Warm, rough calloused hands traveled across your thighs, resting firmly on your hips. He stood behind you, letting you lean on his chest. The gang was invited to a party, something fancy he supposed.

Now, Dutch couldn’t help but admire the way you were dressed in the mirror. It was a damn shame he couldn’t do much else, or else you’d be late.

“Oh darling. You’re pulling my leg, not lettin’ me do much else to you.”

He murmured lowly in your ear, his voice rich like honey.