DO NOT OWN CM Punk
Although I wish I did
CM Punk x Black Fem Reader 18, NSFW, playful angst, smut ~7.2k words
The body is a temple and is meant to be cherished as such. More water. More sun. More movement. A little less sugar. A lot more balance. You were used to disciplining yourself for that balance. Not too much because a Reese's peanut butter cup never hurt anyone. Yet as a nutritional manager at WWE, it was your job to set an example for the wrestlers you helped build or rebuild their temples to get ring-ready and remain that way.
It's why you were a fan of Punk. He was what the emo kids in your high school called "straight edge." No drugs, no alcohol, nothing to tarnish his temple. You admired that. Admired him. Thought he was beautiful with his jet-black hair on his inked shoulders and a cocky smirk on his lips. Thought he was inspiring, too. Wrestling was in your blood something fierce back then as a teen, it never waned, truthfully, and seeing a man like him walk it like he talked it still influenced you today.
That admiration stayed with you well into your adult years as you nurtured your temple, no drugs, no alcohol, more balance. You cultivated your career in nutrition and watched him do the same in wrestling as the cult of personality. So much personality that you watched it get him in trouble sometimes. Oftentimes. Nothing that didn't make you admire him more, if you were honest, even if you didn't always agree with his choices. You liked that he spoke his mind and watched his back better than anyone else could. In a way, you were the same. You liked to think you were softer around the edges but you still had the edges, still had a bite to you for people who thought they could talk slick to you because you'd cut with your words.
You felt it necessary to develop that bite in this industry, that thick skin that wasn't easily cut, as black women like yourself had to work a little harder and fight a little tougher to be seen and heard. It was unfair bullshit but nothing you didn't expect when you applied and got the job. You were ready for whatever and still excited to work in a business you loved, even if it didn't always love you, and thankfully, you met some incredibly kind people. When Punk returned, you hoped he'd be one of them.
His return surprised the hell out of you as last you heard he was backstage at TNA after parting ways with AEW. The higher-ups in creative had a way of keeping things a secret if they really wanted to keep it a secret, but it wasn't like you would have been privy, anyway, as you worked with the NXT crew. Punk's return was main roster worthy and that's where you expected him to be when you saw him appear at Survivor Series a month ago. Yet when word traveled down to Orlando that he would be here for Deadline, you tried not to scream like you would have when you were sixteen. One of your favorite wrestlers making his third grand comeback—his comeback to wrestling as a whole, his WWE comeback, and now NXT—and somehow still generating a buzz so effervescent that you felt your heart thump at the sight of him walking and talking with Shawn backstage. A cult of personality indeed.
You stood with Cora outside your office, arms folded across your chest and eyes straining to look at hers as you reminded her to add more green foods to her diet, trying your best not to eyeball Punk as he came closer with your boss at his side. They were gesturing with their hands and laughing and Shawn's smile hadn't faded yet. It made a tiny smile tug at your lips, too, and maybe you'd point it at Punk when they passed by. Just a friendly grin to say hello as you were certain they were walking and talking with somewhere important to be. Cora looked over her shoulder when you couldn't pretend anymore that something had stolen your attention, and then Shawn glanced at you both with a smile. So did Punk and your tiny smile grew too big, you felt it, and you felt your brown cheeks burn, too, as a result. Even more so when Punk stopped walking to talk to you.
"So this is where you've been hidin'? We have business to discuss, kid, bring it in." His words were actually for Cora and so was the hug he wrapped her up in as she seemed on the verge of tears suddenly. A big moment for her, you knew, because she was as big of a fan of him as you, and the word was Shawn was giving her a moment on the next show with him. You loved that for her and didn't want to intrude on the business Punk and Shawn were about to pull her away to, so you turned on your pastel green, Nikes heel to duck into your office. "Not much of a talker, huh?"
You froze with your hand on the door before you spun back around to see him looking directly at you. No more long hair but cropped and slicked back from his slender, pretty face. He suddenly seemed taller and he was already a tall man, especially compared to you. Staring down at you with eyes the color of aloe vera and somewhat soothing like that plant, even if he had a slight smirk on his lips, the one you only saw on a television screen, like he wanted his words to put just a little fear in you, or maybe just test you because you were a stranger who hadn't spoken to him. It made you pipe up with a sort of choke or giggle and you weren't sure where it came from. Yeah, his quip was kind of funny but also did he have a bit of an ego he thought he could...flex on you? Being a fan of his for this long, you knew that was the truth.
And you didn't mind it, that was a taste of that infamous bite of his. You wouldn't bite back, not at him, but you wouldn't bite your tongue, either. "Figured y'all would tend to that business you mentioned. But hi. Nice to meet you."
Your tone was a bit flatter than you intended as you gave him your name and your hand to shake, wanting to shake yourself for those being your first words to him. You just didn't want to come off as an excitable mark, no shade to Cora. Punk took your hand and shook it once, his eyes still on you with a glimmer growing in them. Intrigue, maybe, likely astonishment at your strange reaction to him, it had to be something that made his smirk widen and darken. "Likewise. We'll leave you to your business, then. Don't work too hard. Ah?"
His eyes read the plaque on the wall next to your door before he turned to Shawn with his thumb thrown his shoulder towards your job title. "Ain't that somethin'? I was just tellin' you I need to rethink my vitamin intake. Though, I'm not sure if there's a vitamin for getting old."
Shawn nodded with a chuckle, a grin at you, and a kind word that you were the woman to see. Punk caught your eye again, the smirk still there, and you folded your arms back over your chest with your smirk, too, waiting for another smart-ass comment.
"Guess I'll be seein' you around."
"I guess you will."
That was it. You just met one of your teen idols and, god, it was clumsy. He resumed walking and talking with Cora in tow now and you thought to turn around to wait for your next appointment but you watched him walk, instead. Maybe you couldn't turn around if you tried because, to be honest, you were a bit starstruck, albeit too late as the time to tell him how much you respected him and his work would have been when you had his attention, instead of whatever that odd, little interaction was.
Yet it wasn't even twenty minutes later that you heard a knock on your door and found him behind it. He leaned in with his hands on the door frame as he assessed your office with a swift nod before he gave you in your fitted, forest green scrubs a once over—a flit of those intrigued or something eyes that were your favorite color—like he was trying to assess you, too. "You take walk-ins or am I interrupting business?"
That smirk still hung on his lips, as did a silver ring on the bottom one towards the left side. His teeth grazed it when he bit his lip and waited for your response. You always admired his piercings. You admired him. And you would make sure he knew that before he left your office since you'd miraculously been given a second chance at your first impression.
"For you, I'll make time. Come on in."
You sat at your desk and Punk took the chair by the door. He reclined and crossed one leg over the other, his fingers scratching at his low, salt-and-pepper beard as he still assessed you. Softer glimmer in those eyes now. "Didn't know I was so special."
"What can I say? I'm a fan of yours." You smiled. Not too big this time
"Yeah? Thank you." Punk smiled, too. Not a smirk this time. Then he shook his head. "Color me shocked, though. That was, ah, quite a warm welcome from you earlier."
"My bad. Didn't think I'd be meetin' one of my favorite wrestlers today."
"At a wrestling show of all places. Who woulda thunk it?"
You giggled. Not an awkward one this time. He was funny, you were just caught off guard before. But he stared at you before you turned to stare at your laptop, opening up a new document in your client files for his visit and avoiding his soft gaze that made you want to smile big again. You said to your screen, "Just not this wrestling show. That's wild to me. But I'm glad to see you here."
That made Punk snicker under his breath and you blushed, wondering and worrying if that was out of line. It wasn't a bite but you didn't want your opinion on his comeback to WWE to offend him. You glanced at him then and saw him rubbing at his jaw. The smirk was back.
"Sorry."
"Don't be. If that's how you feel, why not say it?"
"I usually do. Just...like I said. I'm a fan."
He leaned his elbows onto his knees, his hands clasped together with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Hey. I'm not above critique. Do I care to hear it from a random person with a keyboard? No. Fuck that noise. But you're my peer, and now my nutritionist, so lay it on me."
Peer? We just met today. That's what you wanted to say but it wouldn't seep out as easy as the apology. Maybe it was because you still felt like his fan, and you were, but he was right. You were just caught off guard again that he would care what you have to think. Yet he gestured his arms towards himself to invite you to speak, smiling at you as you caved and told him your thoughts. You refrained from using the word "sellout" because that was too far, but you reiterated that you were glad to see him back.
Punk took note of your reserve as you tried to take notes of his medical history, vitals, current diet, and vitamin intake, and he wouldn't let it go. He was healthy from what you could see and so was his wit, giving you a healthy dose of sarcasm each time you told him you rather not say something by mistake.
But he was cutting it close.
"Alright, alright. I just have a way of seein' through people and their bullshit. Maybe 'cause I know how to bullshit, too." Punk slid off your exam table with a little chuckle. You let out a wry one of your own but you were becoming annoyed and you didn't like that. You didn't want to be annoyed with someone you admired. However, it seemed that's what he wanted, his smirk and eyes on you with a challenge in them. "Just humor me. Gimme your worst. Then I'll drop it."
"I knew you were hard-headed but damn." You shook your head with another dry laugh as you crossed your arms. You realized then it was your way of grounding yourself and standing your ground. Punk was rooted, too, standing tall like an oak tree above you. He wanted your worst? You'd cut him down just a notch. "Okay. You talked about WWE like it was a prison where you did your time. But you didn't enjoy your time on the outside, or at least that's what it seems like because you didn't stay anywhere too long. Instead, you willingly tread back to prison. Make it make sense. And listen, I'm not callin' this place that 'cause I love my job. Most days. Just goin' off what you've said over the years. But things change, I guess. And like I said. Happy to see my fave doin' his thing no matter what."
His lips stretched into a smile that parted with a hardy laugh and a nod and you felt your eyes try to widen at his reaction. You expected a grimace, a retort, or a "fuck off." Yet Punk said in a chipper tone, "See? That wasn't so bad, huh?"
You rolled your eyes and went to sit back at your desk, your back to him as you printed out a copy of his visit, including the ginseng extract you recommended. You weren't going to add any more fuel to the fire he started but as you handed him the slip of paper, you blurted, "But why was it so important for you to irk my nerves today?"
"Maybe I just wanted to see what you looked like when you're mad."
He annoyed you on purpose and yet you annoyed yourself with that tiny flip your heart did at his words. Or perhaps it was how he said them. His deep voice slipped down an octave, growing softer like his eyes that assessed you again, glimmering again like he saw something he liked. You fought to keep your voice even as you questioned him. "For what reason, Phil?"
You avoided using his real name thus far as you learned some of the guys and girls liked to be called by their kayfabe name, even off the clock, and as crazy as that was to you, you felt it crazier to assume anything about him at this point. He was notorious for many things but you didn't expect one of those things to be him enjoying playing with fire.
Then again, the fact jogged a memory of a backstage promo he did years ago during his first run with the company. Punk had said he liked "crazy chicks." Perhaps it was because he was a little crazy himself—and he had to be if he thought he could pick up pestering you to be his bad habit of choice. You weren't sure how you felt about that until he declared in that same tone, "Maybe I think it's attractive."
He lingered for a couple of beats of silence, watching how his words settled in you, waiting for you to fill that silence with a reaction you wouldn't give him. You were still kind of upset with him, well, not so much now, not with your heart thumping as he waved with two fingers and left you alone with the thought of how all five of those fingers would feel around your throat if he had kissed you.
A thought you promptly worked to snuff out because what the fuck? You weren't a teen anymore who crushed on and idolized the man. You were in your late 20s, a grown woman, and he was your co-worker now. Your co-worker who if you weren't careful and let yourself ponder on that exchange any longer, you would think he was flirting with you.
And he was flirting with you.
You saw him four times since that day and every time you became more and more certain his pestering was his crazy form of endearment. You felt crazy to like it, like how Punk made working your nerves his business, like how he said in that tone that made your heart pound that he liked your temper, and like how handsome his laugh was when you told him you'd like it if he fell in a ditch. He made you laugh, too, however, as you learned quickly that his sense of humor was just as snarky, dry, and a little twisted as yours.
"I'm an old dog but I still got a few tricks in me," he had said after you spotted him demonstrating to Bron a grapple that led to a full nelson. You covered your mouth to hide your laugh as his grin grew wide.
"You meant 'teach you new tricks,' right? That's the saying. 'Teach an old dog new tricks."
"Nah. I know what I said." Punk rested his shoulder on your office door frame, his hands in his pockets, and a mischievous raise of his eyebrows. "For an old man, I'm grateful I still got it."
Got What? You wanted to ask but that was over the line and redundant, anyhow. He may have been older than you but he was in beautiful shape, the curves of his tatted muscles and how they filled out his white tee shirt and jeans were quite prominent...
You'd be a liar if you said you weren't attracted to that humor. To him. You had been for years, years that had been kind to his smooth skin that had a glow to it and touched his cheeks when he smiled at you. It became more difficult to ignore your old attraction to him evolving into something new, something headier. Ignore that urge to brush your fingers along his skin to feel how smooth it really was. Maybe let your fingertips graze his cute, scruffy beard and grab his chin. Maybe bring his mouth to yours. It wasn't like you hadn't noticed his eyes stealing glimpses at your lips, too. The last time you saw him he even complimented the color you wore on them.
"I'm not wearin' anything but lip gloss. Clear," you corrected him with your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the wall in your office. It was the one by the door he was supposed to be walking out of now that he'd successfully pestered you for the day: Picking an argument with you, the licensed nutritionist, that all carbs are starches and vice versa. He was dead wrong and told you after that he knew the difference.
"Just wanted to see the look on your face. Yeah, that one," Punk had said, pointing at your nose as it crinkled up at him with a smirk. That was before he kept his eyes pointed at your lips after he was stunned to learn the shade was natural. Brown and pink, plump and glistening. He licked his lips before he remarked, "All you, hm? You wear it well."
It had become normal for him to linger with you like that. His eyes on you for too long, his voice too low, his body too close. You liked it. You liked how your bodies kept inching closer each time you were near each other. But you were careful not to touch. Something unspoken in the air you shared, something whispering a small reminder of "wrong place, wrong time" as you only ever saw him at work. Or maybe it was the lascivious peculiarity of it all, the lust simmering very earnestly in his and your eyes yet how you stoked the flames of it being bizarre, to say the least. Punk liked your fire and you liked how he ignited it, yet you both pretended that fire wouldn't burn out of control the more it was stoked.
And the fourth time you were alone together in your office, the fire engulfed the room.
It was supposed to be another quick visit. Punk popping in to say hello and pester you since he would pass by your office, anyway. Yet you knew he would have found his way inside, regardless. He just wanted an excuse to "see that face" and linger too close to it with his hand lingering on your door knob. You lingered, too. Your back to the wall as you gazed up at him until his surprisingly soft fingers caressed under your chin to tilt it up like you needed the help to reach his lips. Like he wasn't already leaning down to meet you the rest of the way.
One warm breath shared before you breathed a small, sultry whimper into his soft mouth. It was how he pressed himself to you, his body heavy, toned, and pinning you to the wall, you liked the heat of it permeating through your scrubs, the heat of his tongue carefully tasting yours. Your fingers slithered through his silken hair and his large hands found their place on your ass to pull you closer, deeper onto the strong, hot bulges of his muscles, one you felt nudge your thigh. It coaxed another quiet whine from you that he caught with his mouth on yours before you caught his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping at his lip ring with a sweet kiss, tugging a soft growl and smirk from him.
"Mmm. That's how you wanna get even with me? By bitin' me?"
"Only if you're into that."
"Yeah. I am."
Another whimper escaped you when his hand wrapped around your throat with a delicate yet firm squeeze as his lips met the skin just beneath your jaw to return the favor, sweet kisses that stuck to it before his teeth slightly sank into it. Your full, round breasts and hips sank into his hot palms, leaving you hot where he'd touched. He could probably taste your sweat and he licked at it, sucked on it, he was going to leave a damn mark, you were sure of it, and fuck, why was that so hot? A knock on your door extinguished the flames as rapidly as they'd risen, yet it was uncomfortable to stand face-to-face with your boss with your heart thumping in your chest and between your thighs. He'd come to collect Punk for some business, said he'd seen him come in here, and you were thankful he didn't see the mark.
A mark that Punk's eyes lingered on for a second only, those eyes finding yours for another heated second as he looked back at you with a smile before he left with Shawn and left you alone again with wild thoughts. Those long fingers to your throat again, his lips a little lower, wrapping around your nipples that hardened beneath his tongue. And maybe his tongue seeking to taste you even lower, right where you found your fingers that same night as those wild thoughts wouldn't leave you be.
You didn't expect his name to slip from your mouth when you made yourself cum as the sound of it in your room that only contained you and your wild thoughts made you feel more in need. You needed to taste his mouth again. Needed him to bend you over and make you feel it in your stomach. And with each day you didn't see him, the need became borderline feral, and you were ashamed, you thought you had more composure than this. It wasn't like he was the only man available to you, certain contacts in your phone were more than willing to purge you of those hot and bothered demons. But you refrained as you only wanted to be bothered, pestered even, by just one demon.
The need for him hadn't waned by the time you both attended the private, formal party at the AC Sky Bar your boss threw to celebrate a hell of a Deadline show, as well as the end of a successful year. Everyone was still riding high from the event last night, from the fact that hell had frozen over to allow the handsome devil that was Punk to grace it and stand amid a crowd as they watched him with marvel in their eyes and awe on their lips, laughing at his every joke and hanging on his every word. You sat at the rooftop bar, a tall glass of sparkling water with an orange twist on a black napkin in front of you and the open night sky blanketed with misty clouds that masked the moon, your eyes on him across the lounge with marvel, too, to behold him after almost two weeks since the last time.
That need, the feral need, hot and burning along your skin beneath your shimmering, forest green dress and somewhere deeper, tried to destroy you with the sight of him, the wild thoughts of him. He looked good, delicious, and biteable, really, with his raven hair slicked back, his grayish beard trimmed to his angular jaw, and his ash-gray suit fitting the slim muscles of his tall body that towered over Cora and a few other NXT stars who gawked at him, more than a few drunkenly so, before his eyes found you with a slight gawk of their own. And a smirk.
The subtly of Punk's gaze didn't deter from whatever story he was telling with his hands that you couldn't hear at this distance, just his deep and animated voice, just his eyes now and then flitting your way, taking in your angles. You could tell he liked what he saw from how each glimpse sought a different curve of you: Your lips and chin, the slope of your neck where the mark he left was covered with foundation, and the valley of cleavage that dipped into your mini dress filled with hips and bare, brown thighs you had crossed one over the other. You tried not to look back for too long, not let your smile get too big, or let those glimpses burn you up, but it was useless. Especially when he made his way over to you.
You thought you'd burn him when he put an arm around you for a brief hug, you were so hot to the touch, but his fingers on your shoulder blade didn't fling away. They slowly dragged along your skin with a grip that warmed you even more and all over.
"Didn't think you'd make it tonight since you've been so busy lately," Punk teased with a whisper close to your ear. You giggled as he took the seat next to you and politely waved away the bartender who floated over to make him drink, his eyes drinking you in, instead, as he let his gaze fall over you in your dress once more before he added, "Where've you been, woman?!"
"Where've I been? I should be askin' you that." You sipped your water and watched Punk raise his hands in defense, but you weren't done. You lowered your voice, making him lean in a bit closer. "You give me a hickey like we're damn teenagers and then you disappear for two weeks. And you got all these people thinkin' you're so cool. Tuh. Yeah, right."
A playful bite. You sucked your teeth with a little smile and saw his as it touched his eyes that lit up from your temper he liked to see, biting his lip before he said, "You got me. Apparently, they had a lot more for me to do down here than look pretty on Deadline. I wanted to see you again. And I tried. But your office was empty each time I stopped by."
"I don't live in that office, you know. But I'm not busy like you. I clock out of work and I go home."
"Guess it's my fault I don't know your address, huh?"
"Pssh. Or my number."
"We should fix that." Punk pulled his cell phone from the pocket inside his suit jacket and looked at you expectantly, ready to type in your digits. You gave them to him and yet as he slid his phone out of sight, you thought of getting out of sight with him now. The need swirling like a dancing flame in both of your eyes was almost tangible, making you flinch when his knee pressed to your thigh, he was so close. Tempting.
He flinched, too, with his hand on his lap that you could tell wanted to find its way around your throat or end up somewhere under your dress. His other hand cupped his chin as he rested his elbow on the bartop, his eyes scanning the lounge of wrestlers, referees, and other talent, talking and chuckling too loud or swaying tipsily to a Chxrry22 song that boomed over the speakers—the one about calling in the nighttime but not to talk.
It made you chime with a small laugh at the strangely suitable lyrics, a laugh Punk shared with you before his eyes met yours again, a devilish glimmer with his tone hushed yet fervid when he spoke. "You think anyone would notice if me and you slipped away?"
"You wanna risk it?" you asked back, cautiously glancing around, too, and spotting your boss not even fifteen feet away with Carmelo and a few others, those loud laughs carrying over the music and likely infused with liquor in the glasses on their table. Punk shrugged his shoulders and stood, his eyes on the door that led inside and downstairs and then to you at his side.
"You're a good girl who plays by the rules all of a sudden?" he goaded you and you rolled your eyes at his attempt to get under your skin. Skin that warmed once more when Punk put his lips next to your ear again. "You can either sit here and think about my tongue between your thighs or you can come find out what it feels like."
You had a retort ready to go, another teasing bite to goad him back since Punk liked that, since you liked how it made him hot for you. But there was nothing left to say other than his name that fell from your lips in a small echo throughout the stairwell, the sound no harsher or invasive than the smack of his lips and wet tongue that kissed, licked, and suckled to your clit as you gripped a handful of his hair at the back of his head under your dress, his hands gripped on your thighs. You were sprawled out on the stairs, your ass at the edge, the crude, cold concrete growing warmer with your bare skin on it, and your thong pulled to the side. Heat coursed through your blood when Punk held your gaze as he held his tongue right there, right fucking there, on his knees for you in his nice suit on that hard concrete floor for you didn't even know how long at this point. He didn't stop until you quivered in his mouth and let him taste the succulent heat he created and stoked with his tongue carefully tracing the shape of you.
The moan that left you then you worried would travel up the few flights where you and Punk hid yourselves and back to the rooftop for nosy wanders to investigate, but you covered your mouth with your free hand, biting down on your middle finger to stifle his name on your tongue. An act of rebellion you should have known he wouldn't let you get away with as he enacted his own, his nose and lips smudged to your inner thigh with kisses and nips of his teeth as his sticky beard prickled at your skin and his fingers that weren't holding you still by your hip holding on that spot inside you. Just two, just firm enough feel you quiver again and let go of that raspy moan you tried to bite back.
"No one's going to hear you screamin' for me," Punk reminded you softly with his lips on your neck after he kissed his way up, his dress shirt cuff grazing your tender clit as his fingers stayed down and deep to test your volume with a little thrust. "We're too far away and they're too drunk. So let me hear it..."
You concealed your moan with his lapel touched with his cologne, you didn't give a damn what he said, it would have thundered in the stairwell. Your thighs squeezed around his wrist, involuntarily as you didn't want him to stop, god, no, it felt as delicious as he smelled. Heated, like bergamot, vanilla, and a hint of tobacco, shockingly. You squeezed him again, your hands on his shoulders, and mumbled into his right one, "You're not thinkin' of s-staff—unghhh—staff that could come through he..."
Punk wouldn't let you finish your words as he stole them with a kiss, instead, gently trapping your jaw with his thick fingers to make you moan in his mouth as he swirled his tongue on yours, swirled his fingers on your spot faster now. His green eyes seemed a shade darker in the low light of the stairwell, or perhaps they were taken over by that darker side of him that you were beginning to learn meant you better scream for him and let him hear and watch and feel you give into the curl of his fingers and thumb nudged on your clit. He was in demon mode, you'd fantasized about it when it was late like this and you couldn't think of anything else, his hands doing the work yours would do as you came something heavenly, your cries angelic in his ears and filling the space.
"See? No one here but you and me. All these pretty, little screams are just for me."
Your taste was angelic on his tongue, too, as your eyelids fluttered about and watched him clean you from his glistening fingers, but he didn't swallow. Rather he delicately angled your jaw to open your mouth and let your essence drip as a string from his tongue to yours so you could savor your taste, as well, before he lapped it back up and pulled your lips into a messy kiss that made you quiver and groan.
Punk huffed from the effort to stand, on his knees for too long, but he pulled you up with him easily as you kissed, balancing you on your strappy stilettos between his loafers when you felt too weak to stand for a moment. You tittered at both your exertions and he did, too, as he said, "I almost regret bein' too impatient to go to your place. This floor ain't bein' kind to me."
"Weren't you the one who said this old dog had tricks? Pull one out of the hat. Or doghouse. Whatever." Your kisses turned to little nibbles at his bottom lip and lip ring as you held on to the lapels of his jacket. Punk hummed from the feel of your teeth but caught your wrists to pluck them away, a flash of that heady darkness in his narrowed eyes before he flipped you around and made you grasp the metal hand railing. You peered down the shadowed gap that consumed the long rest of the way down the stairwell before you closed your eyes, relishing in Punk's soft hands gliding up your thighs to lift your dress over your ass that you pushed against him. You felt his teeth on you, taking his turn to nibble at the soft flesh that connected your neck and shoulder, your fingers clutching at the railing with a gasp when he bit just a little and soothed it with the tip of his tongue.
"That's funny. I don't remember giving you permission to make fun of my age," he purred to your skin. A warning but you could feel how much he liked it, the length in his trousers hard and poking you. "I think you'd better apologize."
"Or what? You gonna give me another hickey to cover up?"
"I doubt a compact or whatever can fit in that tiny purse of yours," Punk noted as your little, gold, and black leather clutch sat on the stairs where you abandoned it. And he was right but you wouldn't let him know it, nor would he let you get away with your attitude that you nearly begged with your body for him to correct. It was the way you trembled when you heard him unzip his pants and felt his naked, hot skin on yours. It was the way your heart thudded in your chest when you heard him rip the foil wrapper that he pulled from his wallet in his jacket before he slipped it off and slipped on the condom. And it was the way you sobbed with a moan when he pressed inside of you, just the head of him so thick that it nestled on your spot—but he refused to go any deeper. "I'm waiting on that apology, sweetheart."
"Fffuck," you whined instead, your head hung low and your hips moving against your will to make him sink himself inside you. But Punk's hands seized them with another bite and suckle on that spot on your neck where there was certainly a mark now, you felt the blood rush there, felt it hot and surging through your veins as he felt fucking good, even this tease of him. "I'm sorry."
"Say it again. With feeling this time," Punk pressed you with his scruffy cheek on yours as he pressed deeper, lifting your small voice to a near scream when he fit himself to the end of you, holding still as he waited and undoubtedly feeling you throb around him. He kissed your face, a twisted form of encouragement that you struggled to appreciate in this much need.
"Fuck off and fuck me. Sorry. Please," you uttered with your own gnarled pleasantry in hopes it would soothe your biting tone at first. Yet you felt him run his hand up your spine until it cupped your nape and pushed down, arching your back so he could fuck you like you wanted...but not without making you give him what he wanted, too.
"I want you louder...stop holdin' back." He was right again. Your moans already sought to reach every corner of the stairwell as the pathetic sounds reverberated off the walls, his thrusts steady and achingly precise, pounding into you and sending heat waves rippling along your flesh. He held you by your neck and your waist, tugging you back to him until you began to throw it back with his name stuck in your throat. You bit your lip to keep it trapped there but he wasn't having it, a simple stutter of his hips to tap into your soul forced it out of you. "That's more like it...just like that, sweetheart..."
You knew he wasn't just pleased with your screams but also how you grinded on him between each thrust and drove heavy groans out of him, making him land a heavy hand on your ass that he spanked and grabbed. You adored the sting of it, the tight cling of his fingers buried on your skin, him buried in you as you moved together, pounding, grinding, harder, then faster. It ignited that fire in you, already burning brightly between you, the air humid, your dress forming to you differently with sweat as Punk formed himself to you, that fire threatening to explode, and god, you wanted it.
The need erupted something primal in you, a beautifully odd sensation as you stood in expensive heels and him in a fine suit as you fucked him, as he fucked you, almost savagely. A lock of Punk's gelled hair, already mussed from your hands, unraveling and falling on his damp forehead. His husky groans teetering into grunts that were lovely in your ears, made you groan back and catch his thrusts to the hilt as you urged him with desperate whimpers. "Cum in me. I-I need it...cum in this pussy."
The words sounded foreign, not something you usually craved, but they felt right, especially when after a few more strokes he held onto your breast that spilled from your bra and spilled into you, his body going rigid to let you feel how he gave into your command. You found it a pity that the condom got to feel his wet, warmth and not you, but you cherished his rapid heartbeat that matched yours before he slowly pulled out and leaned into you to plant a kiss where he marked you.
"You're a dangerous fuckin' woman," Punk panted with one more kiss and squeeze of your waist in his hands.
"And what does that make you? Since this was all your idea?" You couldn't help the tiny smile on your lips when you faced him again, your hands gently working to roll the condom off him as he breathed a tiny moan. You liked how his eyes shone with that soft, impish glimmer and smile you recognized from the first day you met him.
"A man with exquisite taste."
It was astoundingly effortless to rejoin the party upstairs, Punk and you blending back in with your co-workers like you didn't miss a beat. They were maybe a bit rowdier now and not the least concerned with where Punk had been as you saw several of them swarm him, asking him about his time in the UFC or pulling at his suit sleeve to dance as he kindly refused. You sat with Cora who hovered over to you as you reapplied your lip gloss until she fell onto the couch at your side, the side where she couldn't see your mark, if she could see straight at all. She was elated to see you since she didn't earlier, and pointing to Punk who pretended not to notice as his eyes found you again for a second. She not-so-quietly whispered in your ear, "Do you think he's hot with his hair in his face like that? I do."
You laughed out loud and she bristled before you shook your head but agreed with her. "No, no, he is. Very hot."
Cora nodded and sipped the half-empty mojito in her hand before you saw Punk's hand retrieve his phone from his pocket. You folded your arms across your chest at the sight, in awe of how swiftly he returned to party mode after leaving you satisfied but still in heat before you felt your own phone buzz in your clutch on your lap.
A text from a number you didn't know but when you looked up from the message, Punk's gaze lingered on you, like always, with a handsome smirk on his lips.
MESSAGES
7735553486
This party is pretty dull now. I imagine your place is a lot more fun.
FanFic by harmshake
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