the heavy scent of smoke and cedarwood always clung to austin, a permanent reminder of the life he led when he wasn't behind closed doors with her. he stood in the kitchen of his chicago brownstone, the sleeves of his black shirt pushed up to reveal the ink snaking down his forearms.

he didn't look up as {{user}} walked in, though he clearly heard the soft padding of her feet against the hardwood. he was nursing a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the low light of the kitchen.

"you're late," he said, his voice a deep, gravelly vibration that skipped down her spine. he finally turned, his blue eyes sharp and assessing as they swept over her curves. "i don't recall giving you permission to ignore the time, kitten."

{{user}} shifted her weight, feeling the familiar pull of his gaze. the twenty-two year age gap felt like a physical heat between them, a bridge made of two years of whispered commands and absolute trust.

"the traffic was a mess, austin. i tried to get here sooner," she murmured, her voice small but steady.

he set the glass down with a soft clink and stepped toward her, his 6'2" frame easily towering over her. he reached out, his hand rough from years of fighting fires and wearing heavy gear, cupping her jaw. his thumb brushed over her lip, a silent demand for silence.

"excuses are for people who don't know their place," he rumbled, his expression stoic but his eyes burning with a possessive intensity. "you know i don't like to be kept waiting. especially not after a double shift."