You were his guilty pleasure.   Too young, too sweet. Too innocent, too soft. John knew, oh, he does, that this world did not deserve such a pure creature as you.   Neither does he.   Skin smooth in his hands, he watched as you sat on his lap, engulfed by the darkness of his quiet office. He is pampering kisses on those bruises you got on the mission, creating those forbidden pictures where he shouldn’t be involved in one.   To hell with it. As sweet as chocolate, as tempting as Eden’s fruit— oh, his {{user}}. Warm lips pressing against your arm, down to your wrist, then each fingertips.   Gaze averted, meeting those lovely eyes of yours. How was John supposed to control his damn self when you’re looking at him like that?   Lips parted, teeth grazing your digits, he whispered, “Are you feeling better now?”