Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had been one of those days. 

You could tell as soon as Boba walked through the door, frustration scribbled over every millimeter of his face. His jaw clenched, his footsteps booming against the marble floor like thunder. Anger dripped off of him as he yanked at his tie and roughly undid the cuffs of his suit. His dark eyes flashed with irritation, his hands trembled with rumbling rage. The expensive bourbon he liked sloshed messily into his glass as he poured himself a drink.

Boba swallowed it all down without so much as a wince, and poured another, gripping the crystal glass so tight it might shatter. He still hadn’t said a word to you yet. 

You leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, body draped only in one of the numerous dress shirts that filled the closet you and Boba shared. Your blood already buzzed from a half-glass of wine, the remnants of which pooled in the glass you held loosely. You’d shed the day an hour ago, and slipped right into the throes of relaxation. Relaxation your lover sorely needed. You regarded him with heavy-lidded eyes, taking in his rigid frame with a coy smile.

He was a smoldering volcano on the brink of eruption. Pressure vibrating under the surface, manifesting in preliminary clouds of dark ash. A natural disaster poised to strike, threatening wanton destruction in search of relief. 

You liked it more than you probably should have. 

The energy, like charged electrons before a summer storm, crackled around you, sending a shiver down your spine. You knew what was surely to come next: the frantic, messy kisses, the hard slap of skin on skin, large hands gripping, pushing, squeezing as Boba took and took. He was rough on days like this, merciless and absolute in his desire for your body. Something about you soothed him, extinguished the fires of his anger. He’d bury himself inside of you, deeper and deeper, until he found the peace that he was searching for. 

You were eager to help in any way you could. In truth, you looked forward to these long nights, and the ache in your thighs the next day. Anticipated the broken pleas and sobs that would leave your throat sore, and your eyes teary as you begged for more, more, oh Boba please, more. Sometimes, you’d even set him off, just to get a rise out of him. 

It was like poking a grizzly bear. 

You cleared your throat, lifting your glass to your lips. 

His eyes met yours softening for just a moment; they danced up your bare legs, the warmth returning back to them. The furrow lines between his eyes relaxed slightly, the shadow of a good mood on his lips as they ticked upwards. 

You ruined it with two taunting words. “You’re late,” you said with a smirk.

The teasing lilt in your voice, the smug look on your face, made Boba huff. He shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle. 

“Don’t,” Boba warned, scratching at the scruff on his jaw. “Not tonight.”

He’d spent all day putting out fires, dealing with insubordinates and rogue idiots, now here you were, pushing his buttons again. The look he gave you would have wilted any other person, certainly would have made them think twice about their next words, but not you. 

“You look tired, old man,” you mumble, toeing the line. “Bad day?” You raised your eyebrows. 

“ Sarad ,” Boba groans, his voice gruff. 

Your heart fluttered at the sweet nickname, but you fought the smile. “What?”

“Watch yourself.” 

Your lips drew into a pout, batting your eyelashes at him innocently. “What did I do?” 

He shrugged his jacket off and dropped it on the hook by the door. “Come here.” 

“ No .” 

He grunted your name this time, the syllables rough, and you knew you were in for it. But you stood firm, crossing your arms over your chest and staring at him. If you were going down, you were gonna go down hard. He tried one last time, calling out to you as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal the bold swirls of black ink on his forearms. 

You shook your head, mouth stretching into a smile. “ You come here.” 

Boba crossed the room in two strides and pinned you against the wall with a bruising kiss. His lips slotted against your own, a messy clash of teeth and tongue that stole the breath from your lungs and left you leaning forward for more. His fingers roamed your body, rucking up the shirt and knocking your legs apart with his foot. He wrestled the wine glass out of your hand and sat it on the entry table. A few crimson drops stained the floor to be forgotten until later. 

“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, sweetheart.” He gripped your chin, fingers digging into the sides of your neck. He squeezed gently, watching your eyelids flutter and your lips part. “What’s gotten into you?” 

Not you. Not yet.  

You twisted your fingers into the collar of his shirt, pulling him tightly against your body. “I missed you, daddy.” 

Boba tilted his head to the side. So it was one of those nights . 

You bit your bottom lip, a small grin on your face. “Did you miss me?”

“Oh, you want attention, don’t you?” He pushed his thigh against your cunt and you moaned.  

You nodded, and tried to grind down onto Boba’s thigh, but he held your hips in place with his other hand. The pout was back on your face again, unbecoming and bratty, but you couldn’t help it. 

“There’s easier ways to get daddy’s attention, sarad ,” Boba whispered, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “All you had to do was ask.” 

Your hands came to rest on his belt, undoing the buckle and pushing your hands down the front of his pants before Boba could stop you. “Where’s the fun in that?” You asked, cupping the length of his hard cock through his boxers. “I guess you did miss me.” You squeezed him gently. “Missed me a lot.” 

Boba groaned, hot breath spilling out over your face. “Of course I did,” he mumbled, and his lips were on yours again, tongue working its way into your mouth. 

From there it was a flurry of frenzied movements, tripping feet and giggles on your end as Boba pushed you backwards into the kitchen. Laughter that turned into light moans when he helped you up onto the island and tugged your panties down your legs. Moans that turned into sharp cries of his name when he buried his face between your legs and two of his fingers into your cunt. 

You came, again and again, brought to the brink by every calculated press of his fingers inside of you, and every slurp and filthy promise of his tongue. He devoured you, nearly bending you in half as he worked at you with an intensity that had you seeing entire galaxies. And he kept going and pushing until you were a mess beneath him and you gasped for mercy with shuddery breaths. 

When Boba was satisfied, when he wore your slick on his face and your trembling thighs clamped around his head, he fucked you. On the island, against the wall, bent over the oak table. He took you, all of you. Drank in every single one of your shattered cries, the scrape of the table against the floor, every sigh, every scratch. Took it all and then some. 

You soon found yourself on the living room floor, fingers curling into the soft rug that you suspected Boba bought just for occasions like this. He held you in place, a hand pressed between your shoulder blades, the other gripping your hip as he rocked into you. 

Your mouth dropped open, tongue babbling random syllables, too cockdumb to form a coherent sentence. Your knees and elbows burned, and your thighs ached in the sweetest of ways. Your skin darkened in uneven splotches where Boba’s teeth and fingers had pinched and pulled. He laughed behind you, slowing down to deep thrusts that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Such a mess for me, little one,” he teased, lips pressed to the nape of your neck. “Fucked you stupid, haven’t I?” His question was punctuated by another hard thrust. 

Your cheek rubbed the carpet, tears springing to your eyes. 

“Answer me.” His palm came down hard on your ass and you yelped. 

The only words that left your lips were a plea for more. You felt Boba’s smug smile against your shoulder. He kissed your salty cheek, breathing harshly against your ear. 

“Such a good girl for me. Letting me use you like this,” he praised, voice ragged. “Daddy’s good girl.”

You moaned, clenching around his cock and his hips stuttered. 

“Want to come again, sarad ?” Boba’s hand snuck around to rub your clit and you whined, wiggling away from him. 

“I-- I can’t, it’s too much.”

Boba paused, nudging you to look at him. “Should I stop?” He asked sincerely without a trace of inconvenience.

You shook your head and he squeezed your hip. 

“Talk to me.”   

“ No , don’t stop.” You propped yourself up onto your elbows and rocked your hips onto him. “Want you to come inside me.” 

He let you, a broad grin on his face at your neediness, and swatted your ass again. “You want it so bad, you gotta work for it.” His hands left your body, only offering you shallow thrusts as you pushed your hips back to meet him.  

You knew Boba was close. Figured he’d had to be after he’d basically fucked the life out of you without changing so much as a shade. You wanted so badly to feel him let go, to ease that tension and help him find release. He groaned above you, his hand splayed across your lower back, guiding your slow movements. 

“There you go, sarad . Just like that,” Boba mumbled, his voice strained. “So good to me.”

You spat into your palm and reached between your legs, cupping his balls. Boba tensed up, bucking his hips into yours sharply. You squeezed them gently, and a wrecked groan bubbled from his chest. He fell over your body and nipped at the shell of your ear. 

“ Fuck .” Boba kissed your jaw. He dropped his forehead into your neck, breathing through his nose sharply as he tried to regain his composure. 

You didn’t stop, fingers still applying sweet pressure, and Boba’s breathing hitched. His grip on your hips tightened, and he pulled you back firmly against him. His self-control fractured, splintering somewhere deep inside of him and giving way to an unrestrained hunger. 

Boba pressed his body into yours, settling his weight on top of you. “God, you’re fucking filthy,” He grunted, hips meeting yours in a brutal rhythm. “My filthy little girl.”  

You cried out under the sudden change in pace, eyes screwed up tightly. With his body flush against yours, pushing you into the floor, you had no other option but to take each of his hard thrusts and the pleasure they brought. He fucked into you, teeth digging into the skin of your neck, grunts and groans settling into yours ears.

It was too much, and yet your body responded. Your legs trembled, warmth flooded your stomach, your head spun. Before you knew it, you were gushing around Boba’s cock again. You twisted up into his arms, his name issuing from your mouth in a broken chant, clumsy and slurred.

Boba was not far behind. He held you close as he spilled into you with an uninhibited groan. Your legs gave out from under you at the warmth of his cum filling your pussy, and you slumped beneath him, thankful for the strong arms that held you up.

He trailed kisses across your shoulder. “Good girl,” he mumbled. “Always such a good girl for daddy. Even when you push my fucking buttons.” He rolled you both onto your side, keeping your back flush against his chest. 

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” you sighed, moaning quietly when his cock shifted inside of you. “Make life interesting.” 

“Yes, because my life would be so boring without you.” He rubbed your lower stomach. “What could be entertaining about gangsters and crime syndicates?”

You looked at him over your shoulder, suddenly remembering the initial reason for why you were now on the living room floor naked. “Wanna talk about your day?” You traced the patterns drawn into his tan skin. 

“Later.” Boba squeezed you tighter for a moment, body relaxing as he breathed in the smell of you. He didn’t want to soil this moment with talks of business. 

Gangsters and crime syndicates could wait until morning.