By Any Measure

for Katie (DefinitelyProbablyMaybe)

Note: This fic was requested awhile back by my very dear friend. Her request was simple: Obviously it should involve Wade (omnomnom) and it should also involve rough smut, kthxbai. Easy enough, right? Well, I struggled to find the perfect plot – yes, smut should have a plot; this isn't cheesy 80s porn here – and placed her request on the back burner for a few weeks. Then, miraculously, a plot came to me, in the guise of Katie's own ordeal involving a...well, you'll see. I hope I've done this justice. As she is one of my favorite authors, I am a bit anxious to see what her reaction will be... Here goes. :)

"Fuck."

The word tumbled from her pursed lips as she watched the couple on the screen of her laptop.

Weeks of sexual frustration had brought her to this: lying on her bed on a sultry afternoon trying to get off via internet porn. In a moment of stupidity after her most recent breakup she had sworn men off for a while and her friends seemed intent on making her go through with that resolution. Word must have spread around because even her drunken attempt at seducing a seemingly willing man at the club the night before had gone sour. She had ended up alone, curled up in a ball on her couch wondering how she had given up dick.

Katie Parker missed having a man. She didn't miss the cuddling, the long conversations over coffee, the hand holding while walking along the street. She definitely didn't miss having to tell someone her plans for every moment of her day, and she sure as hell didn't miss the arguments over which movie to see or where to eat.

She missed the sex. She missed being able to surprise her lover with a quickie as soon as he walked through the door. She craved the feel of a large hand down her panties and a pair of lips on her neck as she sipped her coffee in the morning. She longed to experience a dick pounding into her until she went crazy. She even missed the sensation of said dick sliding over her tongue.

Her fingers and her paltry collection of sex toys were not helping matters. Nothing, she realized with a frustrated growl as she slammed her laptop shut, would be able to replicate a living, breathing man with a hard cock.

The air in her bedroom was stifling as she slid off the bed. Katie raised her long blond hair into a ponytail, securing it messily before ducking into the bathroom to splash cool water on her face. The heatwave had not been expected or wanted and it couldn't have come at a worse time.

The fan she had purchased that morning was not doing its job. Yes, it moved the air, but not in the way she had hoped. Instead of cooling the living room it seemed to only churned the hot air. Her eyes narrowed as she watched it oscillate and she began to curse. Nothing and no one were above her reproach while she stalked through her small apartment to the kitchen.

Her landlord. The asshole left for two weeks in the Bahamas knowing full well the air conditioning hadn't been repaired. I hope he contracts an STD and spends the rest of his days with a useless, limp dick.

The building's maintenance man. That fucker had to go and catch the flu, didn't he? And of course he's recovering at his mother's house. Bastard. May he choke on his own phlegm.

Even herself. Had to find a cheap apartment. Couldn't have accepted Daddy's offer to help you with a better place, could you? You don't deserve that dick you want so bad.

She flung open the door of her refrigerator, leaning into the appliance as much as possible. The normally frigid air seemed no cooler than the air in the kitchen. Snatching a bottle of water from the shelf, she pressed it to her forehead before sliding it over her chest. The heat had called for drastic measures; as soon as she'd returned from the shops she'd stripped to her panties and bra. If she were a bit more daring she would probably remove those as well.

"Damned tits, why are you always twice as hot as the rest of me?" she questioned aloud, holding the sweating bottle between her breasts. The condensation cooled her cleavage considerably but she was still miserable with the heat. Gulping down half the contents of the bottle, she released a ragged sigh as the cold water coursed down her throat.

She continued to stand in front of the open refrigerator, her planned lunch of grilled chicken salad forgotten as she nibbled on grapes. It was too hot to eat. It was too hot to do anything. Her gaze snapped to the window overlooking the back garden and she whined. Of course the windows refused to budge. The building was in the process of getting all new windows and, curse her luck, hers were to be the last.

"Don't worry, Miss Parker, the heat won't be on us for another month yet," she mimicked, recalling her landlord's words when she had approached him before he left. She opened her mouth to berate him and his stupidity and was cut off by the sound of a knock at her door.

Leaving the fridge open, she flicked droplets of water from her bottom lip with her tongue as she stalked out of the kitchen. Her mother, she supposed, had come to see if between them they could force the windows open. If not, Katie was determined to break the glass if necessary. Not bothering to glance through the peephole, she undid the locks and chain. She swung the door open, resting a hand on her hip, fully prepared to crumple into the little girl she could still be when things didn't go away.

But instead of her mother, the short, plump woman that always smelled of gardenias, she saw a tall, dark, very handsome man. Nothing plump about him, she thought, drinking in the sight. Faded jeans clung to powerful thighs – the things could probably crack walnuts – and rested low on tapered hips. Despite the water she had just consumed her mouth went dry.

The man was fucking gorgeous. He towered over her in his snug jeans with his hair slicked back but showing a bit of curl around his ears and his muscles bulging in his white t-shirt. A large hand gripped the handle of a toolbox and her gaze roved up his arm, lingering on a giant bicep before skittering across a shoulder. His lips were moving but she couldn't hear a word he said, her inner voice screaming.

A man. A living, breathing, beautiful specimen of male flesh is at my door. He has a dick. Her eyes dropped to his crotch. She could see the bulge. I want to fuck him. I don't know his name or why the hell he's here. I just want him to fuck me – Why is he still talking?

She forced herself to focus on his lips again. It took her a few seconds for his words to register and when they did she felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"I'm here to measure for the new windows," he said. The way his lips curled into an amused smirk gave her the feeling that he had said the words more than once already. "I wasn't supposed to come until Monday but I was in the neighborhood. Wade Barrett, Miss..." He consulted the clipboard in his hand. "Parker?"

"Right. Yes. I have windows." Get a grip. She stepped back, gulping when he stepped inside. Suddenly the air seemed twenty degrees hotter. Her hand reached for the hem of her shirt in order to fan herself and she squeaked when her fingers met bare skin. Looking down, she saw that she wore only a bra and panties. Her favorite set. Also her skimpiest. Staring at the tops of her breasts, which now seemed ready to spill out of the turquoise lace cups, she ran her fingers along the band of the matching panties. Then her gaze fell to the pair of high heeled sandals still on her feet. I look like a porn star.

"I won't be long, Miss," he said, jarring her from cataloging her attire. "Hope I didn't disturb your dressing. If you're about to leave—"

"No, no, you're fine. I just got home." Over an hour ago, but that wasn't the point. "It's so hot in here..." She waved a hand in the general direction of the windows. "The air is on the fritz and the bloody windows won't open and that stupid fan is useless—"

"Once I've measured them I'll see if I can get one or two to open for you." Wade set his clipboard on the end table. "I'll start in here, then?"

"Right." Her tongue traced her lips as he lifted her couch and moved it forward so he could get to the window. He could toss me around in bed like a rag doll. She cleared her throat, the mental images almost too much to bear, and moved towards the kitchen. Once again before the open refrigerator, she pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks. After a few grapes and the rest of her water, common sense settled in.

A complete stranger. And you just let him waltz in without checking up on him. For all you know, he's some sort of serial killer. Yes, all those muscles were built from toting dead bodies around. Of course, he's too good looking to be a murderer... So was Ted Bundy, you twit. But he has a toolbox. She made a face. That could just carry his instruments of torture. Rope, duct tape, a knife. He's probably a rapist, too. And all his victims are unsuspecting girls who believe his story about measuring windows.

And she'd greeted him in her underwear. Way to invite trouble, Katie.

The bottles in the door rattled as she slammed the refrigerator shut. She snatched her phone off the counter, wanting it at the ready in case she needed to call for help. Tiptoeing to the door, she peeked out at him. She half-expected to see him readying his weapon. Instead of finding him laying out a rope, however, she saw that he was opening the curtains, measuring tape clutched in one large hand. She ventured further into the living room and took a peek at the paper on his clipboard. With one quick glance she saw the name of the company, her name, and her landlord's signature.

Not a serial killer. Thank God.

Her earlier embarrassment was gone now that she was assured he wasn't some serial killer. Still a bit wary about leaving him unsupervised, though, she remained in her state of undress, watching as he worked. He wasn't talkative but she didn't mind. It had been so long since a man – an attractive man – had been in her apartment she was content just to watch him.

He had a crooked nose, which only added to the character of his face. He'd caught her looking at it more than once and had given a cheeky grin before explaining that he was a bareknuckle fighter in his spare time.

Tall: check. Dark: check. Handsome: check. Nice ass: check. Muscled: check. Good with his hands: check.

If she could have ordered a man online she wouldn't have been able to get one better than him.

She leaned in the doorway to her bedroom and enjoyed the view as he bent over to retrieve something from his toolbox. God in heaven, it had to be a crime for a man to have such a delicious-looking ass. It was too easy to picture it naked with her fingers digging into it as he fucked her senseless—

"Alright there, Miss Parker?" he asked suddenly.

She realized that her imaginary whimper had been all too real. "Y-yes, I'm fine," she assured, knowing her cheeks were pink when he glanced back at her. His smile – ugh, even his smile was delicious – sent a shiver down her spine and then he turned back to his work.

The sash creaked as he forced the window up and she breathed a sigh of relief. There would be little difference now, but once the sun set the apartment would finally cool off. He'd raised a window in each room and first thing in the morning she would be off to purchase another fan after his suggestion for setting up a cross breeze.

"There we go. You should be alright now. No rain for the next day or two, I don't think." He dusted his hands on his thighs and bent over.

Once again she was transfixed by his body. The way his thin white t-shirt stretched over his back as he gathered his tools. How his biceps bulged. How, when he turned, there was a defined ridge in the crotch of his jeans... She tore her eyes away but not before he caught her staring. "Finished already?" she inquired, her tone evoking an innocence she'd never possessed.

His hands dropped to his hips and the look he gave her would have melted a glacier. "Actually, I haven't started yet."

"I-I beg your pardon?" she squeaked. He really is a serial killer. But no, he wouldn't have opened the windows if he was, right?

"I think you know, Miss Parker."

She could only stare as he peeled off his t-shirt. Mentally she praised every deity she could think of as his chiseled torso was revealed to her. He advanced, that smoldering look still in his eyes, and she was powerless. He can kill me if he must, she decided, phone slipping from her hand. It hit the floor with a clatter but she paid no attention. Just fuck me first, Wade Barrett.

When he reached her, his hand landed on her hip. She angled her head upwards, breathless, and gasped as she was spun around. Calloused fingers stroked her bare skin and hot lips smudged over her neck. Trembling in anticipation, she gripped the door frame with one hand, the other reaching back to grasp his arm.

"I saw the way you looked at me." His breath was fire against her skin. An invisible trail was created from her hip, across her stomach, over her ribcage, to her breast. With just a flick of his fingers her bra was yanked down and then his hands were cupping her breasts, his thumbs stroking her turgid nipples. "Your eyes never left me for a moment."

Katie let her head fall back, gasping for breath as his fingers created tortured peaks. "You looked at me too," she defended, shivering when his teeth dragged over her throat.

"Can you blame me?" His right hand left her breast and there was no hesitancy, no wandering. Long fingers plunged into her panties. Seeking, they stroked her already slick folds. "I usually get dried up housewives, not lookers like you."

A whimper strangled in her throat as his middle finger moved back and forth. Rolling her hips, she felt no qualms about pressing her ass against his crotch. "Fuck a lot of your clients, do you?" she asked. Her hand slid down his arm, dropping to his hip. It then slipped between them, her palm sliding over the ridge of his cock. It was, if her hand was any judge, huge. She quivered just thinking of it pounding into her.

"You're the first, love," he moaned. He pushed his middle finger into her entrance, leaving a series of bites over her bare shoulder as his wrist pumped in a gentle rhythm. His teeth caught the strap of her bra and dragged it down over her shoulder, a growl pulling from deep within his chest as he released her breast. His lips left her briefly and before she could protest they were back, sucking at her earlobe. Her bra loosened, the straps falling down her arms. Then his thumb circled her clit before pressing down hard and she bucked against him. "Get wet for all your handymen?"

"You're the first," she hissed. Her head fell back. Her breath came in short pants. The stirrings of an orgasm began in the pit of her belly and she wantonly rocked her hips to increase the sensation. "Fucking hell!"

"Been a while?" he whispered, another finger joining the one already deep within her. She nodded and he chuckled. "Go on, love, let it out," he encouraged, fingers quickening. The squelch of her wet flesh seemed to echo in the rooms, followed closely by her ragged moans. "No?" he murmured when she whined in frustration. "Don't worry, I've got you."

Did he ever. In the blink of an eye her panties were gone, pooled at her ankles. The jangle of his belt buckle, the rasp of a zipper, then the large cock she'd felt was resting against her ass. With just the pressure of his hand at her hip she leaned forward slightly. Then, suddenly, gloriously, the tip of him slid between her legs, seeking. She pushed back as he pushed forward. Her body initially protested the intrusion but the protest immediately gave way to delight. In two strokes she was whimpering. Three more had her trembling. One final stroke sent her over the edge.

When she came to her senses she was still bent over in the doorway. Her hands still gripped the door frame. Her panties were still at her ankles. His voice was still murmuring in her ear. And his glorious cock was still deep inside her.

Don't trust strangers my ass, she thought with a pleased sigh. In less than five minutes he had accomplished what she had been struggling to do for weeks. The man deserved a trophy.

"Alright there?" he asked. The fingers at her hip tightened.

"Fuck yes," she breathed.

"Good."

Katie gasped in surprise when she was spun around. Still bent at the waist, she stumbled over her own feet as she was pushed towards her bed. His dick slid out of her and she whined. She fell onto the bed with a whimper, hands landing in the laptop she had left by her pillow earlier. It slid off the opposite side with a loud thud but she was too far gone to care, angling her hips upward as the mattress dipped. Calloused hands cupped her ass, molding her flesh to his palms. Her eyes drifted closed and all her impatient frustration seeped away.

"Where do you keep your toys?"

His voice was warm brandy on a wintry night. Languid, she motioned to her nightstand. There was a bit of confusion as he leaned over her, rummaged around, and leaned back. She was forced to wait, impatience creeping into her again, as he removed his jeans. His hands wrapped around her ankles and she bit her lip when he left her shoes on her feet. Sliding her hands over her pillow, she gripped the rail of her iron bedstead, prepared to fully enjoy the ride.

The cold metal against her wrists caused her eyes to snap open. The metallic click as the rarely-used handcuffs were snapped into place sent a tremor down her spine. Large hands pulled on her arms to test the strength and he tutted approval.

No words passed between them as his lips attacked her neck; the only sound in the room was her harsh breathing. Teeth scraped down her spine and she lurched, the pleasurable sting lasting only a moment. His lips traced the curve of her backside before his teeth bit down on one cheek. Her shriek of surprise brought a laugh from the man.

Then he was there, the tip of his cock brushing along her folds in lazy strokes. He brought her to a fever pitch, her impassioned pleas seeming to fall on deaf ears. He continued the sensual assault, teasing her, the blunt tip pressing right at her entrance before sliding away. Katie dropped her head to the pillow, biting down on the crisp white case as her throat vibrated with growls. She leaned back in an attempt to force him inside her but he averted, his hand coming down on her ass in a sharp blow that caused her eyes to roll back in her head.

"Like that, do you?" he inquired, his words punctuated by another smack. She could only cry out in answer. Her lack of words resulted in another slap. "Do you?"

"Yes," she shouted, fingers trembling as she tightened her grip on the iron rail. "Oh, fuck, please, give it to me!"

His hand continued to fall against her ass, waiting between each blow for the sting to lessen before bringing another round of pain. She could feel the imprint of his palm on her skin. When his fingernails raked over the burning spot she shrieked. Back arching, she kicked futilely at the mattress. The combination of pain and pleasure threatened to send her spiraling into ecstasy again. Just as she reached the point of no return, he slammed his cock into her.

She barely heard his roar of approval over the sound of her own. Clawing at the rail beneath her fingers, she was certain her body was going to burst into a million pieces. She convulsed, tense, arching and writhing as he held himself deep within her, the indentations of his hips flush against her ass.

When coherency returned she felt his hand sliding up her back. She moaned at the feel of his fingers on the back of her neck, forcing her head down as his hips began a slow, torturous rhythm. Her mouth opened so she could tell him to cut the crap and fuck her already, but his fingers wrapped around her throat, ceasing all speech from her.

Then, suddenly, he began to move. Harder, faster, until she could barely tell when he was inside her. Each time his cock brushed the bundle of nerves deep within his hand came down on her ass. Each time she released a moan, a whimper, a shriek, the hand at her throat tightened. And each time her body shuddered with utter joy.

She worked to meet his relentless thrusts with her own, sending him deeper than she ever thought imaginable. Perspiration dripped from her skin and she felt her muscles begin to spasm awkwardly for some sort of relief. Biting down hard on her bottom lip when he shifted the angle of his hips she bucked and yelped as an explosion occurred in the pit of her belly. The fire spread outward at an alarming rate, causing every inch of her body to flush red, and his name was a tortured scream.

The pleasure ripped through her again and again, and seemed to spur him on. He slammed into her, pressing against her harshly, a low growl bubbling up his throat as he withdrew. She cried out at the sensation. Her body tingled with awareness at the sound of his animalistic growls. Feeling the first splash of his hot release on her back, she arched, wriggling as gush after gush followed.

Wade collapsed next to her, panting. She raised her head a bit to look at him, wetting her dry lips at the sight of his unruly hair hanging in damp curls over his forehead. Her fingers itched to run through it; they begged to touch him at all. Still at his mercy, she could only stare at him.

And squeak in surprise when he rolled off the bed. Her eyes followed him across the room. "Wh-where are you going?" she asked. For one brief moment she thought he meant to leave her as she was: handcuffed to the bed, his cum rolling down her spine, and thoroughly sated.

"For a shower. Wait right there, will you?" he tossed over his shoulder. "I'm not done with you yet."

~fin