Take a break.

|| summary: in which tom helps the reader to destress from her hectic school work.

|| author’s note: smut & filth, y’all already know my brand loooool + sorry it’s been soooo long, yikes.

warnings: this au features aggressive, but totally consensual nsfw content... read at your own discretion, please.

Strained red eyes and tight back muscles begged for any form of alleviation, but the intermittent shifting of positions was providing you with enough comfort to keep the driving pain at bay. Still, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to remain focused on your school work; primarily so, when Tom walked through the bedroom door in nothing but low-hanging sweats. The smug smirk he offered was a pleasant sight, especially when paired with glorious image of his naked chest. It glistened with droplets of water, shimmering and reflecting off the sun rays spilling in from the open balcony door — silently thanking yourself for opting on natural light.

“Still at it, huh?” He gives you a pitiful half-smile, running a free hand through his damp curls.

You nod, forcing your gaze away from his muscular torso and back to literary works of Charles Dickens — eyes trained to the pages of Bleak House, with your attention anywhere but.

Spotting him moving in your peripheral, half of his blurred figure peaking out over the bridge of your book, the bed soon dips as he sits opposite you. Fresh from shower his smell is intoxicating, and nearly impossible to resist. Nearly. Tenacity for finishing your assignments, outweighing the desire scratching between your legs.

Without a word, he leans forward, curious wet lips brushing the exposed skin of your shoulder, trailing open mouthed kisses up to the curve where bone met soft tissue. As each warm, gentle touch teased its way up your neck, the focus that was on the words below you faltered, eyelids growing heavy as your tense state melted into the familiarity of his mouth.

“I think,” he suggested between kisses, his words muffled into the crook of your neck, “you need to relax.” The rasp of his voice beguiled the lust sprouting in your core, your better judgement rapidly losing traction against the hot breathe now fanning over your ear. “‘Bout time, innit love?”

With your eyes closed, tongue caught between your teeth, you were nearly there — but the rational part of you was not silenced yet, and it was aggressively gnawing away your lust-fogged inability for discernment. “I can’t.”

Sighing reluctantly, you attempted to shrug him off, nudging him slightly with your shoulders. A dissatisfied groan leaves him, passing past his lips and onto the spot he’d just been nipping at, below your ear. “Seriously?” He questions, half serious.

Turning to face him, you nod furiously, your eyes flicking between his tousled curls and the paper work spread across your lap — both in dissary. “I can’t just stop working, I’m really close to finishing this paper, and if I stop now I don’t know if I’ll have the energy to start back up again and—“

“—okay, you need to shut up.” The rest of your incessant rambling is stopped, abruptly cut off by the palm of Tom’s hand which has forcefully clamped down over your mouth — your sentence falling into his skin, becoming muffled and incoherent. Keeping your head positioned so your eyes are on him, he cups the back of your neck with his free hand to hold you in place. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he starts, eyes of brown swirls boring into yours with unwavering intensity, “you’re gonna stop working, and take a break.”

Leaning his weight into you, he forces you onto your back, your head hitting the pillows with a light thud. The softness of the mattress envelops you under his force, your sore muscles screaming with relief. “You’re not gonna think about your work,” The hand on the back of your neck falls to your lap, grabbing your spread of papers and tossing them to the floor in one swift motion.

“Hey—” You grumble a faint protest into his hand, interrupted by the exclamation of his fingers’ grip.

“—I said shut up,” his jaw is tight, eyes narrowed in agitation, “didn’t I?” With the absence of papers clustered on your thighs, he nudges his way between your legs, spreading them effortlessly with his hips. Noting the feeling of his bulge against you, you nod timidly, your breathing gradually pacing out. “You’re just gonna close your eyes,” he picks up from where he left off earlier, “and feel me. My touch.”

Taking the acute shifting of your hips towards his as an answer, he brings his fingers up to his lips, pulling the index and middle into his mouth. You watch as he lubircates them with gentle sucking and flicks of his tongue, the sight causing your insides to clench in anticipation. “Just let me do all the work, pretty girl. Close your eyes and spread ‘em wider for me, yeah?”

As his fingers trailed down your torso, you obliged, spreading your legs as wide as they’d go, and shutting your eyes. Propping himself onto one forearm, he lifts his hips away from yours, providing enough space for his arm to fit between your bodies — his fingers dipping into the lace waistband of your panties. The warm, wet touch of his digits against your slick folds caused your back to arch, pressing your clothed body into his bare chest.

“Jesus,” the word drags out, past his shallow gasp, “this all for me?” Before he’d even touched you, a dampness had grown between your legs at the sight of him, his fingers now running along its evident effect. Pursing your lips against his palm, you nodded, allowing a faint whimper to escape you as his middle finger now dragged lazy circles over your clit. With his forearm pressed against your stomach, the constant flex and relaxation of its muscles, and his two fingers now dipping inside you — it wouldn’t be long.

The length and slenderness of his digits, allowed them to make quick and effortless contact with your g-spot, as they bottomed out before curling. Lips parted and wet against his palm, you allowed a spew of moans to pour into the skin of his hand, nearly thankful that it provided you with a comfortable barrier to cry freely into. “‘Like that, sweet girl?” Tom’s lips brushed along your ear, teeth grazing your lobe, “you like it when my fingers are deep inside your pretty pussy, don’t you?”

Only being able to respond with muffled noises falling from your mouth, he took the gentle bite to his palm as a gesture of agreement. His apparent smirk curved against your jaw before he took the lobe of your ear into his mouth, sucking softly on the smooth skin. As his fingers continued to run themselves along your walls, pumping into you at a deliciously slow pace, he brought his thumb to your clit — the two sensations, added with bites and kisses he placed along your neck, created a heady combination, that brought you to the edge quicker than expected.

“Gonna come for me, yeah?” He didn’t need a response, already recognizing the telltale groans beneath his palm and the contracting of muscles around his fingers. Your wetness had become audible, as he quickened his pace, flicking his wrist aggressively. Thighs clenching around his hand, hips bucking to meet his fingers, and head pressed forcefully against the pillows; you were in euphoria. As his thumb added pressure to your clit, precisely timing it with his two other fingers motions, you were crashing over the edge.

“That’s it, love,” he groaned into your ear, “come all over my fingers.” His hand tightened over your mouth as you met your release, a string of profanities and his name falling into it.

Blinking your eyes open, you exhaled through your nose forcefully, struggling to catch your breathe without using your mouth. Met with adoring, but hungry eyes and a lazy smirk, you couldn’t help smile under his hand. Pumping his fingers a few more times before removing them, he brought them to his lips, pulling them into his mouth as he had before; closing his eyes briefly as they were sucked clean. “You never disappoint,” he hummed appreciatively, removing his hand from over your mouth, “do you, pretty girl?”

Blushing, you smile at him coyly, reaching up to push his curls off his forehead, “could say the same about you, Tommy.” He was radiating smug, boyish confidence as he leaned down to kiss your waiting lips - tender from their restraint against his palm. The kiss was slow and sweet, his tongue dipping into your mouth, stained in your flavor mixed with his own. Pulling back to run the bridge of his nose along yours, he sighed contentedly.

“Guess I should let you get back to it.”

You shook your head, a hand cupping the back of his neck; after having had a taste you craved more. Tilting his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “but I thought said that you needed to finish your paper today, otherwise your professor would only give you half—“

“—okay you need to shut up.” You interjected, echoing his assertion from before as your hand came up to cover his mouth. Surprised, you felt his grin against your palm, and although you feigned a cool resolve, your eyes were alight with humor. Using your body weight, you pushed him onto his back beside you, hand remaining over his mouth as you moved to straddle his parted legs.

“Now, here’s what’s gonna happen.”

Look at the tongue, he’s so proud of himself lmaoooooo. He snapped faster than Thanos did (credit: instagram)

Mistakes Like This. Mob!Tom Series

|| summary: originally paid to be an escort for the notorious mob family, the hollands, the reader and tom meet which embarks them on a very precarious relationship that threatens everything tom and his family have built.

|| author's note: this is really really long, sorry but i had to set the mood for the story ya know? if you enjoyed, and want me to continue, let me know.

TEASER

Chapter 1 — The Meeting

"No way. No way in hell." You shake your head aggressively, pushing the thick fluorescent-yellow envelope back to the other side of the table.

"Girl, this is fast, easy money. A crap ton of money." Your friend, Danielle broached desperately from her chair opposite yours. Using the term 'friend' tentatively, because the only thing the two of you have in common is this side business you do on occasion to make ends meet.

"Having rich, old, lonely men take me on fancy dinners is one thing. But going to a party with some of the most dangerous people in the city, possibly even in the country, that's on a whole other level." You flatten your lips in defiance, your disposition cementing as Danielle struggles to find a rhyme or reason for you to participate in tonight's event.

"Look, it's just one night and you don't have to fuck anyone you don't want to, same as before. You're just there to look pretty on some big shots arm, and then your rent," she waves the envelope at you, "is paid in full for the next few months. Easy." Resting your elbows on the table, you place your head in your hands, and sigh heavily. The slight shift in your demeanor is taken as a sign of vulnerability, and Danielle uses it as an opportunity to play on your emotions. "I really need this money, but I don't want to go into this party without at least a familiar face to keep me company."

Peaking at her through your fingers, you note that she has on her best pleading face, and her bottom lip is curved out into a prominent pout. Exhaling a long exasperated breath, you concede, reaching for the money. "Fine, but I'm not going to become some personal prostitute for the Holland family. We clear?" Her face splits into a shit-eating grin, and she nods enthusiastically. "Crystal."

Just like that, you'd signed yourself away for a night with the most notorious crime family in modern London history; which was probably more dangerous and reckless, than if you'd agreed to sign your soul away to the devil - except the devil wouldn't pay as well as the Hollands did.

"Oh, and there's a certain dress code you have to follow tonight, so be sure to pick up your dress from this place." Danielle extends a wrinkled paper to you, with numbers scribbled on it. You eye it with uncertainty, but take it nonetheless, typing the address into your phone. "I'll call and tell them you're in, see you tonight. Driver will be there at 7 sharp." She beams, her giddiness evident in her near-skip as she walks to the door.

When Google Maps loads to the location, your jaw pops open, and you glance around the room in shock as if anyone else could see what you're looking at. The directions had opened to the most expensive designer dress store in the entire city and as much as you hated to admit it, your curiosity was peaked. As was your interest in tonight's event, and its host.

__________________________________________

The dress was stunning, as it should be for its pretty price, a delicate satin shade of pearl-white colored its surface. Its thin straps clung tightly to your shoulders, allowing the otherwise loose material to hang promisingly over your assets. It was as if the gown had been tailored to fit you like a glove, clinging to you in just the right ways, and amplifying the tone of your skin with its illuminating color.

Your eyes scanned over the figure reflected in your bathroom mirror, stunned by every intricate detail that had been woven into your final appearance. For your face, you'd kept it simple, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself, by highlighting your features in the most natural way possible. However, for your lips you'd chosen a radiant red, amplifying their curves and plumpness. As for your hair, a simple updo sufficed in order to expose your long neck and the lace-tied back of your dress.

The time read 6:58, and with one final glance at yourself in the mirror, you moved to head down stairs. Just as you grabbed your clutch purse, there was a forceful knock at the door that caused you to jump slightly in surprise. Checking through the peep hole, you discovered a blonde man dressed in a perfectly tailored black and white suit; your driver, you presumed. Timidly, you opened the door, taking a small cautious step back at the looming figure before you.

"Miss (y/l/n)," he greeted coldly polite, his striking blue eyes piercing into yours, "I'm Mr. Osterfield. I will be your driver for the evening." His name was Harrison, you'd come to recognize him as the Holland's right hand man; wherever they seemed to go, he was sure to follow close behind. "How did you know my room number?" You question, your eyes racking up and down his body in acute suspicion.

"The receptionist in the lobby gave it to me." He responds flatly, bored with the indifferent curiosity presented in your demeanor. "That's confidential information, he wouldn't of just given it to you." You retort, the underlying accusation in your tone breaks his stiff features for a split second, a smirk creeping at the corners of his lips. "I can be very persuasive when I need to be." The glimmer in his eyes sends warning sirens off in your brain, alerting to you the justifiable apprehension spreading in the pit of your stomach. "Come, we don't want to be late." He offers you his arm, which take after another moment of silent contemplation, wondering if you'd just made a terrible mistake.

__________________________________________

The building was magnificent, every detail precisely and intricately molded into place to form the entire mansion. The walls were painted with decorative colors of gold and white, which made them cold yet alluring at the same time. The marble floor was waxed to perfection, making it almost painful to walk on, afraid to dirty or smudge it. With high ceiling and vast corridors, the shuddering sense of small inadequacy in comparison was palpable; making you all the more uneasy. Harrison had stayed by your side, escorting you through two doorways, before reaching a large, remarkably crowded room. It was alight with music, idle conversations, and a few staggeringly uneasy laughs.

As you entered into the room, the noise was brought to a dismal spew of hushed voices, as most eyes turned to you. No doubt captivated by your dress and unfamiliar face, peaked with lustful curiosity. For the first time since you left the apartment, you'd silently wished that Harrison had stayed by your side; suddenly feeling unprotected. In desperate need of a distraction, you busied yourself by scanning the room for Danielle's olive face. For a change, seeing it would be a rare pleasantry; one you'd be more than happy to take full advantage of. Unable to spot her, you timidly walk towards the bar, unsure of what to do with yourself, but wanting nothing more than be away from the doorway, and the center of everyone's attention.

This was your first time being thrown blindly into a room with more than one potential client, and knowing that every one of them is more dangerous than they appear, only fueled your apprehensions. Before the well-dressed bartender could pay you any mind, seeing as he was currently being hassled about some drink mishap, a broad middle-aged man takes the available seat opposite you. Instinctively, your eyes flicker over to meet his, and you almost immediately regret doing so. There's no name to the face, but it's all too familiar. You'd seen this man on the news serveral times, and not because he was being applauded for his acts as good a samaritan.

Mainly, it was speculation as to whether or not he was connected to the latest crime; robbery, political bribery, or murder. From the impression you got, he had at least one hand in every politicians cookie jar, leading you to believe that he was probably more powerful and influential than most people in this room. But even so, there was one person who he still answered to, and that was Hollands. The thought alone, terrified you.

In hopes to avoid conversation, you ripped your eyes away from his, drawing your gaze back towards the preoccupied bartender. Though your eyes were elsewhere, you weren't blind to the presence next to you. From what you'd seen, he was dressed in a designer black and purple tinted suit, with a sapphire colored handkerchief and undershirt. His jet black hair was slicked back, flattened against the top of his head, and he had serveral rings on. However, the detail that struck you the most, was his electric green eyes; the stare behind them was intense and harsh. They were not a welcoming or calming shade or green, more of a warning color; the kind that alerted you to the type of man you were dealing with - one who was not to be tussled around.

"My, my. Someone's rude." His clipped tone rang clear through the air, scratching its way along your skin, before biting into your ear. It was difficult to remain, or appear to be, calm and collected; unfazed by his threatening attitude. Nevertheless, you exercised your strong will and backbone, turning to face him with a polite smile. "Pardon me, I didn't mean to offend you." Extending your hand out to him, you tilt your head to the side in welcome, hoping it will calm the rage burning his glare.

His eyes don't falter from yours as he takes your hand, shaking it slowly. The skin is surprisingly rough, the tops of his hands hairy with age, and the warmth in his grasp is unsettling. He shakes your hand for too long, as if to drag out the experience, in hopes to subdue you with its evident intimidating-effect over you. Eventually, he pulls his hand away from yours and uses his free fingers to stroke along the corners of his mustache.

"You know, you're the first girl to show up tonight. I'm not sure how the others expect to top this." He gestures to your body with his free hand, his eyes following it, unabashedly racking up and down your figure. "I think they'll manage to surprise you." You smile tightly, tempted to turn back around, but the unsurness of what would happen if you did, stops you.

He shakes his head, dismissing himself from deep thought, a faint hum falling from his parted lips. "Don't know how Tom expects me to fucking wait," he growls under his breath, closing his eyes briefly, before opening them with a newfound determination, "screw it." He grasps your wrist tightly, taken by surprise it outweighs the pain from his grip, your feet barely keeping up with him as he practically drags you into the crowd.

Blinking at his back, your mouth is open, ready to protest but having no idea what to say or how to articulate it into words. You're here, being paid as an escort, so you're not exactly in a position to say no. This had never happened to you before, the men you'd been out with never asked for anything more than a kiss on the cheek at the end of a very expensive dinner, that they had paid for. Danielle had said you didn't have to fuck anyone you didn't want to, but you were now getting the feeling that that's what it meant on paper, not necessarily what was actually going to happen. How exactly did she expect you to turn down the most notorious mobsters in London; if they wanted to take you, they were going to. But, you'd be damned if you'd go quietly.

Tugging on his grasp, you manage to loosen it enough to free your wrist, ignoring the sting from your skin burning as you straighten your posture - tightening your hands around your purse in attempts to reign in control over them. "What do you think you're doing?" His head whips around to face yours, and if looks could kill. Narrowing your eyes at him, you flatten your lips in defiance, taken slightly aback by his gaul.

"No, what do you think you're doing?" Your comment is only mildly assertive, not wanting to anger him more than he appears to be now. "I'm not being paid to allow you to do with me as you please." His mouth falls open, shocked more than anything else, and he chuckles bitterly. "You're a whore, who's being paid to make sure that I'm satisfied. And taking you to my limo, then fucking you senseless, would beyond satisfy me." As his hand reaches for you again, you step back, feeling a muscular arm wrap around your waist as you do so. Turning your head, your heart drops to the pit of your stomach, eyes widening as your jaw pops open.

The man beside you is none other than Tom Holland, the youngest and newest king of the Holland family business. The whisperings you'd heard of him were no better than the man across from you, but knowing that he was the one behind the curtain, pulling all the strings; orchestrating every crime these men were committing, was enough to send shivers up your spine. Nearly trembling in his loose grasp, he skates his thumb soothingly over the exposed skin at the back of your dress, the contact causing you to verbally gasp.

"Tony," Tom address flatly, "what's going on here?" He's yet to look at you, but his side features are unmistakably tense. His jaw is tight and his eyes are narrowed, all of his attention aimed at Tony; who's now practically shaking under the scrutiny. "Mr. Holland, I apologize if I made a scene-"

Tom stops him with a simple, but swift, wave of his hand, shaking his head slightly. "I didn't ask for an apology. I asked what was going on." The menacing inflection in which he spoke, sent clear signals that he was someone who, when demanding something, better be met with no resistance or sorry excuses. "Sir, I was just, she- we- I, was taking her to- we were only going to be gone a few moments."

You had to admit that it was immensely satisfying to watch a once seemingly unstoppable force, fluster over himself in fear; like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. The irony causes you to smile slightly. "Tony, you are a guest in my house, as is this lovely woman, and I expect that my guests are treated with respect. That includes respecting one another. Now, no matter what way you try to spin it, there is no excuse for touching her the way you did, and I find it extremely rude that you placed your hands on my escort, disobeying my specific instructions. Now, I want you to leave."

Tony has fallen silent, clinging to Tom's every word, nodding his head in quiet obedience before quickly leaving without another comment. The power that Tom wields over these tycoons is astonishing, and you can't help but wonder if you perhaps judged him too soon; maybe he wasn't as bad as he appears to be. After all, he did just save you from a mad man.

"Thank you." Your words are a barely an audible whisper, and if he wasn't standing so close, he wouldn't of heard you. For the first time, since he joined your side, he turns to face you. Releasing your waist, he steps back, giving you his attention. As his features begin to flood into your vision, you can't help but note how uniquely attractive he is. The way his brown curls were styled neatly into perfection, and faint freckles danced their way along his cheeks, was stunning. Everything about him was arranged in such a particular order, that it was as if God crafted and handpicked Tom's appearance himself.

His eyes were a glowing melt of brown, and they were hard to resist when they met yours with such intimacy. As if he'd known you for years. One of his eyes brows raises at you in question, and you immediately feel the need to clarify. "For stepping in when you did." You explain, awkwardly shifting under his stare.

"Not a problem, love." His voice has changed, it's much warmer now, a smooth melody to your ears; surprisingly welcoming. "I don't like to share my women." Just as the words fall from his mouth, that brief fleeting moment of open-mindedness is thrown out the window, and you can't help but blink at him in disgust. "Your women?" You seethed, crossing your arms defensively.

"Yes." He remarks blankly, as if its the most obvious concept in the world. "And what makes you think that, exactly?" As powerful and intimidating as he is, there's a self-restraint to him; giving you a false sense of security in the hopes that he wouldn't do anything to hurt you physically, if you lashed out. He licks his lips, clicking his tongue while shaking his head slightly, a smile curving at corners of his mouth. "Are you not at my event, wearing a dress I bought, and not doubt happily counting that payment you recieved from me earlier?" He's taken a few steps towards you, closing what little distance remained between the you two. "That doesn't mean-"

"What it means," he interjects, "is that for tonight, I own you." The authority in his assertion sends chills up your spine, destroying what backbone you had, leaving you feeling small and vulnerable. You'd thought he stepped in to protect you from Tony's attack, but in reality he was simply staking his claim, marking what was his. It was clear now that you were at his mercy, to do with as he pleased, not anyone else. "Now, what do you fancy?" He offers, gesturing towards the bar, hooking his arm through yours and leading you back over to it. Your mind has become blank, leaving you at complete loss for words.

"I think red wine to match that delicious color on your lips." He decides, pulling the bartenders attention with his fingers and ordering you a drink. As he extends the glass to you, he pauses before placing it into your awaiting hand, "what do you say?" His eyes are daggers, piercing into yours, flaring with an underlying enigmatic energy you hadn't noticed before. Fortunately your autopilot has begun to function and saves you from any further mishap, "thank you, Mr. Holland."

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, and he places the glass in your hand, being sure to brush his fingers along yours. The contact tightens the coil of apprehension and worry growing in your stomach, and you raise the liquid courage to your mouth, welcoming its taste. "Now, may I have this dance..." He pauses, awaiting your name. "(Y/N)." You mumble into the rim of the glass.

"(Y/N)", he repeats before offering his hand to yours.

__________________________________________

For the rest of the evening Tom had been nothing, if not an absolute gentleman, nearly allowing you to forget the vicious words he'd spoken earlier. When it came time for the conclusion of the party, every other woman that had showed up, escorted the men to their rooms for the evening. It came as no surprise to you when Tom began leading you to one of the various bedrooms in the house, and after several glasses of wine you felt more confident than before - less skittish and weak.

The room he led you in to was magnificent, and was appropriately sized in comparison to the other parts of the house you'd seen; tall ceiling, white king size bed with a glorious carved headboard to match, and double doors that led out to a balcony which overlooked the property. As beautiful as the room was, it had no personality. There was no signature color, design or any other distinguishing characteristics; which was a real indicator that led you to believe it was nothing more than a cookie cutter bedroom.

"Is this your room?" You questioned, glancing over your shoulder at him as you continued into the bedroom. "No," he shook his head, undoing the buttons of his jacket, "I don't take anyone to mine. This is one of my various guest beds." Whether or not it was his intention, you were insulted that he didn't see you as worthy of being brought to his room. Turning to face him, you're half tempted to display your disgust but air on the side of caution and concede on saying nothing. Shrugging his jacket off, he folds it before placing it on the foot of the bed. He hooks his fingers into his bow tie, disheveling it enough so that it hangs loosely around his neck.

As much as you wish you were, you're not immune to his prepossessing features, and even with your inherit distaste towards him, you can't help but wonder what he'd be like in bed. Before he can catch you gawking at him, you look down at your fingers, toying with your manicured nails. Each step you sense him making towards you, adds to the feeling of entrapment; suffocating you to the point of fear. The shine of his patent leather shoes comes into view, as he stands before you. At such close proximity, you catch a whiff of his delectable cologne, no doubt designer, and you close your eyes at the smell - inhaling deeply.

One of his hands reaches forward, placing his index finger under you chin to lift it, bringing your gaze to meet his. "Don't worry, darling." His breath is hot against the cool of your cheeks, and the contact, no matter the amount, of him touching you is unnerving. "I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to." He assures, his eyes softening as his thumb runs along your jaw before stroking your cheek. The sensation is pleasant, but nonetheless a reminder of what his intentions are.

"Aren't you though? Taking advantage of women, because you've asserted your power and wealth over them, which gives you some demented delusion that they're your property to do with as you please." The words fly out of your mouth before you have time to filter or stop them, and your eyes cautiously scan his face to gauge his reaction. Tom's eyebrows raise in disbelief, as his mouth pops open in attempts to compose a structured sentence. His hand falls from your face and he quietly scoffs, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm not a fucking rapist." The revulsion in his voice is palpable, and he narrows his eyes at you, taken aback by your subtle accusation. By how offended he appears to be, there's a small sting of shame and guilt growing in your side, for lashing out. "It's just," he runs an exasperated hand through his hair, "this is how the night usually ends with women like you."

"Women like me?" You bait, blinking at him in question. "Whores." He clarifies, almost dismissively, as if he knew of some preceding lifestyle you've had. "I am not a whore." You refute, glaring at him. He gives you a doubtful smile, a hint of amusement hiding behind his hooded eyes. "For your information, I've never slept with a client in my life, but I can see how you might've missed that, as you've been too busy basking in your own arrogance to be able to understand anything about anyone besides yourself."

His expression shifts again, leaning more towards amusement than anything else, and for the first time of the night, he smiles to his eyes, revealing his teeth. They're perfectly shaped and arranged, a beaming shade of porcelain white that immediately captivates your attention. Damn he's beautiful. "What?" You snap at his chuckles, attempting to conceal your smile with annoyance.

"I'd just love to see what other skills your mouth has, besides putting me in my place." He's smirking now, and his eyes have darkened several shades, their attention falling to your mouth. Instinctively, your tongue darts out to wet your lips, noting his reaction when you do so. "Well, that's not going to happen." You feign certainty, ignoring the fact that his bottom lip is caught between his teeth; which is one of the sexiest sights you swore you've ever seen.

"Fortunately, I'm a patient man." He chortled, his hand coming up to tuck a fallen hair behind your ear. "Can patience wait till never?" Sarcasm is dripping off of every word that falls from your mouth, but you're throughly amused by this childish bickering. "Oh, you give yourself too much credit, kitten," he sighs, "eventually you'll give in, and I can not wait for the day I see you on your knees below me." His thumb strokes over your ear, tugging gently at the lobe before dropping his hand back to his side.

The vitality between you has become much too intense, the air practically cracking underneath the tension, and you know if you stay what might happen. You refuse to allow yourself to become a pawn in his game. Another notch in his belt. Another nameless face that he'd soon forget after having his fill of you. You respected yourself too much to become victim to his persuasions, and with that understanding, you ached for freedom.

"Can I go home?" You murmur, swallowing hard. For what feels like the hundredth, you watch as his expression shifts into conflict and confusion at something you've said. "You wanna leave?" He sounds surprised, but also acutely offended. You nod silently, tearing your gaze away from his to reexamine your fingers as you did before. There's a long moment of silence, before he eventually sighs in defeat, walking over to the phone on the bedside table.

There's an exchange of hushed words, then he hangs up the call, walking over to the bed to grab his jacket. "Come, I'll walk you out." He opens the door, stepping to the side and allowing you to take the lead. The walk through the halls is taken in comfortable, but deafening silence, neither of you sure what to say to the other. As you approach the entry way to the house, Tom stops you with a gentle tug on your arm. "Here," he shrugs off his jacket, placing it over your shoulders, "it's cold outside."

The act is seemingly absentminded to him, but it's such an unexpected and endearing gesture that you feel a flush spreading along your cheeks. "Thank you." You smile, snuggling into the warmth and comfort of the silk inner-lining of his jacket. Stepping into the brisk breeze of the night, you become immensely more grateful for the comfort provided by the additional clothing, pulling the sleeves tightly around you. The valet turns to you both and smiles politely, "the car should be coming around any second, sir." Tom nods in acknowledgement, shifting so that he's closer to you.

"Am I the only girl leaving?" You ask, your curiosity getting the better of you. "Well, you were paid for the full night, as were the others, so technically you're not supposed to leave. But, yes. You are." There's a hint of admiration behind his remark, as if he's proud that his girl decided not stay and fuck him like the others. To be completely honest, he was. Of course, he wanted you and he wouldn't of been disappointed if you did stay, but that would've been much too boring. You had set yourself apart, refusing to sleep with Tony and him, made you interesting. A challenge that Tom was more than happy to fight for.

Within a few seconds the limo pulls around the front of the house, a different man from before stepping out to open the door for you. Tom walks you to the car, dismissing the driver with a glance, then turning to face you. "I would say goodbye, but I have a feeling I'll see you again. Sooner or later." His tone is very matter-of-fact, but his eyes are pooling with hopefulness. "Don't hold your breath." You half-chuckle, moving to take off his jacket. "Keep it," he interjects, waving his hand, "I've got a hundred just like it." Smiling at him, you lean forward and place a swift but tantalizingly sweet kiss on his cheek. Staining it with your florescent red imprint. "Good night, Tom." His eyes meet yours again, alight with a newfound determination, and softness to them you hadn't seen before. "Good night, (Y/N)."

Stepping into the car, Tom shuts the door behind you, and watches at you drive off into the night. With the comfort of the leather upholstery beneath you, and the warmth of Tom's jacket, which you would later come to find out that he had discreetly placed his number inside one of its pocket, your eyes slowly started to flutter shut. Intoxicated by the smell of him surrounding you, you were inevitably pulled into a quick sleep, your mind instinctively conjuring up thoughts of Tom.

Unaware of it at the time, but this would be the first of many nights, where your dreams would drift to him. He would come to own your every thought and waking moment, teasing and tormenting you with his presence. As Tom had predicted, you'd given yourself too much credit. You were his, and you were going to find yourself on your knees for him, sooner or later.

Teaser. Mob!Tom Series

|| author's note: depending on what you guys think, i may or may not make this into a series, so let me know. also tons of angst in this!!

The hold you had on your clutch purse was so tight that your knuckles had become a visible sheet of white. As you stormed down the empty corridor your heels clicked and echoed off the marble floor and high ceiling, like a war drum; alerting anyone within earshot that you were not to be fucked with right now.

Basking in your own stubborn self-righteousness, you ignored the pleas chasing after you and continued down the hall, making a direct line for the parking lot. "Hey, hey. Stop." Finally a deseperate hand caught your arm, pulling you to an abrupt halt. Quickly snatching it away, you move to walk again but Tom turns and stands in front of you - effectively keeping you from leaving. "What is your problem?" His voice is sharp and hushed, his eyes burning an intense shade of brown.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, your mouth popping open at his unmitigated gall. "My problem?" You sneer through gritted teeth, "you're unfucking-believable. You know that?" He cocks his head at you, straining the muscles in his neck until they soundly crack, a common kink he has the tendency to do when he's mad. Really fucking mad. "I'm unbelievable? I'm not the one that just stormed out of a room like a petulant child, forcing me to leave my very powerful, and highly-irritable guests unattended. Which by the way, is not a great reflection of me as host, or a business partner." His voice has raised, and his hands are held in fists, balled up in his pockets, restraining themselves against the tight material of his dress pants.

"I didn't make you come after me." You snap, crossing your arms over your chest in defiance. His features flatten, and he sighs heavily. "Yet here I am," he remarks bitterly, "so why don't you just tell me what's wrong." It's not a request, and at this point you know arguing would just be fighting an uphill battle that you're inevitably bound to lose. Tom is the only person you know more stubborn than you. "I don't feel comfortable with the way that woman was talking to you. Nor do I appreciate being covertly placed into the corner of the room, like a stray mutt with rabies. Are you ashamed of me or something?"

Tom looks slightly surprised by your sudden unabashed omissions of neglect, but also acutely annoyed. "If I was ashamed of you," he takes a step forward, pulling one of his hands out of his pocket to cup your chin, "you wouldn't have been in that room." His thumb skates over your bottom lip, and dances its way over to your cheek which it strokes gently. Closing your eyes, you give yourself over to his touch momentarily, but the feeling of his hand on you only echos the image of the way it was touching the bitch in the red dress earlier. You turn your head away from his hand and shake it slightly.

"That's not enough for me," you sibilate, "I won't be treated like some side whore, while you parade around with those prestigious women because of their association to men with titles that can help further your business." You take in a shaky, but steadying breath as you straighten your shoulders; bracing yourself for Tom's outrage.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Tom shakes his head in dismay, "come on, let's go." He grabs your arm forcibly and moves to lead you back towards the party, but you immediately tug it free. "No." Is all you can manage as you stand your ground. "No, what?" He growls, narrowing his eyes at you. "I won't be apart of it."

He furrows his eyebrows at you in angry confusion, awaiting your explanation. "Her or me." Tom rolls his eyes, running an exasperated hand through his hair, smoothing it back into perfect style. "This isn't a you or her thing, this is business." His voice is a low intense bark, and his eyes are closed as he tries to reign in his anger. "Fine," you concede, "business or me." Tom opens his eyes, his features falling in shock as he gapes at you. He blinks a few times, slightly shaking his head, his jaw tightening. "Don't do this. Don't go there." He warns, taking a step closer. Instinctively, you step back and you watch as the panic washes over his face.

"Please," his voice breaks slightly, his stern demeanor having taken a complete 180, looking more vulnerable than he ever has before. You so desperately want to give into him, dropping the whole damned thing, and following him back to the party; but deep down you knew - you knew this was now or later. Eventually, the two of you were going to reach this impasse and you needed to know which was more important to him. Only slightly comforted that this moment was happening now, rather than a few years in, you remained firm in your position.

"Business or me." You repeated flatly, your eyes searched his for any clue as to what he was thinking; and amongst the panic, fear, betrayal, and vulnerability, you saw a cool resolve. Something you hadn't noticed before, but knew deep down had always been there. He didn't want this to happen, he didn't think it ever would, but he knew, as well as you did, that his mind was already made up. Tom had come to this decision long before he'd even met you, no doubt having it instilled from a young age by his domineering-tycoon farther. There was no room for love in his life, no room for error or compromise, or any of the other complications that came with a real relationship. And you'd never be able to accept that, you'd always need and want more from him. More than he could give.

As you came to this realization, you'd wished for nothing more than to go back and not have said anything at all, but it was too late. Your relationship would be forever changed, tainted by this true understanding of each other. He'd never looked more transparent, yet you could still see the inner and physical struggle he was having; his fingers slightly twitching as he contemplated reaching out for you and his eyes begging you to stay.

"Okay," your voice was a breathy whisper, "I'll make it easy for you." Without giving yourself enough time to back out of the situation, or jump into Tom's awaiting arms, you shove past him and practically run out of the building. Much to your dismay, you feel the all-too familiar sting of tears prick in your eyes, threatening to fall as you reach the valet outside.

"Ma'am?" He acknowledges, eyeing you with concern. "A driver, please." You manage, your words choking past the lump in your throat. The crushing weight on your chest, was one of the most painful things you'd ever experienced. It was if your heart had been smashed into a million pieces, rather than breaking straight down the middle; it would never recover from this, or be pieced neatly back together, it was obliterated by the incident that had just occurred. The warm wetness of tears stained your cool cheeks, as they slid down them before falling off your jaw in slow droplets. Your vision blurred as they pooled in your eyes, not being able to blink them away fast enough, and if not for the chauffeur coming out to guide you to the limo, you wouldn't have even recognized your driver.

"Home, I presume Miss?" He suggests timidly, offering you a gentle hand to help you into the car. You nodded silently, and gave him a small polite smile as you took his proffered handkerchief. With the door shut, you were given the privacy to cry freely, allowing the once quiet sniffs to be overcome by sobbing gasps for air. Looking out the tinted window, you watched as the building disappeared behind you, it and your relationship with Tom fading into the black nothingness of the night.

Everything around you was a cruel reminder of him; his favorite whiskey accompanied with the glasses that you'd drank from earlier, your lipstick still staining the rim of one. The leather seats you sat on were embroidered in gold with his initials designed on them. All of the special moments the two of you had shared in the back of this limo, came flooding in as your eyes scanned your surroundings. The crushing reality of what you just left behind sets in, and the hole expanding in the pit of your stomach leads you to believe that you've made a grave mistake. Possibly the biggest one of your life.

continue reading

would y'all fucking look at him. he's so damn cute and i love him with all my heart.

when someone compliments tom on his performance as spider-man, or goes as far as to say he's the best one, and he smiles super big and gets that eye-crinckle thing. reblog if you agree

Thinking Of You.

|| summary: headcanon about phone sex with tom, because.... a kink, oops.

|| author's note: this wasn't requested, but damn is it a motherfucking concept.

• okay so we all know that with tom's job, comes a lot of traveling.

• this wasn't a regular thing, but if tom was gone for longer than usual, or he just had a really tough day and all he wanted was to be between your legs - this typically occurred.

• it'd start with a simple "hey, are you up?" type of message because of time zones, he didn't know if you were awake or asleep.

• sometimes you'd be woken up by the message because it was like three in the morning, or sometimes he just caught you when you were pulling a late-nighter.

• you'd be on your phone and see his message pop up, and reply immediately.

• after your reply he'd send you some corny shit like:

• or sometimes he'd get straight to the point:

• your heart would be pounding so fast when you'd hear the dial tone connecting your call, but as soon as you heard tom's voice, you couldn't be more content.

• there'd be a brief moment of silence as y'all just listened to each other breathe, the gravity of missing one another and being so far apart really setting in.

• but tom always started the conversation.

• it started off as a casual call, you two would just be going back forth about each other's day and what movie you saw recently or gossip about friends or whatever, but it would eventually take a sexual turn - which was often tom's doing.

• he'd make this deep groan that was so sexy. it'd be a little bit of sexual frustration mixed with desire to just see you.

• that was true, you loved having the smell and almost feel of him begin with you - even if it was just a shirt.

• he'd be so turned on by the thought that you'd hear his breath hitch in his throat, and his hand would be trailing underneath the bedsheets to stroke himself over his sweats.

• your free hand would slide under your (his) shirt to play with your breasts, your fingers rolling over your nipples - imaging that it was tom's mouth.

• you'd bite your lip, as your hand trailed down into your underwear, running between your folds to collect your own slick.

• the sounds of your whimpers would drive tom wild as he began to stroke up and down his length, imaging that it was your mouth and not his hand.

• his occasional grunts and sharp intakes of breath would urge your fingers on, causing you to arch your back at the stimulation.

• his hand would gain momentum, continuing to pump his length as he gave himself over to the sounds you were making and picturing the way you looked right now - touching yourself for him.

• your orgasm was building fast, your thighs tightened around your wrist, entrapping your hand as your legs began to tremble.

• your fingers speed up, and you could faintly hear tom's hand sliding up and down himself, the sound nearly causing you to cum right then and there.

• recognizing your telltale moans when on the brink of an orgasm, he'd urge you on.

• you'd throw your head back and gasp loudly, grinding your hips down onto your fingers, riding yourself through your orgasm before pulling your hand away from your throbbing clit.

• tom would still be pumping himself, nearly over the edge, but you'd be sure to return the favor.

• his mouth would fall open and he'd let out a satisfied groan that would cause your insides to twitch as he came all over himself.

• the sounds of your guys' labored breathing would fill the silence over the line as you two caught your breath and slowed your heart beats.

• your eyes would close briefly as you smiled, trying to ignore the feeling of a growing hole in your stomach in response to the pain of his absence.

• your cheeks heated as you bit your lip, even more eager for him to be home.

• there was a long pause of comfortable silence, as you two just enjoyed the comfort of having the other person on the line, instantly available for anything you wanted to say, hearing each other breathe - almost as if you shared the same room.

• with that, you settled into bed, closing your eyes and allowing sleep to wash over you.

tom holland doing them things i like: THAT.

okay but am i the only one that thinks seeing tom play peter parker in the black symbiote suit would be extremely interesting and hot at the same time??? like tom is such a good actor i couldn't handle seeing that shit.

Say My Name.

|| summary: tom loves hearing you s(cream)ay his name. featuring the first time tom goes down on the reader.

|| author's note: this specific act was requested like a billion times so i hope y'all enjoy, and thanks for the patience!

Sounds of lips sucking on skin and soft moans filled the silence in the room. Tom's shirt, as well as yours, was discarded on the floor where he had dropped them earlier. The two of you were now standing at the foot of his bed, the back of your knees pressed against the mattress, as Tom's lips danced their way along your exposed chest.

Your heart was pounding so fast, you swore you heard it beating. Tom and you had been intimate before, but this time it felt different. It was different. In the back of your head, you knew the two of you were going to go further than you had before, but how far was really the question weighing on your mind.

A few times you'd gotten practically naked, in nothing but your bra and underwear, but something always managed to interrupt you both. After a while, you thought maybe the universe was giving you a sign that you two shouldn't take that step. Like, maybe he was really bad at it or something? Not that that would bother you or anything, it was just something your mind conjured up to plague your imagination with.

Tom's lips broke you from your train of thought as they latched onto your neck, urging you to tilt your head back for him. One of his hands cupped the back of your neck, holding you in place, while the other reached down to unbutton your jeans, fumbling with them for a bit.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and your arms reached out to grasp his bare shoulders, steadying yourself; if you hadn't, you thought you might faint. You weren't sure what exactly was making you so damn nervous, Tom was always so gentle and slow, but in this moment you almost wanted to speed things up so you didn't feel so exposed.

Tom took his lips off your neck, causing you to whine with an irritated huff, lifting your head to look at him. His hand moved from the back of your neck to around your throat, skimming over it, lightly squeezing, before cupping your chin and brining you into a kiss. A kiss that was needful, yet precise and steady, that all of your insecurities vanished and you knew you wanted nothing more than for this to last forever.

Kissing was the one thing you felt confident about, and your tongue danced with his, fighting for dominance. Leaning his weight into you, he forced the two of you back onto the bed, using his free arm to catch the fall. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling his hips flush against yours, as your tongues explored and tasted each other's mouths.

His hand around your chin fell to your thigh, hitching it higher up his waist, as he began grinding himself down into you. A moan escaped you, pouring into Tom's mouth before he pulled away for air.

He kissed his way across your cheek, while you buried your hands in his unruly hair - tugging gently at the curls. "You're so responsive darling," he groaned as he took your ear lobe between his teeth, sucking on it briefly before releasing it and whispering, "I love that."

You moaned again in response, biting your lip as Tom kissed the spot just below your ear. His hips slowed to a stop and he brought his face back to yours, hovering of you. "So sexy," he mumbles, almost absentmindedly, kissing you quickly, before sliding his body down off the bed. He stands at your feet, admiring you briefly, then grabs your ankles and pulls you further down the mattress, so that your legs are practically hanging off of it. His fingers reach down and hook into your jeans and panties, pulling them down simultaneously in one swift motion.

You're now in nothing but your bra, and the way that his jeans are hanging seductively off his hips, the waistband of calvin klein boxers clearly visible - makes you want nothing more than to tear him out of them. Leaning down, he begins kissing his way up your legs, starting along the outside and working his way in. Propping yourself onto your elbows, you watch as his mouth sucks and kisses its way your legs, savoring every inch of your skin.

His mouth latches onto the inside of one knee, and his hand reaches up and pushes the opposite knee down - spreading your legs apart. After a beat, his mouth continues up your thigh, kissing along the inside of the soft flesh, and repeating the same process on the other leg. Tom's lips hover over your core, peeking up through long lashes to meet your eyes.

Holding your stare, he lowers his mouth down onto you, licking a long flat stroke, spreading your lips open. "Oh Tom," you groan, arching your back and tangling your hands in his hair, "yessssss." Urging him on, his tongue continues up until it reaches your sensitive blub of nerves, which Tom pulls into his mouth - sucking on it softly.

"Fuck." One of your hands reaches up and runs the back of it along your lips, allowing you to bite down on two of your fingers to hold in your moans. Tom takes his mouth off you briefly, causing you to groan in frustration. "Ah-ah," he tisks, reaching for your hand and pulling it away from your mouth, "I wanna hear you." He kisses his way along your inner thighs, spreading your moisture, before returning his lips to your clit, dipping his tongue inside of you briefly.

"Oh my God, Jesus." Your eyes flutter shut and your head falls, hitting the mattress with a thud as the coil in your stomach turns, all your nerve-endings rushing to your core. One of his hands cups the top of your thigh, hooking it over his shoulder, while the other slowly slides his middle, then index finger into you. You groan loudly, bucking your hips against Tom's face causing him to chuckle against you. "You like that, pretty girl?" He mumbles into the soft skin of your thigh, his hot breath tickling you.

"Yes, you're so good!" You cry, as his fingers continue to slowly pump in and out of you, stretching you open, before curling inside of you and running along your G-spot. "Holy," your mouth falls open as Tom's tongue licks from his fingers back to your clit, the mixture of the two sensations causing your legs to shake.

You begin grinding yourself down onto his face and fingers, desperate for faster-deeper penetration. His hand on the top of your thigh shifts, hooking itself over your waist to keep your hips from moving. "Tommy," you whine.

"Say that again," he rasps, "say my name." As you call out his name again, his mouth moans around you, the vibration bouncing off your clit in the most spectacular way. Your insides clench around his fingers and you feel your legs tightening onto Tom's shoulders, nearing you on the brink of your orgasm. "T-Tom, I'm gonna-" you're cut off by your own moans, as Tom's fingers increase their speed and his mouth begins sucking hard on your clit, circling his tongue around it at the same time.

The grip you have on his hair tightens, pulling at it roughly, as your hips desperately try to buck against his face but his arm holds you securely in place. Your orgasm washes over you like warm summer rain, starting from your core and working it's way up and down your entire body. A spew of profanities and Tom's name fall from your mouth as he rides you through your orgasm - slowing his fingers and flicking his tongue lightly over your clit.

Your eyes blink open, and Tom removes his fingers from you, causing you to wince slightly. Looking down at him, you watch as he takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean, savoring the flavor before crawling over you. Leaning down he kisses you quickly, slipping his tongue into your mouth so you can taste yourself stained on him. He moans softly, as your arms hook around his neck, holding him close.

"That was so hot." You mumble, breaking away from the kiss. He smirks down at you with boyish-arrogance, a confident glimmer in his eye. "I had no idea you could make such sexy noises. Or that you tasted so good." He kisses you a few more times, as you grin from ear-to-ear, trying to contain a laugh. "What?" He asks, tilting his head to the side in question, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"I just," you burst into a fit of giggles as the thought plays in your head, "I just can't believe I actually thought you might be bad at this." Snorting, you throw an arm over your face, surrending yourself to the humor of it. "Bad?" Tom questions, "you thought I'd be bad?" He sounds amused, but also slightly offended.

Uncovering your face, you reach up and cup his cheeks, stroking them with your thumb reassuringly. "No, no, not like that. I just always thought it was weird that we never got to do anything, so I thought maybe the universe was telling me something. But clearly, I was very wrong." He smirks down at you again, licking his lips.

"Well, you know I have all sorts of skills you don't even know about yet..." he tails off kissing along your jaw, "and I'd love to show you how bad I can be." Tom teases, wriggling his eyebrows at you mischievously. Your mouth pops open in surprise, but you smile and nod your head enthusiastically. "Show me what you're made of Holland."

tom's instagram story with the stray dog.... jesus christ i love this boy.

i'm sick and tired of tom holland being so damn soft and cuddly, giving me major boyfriend vibes but not being my soft cuddly boyfriend.

The Night Before.

|| summary: the events that preceded the imagine so, what's for breakfast. hope you enjoy.

|| author's note: this was infinitely requested, i hope i didn't disappoint!

part 1

"Fuck." Tom grunted under his breath, as he shifted eagerly in his seat beside you. Your hand was in his lap, stroking him through his dress pants under the guise of the long table cloth. Originally, he had grabbed ahold of your wrist in attempts to stop to you, but his grip was now loosened, guiding your hand at the pace he wanted. His other arm was hung across the back of your chair, his thumb stroking over the smooth skin of your exposed shoulder in encouragement.

Eyeing him up and down, you took his features into photographic memory. The way his head was slightly hung back, eyes closed, bottom lip between his teeth, and how his hand was now just running along the top of yours gently - allowing you free range over him. His black suit was perfectly tailored, clinging to his muscles in the most spectacular way. The suit jacket was off, hanging on the back of his chair, allowing you the beautiful sight of him in a white button up. What is it about men in white collar shirts and bow ties?

Glancing around the room, checking to make sure you two still have your cover, you find everyone's eyes are on the best man as he gives his speech. The couple getting married were friends of your mom, the bride was on her third marriage, but you know what they say - third time's the charm, right? Your mother had chastised you even before the ceremony, telling you to leave your judgements and opinions at the door, but it was hard not to find the whole thing a bit ridiculous.

When the couple said their I do's, Tom had leaned over to you and made a snide comment along the lines of, "I can't wait to say 'I do', to you... hopefully only once." Once the celebrations commenced, Tom and you were bored out of your minds, and after a few too many drinks, he decided on playing a game of cat and mouse. You agreed, and here you were.

Earlier, Tom had teased you while on the dance floor, ridding his fingers up the back of your short dress, running them along the thin fabric of your panties. With the music blaring you were able to let quiet moans escape you, and the floor was crowded enough that no one suspected anything about the way you were leaning the back of your head against his shoulder - assuming the two of you were just dancing. Tom was also very good at being discrete when it came to this game, which is why he almost always won. Before you could cum, he took his fingers off of you and almost immediately after that, the best man requested to make a toast.

Now, you were finally in a position to get some revenge, and that's exactly what you were doing. You watched as his features changed the more and more excited he got, and when you saw him coming close to cumming, you pulled your hand off of him, forcing him to try and conceal his frustrated groan as cough. He glared over at you, using his free hand to brush his hair back into place. Smiling sweetly at him, you leaned over and kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear, "don't tease me next time."

Tom raised his eyebrows at you, his face only inches from yours. "Are you threatening me?" He asked, tilting his head to one side. "Maybe." You challenged, shrugging your shoulders.

"Oh," he half-chuckled, "that's a dangerous game, darling. You sure you wanna play?" You pursed your lips, pretending to think about it, before nodding. He shook his head in disbelief, shifting back in his seat, giving his attention to the best man.

For the rest of the outrageously long speech, Tom didn't look at you once, nor did he acknowledge your touch when you brushed fingertips with him as he reached for his champagne glass. The only sign he gave you to let you know that he was still playing, was that damned thumb on your shoulder; rhythmically stroking over it again and again. When the speaker finally concluded his toast, Tom took you by surprise by abruptly standing to his feet and offering you his hand. You cautiously took it, raising to your feet as he placed his jacket over your shoulders, and lead you out of the room, past the tables of people, over the grass yard, and to the parking lot.

You didn't need to question him on what he was doing, or why, or where you were going... you knew. He brought you out here because he needed to feed his hunger, the hunger the two of you shared and had been yearning to be satisfied all night.

Huridly, he searched through his pocket for the keys, and as soon as he unlocked the car and opened the backseat door, he turned to face you. When his eyes met yours, and his mouth popped open slightly, the air between you practically crackled under the intensity of the stare.

Before he could say anything, you cupped his face and pulled him into a feverish kiss. You felt his grin against your lips, as his hand came down and gripped your waist - pulling you flush against his body. In that moment you didn't care if anyone had seen you two leave in a hurry, or if they knew what you were planning on doing, you just wanted him. Somehow, managing to not break the kiss, he guided the two of you into the car, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap.

He reaches behind you to shut the car door before his hands fall to your ass, squeezing it roughly; causing you to gasp and allow his tongue access into your mouth. As your tongues explored and caressed the inside of each other’s mouths, one of his hands came up to grip your throat, gently tightening around it before cupping your chin to control the kiss. 

You began grinding your hips down onto him, reveling in the feel of his erection against the thin fabric of your panties. One of his hands on your ass moved up your back to the zipper of your dress, pulling it down; he let go of your chin so both of his hands could simultaneously pull down the straps of your dress - revealing your breasts to him.

"God, you drive me crazy." He growled against your mouth, roughly biting your bottom lip, pulling it down, before flattening a hand against your chest to push you backwards slightly, giving him enough room to lean over and pull one of your breasts into his mouth. While his lips fixated on one nipple, his free hand reaches up to play with other, coaxing the most glorious sounds out of you. Your hands fist in his hair, running through the sticky curls, pulling desperately to urge him on.

"You like when my mouth is on you, don't you baby?" He asks, his words slightly muffled against the skin of your breast. You nod, biting your lip. "Tell me." He demands, his hand stopping as he watches you intently.

"I love when your mouth is on me, you make me feel so good." You groan, as he takes your breast back into his mouth; moaning around it, the vibration causing your eyes to flutter shut. The combination of his mouth and hands on you, paired with the grinding of your hips, brings you to the brink of an orgasm. Just as you begin to feel the build, Tom pulls his hand and mouth off of you, leaving you a whimpering mess. He does this several more times before you finally begin to plea with him, "Tommy, don't tease me. Please." You whine.

"I thought you wanted to play?" He questions, arching a brow at you. "I can't, no more please. Just fuck me." You beg. Smirking at you arrogantly, his hands reach for his belt. "Take your panties off." He orders.

Doing as your told, you slide off him and onto the passenger seat, quickly removing your panties and discarding them on the floor. Once he's pulled his pants off enough to free his erection, he reaches for you, offering you a steady hand.

"Come here." He breathes, pulling you back onto his lap. As you straddle him, he uses one hand to align himself with your enterance, while the other cups your backside. Leaning forward, he kisses you as you slowly sink down onto him, the two of you groaning loudly into each other's mouths.

"Ride me, darling. Please." He pants, his hands falling to your hips. Placing both hands on his shoulders, you begin to slowly lift yourself up and down on top of him - grinding your hips back and forth. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he watches you steadily lift then sink yourself back onto him. "So sexy." He encourages, one of his hands coming up to brush your hair back from your face.

With that boost of confidence, you pick up your pace, circling your hips each time you come down on him. "Oh." He moans loudly, tilting his head back against the seat, his eyes squeezing shut as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth. You throw your head back and gasp when his hips snap up to meet yours, hitting you deeper than before and creating a euphoric rhythm.

Sweat builds on your forehead, and the car becomes unbearably hot as you build yourself closer to your orgasm. One of Tom's hands leaves your hip, and moves between the two of you to your clit, circling around it with his thumb. "Tom," you pant, "I'm gonna-" He leans forward and takes your pleas into his mouth, kissing you with passion.

The two heady sensations of him inside you, and his thumb pressing on your clit, sends you over the brink of your orgasm. Your hand reaches out and slams against the window as a spew of profanities fall from your mouth. Tom reaches his own climax as your insides clench around him, and he moans out your name, before his face collapses against your chest.

As the two of yours breathing calms, and your heart beats slow, you remain like this; his head on your chest, one of your hands stroking through his hair, and his arms around you. After what feels like a life time, he kisses your skin and leans back to look at you. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He states in awe.

You can't help but laugh, feeling anything but, "I'm sure I look like a sweaty mess." His hand reaches up and strokes your cheek with the back of his knuckles, "A beautiful sweaty mess." He clarifies and kisses you sweetly.

"Now, we should probably get back to the 'party'." He sighs, fixing his bow tie, as you pull up the straps of your dress to cover yourself. "Or," you propose, "we could go home and have our own little party. What do you say, you wanna have some fun?"

He tilts his head, grinning at you knowingly. "I do."