You looked forward to Room 405 each week.
Sitting at work, you would pout to yourself and lightly drag your pen up and down your thighs, thinking of all the wondrous things you two got up to in that hotel room.
Chains, whips, spankings, anything cou...
Warnings: Angst, crying, rough oral sex, rough penetrative sex, name calling, slapping, clit slapping, intense orgasms, multiple orgasms, bit of a breeding kink
Warnings that are not sexual: Reader's married, has kids, just a forewarning... I know some people don't care about it, but it was my original idea for this fic and it's just a side plot. She's also the owner of a burlesque club and a former stripper... and one day we'll find out even more
***If you choose to read, you're responsible for the content you consume. Don't come at me about it and minors DNI***
Notes from Smurph: Okay, I wanted to wait until tomorrow to post this but I was SOOOO EXCITED.
Summary: The Reader has a terrible week dealing with her work and family, and she convinces Spencer to help her empty her poor, overstimulated mind... but Reader's husband calls after they fall asleep and Spencer confronts her.
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You had a terrible week.
Spending all week putting out fires, taking care of your employees, your daughters, your husband... it all left you feeling overwhelmed and pissed off by the time Friday came around.
You sat in your office, glaring at the roster for next week's dancers and tapping your pen irritably on the desk. Occasionally your fingers ghosted over the strand of pearls settled at your throat, looking forward to your night with Spencer.
"Hey," Charlie said, leaning against the door frame and pulling you out of your trance. He had his arms crossed as he watched you, his rough features soft only toward you and your daughters. "You look tired."
"I am tired," you murmur, tossing your pen onto the desk and sighing. Charlie made his way over to you as you rubbed your hands over your face, desperately trying to obliterate your troubles and failing.
Charlie went to his knees in front of you as you turned your desk chair to face him. His hands trailed lightly up your legs, settling his chin on your knee and smiling up at you.
"I know the boyfriend wouldn't like it," he smirked, and you glowered at him, "but I can help ease some of that tension."
"He's not my boyfriend," you told him, reaching out and lightly flicking his nose. His face scrunched up but he still smiled.
