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Johnny Storm could sweet talk you into anything. Even when the thing in question was most certainly a crime and could very likely get the both of you in a lot of trouble. Case in point…
It was Valentine’s Day, and a Friday, and Johnny didn’t want to end the night after the swanky dinner he’d taken you to. So you’d ended up at some exclusive Manhattan nightclub with a hundred disco balls hanging from the ceiling and refracting the strobing lights on the crowded dance floor.
Since Johnny was the Johnny Storm—the most charming and charismatic member of the Fantastic Four—it hadn’t been difficult to get a corner booth on the upper floor of the club with the other VIPs. You’d even been granted your own server, who’d taken your order and returned a few minutes later with your drinks.
The champagne from dinner was still bubbling in your blood as you sipped on the sweet, Valentine’s Day drink you’d ordered. You’d chosen it for the obscene amount of maraschino cherries it came with, and it wasn’t long before half the glass was gone.
The sugar and liquor went right to your head, filling it with fluffy clouds of desire, which thickened the longer you sat on the plush leather seat of the booth, warmth curling in your belly and urging you to act impulsively.
Unable to keep your hands to yourself, you leaned into Johnny’s strong, steady form, your hands smoothing up the planes of his chest, copping a feel of his thick muscles through his dress shirt. He’d shed his jacket as soon as you sat down, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves, making him look a little rumpled in the most delicious way.
One minute you were watching Johnny take a sip of his drink—an old fashioned that had come with its own cherries—your eyes fixed on the way his jaw worked, the long line of his throat bobbing in a way that was far too enticing… Then, the next thing you knew, you were licking the taste of the sweet fruit and bitter alcohol from his mouth.
Both your drinks sat forgotten on the table as you made out with your boyfriend, your lips working furiously to devour each other. Tongues slipped into hot, greedy mouths, while teeth nipped and lips sucked, fingers digging and clinging desperately.
The rest of the club fell away, your hands growing bolder as you sank deeper into Johnny and the haze of lust clinging to your skin. Moans spilled from your mouth unbidden, being swallowed up by the pounding music of the club.
In the dim corner booth, it felt like you and Johnny were the only two people in the world. But the rational side of your mind—which hadn’t been entirely obliterated by the drinks and desire burning through your body (at least, not yet)—was very much aware you were still in public.
So when Johnny suggested you take things further, right there in the club, where anyone could see, you knew better than to say yes.
“Johnny, we could get arrested,” you whined into his mouth, your fingernails scraping through the thick scruff on his jaw. You loved it this length—too long to be stubble, but too short to be a beard. It felt divine against your smooth cheeks, and especially between your soft thighs…
“Only if we get caught,” Johnny said smoothly, his breath ghosting over your lips and teasing you enough that you let out a desperate, keening sound. His smug chuckle sent a ripple of desire down your spine, settling heavily between your already squirming legs.
The bass of the music in the club was pounding through the floor and the seat of the booth, and you could feel it throbbing between your thighs, matching the rate of your thrumming pulse. A heady, almost feral need pumped through your body, and you shifted even closer to Johnny, kissing him again with feverish lust.
Arousal was clouding your mind, blotting out the rational arguments that had seemed so important a moment before.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you shoved Johnny’s hand underneath the hem of your dress. You were so wet, so worked up by making out, it wouldn’t take him long to get you off. If you were quick, maybe no one would notice…
Johnny must’ve been having similar thoughts because, as he kissed down the side of your neck, sucking on the soft skin hard enough to leave a trail of hickeys in his wake, his fingers circled your wrist and tugged your hand away from where it had been planted on his firm chest.
He brought your palm to the thick bulge in the front of his dress pants, and you sucked in a gasp of sheer desire. He was hot and so hard, and you knew instantly how good he would feel inside you. He’d stretch your tight hole so exquisitely, fill up your warm heat so perfectly.
Even more arousal pooled low in your belly, wetness dripping from your slit and making a mess of your thighs—because, of course, you hadn’t worn panties. It was Valentine’s Day, and you’d expected Johnny to try to sweet talk you into some kind of trouble, and you’d figured panties would just get in the way.
But you still weren’t sure taking things further in the booth of a nightclub was such a good idea.
Johnny seemingly sensed your hesitation and abandoned his endeavor to leave your neck covered in hickeys. He dragged the scruff on his jaw up your neck and over your cheek, nuzzling you in a mesmerizing rhythm as he spoke in your ear.
“C’mon, firelight, ‘m so fucking hard for you.” Johnny’s voice was low and deep and so entreating, it made your core pulse with your body’s own answering need. “My cock’s throbbing for you, baby, can you feel it?”
God help you, but you could feel it. You could feel the way Johnny’s hard length was twitching. You could even feel the wet spot on the crotch of his black slacks where his precum had leaked through.
Without even having to ask, you knew Johnny hadn’t worn his usual boxer briefs, and you had to bite back a smile. You hadn’t been dating that long—less than a year—but the two of you seemed to make a good pair.
A good pair with wildly depraved desires that were bound to get you into trouble one day, but a good pair nonetheless.
Still, you’d never fucked in public before. Part of you was worried about whether you could actually get away with it, like Johnny said, while another, increasingly larger part of you was desperately horny and needy for your boyfriend’s cock.
Would it be so bad? People fucked in public all the time, especially in New York City, didn’t they?
“If we get caught…” you began to say without really knowing where you were going. But it didn’t matter, because Johnny was quick to pick up on the fact that you were being swayed to his side.
“We won’t,” he promised vehemently, his voice steady and sure in that way only Johnny could manage. “I promise, firelight, we won’t get caught, I’ll make sure of it.”
Johnny’s hand was so warm, almost scorching, as he pressed down on the back of yours, curling your fingers around his thick length through the crotch of his pants. He felt so big and hard, and you couldn’t help the way your pussy pulsed with the desire to have him buried to the hilt in your tight heat.
You were just about to give in, to admit you’d let Johnny Storm sweet talk you into yet another bit of trouble, but your boyfriend kept talking. Sometimes he didn’t know when to stop talking.
“But even if we do, I bet whoever caught us wouldn’t mind,” Johnny murmured in your ear, his voice picking up speed as he used your fingers to slowly stroke his cock through his pants. “How could they when they’d get to see your pretty pussy stretched around my fat cock.”
A vicious shiver skated down your spine, arousal flooding your body and making you tremble against Johnny’s chest. Your fingers twisted in the soft cotton of his button-up shirt while you pressed your thighs together against the ache his words had inspired. And all the while, you let him use your other hand like a toy, stroking his length.
“They should be so lucky, to get to see you creaming all over my dick,” Johnny was saying, still painting a filthy picture of getting caught fucking in the club. But he cut off suddenly with a curse. “Fuck, I need it, I need your cunt, baby.”
At that point, you knew you were going to give in, you wanted it too badly not to. But the furious pleading in Johnny’s voice was so delicious, you couldn’t help but try to coax a little bit more out it of him before you relented.
“But Johnny, we can’t,” you mewled pathetically, putting so much emphasis on your last word, you were certain he’d know what you were doing.
Sure enough, when your boyfriend caught your eye, there was a spark of knowing in the dark blue depths. An arrogant smirk curled his soft mouth and he leaned in again until his scruff rasped against your cheek. He chuckled at the way your shoulders trembled in response.
“Yes, we can,” he said, his voice smooth and seductive. “No one’s going to see us, I promise,” he went on, unerringly charming as he shifted his hand from the back of yours to slip between your thighs. “They’re all too focused on themselves to notice us fucking in a dark corner.”
You hummed noncommittally, feigning hesitation even as you continued stroking Johnny’s cock through his pants. When he huffed a sound of mild frustration, you had to bite back a delighted smirk.
“I need to feel you so bad, firelight,” Johnny whined, that furious desperation seeping back into his tone. “I can’t wait to get you home, or even to the bathroom.”
His fingers dug deep into the soft flesh of your thigh, hard enough that you knew he’d leave bruises. But you didn’t care, not when it felt so good when he got possessive and greedy like this.
You squeezed his cock in encouragement, urging him silently to go on; he kept talking, words spilling from his mouth like he couldn’t control them.
“Just sit on it, baby, sit on my cock. No one will notice, no one will catch us, I promise. We won’t even fuck, just keep my cock warm, just to take the edge off. Come on, I know you want it—just sit on my cock, firelight, please.”
You knew there was at least one lie in Johnny’s words. You knew that if you sat on Johnny’s cock, you’d end up fucking. It didn’t matter if you were in a club where anyone would see, once he was inside you, there was no way either of you could control yourselves.
But that was okay because he was telling the truth about the most important part—you did want it. You wanted it so fucking bad. All sense and reason had fled in the face of your overwhelming desire for Johnny Storm.
“Well, since you said ‘please’,” you murmured, a smirk curling the corners of your mouth as you stole a quick kiss from Johnny.
He looked a little stunned when you pulled away, like he was surprised by his luck, but then his expression melted into an affectionate grin and you knew, beyond any doubt—and even if you did get caught—you’d never be able to regret what you were about to do.
Glancing around quickly, you made sure no one was looking in your general direction. Even if they were, they wouldn’t be able to see much with the way you and Johnny were hidden in the dark corner booth, the haze of weed smoke and the shadows of the dim club obscuring you from view.
As inconspicuously as possible, you shifted onto your feet and stepped between Johnny’s spread thighs, turning your back to him and leaning slightly over your table. Curling your fingers in the skirt of your dress, you pulled up the back, baring your ass to your boyfriend’s hungry gaze.
You could feel the heat of his stare and you pressed your thighs together in an attempt to ease the ache in your core. It seemed like an eternity that you held yourself in that position—or, at least, long enough for your thighs to begin to tremble with the effort.
Thankfully, Johnny’s warm hand slid around your hip and he guided you down, having freed his cock while you’d been getting into position. You bit your lip against a gasp when you felt the broad tip of his cock press between your folds, but you didn’t stop there.
As slowly as you could manage, you sat down on Johnny’s cock, sheathing his thick length in your dripping pussy in one smooth move. It felt so fucking good, you had to cover your face with your hands and moan helplessly into them, the sound of Johnny’s groan drifting past your ears.
Thankfully, the loud music in the club swallowed up the sounds of both your pleasure. And when you changed a glance through your fingers, no one was paying you and Johnny any mind.
Once you were seated, Johnny curled himself around your back, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he drew you deeper into the booth with him. Your thighs were still pressed tight together, one of your hands clinging to the front of your dress to make sure it kept you covered.
“Relax, firelight,” Johnny urged, his tone dripping with soothing charm. His hands kneaded your plush hips and supple thighs, coaxing your body into letting go of the tension it was holding. “There ya go, baby, relax for me.”
A soft moan slipped from your lips and your head fell back against Johnny’s shoulder, your limbs loosening and your body resting deeper into the cradle of his arms. It felt so good, being connected to him on such an intimate level, his cock filling you so perfectly.
The fact that you were in public, where anyone could see you, added a deliciously depraved headiness to it. One you let yourself enjoy, all fears and worries about getting caught flitting away into the murky gloom of the club.
“Atta girl, firelight, you’re taking my cock so fucking well,” Johnny went on, his voice low and enthralling, adding to the haze of pleasure settling over your mind and body. “Being such a good slut for me, sitting pretty in my lap and keeping my cock nice and warm—you’re such a good toy, aren’t ya, baby?”
“Johnny, don’t tease me,” you whined, your fingers finding his and hefting his arm up over your shoulder. The move allowed you to bury your face in his bicep, hiding the dirty and debauched things his words were doing to your body.
Johnny chuckled, settling his chin on your other shoulder and brushing a kiss to your cheek, making sure his scruff rasped against your skin.
“I’m not teasing you,” he murmured in a sweeter voice. “You feel so fucking good on my cock, so tight and warm and wet—and all for me.”
Warily, you pulled your face from your boyfriend’s bicep and turned to look at him, catching his eye as he leaned over your shoulder.
Once he saw you were looking, his mouth curved into a devil-may-care smirk, and you knew whatever he was about to say was going to make you even wetter than you already were.
“And you are a slut, baby,” Johnny said, his voice even darker and more shameless as he went on, spilling filth in your ear without even pausing to take a breath. “Only a slut would sit on my cock because you were horny, only a slut would let me cockwarm this sweet pussy in public like this—only a slut would get off on the possibility of being caught with my cock buried balls deep in your greedy cunt.”
Johnny’s hands squeezed your hips, rocking you hard on his stiff length while he was grinding up into you. The head of his cock brushed against somewhere deep inside of you, and you felt your pussy clench and gush with even more wetness, your shoulders trembling as you moaned shamelessly into the dark of the club.
“Oh god, Johnny, I’m—please, I need…” you trailed off. You didn’t know what you needed exactly, whether it was for him to keep doing what he was doing or to bend you over the table and fuck you right there in the club. You just knew Johnny was the only one who could give it to you.
A heartbeat later, a gentle weight settled over your lap and you looked down, finding Johnny had laid his suit jacket across your legs. It was big enough that it hid your lap entirely from view, in case anyone happened to peer through the gloom at what you and your boyfriend were doing.
Before you could thank Johnny for the sweet gesture, he was slipping one of his hands beneath the jacket, wasting no time curling his fingers under the hem of your skirt and finding your clit.
The first brush of his fingertip to your tight bundle of nerves felt like he’d set off a mountain fireworks beneath your skin, pleasure bursting and zipping through your limbs.
Your body tried to curl in on itself, every bit of you trembling while pitiful whimpers spilled endlessly from your lips.
But Johnny chased after you, wrapping his other hand firmly around the front of your throat. He pinned your back to his chest while he bounced you on his cock and rubbed your clit.
“Here’s how this is gonna go, firelight, you’re gonna cum on my cock right here in this club,” Johnny growled in your ear, so much conviction in his tone that it was just as intoxicating as the pleasure coursing through your body. “Then I’m gonna drain my balls in your pretty cunt and keep you on my lap, my cock plugging you full of my cum while we finish our drinks. Got it?”
“Yeah-huh,” you mumbled, your head lolling to the side until you were pressed temple-to-temple with your boyfriend.
His skin was damp with sweat, just like yours, and the scent of his cologne mixed with the sweet tang of cherries and whiskey on his breath.
You wanted to kiss him, but all you could do was sit on his cock and take it, moaning loud enough, you were certain he could hear even over the roaring, pounding music.
Johnny’s fingers dug into the sides of your throat, adding a delicious sting of pain but not cutting off your sounds of pleasure. A moment later, you understood why.
“Yeah, baby, let me hear how good ‘m making you feel, wanna hear you moaning while I choke you and bounce you on my cock like a gorgeous fuckdoll,” Johnny said, barely pausing to take a breath, like he couldn’t stop the torrent of filthy talk even if he’d tried. “You’re my perfect cock drunk slut, aren’t you, baby, just a pretty fucktoy who loves being used anywhere and everywhere to pleasure my cock, huh?”
“Yuh huh, yuh huh, yuh huh,” you babbled, in between desperate, whining sounds of pleasure. “Your toy, Johnny, all yours.”
“That’s my girl, such a good slut—my perfect, pretty fucktoy,” Johnny cooed in your ear, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck and choking you harder. Between your thighs, he rubbed your clit faster, his pace merciless. “Now be a good girl and cum on my cock, firelight—come on, I need to feel your cunt milking my cock, baby.”
Johnny’s commanding words, his thick cock and his ruthless hands all conspired against you, and you stood little chance against the deluge of pleasure he was giving you. It was all you could do to cling to him, your nails digging deep into his forearms as your release crashed over you.
Not a second too soon, Johnny’s hand slapped over your mouth and you screamed your pleasure, your mind going completely blank with bliss as wave after wave of your release flooded through your body. You tensed and shuddered in your boyfriend’s lap, your pussy gripping his cock so tight, it was like you were begging for his cum.
Johnny buried his face in your shoulder and shifted his hand from between your legs, gripping the crease of your thigh and rutting into you as he chased his release. A moment later, he found it, grunting his pleasure and pressing his gritted teeth into your sweat-slick skin to muffle his loud groans.
It seemed to go on forever, the twitching and throbbing of Johnny’s cock in your cunt, spilling his seed deep inside you while you rode out the aftershocks of your own release.
Finally, when you were both spent, you and Johnny collapsed back into the booth, your body sprawled on top of your boyfriend’s, both your chests heaving as you caught your breath.
When you were recovered enough, you twisted your shoulders and grabbed Johnny’s face in both hands, pulling him in for the filthiest kiss of the night. It was all hot breath and vicious teeth, your pussy still pulsing around his cock, and his cum still leaking into your tight heat.
“You’re an impossible menace,” you declared when you finally pulled away, the severity of your words dampened by the undeniable affection in your tone.
Johnny tipped his head back and laughed, the sound boisterous and entirely unrepentant. But when he sobered and looked back at you, there was something deeper than affection in his sparkling blue eyes.
“Yeah, but I’m your menace, firelight,” Johnny said. His tone was much more serious all of a sudden, and it made your heart jump and take off in a gallop in your chest.
Belatedly, Johnny seemed to realize he’d taken a turn in a certain direction, and he looked around as if searching for a way to get the two of you back to your typical flirty and fun conversations. Reaching past you, he grabbed your drink off the table and handed it to you before picking up his own.
“And you love it,” he quipped blithely, clinking his glass against yours then lifting it to his mouth.
You watched Johnny drink, his adam’s apple bobbing and wondered if you should let him get away with turning the suddenly serious conversation back to something light.
“I do,” you murmured, sipping your drink and glancing out at the strobing red lights and the endless sea of disco balls, casting crimson sparkles all across the clubgoers dancing below. You chewed idly on a maraschino cherry, the sweet liquor of your drink clinging to your tongue as thoughts swirled in your head.
It was Valentine’s Day. It was a holiday all about love, why shouldn’t you tell your boyfriend how you truly felt about him?
Impulsively, you turned back to Johnny, catching his eye and making sure you had his attention before you spoke.
For a second, your breath caught in your throat and you were scared you wouldn’t be able to say it—which made you sad, because you wanted him to know. And that thought gave you all the courage you needed to just say it.
“I love you, Johnny Storm.”
It was the first time either of you had said those words to each other, and for one terrifying moment, you worried about how he’d respond. Would he’d laugh it off as too much drinking and fucking, or would he take you seriously?
Johnny’s features went slack with surprise, but only for a second. In the next, his mouth was stretching across his handsome face into a wildly happy grin. Love shone in his eyes, and, though you couldn’t be sure, you thought you saw a glimmer of tears before he blinked them away.
“It’s about time, baby—what’s not to love about me?” he teased, pulling you in for a deep kiss, his scruff rasping against your cheeks and his tongue slipping into your mouth. He kissed you slow and sweet, showing you depth of his feelings.
When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours and said the words you wanted to hear. They weren’t more jokes or teasing, or more sweet talk. They were the truth.
“I love you, too, firelight.”
Your heart soared and you couldn’t help the beaming smile that spread across your face so wide, it nearly hurt your cheeks. For a moment, you basked in Johnny’s confession, and then you kissed him. You kissed him until you were breathless. And then you kissed him some more.
Eventually, the two of you finished your drinks—in between many, many more kisses—while reveling in the feeling of Johnny’s cock still buried in your pussy, his cum dripping from your slit. It wasn’t until it came time to leave that you realized just how much of a mess you’d made of his pants.
Like the dutiful girlfriend you were, you walked in front of Johnny the entire way out of the club, his jacket around your shoulders and his hands holding your hips possessively.
To anyone you passed, he just looked like a guy obsessed with his girlfriend—which, of course, he was.
Once you made it back to his apartment overlooking the Manhattan skyline, Johnny proved all over again just how much of a sweet-talking menace he could be, eating his cum from your pussy before fucking another load into you.
Then he fucked it even deeper, crooning in your ear about how much he loved you and your slutty cunt—and your big, throbbing heart.
By the time the both of you were sated, and had said ‘I love you’ a genuinely sickening amount of times, the sky was beginning to lighten on the morning of February 15, the day after Valentine’s Day.
But you didn’t care what day it was, you were just happy to fall asleep in the arms of the man you loved, the one who could sweet talk you into anything—Johnny Storm.