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drippingghoneyy · 2 days ago

Text

No Touching - Vander x Fem!Reader

Summary: You worked at the bar, alongside Vander, for a few years now. Everyone knew the silent agreement that anyone who dared to get too close to you, answered to Vander. One man got a little brave, so Vander makes the rules clear.

Genre/ Pairing: Smut, Friends-to-lovers, Vander x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: MDNI!, SMUT 18+, Smoking/Drinking, Crying, BigDick!Vander, tension, teasing, dom/sub dynamics, pet names, piv, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, praise kink, overstimulation, creampie, oral sex ( f receiving),... (lmk if I missed any!)

Word Count: 9.2k.

Notes: I’ve been wanting to write about more people! So give me suggestions!

Reblog and like!! I read every comment, they make my whole day!

If you find any spelling errors, no you didn't. Grammarly don’t fail me now 🙂 If you don't like nsfw content, please don't read it!

The neon lights outside the bar flickered erratically, casting a sickly glow on the sidewalk. Inside, the air had the mingled scents of cheap whiskey, sweat, and the faint hint of burnt popcorn.

It was a Friday night, and the usual mix of locals and travelers packed the place, the chatter and laughter bouncing off the sticky wooden floors and stained walls. You glanced at the clock. It was almost closing time, and the anticipation of the weekend buzzed through the room like an electrical current.

You wove through the crowd, tray balanced precariously on one hand, delivering drinks with the ease of a seasoned dancer. The rhythm of the music pulsed in your veins, a silent metronome to the chaotic dance of your shift. The regulars greeted you with knowing smiles, and the newcomers with hopeful glances, trying to catch your eye. It was a game you played, flirting without meaning it, serving with a touch of charm that kept the tips flowing.

"Coming right up, sweetie," you called out to a customer, placing a frosty mug of beer in front of him with a flourish. The foam bubbled over the rim and he laughed, catching the overflow with his mouth. You winked in response, then spun away to grab the next round from Vander. He nodded in approval, a half-smile playing on his lips as he poured drinks with a practiced hand.

The children, the ones you had practically raised alongside the patrons, had already retreated to the back, their giggles and whispers echoing through the bar like a ghostly chorus. They knew the routine—once the sun dipped below the horizon on a Friday night, they had to make themselves scarce. They had their own world of tricks and games to navigate, leaving you and Vander to handle the adult one.

Vander's eyes met yours over the sea of heads, and you could feel the weight of his gaze even amidst the cacophony. His expression was a silent question, checking in to make sure you were okay. You nodded, a quick reassurance that you had everything under control, before diving back into the fray. The music grew louder, the laughter more raucous, and the lights dimmer as the night progressed. The energy was palpable, a heady mix of excitement and anticipation that fueled your every movement.

You loved weekend nights like this. The bar was alive with the throb of bass and the clink of glasses, the air thick with the promise of stories waiting to be told. Each person you served had a different tale etched into their features, their eyes telling silent narratives of triumphs and heartaches. You moved among them like a social butterfly, placing a gentle hand on a shoulder here, sharing a knowing smile there. Your touch was light, a whisper of comfort in the chaos.

But as the clock ticked closer to midnight, the atmosphere grew more volatile. A man, three drinks too many, began to leer at you, his gaze lingering on your curves in a way that made your skin crawl. He called you "sweetheart," and "babe," his voice slurred and too loud in your ear. You tried to ignore him, but his hand found your waist, his grip tightening as he leaned closer, his breath hot and unwelcome against your neck. Your smile faltered for a fraction of a second, and you felt a flicker of fear in your belly.

You searched the room for Vander, hoping he would notice, but he was busy with a rowdy group at the other end of the bar. The man's hand traveled higher, and you swallowed a gasp. But before you could react, a firm grip clamped down on his wrist, and you felt a jolt of relief as Vander's voice boomed over the din, "You don't wanna do that, buddy."

The man looked up, his eyes glazed and surprised, but the grip didn't loosen. Vander's smile had turned to a snarl, and you knew from experience that was the only warning he'd give.

You stepped away, heart racing, watching as Vander dragged the man to his feet and out of the bar, the crowd parting like the Red Sea for Moses. The music didn't stop, but the volume seemed to drop as the patrons' eyes followed the scene unfolding before them. You could hear the thud of fists and the grunt of pain outside, the sound of the man being taught a very clear lesson.

This wasn't the first time someone had overstepped, but it was the first time in a while. Usually, the regulars knew better than to lay a hand on you. You had an invisible barrier around you, a respect that had grown from years of serving drinks and smiles without ever leading anyone on.

They knew you were off-limits, even if they didn't know the full story. Vander had made sure of that, his protective aura as much a part of the bar's furniture as the stools and the pool table.

A few new faces would show up every week, not yet privy to the unspoken rule, and they'd try their luck. They'd leer, whisper sweet nothings, and maybe attempt to slip an extra dollar into your apron. But as soon as Vander caught wind of it, they'd be met with a glare that could cut through steel. It was a dance of dominance, a silent communication that sent the message loud and clear: don't touch what isn't yours. And when the music was too loud, or the whiskey too smooth, someone would forget the rules.

The man's hand had been like a brand on your skin, leaving you feeling dirty and exposed. You shivered, despite the warmth of the bar, and took a deep breath to steady your nerves. You could still hear the sounds of the scuffle outside, the thuds and grunts punctuating the night. The crowd had grown hushed, the tension in the air thick enough to slice with a knife. The music played on, but it felt like the bass was thumping in your chest now, a rhythm of fear and adrenaline.

Vander reappeared in the doorway, his knuckles red and raw, a smear of blood on his cheek. The man lay outside, a crumpled mess of pride and regret. The crowd, having witnessed the spectacle, returned to their drinks, murmuring among themselves but keeping a safe distance. They all knew the score—you weren't just another pretty face behind the bar; you were part of the fabric of this place, a sacred piece of its soul, and Vander was its fiercest protector.

The whispers grew louder as Vander approached, a silent wave of respect and fear rippling through the patrons. He'd sent more than one man packing with a bruised ego and a few bruised ribs. It was his way of reminding everyone of the unspoken rule—hands off. His eyes scanned the room, searching for any signs of dissent or discomfort, before finally landing on you. The fury in them softened as he saw the tremble in your hand, the way you gripped the edge of the bar like it was a lifeline.

You had become a local legend of sorts, the enigmatic woman behind the counter who served drinks with a smile but had a line no one dared to cross. It wasn't just Vander's protective nature that kept the peace; it was the aura that clung to you, a mix of sweetness and steel that everyone sensed. You were more than just the bar's employee; you were its heart, the reason some came back night after night. You were the dream they chased, the memory they clung to, the whiskey-soaked mirage that kept them coming back for more.

But tonight had been a close call, the man's touch a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the bar. You took a shaky breath, trying to shake off the feeling of his hand on your skin. Vander stepped closer, his bulk eclipsing the rest of the room. His hand reached out, not to touch you but to offer support, a gentle gesture that spoke louder than words. You took it, the warmth of his calloused skin grounding you.

"You okay?" he murmured, his voice barely audible over the thump of the music.

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Thanks, Vander."

He nodded back, his eyes dark with anger as the crowd had returned to their conversations, the incident already forgotten, but the memory lingered in the air like the smell of spilled beer. Vander took your tray and nodded towards the back. "Take five. You've earned it."

You slipped through the kitchen, the clank of dishes and the sizzle of grease a stark contrast to the thumping bass outside. The children peeked out from their hiding spot, their wide eyes reflecting a mix of fear and awe. They knew the score, too. They'd seen it play out before, the silent standoffs and the not-so-silent brawls.

But it was the way Vander looked at you afterward that always sent shivers down their spines. It was a look that said, "You're safe. You're mine." And in that moment, you weren't just the bartender; you were the queen of the night, and he was your knight in faded denim armor.

You took a deep breath, the cool air washing over you like a balm. The scent of the kitchen—spicy and greasy—was a welcome respite from the suffocating tension of the bar. You leaned against the wall, feeling the roughness of the peeling paint against your skin. It was a reminder of reality, a grounding force amidst the chaos. You knew the look Vander gave you was one of concern, but it was tinged with something else—possession, maybe. You weren't just the bar's employee; you were a part of its soul, a piece of its very essence, and he was its fiercest protector.

You'd only been here a few years, but in that time, he'd made it clear that your safety was paramount. He'd thrown men out for less, men who'd been regulars for longer than you'd been old enough to drink. You knew it was because of what you served—not just the whiskey and beer, but the dreams and the comfort, the fleeting moments of companionship that made the hard days bearable. The touch of the man's hand was a violation, a breach of the unspoken contract between bartender and patron.

Straightening your apron and plastering a smile back on your face, you stepped out of the kitchen, the music swelling around you once more. You didn't look at the spot where the man had been, didn't acknowledge the hushed whispers of the patrons. Instead, you made your way back to the bar, your hand brushing against Vander's as you passed. It was a silent thank you, a promise of something unspoken. You knew you could never repay the countless times he'd stepped in to keep you safe, but the touch was all you had to offer in that moment.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of drink orders and laughter, the adrenaline from earlier slowly draining away. But the memory of Vander's touch lingered, a gentle reminder that you weren't alone. His eyes never left you for long, and every time you felt the weight of his gaze, you knew he was watching over you, making sure the invisible barrier remained intact. It was a luxury, that safety, one you hadn't had before you'd stumbled into this job, into his life.

And as the last of the patrons stumbled out into the night, the bar echoing with their drunken goodbyes, you couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude for the towering presence that was as much a fixture of the place as the sticky floorboards.

You'd only been here a few years, but it felt like a lifetime. The bar had become your second home, the regulars your extended family, and Vander, well, he was more than just a co-worker. He was your rock, your shield, the person who had taught you to stand tall and never take crap from anyone.

You knew he had his own demons, his own reasons for being so protective, but you never asked. You didn't need to; his actions spoke louder than any words could. And as the final chords of the jukebox played out, the room empty but for you two, the silence was filled with the unspoken promise of camaraderie and protection.

The children had long ago retreated to their beds, the whispers and giggles replaced by the soft snores of the sleeping. Vander locked the door with a finality that was almost comforting, the heavy thud echoing through the room.

The neon lights outside cast a soft glow through the grimy windows, painting the bar in a palette of pinks and blues. You took a moment to appreciate the quiet, the hum of the fridge, and the ticking of the clock, the only sounds breaking the silence.

You wiped your hands on your apron, the fabric sticking slightly to your palms. The motion was automatic, a ritual performed countless times over the years. But tonight, it felt different—a declaration of strength, a symbol that you were ready to face whatever the night had in store.

You walked over to Vander, the floorboards creaking under your boots. His eyes searched yours, the concern in them unmistakable. Most people would have shrunk away from such a gaze, but in that moment, you felt an odd comfort in his fierce protection.

You looked up at him, your heart racing from the adrenaline of the evening. He towered over you, his face a mask of hardened steel. Yet, when he looked at you, there was a softness that only you saw. You leaned in, licking the pad of your thumb before gently raising it to the smear of blood on his cheek. Your hand hovered there for a brief second, a silent question in the air. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and you swiped the blood away with the tender care of an artist cleaning a brush.

The touch was electric, sending a shiver down your spine. You stepped back, the moment lingering, and then turned away to start wiping down the tables. The bar was a mess of spilled drinks and discarded peanut shells, but you tackled the task with renewed vigor, the need to keep moving a balm to your shaking nerves. Each swipe of the cloth was a declaration of normalcy, a silent protest against the ugliness of the world outside the bar's walls.

As you worked, you felt Vander's eyes on you, his presence a comforting warmth at your back. He didn't speak, but his silence was a conversation of its own, a wordless reassurance that he'd always be there, that you were safe. The tension slowly drained from your body as you fell into the rhythm of the task, the sound of the cloth swiping against the wood a soothing lullaby in the quiet after the storm.

When you had finished, the bar gleaming under the low lights, you turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. His expression was unreadable, but you could see the concern in the lines around his eyes. He took a step towards you, closing the gap between you. You didn't flinch, didn't pull away. Instead, you took a deep breath and stepped closer, the air around you crackling with the energy of a thousand unspoken words.

His hand reached up, mirroring your earlier gesture, but instead of blood, he found your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. His touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the roughness of his skin. It was as if he was memorizing every contour of your face, committing it to memory in case the night ever came when he couldn't be there to protect it. You leaned into his hand, the warmth of his touch spreading through you like a warm embrace.

"I'm sorry, darlin'. I should've kept a closer eye on you," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within your very bones. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of distress, of fear. But all he found was a steely determination that made him proud.

You gave a small shake of your head, reaching up to cover his hand with yours. "It's okay, Vander. It's not your fault," you assured him, your voice steady despite the tremor you couldn't quite hide. "But, I appreciate you stepping in."

He nodded, the lines around his eyes deepening as he searched your face for any lingering traces of fear. "It's always gonna be my job to keep you safe," he said firmly, his voice a warm rumble that seemed to fill the space between you. "No one lays a hand on you unless you want them to."

There was a fierce possessiveness in his tone, a promise that sent a shiver down your spine. It was the kind of protectiveness that could be suffocating in the wrong hands, but with Vander, it was comforting. He had never crossed the line, never stepped too far, and you knew he never would. His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of doubt or discomfort, and when he found none, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

It was a gesture that was as surprising as it was tender, a gentle reassurance that you weren't just another body in the bar. You felt a warmth spread through you, a sense of belonging that was as potent as the whiskey you served. It was in moments like these that you realized just how much he cared, how deeply the bonds between you had grown over the years.

The silence stretched out, filled with the promise of more than just friendship. You knew it was there, the tension that had been building between you, a current that hummed just below the surface of every interaction. But you also knew that now wasn't the time to explore it. There were still dishes to wash, floors to mop, and a bar to close down. So, you stepped back, breaking the spell, and turned to grab the cleaning supplies.

"I'm fine, Vander," you assured him, your voice strong despite the tremble in your hands. "It's part of the job, I guess." You tried to laugh it off, but the sound was hollow, even to your own ears.

Vander's expression softened, his hand sliding down to yours, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of your hand. "It's never fine when someone puts their hands on you without permission," he said, his voice low and intense. "I shouldn't have let that happen."

He looked down at the floor, his jaw clenched, as if he was holding back a tide of anger. Then he looked up at you, his eyes searching your face for any trace of fear or upset. "I'm sorry," he murmured, the words heavy with regret. "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

The sincerity in his voice was palpable, and you felt your heart swell with affection for this gruff, protective man who had become so much more than just your boss. "It's okay," you repeated, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "But thank you for looking out for me."

Vander nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. He didn't need to say it; you could see it written all over his face—his regret, his concern, his promise to keep you safe. It was a silent vow, a bond forged in the fire of the bar's chaos, a pact that went beyond just employer and employee.

He stepped closer, his hand moving from your cheek to cradle your jaw, his thumb resting gently against your chin. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of fear, any hint of doubt. "You're more than okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the lingering buzz of the jukebox. "You're amazing."

The words hung in the air, thick with meaning, and you felt your cheeks flush. You knew he didn't dole out compliments lightly, and the fact that he was saying this now, in the aftermath of the incident, meant the world to you.

The air grew heavy with unspoken emotions, the bar's lights flickering in the quiet. For a moment, you just stood there, his hand on your face, your eyes locked on his. It was as if the world outside had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the two of you, the beat of your hearts in sync with the fading music.

Vander's touch was firm but gentle, a contradiction that perfectly encapsulated his nature. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as his eyes searched yours. In that moment, you could feel the weight of his dominance, the power of his protective instincts that had just been on full display. Yet, there was something soft there too, a tenderness that you hadn't noticed before, or maybe you had just never allowed yourself to acknowledge it.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. "I don't ever want to see another man's hands on you like that," he murmured, the words a low, steady rumble. "You're mine to keep safe, and I won't let anyone take that from me."

You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between his primal urge to claim and protect and his respect for your boundaries. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, the touch so light it was almost a question. You didn't pull away, your breath hitching at the intensity of his gaze. It was as if he was asking permission, giving you the power to decide the next move.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice a whisper in the quiet night. "But if you want more than just my protection... if you want me to touch you, to kiss you, to make sure that no one ever makes you feel that way again..." He trailed off, leaving the offer hanging in the air.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you considered his words. It was a bold move, one that could change everything. You knew what he was asking, what he was offering. And deep down, you knew you didn't just want it; you craved it. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his touch, the promise of his protection. It was tempting beyond belief.

You took a deep breath, your hand rising to cover his. "If that's what you want, Vander," you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. "If you're sure."

His eyes searched yours, the softness in them belying the steel in his spine. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, they held the weight of a thousand promises. "I am," he murmured, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. "But only if you're okay with it."

The air grew thick with anticipation as you stared at him, the silence stretching out like a tightrope. You felt the heat of his hand, the warmth of his body so close to yours. The bar, the customers, the world outside—it all faded away until there was only the two of you, the thump of your hearts the only sound in the quiet.

"I am," you murmured back, your voice a soft echo of his.

Vander's eyes flared with something that could've been relief or desire—or both. His hand tightened on your face, and he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was both gentle and fierce. It was a kiss that spoke of protection and passion, of the bond that had grown between you over the years. A silent declaration that you were his to cherish, his to protect.

You melted into him, your hands sliding around his waist to pull him closer. The scent of whiskey and sweat clung to him, a heady perfume that seemed to intoxicate you. His other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, holding you in place as if he never wanted to let you go. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if he was trying to erase the memory of the man's touch with his own.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of regret or doubt. But all he found was the same fire that burned in his own chest. "I never want to see another man's hands on you," he murmured again, the words a solemn vow. "I want to be the only one to make you feel this way."

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. "Then it's a good thing I don't plan on letting anyone else touch me," you said, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. It was a bold statement, one that sent a thrill through you. But with Vander, it felt right.

He took a step back, his hands lingering on your hips. "But if you ever need me, if anyone ever tries to take what's not theirs..." He let the threat hang in the air, his eyes burning with a possessiveness that sent a thrill down your spine. "They'll answer to me."

You nodded, understanding the unspoken promise in his words. Vander was a man of his own set of rules, and protecting you was at the top of that list. It was a comfort, knowing that you had someone like him in your corner. But there was something else there too, a yearning that went beyond just keeping you safe. His thumb traced small circles on your lower back, a silent question.

You took a deep breath, looking up into his eyes. "I don't want anyone else's hands on me, Vander," you whispered, your voice shaking slightly. "Only yours."

His eyes searched yours, looking for any trace of doubt or fear. But what he saw was a spark of something else, something that mirrored the desire burning in his own chest. His hand slid up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer. The kiss was slow and deliberate, a promise of things to come. His dominance was unmistakable, but it was tempered with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

He broke away, his eyes never leaving yours. "If we do this," he said, his voice low and gruff, "it's not just because of what happened tonight. It's because I want you, because I've wanted you for a long time, sweetheart "

You nodded, your heart racing. "I know," you murmured. "And I want you too."

Vander's expression softened at your words, the fiery protectiveness in his gaze morphing into something softer, yet equally intense. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Are you sure?" he whispered, his hand sliding up your spine to rest at the base of your neck. "We don't have to do anything tonight. Not after...this."

You turned to face him fully, looking up into his eyes. "I'm sure," you said firmly. "I want this. I want you."

He searched your face for a moment longer before giving a single nod, as if to say, 'If you're sure.' His hand tightened around your neck, the grip firm but gentle, sending a thrill through you. It was a silent assertion of his dominance, a promise that he would take care of you, that you were his. And for the first time in a long time, you didn't just feel safe; you felt desired, wanted.

He leaned in again, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was everything you'd ever dreamed of. It was as if the bar and all its troubles had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in the quiet, dimly lit room. His hand slid down to your waist, his other arm wrapping around you to pull you closer, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the coldness of the metal barstools. You melted into him, feeling the hard planes of his chest against your soft curves.

The kiss grew more urgent, his hand sliding down to cup your bottom, lifting you onto the bar. You gasped into his mouth, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His grip was firm, almost bruising, but it only served to make you feel more alive. You knew he was holding back, that he could crush you with his strength, but he never would. It was part of the dance, the push and pull that existed between the two of you, a silent conversation that had been building for months.

"Vander," you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours. "You don't have to do this," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Not after tonight. Not if you don't want to."

But you did want to. You wanted him to erase the feel of that man's hands with his own, to replace the fear with something else entirely. "I want this," you assured him, your voice strong. "I want you."

His gaze searched yours, all he found was the same burning need that reflected his own. He leaned in again, his kiss deepening, his hands sliding under your shirt to trace the lines of your back. You arched into him, the softness of your body against his hardness. The bar was forgotten, the mess of the night left behind. There was only the two of you, the heat of your bodies melding together.

As the kiss grew more passionate, Vander's hands grew more insistent, his touch sure and confident. He knew exactly how to make you melt, how to make you feel like you were the only woman in the world. You could feel the tension in him, the restraint he was fighting to maintain. But tonight, you didn't want him to hold back. You wanted all of him—his strength, his protection, his passion.

"Please," you breathed against his lips, the word a plea.

He groaned, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over the hardened peak of your nipple. You gasped, the sensation shooting straight to your core. He took the sound as an invitation, his mouth moving from your lips to kiss along your jaw, his teeth grazing your earlobe. The bar was forgotten, the patrons a distant memory. There were only the two of you, the air charged with the electricity of a promise made and a need that had gone unspoken for too long.

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours. "If you need me to stop, if it's too much, just say the word," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of the bar.

You looked into his eyes, the softness there almost overwhelming. "I don't," you whispered, your voice a plea. "I need this, please…"

Vander nodded, his expression a mix of relief and desire. He kissed you again, his hand sliding down to the button of your jeans.

"Vander," you gasped, your body trembling with anticipation. His touch was firm but gentle, a stark contrast to the iron-willed man who had just defended your honor so fiercely. His fingers danced over your skin, unbuttoning and unzipping with a precision that spoke of his experience and control.

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours. "You're sure?, last chance.." he asked one last time, his voice a low growl of need.

"Yes," you panted, your eyes never leaving his. "I'm sure."

With a final nod, he lifted you off the bar, his arms around your waist. He carried you to the back room, the sanctity of your shared space a stark contrast to the chaos of the bar. The room was small and cramped, filled with boxes of liquor and cleaning supplies, with a small cushioned chair, but in that moment, it was the most romantic place you could imagine. He set you down gently, his hands never leaving your body.

His kisses grew more urgent, his teeth nipping at your lower lip before he soothed the sting with his tongue. You moaned into his mouth, your hands fisting in his shirt as he unbuttoned it, revealing the hard planes of his chest. His skin was warm and rough, a stark contrast to the softness of yours.

You reached up to touch him, your hand shaking slightly. His muscles rippled under your fingertips, and you felt a thrill of power, knowing that this man, so strong and so fiercely protective, was yours to explore.

Vander's eyes never left yours as he carefully unbuttoned your shirt, his touch a gentle caress that belied the iron in his grip. He took his time, savoring the moment, his calloused fingers brushing against the softness of your skin. With each button released, you felt the weight of the garment slip away, baring more of yourself to him.

As he parted the fabric, his eyes trailed down your body, his gaze heated. But there was something else there too, a softness that made your heart race even faster. He was taking his time, treating you like something precious, something to be handled with care.

When the shirt was open, he took a moment to appreciate the sight before him. His eyes roamed over the curves of your breasts, the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed in anticipation. He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, and kissed the hollow of your neck, making you shiver.

His hands moved to your shoulders, sliding the shirt down your arms. It fell to the floor with a soft whisper, leaving you in just your bra. He reached behind you, his movements precise and practiced, and unhooked the clasp. The fabric fell away, revealing your breasts.

The fabric pooled around your waist, leaving your breasts bare to his gaze. His eyes darkened with hunger, his pupils dilating as he took in the sight of you.

But it wasn't just about control—there was something tender there, too. A caring that was as palpable as the desire. He leaned in, his hot breath ghosting over your skin as he took one peak into his mouth, the scrape of his teeth against your sensitive flesh sending shockwaves through your body.

His hands slid down to your hips, his thumbs digging in just enough to keep you in place. You could feel the tension in him, the need to claim you, to possess you utterly. But he held back, his movements a gentle dance of power and restraint.

As his mouth moved to your other breast, his hand slid down to your stomach, the calloused pads of his fingers tracing the soft curves. You trembled under his touch, the combination of his gentle care and the promise of his dominance leaving you breathless. His hand moved lower, slipping under the waistband of your open jeans to cup your sex. His eyes never left yours, watching for any sign of hesitation, any hint that you weren't ready. But all he saw was a desperate need, a reflection of his own.

Vander's dominance didn't just come from his physical strength or the way he wielded it. It was in his eyes, in the way he held you, in the possessive tilt of his head as he kissed you. His hand on your hip was firm, guiding you, but the way he touched your cheek was feather-light, a stark contrast that made your skin tingle with anticipation. He was a man who knew what he wanted, but he was also a man who knew how to ask for it without words.

His hand slid down your jeans, his grip tightening as he tugged them down your hips. He was urgent, but his movements were deliberate, as if he was savoring every moment. His eyes never left yours, as if he was looking for permission with every touch, ensuring you were as lost in the moment as he was. The denim hit the floor with a muffled thud, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

He stepped closer, his thigh pressing against yours, the heat of his body making you ache. His hand slid up the inside of your thigh, his touch gentle yet insistent. You could feel his restraint, the way his muscles coiled tightly as he held back, waiting for your consent. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of fear or doubt, but all he saw was the same fiery need that burned within him.

He stepped closer, his leg pressing between yours, the hardness of his thigh against your center making you gasp. His hand slid around to cup your backside, his fingers digging in just enough to make you aware of his power. But the way his other hand caressed your cheek, the way his thumb stroked your lower lip, was anything but rough. It was as if he was whispering sweet nothings with his fingertips, promising to cherish every inch of you.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes devouring you as if you were the only thing in the world. "So soft, so sweet."

Vander's voice was a low rumble in the quiet of the room, the words sending a shiver down your spine. His hand traveled up to the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin just under your ear. His other hand remained on your hip, guiding you, controlling your movements with a gentle but firm touch. It was a dance of dominance and submission, one that you found yourself eagerly following.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he promised, his voice a dark whisper, as his touch grew more insistent, his hand sliding between your legs to cup you fully. You were wet, soaking the fabric of your panties, and the feel of his palm against you was almost too much. His fingers slid under the elastic, his rough touch a stark contrast to the softness of your skin. You whimpered, your body begging for more.

He slid a finger along the edge of your panties, tracing the slickness that had gathered there. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, the words a dark praise that sent a shiver through you. His thumb circled your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you moan. "So responsive, so eager."

Vander's eyes never left yours, his gaze a mix of hunger and something softer, something that made you feel cherished. His voice was a low rumble, the kind that made your knees weak and your core clench with need. "You're mine," he murmured, the words a declaration of ownership that sent a thrill through your body. His hand slid up your thigh, pushing aside your underwear, his rough fingertips teasing the sensitive skin. His touch was firm, but not harsh, a gentle dominance that made you feel both safe and utterly claimed.

You moaned as his finger found your entrance, sliding in easily with the slickness of your arousal. He stroked you gently, his thumb playing with your clit in a rhythm that made your eyes roll back in your head. "So sweet," he whispered, his breath hot against your cheek. "So wet for me." His praises were dirty, but there was something tender about the way he said them, as if he was worshipping you, as if every part of you was sacred.

He slid another finger in, the sensation overwhelming as he curled them, pressing against that spot inside you that made your toes curl. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the sounds that wanted to spill out, but his eyes never left yours, urging you to let go, to be as loud as you needed. "You're going to come for me," he murmured, the promise in his voice making your body tighten around his fingers. "And when you do, it's going to be because of me, because you're mine."

His hand worked you expertly, his thumb pressing harder, his fingers moving faster. You could feel yourself climbing, the tension in your body building. "Vander," you gasped, his name a plea.

He leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was as demanding as his touch. His tongue slid against yours, mimicking the motion of his fingers, driving you closer and closer to the edge. "Mine," he whispered again, his voice a dark promise.

And then you were falling, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. Vander held you through it, his hand never stilling, his kiss never breaking. He whispered sweet nothings against your lips, his praises turning into words of comfort as you rode out the waves of pleasure. "So good," he murmured. "So beautiful."

When you finally came down from the high, you were breathless, your body boneless against Vander's. His hand remained between your legs, his fingers still moving gently, keeping you on the edge of another climax. He leaned in, his teeth grazing your ear as he whispered, "You're so perfect, baby." His voice was a dark velvet caress, the kind that made you shiver.

You looked up at him, your eyes glazed with desire. He smiled, a wicked curve of his lips that made your heart race. His hand slid from your thigh to the center of your chest, his thumb tracing the rapid beat of your pulse. "You had to come for me," he murmured, his voice low and deep. "I need to feel you all around me." His eyes darkened, his need clear in every line of his body. "But once isn't enough. I need to make sure you're ready for me."

He stepped back, giving you space to breathe, his eyes never leaving yours. With a gentle tug, he removed your underwear, leaving you completely bare before him. He took a moment to appreciate the sight, his gaze lingering on the softness of your belly, the curve of your hips, the slight dark thatch of hair between your thighs. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice hoarse.

Vander leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered his dirty praises, his voice a mix of rough dominance and tender adoration. "You're so wet," he murmured, his eyes dark with desire. "So tight and ready for me." His hand slid over your hip, his grip firm as he turned you to face him fully. The softness of his touch was a stark contrast to the iron in his voice, his fingertips tracing patterns that made your breath hitch.

He knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours as he spread your legs wider, his gaze dropping to the wetness between your thighs. "All mine," he said, the words a gentle demand. "I've needed to taste you, for so long..." His mouth closed over your sex, his tongue flicking over your clit in a soft, teasing motion that had you gripping the edge of the bar. His dominance was clear in every touch, every lick, but there was something soothing about the way he held you, his strong arms keeping you steady as your body trembled with need.

Vander's praises grew more insistent as he licked and sucked, his bearded cheeks brushing against your sensitive flesh. "You're going to come for me again," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent vibrations through your core. "And then, baby, I'll make sure I fit." His fingers slid inside you, stretching you gently, preparing you for what was to come.

You felt his dominance in every stroke of his tongue, in every firm press of his fingers. But the way he held you, the way he whispered sweet nothings against your skin, made you feel cherished, adored.

Vander's tongue danced over your clit, his movements precise and practiced, as if he'd been dreaming of this moment for just as long as you had. His beard scraped against your sensitive flesh, the roughness a delicious contrast to the softness of his tongue. You could feel him savoring the taste of you, the way his eyes had searched your body just moments before. His grip on your hips tightened, keeping you in place as he explored your folds with his mouth.

He licked and sucked with a gentle fierceness that had you panting, your body arching towards him. His hand slid up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over the peak as he watched your face contort with pleasure. His eyes never left yours, the intensity in his gaze making you feel like the most important person in the world. It was as if he was worshipping you, as if every inch of your body was sacred to him.

As you approached the peak again, his tongue moving in a steady rhythm that had you teetering on the edge. "Vander," you moaned, your voice a desperate plea. His only response was to suck harder, making you see stars. He was relentless, his dominance clear in every touch, but it was the tender. He held you in a way that made you feel safe, like you could let go completely.

You shuddered, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. His name was a cry on your lips, a declaration of surrender. Vander's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched you fall apart, his tongue never stopping, drawing out every last shiver of pleasure. His grip on your hips tightened, his mouth working you through the aftershocks until your legs could no longer hold you.

He stood, his eyes never leaving yours, his face a picture of masculine beauty, a mix of desire and dominance. His hand slid up your body, his thumb brushing over your swollen clit, making you jerk in response. His touch was feather-light, yet it had the power to make you tremble with need. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "You're mine," he murmured, the words a soft demand that sent a shiver down your spine. "Every part of you."

Vander took a step back, his gaze raking over your exposed body with a hunger that made you feel like the most desired woman in the world. He reached for his own pants, unbuckling them with a swiftness that spoke of his urgency. The fabric slid down his legs, revealing the hard length of him. You watched, your eyes wide, as he freed his cock, his hand stroking it gently. The sight of him, so focused on your pleasure, made your stomach clench with need.

He stepped closer again, his cock brushing against your thigh. The chair was behind you, and without a word, he positioned you, his hands on your hips guiding you back. The cool leather met your skin, sending a shiver through you. He leaned in, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered, "You're going to take me, baby. And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

Vander's hands were gentle as they helped you straddle him, his own need evident in every line of his body. But there was a softness in his eyes, a tenderness that belied the iron in his grip. He was a man who knew what he wanted, but he also knew how to give, to take care of the woman who had just entrusted herself to him. He held you there for a moment, his cock pressing against your opening, his eyes never leaving yours as if asking for one final consent.

You nodded, unable to form words, your body trembling with anticipation. He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging at your slick entrance. He pushed in slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. His dominance was a gentle coaxing, his eyes full of a question that needed no words. Are you ready? Can you take me? The question was in his touch, his gaze, his every movement.

You sank down onto him, feeling him fill you completely, his girth stretching you in a way that was slightly painful. But the pain was quickly overridden by the pleasure, the feeling of being so utterly filled and claimed. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, setting the pace as he began to thrust up into you. His movements were slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he was watching for any sign that you weren't ready, any hint that he was being too rough. But all he saw was the desperate need reflected in your gaze, the silent plea for more.

Vander's dominance was a gentle coaxing, a whisper of power that made your body sing with every stroke. His hands slid up to your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks, his eyes never leaving yours. You leaned back, your palms flat on the chair, your body arching as he drove into you. His touch was firm but not harsh, a testament to his control, a silent promise that he would never hurt you, even in his need.

He kissed you, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips, his teeth nipping at your lower lip in a way that made you gasp. His movements grew more urgent, his hips slamming up into you, the chair groaning under your combined weight.

"So tight," he murmured, the words a dark praise that had your core clenching around him. "So good for me." His voice was a low growl, a declaration of possession that sent shivers down your spine. His hands were everywhere, one hand squeezing your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, the other hand sliding down to tease your clit, keeping you on the edge of ecstasy.

Vander's dominance was a gentle storm, his touch both firm and tender as he claimed you. "You're mine," he whispered, his eyes boring into yours. "Say it, darlin'. Tell me you're mine."

Your breath came in pants, his words echoing through your mind, mixing with the sensations that overwhelmed you. "Yours," you whispered, the word a declaration of submission that made your heart race. "All yours."

His grip tightened, his thrusts becoming more demanding, his praises turning into a chant that matched the beat of your pulse. "Mine, mine, mine," he murmured, his voice a dark symphony of possession and desire. His cock filled you, the feeling of fullness so intense it was almost too much to bear. But you took it, eager for more, your body moving with his, desperate to be one with him.

The room faded away, the bar outside forgotten as Vander brought you to the brink of another orgasm. His eyes never left yours, his gaze a mix of fierce need and something softer, something that made you feel cherished. "Come for me," he ordered, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Now."

And with that, the dam broke. His hand clamping over your mouth to stop you from screaming his name, your body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. He held you through it, his arms a steel band around your waist, his cock never stilling. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, his dirty praises turning into gentle coos that soothed you through the aftermath.

As you came down from the high, you felt Vander's own climax building, his hips moving faster, his grip on you tightening. "I'm going to fill you, darlin'" he murmured, the words a promise that had your core clenching around him. "You're going to take all of me." His eyes were dark with lust, but there was something gentle in his gaze, something that made you feel safe, cherished even in the throes of such raw passion.

He whispered dirty, dominant praises as he thrust into you, his voice a mix of grit and velvet. "So good, so tight, so wet," he groaned, his words sent your mind spinning. His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making you feel like you were the only person in the world. The way he took you, the way he filled you, was both a claim and a promise.

Vander's touch remained soft, even as his grip tightened, his fingers digging into your hips. He held you in place, his dominance a gentle but firm presence that made you feel safe. With each stroke, you could feel him getting closer, his breath hitching in his chest, his eyes never leaving yours. The tension built between you, the air thick with the promise of his release.

And then it came, a low groan torn from his throat as he emptied himself into you. His body tensed, his muscles coiling with the force of his orgasm, but his hands never faltered, never let you go. He held you through it, his eyes a storm of pleasure and possession. It was a moment of raw, primal connection, one that had your heart racing and your body quivering.

As he came down from the peak, he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you against his chest. His heart pounded against yours, a steady rhythm that matched the aftershocks of your own climax.

His breath was hot against your neck, his lips whispering sweet nothings as he kissed the sensitive skin there. "Always," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "I'll always be here to protect you."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of comfort and excitement. Vander's dominance was a comforting blanket, wrapping you in a warmth that made you feel cherished and protected. You leaned into him, your body boneless with satisfaction. His cock was still inside you, a reminder of the claim he had made, the promise he had fulfilled.

The bar outside from earlier tonight was a distant memory. "Thank you," you whispered, the words barely audible. His only response was a gentle squeeze, a promise that he heard you, that he felt the same.

Vander pulled out of you with a groan, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of you, sprawled on the chair, your body a canvas of sweat and passion. He reached out, his thumb tracing the slickness on your thighs, the evidence of your pleasure. His eyes held a warmth that made your heart flutter.

He helped you off the chair, his arms strong around your waist as you swayed slightly, legs wobbly from the intense pleasure he had just given you.

Vander took a step back, his gaze sweeping over your body with a possessive hunger that made you feel cherished and desired. His eyes lingered on the marks his passion had left on your skin, the love bites and bruises that would fade to a sweet memory of this night.

With a gentle touch, he reached for a nearby towel, using it to clean the evidence of your shared ecstasy from your thighs. His movements were tender, his touch reverent, as if you were something precious that needed to be handled with care.

He helped you to your feet, your legs still shaky from the intensity of your release. You stepped closer to him, your bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces that had finally found their match.

He kissed you softly, hands roamed your body, his touch soothing the tender spots, his kisses leaving a trail of fire wherever he went. "Tomorrow," he murmured against your skin, "we'll do it all over again."

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