wolffe clears his throat, tearing his eyes away from you. "Sir, with all due respect, I'm fine. I don't need a break."

"Commander," Plo says, his voice gentle but firm, "I insist.”

Wolffe's nostrils flare, but he doesn't argue.

"Sir," he grunts.

Plo Koon gives a dismissive wave, and the others shuffle out, their chatter filling the air. Wolffe remains at the front, his hands still clasped behind his back. His posture is rigid, his shoulders tense. The only movement is the subtle clenching and unclenching of his fists.

He's waiting.

You watch him, trying to hide your own nervousness.

"You've done good work, Commander," Plo says. "Both of you."

"Thank you, General."

"I'll leave you to your evening."

He turns, walking toward the exit, and you can't help but stare after him. There's a sense of finality in his words, and you feel a stab of guilt. Plo has been a father to you, a mentor, and a friend. And the idea of deceiving him, of sneaking around behind his back, is something you've wrestled with for months.

The truth is, though, that there's no other choice. Not really.

It's a cruel game, and the rules are set.

The door slides shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone, and you can't help but hold your breath. Wolffe doesn't move, and the room is filled with silence, the tension between the two of you thickening. You can feel his gaze on you, his stare burning, and you swallow hard.

"Sir, a word," he says to you, loud enough for anyone who's still lingering to hear. "I'd like your opinion on the reports."

"Of course, Commander," you reply, swallowing hard, and Wolffe waits until the room is completely clear before turning his gaze on you, his eye burning.

"You," he growls.

"Me?"

"Are you trying to kill me?"

It takes you a moment to realize what he's referring to, and when you do, a flush spreads across your cheeks. You bite your lip, trying not to grin.

"I don't know what you mean," you say innocently.

"All fucking day," he mutters, stalking toward you. The sound of his footsteps echo, the click of his boots against the floor loud in the otherwise silent room. His stride is steady, his pace even, and the tension between the two of you builds with every step he takes.

Wolffe stands in front of you, his body towering over yours, and the proximity, the way he's looking at you, is enough to make the blood rush in your ears. He places a hand on the console, leaning towards you, and his eyes are dark, his pupils blown.

"You've been watching me," you whisper, and his eye darkens.

"Do you blame me?" he murmurs. "You're a sight, jet'ika. Standing there, pretending like nothing's going on. Fuck, knowing that you’re walking around filled with my cum has been driving me crazy.”

His hand moves, the tips of his fingers brushing against your cheek, and the touch sends a shiver down your spine.

"Did you like it, cyare?" he asks, his voice low. "The idea of me watching you all day, knowing what we did? How much I wanted to fuck you?"

You let out a shaky breath, your body aching for his touch.

"Yes," you whisper.

"Maker," he breathes. "What you do to me."

His hand moves, tracing the line of your jaw, and his gaze is fierce, possessive. You can feel the weight of his attention, the heat of his skin. His hand comes to rest under your chin, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

“It’s taking all my self control not to bend you over the table and fuck you right here, right now," he says.

The words send a jolt through you, and you bite your lip, trying not to moan. You've been aching for him all day, the memory of this morning leaving you wanting. You want to touch him, feel his skin against yours, and the hunger in his eyes, the need in his voice, is enough to make you lose any remaining shred of self control.

"You're not the only one," you whisper.

He lets out a rough sound, his other hand moving to grip your hip.

"Is that so, jet'ika?" he murmurs. His lips brush against the shell of your ear, and you can feel his hot breath, his stubble scraping against your skin. You whine, arching into his touch, and he huffs a laugh, the sound making your toes curl.

"I can't wait to get you alone," he says.

"You won't have to."

His hands tighten, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, and he pulls you close. The press of his armor against your body is sharp, the cool plastoid making you shiver. He leans down, and his lips brushing against the hollow of your throat.

"We should stop," he murmurs, his breath fanning across your skin. "I should walk away."

"Probably," you agree, even as your fingers trail along the curve of his cheek.

"I don't think I can."

"Neither can I."

His teeth scrape against your neck, his stubble scratching the sensitive flesh, and you can't help but tilt your head back, exposing more of yourself to him.

"Kriff," he mutters. "I've been thinking about this all day."

You sigh and close your eyes. "Me too."

He lets out a sound that's half growl, half sigh, and his lips move along the column of your throat. His fingers trace circles on your waist, the touch making you tremble. He's close, his body pressing against yours, and the feel of him, the scent of him, is almost too much.

You've waited all day for this, the promise of being with him, touching him, the only thing keeping you from falling apart. And now that the moment is here, it's hard to breathe, hard to think. Harder still, to think about the consequences of this.

But you can't bring yourself to care. Not with his hands on you, his mouth on you.

You need this, and he needs you.

It's the only thought in your mind.

Wolffe presses a kiss to your pulse point, the sensation sending a spark of electricity through you, and his hands are roaming, tracing the curve of your waist. One wanders higher, skimming your side until it cups your breast. His thumb brushes over the stiff peak, and the friction makes your toes curl, a jolt of pleasure shooting down your spine.

"Wolffe..."

"Yeah?"

"We need to leave."

"Right," he murmurs. He pulls back, his hands gripping your waist. His gaze is heavy, his iris dark, and his pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

"Right," he repeats, and you can't help but smirk at the reluctance in his tone. The heat in his gaze softens, his expression shifting into something that looks a lot like adoration.

"Fuck, I love you."

You bite your lip, trying not to grin like an idiot.

"I love you, too," you tell him.

He huffs a laugh, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face, and he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss is soft, gentle, but there's a hint of urgency, a tension, to the way he's holding you.

"Come on," he murmurs. "Let's get out of here."

You nod, and he lets go, his hands dropping away from you. The sudden loss of him is painful, and you have to force yourself not to grab him and kiss him again. Instead, you step away, moving toward the exit, and he follows, his pace slow.

As you approach the door, his fingers brush against the small of your back. The touch is light, the barest hint of contact, but it's a promise. A reminder.

A reassurance.

"Come on," he whispers, his breath ghosting across your ear. "I have plans for you."

The promise makes your cheeks flush, a thrill of anticipation running through you. Wolffe was not a man who did things by halves, and when he set his mind to something, he was relentless. You've seen that same dedication, that single-minded focus, in battle, and the idea of it being turned on you is almost too much.

"Oh?"

Wolffe grins, and the sight is almost predatory.

"Oh yes," he murmurs. "So hurry up. Unless you want me to take you here."

You let out a shaky breath, a rush of arousal making your core throb. The hand on your back urges you forward, guiding you until the door slides open. As soon as you step into the hall, his touch retreats, and he clasps his hands behind his back, the picture of professionalism.

But the look in his eyes is anything but.

"After you, General," he says.

Despite yourself, you can't help but smirk. "As you wish, Commander."

He falls into step beside you, the sound of his boots loud in the empty corridor, and the two of you make your way toward the turbolift. The silence is heavy, the air charged with anticipation. Every part of your body is acutely aware of him, the heat of his gaze, the sound of his breathing.

"So," he says, his voice casual. "How have you been enjoying your time back with the 104th?"

You frown and glance at him over your shoulder. His expression is smooth, the line of his mouth even, but his eyes are burning.

"What do you mean?"

"Just making conversation."

You study him for a moment longer, and then shrug, turning back to the hallway.

"It’s been fine," you reply, unable to keep the confusion out of your voice.

"Fine, huh? No problems? No difficulties adjusting?"

You hesitate, your brow furrowing before you realize what he's doing. You give a friendly nod to a group of troopers walking past, and they greet you in return, oblivious to the tension between the two of you.

"No, Commander," you say evenly. "Nothing I can't handle."

"That's good to hear," Wolffe replies. "We're all happy to have you back."

"It's nice to be back."

"I'm glad."

The two of you enter the turbolift, the doors sliding shut behind you, and Wolffe turns to you, the look in his eyes sending a thrill down your spine.

"I think we should talk about these 'difficulties adjusting,'" he says, and his tone is almost teasing. "Maybe come up with some solutions."

"Maybe."

The lift begins to descend, the floor numbers flashing above the doors, and the air crackles with anticipation. You're acutely aware of his proximity, his body so close to yours, and it takes all your self-control not to touch him. Not to run your fingers over the ridges of his armor, the smooth plates glinting in the dim light.

Not to kiss him.

He glances at you, his eye burning, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing against the curve of your shoulder. It's a simple touch, barely a caress, but the gesture is deliberate. He's making a point, and you can't help but smile, your chest aching with fondness.

"You seem tense, General," he says, and there's a hint of amusement in his tone. "Is everything alright?"

"You're insufferable," you murmur.

"I'm not the one who's been distracting me all day," he retorts, his voice low.

You can't help but roll your eyes. "You started it."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

"And how do you figure that?"

"You know very well what you did this morning," you hiss, and you can't keep the smile off your face. "Don't think I've forgotten."

"Remind me," he murmurs. He steps closer, and his hand drifts lower, his fingers skimming along your arm.

"Wolffe—"

"Please," he whispers. "Remind me."

You can't stop yourself. You reach up, your fingers cupping the side of his face, and the gesture is tender, affectionate. You brush a lock of his hair behind his ear, and he leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering closed.

"You were very naughty," you murmur, and the word, so unlike you, makes him smirk. You can't help but grin in return.

"Is that right?" he whispers.

"Very," you continue. "Teasing me like that. Filling me up. Making me wait."

He lets out a low groan, his eyes opening.

"It's been torture, Wolffe. Thinking about you. Thinking about this."

His hand comes up, his fingers curling around your wrist, and he presses a kiss to the palm of your hand. His breath is warm, his lips soft. He doesn't break eye contact, his gaze fixed on yours, and you can't help but lean into him, your body pressed against his armor.

"It's been hard for me too," Wolffe whispers.

The admission is almost painful, and you bite your lip, trying to fight the swell of emotion in your chest. The two of you have been sneaking around for months now, finding stolen moments here and there. You've made the most of it, but the fact is that this is dangerous, the risk of being caught too high.

"I hate this," you say. "Having to hide."

"Me too," he says. His expression is raw, vulnerable. "But it's worth it. Being with you. Seeing you."

You blink back tears, and he cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw. He presses your palm against his lips again, and his gaze is fierce, unwavering.

"Worth every moment," he whispers. "Even if it kills me."

"I know," you reply. "I know."

The lift slows, the doors sliding open, and the spell between the two of you is broken. Wolffe steps back, his expression neutral, and he gestures for you to step out.

"After you, General," he says, polite and detached.

"Thank you, Commander," you murmur. Your hands fist at your sides, your body aching for his.

Wolffe follows you, the two of you stepping into the empty hallway. It's late, the corridors abandoned, and the silence is almost deafening. The only sound is the hum of the ship's engines and the pounding of your heart. You walk slowly, deliberately, and the tension between the two of you builds, the ache in your core growing stronger.

"Your quarters or mine?" he asks.

"Yours," you reply.

"Why?"

"Because they're closer."

Wolffe lets out a rough laugh, the sound making your heart skip a beat, and he falls in step beside you. His arm brushes against yours, the contact sending a jolt through you, and he looks down, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk.

"So eager," he murmurs.

"You're one to talk," you reply.

"Fair point."

He grins, his eyes twinkling, and the sight is almost too much. He's breathtaking, his expression bright and playful. It's rare to see him so open, so free, and the realization that you're the only one who gets to see him like this is humbling.

You smile back, the warmth in your chest spreading, and he bumps your arm, his gaze fixed on yours.

"It's nice, though," he says softly.

"What is?"

"This," he replies. "Being with you."

You can't help but bite your lip.

"It is," you agree.

"Even if we're not... able to..." He trails off, and the look on his face is almost bashful. It's adorable, and it makes your chest ache. You reach out, placing a hand on his arm, and his eyes drift to the spot, a sigh escaping him.

"I'm happy," he murmurs.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Me too."

He huffs a laugh and gives you a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," he says. "This isn't exactly how I planned to start the evening."

"I don't mind," you say.

"I know," he replies. "But we have time for all that later."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he murmurs, and the promise in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. You bite back a smile, trying not to squirm, and he gives you a mischievous look in return. He's teasing you, and you can't help but feel a stab of affection.

There was a time, not so long ago, that Wolffe had been wary of you, reluctant to trust you. But now? Now, there was a level of familiarity between the two of you that you had never experienced with another person. An ease, a comfort. And while you knew the risks, the thought of walking away, of ending this, was unbearable.

Whatever it was that was happening between the two of you... it was real. It was important. And it was worth the risk.

You turn to him and smirk.

"What are you going to do to me?" you ask. "Gonna tie me up?"

Wolffe groans. "You'd like that."

"I would," you agree, unabashed.

"Not tonight," he murmurs. "Tonight is about you."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm," he says, and the low rumble of his voice makes your toes curl. He looks down, his gaze darkening, and he smirks. “To make up for this morning."

You try not to groan. Wolffe's dedication to your pleasure was both a blessing and a curse. While the man was nothing if not determined, his focus was intense. And when he set his mind to something... well. You could hardly complain.

But it was difficult to accept his attention without offering anything in return. It was hard not to want to give as good as you got, and even harder to relinquish control. But when it came to Wolffe, the urge to surrender, to submit, was overpowering. He made it easy. Made it tempting. Made it feel right.

You let out a shaky breath, trying not to tremble. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you."

"You're going to let me take care of you."

The words make your stomach twist. It's hard to believe that a man as powerful and intimidating as Wolffe is capable of such gentleness. That he can be so soft and tender. You don't deserve it, and yet, he seems content to give it.

"If you say so," you murmur.

"I do."

His tone is firm, almost stern, and the sound makes your heart skip a beat. He glances at you, and the look in his eye is tender, his expression filled with warmth.

Wolffe stops in front of his door, and you stand a distance back, your hands tucked in your robes. He places his hand on the scanner, and the door slides open, revealing his darkened room.

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment.

Then he steps aside, gesturing for you to enter.

"After you," he says, his voice a low rumble. You look around the empty hallway before stepping inside, and the door slides shut behind you, the room darkening.

There's a faint click, and then the light flares, illuminating the space.

The sight makes your breath catch.

The sheets are rumpled, the same as you left them this morning, but there's a vase of flowers on the nightstand, the petals a vivid red. Next to it is a bottle of wine, and two glasses sit beside it. There are candles lit around the room, their flames dancing, and the smell of spice and clove fills the air.

He's been busy.

He's been planning.

The thought of Wolffe standing here, arranging flowers, lighting candles, setting everything up for you, makes your heart ache. The gesture is so unexpected, so sweet, that you feel the breath leave your lungs. You don't deserve him.

He moves around the room, extinguishing the lights until only the candles remain, casting everything in a warm glow. His movements are precise, careful, and the look on his face is almost nervous.

"You did all this?" you whisper.

"Well," he says, his tone hesitant. "It's not much. But... yes."

"What would you have done if I said I wanted to go back to my quarters?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

He steps closer, his body looming over yours.

"I would've convinced you," he murmurs, his breath fanning across the side of your face. "I can be very persuasive."

You glance up at him and are startled to find his gaze already on you. His eyes are dark, his pupil blown wide. His mouth is set in a firm line, and there's a flush spreading across his cheeks. Your lips part, your throat suddenly dry, and you swallow hard.

He smiles, and it's a small, hesitant thing. "Too much?"

"No," you whisper, shaking your head. "Not at all."

He lets out a low sound that might be relief and reaches out, his hands coming to rest on your hips. His grip is light, and the heat of his skin seeps through the fabric of your robes, warming your flesh. You can't help but sway closer, leaning into his touch.

"So," he starts. "Would you like a drink? Or should we get started?"

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Started?"

"We have a lot to cover," Wolffe says with a wicked grin. "A lot of lost time to make up for."

Your eyes widen, and a shiver runs down your spine.

"How long were you planning this?" you ask.

He shrugs, his gaze flickering across your face.

"A while," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Would have done it last night, but someone was feeling feisty."

You can't help but grin, remembering how you had teased him. How you had teased each other. The way his mouth had felt against yours, his hands gripping your hips. How you had ridden him, his body trembling beneath you. The look in his eye as he'd watched you.

"Sorry," you murmur. "But the view was incredible."

"It's always a show with you," he murmurs, his smile wry.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he says. "Every time you walk into a room."

You blush, and he chuckles, the sound low and throaty.

"Don't deny it," he says. "I've seen the way you move. The way you hold yourself. Like you know people are watching. Like you're aware of every eye on you."

You swallow hard, your cheeks hot. He's not wrong. There had been a time when you'd enjoyed the attention. But that was before. Before the war. Before your world had changed. Before Wolffe. Now, his gaze was the only one you craved. His opinion the only one that mattered. And the idea of disappointing him, of letting him down, was unbearable.

"You do that," he murmurs. "Get people looking at you."

"You're the only one I care about," you whisper. "I've always had eyes for you."

Wolffe blinks, startled, and a slow smile spreads across his face. The sight is devastating, the softness of his expression making your chest ache. You can't help but lean into him, drawn to him like a magnet.

The way he looks at you... It's the same way he's always looked at you. Fierce and gentle. Aching and longing. Hungry and hesitant. You've never met anyone who can convey so much emotion with a single look. And you've never felt as seen as when he looks at you. You've never felt as loved as when he holds you.

Wolffe's hands slide along the curve of your waist, and he pulls you against him, the press of his armor against your chest making you shiver. He leans in, his nose brushing against yours, and you tilt your head back, trying to capture his lips. But he avoids the contact, his mouth hovering just out of reach.

You huff a laugh. "Kiss me already."

He hums and brushes his lips against yours. It's barely a kiss, the touch a featherlight tease. But it's still electric, the contact making your skin tingle. He does it again, the pressure lingering, and your eyes flutter closed, a soft moan escaping you.

The two of you trade soft kisses, and it's torturous, the pace so slow and gentle. It's almost maddening, and your core throbs, the ache becoming more persistent.

He breaks the kiss and pulls back, his gaze burning. You can't help but reach up and cup the side of his face, your fingers brushing against his cheek. The skin is smooth, and you trail a finger down the line of his scar, the raised tissue warm.

"What is it?" you ask.

"I can't decide where I want to start," he says, his voice low. "And how much I can fit in."

"You have all night," you murmur, trying not to smile.

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge, General?"

You bite your lip. "Maybe."

"Mm," he hums. "Well, we'll see how you feel after I've had my way with you."

"Promises, promises," you say, a smirk curving your mouth. You gasp as his hands tighten on your waist, the touch making your skin burn. He's not hurting you, not even close, but the pressure is a reminder of his strength, the raw power he has over you.

"Do I ever disappoint you?" he asks, his voice soft.

"Never," you whisper.

His mouth curves into a smile.

"Good," he murmurs. He dips his head, his lips brushing against the curve of your ear, and his breath is warm, his stubble scraping against your skin. "Take your robe off."

You nod and fumble with the clasp, your hands clumsy. He waits patiently as you tug the garment off and toss it to the side. As soon as the fabric falls to the ground, his hands move to the collar of your tunic, and he begins to undo the ties, his fingers working slowly.

"You have no idea how much I want you," he whispers. "No idea how badly I need you."

You shiver, a moan escaping you, and his hands slide down, tugging the shirt free from the waistband of your trousers. He pulls it over your head and tosses it aside. It lands in a heap next to the discarded robe, and your boots quickly follow

He leans down and presses a kiss to your bare shoulder as his hands find the clasp of your bra. He unhooks it with ease and lets it fall to the floor before straightening up and pulling you flush against him. His mouth finds yours, and his lips are soft, the kiss gentle.

He breaks the contact, and his gaze is burning.

"Take the rest off," he says, and his tone is soft, but the command is clear.

You reach down and push your pants off along with your underwear, and his hands move, gripping your hips. He lifts you effortlessly and sets you down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. You shift, the sheets cool against your skin, and he kneels down, his hands trailing along the length of your leg.

His fingers brush against the inside of your ankle and begin to trail upwards. The touch is light, almost ticklish, and his mouth follows, his lips leaving a burning trail along the inside of your calf. He reaches the sensitive flesh behind your knee and presses a kiss to the spot before continuing upwards.

"Wolffe..."

His lips find the inside of your thigh and continue upwards. His breath is warm, and his stubble scratches the delicate skin, making you gasp. It's agonizingly slow, the pace unhurried, and your toes curl, your muscles clenching. He reaches the crease of your hip, and his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin.

"Wolffe..."

He chuckles and continues higher, his mouth moving toward your center. His lips brush against your folds, and you shiver, the sensation making you tremble. He pauses and looks up at you, his gaze burning.

"I've been thinking about doing this all day," he murmurs. "My mouth on you."

You can't help but squirm, his words sending a thrill down your spine. He presses a kiss to the hollow of your hip, and then, without warning, his mouth is on you, his tongue tracing along the length of your slit. You let out a ragged gasp and fall back onto your elbows, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through you.

"Oh," you whimper, your voice shaking. "Oh fuck."

His mouth is relentless, and the pleasure is immediate and intense. The sensations are almost too much, and you can't stop the moan that escapes you. You're wet, embarrassingly so, Wolffe's release still leaking from your core.

The thought makes you blush, but Wolffe doesn't seem to mind. His hands slide along the length of your thighs, and his thumbs part the swollen flesh of your folds. He dips his head lower and licks a long stripe up your slit before sucking on your clit. The pressure is unrelenting, and you writhe under his attention, your legs trembling.

"Fuck," you hiss, trying to keep still. "Fuck."

His mouth is everywhere, his tongue licking and teasing and tasting. It's too much, the pleasure building, and you can't help but arch your back, your eyes squeezing shut. Your breath comes in short gasps as he laps at your folds, his hands gripping your thighs. You can't help but thrust upward, grinding against his mouth.

"That's it," he whispers. "Good girl."

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, and the orgasm hits you like a bolt of lightning. Your eyes fly open, and the room blurs, everything fading away except for the sensation of his mouth on you. Your body tenses, your muscles contracting, and your head falls back, a ragged gasp escaping you.

The waves of pleasure roll over you, and it's several moments before the feeling subsides, the tension in your body finally releasing. You've barely relaxed against the sheets when Wolffe slides a finger inside of you, his movements slow and gentle. The sensation is almost painful, the friction making you hiss.

He pauses, his mouth pulling away from you, and he studies you, his brow furrowed. "Alright?"

You can't help but nod. "Yes."

His eyes dart to the scar that bisects the inside of your thigh, his gaze lingering.

"Does it hurt?" he asks softly.

"Not anymore," you reply. "Just sensitive."

"Are you sure? I don't want to—"

"Please," you whisper. "Please don't stop."

Wolffe nods and continues, his movements slow and steady. You watch as his finger moves in and out of you, the sight making your skin flush. His thumb brushes against your clit and begins to move in small circles. The contact is almost too much, and a whimper escapes you.

"Oh," you gasp, biting your lip. "Fuck, Wolffe..."

He dips his head and his tongue joins his thumb, the two of them working in tandem. His mouth is warm and soft, and the sensations are almost too much, the pleasure making your eyes roll back. He adds a second finger and his movements become faster. Harder. You can't help but buck against him, grinding into his hand.

"More," you beg. "More. Please."

He doesn't hesitate. His mouth closes around your clit, his tongue flicking over the swollen bud, and your core pulses. It's almost too much, and you writhe beneath him, trying to get away from the pleasure.

But he doesn't stop.

His fingers continue moving inside of you, his mouth relentless. He adds a third finger, the stretch almost painful. Your core clenches, the tension building, and it's a matter of moments before another orgasm crashes through you, more intense than the first.

Your back arches off the bed as your muscles tense and then go limp. Your limbs feel like lead, and you collapse back onto the mattress, gasping for air. Your vision is blurry, the room spinning. You can feel sweat beading on your forehead, and it takes a moment for your senses to return.

Wolffe's kneeling between your legs, his hand resting on the inside of your thigh. His expression is smug, his eyes twinkling, and there's a hint of mischief in his gaze.

"Want another?" he asks.

"Fuck," you groan. "You're going to kill me."

He smirks and leans forward, pressing a kiss to your stomach. "You said that last time."

"Did I?"

"And the time before that," he murmurs.

"It's a good way to go."

"Hm," he says. He kisses a line across your abdomen, and his hands wander, sliding along the curve of your waist. "I can think of a few other ways."

His mouth travels lower, his lips brushing against the hollow of your hip. You can't help but tense, a moan escaping you.

"Relax," he whispers. "I've got you."

"Please," you beg.

"Please what?"

"More."

"More of this?"

"Yes," you gasp.

Wolffe smirks, and his tongue licks a long line up the inside of your thigh. His stubble is rough against your sensitive flesh, and you can't help but squirm, trying to get away. But his hands grip your legs, his hold firm, and he continues, his mouth traveling up the inside of your thigh.

The contact is teasing, his movements slow and deliberate, and his tongue is hot and wet against your skin. You can't help but buck your hips, grinding against his mouth. He groans, and the sound makes your eyes roll back.

"Don't stop," you beg.

"No?"

"Please."

"Beg me," he murmurs, and he nips at the inside of your thigh, the sharp pain making you gasp.

"Please," you gasp. "Don't stop. I need you. Please."

He chuckles, his breath fanning across your slick folds.

"Good girl," he whispers.

You shudder at the praise, a shiver running down your spine. His mouth returns to your center, and his tongue traces along your folds, lapping at the sensitive flesh. The contact is electric, and you writhe, your head falling back.

"Wolffe," you moan, trying to pull away. But his grip is too tight, and his tongue continues to move, licking and teasing and tasting. It isn’t long before you're trembling, the tension in your body reaching its breaking point. Your hands fist in the sheets, and you arch off the bed, crying out as the third orgasm rocks through you.

You collapse back against the mattress, panting.

"Fuck," you hiss, trying to catch your breath. "Wolffe."

He doesn't respond, his mouth still on you. His tongue flicks over your clit, and he sucks the swollen bud between his lips, drawing another cry from you. He doesn't stop, and the pleasure builds, the sensations becoming almost unbearable.

"Wait," you gasp. "Wait, I—"

But it's too late. The fourth orgasm is even more intense than the others, and the intensity makes you see stars. Your whole body goes rigid, and you can't stop yourself from thrashing. Your back arches off the bed, and your fists twist in the sheets as your mouth clamps shut, a high-pitched whine escaping you.

It feels like an eternity before the pleasure finally subsides, and you slump against the mattress, trying to catch your breath. Wolffe pulls away, his mouth shining, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Okay?" he asks, his tone amused.

"I'm... I'm..." You swallow hard, unable to form a coherent thought. "Yeah."

"Good," he murmurs, and his voice is a low rumble. He pushes himself up and sits back on his heels. His eye is dark, his pupil blown wide, and his hands come to rest on your waist, the pressure firm.

"Up," he murmurs. "Knees."

You nod, and your limbs move slowly, the exhaustion from earlier creeping up on you. Your body is still trembling, and it takes a moment for you to settle into position, your knees digging into the mattress.

You watch as Wolffe stands, and he strips off his armor in quick succession, the movements smooth and efficient. The sight is always a surprise. You're not used to seeing him bare.

When the war first started, the clones had been reluctant to undress around you. Their uniforms were a source of comfort. Of safety. It was only later that you realized how vulnerable it made them feel. How naked they were without their armor. It was a show of trust. A sign of acceptance.

It had taken months of gentle coaxing to get Wolffe out of his armor. The fact that he had removed it for you that day in the bunker was a testament to how far the two of you had come.

And now?

Now it was a familiar sight.

You watch as he unclasps his codpiece and sets it on the shelf. He's already hard, the bulge obvious, and his cock is straining against the material of his blacks. You can't help but bite your lip, the sight making you squirm despite the exhaustion in your limbs.

"Like what you see?" he asks, a smirk curving his mouth.

"You know I do," you murmur.

"Well then," he replies. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his blacks and pushes the material down his hips. His cock springs free, the tip red and swollen. You can't help but lick your lips, the sight making your core clench.

"How do you want me?" you ask, the words breathles.

He lets out a rough laugh. "You'd let me do anything right now."

You swallow hard. He's not wrong. The orgasms he'd given you had left you weak and trembling. You couldn't deny him anything, and you didn’t want to.

"True," you say. "But where do you want me?"

"Right where you are."

He steps closer and grips his cock. You can't help but stare, his length impressive. Everything about him is impressive. It's almost intimidating. Almost.

The truth is, you've never felt as safe as when Wolffe's arms are wrapped around you. As cherished as when he's between your legs. As protected as when his gaze is on you.

His hand begins to move, his fist pumping his length, and you watch, transfixed. He lets out a low groan, and the sound makes you shiver, the heat in your core flaring. His thumb brushes against the tip, spreading the precum, and he grips the base, the veins along his length prominent.

"Touch yourself," he orders.

You nod and reach between your legs. Your folds are wet and swollen, and your clit is still sensitive from the attention Wolffe had given you. You press a finger against the bundle of nerves and gasp. The contact makes you shudder, and your eyes drift shut, a ragged moan escaping you.

Wolffe watches, his gaze intent. "Good girl."

"Fuck," you hiss. "Wolffe... I need..."

"What do you need?"

"You."

"Yeah?" he whispers. "Do you think you can handle it?"

It's a tease, but you know he means it. He wants to know that you're okay, that you're not pushing yourself. You've experienced Wolffe's stamina firsthand. More than once. And while it had been incredible, the man was insatiable. It's a miracle the two of you hadn't gotten caught.

"I can take it," you say. "Come here."

He nods and steps closer. His hand grips his cock again and he gives himself a few more pumps. He's flushed, his breathing ragged, and his hair is damp, a lock of it falling over his forehead.

The sight is breathtaking.

"Come on," you urge. "I'm ready."

"You sure?"

"Positive," you murmur. "Please."

He grunts and shifts forward, climbing onto the bed. His hands find your waist, and he guides you back, the pillows cushioning your head. He moves to hover over you, his forearms braced on either side of your head, and his hips settle between yours, the length of his cock pressing against your center.

The sensation is delicious, and you can't help but roll your hips, grinding against him. Wolffe groans, the sound deep and rumbling, and he presses his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching the delicate skin.

"Easy," he murmurs. "Let's take it slow."

"Why?" you breathe.

"Because we have all night."

He kisses a trail along the column of your throat and then pulls back. His hands find the backs of your knees, and he lifts, hooking your legs over his elbows. He shifts forward, the head of his cock brushing against your folds, and the contact makes you hiss.

He pushes in, the stretch almost painful. The sensation is so intense that your eyes roll back, and you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. His movements are slow and steady, his pace agonizingly unhurried.

"Fuck," you hiss.

"Yeah," he whispers. "You're doing so well."

The praise sends a thrill through you, and you can't help but moan. Wolffe’s lips quirk upward, the corners of his mouth curving into a grin, and he dips his head, kissing a trail along your collarbone. His tongue traces the curve of your shoulder before moving higher, his mouth finding the spot below your ear.

He sucks on the sensitive flesh, and the contact makes your breath catch. He continues, his teeth grazing your pulse point, and the pressure is firm, but not painful. He wouldn’t leave a mark. Not in a visible spot. That was one of the unspoken rules.

You were both careful not to leave any evidence behind after the first time. No bruise, bites, or scratches. Nothing that could raise questions. Nothing that could cause a scandal.

But the thought of being marked by him, of him leaving some sign of possession, makes your heart pound. It’s a possessiveness you reciprocate. You can’t help it. When it comes to Wolffe, you’re hopelessly drawn to him.

His mouth moves lower, his teeth scraping against the swell of your breast. He sucks on the tender flesh, and the feeling is intense, the ache making you writhe. He repeats the motion, the suction firm, and the sting makes your toes curl.

He releases your skin, and his eye flickers upwards, the color a dark grey.

"I should stop," he murmurs. "Shouldn't leave any marks."

You can't help but whine. "Please..."

"It's not a good idea."

"Just one."

He frowns, his expression conflicted. But he doesn't say no.

"Where?"

You consider the question for a moment, then your hand finds the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair. You guide him lower, toward the valley between your breasts. He obliges, his mouth moving over the spot, and the contact makes you shiver.

"Here," you murmur. "Please."

He pauses, and then he dips his head and bites. The feeling is sharp, the pain making your muscles tense. His tongue flicks against the skin, and then he's sucking, his mouth relentless. The pleasure is immediate, and the combination of pain and bliss makes you moan.

His mouth lingers, his tongue tracing over the mark. Then he pulls back, the look on his face almost proud.

"Good?"

You can't help but huff a laugh. "Yeah."

He leans in and presses a kiss to the spot, and you can't help but squirm, the friction making your core clench. Wolffe lets out a groan, the sound low and guttural, and his hips snap forward, his movements quickening.

The sudden change makes you gasp, the feeling almost too much. You're still sensitive, and the feeling is intense, the ache deep. You can't help but tilt your head back, your eyes squeezing shut, your chest heaving as your lungs fight for air.

"You alright?" he asks.

You nod, biting your lip. "Yes."

He kisses the hollow of your throat.

"You're taking it so well," he murmurs. "Just a little more."

"Okay."

His thrusts pick up speed, and the rhythm is steady, his pace unhurried. But the strength of his thrusts makes your eyes water, and when he moves your legs, hooking them over his shoulders the change in angle is almost unbearable.

You cry out, and your eyes fly open. The sight is devastating, and you can't look away. Wolffe's above you, his body caging yours, and his face is flushed, his mouth open, his brow furrowed.

The expression is one you've seen before.

The look in his eye is intense. Fierce. Possessive. It's a side of him that only you get to see, a vulnerability that only you get to witness. You can't help but wrap your arms around him, your hands roaming his back, his shoulders, his sides. You touch him everywhere, the feeling almost desperate.

Wolffe leans down, pressing your thighs further into your chest, and his mouth finds yours in a messy kiss, his tongue tracing over your bottom lip. His movements are sloppy, his focus on his thrusts, and the lack of coordination makes him seem vulnerable.

It's a side of him that he would never show anyone else. Only you.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, and your hands find his face, your thumbs tracing along the scarred ridge of his brow. He turns his head, kissing the palm of your hand, and then his lips find the inside of your wrist, his mouth moving along the line of your pulse.

"Wolffe," you whisper, his name a plea.

"I've got you," he says. He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, and his hand snakes between your legs, his fingers finding the swollen bud of your clit. His touch is electric, and you let out a ragged gasp, your nails digging into his skin.

"So close," you breathe.

He nods, his breath coming in short gasps. "Come on. Let go."

You can't help but obey. You arch off the bed, your head falling back as the final orgasm rocks through you. It's the most intense of the night, the waves crashing over you and pulling you under. It feels like an eternity before the sensations subside, and when they do, you collapse back onto the mattress, the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm you.

You're dimly aware of the fact that Wolffe is still moving, his thrusts becoming frantic. It's a matter of moments before he follows you, and his whole body goes rigid, the muscles of his abdomen tensing. He lets out a low moan, the sound deep and rumbling before the warmth of his release fills you. He keeps moving, drawing the pleasure out until the last of his release has been spent, and it's a few moments before he finally stills.

Wolffe lets out a long exhale and leans forward, his weight settling on top of you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You wrap your arms around him, and your hands find the nape of his neck, your fingers threading through his hair.

The two of you lie there for a while, neither one of you speaking. Your limbs are heavy, the ache in your core pulsing. It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, and you can't help but sigh, the exhaustion catching up with you.

Eventually, Wolffe shifts, his head turning to press a kiss to the underside of your jaw.

"I'll be right back," he murmurs.

You nod, and he pushes himself up, his body moving away from yours. You miss the contact immediately, the warmth of his skin, the smell of him, and you can't help but reach for him.

"Wolffe..."

He chuckles. "I'll be back."

He slides off the bed and stands, the mattress shifting. His body is silhouetted by the light from the candles, and he moves across the room, disappearing into the refresher. He returns a few minutes later with a damp cloth.

"Up," he murmurs, and his hands find the back of your knees, the touch firm. You let him move you, the cloth warm as he wipes away the remnants of the two of you. When he's done, he tosses the cloth aside and moves around the room, extinguishing the candles and grabbing a clean shirt from the shelf.

You sit up, wincing at the twinge in your muscles. Wolffe turns, holding the shirt in his hands.

"Here," he says.

You accept the garment and slip it over your head. The fabric is worn, the collar loose, and the sleeves hang over your hands. It's comfortable, and the scent of him surrounds you, making your heart clench.

"Better?" he asks, his mouth curved into a smirk.

"Much," you reply as a yawn escapes you.

He reaches for the sheets, pulling them up.

"Get in," he says, and you slip under the covers. He does the same, the mattress dipping under his weight. Wolffe rolls onto his side and pulls you close, his arm draped over your waist. The two of you trade soft kisses, and he brushes the hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"Sleep," he whispers.

"Don't want to," you murmur. "Not yet."

He pulls your head to rest on his shoulder, his fingers threading through your hair.

"You need to rest."

You let out a soft sigh and bury your face in the crook of his neck, his pulse beating beneath the thin skin. "Don't like the dreams."

Wolffe stiffens, his body tensing, and he's quiet for a long moment. The silence is deafening, and you wonder if you've said too much. You hadn't meant to. Not tonight.

"I don't like them either," he says, his voice hoarse.

You know what they are, how vivid and real they can be. You'd heard him wake more than once, watched him gasp for air, his eyes wide, his expression terrified. And he'd comforted you more than once when the strange visions found you in your sleep, the two of you laying in the dark, clinging to each other, afraid to let go.

You'd tried not to think about what it might mean. How it had gotten to this point. Whether the nightmares would ever end.

If you could survive the war.

"Sorry," you mumble, your voice barely audible, the words muffled against his skin.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Still."

"No," he says firmly. There’s a beat, and then he sighs, the sound weary. "I hate watching you struggle. Hate not being able to do anything."

"You are doing something,” you whisper. You pull back, propping yourself up on your elbow, and the two of you look at each other. He reaches up, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

"Doesn't feel like it," he murmurs. "Sometimes I worry..."

He trails off, and the look in his eye makes your heart clench. You can't help but lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips. He reciprocates, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, and you kiss him again. And again.

"You have no idea how important this is," he says as the two of you break apart.

"What is?"

"Being here," he replies. "Holding you."

Your throat tightens. "Wolffe..."

He gives you a small smile, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "I've always been good at taking orders. Even before I met you. Before the war."

"Is that right?"

He hums, his gaze focused on his thumb.

"It's what I'm trained to do," he says. "It's what I was bred for. It's why they created us."

"I don't think they planned for this," you murmur, and it's an effort to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

He frowns. "What?"

You reach up, your fingers trailing along his temple, his scars soft. The sight of him in his armor had been intimidating at first. Terrifying, even. The way he held himself, his expression hard, his jaw set, his demeanor unreadable. But now?

Now, the thought of him putting it on was heartbreaking.

"For you to want more,” you whisper.

He's quiet for a long moment, and then he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss is gentle, and he cups the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. You return the pressure, trying to convey what you're feeling. What you've always felt.

Wolffe's the most incredible man you've ever met. He's strong and brave and kind. Loyal and fierce and protective. And you would give anything to give him the life he deserves. The life he should have.

When he pulls back, the look in his eye is fierce.

"This is the only order I've ever disobeyed," he murmurs. "The only thing I've ever wanted to break the rules for. To rebel. To choose for myself."

And he doesn't have to elaborate.

Your heart skips a beat, the words making your chest ache. The first night you'd spent together had changed everything. The two of you had known the risk, you'd known what would happen if you got caught. But neither of you had cared. You'd been helpless to resist, the tension finally becoming too much.

It had been an act of defiance.

A way to rebel against the orders you'd both been given and the path your lives had taken.

You'd done it again and again. The two of you had fallen into bed more times than you could count, and every encounter had been the same. And now, with the war coming to a close, with the fighting reaching a fever pitch, the two of you were running out of time.

"Wolffe..."

"And I'd do it again," he whispers. "In a heartbeat. And I'm not sorry."

The words make you shiver. They're so similar to what he'd said when the two of you had first laid together. When the two of you had surrendered to the connection between you, unable to resist the pull.

You can feel tears start to prick your eyes, and it’s a struggle not to let them fall.

"Me neither," you whisper, your voice thick.

He reaches up and brushes the stray tear that had escaped away, his thumb leaving a trail of warmth against your skin. You swallow hard, and he pulls you closer, his hand moving to the back of your head.

"You need to sleep," he murmurs. "We're leaving early tomorrow."

You nod, and the two of you adjust, shifting into a more comfortable position. He curls around you, his body solid and warm, and his arm wraps around your waist, his palm flat against your stomach. The slow, steady rhythm of his breathing begins to lull you, and your eyelids grow heavy, your vision blurring.

"Don't let go," you whisper.

He tugs you closer, his face pressed against the back of your neck.

"Never."

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