#red eye 2005 fanficiton

[lis-likes-fics]

Frauds

Pairings: Jackson Rippner x Reader Word Count: 8.1k words Prompt: Face fucking Warnings: NSFW, NONCON, dead dove: do not eat, smut, swearing, blackmail, mentions of murder, mentions of human trafficking, oral (m!receiving), face fucking, brief suffocation, fingering, dumbification, floor sex, forced orgasms, forced creampie... A/N: This is another super dark one so, please. Reader discretion is advised. Reader is kind of morally lacking in this one, but compared to Jackson... yeah. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and read at your own risk. Thank you!

You've been to better bars.

You swirl a cherry in your drink as you sigh, rolling your eyes at the lack of taste—a long, white counter and glass shelves with gold linings. The stool you sit on is a dark maroon with gold structuring to match. So…plenty of gold and far too bold to actually be worth any of it. Not to mention the cheap syrups in your liquor.

And this case isn't giving you any favors. Your client is a moron with no good evidence that you can use to win his case. It's a lost cause, and he's definitely guilty.

Why had taken his case in the first place? You were great at your job and you picked your clients well. If you lost this case, it would ruin your winning streak. This whole thing was a mess.

As you lift your eyes to stare at the wall of liquor behind the bar, your gaze catches that of a man in the mirror. You only lock eyes for a moment, his gaze almost chilling as he looks away and tries to hide a small smile. You lick your bottom lip and turn your gaze back down to your drink.

~

You have given up on the bar and decide you need to rest anyway. It's late and your exhaustion with work is doing you no favors.

You sigh as you wait for the rose gold elevator doors to part ways as the fading pulse of the button's light signaled its functioning.

A gentle ding, and you step into the small box that will deliver you to the seventh floor. It's as the doors are closing that a hand sticks out and grabs it, halting its movements as it retreats back into the shaft.

The man from before, who'd caught your eye in the mirror and bashfully turned away, steps inside with a smile on his plump lips and a dull spark in his ice blue eyes.

"Hey, sorry. Can I…?"

Internally, you take a breath in and hope he's not a creep with pretty eyes. Externally, you smile and side step, giving him more room to walk into the spacey elevator and take his spot beside you. He returns the grin.

The doors close quietly as he presses eight.

You consider the number. Floor seven to nine are suite floors. If he got the floor above you, he must have a nice sum of money in his pocket. Glancing over him as he stands with his hands in his pocket. His suit is inexpensive, a dark blue jacket and slacks and a white button down. His shoes are creased with the look of faux leather and his hair and stubble are in need of a trim. But he's got a silver watch on his wrist that must be worth hundreds.

You glance away from him. You check your own watch for the time, sighing as it creeps closer and closer to midnight.

The elevator rattles, and you both instinctively find purchase on the golden bar behind you for support. The rattling subsides after a moment, and you look at the red number on the wall. Three.

"Shit," you curse, glancing again at your watch and then at the number. "No fucking way."

"Goddammit," he muttered, walking up to the panel and jamming the service button with an annoyed huff. But the whole panel is off, the lights turned to pitched back like the floor sign which had faltered with a flickering red a few moments ago. It’s as though the whole thing just shut down, and now you’re both just stuck here.

“I’m reporting this. Absolutely ridiculous,” you mumble, pulling out your phone as you begin to dial the hotel’s number. You stop short with an incredulous breath. “Of course there’s no reception. Why the fuck would there be reception?”

He slaps his hands on the elevator doors a couple times to no avail. With a hefty sigh, he speaks, "Here, I'm sure it's fine. They'll notice something's wrong when someone else tries to use the elevator."

You turn to look at him, moving almost as though you just remembered he was here. You raise a brow and crossed your arms at his suggestion. "And how long could that take? It's almost midnight, most people are asleep by now."

He sighs again, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Fair point…"

You huff, backing against the wall and sliding down to the floor. You look up at the ceiling and shake your head. He mirrors you, taking his own spot at the other end of the elevator to give each of you your space as you take in the situation. Silence falls through the air.

"I didn't need this tonight," you mumble, dropping your head in your hands. "I've got too much shit to deal with tomorrow…"

He hasn't looked away from you, but you haven't looked at him much so you don't necessarily notice. Honestly, you've hardly noticed him at all. He's merely a presence within your vicinity, but not much in your mind.

"Something coming up?"

Again, you look up like you'd already forgotten he was there again. You take in the sight of him, considering him, before seeming to fully take in his presence to finally let him take up space in your mind.

"I'm a lawyer," you tell him with a new kind of attention. You almost sound boastful, but not enough to call you narcissistic. If anything, you sound annoyed by the end of your sentence, "Something is always up."

"A lawyer?" he says, raising his brows in subtle surprise.

"Yeah," you respond, pride seeping now into your tone.

"How's that?" he leans forward, interested in what you'll say.

You sigh heavily. "Stressful," you say. "Shoulda been so much easier than this. You know, I graduated top 5% of my class at Yale. I'm fully set at one of the best law firms in the country."

You miss the way he almost rolls his eyes as you nearly flaunt the spectacle of your career.

"Wow," he says. "Sounds amazing."

You shrug. "It is, but, God, is it taxing. I was so ready to go to bed, and then I hopped into this elevator and it shut down. Just my luck, right?" You shake your head. "I have this trial in the morning, and it's already giving me shit."

He hums. "A trial?" he says. "Is it rough?"

You shrug a shoulder. "Legally, I can't tell you anything."

He tilts his head playfully, offering a smile as he looks back at you with strange eyes. "Who am I gonna tell?"

You narrow your eyes, your own smile curling on your lips. "I don't know. I don't even know who you are."

He looks you up and down for a moment, almost seeming to size you up before he leans forward just enough to hold out his hand. "Jackson."

You look at it, then at him. You go to shake his hand, but he turns his to take your fingers in his, like he was going to bend down and kiss your knuckles. But he doesn't, he just brushes his thumb across them and smiles.

You stifle a grin. "You got a last name, Jackson?"

He licks his bottom lip, considering before he tells you. "Rippner."

You raise a brow. "Jackson Rippner?" you say, stifling a tiny smile with your teeth sunken into your bottom lip. That was unfortunate, a name so obviously susceptible to double-takes and raised brows. "Your parents were not kind."

He shakes his head, smiling a bit himself but clearly not enjoying the topic of his name decision. "No, they weren't."

Eager to change the topic before he loses interest and decides he wants to talk no longer, you shift to be able to lean a little more naturally toward him. "What do you do?"

He shrugs a shoulder. "I'm a travel agent…of sorts."

"Ah," you hum. "My cousin's one of those." You nod to support your claim.

He narrows his eyes slightly, tilting his head. "I didn't catch your name."

You tell him, and he raises his brows pleasantly. It's strange, though, how his eyes don't seem to change. "Considerate parents, then," he compliments. "That's pretty."

"Thank you."

He reaches a foot out and taps it against yours, and the gesture is so strange, as though you've known one another for years and you are catching up after a long time apart. "This case must be kicking your ass though, huh?"

You sigh heavily, breaking off into a grin. "You have no idea. The whole case is turning out to be a shit show—my client's a dumbass, all his associates are dumbasses. It's like they've never opened a law book." You shake your head. "I shouldn't have taken it."

"Why did you?"

"Looked hard." You shrug, "I don't take easy cases. There's no point in winning an easy case unless you need the extra points, and I've got a streak to maintain. But, apparently, I didn't pick something hard, I picked a lost cause."

He leans his head back. "So he's guilty?"

"Well, I couldn't very well tell you that, could I? I mean, I've already said too much as it is," you smirk.

He returns the look, his lip curling. "So he is guilty?"

You just sigh again, deflecting his question as you lick your bottom lip. "Been doing this for years, and I've only ever lost once." You turn to him, brows raised in pride, "You know, I once accepted a case more obviously guilty than this one, and I won it with ease."

He almost sighs, licking his bottom lip and nodding along. "Sounds riveting," he mumbles, a little too obvious.

You scratch your neck, glancing away and chuckling lightly. "Sorry, I'm talking too much," you smile.

He gives you a charming smile, seeming to move closer to you. His fingers suddenly brush yours, and you realize then that he's gotten close enough to do it. "Don't worry about that," he says. "I happen to have an affinity for pretty girls with pretty voices."

You lick your bottom lip and tilt your head away from him, narrowing your eyes playfully. "You trying to charm me?"

He raises a brow and smiles slyly. "Is it working?"

You cut your eyes away from him. "Maybe a little." You look back, "I just so happen to like pretty boys with pretty eyes myself."

"Oh, you think I'm pretty?"

You stand and stifle your laugh. "Don't get cocky," you mumble.

He chuckles. “You got a boyfriend waiting for you or something?”

You kick your foot against the floor, shaking your head. “Nope,” you shrug. “No boyfriend.”

He stands, regarding you with a shocked look. “No? Beautiful woman like you?”

You laugh, his charm rubbing off on you. You just shake your head again, looking at him. “No time. My hours are between 12 AM and 12 AM.”

He hums, stepping closer to you as you lean on the wall. “Hm, well, that must be why you're so stressed…” He thought for a moment before shrugging a shoulder. “That and the–”

“–Shit stain of a client.”

He laughs. “Yeah.” Standing in front of you, he licks his bottom lip and raises his hand to brush his knuckles under your chin. You sigh gently, silently. “Maybe I can help with that,” he suggests.

“You?” You raise a teasing brow. “How do I know you're not some freak?”

He shrugs again. “Well, if I am, I'm a freak who thinks you're gorgeous.”

You hum, biting your bottom lip. “You could be lying,” you speak gently, trying not to ruin the moment.

He's standing so close, you can feel his breath on your skin as his knuckles keep caressing your jaw. “You always have this much trouble trusting people?”

You shrug, “Maybe, maybe not. And, besides–”

His lips crash upon your own, silencing you as he pulls you into a consuming kiss. You hum lightly, leaning into him as your eyes flutter closed as you bring your hands up to cup his face. His hands tighten around your waist.

His tongue swipes along your bottom lip before he pulls back, sighing against your mouth. “Lemme help you out, sweetheart.”

You chuckle, pushing past your scrambled thoughts. “In an elevator?”

He smiles. “Well…we gotta make due, huh?”

Just as he goes in to kiss you again, the elevator rattles, and you break apart from him in favor of holding onto the railing before you fall. The number on the wall lights up again as it goes back into motion.

With a surprised chuckle, Jackson looks at you. “Are you magical, too?”

You smile. “I might be,” you say matter-of-factly. Rather than leaving it there, you continue. “My parents always called me their little witch, mainly because I had a talent for making their money disappear whenever I said please.”

He rejoins you, his hands on your waist as he looks at you. “Manipulative, then?”

You shrug. “I'd say…highly persuasive.”

He pulls you in even closer so your bodies are pressed together. “How about I persuade you to come up to my room? I'm sure I could…accommodate you for the night.”

His offer is tempting.

“You're not some sort of serial killer, are you?” you half-joke.

He raises a brow. “Do I look like a serial killer?”

You huff laugh. “No, but you are avoiding the question. I'm a lawyer, that's suspicious.”

He rolls his eyes. “No, I'm not a serial killer.”

“But–”

Once again, you're silenced by another kiss. The elevator stops and the doors open on your floor, but neither of you move as you continue to kiss.

When the doors close, he pulls away. “Hush,” he says simply.

You bite your bottom lip. “Okay.”

The elevator moves and ascends to the next floor, his floor. You smile, and he leans in to kiss you some more. It's quieter this way. He's happier this way.

He molds your lips to his almost forcefully, as though they don't quite fit together but he's intent on making them. He presses you into the wall, his knee flipping between your own as he slowly parts them.

When the doors open again with a quiet ding!, he backs away from you. Drunk off his kiss, you glue yourself to his side as he wraps an arm around you and leads you out of the elevator and to his room. He swipes his card and pushes you inside.

As the door closes behind him, he grabs you by your hips and pushes you against the wall once more. His lips crash down on yours, you sigh into his mouth.

Between kisses, he speaks. “Finally, I've got you completely alone.”

You chuckle to yourself. “That sounds suspicious.”

He slides a hand under your shirt, flattening it against your stomach before gripping your waist. “You think everything is suspicious.”

He lifts your shirt over your head, cupping your breast in his hand, nearly squeezing it too hard over the fabric of your bra. “Not everything,” you hum, pulling him in by his waist to feel his body against yours. You shrug, smiling teasingly. “Maybe I just don't trust you.” You kiss him, grabbing his tie. “Should I?”

He sighs between kisses. You miss the way he rolls his eyes. “Maybe you shouldn't.”

You chuckle, pulling at his shirt. “And yet, here we a–”

He slaps a hand over your mouth, stopping more sound from coming out of you as he covers his annoyance with a tight smile. “Stop talking.���

You hum and smile against his palm, agreeing.

He sighs, letting you go and leaning forward to kiss you. “Let's give you something else to do with that pretty little mouth of yours. Whaddya say?”

Again, you agree as you kiss him once more before lowering yourself to your knees. He watches you undo his belt, opening his pants and pulling him through the flap in his boxers.

You sigh when you lay eyes on his cock, thick and hard. You pump him in your hand, sticking your tongue out and licking a long stripe up the underside of him. His eyes flutter and he lets out a breath through his nose as he hums.

He watches you wrap your lips around his tip, suckling gently. He sets a hand on your head, tangling his fingers in your scalp and gripping lightly. You bob your head slowly up and down the length of him, taking him farther down with each movement of your head. He curses under his breath, spurring you on.

You hum around him, the feeling of his heavy cock weighing down on your tongue making your clit pulse eagerly. You reach a hand down, slipping it under the waistband of your slacks and pressing your finger against your clit.

You lave your tongue along his slit, taking in a breath before pushing him all the way down your throat. You hear his breath hitch, his hand tightening in your hair as he brings another to the back of your neck.

You start to pull off of him when he grabs you and pulls you down again. You choke around him, not expecting it as he holds your head still, grinding his hips against you as his cock pushes against the back of your throat.

You place your hand on his hips, trying to tell him to ease up. You could feel your lungs tightening as you lost air. But he just groans, keeping you there a moment longer. You begin to panic. He doesn't care.

When he does let up, you suck in a deep breath, choking again as you start coughing. Your throat is sore from the abuse. “Jesu–”

“Shut up,” he says, taking you by your head again and stuffing your mouth with his cock once more.

You try to push him away, to no avail. He grips you tight and starts fucking into your mouth, thrusting his hips back and forth as he leans his head back and moans. The tears slip down your cheeks as more and more gather. He looks down at you and smiles wickedly.

“You look so much better like this.” He chuckles, as though he'd just come up with a funny joke. “You sound so much better like this.”

You can't help the way you gag as he keeps fucking your mouth, saliva and precum dribbling at the corners of your lips.

At one point, you stop fighting him, squeezing your eyes shut and waiting for him to stop on his own and put you out of your misery. Without your fight, he loses interest as he pulls out of your mouth with a heavy sigh.

You try catching your breath again, coughing as you do. The fear and anxiety swirls in your belly. As you wipe your mouth, you go to speak, to tell him off for the way he handled you.

As the first word begins to breach your lips, he pulls a gun from his shoe. You freeze entirely when he aims it at your face. You hold your breath, afraid to move and motivate him to shoot.

“You say a word and I'll put a bullet in your brain. Do you understand me?”

You swallow thickly, the fear making you speechless anyway. You nod slowly.

“Good,” he smiles, lowering the gun but keeping it firm in his grip, daring you to speak again. He sighs heavily, like he's relaxing for the first time as he stuffs himself back in his pants and reaches down to grab you by your upper arm. He drags you through the suite, pulling your reluctant body with him and dropping you onto the floor of the large bedroom.

He sits on the chair, making you look up at him from the floor as he crosses his legs and leans back. He loosens his tie with a sigh. He seems comfortable.

He stares at you for a while, thinking to himself and doing poorly to contain his grin as he does. “You were a lot easier to get to than I thought you'd be, I'm gonna be honest here,” he finally says.

You clench your jaw but keep your mouth firmly shut as he smooths his fingers along the nose of the gun. “You were supposed to be this really amazing lawyer that was just…impossible to manipulate. I honestly thought this would be tough…” he starts laughing a little, “but this was one of the easiest assignments I've ever had.”

Your stomach flips, and your mouth tastes bitter.

He shakes his head at you, highly amused by his own words. He shrugs. “It was real easy getting you to talk. I mean,” he scoffs, “you started yapping the moment you opened your mouth, and all I had to do was sit through it and pretend I actually cared.”

He holds a hand out to you, like he's giving a side note. “By the way, outing your client like that? I feel like you're supposed to know better,” he critiques.

You still don't speak, and he enjoys making you endure the uncomfortable silence as he stares at you. He gives a shit-eating grin. “You know, I'm proud of you. You haven't opened your mouth once.”

You try not to huff a breath, scared that he would count that as speaking and get rid of you right there. He just keeps watching you, admiring your ability to stay silent. You clench your jaw. Why was he doing this?

As if he read your mind, his eyes light up and he laughs. “Oh, shit. I haven't even explained anything yet.” He breathes in, clearing his throat.

“I am Jackson Rippner. When I said I was a travel agent, it was more that I'm an agent who travels around leading assassinations and government overthrows…the usual terroristic activities.” He smiles, almost proudly. He paused, like he's waiting for you to say something. When you don't, his brows furrow, the confusion etched into his features.

“This is usually the part where people react to my big reveal. ‘What do you want? Why are you doing this?’” He shrugs, “You're kinda just staring at me, sweetheart.”

You clench your jaw, continuing to stare with locked teeth, frustrated by his taunting. Then it hits him.

“Oh, right! Yeah, you can speak.” His face drops slightly, the threat in his eyes returning. “Slowly.”

You lick your bottom lip, sighing to ease your nerves. You'll be fine. You'll be fine. You'll be fine…

“What do you want from me?” you ask slowly, your voice quieter from the pure fear coursing through your veins.

“Oh, easy,” he grins. He separates each of his words with the tap of his gun against the tip of your nose. You jump at each little contact it makes, beginning to shake as you close your eyes and steady your breathing through your nose.

“I…want you..to win.”

You furrow your brow, tilting your head slightly as you open your mouth, unsure of what you'll say. You need to be careful about what you'll say. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I–”

“I have in my possession,” he drops his gun with a heavy clatter on the side table as reaches over to it, grabbing a stack of manilla folders off the surface and bracing it in his hands, “evidence and alibis for your client, William Paulson, to prove his innocence from the multiple charges of–” he opens it to read off the list, flipping through the pages as he does “–tax fraud, embezzlement, human trafficking, and murder.”

Your eyes widen as you completely still. You'd known about the tax fraud and embezzlement. This guy was obviously guilty—and heavily, at that—you took the case mostly just to prove how good you are.

But murder and human trafficking?

You did not sign up for that.

He tosses the files in front of you for you to examine. Tentatively, you pick it up and begin to scan over the files.

Jackson watches you process that information, staring at the floor and shaking your head. “Oh,” he covers his mouth with the tip of his fingers, just to be dramatic, “you didn't know about that last part?” He purses his lips and hums, shrugging. “Well, lucky for you, all the evidence steers clear of that so you should be fine.”

You couldn't do this. Well—obviously, you could easily win this case—but you didn't want to represent someone like this. Sure, you've represented criminals like this before, but, looking at these numbers, you could not support him without a guilty conscience.

The numbers were far too high.

“I…” you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. You look up at him, “I can't defend this guy.”

Jackson laughs at the absurdity. “You already are,” he says, his face dropping in the next moment. “And you don't have a choice.”

He snatches the files from your hands, crossing his legs and setting them back on the side table. He gives you a moment to process, looking down on you as he sighs.

“The real hard part about this whole thing,” he says, bringing you from your thoughts, “was trying to figure out who was most important to you, someone I could use to blackmail you into doing whatever I wanted…but then I realized.” He laughs, licking his lips. “The thing you care about most is your career. You’ve brought up your family once since we started talking, and that was to say you used to manipulate them out of money.”

You clench your jaw as he keeps talking. “I mean, it's the holiday season! Most people talk about going home for Christmas, but not you. No, you didn't stop talking about your golden career.”

He leans back and rolls his eyes, disgusted by the fact that you wouldn't shut up, and less about your apparent lack of family values. “Hell, I've been watching you for weeks and you haven't called Mommy or Daddy once, haven't visited in longer. No point in visiting their little house in your hometown—4266 Red Bud Lane, right?” He shrugs, like he hadn't just proven that he knew exactly where you grew up, where your parents were right now, probably asleep in their beds and unaware of the danger they were in.

You suddenly begin to feel really guilty about not visiting…

He continues, unaffected. “All I have to do is provide evidence that proves your whole career has been a fraud and you'll do anything to keep me from releasing that to the world…won't you?”

You feel a little more guilty at the fact that you'd just become more upset over the fact that he would even threaten such a thing. You try not to think about it too much.

“I am not a fraud.”

You did not work this hard to be labeled a fraud.

He smiles. “Well, of course you're not. The evidence doesn't have to be true, it just has to be believable—and believe me, it is. I mean, coulda fooled me. This evidence gets in the right hands and–”

“You wouldn't.”

He tilts his head, leaning forward in his chair. “Do you really want to take a chance on that?” Your breath is heavy in your chest, the rage filling you at the thought of him ruining your life like this.

You hate to say it but you haven't truly had your parents in your life for years. Losing them would be so difficult to get over but…you could. With time, you could get over that.

But losing your job, having your career fall to ash in your hands, having your life dissolve into nothing but that of a fraud…you couldn't get over that.

Jackson chuckles lightly, watching the anger flare in your face. “Maybe I took it too easy on you. I should remind you who really had the upper hand here.” He begins to stand, to get close to you as he reaches for his pants.

Your eyes widen and the anger dissolves into fear. “No, please…”

He smiles. “Much better.” Your frown deepens and you turn away, looking down at the ground as you think. He rolls his eyes, annoyed by you and your “dilemma”.

“Forget all your moral shit… All you have to do is agree to take this evidence before the judge and negotiate his innocence, and you're home free.” He shrugs, “I mean, I'm basically saving a guy's life here. I'm usually the one telling my guys to kill ‘em. I'm a fucking saint right now.”

You huff. “You want me to get a human trafficker out of prison time.” You lick your bottom lip, thinking carefully. “I would rather lose this case.”

He smiles. “But you won't. I have other ways of making you cooperate, sweetheart. Trust me, this is easier for you.”

You don't reply. 

“All you have to do is show the evidence,” he says, holding his hands out like he's laying it all out on the table. “I'll even throw in a bonus. You show the evidence, and I'll get your name on billboards across the country as a national icon in criminal justice. How's that sound?”

Your heart skips at that. The expansion that would create in your career. You could go big, you could start your own business, grow your career so that your name lived on even longer after you were already dead.

But your moral obligations made it a little harder to decide—despite the fact that they were apparently so low that it was hard for you to decide.

“Well?” he says, impatient with your contemplative silence as you stare at him. “What's it gonna be? God, I can't get you to stop talking and now you won't even open your mouth?” He leans forward in your face, tilting his head as he speaks quietly to you. “Is it because I stuffed it?”

“Fuck you,” you spit, your voice just as low but with far more force.

He sighs, blinking. “I tell you what, I will.”

Your eyes widen. The regret buds in the pit of your stomach as he stands. “Wait–”

“Ah-ah. You wanna act all high and mighty, like you're some—what, some moral legend?” He bends down to your level. “You're nothing. You're a power-grabbing whore, at best.”

Your stomach flips. “But don't worry…I can make sure you won't forget that again.” He begins to open his pants again.

You panic. “I'll do it. I'll do it!” You gasp, clenching your jaw. “I'll present the evidence.”

He smiles, pleased but not satisfied. “I know you will.”

As he begins to reach for you, you scoot back quickly, eager to get away from him as he grants you this dark look in his eye.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he slaps his palm down on the gun on his side table and takes it in his hand. He hasn't even pointed the gun at you before you stop moving, holding your breath to keep quiet.

“Thank you,” he smiles.

Jackson begins pulling off his loosened tie, grabbing you again as he turns you over onto your stomach, straddling you as he puts you on the floor. He drops the gun again with another clatter and you feel like it'll go off if he does it again. He ties your wrists behind you. Tight. And when he's finished, he turns you onto your back.

You stare up at him from the ground as he looms over you. He smiles, his eyes scanning over your body, “Where to begin…” He's no longer holding his gun, but you are in no position to grab it and defend yourself. Besides, he doesn't need to hold it, it just needs to be close enough that he can grab it…

You close your eyes shut when his hands cup your chest through your bra before he grips it tight and rips it off. He kneads greedily at your chest, humming at the feeling of the malleable flesh in his hands.

After a while, he lets you go to strip himself of his pants. Your jaw tightens and the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach has you shaking. When his bottom half is bare, he strokes his cock in the palm of his hand as he thinks.

“I'm going to enjoy breaking you,” he says, excitement tightening his stomach as he smiles. He leans forward onto his hands so his face is inches from your own. “But don't worry, sweetheart…I'll make sure you're begging me to fuck you by the end of this.”

You stifle the sob that begins to rise in your throat, swallowing thickly as the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Please…” you whisper quietly so as not to provoke him, in hopes of deterring him, finding some inkling of a good conscience in his head.

But he just smiles fondly. “See? You're doing great already.”

He takes his cock in one hand and the back of your neck in the other as he lifts your head up. “Open up,” he orders. You do not obey, clenching your jaw tight as refusing to let it go.

“Come on,” he warns you, tsking to himself when you still don't listen. He sighs, “Well, if that's how you want to play it…”

Jackson pinches your nose between his thumb and forefinger, and he pinches it tight. You begin to panic quicker than you would have liked, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you lose breath quicker than you anticipated.

“I have nothing but time, sweetheart. You, on the other hand, do not.” He just shrugs, watching your chest swell and your legs twitch, your body revolting against its lack of oxygen.

And when you can no longer take the burning in your lungs, you open your mouth.

Before you can take your breath and clamp your mouth shut again, his cock has invaded your mouth. You choke, squeezing your eyes shut and blinking away the tears as he thrust himself in deep. He lets out a loud groan, and the unmistakable sound of him smacking his palm against his gun again stops you from biting down on him before you can even think about it.

“Good girl,” he praises, pulling out to the tip just so he can thrust back in as though he was just fucking your pussy. He smiles as he watches you, audibly moaning as he starts thrusting in and out of your tight throat. His eyes stay focused on the bulge the imprint of his cock makes as he holds you up for easier access.

Your cries are interrupted by your gag each time he pushes in, only aiding to the pleasure of your sounds as he continues. The slap of his balls against your nose is hot and heavy and loud.

He keeps fucking your throat, moaning roughly as he does. You clench your thighs and try to keep your cries and your gags to a minimum so you aren't spurring him on with such lewd sounds. He covers the front of your throat with his other hand, feeling his bulge with a laugh.

“God, you take me so well, sweetheart,” he says. “Perfect fucking mouth.”

His precum is dribbling from your mouth and the taste of him continues to assault your tongue. You wish you could push him off—or do anything to make him stop—but the threat of his gun stops any thoughts from forming.

So, just like before, you don't fight him. As he holds you still, you let him do as he pleases, trying to ignore the lack of air between each thrust.

When he pulls out of your mouth, your gasp turns into a heaving cough as you choke on the air given to you. You wipe away the precum spilling over your lips and chin and cheeks, you try not to have to swallow whatever is in your mouth. You catch your breath as Jackson throws his head back and lets out a long, groaning sigh.

“God, I could never get tired of that,” he says, almost like he's lost in a dream. He watches you try to recover, sitting back with his arm propped on his knee. “I mean, the way your throat just…bulges with my dick is amazing. If you didn't act like you don't want me so badly, you'd realize how good it feels.”

You're disgusted by his insinuation that you'd still willingly want to fuck him after he's threatened your career and your family, held a gun to your head,  fucked your throat twice.

Moving to sit up, you steady your breath. “I do not…want you.” You shoot him the angriest look you can muster. But he just laughs at you.

“Keep telling yourself that if it'll make you feel better,” he says. “But I know what you are.”

“I–”

“Still so talkative,” he sighs. “One would think you'd learn by now.”

You don't have time to process his hand wrapping around the back of your head, or him pulling you down in front of him, or him taking his cock and pushing it between your lips again. Your surprised whimpers slip from your throat and only add to his pleasure as he makes you take him again at his own desire. He moves your head up and down and up and down and just enjoys himself fucking your mouth.

He shoves one hand under the waistband of your slacks after a moment, snaking his fingers under your panties as he feels your heat. He hums roughly and a stray sob erupts from your throat at the feeling of his thick fingers slipping past your folds to feel you.

“God, you're wet,” he laughs. “I knew you liked it. Even if you keep acting like you don't.”

You hate this, you hate him. You hate that your body is betraying you with the slick you'd gathered from the anticipation of his violation, the fear coursing through your veins. Angry tears slip down your cheeks.

His fingers drive inside of you at the same speed that his hands move your head on his cock. You stay as silent as you can manage as he does, hating how each pump of his fingers makes it easier and easier for him to slip inside of your warmth.

And when he pulls out of your mouth and your cunt again, after you've collected yourself one more time and caught your heaving breath, you don't say a word.

“You keep making such a fucking mess, sweetheart,” he tuts, looking down at his crotch, covered in your saliva and his precum. You think he'll take you by your head again, but he doesn't.

He tilts his head, his curved lips smiling. “You're not gonna say anything?”

You don't even look at him, sitting up slowly and doing your best to ignore the taste of his salty arousal on your tongue.

“Hm, that's no fun,” he mumbles, though his grin remains. He sighs, glancing around as if contemplating something before his eyes land on you once more. “Alright. I'll give you five seconds to decide where you want me to fuck you, or I'll decide myself.”

Nowhere. You don't want him to fuck you anywhere. The thought of him pinning you down and fucking you and stretching you out with his cock and cumming inside of you…

It's…

Disgusting. It's absolutely disgusting, the swell in your belly be damned.

You clench your thighs, moving to stand so you can get to the bed.

But apparently…your time had run out.

“The floor, it is,” he smiles.

“Wait–” He doesn't. He brings you down to lay on your stomach as he shifts behind you. You clench your thighs, feeling his hands grab your sides and feel them. Your skin crawls with the sensation, but you can't do anything but feel it.

He rips your pants down your legs, your whole body moving with how roughly he handles you. Then he takes your panties by the waistband and splits them apart. You know he has the patience to pull them off you, he just wants to hear your gasp when he rips them off instead. He wants to see you shake.

You feel weak and vulnerable like this: bare on the floor with your hands tied behind your back. Which was his goal, of course. To show you “what you really are”.

His hands knead your ass greedily and his fingers dip between your thighs to slip inside of you again. And you're wet, arousal is slipping from your pussy like you'd already cum.

“Wow,” he chuckles. “Slipping inside of you will be no problem.”

You brace yourself, clenching your thighs and shutting your eyes right.

Without warning, his cock presses inside of you, burying deep in one, long thrust. You sigh heavily, stifling a whine at the feeling of it. He moans, too, letting himself sit in the deepest part of you as he relishes in the warmth of your pussy.

“God, that's perfect,” he hums. “Perfect pussy.” His hands grip your hips and pull you back against him as he grinds inside of you.

You whimper, hating the sick, pleasant feeling curling in your belly. “Jackson,” you whisper, a silent sob slipping from your lips, “please.”

You wish you hadn't said that.

“See? What did I say?” He leans down so his lips brush your ear when he speaks. “You'd be begging me to fuck you.”

You're not sure what you were begging him for. To stop? Most likely. To keep going? Probably not. To go harder?

You hope not.

Jackson wastes no time with ease. With you held securely in his hands, he just starts fucking you. Rough and raw. His hips snap into your ass with every thrust, in and out as he begins splitting you apart. You squeeze his cock and feel a muffled cry claw at your throat as the ecstasy of his intrusion tears you apart.

It's hard not to be vocal, not with all of the mixed feelings swirling inside of you, entering every crevice of your being just as he did—forcefully and without mercy.

He takes you by your hair, still holding you tight, and pistons into you. His voice is low and rough. When he tugs on your hair, you let out a quiet whimper at the pain that stings at your scalp. “You like this, sweetheart?” he questions. “You like being fucked on the floor like a little whore?”

You're scared to open your mouth and protest. The only thing keeping you from moaning at the unwanted pleasure and encouraging him any more is your lips being closed shut.

But he doesn't like that. Leaning down to your ear, his hips slam harder into you and you have no choice but to cry out. “Answer me, you little slut,” he growls, his hand gripping your hips letting you go just to smack the side of your ass. You gasp at the harsh sting, closing your eyes shut as you finally respond to him, your words mixing with pathetic sobs.

“Please,” you gasp. “I can't.”

“Can't what?” he urges. “Can't take it? You can't take me pounding your little pussy like this, sweetheart?”

Gripping your hair, he pulls you back to look at him, smiling at the helpless look on your face. “Feels too good, huh? Shit, you look so pretty fucked out on my cock like this.”

Your mascara’s running, your lipstick is smeared. You know you look a mess, with the tears on your cheeks and your hair mussed up.

What makes it worse is that you're all alone. No one has any reason to suspect that you may be in danger. He'd brought you up here with his charm, encouraged you to follow him with the promise of good sex. Hell, you were making out in the elevator like two horny teenagers.

Now you're on the floor of his suite, getting fucked out of your mind like some whore. And you hate the pleasure that's coming from it.

"Look at you," he laughs, his plump lips pink and smiling. He plants his hand next to your head once more as the other holds your hip up for the right angle. “So fucking desperate, the way you—fucking grind against me.”

You hadn't noticed yourself doing it. As he points it out, the realization pulls a weak sob from your throat that makes him scoff and roll his eyes, amusement in every crease of his face.

He presses down on your back, pushing you rougher into the cold, hard floor. His thrusts are short, grinding into you and brushing that spot deep within you over and over again. You whine and moan through every moment, too dumb-fucked to care about how stupid you probably sound, your eyes tearing up and the tension in your muscles building.

But he doesn't care about whatever turmoil is going on in your ditsy little brain. All he cares about is the feeling of your helpless body losing against the weight and the strength of his.

When the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, you thought you went blind for a moment as he continues to fuck into you. You curse under your breath, your voice pitchy and pathetic as you clench around him at the feeling of your aching clit being abused by his skilled fingers.

His punishing rhythm becomes erratic, messy and unsteady as you clench his cock out of the sheer involuntary pleasure he forces into you. Your skin rubs harshly against the floor as his rough thrusts continue to rock your whole body. You think you'll be bruised all over tomorrow. His heavy breath is loud, short huffs ending in strained grunts. God, he's so close. You're so close.

His hips continue to snap into yours, shoving deeper and rougher. His finger on your clit continues to build you up, higher and higher and higher.

Until the tension snaps and you're being thrown off the edge, loud and pitchy moans tearing at your throat as the pleasure blinded you. Your pussy flutters around him, your legs shake, your jaw gapes like a fish out of water.

Your cry stutters in your throat when Jackson's hips rut into you, sinking in nice and deep until he's buried as far as he'll go. He grinds against the deepest part of you, his jaw flexing as he drops it wide, his eyes just as open as he stars out into the blissful abyss. And he grinds so harshly that you feel the pain knaw deep within you, but the dull ache of him is numbed by the light-headedness of your orgasm.

His hot release spills in your belly, and your shuddering sob falls from your lips and on deaf ears. One hand grips your hair for dear life, the other holds your back down, the pain mixed with the ecstasy of your release is a maddening feeling.

And you're helpless to do anything but take it all. All you can feel is the pressure of his body on yours and the feeling of him filling you up, your cunt so tight around his cock that you milk every…last…drop.

You lay there limply, catching your breath as your cheek presses against the floor. Jackson, slowly returning to his senses, allows his muscles to release, his knuckles easing on the tangled locks of your hair. A long, strained sigh lifts from his throat as he pulls out of you.

And he leaves you there, drained and aching on the floor like a discarded shirt after a long day.

You feel warm and wrong, light with your release and heavy with shame. Your nerves are still tingling, your pussy is still fluttering, your thighs are still trembling with the slightest twitch. Letting out your own long, exhausted sigh, all the tension leaves your body and leaves you feeling empty, despite the fullness of your freshly filled womb.

Jackson disappears for a moment, returning with a glass of liquor that he sips slowly at in one hand and a hotel robe in the other as he stares at you. Sobered up, the smallest of smiles pulls at his lips as he hums lightly. He brings the lip of the cup to his and then tosses the robe next to you.

“I trust–” he sighs forcefully as he sits next to you, “–you'll pick the smart choice and present the evidence.”

He starts undoing the knot of his tie around your wrists to free you. You still don't move, though the ache of your arms has you grunting.

He tucks his knuckle underneath your chin to make you look up at him. He smiles, his eyes just as dark and just as void. “You can go now,” he mumbles, gesturing to the files on the side table. “Don't forget your files.”

You glare at him with as much resentment as you could muster. This seems to amuse him as he lets the air of a chuckle pass through his nose.

“I'll be seeing you soon.”

Your skin crawls with his promise.

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