Lara Croft had always entered rooms like...like a fact. A strange expression to say "like a fact" but it worked. Lara was simply a fact. She was smart, she was hot, and she was kind. The sort of presence that bent attention toward her whether she wanted it or not.
She was legend sharpened into a woman. Archaeologist, yes, if one needed a polite word. Tomb raider, if one preferred honesty. She had crossed deserts that killed caravans, explored jungles that hosted undiscovered predators, and cities buried so long the sun had forgotten their names. She had outrun collapsing temples, outthought cults that worshipped extinction, and survived injuries that would have ended anyone else's story in a footnote. History bore her fingerprints in places no museum would ever admit existed.
Lara was beauty with an edge to it. High cheekbones, a mouth that looked made for resolve, and eyes the color of stormed-over seas. She tried to smile anyway. Proof of cost. Proof of survival.
She was rich beyond need, born into old money and made richer by her own stubborn brilliance. Aristocratic by blood, formidable by choice. She spoke dead languages. She had stared down gods and monsters and men who wanted to be both. She had never begged. She had never stammered.
Until now.
"A-apologies, Mr. H-Harrison," Lara said, her voice catching on the name like a shoe on a stair. She cleared her throat, mortified. "The roast is very good. Very good, indeed."
Lara did not and could not show her cleavage here. So low-cut shirts were off the menu. So were jeans and booty shirts. Anyone with a brain could see she had a hot body, the kind that mothers often did not like to see. She had chosen her clothes with the same care she once reserved for temple entrances and pressure plates. Nothing revealing. Nothing loud. Certainly nothing that hinted at cleavage or invited commentary. The shirt was a soft, long-sleeved knit in a muted cream, high at the collar and simple to the point of looseness. Her trousers were tailored, dark, and sensible. Not jeans.
So yeah. This wasn't the hot sexy flirty Lara Croft. This was good girl Lara Croft here. A Lara Croft that nobody else in the world had seen. A Lara Croft she herself never knew existed.
Across the dinner table, the older gentleman paused mid-chew. He was a square man with a stiff back and a jaw that looked like it had never once entertained doubt. His eyes flicked to her, assessing.
"It's pork," he said. "Cooked properly."
"Yes. Of course," Lara said, nodding too quickly. She folded her hands in her lap so no one would see them tremble.
She had made the terrible, terrible mistake of offending her boyfriend's father. She assumed his mother cooked this. Lara Croft was wrong and it seemed to offend him.
'God, I am not good at playing girlfriend.'
What the hell did it mean to play girlfriend? She sure as hell didn't know, she had never had one. Lara had been a single woman most of her life. She didn't have time for kisses and hugs, because they intruded on her adventures.
Oh, yes, she had a boyfriend. Matthew was his name and he shot her a small, apologetic smile for his father's stern attitude. He was seated beside her, shoulders a little hunched in that polite way he had, as if trying not to take up too much space. He was clean-cut, earnest, the sort of man who returned shopping carts and remembered birthdays without being reminded. His presence steadied her on most days. Tonight it really, really helped.
Tonight was that night. Meeting the boyfriend's parents night. Quite possibly among the top three most difficult things she had ever done.
His mother, Anne, beamed from the other end of the table. "I'm so glad you like it, Lara. Matthew told us you're staying in the city now."
"Oh," Lara said. "Ah, yes, I am."
"For work?" Matthew's father asked.
"Yes," Lara said again. She hesitated, then added, "Research."
"Mm," he grunted. "What kind?"
She felt the words pile up and refuse to arrange themselves. "Academic," she said weakly. "I'm doing, um, I'm a teacher assistant so I do a bit of teaching and academia."
"Hm." Matthew's father nodded once. He returned to his meal. "How much money?"
"Dad!" Matthew interrupted, brows furrowing. "You can't ask that. She makes enough."
"I-it's okay." Lara pursed her lips. "If you're concerned, it's more than six-figures."
"Way more," Matthew grumbled.
That earned a glimmer of respect from him. Matthew made it obvious he wasn't rich. His father worked as a janitor and his mother was a stay-at-home mom for most of his life. Whereas Lara, well...
Time to change subjects. "Um, so Mrs. Harrison, do you often stay home or...?"
Lara's question was answered with a bright smile. "Oh, I'm a florist." Matthew's parents were both in retirement age, in their sixties, so it wasn't an offending question. "Part-time anyway. I can't move these sorry legs for more than a couple hours."
"That's great."
"How is work going, Matthew?" the concerned mother asked, shifting her gaze to her son. "What was it again? Consulting?"
"Yeah, uh, consulting tech stuff at a factory," Matthew replied, smiling fakely. "Still working."
Actually, he quit. Courtesy of Lara. He was like a stay-at-home boyfriend.
"And you, Lara?" asked the strict old man. "Will you quit your job soon? My son makes decent money."
"N-no."
"Hrm. What will you do when—"
The man's wife interrupted. "John, please. Let's not get too far ahead, hm? Let's just enjoy the here and now!"
"...fine."
Conversation limped along after that. Weather. Traffic. A neighbor's new fence. Lara answered when spoken to, smiled when appropriate, laughed a half-beat too late. Every movement felt rehearsed and wrong. This was harder than infiltrating a fortified monastery. At least monks expected silence.
When the plates were finally cleared, Anne stood and clapped her hands together. "Well," she said brightly, "that was lovely. John, you can relax. Lara, come on. You're helping me with the dishes."
John Harrison snorted. "She's a guest."
"Nonsense," Anne said, already stacking plates. She leaned closer to Lara and stage-whispered, "Sorry about him, he prefers to wash dishes with me."
Lara rose so fast she nearly knocked her chair back. "Yes. Of course."
The kitchen was warm and smelled faintly of lemon soap. A window over the sink looked out onto a dark backyard and the grass silvered by porch light. Anne handed Lara a towel and set her at the counter.
"Really, don't mind John," Anne said, scrubbing a plate. "He's stern with everyone. Even the toaster."
Lara let out a small laugh, surprised by it. "I see."
"He likes you," Anne added. "He just shows it like that."
"Like a customs officer," Lara said before she could stop herself.
Anne barked a laugh. "Exactly."
They worked in companionable silence for a moment. The clink of dishes. The rush of water. Lara felt her shoulders ease, just a little.
Anne glanced at her. "We're very happy Matthew found someone."
Lara's hands stilled. Heat crept up her neck. "That's kind of you."
"Especially someone as beautiful as you," Anne said. "He's been alone so long."
Lara stared at the plate she was drying. Her ears burned. "He's… he's wonderful."
"Oh, we know," Anne said. "But tell me. How did you two meet?"
The question landed like a trapdoor.
Lara's mind flashed, unbidden, to another city. Another night.
New York City was all teeth and glass and noise. It was where they met and where Lara experienced one of her toughest missions. Rain slicked the rooftops, turning steel into mirrors. She had been running for hours, lungs on fire, boots slipping on concrete. She jumped from rooftop to rooftop.
The organization had been far more militant than she liked. Too coordinated with too many drones. She got caught at their facility. Lara had to flee, so here she was. Far, far away with an injured leg. Jumping again and again. Gasping, she vaulted another gap but misjudged the distance by inches, and felt the sickening drop in her stomach as her foot missed purchase.
She crashed through a railing and slammed into a balcony hard enough to knock the breath from her body. Pain exploded up her side. She rolled, gasping, already reaching for her pistols.
The balcony sliding door flew open.
This was how she had met Matthew: in pain and wanton.
"Oh my God," Matthew had said. He was barefoot, in sweatpants and an old college hoodie, eyes wide with horror. "Are you okay, ma'am?"
She had stared up at him, rain plastering her hair to her face, blood warm at her temple. Tch, for someone to have immediately opened up...!
In the distance, she heard the whizz of drones. She had no choice here.
"May I," she'd wheezed, "come in?"
Matthew had not hesitated. He had dragged her inside, hands shaking, and locked the door while she bled quietly on his rug. He made tea for her. He asked too many questions and then apologized for them. When the drones swept past minutes later, he sat beside her on the couch, pretending not to notice the way she tensed at every sound.
Two weeks. Lara Croft stayed two weeks.
Uncharacteristic, right? Usually, she'd leave after two days. But somehow, this man managed to convince her to keep staying.
"L-look, I don't what happened, but I heard a shooting in the neighbourhood nearby. Probably best to stay put."
Yeah, a shooting she caused. In said shooting, Lara lost her iconic dual pistols - got them knocked out of her hand by a sniper. Dammit.
"And there was an Amber Alert. They told everyone to stay put."
Lara could only nod and pretend she wasn't affiliated. Matthew assumed she wasn't.
"Are you...one of those parkour Youtubers," was his assumption. Lara smiled and nodded. Yep, that was her excuse. A Youtube that failed at parkour.
She slept on his couch, then his bed when her ribs made the couch unbearable. She cleaned his kitchen because she didn't know what else to do with hands that usually held guns. She learned his routines. His terrible taste in late-night television. The way he talked to himself when he cooked.
She told him she did Youtube and was also a university student. She hid the truth like a child hides a mess under the bed.
Even now, she had never told him she was THE Lara Croft.
Why? Because Lord, she crushed on him.
Hard.
She stayed those two weeks because she liked watching TV with him. She liked having someone cook for her. She liked...him. She liked Matthew. A lot.
Fives days in, she was baking cookies for him. Lara was following a recipe on her phone like it was a bomb schematic. She burned the first batch. He ate them anyway. She pretended not to watch his face when he smiled.
Fuck, she had been pathetic.
Anne cleared her throat, bringing her back. "Lara?"
She blinked. "Sorry."
"So," Anne prompted gently. "How did you meet?"
Lara swallowed. "At a… a mutual friend's gathering," she said. The lie tasted thin. "In the city. I do university work, he does consulting."
She was lying to everyone in this family. She gave Matthew a partial truth: that she was aristocratic. That was how she got him to become a stay-at-home boyfriend. She had plenty of money and that if he ever wanted to do anything else, he could. So he did. He wanted to relax in this case after years of working at a factory. The consultant work he did? It was for a factory. Not fun.
Anne nodded, accepting it without question. "See? I told John he'd find someone special."
Lara laughed weakly. She cleared her throat. "So, um, Matthew has never brought anyone home...?"
Anne stared at her and giggled. "Aw, jealous?"
"...."
Yes. Very much yes. Jealous to the point that she'd ask who the skank was.
"Aww! No, never. Not even a crush really. He was a quiet kld." Anne side-glanced at her, smiling. "So I'm glad you're the first!"
Lara's cheeks felt like they were on fire. "I'm honored."
Anne bumped her hip lightly against Lara's. "You'd make a lovely daughter-in-law."
Daughter-in-law!? She dropped the towel, hands suddenly clumsy. Anne picked it up with a smile and handed it back.
"Sorry, sorry. We're just happy," Anne said softly. "Didn't mean to spring it on you."
"I-it's fine. Really."
Wow. Marriage. Husband. A new branch of family. Her heart fluttered. Lara...didn't hate the idea. The opposite, her body warmed in a way that suggested she wanted it.
They finished the dishes side by side. Lara's pulse slowly settled. The world narrowed to warm water and porcelain and the quiet kindness of a woman who saw her only as a girl standing in her kitchen, blushing over nothing at all.
For once, Lara Croft did not try to seem badass or stoic. She stood there, drying plates, heart full and unsteady, and let herself be just that.
***
The door to Matthew's childhood bedroom clicked shut. This was his parent's house. Lara stopped at the doorway and let out a breath she felt like she'd been holding for three hours.
"Oh wow." Lara smiled, her eyes sweeping the room.
It was a time capsule. Faded band posters curled at the corners. A bookshelf sagged under the weight of old sci-fi novels and trophies for… debate club. Something new about Matthew. There was a model solar system, dusty and slightly lopsided, hanging from the ceiling. The bedspread was a benign navy blue.
Matthew ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture she found endlessly endearing. "I know. It's embarrassing. I told my mom she could redecorate years ago, but she…"
"She kept it for you," Lara finished, a soft smile touching her lips. She walked to the bookshelf, tracing a finger over the spine of a well-worn paperback. "It's sweet."
"My dad," Matthew started, his voice tight. "I'm really sorry about him. He's… a hard head. But he's a good man. He just takes some getting used to."
Lara turned to face him. In the soft glow of the desk lamp, he looked younger, softer than the man who had calmly bandaged her wounds in a New York high-rise. Her heart did a slow, heavy roll in her chest.
"It's fine, Matthew," Lara said, and meant it. The terrifying dinner, the inquisition, the clumsy lies—they were the price of admission to this. To him. "Really."
Her fingers went to the button of her sensible trousers. The snick of the fastener was loud and she pushed them down her hips, the fabric whispering as it slid over her thighs, her calves. She stepped out of them, standing there in just her simple black knickers and the long-sleeve knit she'd worn to dinner.
Matthew's eyes darkened as he watched her. "Lara…"
"Come here," she said, beckoning him with a smile and a finger.
He crossed the room in two strides. His hands found her hips, warm and solid through the silk. He kissed her, an apology and a promise all at once. She melted into it, her hands coming up to frame his face, her thumbs stroking his jaw.
They shuffled toward the bed, a clumsy, connected dance, and sank onto the firm mattress together. He lay back, and she curled into his side, her head on his chest. She could hear the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath her ear.
"Your mother thinks I'd make a lovely daughter-in-law," Lara murmured into his shirt.
Matthew's body went rigid for a second, then he chuckled, the sound rumbling through her. "She does, does she?"
"Mmm-hmm." She tilted her head up to look at him. "She said you never bring anyone home."
"I never wanted to," he said, his gaze serious now, locked on hers. "Not until you."
The words landed in the pit of her stomach and unfurled, hot and bright. She shifted, rolling to prop herself on an elbow over him. She kissed him again, deeper this time, her tongue sweeping into his mouth. She could feel his thickening dong through his trousers, the firm ridge of his erection pressing against her thigh.
She smiled against his lips. "Someone's happy to see me."
He blushed, that adorable flush creeping up his neck. "Lara...w-wait."
"Mm?"
Like a puppy, Lara looked up at him.
"God, yes. Always. But here? Of all places? My parents are right down the hall."
She silenced him with another kiss, slow and thorough. As she pulled back, her hands went to the hem of her shirt. She pulled it up and over her head, tossing it to join her pants on the floor. Her bra was black and quickly unhooked and tossed. It was barely there.
The cool air of the room kissed her skin, tightening her nipples hard. She saw his eyes drop, his breath catching in a sharp hiss.
"Lara...!"
Her breasts were D-cups and when ventured with the rest of her slender, whore-built body, it was truly glorious. Like any adventurer, certain parts of her skin were mapped with silvery scars—a slash along the curve of her right breast, a small, round puncture mark just below her left collarbone. But that was it. Lara Croft was flawless otherwise. Her nipples were a deep, flushed pink.
"You like them?" she whispered, arching her back slightly.
"I love them...! His hands came up to cup her boobs. His thumbs brushed over her nipples. "I love you, Lara."
She grabbed the back of his head and pushed him down, letting one breast sway close to his mouth. "Then taste me."
His mouth closed over her nipple, hot and wet, and he sucked, hard. The sensation was a lightning bolt—sharp, aching, delicious. Lara gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to her. The wet, rhythmic suck-slurp of his mouth on her flesh filled the room, lewd and wonderful.
"Yeah, just like that," she moaned. Before Matthew, she hardly ever moaned. Hardly ever delved into the world of sexual pleasure.
But with him? It was different. It was comfortable.
His other hand kneaded her other breast, pinching and rolling the neglected nipple until she was squirming above him. She could feel his cock, a rigid, insistent brand against her hip, straining against his zipper. She could feel herself getting wet.
Lara didn't think she could move this way but she did. She gave a slow, dirty roll of her hips. "I can feel how hard you are for me. This big, fat cock is all locked up."
She slid a hand between their bodies, her fingers deftly undoing his belt, his button, his zipper. Ziiiip! She pushed his trousers and boxers down just enough to free him.
Every time, she saw it and smelled it, her breath and heart literally stuttered.
"What a monster..."
Matthew's cock sprang free, thick and flushed and immense. It was a healthy, monstrous length of cock, easily twelve inches of solid, veined flesh, curving slightly upward. The head was a broad, smooth helmet, already glistening with a pearl of pre-cum. It looked both utterly daunting and unbelievably enticing.
The great adventurer licked her lips, wrapping her fingers around the base. Her hand couldn't even close all the way. She gave him a slow, firm stroke, watching his entire body tense. A thick, clear bead welled at the slit. "This… this beautiful weapon. All for me."
"All for you," he murmured, his hips bucking slightly into her grip. "Jesus, Lara, your hand…"
She pumped him slowly, relishing the silken-steel feel of him, the way his foreskin slid back to reveal the slick, sensitive head. The sound was a wet, sticky shluck-shluck-shluck with each stroke.
"You like when I stroke your big cock?" Lara purred. She stuck her tongue out and licked his lips. She ran her tongue down him until she reached that fat, throbbing cock. She licked the pre-cum from his tip. Her hand was still gripping and stroking it too. It was like a little hand trying to fist this fucking tree trunk...
"Y-yes… fuck, yes…"
"I'm going to ride it." Chills went down his spine and his cock. She released him and hooked her thumbs into the sides of her knickers, dragging them down. "I'm going to get on top of you, and I'm going to take every. Last. Inch. Of this perfect fucking cock inside my desperate little cunt. You hear me?"
They were huddled together closely. It was hard to see or do anything other than follow her. To see her straddle him and get on top.
Matthew could only let his cock throb again and again. Lara was shaved bare. She reached down between her own legs, spreading her slick folds with two fingers. She was soaked, dripping for him.
Positioning the broad, spongy head of his cock at her entrance, she looked down into his eyes. "You nervous, love?"
"A little," he admitted. "I mean, this is my childhood room..."
"I'm not," Lara said, and it was the truth. Every nerve in her body was screaming for him, for this fullness, this connection. "I want it. I want you to fuck me so deep I feel it forever. Now watch."
Lara Croft had a pussy but that didn't mean she was one. She didn't lower herself slowly, she slammed down on his cock.
The stretch was instantaneous and blinding. She was not some sensitive bitch. She was no damsel in distress. "G-good Loooord...!" she hissed and gasped. A glorious, burning fullness stole the air from her lungs. The thick crown pushed past her entrance and she kept going because this all happened in one single short second. Taking him inch by breathtaking inch, her inner walls fluttering and clenching around the invading girth.
"Nggghh...!" Matthew's hands flew to her hips, his knuckles white.
Lara threw her head back when she impaled herself completely. She felt his pubic bone press firmly against her clit. She was utterly, completely full. There was no space left inside her. He was in her. All of him.
All twelve inches.
The feeling was indescribable. A stretching, burning, perfect pressure that touched places inside her she didn't know existed. Everytime she thought she could get used to it, she realized she didn't. She couldn't. She could feel the thick veins along his shaft pulsing against her sensitive inner walls.
'Sobigsobigsobigsobig...!'
Lara had to calm herself. She forced it. She was a warrior. She was Lara fucking Croft. Some random factory consultant couldn't break her.
Oh, but he did. His cock alone did. His cock and his kindness changed everything and Lara looked down, her own eyes wide with shock and pleasure. "Y-y-you're all the way in," she panted. "I-I can feel you… fucking… in my cervix. I'm taking, nggh, so much...of your cock...!"
Dark auburn hair in a braid and big D-cups, heaving as they tried to relax. She tried to smile too and failed. Lara remained seated, impaled, her inner walls clenching around the massive intrusion in a rhythm of shocked, exquisite acceptance. She could feel him throbbing in her cunt, a deep, steady thrum-thrum-thrum against her most sensitive nerves.
Rather than a smirk, a gentle smile spread across her face.
"You feel that, Matthew?" Lara breathed, husky and in awe and possessed. "You're home."
He was. Matthew was inside Lara Croft, inside his girlfriend, inside his soulmate. They had fucked before. He knew what to expect.
"N-never thought I'd bring such a hot girl on my childhood bed," Matthew managed to say."
Lara laughed and leaned down, boobs flat on his chest. Strands of her hair touched the sides of his face. She caressed his cheek and then kissed him full on the lips.
Then she sat up straight up again. Lara tried to look all casual about it. She half-succeeded.
It started as a subtle rock of her hips, a testing grind that made him groan, his fingers digging into the flesh of her waist. Then she rose, an inch, two, the slick drag of his cock pulling out a total wet, lewd five inches. Her breasts swayed with the motion.
"Fuck," Matthew gritted out, his eyes glued to her chest.
"Shush, please. We need to be quiet, don't we?"
The ever confident Lara dropped her weight back down, hard, taking him deep again with a soft, impactful thump of their bodies meeting. Then again. Then again.
"Heh, you look watching my tits bounce on your cock?"
Matthew nodded feverishly. Lara smirked. She was quite proud of her babies.
She established a rhythm, fast and demanding. Up, with a gasp, her back arching. Down, with a choked moan, her hips meeting his. Slap-slap-squelch-slap! A filthy orchestra. Her breasts became a mesmerizing spectacle of jiggling flesh, the heavy globes bouncing and swaying.
God, Lara, she was riding him so fucking hard. Matthew could only watch, hypnotized.
"You like it?" Lara asked, her muscles coiling and releasing, driving herself onto him with a focused, athletic intensity she usually reserved for scaling cliffs. "You like watching these tits jiggle while I fuck myself on your huge dick? Tell me."
"I love it," Matthew groaned, his hands sliding up to cup the undersides of her breasts. "I love your tits. I love your fucking perfect body. Don't stop."
She didn't. She rode him like she was facing a monster, her breath coming in sharp, rhythmic gasps. Sweat gleamed on her collarbone, between her breasts. Each downward plunge was a calculated, glorious assault on her own cunt, the broad head of his cock battering a spot deep inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck...!" A gasp left her. "Fuckfuckfuck...!"
CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!
They had to be quiet. She had to think about Matthew's parents. But still, this cock! This fucking COCK! She was gasping. She was getting louder!
"I'm gonna… I'm gonna cum! F-from riding this beautiful fucking cock! Fuck, Matthew, it's so deep!"
Her climax hit her like a collapsing temple—sudden, total, and devastating. The wet, sucking noises of her orgasm were unmistakable. She shook above him, suddenly getting still until her head threw back.
"Nggghhh...!"
Matthew watched, mesmerized, as the strongest woman he'd ever known came completely apart on his cock.
As the last tremors subsided, Lara slumped forward, bracing her hands on his chest, breathing like she'd just outrun an avalanche. But the fire in Matthew's eyes hadn't dimmed. It had banked, grown hotter.
"So...you came?"
"Y-yeah...s-sorry..."
Lara flushed. She always came before. Never in their sex life had Lara made him first. She got too caught up in her own pleasure, or in this case, she got overconfident. When she fucked, she was a different person. The same way she was different when she went adventuring. It was different from when she was writing and doing papers and whatnot.
"My turn."
"Huh—?"
Lara Croft was suddenly underneath him, his cock still inside. Matthew was no longer the nervous man from dinner. His eyes were dark, intense, predatory.
If this was any other man, she would have smashed their nuts with a kick. But since it was her boyfriend...
"Matthew… your parents…" she whispered, but it was a feeble protest, her body already arching up into his.
Lara Croft was completely submissive.
"You shushed me," he reminded her. He kissed her, hard, swallowing her gasp. "My turn to shush you."
***
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