Archive of Our Own ^beta

Annette didn’t mean to snap.

But the way those girls had been giggling, brushing imaginary lint from Richter’s sleeve, laughing too loud at his awkward jokes—God, they were doing it on purpose. And Richter, sweet, oblivious Richter, just stood there smiling, not catching the way they looked at him like they wanted to eat him.

She didn’t wait for him to say goodbye. Her fingers wrapped tight around his wrist, dragging him down the sidewalk and into a narrow alleyway between two old buildings, her heels echoing sharply on the pavement.

“Annette?” Richter’s brow furrowed as he followed her, unresisting. “What’s going—?”

She spun, shoving him lightly back until his shoulders hit the cold brick. The sound of her breath was loud in the tight space. “Do you even see the way they look at you?” she hissed.

Richter blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You’re so fucking nice all the time,” she snapped. Her hands were already on his muscular chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, bunching it in her fists. “You don’t even realize what you’re doing when you smile at them like that.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.” She didn’t give him time to finish. Her mouth was on his a moment later—fierce, claiming, all bite and heat. His soft sound of surprise died against her lips as she pressed her body flush to his.

Richter moaned low in his throat as she kissed him like she wanted to brand him, her jealousy pouring into every motion. She caught his lower lip between her teeth before dragging her mouth to his jaw, his neck. “You’re mine,” she whispered against his skin. “Mine.”

Her hand slid down, fingers already working at his belt, yanking it loose with more frustration than finesse. “They don’t get to look at you like that. They don’t get to want you.”

“Baby girl—” His voice was rough, half-protest, half-desperate plea. His hips shifted into her, involuntary, needy.

“I want you right here,” she growled. “Let them walk by and wonder where you went. Let them guess.”

She got his pants open, her hand slipping beneath the waistband of his briefs, wrapping around the thick heat of him. He hissed between his teeth, lust darkened blue eyes fluttering shut as his head knocked back softly against the wall.

“Oh, fuck…” he breathed.

Annette stroked him slow just to watch him fall apart, lips parted, breath growing heavier, his hands fluttering at her waist before gripping tight, grounding himself. She kissed him again, sloppier this time, dragging her teeth along his tongue as her hand sped up. “Only I get to see you like this,” she whispered. “Only I get to touch you.”

Richter whimpered, a sound that sent a thrill down her spine.

She pressed her forehead to his, pumping him harder now, relentless. “You’re gonna come for me, baby. Right here. And then we’re going home. And I’m going to ruin you.”

His jaw dropped, and that was all it took—his body tensed, breath catching, thighs trembling as he came into her hand with a desperate gasp.

She watched him the whole time. Every twitch, every shake, the way his lips formed her name like a prayer.

And she didn’t stop at the first wave of satisfaction. Not when she could feel him still twitching in her hand, still trying to catch his breath like she hadn’t just milked every last drop out of him in the middle of a dim alleyway.

Annette’s hand was slick with him, fingers curled tightly around his softening cock, working him through the aftershocks. His thighs shook under her touch, jeans shoved down far enough for her to have access to his size proportionate cock, but not enough for him to do anything except lean helplessly against the wall, pink lips parted and striking blue eyes barely open.

“You didn’t even see them, did you?” she murmured, her plump lips brushing his ear now, letting him feel her words like heat. “Looking at you like they were waiting for you to say yes. Like they’d let you fuck them in the back of the bar if you just smiled the right way.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t—Annette…” He sounded wrecked. Still breathless, his voice hoarse from holding back noises he never let slip in public. That alone made her cunt throb.

She pulled back slightly to look at him, her hand moving again—s l o w, torturous strokes, just enough to make his hips twitch with overstimulation. His cock was half-hard already, sensitive and still leaking from the mushroom head, and the broken sound he made when she twisted her wrist made her clench around nothing.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” she whispered, voice low and viciously sweet. “Me pulling you back here. Making sure they know who you belong to.”

“I—I like you,” he managed, Belmont blue eyes flickering open just enough to meet hers. “I like…this.”

That made her smile. Wicked and soft at once.

“Good.”

She dropped to her knees before he could say another word.

The pavement was rough under her, the air heavy with the scent of brick and rain and the sex-slick musk of him. She didn’t care. She tugged his jeans lower, letting them hang awkwardly around his mid-thigh, then pressed a kiss just under the head of his cock.

Richter jolted, a choked whimper falling from his lips. “Baby—!”

She looked up at him with big brown eyes as she licked a slow stripe along the underside of his shaft, tasting him, her pink tongue dipping into the slit just to make him twitch. “Don’t you dare keep quiet on me now,” she said. “I want you to be loud. Let them hear it. Let them know it’s me on my knees for you. Me making you fall apart.”

And then she took him into her mouth.

He wasn’t fully hard again yet, but it didn’t matter—she sucked him like she could will it back to life, her full lips wrapping tight around the flushed head while her hand squeezed the base, rhythmically. She let spit drip messily down her chin, let him see the way her long lashes fluttered when she hollowed her cheeks.

Richter gritted his teeth, but the moan that broke free from him was unfiltered. Raw. He slapped one hand against the wall behind him like he needed to anchor himself. The other buried itself in her locs, not pushing, just holding her there, like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

Annette sucked him deeper, feeling him harden again against her tongue. Her free hand, still slick with his earlier release, slipped beneath her skirt, past the lace of her panties, and she groaned low around him as her seed slicked fingers pressed against her own soaked folds.

He felt it. Felt the vibration of her need in his cock, felt the way her moan made his knees buckle.

“Fuck, Annette—if you keep doing that I’m gonna—”

She pulled off just long enough to look up at him, eyes gleaming. “Good. Come for me again. Right down my throat.”

And then she sucked him back in, faster now, rougher, fingers still circling her clit while she let herself get off to the way he writhed above her at the absolute filth of having him in her mouth in such a public place and fucking herself with fingers that are coated in his spend—his pants tangled around his legs, his head thrown back against the bricks, his voice echoing between the buildings.

He came with a cry that sounded half-worship, half-apology. She swallowed him down, not stopping until he was shaking, until his hand tugged weakly at her hair like he couldn’t take anymore. 

She then made sure he kept his eyes on her ministrations as she brought herself to the edge of pleasure and over it with a cry. 

After a few moments Annette stood slowly, shakily, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and then taking the hand with both their arousal into her mouth to clean herself off moaning at the taste of both of them, satisfied.

Richter was slumped, blinking at her like she’d rewritten his goddamn brain.

“Let’s go,” she said, kissing him gently—sweetly—this time, making sure he could taste them too. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He just nodded, dazedly tucking himself back into his boxers and jeans, and followed the absolute goddess of lust and love that had somehow chosen him. 

They barely made it inside.

Annette didn’t even get the chance to toe off her heels before Richter had her pressed against the door, hands at her waist, breath hot against her mouth. Gone was the dazed man from the alley—this was the Richter no one else got to see. The one she stirred out of hiding like a storm.

He kissed her like he couldn’t breathe without her. Desperate. Furious. Like the tension in his body would snap if he didn’t take her apart himself.

“You think you’re the only one who gets jealous?” he growled, mouth trailing along her jaw as he hoisted her effortlessly into his arms, carrying her with zero ceremony down the hall and into the bedroom. She was breathless from the roughness of it, the sheer power of him when he chose to use it. “You have no idea.”

He dropped her on the bed, standing above her, looking down with heat in his eyes. His chest rose and fell like he’d been running, muscles taut under his shirt.

“How do you think I feel,” he said, voice low, thick, “every time I see some pathetic man leer at you like he has a chance?” He climbed over her slowly, crawling between her legs as she rushed to take off her cropped top that joined his shirt on the floor. “When you walk into a room like you own it, and they all stare at you like they’d drop to their knees for a taste of your addictive cunt?”

He shoved her skirt up roughly, ripping her soaking now see through lace panties off her. Her breath caught, thighs instinctively parting for him.

“You are the most stubborn, beautiful, infuriating, sexy woman I have ever had the pleasure of falling in love with,” he hissed, eyes locked on hers before he looked back at her darker lower lips and spread them open for the bright pink inside to gleam through, shining with both their earlier cum. “And I’m going to show you exactly what that means.”

Then he dove between her thighs like a man starved.

Annette cried out, back arching off the bed as his tongue found her clit without hesitation, licking her with long, hungry strokes like he couldn’t get enough. His hands wrapped tight around her thighs, pinning her open, holding her still as he devoured her.

There was no patience. No teasing.

He licked her like he was furious with her. Like he wanted to ruin her for what she’d done to him earlier, for how she made him feel—possessive and vulnerable and addicted all at once. His mouth was hot and relentless, tongue flicking, lips sucking, teeth scraping just enough to make her hips jerk.

“Richter—” she gasped, fingers flying into his hair, trying to ground herself. “God, fuck, please—”

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down.

He groaned into her, and the sound vibrated against her clit, sending another wave of heat straight through her. Her thighs trembled in his grip. He slipped one hand closer to her opened cunt, two fingers pressing into her slick heat as he kept sucking her clit like her pleasure was the only thing that mattered.

Annette screamed for him, body writhing, and he held her down, let her fight his grip as he fucked her with his fingers and licked her like a sinner at the altar.

She came hard, brown eyes rolling back, lush thighs clamping around his head, voice shattering into incoherent sounds as pleasure tore through her. Richter didn’t let up until she was shaking, until she was too sensitive to breathe, too fucked-out to remember her name.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was glistening with her. His face flushed, lips swollen, hair a mess from her hands.

He looked at her like she was everything.

“I want to watch you fall apart again,” he murmured, crawling back up her body, kissing her lips now—slow, wet, tasting of her. “I want you to remember that you belong to me.”

She laughed breathlessly against his mouth, heart still pounding. “Then take me.”

He growled—and obliged.

She’d barely gotten the words out before he was on her again—mouth crashing into hers, tasting her, claiming her like she was already his and always had been.

Richter’s belt hit the floor a second later, pants shoved off with an urgency that made her ache all over again. He wasn’t slow. He wasn’t soft. Not now. His body covered hers, all solid muscle and heat and tension pulled tight like a bowstring.

“You want me to take you?” he rasped against her throat, his cock grinding against her soaked folds. “Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” she gasped, arching up to meet him. “Yes.”

He didn’t tease. Didn’t draw it out. He grabbed her hips and slammed into her in one deep, unforgiving thrust.

Annette cried out, eyes flying wide as he filled her to the hilt. He was thick, hot, pulsing inside her, stretching her open until she could barely breathe. Her nails dug into his back, leaving red marks.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned into her ear, hips already moving, driving into her with a rhythm that bordered on savage. “So fucking tight. Always taking me like you were made for it.”

She couldn’t speak. Could barely think. All she could do was feel—the slap of skin, the growl in his voice, the grip of his hands on either side of her hips  as he fucked her into the mattress. Praise and filth falling from his lips, causing her arousal to coat more of his shaft and leading to more lewd sounds.

Richter’s control was gone. His thrusts were relentless, each one deeper, harder than the last, like he was trying to drive the deep buried jealousy out of his system by burying himself inside her over and over again. By fucking into her so deep as though he could will her cunt to be the perfect mould for his member.

“You don’t get to tease me and walk away,” he growled. “Don’t get to act like you’re not the only thing I think about. Like I wouldn’t tear the world apart for you.”

Annette whimpered beneath him, hands scrambling for purchase on his broad muscular shoulders, her perfect mouth falling open in a silent moan as he hit that spot inside her that made her see stars.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he said, voice dark and ragged.

“You—you, Richter, fuck, I’m yours—!”

He slammed into her harder, grunting with the effort. “Say it again.”

“Yours,” she cried, breath catching on a sob of pleasure. “Only yours—no one else, never anyone else.”

He kissed her then, bruising and messy, swallowing her moans as he fucked her harder. One hand slipped between their bodies, fingers finding her swollen with blood clit, rubbing tight circles to push her over the edge.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he whispered. “You’re gonna come again, and you’re gonna scream my name when you do.”

She was so close—the way he moved, the filth in his voice, the weight of his body pressing her down like she was something his to control, to claim, to keep. His cock hit deeper with every thrust, his fingers unrelenting, and her orgasm hit her like a wave crashing on stone.

“Richter—!”

Her entire body seized beneath him, back arching, thighs trembling violently as she came hard around him, slick and pulsing, almost gushing down her thighs and his cock. Her nails raked down his back, marking him as hers.

Richter groaned, deep and needy, then grabbed her hips, pulling her legs higher as he slammed into her. “Gonna fill you up,” he panted, voice cracking. “So fucking full you’ll feel me for days.”

“Do it,” she whispered, dizzy and drunk on him. “Fucking do it.”

And he did.

With a strangled moan, he buried himself deep, hips locking against hers as he spilled inside her, thick and hot and endless. His body shook with it, every muscle taut as he held her through it, chest heaving against hers.

They stayed like that for a long moment—pressed together, still joined, sweat-slicked and trembling in the aftermath.

Richter buried his face in her neck and whispered, “Mine.”

Annette smiled, brown eyes fluttering closed, heart still thundering. “Yours.”

…

Richter stayed buried inside her for a long time, their bodies still joined, chest pressed to hers, both of them sticky with sweat and cum and breathless. His heart was still racing, hammering like he’d run a marathon or just come down from a fight.

But slowly, the haze began to clear.

He lifted his head from her neck, blue eyes adjusting to the low light of their bedroom, and stilled.

Dark large prints were blooming on her rounded hips—faint at first, but deepening by the second. His hands had left marks where he’d held her down. Possessive. Unforgiving. Like he’d needed to brand her.

He blinked, guilt catching in his throat.

“Nanette…” he whispered, his voice hoarse but tender as he brushed her hair back from her face. “Fuck—I didn’t mean to… I didn’t realize I was holding you that hard.”

His fingers ghosted over the marks, careful now. Reverent. “I’m sorry.”

She stirred beneath him, not in pain, but to look up at him with a slow, knowing smile. Her legs now wrapped around his waist, lazily keeping him close even as he softened inside her.

“You didn’t hurt me,” she said, voice warm, sultry. Her hand came up to cradle the back of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss that was slow and sweet and full of things she hadn’t said yet. “You never do.”

He kissed her again, trailing down her cheek, her jaw, her throat—softer now, reverent in contrast to the storm from moments ago. He mouthed gently at the dark skin of her neck, a worshipful apology, a quiet prayer pressed into her pulse.

“I lost control,” he murmured against her collarbone, guilt still threading through his words. “I don’t want you to ever think I’d—”

“You didn’t,” she interrupted gently, one hand sliding down to rest over his heart, steady and grounding. “You never do. And you weren’t the only one who lost control.”

She shifted beneath him, arching up just enough for his gaze to fall back to her hips—and the vivid fingerprints he’d left behind. But before he could pull away again, she caught his face in her hands, drawing his attention to her.

“You stole one of my necklaces,” she said, voice low and teasing, “to wear under your shirts. A little secret no one else gets to know the true meaning of.”

He flushed, caught.

She smiled, sultry now, fingers tracing the blooming marks on her hips like they were something precious. “These? These prove I’m yours.”

Then, with a wicked little smirk, she added, “I could hide them until they fade… or I could show them off to broadcast that Richter Belmont is both romantic and fucks hard.”

Richter choked on a breath, half-laugh, half-groan. His face went crimson. “Annette.”

She grinned like she’d won a game he didn’t know they were playing. “What? It’s the truth.”

He ducked his head, groaning softly against her skin as if she’d physically wounded him with the praise. But when he looked back up at her, the flush in his lightly tanned cheeks was paired with something deeper—fondness, wonder, devotion.

“I love you,” he said, voice rough and quiet.

Annette’s expression softened. She looked at him like she already knew—but still, it undid her. Her thumb brushed his cheek, and she whispered back, “I love you too.”

Richter leaned in and kissed her again—slow, deep, like a man learning the shape of forever in her mouth. He didn’t rush to pull out, didn’t let their bodies part. He just wrapped his arms around her and held her through the afterglow, breathing her in, anchoring himself to the sound of her heartbeat.

Because no matter how rough it got, no matter how breathless and needy they both became, it always came back to this—the warmth in her eyes, the soft way she touched him, the safety of her skin against his.

She was his.

And he was hers.