Johnny Depp One Shots PART 2

The Thing PT2

The door clicks shut behind you as you drop your bag and kick off your shoes, trying to find air to fill your lungs. You glance around your suite, expecting a sense of relief at the security of finally being in the safety of your room. Instead, you notice the emptiness and the hollow feeling in your stomach that formed as he was walking away from you. As your heart rate slows, you let out a frustrated sigh and sit on the edge of the king size bed. Big enough for two.

Because what you really want is to be with Johnny . You close your eyes as you remember his words, feeling his breath once again trace your ear. You throw yourself back with a huff, his grin flashing in your mind. You're thinking about the flex of his biceps as he pressed you against the wall, the way his eyes looked you up and down with hunger. You could hear that teasing whisper. Heat flushes every inch of your skin at the memory. You open your eyes and stare up at the ceiling.

Fuck. You sit up and glance at the door, knowing right where leaving through it will take you. You know from the moment you rise from your position on the bed where you're heading. Slipping your feet one by one back into your heels, you reach for the door knob. There's no going back. You exit the room, letting desire lead you down the hallway. You faintly hear the click of your door shutting somewhere behind you. It's like an alarm in your head, warning you of what's to come. Of the mess you're about to get into. The next door that clicks shut will indeed be the start to a hot night hopefully.

Room 1547. You raise your hand to knock, hesitating before your knuckles make contact with the door. No turning back. You lightly knock on the door three times, taking a small step back and waiting. It's treacherous. The silence in the hallway is deafening, each beat of your heart like a tick of a clock. What feels like minutes is just a matter of seconds as the door swings open and he's standing there.

He has his shirt off, fresh from the shower, and his grey sweatpants are hanging low on his hips. His hair is dripping water onto his chest, his tattoos glistening under the droplets. He places an arm against the door frame, the muscles flexing as he shifts his weight. Your eyes are trailing the waistline of his pants, dancing over the artwork on his body. Finally looking up at his face, you sense the smugness pulling at his lips.

"What can I do for you?" He says by way of greeting, his eyes burning into your own. You feel like you might collapse under the question. Shit. You tear your eyes away from his gaze, glancing towards the room beyond. The smell of sandalwood trails out of the bathroom, lingering on his body.

"I-" you start.

"Tell you what, [y/n], why don't you come in and we can talk about it," he cuts you off, stepping aside and holding the door open for you, his gaze unfaltering. You step past him unsteadily into his suite, the mirror of yours. He shuts the door behind you and you once again hear that click. You step a bit farther into the room, making sure to not linger too close to the bed. Johnny steps past you and walks over to the chair by the desk, sitting himself down and looking at you expectantly. Your body hums under his gaze.

"What can I do for you?" He once again dares you, lust storming in his eyes. A thundering, beckoning, disastrously beautiful storm. He smirks and leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. You swallow nervously and meet his eyes, your own lust lacing through your abdomen, snaking down your spine, burrowing into your core.

"You invited me here, Johnny. What can I do for you?" You challenge.

"Here's what you can do for me, [y/n]. Slide those panties that I know are soaked down those beautiful legs and give them to me."

Not a question, but a demand. Heat pools in your belly at that demand, as Johnny leans back and relaxes his body, placing a large bicep over the back of the chair, no doubt in his mind that you're going to do what you're told.