Imagine - feeling exceptionally horny for Jacob all day.
It’s not the easiest life, being in a relationship with an assassin. As much as you’d like a sense of normalcy now and again, to dress up seductively and prepare a romantic dinner in time for when Jacob comes home - not to mention to actually know when to expect him home - you knew from the beginning what was to be expected.
And you’re okay with that.
You trust him to take the correct precautions when he’s galavanting around London. It just makes the times when he comes home at an hour you’re awake all the sweeter.
As luck would have it, he manages to return home in the early evening, calling out your name as he closes the door behind him. You barely give him chance to step out of the hallway, assaulting him with hugs and somehow managing to utter “welcome home” in-between eager kisses to his cheeks.
He just chuckles, removes his hat and settles his hands at your waist, leaning down to reciprocate the kiss, his tongue parting your lips and curling into yours, eliciting a sweet moan from you. You arms travel up his body, hands connecting behind his neck as you melt your body into the kiss, your chest arching into his needily.
Breaking apart, he rests his forehead on yours, wetting his lips - an action that never fails to drive you mad.
“What’s gotten into you today?” he teases.
“With a bit of luck, hopefully you.”
His face drops in response to the vulgarity of your words, a mix of horror and disgust before his smirk breaks the mock repugnance, and you find yourself laughing along with him. He hums and taps you on the nose, pressing his growing lust against your thigh as he murmurs, “I think you’ve been spending too much time with me, love.”
“Well we could remedy that, darling.”
“And have you screaming some other bloke’s name into the night?” He pauses to lace your neck with lip bites, paving his way to your earlobe before continuing in a deep husk. “I think I’ll pass.”