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You thought that moving to Miami would solve all your issues. You weren’t running per se, but you were desperate to get out of your living situation. A shitty roommate, a crazy ex, a dead-end job. You really just needed to get away. So you scoured the AZA job board and eventually got an email back from a privately owned animal park in Miami. You packed up everything you owned. It all fit in a single U-haul trailer hitched to your car. You had conflicting feelings about seeing all your worldly possessions within a single 6x12 trailer. You were glad that it was easy to move, but fuck. All the years you had been living and that’s all you had to prove it? It was even worse when you unpacked the boxes. They were stacked in the living room of your studio apartment. The shitty couch you had found was already nestled into its spot facing your TV and its stand. Outside of the necessities- bed, cookware, your animal oddities collection- you didn’t have much. You hung up the nature scene tapestry and a few band posters and stood back to admire your work. The apartment looked so cold. So lifeless. So…uninviting, honestly. You made a vow to yourself that once your first paycheck hit, you’d get some lamps to add soft light to the room instead of the harsh overhead ceiling sconce. And you did. As the initial weeks passed, you settled into your role as a small-omnivore zookeeper and as a resident of Miami. You got a rug for your apartment, a really soft one that you enjoyed running your feet over. But something was still missing. There was a disconnect. When you walked through the door after your shift, you never felt the rush of satisfaction of being home for the night. It honestly felt like you were staying at a hotel. You didn’t think much of it and just chalked it up to being in a new place. Surely it would pass eventually.

It was going to be another hot and humid day. You could feel it. Even though it was only eight in the morning and the sun hung low in the sky, you could feel the wet heat beginning to trap the fabric of your dark uniform shirt against your back. Summer was in full swing and the smell of freshly mowed grass and the chorus of birds filled the air. The animals spent more time out in their habitats rather than their climate-controlled houses. You said good morning to each one as you walked down the path carrying a bucket of vegetables for the lemurs. It was part of your morning routine. Clock in, prepare the vegetables and fruits for the small omnivores, divide them up into color-coded buckets depending on species, add in any medications or dietary supplements, and distribute them accordingly. The lemurs were the last to go. You had already made your rounds to the other habitats. The opossums had climbed up onto your shoulder as you scooped their food into their dishes. You liked the opossums. There were two at the zoo, kept separate due to behavioral issues, but they were both sweet to you and relatively well-behaved. Though, that morning, Chuck had slapped you in the face with his tail while trying to jump down from your shoulder and into the food bucket. You had to scruff him and gently place him into the grass. He waddled back up and pawed at the leg of your cargo pants. He looked up at you with his round little eyes and an over-bite that made you apologize sincerely before topping off his bowl.

The sound of your boots hitting the pavement was the only thing that broke up the quiet morning. The zoo was about to open and you cherished the quiet time before the screaming kids flooded the walkways. You turned down the pathway leading to the lemur house and stopped abruptly. The head keeper stood there, hands on his hips and looking down at the row of bushes that lined the perimeter fence. His brow was furrowed and he was muttering to himself, mustache twitching with silent words, and shaking his head. You cleared your throat to alert him to your presence and he looked up.

“Oh, good morning.” He mumbled.

“Morning, Stan. Is everything okay?” Stan let out a huff of air and took off his hat, scratching at his scalp. He motioned you over with a jerk of his head. You placed the feed bucket on the ground and walked over. You didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t what you saw. In the bushes was a dead opossum, jaws wide and eyes picked out by birds. Its fur was blood-stained and its abdomen was crushed. Its little pink fingers were stiff and part of its tail was missing. Roadkill. 

“Damn teenagers,” Stan spat. “Pickin’ up roadkill and throwing it over the fence. Do it at least once a month.”

“Poor thing.” You sighed, brows knitting together with sympathy. You imagined Chuck like that, a sweet creature lifeless and discarded as part of a prank. It made your stomach clench. Accidentally running over an animal was one thing, but scraping its corpse off asphalt and hoisting it over a zoo’s fence like garbage? Despicable. Stan took a deep breath and sighed, putting his hat back on his head. 

“Listen, kid, I’ve got a lot of work to do before we open.” He told you. “Do you think you can take care of this? Call the county collection people. Tell ‘em it’s not an emergency and it’s on a staff path. The gatehouse will radio you when the guy gets here. Bring him back and he’ll do his thing.” You nodded along to his instructions. Stan placed an appreciative hand on your shoulder. “Thanks.” From inside the house, you heard the lemurs screaming. “I think they’re hungry.” Stan chuckled and handed you the bucket of food before he walked away.

An hour later, your radio buzzed to life. The guardhouse called you down to the back entrance and said the Department of Sanitation had finally sent someone. You took the radio from its clip on your belt and assured them you’d be right down. After weaving through crowds of visitors, trying not to trip over a child who was trying to scoop up his dropped ice cream, you finally emerged on the other side of the zoo. You walked through the zoo’s office and made your way to the staff entrance. Through the double-wide glass doors, you could see a yellow truck with the county logo painted on the side. The sun glared off the aluminum of the truck’s hood and you had to shield your eyes as you walked back out into the hot Florida sun. The air conditioning of the building had been nice, and you felt any remnants of cool air whipped away from your keeper’s uniform. You cursed whoever mandated the dark green t-shirt and black cargo pants combination for workers who were outside all day. 

You approached the van and found its driver sitting in the back of the bed. He kicked his suspended feet aimlessly while he waited for you, back hunched and fingers drumming on the metal. 

“Hi,” You greeted, holding up your hand to shield your eyes from the sun. The man turned to look at you, a little startled, and jumped from the bed. “I’m assuming you’re here for the collection?” He nodded and reached out his hand with a smile. You could see a peak of his crooked teeth and it made you smile back.

“Yes, ma’am,” He confirmed, shaking your hand. “Boyd Fowler.” You introduced yourself and led him up to the doors and scanned your ID badge, unlocking the building and stepping inside.

“You have perfect timing,” You told him as you walked him through the zoo. “Saved me from having to shovel badger shit.” Boyd chuckled. 

“Yea, sorry we weren’t here sooner. There was a gator th’got hit and dangerous calls are always the priority. Never know if those things are dead.”

“Was it?”

“Dunno,” Boyd shrugged. “Didn’t find it. Probably wandered off somewhere.” You hummed in interest and turned the corner onto the staff path behind the lemur building. You stopped at the bushes. The opossum was still draped across the branches, though it was now considerably smellier and covered in flies. Boyd clicked his tongue when he saw it, grabbing the gloves from his pocket and widening his stance to examine the scene.

“My boss says there’s a group of teenagers that do this sort of thing often.” you explained softly. 

“Poor thing,” Boyd mused, using a single gloved finger to lift up the opossum’s paw. He twitched his nose to reposition his glasses. “No defensive marks. Just roadkill. Been dead for a few days.”

“How can you tell?” You took a step closer, peering over Boyd’s shoulder to look at the carcass. A small breeze shook the trees. He smelled like sweat, but not in a bad way, and something a little more unnatural. Almost chemical.

“The blood on its fur isn’t really red anymore. Means it’s been dried for a while. And the eyes are pecked out. So the birds have had time to get to it.” He explained.

“That’s so interesting. How do you know that?” Your question was innocent, but his shoulders tensed slightly before shrugging.

“Gotta know your craft.” He turned to you and grinned. He dug into one of his pockets and pulled out a roll of trashbags. “Now usually, I just carry it back to my truck, but I have a feeling you don’t want me to traumatize all these kids by parading around a rotting carcass.”

“That would be appreciated, yes.” You took a step to the side to let Boyd do his job. You watched him while he worked. He was wearing a backwards cap, curly hair poking through the opening. It looked brown, but when the light hit it just right, you swore you could see some ginger strands. The color was reflected in his mustache and the tiny bit of chest hair that poked out from underneath his khaki county-issued shirt. The top button was undone and you noticed the bottom two were as well. His green canvas belt was barely holding up his black cargo pants. You could see a thin band of his underwear above the waistline and you wondered how he got past the guard house looking like that. Usually, guests had to stick to a dress code, family friendly establishment and all that, but you could see the dusting of freckles that covered his belly and his chest. And, of course, that covered his muscled arms. His biceps flexed as he shook out the trashbag. You weren’t necessarily complaining, but you knew you would be getting a few looks from uptight parents escorting this sweaty, half-dressed man carrying a trashbag around. Boyd gently picked up the carcass and slid it into the bag. You shivered at the plopping sound it made. Boyd looked at you and lifted up the bag triumphantly with a polite smile. 

“Done.”

When you got back to the truck, he hoisted the garbage bag into the back of his truck and took off his gloves. He procured a small bottle of hand sanitizer from his shirt pocket and squeezed a glob into his palms. He held it out to you and you turned your hands over, allowing him to place some in yours too. 

“Can never be too careful,” He said, rubbing the sanitizer into his skin. “Tons of bacteria on a dead animal. Live ones, too, but I’m sure you knew that.” 

“Yea,” You smiled, patting the excess onto your pant legs. “We have to wash our hands between each enclosure.”

“S’good habit to have.” Boyd rounded the truck and hopped into the driver’s seat. The air fresheners hanging from the mirror swayed with the movement. 

“I like your deer freshener." You pointed at the square that was hanging beside the iconic green tree. “Deer are my favorite. I grew up in an area where there were loads of them. I always liked watching them.” The words seemed to earn a genuine smile from him. 

“Thanks,” His eyes scanned your face and he looked you up and down, like he was trying to decide something. Boyd dug a crumpled business card from his pocket. “Listen, I’ve gotten this call before. As the summer goes on, there’s usually more.” He handed you the card and you took it. He tapped the number with his finger. “If it happens again, this is my direct line. Sometimes it takes a while for it to go into the system if you go through a dispatcher.” You nodded, a little unsure if he was really just trying to help you professionally. On the way back to the truck, you had caught him checking out your ass. 

“Alright,” you told him anyway, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Boyd. Have a nice day.” You tucked the card into the pocket of your pants and waved to him as he drove off. You had forgotten all about the card until you got home. It had been a long day of changing out bedding and creating enrichment toys. When you collapsed onto your couch with a drink, you felt the hard cardstock poke your thigh. You retrieved the card and frowned at it, taking a sip of your drink. You sighed and put it in your wallet.

Boyd had been right. After a few weeks passed, you began to find more animals littered on the pathways. Never in the same spot, and never the same species. A skunk here, five rats there. One of your coworkers said that, yea, it happened sometimes, but this year was by far the worst. You were getting one every week. You noticed that it only happened while you were working. Which wasn’t saying much, you only had 3 days off a week, but the days you had off rotated and they never had to call something in when you weren’t there. The lack of a pattern made it hard for the police to come up with an explanation. They had simply told you to install more cameras. The zoo directors took the advice, but you knew they didn’t have the funding to rewire the system. The newly added cameras didn’t work. They were just used as deterrence. 

For the first month, you always called in to the Department hotline. You filled out the report and waited like you were supposed to. But today was different. Two of the zookeepers were out sick. Since there were already such a low number of workers, the absence of two pushed you to consider the department officially understaffed. You had to do all of your duties as well as take on half of the additional workload. You were stressed out of your mind, planning how to incorporate the new tasks into your already full schedule. You worked all day with an edge and you were counting down the minutes until your lunch break. You rounded the corner to the giraffe habitat and of course, laying on the welcome mat of the giraffe house, was a dead raccoon. You let out a growl of frustration and stomped your foot. You really did not have time for this. You closed your eyes and forced yourself to take a deep breath. Great. Wonderful. Now you had to push back your entire day just to sit on hold for a hotline. An idea poked into the frustration. You dug your wallet out of your pocket and opened it up. Looking back at you was the tattered edge of the business card Boyd gave you. You sighed with conflict. You really shouldn’t. You should go through the proper channels and report this, so it could be added to the file. But Boyd had given you his number. And to be fair, Boyd was always the one who showed up for the calls. You were on a first-name basis with him. Surely he wouldn’t mind. Plus he’d have to report it anyway. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you dialed the number written on the card. On the second ring, the call went through.

“Boyd Fowler.” His voice came through the speaker. It sounded slightly distorted, but professional.

“Hey, it’s me,” You started.

“Oh! Hi…” You could hear the surprise in his voice.

 “I, um. I hope it’s okay that I called you.” Your words were a little shaky and you nervously shifted on your feet. “There’s a raccoon. A dead one. Can you…”

“Yea,” You heard the blinker of his truck flick on. “I’m pretty close by. Should be there in…like five minutes?”

Sure enough, six minutes later, the yellow truck you had memorized pulled into the parking lot. At least the giraffe house was directly next to the staff entrance. 

“Thank you for coming,” You told him as he gathered his things. “I would have called the line but I’m way too busy to wait. I’d rather just get it over with.”

“No worries. You can always call me.” Boyd smiled at you, crinkling his eyes. He wasn’t wearing his glasses and his shirt was actually buttoned and tucked into his shorts. You thought he looked good regardless, but it was nice seeing him a little cleaned up and you enjoyed that you could see the hazel ring of his eyes. They were really pretty. “Rough day?” 

“You have no idea,” You huffed. “Two people called out sick and now I have to pick up the slack.” He offered his condolences as you stepped up to the giraffe house.

“Hello, Bandit,” Boyd greeted the raccoon. “Caught trying to break in, huh?” He subtly looked at you to see you suppressing a giggle. Boyd smirked anyway. He gently gathered the raccoon’s feet and lifted it up to examine it. “Huh.”

“What?” You walked closer to him and Boyd opened his posture to allow you to get a better look at the animal, hand ghosting over your lower back to get you at the right angle. He ran a finger along the throat of the raccoon. His face leaned closer to you. Another inch and his cheek would be pressed to yours. You could smell his deodorant. “See those marks?” He murmured, eyes flicking to your face. You ignored the way his gaze paused at your lips. You nodded. “Cat teeth.” He closed his teeth rapidly together to simulate a bite. “Right through poor Bandit’s carotid.” You sighed with wonder. 

“How can you tell they’re cat marks and not another raccoon?”

“Distance between the teeth.” He said, using his pointer and middle finger to measure the gap. “Cats have that shorter muzzle, so there’s less of a vertical gap between the canine and incisor marks.” You saw it. It was a small semi-circle. Clean and neat. You were surprised that you didn't catch it until after Boyd pointed it out. To be fair, being so close to the man you were beginning to develop a crush on made your head a little woozy.

“Huh.” You admired. “Fascinating.” You turned to look at Boyd to find he was staring at you. Maybe he had been the entire time. His lips were turned up in an easy smile and his eyes were fond. Warmth spread in your chest. You didn’t know if it was embarrassment or something else, but you didn’t allow yourself to think too hard about it. You cleared your throat and took a slight step back. Not dramatic, but enough to get some space between the two of you. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“Just doin’ my civic duty.” He gave you a fake solute.

“What time is it?” You asked, gesturing to the watch he wore. When he answered, you let out a noise. “Thank god,” You sighed, rubbing at the tense muscles of your shoulder. “Lunch time.” 

“What did you bring?” Boyd asked, beginning to walk back towards the entrance. You walked beside him.

“Chicken noodle soup. Just from a can. Nothing fancy.” You giggled when his nose scrunched up. “What? Don’t like soup?”

“I prefer tomato.” He said simply. “Plus it’s so hot out. It’s not really a soup day. And you deserve something more fulfilling than that, especially if you have to work harder.” You shrugged.

“That's all I had in my pantry this morning.” You stood with your hands out in front of you while you watched him toss the raccoon over the side of the truck bed. Together, you performed the hand sanitizer ritual. You’d grown so accustomed to it, you didn’t even wait for him to offer, just held out your hands and waited. Each time there was a new scent of sanitizer. The original instance had been unscented, but he began bringing ones from Bath and Body Works. He said he liked the smells. After you rubbed it in, you held up your hands to your nose and inhaled. It smelled familiar. “Mmm, what’s this one called? Smells good.”

“Japanese Cherry Blossom.” He read from the label. Your eyes widened.

“That’s funny,” You mused, “I have the body wash version.”

“Huh,” Boyd huffed. “Weird. I like it, though.” You nodded. A moment passed between the two of you and Boyd swallowed. He lifted a hand to readjust his hat. “Hey, so, this might be crazy,” he began, “but I know this really good cafe not far from here. Would you…wanna go to lunch there? It’ll be a helluva lot better than…canned soup.” Boyd’s gaze dropped to his feet at the last part, shoving his hands in his pockets and furrowing his brow. He probably thought it sounded stupid. You tried to suppress a grin, but the corners of your mouth twitched anyway. 

“Yea, that sounds great.” You agreed softly.

“Really?”

“Sure. Let me grab my stuff and we can go.”

The cafe was adorable. A local bakery and coffee shop that you’d seen on your drives to work, but their hours usually fell outside your schedule. You usually just sat in the breakroom and ate reheated leftovers. The change in routine excited you and you were grinning like an idiot the entire time you ordered a sandwich from the menu. You reached for your wallet, but Boyd put a hand on your elbow, shaking his head and reaching over you to hand the cashier his card. You gave him a look and he just shrugged. His treat. 

“So do you like what you do for work?” You asked, taking a bite of your sandwich. Boyd gathered a spoonful of eggs and nodded.

“It’s not for everyone,” He acknowledged “But I love it. It’s never boring.” Excitement crept into his voice and his eyes sparkled. “Like yesterday. Got this call to a house, said they needed help with a python. I’m thinkin’, okay, shouldn’t be too hard to manage if it’s already dead. What the property owner failed to mention was that the python had started eating one of his pet goats, which is why he shot it. So I had to maneuver a fifty-pound snake and a seventy pound goat halfway down the python’s throat.” He laughed and shook his head, taking a bite of eggs. “Fucking nightmare.” Your eyes widened.

“Holy shit, Boyd, that’s insane.” You laughed. “How did you do it?” Boyd scoffed.

“Used a chainsaw to divide up the weight.” He looked like he was about to go into more detail, but he decided against it once he saw you take another bite of your sandwich. He stabbed a sausage with his fork. “Pretty easy after that.” You were surprised at the level of detachment he spoke with. You worked with animals for a living, and had even been there during the euthanization of some. It still made you cry when you thought about the binturong who you worked with during your first job. She was extremely geriatric and had dozens of health issues and ultimately the choice was made to humanely euthanize her. You remembered the way her tail was curled around your arm. And the way it slowly loosened and eventually slipped off. You supposed it was a little different, considering Boyd didn’t have a personal connection with the animals and that they were already dead.

“So you’re pretty used to seeing dead things, then? I bet the smell can be terrible.” You pushed the painful memory out of your mind. Boyd shruged.

“The smell can be awful but…can’t say I ever get used to it-” A ringtone cut off his next word. Boyd patted down his body until he found the offending device. He sighed and got up from his chair. “Shit, sorry, I gotta take this call.” He piled up his napkins on his plate. Boyd looked at you. “It was really nice talking to you. Not a lot of people ask about my job. I-If you ever want to, uh, ride along with me, or something, just…let me know.” 

“I appreciate the offer,” you said with a polite smile “But I think my passion lies with the alive ones.” Boyd laughed at that. A genuine, light noise that sparked something in your chest. You found yourself enamored with his smile.

Eating pussy and skinning roadkill. Those were Boyd Fowler’s two hobbies. And he had done neither of those things since he set eyes on you three months ago. The first one was self-explanatory, and he hadn’t actually done that in years. Women didn’t really pay attention to him. To most women, he was a county worker who was just as unsightly in their neighborhoods as the dead skunk on the culdesac. And as much as he loved watching the housewives jogging in the morning, he understood. 

The second one was trickier. He liked to take his work home with him, storing the collected carcasses in trash bins for later use. Whenever he’d have a bad day, he’d grab something from the bin and take it to his shed. He liked the process of skinning the animals. They were already dead, he wasn’t really doing any harm. The focus he had to dedicate to the task soothed his nerves and he’d sell the pelts to his taxidermist friend for some under-the-table side income. Win-win situation for everyone. But he had to preserve the carcasses he was called to take care of. They had a better use now. The teenagers really had been throwing dead animals over the fence in the beginning, but they had stopped after three times and you had still used the call line. He wanted you to call him. To let him know that you needed him. So he decided to continue the acts until you did. It wasn’t hard. Boyd knew the cameras didn’t work. He’d pick a spot and chuck the carcass over, congratulating himself when it landed right where he intended. Boyd had memorized your work schedule. Even though it rotated slightly, there was always a pattern, and he had noticed. He only ever dropped off an animal when you were working. Because he always wanted the caller to be you.

You had enraptured him the moment he laid eyes on you. You were beautiful. The kind of effortlessly pretty that he adored. The worst part was you acted like you were oblivious to that fact, like you didn’t know how hard you got his blood pumping. And maybe you didn’t. But he would change that soon. It was more than the physicality. It was the way you actually saw him as a person, the way you asked him questions about himself. You didn’t know a ton about him- it was hard to have deep conversations when you only saw each other for thirty minutes every week- but you knew that he was an awkward minimum wage worker and still decided to talk to him. He knew all about you, though. One night you were out with some coworkers for a drink. Boyd had been watching you for weeks, getting to know your habits. And when you were out for the night, he used the spare key taped to the top of your door frame to break into your apartment. It was sparsely decorated. Not a lot of personal items beyond some books and posters. But it became very clear you enjoyed fragrances. You had a tray on your dresser with a line of perfumes. Your bathroom closet had a shelf dedicated to candles. He smelled each one until his head felt fuzzy. You had a body wash and a sugar scrub in your shower, whereas Boyd just used soap, 2-in-1 shampoo, and a washcloth. The body wash sitting on the shelf was the one he smelled on your skin that first day and had been dying to get a hit of ever since. And now he had a name. Bath and Body Works Japanese Cherry Blossom. He went to the outlet mall on his next day off and bought a hand sanitizer of the same scent. Boyd slowly implemented the change of scented sanitizers, too afraid that he’d spook you by immediately coming in heavy with one that matched your smell. And he had done it perfectly; you seemed more intrigued by the fact you had a common interest rather than disturbed that he knew what scent you liked. Boyd even started deep-cleaning during his showers, making sure the dirt and grime actually flowed from his body rather than a quick rinse. He wanted to smell good for you. The image of you nuzzling against his chest and inhaling deeply hung heavy on his mind. How you might run your nose along his sweaty neck and tell him how good he smelled. He thought about it often at night with his boxers shoved down his thighs and his heavy cock in his hand.

You were smart, too. You had gone to school for animal stuff and you always seemed to know the answers to any question he had. He showed you a picture of a partial skull he found and you were able to tell him it was a striped skunk simply because it had square molars. He showed you one he thought was a grey fox and you had vehemently disagreed. It was a red fox because the temporal lines were V shaped, not U shaped. You told him it was easy to remember- Vulpes had a ‘V’, Urocyon had a ‘U’. You taught him how to tell the difference between caniformes and feliforms based on how many chambers the auditory bullae were divided into. And you always found it silly how lagomorphs (hares, rabbits, and pikas, you had explained to him) had two rows of incisors. Every time you dropped an unexpected zoological fact, Boyd just watched and listened in awe. But he also knew that the fascination with skulls ran a little deeper than simply learning about them. When Boyd was in your room that night, he saw your collection of oddities. You had deer antlers, a vial of raccoon teeth, and sixteen skulls of varying species. You liked the bones and he liked the skins. And to Boyd, that’s why you were a perfect match

Every action he took was carefully curated so he would be able to take you gently. Like luring a stray dog into the house with bits of food before capturing it and giving it a home. He thought he fucked it up once, allowing the dizzying excitement of eating lunch with you to numb his thoughts. Asking you to do a ride along was risky, too heavy-handed. And although you responded kindly, he could see the hesitation in your eyes. He went home that night and slapped himself repeatedly, spewing how utterly fucking stupid he had been while crying in the darkness. But then you called him again, and he allowed himself to breathe. This was serious. He would not slip up like that again. Even though he noticed that your fridge was empty the last time he broke in, and it took all of his strength to prevent him from filling it up for you. That would be too far. You were his everything. He knew you at least liked him, and that was enough to formulate his plan. Boyd would give anything to have you by his side for the rest of your lives. To brag to his coworkers that he had a pretty little thing waiting at home for him. Coming home to you after a hard day at work and you rubbing his shoulders, kissing his face. That you would allow him to spend hours eating you out until you were begging for him, and then he’d give it to you so good you’d be shaking after. The CDs he listened to told him that he needed to decide what he wanted and take it, because it wouldn’t wait around for him. Boyd decided he wanted you. And he wasn’t going to lose the opportunity to get you. All he had to do was set up his attic and wait for the right moment.

He decided this was the perfect moment. You worked the closing shift instead of the opening, and he had asked his supervisor to do the same. The sun was below the horizon, but slivers of orange and pink still cut through the dusky sky. There had been another call. He had thrown a groundhog over the fence and patiently waited. Sure enough, you called him right away. Boyd had debated continuing his deposits. He was growing a little restless and he needed a trip to his shed. But he had ultimately concluded that he at least needed to continue it for a few weeks. If they stopped the day after you disappeared, that might be bad for you, especially since Boyd did want you to go back to work eventually. As much as he wanted to, he recognized that his job couldn’t provide for both of you. And you genuinely enjoyed what you did- he didn’t want to take that from you. The call was an hour ago and he hadn’t left. He waited for time to pass, lunchbox sitting on the passenger seat awaiting the right moment. Boyd pushed his glasses up his nose. He knew you liked it when he didn’t wear them, you had complimented his eyes when he showed up one day without them, but he was out of contacts. 

Boyd’s fingers drummed nervously against his thigh and it wasn’t long before he saw the doors to the staff building open. He swallowed when he saw you. You looked so good in your work uniform. He watched your powerful legs, strong from having to lift and carry heavy food boxes and climbing through enclosures. The movement of you walking mesmerized him and he felt blood begin to flow south. He adjusted himself and willed his brain to calm down. He needed to remain aware and present if this was going to go well. You made it to your car. If you had noticed he was still there, you didn’t make it known. Still, he unzipped the lunchbox and pulled out the sandwich. He kept the bag in his hands until the right moment. You tried starting your car, but the engine sputtered. A smile twitched at his lips. He had drained the battery. He saw you hit your hands in frustration against the steering wheel. And he saw the moment your eyes moved to his truck. Now. He popped open the sandwich bag and took a bite. He forced himself to keep his eyes forward. When there was a tiny knock at his window, his jump was sincere. He couldn’t believe it worked. He turned to see you standing on the other side of the door, smiling sheepishly and eyes wet. Boyd set the sandwich down and leaned over the seat, cranking the window down. He mustered his best surprised grin.

“Oh, hey! What’s wrong?” He tilted his head when he saw the way your eyes glistened from the parking lot light. You sniffled. His heart cracked. He felt bad about the situation, but it was ultimately necessary. It was almost over. 

“M-My car won’t start,” You took a shaky inhale, trying to hold back tears. “What are you still doing here?” He lifted up his sandwich.

“I decided to take my dinner break here instead of driving somewhere.” Boyd swallowed the bite. “I would offer to jump your battery, but we’re not allowed to. Company truck, company policy.” It was a lie. There was no such policy. “But I can give you a ride home and you can deal with it tomorrow.” Your eyes lit up and Boyd felt his heart soar. He loved being able to rescue you, even if he had to put you in the situation.

“Really? You’d do that for me?” You asked, teeth showing behind your smile. I’d do anything for you.

“Absolutely,” He unlocked the door and moved his lunchbox. “Climb on in.” You pulled yourself up into the truck and he immediately noticed your eyes go to the center console. His CDs. Fuck. He hadn’t meant for you to see those. He quickly swept them onto the floor of the back seat and rested the lunchbox on the console instead. His fingers dipped into the front pocket, wrapping around the needle filled with the sedative. A low dose of tranquilizer, just enough to knock you out for a few hours without harming you. He waited until you clicked your seatbelt on. Boyd’s hand shot to your neck, pulling you close and inserting the needle into the skin. You let out a strangled yelp, eyes blowing wide. When he retracted, you looked at him with panicked betrayal, hand pressing to the injection site. “I’m so sorry, baby,” Boyd cooed, thumb running over your cheekbone. He felt tears begin to well in his eyes at the sight of you. “I’m so sorry. It’s okay, you’re gonna take a good nap and I’m gonna take you home.” Your pupils dilated and your eyes fluttered closed. Boyd pressed a kiss to your temple, short hairs of his mustache scuffing against your skin. He gently eased your head against the window, so any passer-bys would just think you were sleeping. He took a deep breath and gripped the wheel. He gave you one more unsure look. You were going to hate him, Boyd knew that. But he also knew you would adjust. He had made the attic a home for you. And eventually, you’d fall in love with him. As deeply as he was with you. He was sure of it.

The first thing you noticed was the dry scratching in your throat. Then the pounding in your head. Then the ache in your knees and shoulders. Your memory was fuzzy, but you could feel that something was wrong. This wasn’t a hangover, this was something different. More sinister. You let out a little groan and shifted. You realized you were lying on your side and your face was pressed against something soft. It smelled like your sheets, fresh out of the laundry. Confusion deepened the fog in your mind. You tried to push yourself up, but something held your wrists together and you slumped back over. Your awakening seemed to stir something at the end of the room. You felt the vibrations of boots on wood and your eyes fluttered open. They focused and saw two black boots standing in front of you. Your brows pinched together.

“Boyd?” You rasped out between panting breaths. The word felt like fire as it came from your throat. Boyd bent down next to you, holding a glass of water with a straw.

“Hey, baby,” He whispered, running a soothing hand over your head. “Drink this, you’ll feel better. S’just water.” He placed the straw between your lips. You hesitated, but your throat hurt so bad you had no choice but to comply. The water was like liquid gold, soothing the daggers and allowing you to speak.

“What happened? W-Where am I?” You tried to sit up and Boyd made an uncertain sound, but allowed you to lean upright against the wall.

“You’re home.” You looked around the room. You were sitting on a mattress tucked into the corner. The shape of the ceiling told you that you were in an attic. There were counters on the other wall and a small closet with a toilet and a sink. Light streamed in from a single circular window, catching the dust particles in the air. You could see the first step of descending stairs. 

“This isn’t my apartment.” Boyd was squatting, arms on his knees and looking at you carefully. He was wearing a white tanktop and black gym shorts. You could see the tan line half-way down his freckled biceps. He gave you a sympathetic look and a small smile.

“No,” He agreed. “This is my house. Our house.” He was still grinning at you. Not maliciously, but rather fondly. He looked around the room. “Do you like it? This is just the attic, but once you get…acclimated I’ll show you the rest of the place.” 

“Boyd what did you do?” Your tone was escalating and Boyd shot back to his feet, scratching at the nape of his neck. He crossed his arms over the swell of his belly. “Wh-Why am I here?” You tried to press your hand to your head but it was held back. You looked over your shoulder to look at your wrists. They were linked together by a chain wound around a pipe. Two leather cuffs surrounded your wrists. You furrowed your brow. “What are these?”

“Hand cuffs.” Boyd said simply. “I’m sorry, but it needed to happen. It’s the only way we could be together. The cuffs are so you don’t hurt yourself or me while you adjust.” You blinked up at him, shock on your face. You scoffed. “What?”

“You used leather cuffs?”

“And?”

“I just…I guess I was expecting zip ties or metal.” Boyd scoffed, shaking his head, walking over to the counter where there was a grocery bag. 

“Those are dangerous. I’m a safety guy. Don’t want you gettin’ hurt or cut or nothin’” He explained, taking bottles of water from the bag. “The leather’s s’posed to be comfortable. If it’s not, let me know. I can get you something else.”

“What is going on?” You said it more to yourself, eyes so wide a tear dripped down your cheek. You took in the mattress you were sitting on. Your sheets and comforter were wrapped around it, your pillows at the head. And nestled between the two of them was a little stuffed deer. The same stuffed animal you had since you were six. “Is that?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but Boyd heard you.

“I wanted you to be comfortable.” He turned to face you, face open and pleading. “You like sleeping with it. I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you. I want you to feel safe here.” All you could do was laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The man who had kidnapped you had taken your sheets and your favorite plush toy so you could…enjoy your time locked in his attic?

“Boyd please, you have to let me go.” You begged. “Someone’s going to notice I’m missing. If you untie me I promise it won’t be bad. I won’t…I won’t press charges or hurt you or anything.” Boyd shook his head firmly and turned back to the counter.

“No.” He said. “You’re not. And no one’s going to notice. Your rent and utilities are on autopay. I told the zoo that you had a family emergency and you were going to be out of the country for extended leave. Stan was very understanding. Sends his condolences.” You let out a choked sob.

“Please,” You begged. “I thought you liked me. I liked you. Why are you doing this to me?” You could tell your questions were beginning to annoy him. His jaw clenched and he slammed his palm onto the counter.

“Life doesn’t j-just give you things. If you want something you gotta take it.” He spat, clenching his hand into a fist. Boyd turned to face you, expression softened with vulnerability and emotional pain. “And I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than I’ve wanted you.” The words shocked you, and you couldn’t deny the small flicker of flattery that sparked in your chest. In any other situation you would have been over the moon that someone considered you a prize. And even now, the idea that Boyd would go through all this effort because he wanted you settled in your stomach in a not-unpleasant way. But then again, you were being held hostage in his house.

“You could have just asked me on a date like a normal person.” You told him but Boyd scoffed, muttering something self-deprecating. You saw him take a knife out of the bag and you pressed yourself back against the wall. “Please don’t hurt me.” Your voice was watery and Boyd looked confused. His eyes flicked from you to the knife he held in his palm. He dropped it instantly, like it had burned him.

“Hurt you?” Boyd looked genuinely taken aback, eyes widening and lips parting. He crossed the room and kneeled back down to you, collecting your face in his large hands. You squirmed a bit, but he made you look at him. “Hurt you? No, never. I love you.” Your lip quivered. “You don’t have to say it back right now. But you will.” Boyd pressed a kiss to your forehead. You tensed at the feeling of the combination of his soft lips and wiry mustache. “You should get some rest, okay? The tranquilizer’s still in your system. You’re gonna feel really sleepy for the next few days. I won’t do anything, don’t worry. Call me if you’re hungry or thirsty or need to use the bathroom, okay? M’just downstairs.” Boyd helped you lay back down and he draped the comforter over you. He tucked the deer stuffy between your chin and neck and walked down the stairs. You sobbed quietly until sleep took you again.

The next few days were a blur. Dry eyes blinking open from restless sleep, Boyd forcing you to drink more water, eating crackers, and then falling back asleep. Once the tranquilizer had worn off, the reality of the situation began to settle firmly in your mind. Boyd had taken you. You were locked in his attic. There was no escaping. And yet, you weren’t as distraught as you probably should have been. As time went on, you and Boyd fell into a routine. He’d wake you up before work by running a hand up your calf, squeezing just light enough where you’d blink awake. He’d say goodbye and ask if you needed anything. During the day, you were left to your own devices. After promising Boyd you wouldn’t do anything crazy, he had let you out of the cuffs. And you had meant it. You were still angry, scared, generally confused at the situation, but you weren’t going to break out of the house. The window to the attic didn’t open, and it was far too small for you to bust out of, anyway. It’s not like you were in immediate danger. Boyd had been nothing but respectful. He brought you clothes and left you to get changed in peace. Yea, his touches lingered longer than they should, but it never truly bothered you. And he seemed like he genuinely wanted you to enjoy yourself while you got acclimated to your surroundings. When you were freed from your binds, you explored the attic. There was an old TV collecting dust in one corner, and when you asked Boyd if it worked, he spent the entire night figuring out how to get it wired up for you. He came home for lunch every day, brought up a couple of sandwiches and you’d eat together. There was no clock in the attic, but you knew it was 12:15 when you heard the door close and the heavy sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. At first, you just sat there in silence, eyes unfocused and brain trying to come to terms with the fact you were being held hostage by a man you couldn’t hate. You had tried, screamed into your pillow about how disgusting and broken you were. Boyd kidnapped you, and yet the fondness for him lingered. You repeatedly promised yourself that you would start being mean to him, refusing his offerings of food until you starved to death. But when he excitedly jogged up the stairs with your food and sat on the floor with you, giving you small sideways smiles and telling you stories from his childhood…god, something in your heart just hammered harder and those promises went out the window. He acted like he cared, like he wasn’t actually going to hurt you, and you began to allow yourself to believe him. That was the dangerous thing.

You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to get bored of you. You assumed one night you would wake up with his hands around your throat or a gun to your head. But it never came. Your routine continued. One day, you decided to take a chance and shake it up. It was lunch time and you chewed your sandwich slowly. Most of your meals were eaten in silence, with Boyd staring off into the distance and you taking in every one of his mannerisms. 

“I’m craving something for dinner.” Your voice was quiet, but Boyd snapped his head up to look at you instantly. Something akin to excitement flashed across his face. Maybe he was thrilled that you were finally talking to him. He swallowed his bite quickly.

“Sure, where from? I’ll pick it up on my way home tonight.” 

“No it’s…” You shifted in your spot where you sat on the floor across from him. “It’s a family recipe. I miss cooking. I haven’t had it in a while and I could really use some comfort food.” You didn’t feel bad about using his promises against him. He wanted you to enjoy your time? Fine. But that meant he needed to make some compromises. You were getting tired of microwaveable dinners. “We’d have to go to the store.” Boyd let out an unsure noise and itched the back of his head.

“Could you…give me a list?”

“Boyd, please,” You lowered your sandwich and mustered the best, most pathetically needy eyes and looked at him. “I haven’t left the house in weeks. I’m getting restless. I just need to walk around somewhere. One trip to the grocery store.” Boyd spent a few breaths looking at you. You could see the internal battle behind his eyes. Okay. You had to lay it on a little thicker. Before he could say anything, you leaned forward and rested your hand on his bare leg. “I’ll be good.” He tensed beneath you, eyes glued to where your fingers rested against his skin. You saw Boyd clench his jaw and his neck became unevenly splotched with blush. He swallowed before answering, not moving his eyes.

“Okay.”

There had been an indescribable prickling sensation that settled beneath your skin during your time in Boyd’s attic. Something frustrating and stale. The moment you stepped out of the front door of the house and took a deep breath of fresh air, the prickling subsided. A relieved smile immediately parted your lips as you filled your lungs with the summer air. You could smell freshly-cut grass and traces of a bonfire. You stretched your arms over your head and allowed your spine to decompress. Your moment of bliss ended when you felt Boyd’s thick fingers settle on your lower back. You stiffened beneath his touch. Boyd didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, he didn’t care. He gently herded you over to the garage. As the door lifted up and revealed a rusted truck, Boyd turned you to look at him.

“I’m going to trust you with this,” he warned “Don’t give me a reason not to. If you’re good, maybe we can discuss some privileges.” You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. You were going to the fucking grocery store, not planning a heist. It would be maybe twenty minutes. What were you going to do, lock yourself in the freezers until the police came? You were so tired and disoriented, all you really wanted was the warmth that came from your favorite meal without the promise of additional reward. But if Boyd was considering letting you do more than sit in a confined space all day, you could play along. You nodded at him and he gave you a crooked smile, rubbing circles into your back. You stepped away quickly, climbing into the truck.

The drive to the grocery store was shorter than you had hoped. You spent ten minutes with your arm out the open window, enjoying the feeling of summer wind rippling over your skin. Your head rested against the door and you took deep breaths of the fresh air, exhaling with a soft smile. A smile that faded slightly as Boyd slowed to a stop in the parking lot. You looked over to him when he rolled up the window and turned off the car. 

“Do you think I could have, like, outside time or something?” You asked, trying to keep your tone even, but you were sure Boyd picked up at the light hint of desperation tinging your words. “It’s summer and I miss being in the sun.”

“Sure, I don’t see why not.” He shrugged with a lopsided grin. He pushed his glasses further up his nose as his eyes flicked up and down your form. Your hair was windblown and the hem of your shorts were trapped between the junction of your thighs. “I wouldn’t mind you sunbathin’ out in the yard.” You ignored the way his tongue flicked over his teeth. You ignored the way that his words should have disgusted you, but they didn’t. Instead, you popped the door open and climbed out of the truck. The sun was beginning to dip lower into the sky, but its warmth clung to your skin as you walked into the blasting air conditioning of the store. There were small signs scattered along the entrance wall advertising various sales. 

“Do you like cherries?” You asked Boyd as he grabbed a basket. He followed your gaze to the sale sign and shrugged. 

“Sure.” He muttered. “They’re fine.” You grabbed a bag and put them in the basket. Boyd watched you intently. The domesticity of it made him bite the inside of his cheek. You dug the list from your pocket and began heading toward the aisle you needed. It took Boyd a few seconds to register you had moved, eyes locked on the bag of cherries, but soon hurried to catch up with you. At first, he just followed obediently, holding out the basket while you placed an ingredient in. But with every stop, he lingered a little closer, watching you with eyes so sharp you could feel them. He was on edge. You supposed you could understand why, it was the first time you had been somewhat free in weeks. But you were trying to remain relaxed, to subtly let him know you wouldn’t be trying anything. Boyd was not picking up on your signals, and his hovering was starting to annoy you. You made your way to the meat counter and as you surveyed the cuts of meat for the perfect one, Boyd brushed against you. You forced down a roll of your eyes and instead put on a smile. 

“Boyd, could you go get the spices?” You asked, voice saccharine and nonthreatening. “I feel bad for just leading you around.” Boyd’s eyes narrowed. You tilted your head and brushed a stray sweaty curl away from his face. He flinched a little, but didn’t move away from you. His cheeks were pink. You couldn’t tell if it was blush or because the summer heat was beginning to seep into the store. “Please?” You dropped your voice a bit as your fingers brushed along the ridge of this cheekbone. “It’ll help us get home faster.” Your word choice was intentional, binding yourself to him and playing into his desire for you to be normal domestic partners. Boyd blinked before taking a breath and relenting. You gave him the list and he took it between his fingers, giving you one last glance before begrudgingly walking down a different aisle. 

A few moments passed and the butcher still had not come out to get your order. Your eyes scanned over the cuts of meat, looking for the slab that would work perfectly for your recipe. The one your grandmother would pick if she was there with you. A small noise made you look over your shoulder. It was an older woman, clearing her throat. You immediately stepped back from the glass case. 

“Sorry!” You rushed out, moving aside so she could look at the display. “I’m in your way.” The lady stepped up beside you, eyes not meeting yours. She stood close enough that you heard her whispered question.

“Are you alright, dear?” You made a confused noise and the lady continued, still gazing at the ham that glistened under the display lights. “That man,” she clarified “He looked like he was bothering you. Do you know him?” You were lost for words for a moment. You wanted to assure the woman you were alright. But were you alright? You had, in fact, been kidnapped. Somehow, you kept forgetting that. You weren’t sure why you had been so resigned to your fate. Maybe it was because you didn’t actually hate the situation. Yes, it sucked to be confined to one space, but Boyd obliged every ask of yours that would make you more comfortable. You didn’t have to wake up at 4 am to chop vegetables. Didn’t have to spend all day battling heat and head-splitting screams of children and animals nibbling at your fingers. You loved your job, but you couldn’t deny you had been feeling burnt out for a while. Maybe your body recognized that you needed a break. You might have preferred a week of vacation over being held hostage, but these were the circumstances given to you. Besides, as much as you were waiting for your fondness for Boyd to waver, it never did. If anything, getting to know him made it settle into something closer to genuine affection. Almost enough to overcome the prickle of fear that he would one day dispose of you. Almost.

“Oh!” you gasped. “Yea, I know him, he’s…” What were you supposed to say? Ah, yes, that’s Boyd, my work crush who injected me with sedatives and locked me in his attic because he was too scared to ask me on a date. But it’s okay, because he’s hot and says he loves me. Yea…right. “He’s a friend from work. We’re getting stuff for a company picnic. I know he’s a bit off-putting, but I’m fine.” The lie rolled off your tongue a little too easily. The woman didn’t look incredibly convinced, but eventually pursed her lips and nodded.

“Alright. I just thought I’d check in.”

“Yea, thank you, I appreciate you looking out for me.” You gave her a genuine smile. If you were any one else, she would have saved you. But, for some unknown reason, you didn’t really want to be saved.

The butcher came out at that moment, wiping her hands on her apron. She apologized for the wait, and packaged up your order quickly. When you were done, you told the woman to have a nice day and turned around. Boyd was leaning against the glass. The spice jars were aligned neatly in the shopping basket. A grin pushed his cheeks up to his eyes. You realized then that he had overheard your conversation, at least in part, with the woman, and pride rolled off him in waves. He held out his hand and you took it after a breath. Boyd led you down to the checkout with your hand in his. 

“Great job, baby,” he practically purred. “Knew I could trust you.”

When you pulled back into Boyd’s driveway, his mood was significantly better. You had officially proved yourself to him and you could tell he was allowing himself to relax a bit. 

When you walked into the house, paper grocery bags in hand, you were expecting to have to write down directions and be ushered back into the attic. Instead, Boyd led you to the kitchen. It wasn’t huge, laminate counter tops running along the walls, yellowed appliances, but it was homey. Lemon-printed towels hung from the stove handle. A carved wooden chicken was perched on the cabinet above the sink. Boyd had mentioned something about this being his parents house before he inherited it, and it didn’t look like he had changed much since their passing however long ago. He set the bag he was carrying down on the counter and stepped back. He wiped his sweaty palms on his cargo shorts and looked at you expectantly.

“I want to show you around.” He said, almost a little hesitantly. “As a reward. I hope I’ve made it clear that I want us to live together normally. And this is your home, too.” You blinked, placing the onion you were holding back in its bag before agreeing. He led you around the hallways, pointing out the decorations above the mantle and where they came from. He showed you framed photos of him as a kid. Same glasses, same overlapping teeth, same flicker of uneasiness in his posture. At first, you were simply tagging along, letting him ramble about anything he could think of. But then, something started to shift in your chest. It was when he showed you the downstairs bathroom with metal-worked colorful fish decorating the wall and the matching towel on the rack. The house was lived in. Loved in. Decorated with care and kept as a sanctuary. A place that you would want to spend time in rather than a room to sleep in between shifts. It had the spark of domesticity that your apartment was missing. As you ended your tour, you found yourself looking forward to exploring it during the day, sitting on the plush couch and flipping through Boyd’s CD collection.

It reminded you of how you introduced animals to a new habitat- slowly, carefully, bit-by-bit. You'd put them in the off-stage area first until they got comfortable. And then you open the gates to their full enclosure and suddenly, they’re right at home, exploring each new sight and sound and smell. You had seen it countless times. You had never imagined you’d be on the other side.

Even though you had free-roam of the house and yard, you still made it very clear to Boyd that there were still some boundaries you would be keeping. You were appreciative of his gesture, but you were not going to completely give in. You made it very clear that you were still going to sleep in the bed in the attic. Alone. And that, while you were okay with interacting with him more, you were not going to roll over and become a perfect house wife just because you could stretch your legs. Boyd was just glad you weren’t trying to escape. To him, that meant that you were trying to accept your circumstances. And that was all he could ask for.

You spent most of your days outside, lounging in the bikini that Boyd presented to you with a crooked grin that was only a little sleezy. He would pick up books from the library and allowed you to use his CD player so you could bask in the sun while listening to music or reading. You noticed a stack of CDs in a cupboard one day. Some self-help dude-bro bullshit that you were not going to listen to. You asked Boyd about it over dinner one day and he clammed up, muttering something about them belonging to an old friend. They were gone the next day.

After your vision was sunbleached and you felt the water evaporating from your body, you would head inside and spend the afternoon relearning your love of cooking. You whipped up a new dinner from scratch every night, greeting your captor with a proud smile and demands of feedback for whatever you had decided to try that day. Boyd had a few cookbooks collecting dust above the microwave. Each morning, you would show him the recipe you wanted to try that night. You’d give him the list of ingredients you didn’t have and he’d bring them home on his lunch break. Words could not describe the feeling he had when he came home to you, in your apron, strands of hair sticking to your forehead, a flustered and hopeful look on your face as you presented that night’s dinner to him. He would brag about it to his coworkers. Yea, my girl’s cookin’ up lasagna tonight. Homemade.

He had to work the later shift again. Since you had extra time, you decided to try and make pasta sauce from scratch. The kitchen looked like a war zone. Splotches of pulverized tomatoes and granules of spices pocked the counter. The sink was filled with bowls and utensils and the window was open to try and get some of the steam to waft away. But it was all worth it for the tantalizing aroma of fresh lasagna cooking in the oven.

You finished cleaning at 8:26, the exact moment the door unclicked and Boyd stepped into the house. You heard him grunt as he toed off his work boots and tossed his keys into the dish by the door. Boyd wandered into the kitchen. He still glistened with residual sweat and you felt the dampness of his mustache when he pressed a kiss to your cheek. You found yourself not flinching away from the contact.

“Smells great, baby,” he hummed, bending down to peer into the oven. “M’gonna shower before we eat.” You nodded. As he showered, you got everything ready. Lasagna cooling on the table, cups and forks and plates from the cabinet. He walked out of the bathroom as you were placing a plate down on the table. And you paused for a moment when your eyes caught him. He wore a white tanktop, his broad shoulders and pectorals straining against the fabric. You could see his stupid farmer’s tan that made some freckles more visible than others. His thick thighs were covered with loose-fitting black sweatpants. The sight made a shiver prickle at your lower back. You swore that, if you tilted your head just right, you could see the imprint of-

“Did you make the sauce from scratch?” Boyd pulled you from your musings with a point to the pot drying beside the sink.

“Yea.” You handed him the serving spatula so he could carve out a piece. He settled into his chair with a grunt, licking his lips before diving into his meal. He moaned when the lasagna hit his tongue. It came right from his chest, and you pushed away the desire to hear it under different circumstances.

“This’s’amazing,” He purred from around his bite, pointing his fork at the slice with a wide smile. You cast your gaze down sheepishly. No one had ever really enjoyed your cooking like he did. He made sure to sing your praises at every single meal, even if it was just a microwaved Hot Pocket. He said you “microwaved it with heart” whatever that meant. You found yourself wanting to take on more challenging dishes. To prove yourself and to make yourself useful to Boyd. And each time, he had a wider smile and more words of appreciation. The little boost of confidence stayed with you for the rest of dinner.

After everything was cleaned up, you squeezed Boyd’s arm and told him you were going to bed. You climbed the stairs to the attic and began to strip off your clothes from the day, replacing them with the silk pajama set Boyd had surprised you with one day after work. He really did try to spoil you as much as he could, given the circumstances. You were about to wash your face when you heard your name called from downstairs. It was Boyd. His voice was tense and it made you suck in a breath. A little whisper of fear licked against your brain. Maybe it’s time. He’s finally going to do it. You’re going to die. But you forced the fears down to respond in an even tone. “Yea?”

“Come watch TV with me.” He called back. Your face scrunched with confusion. He had never asked you to do that before. Usually, after dinner, you’d retreat to the attic and Boyd would spend his evenings downstairs doing whatever Boyd did.

“I’m tired-“

“Please?” That really made you pause. Not once during the month and a half you’d been in the confines of Boyd’s house had he ever asked you to do something with a ‘please.’ He always said thank you after you completed a task, whether it be the laundry or dinner, but never ‘please.’ You set down the bottle of face wash on the sink and exited the makeshift bathroom. You slowly descended the stairs, cautiously turning the corner to see Boyd sitting on the couch, one arm slung over the back, while some fishing show played on the screen. You walked over to him, bare feet sticking to the hardwood floor. Boyd turned to look at you when you reached his poripheral. You caught his eyes flick quickly over your form, no doubt appreciating the fact that you were wearing his gift. He grinned and patted the open cushion next to him. You hesitated.

“You’re not gonna…hurt me…are you?” Your words were soft, purposefully not inflammatory. But Boyd looked hurt regardless, the corners of his mouth dropping and his brow furrowing.

“No,” he assured “I told you. I love you. Why would you think that?” Your eyes nervously flicked to the end table by the couch. The one where his work belt always rested. Your gaze settled on the holster and the weapon inside it, well within his reach. Boyd followed your gaze and let out a small laugh. “Oh, that?” Boyd pulled the gun from his holster and held it up so you could see it. “S’just a tranquilizer gun. No bullets in here.” He opened the chamber and you saw the fluffy pink tip of the dart. “See?” You didn’t move. Boyd sighed and pushed himself off the couch. He took his belt and carried it over to the counter by the stove. He placed it down and looked at you. “Does that make you feel better?” You paused for a moment but nodded. He might still be dangerous, but at least that obvious threat was secured. “Will you sit with me?” He plopped back on the couch and reached out his hand to you. You sat on the arm of the couch. Boyd clicked his tongue. “C’mon, now, I don’t bite. C’mere.” He raised his arm to beckon you closer. Reluctantly, you obliged and settled down on the middle cusion. You weren’t quite touching, but you were close enough to see that his hair was still damp and his skin still feet from his shower.

“So this show’s about findin’ the biggest fish in the world. They’re in, uh, Mongolia or somethin’. The fish they’re going after ate a school bus.” You let out an involuntary disbelieving laugh. You looked at Boyd with a glint of amusement in your eyes.

“A school bus?” He nodded, small smirk forming on his mouth. “There’s no way that actually exists.” He shrugged and nodded back to the screen. The commercials were over and a very dramatic title song played.

“Guess we’ll find out.” As the show continued, you found yourself relaxing more. The muscles in your legs weren’t as tense and eventually, your knee rested gently against Boyd’s. He slightly shifted his position on the couch. You could smell the soap lingering on his skin. Crisp, but not in an overwhelming way.

“What soap do you use?” Your curiosity got the better of you. Your eyes were still on the screen. A boat cut through muddy water as the main fisherman described what bait he was using. You could feel Boyd’s gaze heavy on the side of your face.

“Irish Spring.”

“Smells good.” You nodded. His eyes lit up and his chest puffed out. You had noticed.

“Thanks.”

The show continued and, to no one’s surprise, the fisherman was struggling to find the bus-eating monster fish. During one commercial break, a small movement caught your eye. Boyd’s fist was clutching the fabric of his sweatpants. His fingers curled in on themselves so hard his knuckles were white.

“Are you alright?” You asked. Had your lasagna made him feel sick? You were feeling fine, but he looked a little sweaty and flushed and his lips were pressed together in a thin line. His gaze met yours briefly before returning to the screen. He cleared his throat and readjusted his hips on the couch. He blinked so hard the muscle in his cheek twitched.

“Yea,” he breathed out “Yea, m’fine.” He didn’t say anything else and you didn’t press it. But your eyes trailed downward and you instantly realized the source of his weird behavior. He was hard. You could see the bulge pressing against his sweatpants in the flickering TV light. You blinked away quickly. He was embarrassed, clearly, and you didn’t want to pile onto it by revealing that you had noticed. You pulled your knee away from his by an inch to give him some relief. Remove any outside contact that was unintentionally arousing him. But, to your surprise, he widened his legs immediately, chasing after you and closing the gap between the two of you. The action, while almost undetectable, sent a wave of heat coursing through your veins. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find Boyd attractive. Even now, after everything, you found yourself eyeing him when he came home from work. Sweaty and freckled from the sun. He looked way too good in that stupid uniform.

So to have the man you found attractive hard beside you simply because your knees were touching? Yea, that instilled something within you. Without looking at him, you inched closer until you were almost curled into his side. Your legs were pressed together and you noticed the poorly stifled moan that fell from his lips. His arm was curled above your shoulders, still resting on the top of the couch. You felt the tips of his fingers graze your shoulder. And when you didn’t flinch away, he made a bolder move. His arm slipped down from the couch and settled around you. The contact was light and he didn’t pull you closer to him. But it was contact nonetheless. You side-eyed his legs again. His hand was in his pocket now. You couldn’t help but smirk. You appreciated that he had the decency to not try and creep you out. Even though he was truly trying to conceal his arousal, his efforts were fruitless. His very prominent erection was hard to miss. But you still didn’t say anything. You stayed there, pressed against him, until the show ended. No fish caught.

“Guess it doesn’t exist.” You said lightly, turning to him. Boyd just blinked down at you, pupils wide and mind clearly preoccupied.

“What?” He whispered. You chuckled and got up from the couch. His eyes followed you the entire time. You leaned in and gave a kiss to his forehead.

“Goodnight, Boyd.” You murmured against his skin. You left him on the couch and walked up to your bed.

Martha Stewart was a fucking liar. The ingredients to the biscuits were simple, but they were not “a breeze to pull together” like her webpage promised. Maybe the oven wasn’t good enough or the store brand flour wasn't as good as the kind she used. But, for some reason, they were not cooking properly. Some of them were too raw and others were on the verge of being burnt. You weren’t ashamed to admit that the process had made you cry. Twice. But with each passing minute, you were worried that dinner wouldn’t be ready for Boyd when he got home. The homemade gravy and fried chicken were on their respective hot plates. It really was just the stupid biscuits that needed to hurry up.

When they were finally done to your satisfaction, you looked at the clock. 5 pm. Boyd must’ve hit some traffic. You arranged the table as usual and sat and waited. And waited some more. You watched the bird feeder outside and smiled when a sparrow was able to shoo away a thieving squirrel. As the sun dipped lower, so did your stomach. A pit in your abdomen quickly replaced by a crawling anxiety. He was late. Later than a simple excuse could explain. The gravy had congealed an the chicken would have to be reheated. The biscuits you had spent so long on had that odd texture of bread that was becoming stale. But none of that mattered. Because all you could think about was Boyd. You paced the room, back and forth, nibbling on the edge of your thumb and mind racing through endless possibilities. A car wreck. An accident at work. A hostage situation at a bank. You laughed a little at the irony of that one. Each possibility buzzed around your mind, little fireflies that lit up with each new scenario.

A phone ringing cut through your hazy headspace. Not your phone. You had no idea what Boyd had done with that. Rather, the landline in the kitchen. The one you didn’t even know still worked. You slowly approached it, as if you might startle it, and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” Your voice was small and your throat was dry.

“Good evening,” came a voice, peppy but in a way you knew was fake. “Is this Mrs. Fowler?” Your mouth opened and then closed. This used to be Boyd’s parents’ house. Maybe they were looking for his mother. Surely they weren’t asking for you.

“Can I ask who’s calling?” You deflected.

“Yes, this is Miami General Hospital. Mr. Fowler suffered a snake bite at work and came to us about two hours ago. This number was listed as his emergency contact.” Your eyebrows flew to your hairline. A snake bite?

“I-is he okay?” You fumbled out.

“He’s going to make a full recovery,” the person assured “we gave him a dose of antivenom and some pain medication. He’s about to be discharged but he will need a ride home.” You mumbled out something aggreeable and hung up. Your eyes shifted to the key dish by the front door. The keys to the rusted truck sat there. Had they always been? Could you have realistically left anytime you wanted? You pushed the thought to the side. You’d ruminate on that later. You grabbed the keys and left the house.

You drove to the hospital in silence. After you parked, very poorly, you hurried through the doors of the ER.

“Hi, um, I’m here for Boyd Fowler?” You greeted the nurse at the desk. She clicked a few times on her computer before nodding.

“Sign in please. I’ll take you back.” After scrawling out your signature on a tablet, the nurse led you down the hallways of the ER until you paused in front of a room. Until now, dread had settled low and heavy in your stomach. The clutches of anxiety only released when you saw Boyd sitting upright in bed, talking to one of the nurses while his IV was removed. You let out a sigh of relief. He was okay. Boyd saw you through the window of the room. Instantly, his face lit up with a toothy grin. He waved at you enthusiastically. You gave him a small wave back.

“What’s wrong with him?” You asked the nurse.

“Yea, that’s the pain meds. He’s going to be really happy and really sleepy when you get home.” She nodded.

“Wonderful. Is there any at-home care I need to do?” The nurse handed you a packet of papers. By the time she went over the visit summary and continued treatment, Boyd was dressed and ready to go. They wheeled him out of the hospital. The snake had gotten him in the ankle and it was too swollen for him to walk on. You pulled the truck around front and helped Boyd get into the passenger seat. When he was all buckled in, you thanked the nurse and got in the truck. Before you could even put the keys in the ignition, Boyd threw his arms around you in an awkwardly-positioned hug. His face nuzzled into your neck.

“You came,” he sighed happily, running his nose along the column of your throat. “I knew you cared.” You couldn’t force down the small smile it caused. You patted him on the arm and gently pushed him back into his seat.

“Let’s get you home, Boyd. I bet a nap sounds really good right now, huh?” He nodded. He looked at you sheepishly.

“Sorry I was late for dinner.”

“That’s okay,” you pressed a kiss to his knuckles and his nostrils flared. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Boyd spent a week at home and you fully accepted your role as his monitor. You cooked him whatever he requested, which was never that outlandish, and made sure he took his meds when he needed to. He was healing well, and it wasn’t long before he was cleared to go back to work. His final day off was spent sitting beside you outside, asking about your books and reacting accordingly when you read the next plot twist. You never mentioned noticing him getting hard sitting beside you on the couch. And it hadn’t happened since. You weren’t proud of it, but you were starting to feel pent up. For a whole week, you were forced to see stupid Boyd with his stupid muscles and his stupid belly and his stupid mustache without the refuge of his work hours. You really hoped that the close proximity and your apparent eagerness would spark something in the man. But, true to your suspicions, he was too much of a coward to do anything. Whatever. You would have to take matters into your own hands. You had needs, too, and if Boyd was forcing you to stay in his house, the least he could do was take care of you in all aspects of your life. Especially since it was very clear he wanted to. 

You hovered in the doorframe, observing the man on the bed. Boyd was sitting up against the headboard, legs sprawled in front of him as he scrolled through his phone. His bandage peaked over the hem of his sock. The swelling of his ankle had subsided, and he was scheduled to go back the next morning. Maybe you should be kind enough to give him something to think about as he cleaned the streets of Miami. He was just in his boxers and a black tanktop. You could see the soft roundness of his belly rise and fall with each breath. His hair was mussed, still a little wet from his shower. His glasses sat low on his nose. His arms looked huge curled up beside him and the constellations on his skin were extra prominent in the low light of the room. You could see the small bulge between his legs. A flash of arousal seared your abdomen. He looked so good. You licked your bottom lip as your breathing got heavier and your pupils dilated. Yea. You needed him. 

Without giving yourself time to reconsider, you crossed the room. You stopped beside Boyd and plucked the phone from his hand, tossing it on the bedside table. His face snapped up to look at you, brows pinching together and mouth parting in protest. But his lips pulled shut once you climbed onto the bed. You slung one leg over his hips and settled into his lap. Boyd’s breath caught and his eyes shot wide open. His hands hovered just above your hips. You rolled your eyes and took them in your own, guiding them to rest on your sides. You didn’t waste any time, crashing your lips to his. He let out a muffled yelp and froze beneath you. After a roll of your hips, he tentatively began working his lips against yours. The kiss was soft but clearly needy. You only pulled away when you could no longer breathe. He chased after you with a desperate moan. Boyd’s eyes fluttered open just in time to watch you peel your shirt over your head and toss it behind you to the floor. He swallowed hard. His eyes slowly roamed your bare chest. You weren’t wearing a bra. You stayed still on top of him, giving him time to observe. The edge of his thumb brushed the underside of your breast and you let out a breathy sigh. You experimentally moved your hips, feeling his cock begin to chub up against your ass.

“Wh…What are you doing?” Boyd choked out, eyes still glued to your hardening nipples.

“Getting you hard,” you said simply, like it wasn’t exactly what he had been dreaming about for the better part of two months. You leaned in and ghosted your lips over his. He shivered beneath you. “And if you fuck me good enough,” you whispered, nipping at his bottom lip “Then maybe you can have me tomorrow, too.” Your words seemed to snap him out of his haze. His grip on you tightened and you squeaked when he rolled you over onto the bed. His hips pushed into yours as he hungrily devoured your mouth. 

The kiss turned sloppy, tongues clashing and moving against each other as each moan and gasp was swallowed. Boyd moved to kiss along your jaw and you shivered with every brush of his wiry facial hair against your skin. He lazily pressed kisses down your neck and torso, stopping every so often to suck and nip a mark into your skin. He paid special attention to your breasts, licking each nipple to a peak before biting at least three hickeys into the flesh. When he kneeled upright, his glasses were fogged. He tore them from his face. The thought of not being able to see you beneath him was blasphemous. He looked at you for reassurance when he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your sleep shorts. You nodded desperately. He pulled down the shorts and your underwear with one motion. When you were exposed to him, Boyd let out a sigh of awe. He sat back on his knees and just took a moment to look. You suddenly felt very self conscious. It had been a long time since anyone had been between your legs and your wax was long overdue. You took his staring as a signal of his disgust and you moved to close your legs. Boyd caught them immediately.

“Don’t you dare try n’ hide her from me,” He growled, quickly adjusting himself so that he settled on his stomach. He tugged you closer to him and you yelped. His eyes never left your center. You allowed your legs to fall to the side and you saw Boyd’s pupils dilate, eyes roaming the space between your legs and licking his lips in anticipation. “Prettiest pussy I ever seen,” He whispered, more to himself than to you. “So fucking perfect.” The first broad swipe of his tongue was irritatingly slow but instantly shot pure pleasure up your spine. You arched into him, hand flying down to tug at his curls. He let out a small noise of appreciation at the sensation. He licked your entire sex and lifted his head briefly. “Beautiful and tastes so good,” He sighed “How’d I get so lucky?”

“Boyd, please!” You begged airily, pushing his head back to where you needed him. He just chuckled, but tugged you closer to him. 

“I gotchu, baby, just sit back and relax.” He dove into his efforts without restraint. He alternated between sucking and flicking your clit with the point of his tongue, to flattening it against you and running broad stripes between your folds. And when you were panting and whimpering with need, thighs coated with a mixture of your juices, Boyd slipped two thick fingers into you. You keened, tossing your head backward, as he curled against your warm velvety walls. “Yea, s’that the spot?” Boyd cooed. The pads of his fingers continuously stroked your most sensitive spot and each of your breaths came out in little gasps. “C’mon, baby, give it to me. Lemme feel it.” He returned to your clit, circling it with his tongue as he continued to fuck you with his fingers. Each thrust sent another droplet of your arousal down his wrist. He urged you towards your release, watching you unblinking. Memorizing every twitch of your eyebrows and huff of air that left your lips. You had been so touchstarved, and Boyd was so unexpectedly skilled with his mouth, that your orgasm built fast. You squirmed under him, unsure if you were trying to chase after or escape from his onslaught. But it didn’t matter. His palm settled heavy on your abdomen, holding you to the bed. Your toes curled in on themselves and your jaw fell open as searing heat pooled above your tailbone. You came with a strangled cry of his name, bucking your hips wildly on his face. Boyd’s eyes fluttered shut, reveling in the stuttered jerks of your hips against him as you rode it out on his face. Only when you stopped, chest heaving and hand disentangled from his hair to rub at your eyes, did he lift his head. You looked down to see him licking the remnants of you from his fingers and his chin, mustache plastered to his upper lip. “Can’t wait to do that every day for the rest of my life.” He smirked.

“Please,” you whined, pulling at his shirt. Boyd pushed himself back up and you pulled him into a kiss. The taste of yourself on his tongue sent another punch of neediness to your core. You lifted your shaky legs to wrap around his waist. He gave in, rolling his bulge into you so hard it must have hurt him, but he just let out a sigh of satisfaction. He broke the kiss and you pouted. 

“I know,” He soothed, kissing your nose. “But you’re actin’ like you need something inside you.” You tilted your head and nodded, brain still fuzzy from your high. Boyd used his weight to maneuver you on the bed. He positioned you on your hands and knees, facing the edge of the bed and the mirror that hung on his wall above his dresser. You watched your reflection as Boyd pushed his boxers down. His chubby cock was swollen and angry, weeping pre-cum from the tip with each desperate twitch. His eyes locked on yours in the mirror as he pushed in. You struggled to keep your eyes open at the feeling. Boyd wasn’t particularly long, but he stretched you almost to your limit. You felt the solidness of him pressing against each inch of your pussy, firing off every single nerve. Your hands fisted the comforter and your exhale was hitched. When Boyd bottomed out, your vision was going blurry. “Deep breath for me, sweetheart, gotta breathe.” You had forgotten that you had to do that. You sucked in a breath and the cool oxygen just augmented the pleasure fizzling in every neuron. Once your breathing evened, Boyd began to move. He used his hands to fuck you back on him, exiting almost the entire way before sinking back into you with a groan. It started off slow, but quickly turned ravenous as he used you, controlled breathing turned into frenzied pants. 

“You’re so per-perfect. Mmh, fuck,” He moaned. He bit his lip and stared at where the two of you were joined, watching his cock disappear inside of you and re-emerge with a fresh coat of slick. It was hypnotizing. “G-Gonna take such good care of you. I l-love you so much.” You moaned at his words, the pussy-drunk look on his face causing you to squeeze tighter around him. 

“So big, Boyd, you fuck me so good.” You gasped, words tumbling from your mouth. Your breasts swayed with every snap of his hips. Boyd leaned forward a bit and cupped one in his warm palm, never faltering with his pace. 

“Yea? Gettin’ all dumb on my cock, baby?” He mocked. “Squeezin’ me so tight. Not gonna last much longer with you like this.” You gasped when a particularly harsh thrust caused his dick to split you open a little further.

“Cum inside me, please!”

“Yea?” Boyd panted, as if he was considering any other option. He straightened back up, nodding his head enthusiastically. His hands dug harshly into your hips, fat spilling between his fingers. “Want me to put a baby in you? Keep you with me forever? I can do that, baby, shit, I can do that.” He widened his knees and thrusted into you with a newfound vigor, hard and deep, loud slaps of skin joining the chorus of your combined moaning. Your arms gave out, face slowly coming to a rest on the bedspread. Boyd continued to fuck into you and your eyes rolled back at the new angle. You felt drool begin to seep from your mouth onto the sheets. You were overcome by the need for him and you reached one of your hands back, grasping for his. Boyd took it immediately, weaving your fingers between his in a small gesture of comfort. You mumbled out his name. 

“Knew you were fucked up.” He let out a small huff of amusement. “The minute I laid eyes on you, I knew you'd enjoy this. Enjoy me.” Boyd threw his head back and pinched his eyebrows together, biting harder onto his lip and whining with every stroke of his cock between your walls. You gripped him like a vice, internal muscles tightened without release. He came with a deep growl, ripped straight from his chest. He continued to roll his hips until he softened to ensure not a drop of his cum slipped from your cunt. Even though he wasn’t as hard, the stretch of him filling you remained delicious. You were allowed a few breaths of reprieve, but soon you felt his fingers ghost over your skin. You let out a buzzy noise of protest when they nudged against your clit again. You tried to squirm away, but Boyd pulled you back and clicked his tongue.

“Uh-uh.” He scolded “Give me one more. Wanna feel you push me out.” Your pussy was so puffy and so silky and your clit was so sensitive that it didn’t take long for another orgasm to crawl up your spine. This one rolled into you gently, but you still clenched so hard his cock was forcefully ejected from your warmth. A gush of liquid splashed against your ankles and his thighs. As it left your body, so did any remaining energy. Your face was still pressed into the bed and your legs wobbled fiercely when Boyd’s grip loosened. You let out a tiny whine and Boyd pulled you up, cradling you in his arms and laying you back on the pillows. He snaked an arm under your hips and settled you on your side. He showered your face in kisses while you regained your mind. “Did so good f’me.” He whispered softly between each press of his lips to your cheeks. “My perfect girl. All mine.”

“All yours, Boyd,” You confirmed with fluttering eyelids and a dry throat. Satisfied exhaustion settled in your bones. You felt like you had just run a marathon. “C-Can I have some water?” Boyd nodded dutifully and slipped away to the bathroom, returning with a large glass and a handful of wetwipes. The contrast of the cool wipes against your pulsing sex made you squirm and Boyd whispered an apology. The next swipe was gentler and you sipped on your water. He cleaned you so reverently that you almost forgot this was the same man who kidnapped you. Doubt swirled in your stomach. You had spent the past two months believing that he wanted to kill you, that you were a fleeting fancy he would dump in a lake somewhere. But as you watched his face as he cleaned you up, filled with devotion and care, you began to think differently. You began to trust Boyd’s words. You began to trust that he really did love you. Maybe you could love him, too.

He knew this was stupid, plainly a terrible idea. On any other day, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but today wasn’t any ordinary day. Today was his birthday. Fifty-five years old, and he had never felt more lost in his own life. Nothing had turned out the way he’d once imagined it would. If someone had told him, back when he was a resident, that he would still be coming home to an empty apartment at this age, no wife curled up on the couch waiting for him with a tired but loving smile, no chorus of small feet thundering toward the door, shoving drawings into his hands and saying “Look what I made for you today, daddy!” he would have laughed in their face and called it a cruel joke.

Yet here he was. No relationship had ever survived the weight of the hours and the way his mind stayed trapped in the ED long after he left it. He couldn’t be present anymore, not the way a partner deserved. The job had hollowed him out in ways he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

It had been almost a year since he ended things with Noelle, not long after he returned from his sabbatical. He’d told himself it was the right thing to do. Maybe it really was better this way. At this point in his life, trying again felt pointless, almost selfish. He was saving whatever good women were still out there from the inevitable complications of loving Michael Robinavitch.

But today the emptiness hit differently. The apartment felt quieter than usual, and his thoughts were louder, circling like a vulture. He knew it was the birthday doing this to him. Birthdays had a way of dragging the sorrows out into the light, every missed milestone, every abandoned version of the life he thought he’d have. Jack had tried to pull him out of it, offering a beer after shift, but Robby had politely declined. He wasn’t in the mood for forced cheer, for anyone raising a glass to another year of the same.

He’d made it clear to the whole department that he didn’t want any birthday cake, no cards, no presents, nothing. Still, the well-meaning murmurs had followed him all day: “Happy birthday, Dr. Robby,” each one met with a progressively wearier smile until the words blurred together. By the end of the shift, he was only managing quiet nods of acknowledgment, the kind that said thank you and please stop at the same time.

So here he was, in an apartment that was too big for himself, lying on a couch that felt even bigger, downloading Tinder on his phone. He rubbed a hand over his face, he’d tried Tinder once, maybe two years ago. Downloaded it, swiped for a week, then deleted it when the superficial nonsense started bothering him too much.

He started with the basics. Photos. Robby opened his gallery and scrolled slowly through the meager collection. Most of the images were work-related, grainy screenshots of charts, or blurry shots of trees and roads he’d taken during his bike rides. After a long hesitation, he picked a silly selfie he’d sent Jack a few weeks earlier. He was holding up the book the two of them had been texting about, half-smiling at the camera like he felt ridiculous even taking it. It wasn’t terrible, he supposed. He looked… friendly. Approachable, maybe. 

Next, he chose one from the department barbecue he’d actually forced himself to attend last summer. He was wearing the sleeves rolled up on a button-down shirt, and holding a beer in his hand. He didn’t hate it, it showed a version of himself that still showed up for people, even when he didn’t feel like it. The last one was from the hospital fundraiser gala two years ago. He looked elegant in that photo in a black suit, but he had to crop Jack out of the frame, his face was still half-visible over his shoulder. Three photos, not exactly a compelling portfolio, but they were honest, he wasn’t pretending to be anyone other than himself.

He moved on to preferences. Gender: Women. Age range… His thumb froze. At first, he set it to 50–60. Women at the same stage he was, maybe divorced, maybe widowed, or just tired of feeling alone. But then something flickered in his chest, part curiosity and part desperation, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dragged the lower end down. Twenty to sixty. The wider net felt reckless, almost embarrassing. But what if the love of his life existed somewhere in that range? What if he missed her by something as stupid as a single year on a slider?

As if the love of your life was sitting on Tinder on a Sunday night, he thought. Don’t be fucking stupid, Robby.

He stared at the screen for a long moment, and with a quiet sigh that sounded too much like surrender, he tapped confirm. Now it was time for the bio. Robby stared at the blank field for a long minute. What the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t looking for anything specific. Company? Distraction? Someone who wouldn’t mind a man who came home at crazy hours, sometimes covered in blood and whocarried more baggage than he could carry?

He typed slowly what felt the most honest: “ER doctor in Pittsburgh. Love long bike rides to clear my head and 70s rock. Not entirely sure what I’m looking for here, but if you can handle sarcasm and odd hours, we might get along.”

He read it back. It sounded stiff, after all, he wasn’t used to this. But it was him, and so he hit save before he could overthink it more. The app prompted him to start swiping. Robby leaned back against the couch as the profiles began loading, smiling faces, pictures of holiday destinations, and bios full of lists of requirements. He swiped left on most without much thought. 

Left. Left. Left. Some of the women seemed nice, but nothing pulled him in. He kept going until the endless scroll of faces started blurring together. No one stuck, just the same hollow feeling that had driven him to download the damn thing in the first place.

But then your profile appeared. Robby’s entire body froze. The photo loaded first: you, one of his own residents. You were standing in scrubs outside the Pitt with the same smirk you got after a particularly chaotic shift. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as the heat crawled up his neck. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling right now. 

At work you were talented and dedicated, but still green enough that he rode you hard during shifts. And here you were on Tinder, of all places. The thought that you, or anyone else from the department, might stumble across his profile made his stomach twist with embarrassment. He could already imagine the gossip: Dr. Robby on Tinder. How pathetic.

He should swipe left immediately, delete his profile, and pretend this never happened. Instead, curiosity won. Robby tapped on your profile, telling himself it was just… professional concern. Making sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. He cared about his residents. Yeah, that was it.

Your bio loaded beneath the main photo: “If you like girls who will force you to watch her Letterboxd top four and then talk your ear off for hours about the hidden meaning behind her favorite songs, then I’m your girl. Emergency med resident with zero free time. Not looking for anything serious, just fun, meeting people, seeing where it goes.”

Robby let out a chuckle despite himself, the sound was unexpected in the quiet of the moment. He had only ever seen you in the chaos of the ED, running on adrenaline and too little sleep. But this version of you felt… different. He found himself thinking about how little he actually knew you. How little he’d allowed himself to know.

He didn’t know where you were from, or what your family was like, whether you had siblings who called too often or parents you tried to make proud. He didn’t know what you did outside of the hospital besides the occasional beer in the park, or what made you laugh until your sides hurt. All those small and ordinary pieces of a life that existed outside the emergency department.

It felt strangely intimate, seeing you like this. Like stumbling across a part of you he wasn’t supposed to have access to. A version of you that wasn’t filtered through the hierarchy of resident and attending. Up until now, you had been “his resident”, contained within the professional boundaries he’d carefully maintained.

He started swiping through your photos. The second picture was you laughing in what looked like a group hike, with your hair windblown and your eyes bright. You looked undeniably pretty. Objectively, he’d always known you were attractive. The kind of natural attractiveness that turned heads in the hospital corridors even when you were exhausted and covered in sweat. But once again, he’d never thought about it. You were a resident, he’d gone down that path before, and it’d ended badly. That made you off-limits, end of story.

The third photo was of you in a cozy sweater, curled up with a book and a mug of coffee. It was cute, almost sweet. The kind of image that made the loneliness in his chest ache. He kept swiping until the last photo hit him like a defibrillator. You were on a beach somewhere sunny and sandy, wearing a bikini. Your skin was glowing under the sun, and you were smiling at the camera in a confident pose, the kind of effortless beauty that could stop any man cold. Holy fuck, your body barely contained by the fabric of the bikini, the photo capturing the gentle swell and the way the light played across your body. 

Robby’s mouth went dry, the heat flooded his face and then lower down his body. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t let himself imagine you like this, outside the hospital, undeniably a woman and not just one of his residents. His pulse kicked up, the nervousness made his hands shake and his grip slippery. He fumbled the phone, trying to swipe left fast. Swipe left, damn it, he thought.

But he accidentally jerked his thumb the wrong way, to the right, and the screen lit up with that unmistakable animation. 

It’s a Match!

On the other side of Pittsburgh, you had been lying in bed, still trying to unwind after another brutal twelve-hour shift. Sleep felt miles away, so you’d given in to the guilty habit of late-night Tinder scrolling. Sure, swiping at 1 a.m. probably looked desperate to anyone else, but who cared? It wasn’t like you had much of a life outside the hospital anyway.

You swiped left with efficiency. Guy whose entire bio was just a link to his podcast. Left. Gym mirror selfies and nothing else. Left. Self-proclaimed “entrepreneur in the crypto market” with a Lamborghini in the background that probably wasn’t even his. Left.

How was it this difficult to find someone even remotely decent? You weren’t expecting to meet the love of your life in this digital dumpster, but was it really too much to ask for a man with basic social skills and a profile that didn’t scream immediate red flags? Someone whose opening line wasn’t just “u dtf?”

Guy who still clearly lived with his mom. Another left. “No feminists” in the bio, followed by a rant about “high value woman.” Left.

Then your thumb froze mid-swipe. Michael Robinavitch. Your heart slammed against your ribs. There he was, Dr. Robby, looking straight into the camera in one of the photos, that familiar half-smile you’d seen a thousand times in the ED, only now it was on a dating app.

You sat up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake. What the hell was Dr. Robby doing on Tinder? You’d scrolled through this app for weeks and never seen him before. He must have created the profile recently. The man you’d been quietly (and not-so-quietly) thirsting over since your very first day of residency was right here. One match away. 

How could you not like Robby? He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man, strong, steady, impossibly smart, and so damn capable it made your legs weak every single time he gave you a calm and yet authoritative instruction in the middle of a trauma.

You’d lost count of how many times he’d gently reprimanded you for being distracted while charting. He always assumed you were just tired from the long hours. He had no idea that you kept getting lost in vivid daydreams about him: running your fingers through the silver-flecked hair and that coarse, greyish beard, feeling those big hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close.

You loved the way his eyes crinkled warmly behind his glasses when he smiled, the way his voice dropped into that gravelly register when he needed to command attention in the ED… it did things to you. Dangerous, addictive things. Sometimes getting in trouble with him felt more exciting than it had any right to.

His Tinder bio was unexpectedly adorable. He looked a little lost, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged on the app but was willing to put himself out there anyway. That bike is not the only thing I’d like to ride, you thought, as a little smile tugged at your lips.

His pictures made you melt and sigh at the same time. That warm, contagious smil, the glasses that struck the perfect balance between hot and endearingly sweet. The silver threading through his beard that made you press your thighs together at the mere thought of feeling it against your skin, between your legs, specifically. 

You swiped slowly through the rest of his photos. Those wide shoulders, that tall and solid frame, that soft belly under the button-down shirt… you wanted him in a way you had never wanted anyone before. 

It was almost pathetic the way your heart did a little skip every time he complimented your work on a tough case. The way your thighs squeezed together almost involuntarily whenever he stepped in close during a complicated procedure, guiding you step by step, his voice low and patient near your ear. “Yeah, grab the blade like that… make a two-inch incision, softly, very gently.” “Hold the tube with your left hand, tight, don’t move it.”

It made your mind wander to dangerous places. Was he like that in bed too? The kind of man who talked you through it, calm and devastatingly attentive? In your fantasies, he absolutely was. Late at night, alone in this very bed with nothing but your hand and your imagination, you could almost hear his voice murmuring against your skin: “Keep your legs open for me, nice and wide… just like that.” “Look at you… already making such a mess. I’m gonna start with one finger, okay? Think you can be good and take it for me?”

Should you swipe right? It felt like the only logical choice. If he swiped left, which seemed like the most likely outcome, he would never even know you’d swiped on him. But if he did swipe right… then maybe, just maybe, you could end up in Robby’s bed.

Your hopes stayed low. Never in a million years did you actually expect Robby to be attracted to you the way you were to him. You would’ve noticed something by now, maybe in lingering stares, subtle flirting, or any shift in the way he treated you. But he didn’t. He treated you exactly like the rest of the residents: a young doctor he needed to teach, who could sometimes be frustratingly distracted.

Still, you couldn’t contain the tiny, thrilled scream that escaped your lips when the screen lit up:

It’s a Match!

Robby had matched with you. He wanted you too.

“Shit!” Robby dropped the phone onto the couch like it had burned him. It bounced once and landed face-up, the match confirmation still glowing on the screen. He and you had just matched on Tinder. All thanks to that goddamn bikini photo and his clumsy, nervous fingers.

He stared at it, feeling his heart hammering harder than it had during the worst trauma cases. This was mortifying. You’d seen his profile, you’d swiped right, and now you were going to see that he’d swiped right as well. Part of him, the tired and lonely part that had downloaded the app and widened the age range, wondered what you’d think. 

A dozen what-ifs tumbled through his mind. What if you saw his profile and laughed? That disbelieving laugh when something genuinely surprised you. What if you messaged him first? Maybe it had been a mistake on your end too. Maybe your phone had slipped, or you’d been swiping too fast after a long shift, half-asleep and a little buzzed. Or maybe… maybe you’d swiped right on purpose, just to tease him. He could already picture the text popping up on his phone: “Oh my god, Dr. Robby. What are you doing on Tinder? lol.”

Robby ran both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. He picked the phone back up, looking straight at the Send message button. He shouldn’t. The responsible thing would be to delete the app, pretend this night never happened, and go back to being your attending, not your Tinder match. 

Instead, he opened your profile again. Robby tried to move past it, he really did, but his eyes lingered on that last photo far longer than they should have. You in a bikini, your skin glowing under warm sunlight. He couldn’t believe that was what you looked like underneath the baggy scrubs you wore every day in the ED.

It felt wrong. Like he wasn’t allowed to see you like this, like he was intruding on something deeply private, crossing a line that should never even be approached between an attending and his resident. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but it wasn’t enough to make him look away.

His body reacted anyway, a sudden heat stirring unwanted, a throb of arousal he hadn’t felt this sharply in longer than he cared to admit. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hating himself for it even as the reaction deepened. What the hell is wrong with you, Robby? he told himself, but the self-reproach did nothing to dull the pull. What could he do? You were a woman. A beautiful one, and for the first time, he was seeing you not just as his resident, but as someone undeniably, breathtakingly desirable.

Before he could delete his account and go to bed as he should, your message popped up.

You: hii :)

Robby’s breath hitched in his throat. For a split second, he swore his heart actually stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, in his temples, in the tightness of his chest. The little smiley face stared back at him from the screen, innocent and cheerful, as if it hadn’t just flipped his entire night upside down.

You had matched with him. At eleven at night. On his lonely fucking birthday. What the hell was he supposed to say to you at 11 pm. after accidentally matching with her on Tinder? “Hey, funny seeing you” here felt pathetic. “This is wildly inappropriate” felt like a lie because the rush of heat still lingering in his veins said otherwise.

He set the phone down on the coffee table for a moment, dragging a hand over his face for the millionth time. Part of him wanted to delete the match immediately, pretend it never happened, and go to bed like the responsible, professional attending he was supposed to be. But another part, the part that had been sitting alone on his fifty-fifth birthday, couldn’t bring itself to swipe left on this one unexpected connection. So he picked the phone back up and stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.

Another message came through a minute later.

You: robby? it’s me from work... guess you saw my profile too haha

Robby let out a long breath, he couldn’t avoid it now that you’d initiated a conversation with him. It was better to be direct, explain the mistake to you, and shut this down before it got any more awkward.

Robby: hey yeah, I saw it listen, this is embarrassing as hell, i was messing around with the app, dropped my phone and it must have swiped right by accident sorry about that, didn’t mean to make things weird

He hit send and immediately regretted how cold it sounded, but it was the truth. The phone stayed quiet for a moment that stretched too long. He had his eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for your reply so he could shut down this awkward conversation and delete this stupid app before he accidentally matched with anyone else from work. 

You: oh. so it was a mistake? damn, i thought you had swiped right on purpose. bummer.

Robby’s eyes widened. You were being direct, not beating around the bush or deflecting by saying it had been a mistake on your end as well. He could practically hear your voice saying it with a teasing edge.

Robby: Sorry about the confusion  i know it might be awkward finding me on here. probably the last person you expected, i don’t usually do this. 

You: honestly it was surprising. didn’t peg you as the tinder type at all.  but hey, we all have our moments i guess

Robby: i’m not the type this is my second time ever downloading it and i already regret it, should probably delete the whole thing before i make an even bigger fool of myself.

You: yeah i get it. i thought the match was mutual so i figured i’d say hi. sorry for texting if it was just an accident. didn’t mean to make it weirder

Robby read your message twice. Thought the match was mutual. The words echoed in his brain. You had swiped right on purpose, not as a joke, not out of morbid curiosity about your boss’s sad dating life. You had chosen him willingly. The realization of what that meant sent a confusing rush through him. You liked him, that had to be it. The thought of you… having a crush on him made a warm feeling run through his body, one he immediately tried to shove down.

Robby: What do you mean you thought it was mutual?

You: idk... i saw the notification and figured you wanted to match with me since it happened. that’s why i said hi right away. didn’t want to leave it hanging if we were both curious

He stared at the screen, his heart beating a little harder. You were so honest and blunt about your feelings, he found himself almost intimidated by it. Some rational part of his brain was trying to tell him this had to be a big joke, there was no way in hell you could like him. You were… you. What would you see in a man like him?

Robby: you wanted us to match? seriously?

You: lol yeah i did swipe right, didn’t i? your profile was actually really nice. the book pic is cute and the 70s rock mention made me smile. plus... i don’t know,  you’re interesting. figured why not. no pressure though

Robby: i thought maybe you did it out of curiosity or just to see if I’d swiped on you didn’t expect you to actually want that

You: well i did. but if it was an accident on your end then no big deal. we can pretend this never happened and go back to normal tomorrow. i won’t mention it at work or anything. promise

Robby let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes for a long moment as he exhaled heavily. He knew exactly what the responsible Chief of Emergency Medicine should do right now: unmatch immediately, delete his profile, and pretend the entire night had been nothing more than a lonely fever dream.

But tonight… tonight he didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to be Dr. Robinavitch, the attending who had sacrificed nearly every personal connection, every version of a fuller life, on the altar of the ED. For once, he wanted to be Michael. Just Michael. The man who had matched with you on Tinder. The man who was currently staring at his phone with his heart hammering like he was twenty years younger.

Before he could piece together a polite but firm way to end the conversation and retreat back into the safety of professional distance, another message appeared.

You: i think your profile’s part of the reason i swiped right. the book pic’s really nice

He smiled faintly at that, a rare genuine twitch at the corner of his mouth. Robby leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

Robby: your profile’s pretty good too, better than most of the ones i’ve seen tonight

You: aww thanks. your’s so much better than the usual bullshit on here which is not that hard to be but still finding you here is a nice change :)

Robby: you on this app a lot? seems like you’ve got the profile down

You: not really. i’ve been on a couple dates from here but it’s honestly exhausting. hard to find someone decent in this city. most guys are either looking for hookups with zero conversation or they’re boring as hell. you know how it is

Robby: fair enough. your age range must be set pretty high if it pulled me up fifty five isn’t exactly the usual crowd for you or is it?

You: haha yeah well  i like older men

Those four stupid words hit him square in the chest like a defibrillator. “I like older men.” Robby reread them slowly, feeling a dangerous warmth bloom low in his belly and spread outward through his chest. He was an older man, and apparently, that fit exactly into your preferences. Was that flirtation? Were you subtly implying that he was the kind of older man you liked? Or was it just a casual, throwaway comment, something you’d say to any guy on the app who happened to have a few gray hairs?

No. He was spiraling too deep, overthinking it the way he always did. Your words didn’t carry some hidden, special meaning meant just for him. They couldn’t. And yet… No matter how hard he tried to talk himself down, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of validation that lit up inside him. He felt desired, really desired. Not just by anyone, but by you: someone younger, and so strikingly pretty it almost hurt to look at your photos for too long. Someone who, in his mind, was clearly way out of his league.

Robby: It’s okay to have preferences  everyone does.

You: yeah exactly. i just find older guys more attractive than the ones my age. they’re usually more mature, know what they want, have actual life experience. it’s... hotter, i guess. plus the conversations are better

He swallowed hard, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He could practically see your face as you typed those words, maybe biting your lower lip in that teasing way you sometimes did right after nailing a difficult procedure.

Then the bikini photo from earlier flashed unbidden through his mind, and the heat in his body flared hotter. He pictured you exactly as you’d looked in that shot: sun-warmed skin, curves barely contained by the fabric. The thoughts he had no right to entertain came rushing in anyway, pulling him deeper. Thoughts of having you all to himself, of finally being able to run his hands slowly over every inch of that bare skin, tracing the line of your waist, sliding up your ribs, cupping the soft weight of your breasts. Of putting his mouth on you and every sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.

Robby: makes sense i usually go for women closer to my stage of life we have more in common that way

You: do age gaps bother you?

Robby: in what way?

You: like as a concept. are they a problem for you?

Robby: i’m okay with consenting adults doing what they want as long as everyone’s on the same page it’s not my business.

You: have you ever been in an age gap relationship or anything like that?

Robby: i once dated a woman a bit younger than me but usually around my age

He paused before sending the next part, he shouldn’t keep engaging in this deeply unprofessional conversation, but curiosity was getting the better of him. And you were simply so easy to talk to that he couldn’t stop himself from letting his walls down a little.

He typed before he could second-guess himself.

Robby: how much older are we talking anyway? the men you usually like i mean.

Your reply came fast, like you’d been waiting with the phone in hand.

You: usually over fifty up until their sixties or so. around that range. but it’s just a preference, nothing crazy. i feel like older men usually treat you better. they’re more gentlemanly, know how to actually listen, and they tend to understand what a woman wants... in every way, if you know what i mean ;)

Robby read the message twice. Three times. Four. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me. You weren’t just being polite or making casual conversation. That winky face, the implication hanging there about “every way”. You were deliberately flirting with him, there was no other way to see it. He shifted on the couch, suddenly very aware of his own body and the fact that it had been a long damn time since anyone had spoken to him like that.

He took a slow breath and replied, trying to keep some semblance of control.

Robby: do you date men closer to your own age too?  or is it mostly the older crowd?

You: i have tried guys closer to my age. some of them are sweet but a lot are still figuring their shit out. you should try dating a woman younger than you sometime though. maybe it’s exactly what you need.

Robby didn’t know what to say. The words hung there, full of possibilities around them. He was still wrestling with a response when another message from you popped up.

You: anyway sorry again for the confusion earlier. i’ll leave you alone so you can keep scrolling through profiles. i’ll go back to robbing the graves haha (joke, get it? because i like older guys... sorry that was sooo bad)

Robby chuckled despite the whirlwind in his head. The joke was cheesy, so perfectly you that it cut through some of the tension. But it also gave him an out, you were offering to back off and let this weird moment fade into nothing before tomorrow’s shift made everything awkward as hell. Part of him wanted to take the exit ramp, wish you a good night, unmatch, delete the app, and pretend none of this happened. But another part, the one that had been sitting alone on his birthday didn’t want the conversation to end.

He tapped over to your photos again, almost against his will. There it was the last one. You on the beach in that bikini, with the perfect swell of your tits catching the sunlight. Holy fuck. He wanted you, the realization hit him all of a sudden, making him switch back to the chat and move his thumbs almost on autopilot.

Robby: Nothing to apologize for honestly you’ve kept me better company tonight than I expected

You: see? younger women can be good company too :) you shouldn’t close the door so fast. you could meet someone nice if you give it a chance

Robby: you shouldn’t close the door on guys your own age either there are decent ones out there, you’ll find someone who can keep up with you

You: out of all the guys i’ve matched with here... you’re easily the best one. no contest

Robby: Really? that can’t be right  you’re selling yourself short.

You: no i mean it. you’re exactly the kind of man i’d usually go for. tall, older, smart... and hot

The word hot hit him harder than it had any right to. His face flushed deeper, his clothes felt constricting, his pants uncomfortably tight. Robby’s cock was already half-hard, thickening and pulsing insistently against the zipper of his jeans with every new message.

All because you’d called him hot. Just a little cheeky, playful comment, and it was enough to unravel him. The touch starvation wasn’t helping. It had been so damn long since anyone had looked at him with real interest, longer still since he’d felt this fluttering feeling low in his stomach. This rush of ego, this sharp need to be close to someone, to be wanted, to touch and be touched.

Robby: thanks i guess you’ll meet someone worth your time, you’re a good girl 

The message was sent before he could fully reconsider the wording. The second it went through, Robby winced. It sounded weirdly sexually charged, maybe it was because he was feeling sexually charged, painfully so. A Freudian slip at its finest.

You: good girl? 😏

Robby: shit i didn’t mean it to sound weird just a figure of speech i suppose.

You: should i call you daddy then? ;)

Robby nearly dropped the phone again. The winky face, the bold suggestion, the way it played so perfectly into the tension that had been building sent a bolt of pure want through him. He could imagine your voice saying it, teasingly so, with that mischievous glint in your eyes. His mind supplied far too many vivid images: you in nothing but your skin looking up at him, you saying it in person with a flirty smile. He was fully hard. Actually hard, just from a fucking text conversation.

The professional alarm bells were clanging loudly in the back of his head. This was his resident, the age gap, the power dynamic, the fact that you’d have to face each other at the Pitt in a few short hours... it was all wrong. But god, it felt good. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

He glanced down at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, his cock straining against the fabric like a flagpole. He couldn’t believe it. One flirty text from his resident and he was rock hard. Don’t get hard for your fucking resident, he thought. She’s one of your own. Off-limits. This is insane. He adjusted himself uncomfortably, trying to will it down through stubbornness, but the ache only sharpened.

You: too much? sorry i was just messing around lol

Robby exhaled and typed back, trying to sound more composed than he felt.

Robby: Don’t worry about it i know it was a joke, no harm done

You: it was... unless you don’t want it to be a joke 

He let out a surprised laugh, his cock twitched again at the follow-up, you were relentless, and something told him you were noewhere near done.

Robby: you’re funny, i’ll give you that.

You: that’s what i’ve been told. glad you’re having fun with me tonight

Robby: Well, I guess I should let you get some sleep early shift tomorrow and all

You: i don’t mind staying up. i swiped right on you, remember? yk for a minute i really thought you were gonna flirt with me or maybe even ask me to come over to your place or something

The words hung there. You had been excited, you had hoped he would flirt. The image flashed through his mind, you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, stepping inside and… He shifted again, pressing his hand down against his insistent erection through his sweatpants, trying to get some relief even as guilt gnawed at him. This was crossing so many lines he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross after Heather. But the loneliness that had driven him to download the app in the first place was quieter now, replaced by an electric tension.

Robby: that would be very inappropriate i’m your boss and there are lines we can’t cross

You: but you’re not dr. robby my attending in here. you’re michael robinavitch, 55, the guy who loves 70s rock and long bike rides. and i’m not your resident in this chat. i’m just a girl who likes movies and older men... and who is really, really into you right now

You were separating the roles so cleanly, drawing a line between the hospital and this private space. It was tempting, dangerously tempting. 

Robby: you know it doesn’t work like that we can’t just turn it off when the shift starts tomorrow

You: nah i’m pretty sure i can

Robby: No.

You: If we really can’t meet then we can do it over text, you know.

He stared at the screen trying to guess if you really meant what you were saying. 

Robby: what do you mean?

You: sexting, duh

He let out a short breath, Jesus fuck you were actually gonna kill him tonight.

Robby: that’s basically the same thing.

You: no it’s not. technically we’re not doing anything if it’s just messages. no one has to know.

Robby rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind was screaming at him to shut this down, but his fingers were already moving. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering to do this.

This was a terrible idea. What difference did it really make whether it was real sex, his hands on you, feeling your heat around him, or just describing it in detail over text messages? A line was still a line. One he had promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. He didn’t want this to end with you giving up your residency, transferring to another hospital, another city, once things inevitably fell apart.

But fuck, his cock was achingly hard, straining against the front of his pants like a caged animal that desperately needed to be freed. The thought of you right now, maybe lying in your bed in, pressing your thighs together, that sweet slick already soaking through your panties because of him… it made it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t leave you like that, so wet, so needy, aching for him.

Robby: what do you want me to say?

You: i don’t know… just say something hot. you’re goot at being hot  

He hesitated, he wasn’t sure of what to say. He was scared of seeming naive and old school to you, but he wasn’t used to this whole… sexting thing. The most spicy exchange over texts had been insinuating pictures before asking someone to come over. Okay think Robby, if you can save someone’s life under extreme preassure then you can sext with a woman, just say something typical, he thought

Robby: who’s been a naughty girl?

The second he hit send he regretted it. He winced, already typing another message to backtrack when your reply came through.

You: lmao that was the best you’ve got?

Robby groaned out loud, dropping his head back against the couch. 

Robby: forget it. i’m going to bed

You: nooo wait. let’s try again :(

He should’ve put the phone down. He really should’ve. Instead he waited to see if you had anything else to say.

You: you’re so good at giving orders and guiding me at work. maybe you could do that now too? tell me what to do

You were right, in theory. He was good at instructing, guiding, teaching. It came naturally to him to step into that mentoring role, he had always been the one others looked to for direction.

Robby: i  feel stupid doing this.

You: pleeeease. i’ve always thought you were the kind of guy who talks people through it in bed. it’s the same here, just write it instead of saying it. tell me how you want me to touch myself

Your words hit him hard. He reread the message twice. He had never consciously thought about it before, but yes… that did sound exactly like him. Fragments of memory surfaced unbidden: the commanding tone he’d used with past partners, the way he’d instructed them. “Open your legs for me.” “Turn around.” “Look at me.” He remembered the way their breathing would change, the way they’d tremble under the weight of his voice and his hands.

Robby: you really want me to talk you through it, sweetheart?

You: yessss that was so much better. keep going

If anyone had asked you how it happened, you honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain it. You weren’t even sure yourself. One moment you were typing a slightly embarrassed apology to Robby for matching with him and the next, the conversation had taken a turn and you were the one demanding he sext you so you could get off. It was bold, stupidly reckless, and yet it felt inevitable.

Robby: good girl that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, i want you to get those pretty legs spread nice and wide for me, can you do that?

You whimpered softly and obeyed him instantly, letting your knees fall farther apart on the mattress. The cool air hit your exposed pussy making you shiver. 

You: yes. they’re open

Robby: Perfect i’d be on my knees between them right now if I could run your fingers up the inside of your thighs for me slowly, feel how soft they are

As you trailed your free hand up one thigh, you imagined his callused palms and the scratch of his greying beard following the same path.

You: doing it… feels so good thinking about your hands instead.

Robby: that’s my girl  now slide two fingers through your pussy and ell me how wet you are for me

You did exactly as he says, gasping as two fingers glided easily through your slick heat. You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom as you stroked yourself.

You: So wet… i’m dripping. all because of you.

Robby: fuck i knew you would be i want you to circle your clit for me now Do it slowly and imagine it’s my tongue instead, licking you just the way you need i’d take my time, taste every inch of you

Your mons got louder, tipping your head back against the pillows as your fingers obeyed, traxing circles around your clit that sent sparks up your spine. In your mind, it was Robby’s mouth devouring you while his strong hands pinned your thighs down.

Robby: how does that feel, sweetheart? tell me

You: so good, i’m so sensitive. keep talking please

Robby: Good now slide one finger inside that tight pussy, nice and deep curl it up just like I would, searching for that spot that makes your legs shake i’d be watching your face the whole time, telling you how beautiful you look spread open for me, how good you are for listening

When you pushed a finger inside yourself, you curled it upward as instructed to hit that sensitive spot while your other hand kept working your clit in circles. 

Robby: add another finger and stretch yourself open i’d be so much thicker than your fingers, but we’ll start like this imagine me pumping them in and out while i rub your clit

Adding a second finger, you continued fucking yourself to the rhythm of his words on the screen. It was not enough, it was nowhere near enough to calm the hunger and desperation that was threatening to consume your whole being. You knew nothing would be enough, only feeling him inside of you.

You: wish it was you inside me. can’t get off like this. i need you robby please

Robby: you were the one who told me to do this 

You: i know i did. but it’s not enough send me your address

He was tempted, so tempted that for one second his fingers almost started typing on an impulse. But the reality crashed back in immediately. The risks, the morning after, the way he’d have to look at you during rounds, knowing what you’d done. He was rock hard and aching for you, but the responsible part of him still refused to crumble completely.

Robby: what for?  you’re not seriously thinking about coming over right now, are you?

You: robby i’m literally only like 2 miles away from you. are you dtf? not as dr. robinavitch and his resident, but as two adults who casually matched on tinder tonight. there’s no title or hospital here. it’s just us.

Two miles. You were so close. He stared at your message, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs. His cock gave another insistent throb, the head already leaking a little against his underwear. The thought of you actually coming over, right now, in the middle of the night, made his mouth go dry.

Robby: Send me your address and I’ll order you a ride. 

You sent your address a moment later. It really was only two miles away. He confirmed the ride, watching the estimated arrival time tick down. Fifteen minutes… only fifteen minutes until you’d be at his door.

You: this is exactly what i meant earlier about older guys. so much more gentlemanly. taking care of the details instead of just telling me to get there

You had no time to get ready, and honestly, you didn’t care. Makeup? Hair? None of that mattered when you were this desperate, this aching for him. You climbed out of bed still wearing the thin tank top and soft sleep shorts you’d worn to bed, and threw an oversized jacket over everything, one that swallowed most of your body and made you look far more put-together than you actually felt.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys and phone. The rideshare arrived sooner than you expected. The drive across the city felt both endless and far too short, but eventually the car pulled up outside his building.

You stood on the sidewalk for a second, staring up at the apartment complex, suddenly hit with the full weight of what you were doing, showing up at your attending’s door in the middle of the night, soaked and trembling with need, because a stupid Tinder match had spiraled completely out of control.

But you didn’t hesitate for long, you took a deep breath, pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, walked toward his door and knocked on it.

Robby opened it right away. He didn’t say a word, the second you were in reach, you had one of his strong hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. It was electric to say the least. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath. His beard was scraping deliciously against your skin as he moved his lips with experienced urgency. You melt into it instantly, fisting your hands in his shirt, tasting the pure, overwhelming taste of him. Finally. Here he was, kissing you like he’d been starving for it just as much as you had.

He kicked the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his taller frame. You felt the warmth of his hands roaming everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, squeezing the curve of your ass through the fabric of your shorts. In your mouth, he groaned, making a vibrating sound that went through you as he explored every inch he could reach, like he was memorizing the feel of you. 

Your breasts were the next to get his attention, he was cupping them with his big hands through your tank top, brushing his thumb over your already hard nipple, while he tangles his other hand in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You pulled back just enough to gasp against his lips, “It took you long enough.”

Robby chuckled, the sound coming out breathless. “Took you long enough. You have any idea what it’s like waiting twenty minutes for you with a hard-on?” He pressed you closer, letting you feel the thick and insistent bulge against your stomach. 

As if they had a mind of their own, his hands couldn’t stop moving, squeezing, caressing, claiming, running down your back, over your thighs, everywhere he’d fantasized about touching. Before you could respond, he bent slightly and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively. 

The strength in his arms, the way his broad chest felt against you, sent a fresh rush of heat between your legs. He carried you through the house with purposeful strides. The door to your room swung open and he layed you gently on the bed, climbing on top of you immediately until his full weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress. 

The kissing resumed instantly, slower now but no less intense. Robby’s mouth was moving from your lips to your neck, sucking lightly and scratching you with his beard in the most perfect way. Now his hands got bolder, continuing their exploration but this time sliding under your tank top, pressing his palms against your bare skin. He lifted the fabric higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room.

“Fuck,” Robby groaned, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you could see his soft brown eyes turning darker as he stared down at you. “Look at you. These tits… so perfect. So fucking pretty.” His voice was rough with want, the same commanding tone. He cupped them reverently, as if they were something precious, circling your nipples until they pebbled tighter under his touch. “They’re made for my hands. For my mouth.”

He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently at first, then harder, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. The wet touch of his tongue made you arch into him with a moan, threading your fingers through his hair as he kept lavishing attention on your breasts. 

From one side to the other, Robby switched sides, licking and sucking the other while his hand massaged the first, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation, the tingly heat of his mouth and the firm squeeze of his callused hand, had you writhing beneath him, making you so wet you were soaking through your shorts.

The humming of his mouth against your skin sends sparks straight to your core. “So responsive,” he murmured, switching back to the first breast and sucking it harder than before. “These tits are going to ruin me. I could spend hours right here.” Sliding his free hand down your side, Robby gripped your hip possessively, continuing with the worshipping of your chest, licking broad stripes, sucking marks into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading until he had you panting and grinding up against the hard line of his cock through his pants.

The age difference between you only heightened everything, his experience was showing in every skilled touch, in every perfect flick of his tongue. He was being patient but hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long. You could feel how hard he was, he was making you feel it, pressing insistently against your thigh. The knowledge that you did this to him made you even wetter.

Robby lifts his head briefly to lock his eyes on yours. His lips were swollen and his beard slightly damp with his saliva. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, but his hands never stopped, squeezing and caressing, teasing your sensitive nipples with his thumbs as he waited for your answer.

You shook your head, pulling him back down. You’d rather die than stop right now. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His mouth trailed a hot path down your sternum, over your stomach, scraping you teasinglywith his beard against your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed strong, sliding down your sides and gripping your hips as he settled between your spread thighs. The weight of him, the sheer size and presence of this man, made your core clench with anticipation.

“These shorts have been teasing me since you walked in,” he murmured with the same steady tone he used in the pitt, but now turned intimate and commanding. Robby hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly peeled them down your legs, taking his time as he revealed more of you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart. Good girl.”

You obeyed instantly, lifting your hips so he could slide the fabric off completely, leaving you in just your thin panties and the tank top. Robby smoothed his hands up your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle but firm pressure. “Keep your legs open like that,” he instructed you. “Nice and wide for me. Don’t close them unless I tell you to.”

You were already moaning softly, and he wasn’t even touching your core yet. Robby dropped his eyes to the damp spot on your panties, making the fabric cling to your pussy lips, and he let out a groan of desire and hunger. He cupped you over the fabric with one hand, pressing his palm firmly against your heated pussy while his thumb found your clit through the material and began rubbing slow circles.

“Oh god,” you moaned, twitching up your hips into his touch, seeking more of the contact. The friction was simply perfect, it was teasing, and it kept building higher and higher. Robby’s callused thumb was applying just the right pressure on your swollen nub. 

He watched your face intently through his hooded and lustful eyes as he worked you higher. “Feel good?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own breathing grew heavier. “You’re so wet already. Soaking through these panties for me. That’s it… rock against my hand, sweetheart. Show me how much you need this.”

Your moans only grew louder and more unrestrained, as he kept rubbing your clit with precision. The fabric added a delicious layer of friction, and every circle sent sparks shooting up your body. He got you gripping the sheets, your thighs already trembling as you fought the urge to close them around his hand.

Robby leaned down to kiss the inside of one thigh, scratching your skin deliciously. “You want my mouth? Want me to taste this pretty pussy? You gonna wrap these gorgeous legs around my neck while I do it?”

“Yes,” you gasped, nodding frantically. “Please, Robby. I need it.”

He hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them down slowly, revealing your glistening, bare pussy to his hungry gaze. “Fuck… look at you. So wet and perfect.” He kissed along your inner thighs, taking his time, brushing his lips and beard against the sensitive skin as he worked his way closer. “Wrap them around me, sweetheart. Lock your ankles behind my head if you need to. I want to feel you holding me right where I belong.”

You did exactly as he said, wrapping your legs around his broad shoulders and pressing your heels into his upper back. The position left you completely open to him, vulnerable and exposed. Robby groaned, the sound vibrating against your core as he finally leaned in.

The first lick of his tongue was broad and slow, dragging from your entrance up to your puffy clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and it made you cry out loudly, threading your fingers into his greying hair as he began to devour you with the same intensity he brought to every procedure at work. He licked and sucked with precision, alternating between long and flat strokes to tight and quick circles around your clit. 

His beard was scratching your inner thighs and outer lips in the most delicious way, adding a kind of texture that made your toes curl. “Robby… Oh fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, rolling your hips against his mouth. 

He hummed in response, pulling back with his lips glistening with your arousal just so he could speak to you. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. I want to hear it.”

“So good… your tongue—oh god, your mouth, Robby. It’s driving me crazy. Don’t stop, please.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, diving back in to suck your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly while applying suction with his lips. 

Before you could register it, he teased your entrance with two thick fingers, slowly sliding them inside you, letting your own greedy hole swallow them. Once he curled them upward to find that perfect spot, the sensation had you moaning loudly and arching off the bed. 

Robby pumped his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue with his digits. A few moments later, he stopped again briefly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes and shiny lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread open for me, taking my fingers so well. This pussy is perfect, made for me. Keep moaning for me. Let me hear how much you love my mouth on you.”

You obeyed, your moans spilling freely as he returned to his task with renewed hunger. The pleasure built fast and faster, making your thighs tremble around his head and your feet dig into his back as you held him exactly where you needed him. Robby gripped your hip with his free hand, holding you steadily while he worked you closer and closer to the edge with expert skill. Every command, every praise, every flick of his tongue pushed you higher. 

Robby didn’t relent, he kept his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking with rhythmic pressure, devouring you like a man starved. “Robby—oh fuck, yes!” The pleasure was overwhelming, every single nerve ending in your body was alight as he worked you higher. 

“Keep those legs open for me, sweetheart,” he growled against your clit. “Don’t you dare close them. I want to feel you squeezing around my fingers while I eat this pretty pussy.” He added a third finger slowly, stretching you wider, the burn blending perfectly with the pleasure. “That’s it… take three for me. Feel how full you are? You’re doing so well. Such a good girl taking everything I give you.”

The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy and his mouth sucking hungrily on your clit filled the air. You were soaking his beard, his chin, his wrist, but he didn’t care. Robby slid a hand under you, grabbing a firm handful of your ass and lifting your hips slightly off the bed. The new angle let him bury his face even deeper, working your clit with more precision while he fingerfucked you harder. “Just like that,” he praised you between licks. “Grind on my tongue, baby. Use my mouth. Show me how bad you need to come.”

You obeyed helplessly once again, rolling your hips and bucking them against him as the coil in your belly tightened unbearably. The pleasure built in powerful waves until your thighs started to shake violently around his head. Robby kept talking you through it, pushing you closer to the edge.

“You’re getting so close, aren’t you? I can feel this tight pussy clenching around my fingers. Come on, let go. Cum all over my tongue. I want to taste it. I want to feel you fall apart for me.”

The orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity, making your back bow off the bed, a loud and broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy spasmed hard around his digits. Your thighs were squeezing his head tightly, your heels digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. Robby didn’t stop though, he kept sucking your clit through the peak, curling and thrusting his fingers to draw out every last shudder.

You came harder than you ever had. So hard that your vision went white for a moment as the pleasure bordered on overwhelming. Your moans turned into whimpers as the orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving you limp and gasping on the bed.

Robby finally eased back, gently lowering your hips and kissing softly along your inner thighs. He looked up at you with dark and satisfied eyes. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So beautiful when you cum for me.”

You lay there panting, your thighs were still twitching, completely wrecked and already aching for more of him. Robby climbed back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He was so close that his hard cock was pressing insistently against your thigh through his pants. 

“That was… amazing,” you whisper with your voice hoarse from moaning. “So much better than I ever imagined.”

Robby chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine against your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Yeah? Better than your hand?” His eyes were sparkling with lust. 

You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “So much better. Your mouth… God, Robby. I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He hummed in satisfaction, grinding his still-clothed erection slowly against your bare, sensitive pussy. The thick ridge of his cock was being pressed perfectly against your clit, giving him some much needed relief while teasing you both. “I loved doing that for you,” he murmured. “You were so good for me, sweetheart. So responsive, so wet. The way you moaned my name and squeezed my head with those pretty thighs… fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Robby rolled his hips deliberately, the friction making you whimper and arch up into him. You could feel how achingly hard he was and how much he’d been holding back. You slid up your hands down his chest, feeling the soft flesh beneath his shirt.

“I want you,” you breathed, looking up at him with need. “Please, Robby.”

He stilled for a moment, as if to pulling himself together. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”

You bit your lip, feeling the warmth invade your cheeks. “Your cock. I want you to fuck me. I need you inside me.”

Robby let out a groan, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, drawing out the anticipation. You sit up slightly, eager to help, moving your fingers to tug his pants down along with his underwear.

“I’ve been dying to see you,” you confessed as you pulled his pants down his hips. He caught your wrists before you could push his boxers down.

Robby looked almost nervous, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Wait… I, uh—” He cleared his throat, flicking his eyes away for a second. “I haven’t trimmed down there in a while. This whole night was… unexpected. I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known we were gonna end up here.”

He said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. Like it might actually make you want him less. It made you soft, you cupped his jaw, turning his face back to yours.

“Robby. Do you honestly think I give a damn about that? It’s just hair.”

He let out a self-conscious breath, still looking a little defensive. “I know. I know it’s just hair. It’s just… it’s probably a fucking jungle down there right now. You don’t have to— I mean, you don’t have to do anything if it’s too much.”

The way he was trying to give you an out was almost painfully endearing. You shook your head. “Just let me see you,” you whispered.

You slid his boxers down his thighs and freed his cock, it sprang out, thick and hard, the head flushed in a dark red with arousal. It was beautiful, so long, girthy, with a slight upward curve, prominent veins running along the shaft. Exactly like he’d warned, there was a thick, dark mat of coarse hair at the base, dense and untrimmed. He looked completely natural, it was so him, deeply masculine and unpolished.

A fresh rush of wetness slipped down your inner thighs. Your fingers twitched with the need to touch him there.

You looked up at him through your lashes “I love it,” you slowly carded your fingers through the thick hair at the base of his member. “You look so fucking hot like this. I like every single inch of you.”

Robby’s whole body shivered under your touch. “God…” he rasped as he stared down at you. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”

Almost with instinct, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking the shaft slowly from base to tip, feeling the heat and weight of his member.

Robby hissed in pleasure, twitching his hips forward into your grip as he watched your hand move up and down his cock. “Fuck, your hand feels good,” he groaned, letting you stroke him for a while, savoring the sight of your smaller hand working his thick length, making a bead of precum leak from the tip.

After a few moments, he gently stopped you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Lay back down for me, sweetheart. Keep those legs open nice and wide. Just like before.”

You obeyed, lying back against the pillows and spreading your thighs for him. Robby reached over toward the nightstand, stretching one arm past you as he pulled open the top drawer. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, before his hand closed around what he was looking for.

A moment later he sat back, a condom held between his fingers. He held it up, searching for your eyes with his. “I’ve got this if you want me to wear it.”

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his arm. “No. I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”

You both knew it might not have been the smartest option, doing it raw, with nothing between you. But there was a deep, unspoken trust between the two of you, forged through long shifts, that made you feel safe. And in that moment, that trust felt solid enough to lean on.

The hunger that had taken over both of you made anything else almost unbearable. The need to feel each other completely bare, skin on skin, heat on heat, with nothing separating you, was overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He tossed the condom aside, leaning down to kiss you deeply again. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”

He groaned, positioning himself between your legs and nudging the thick head of his cock against your slick entrance. The anticipation felt electric, this was the culmination of over a year of longing, of hours of texts, and now all that was left was this desperate connection. Robby gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he looked down at you with hunger.

The night is only beginning, and the way he’s looking at you promises he’s going to take his time ruining you in the best possible way.

As his cockhead was being rubbed up and down your folds, teasing your clit with every pass, coating itself with your juices, the sensation felt maddening, promising everything you’d fantasized about for so long. You whimpered, twitching your hips up instinctively to chase more contact.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Robby commanded you softly, the same authoritative tone that had guided you through countless procedures was now guiding you through this. He cupped your chin gently, tilting your face so your gazes locked. “Keep looking at me the whole time. I want to see you while I fuck you.”

You nodded shakily, unable to look away even if you wanted to. Robby continued rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness, drawing out the anticipation until you were squirming beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your mouth. “So wet for me already. This pussy is going to take me so well. Breathe for me, relax and let me in.” He pressed forward slowly, breaching your entrance with only the tip. The stretch was immediate and intense, opening you up inch by inch as he sank deeper. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, but you forced your eyes open, locking them on his as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Easy, baby,” he cooed, stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braced beside your head. “You’re doing so good. Feel how you’re stretching around me? So tight and warm… fuck, you feel incredible.”

You moaned loudly as he continued sliding in, the deliberate thrust filling you completely until he was buried to the hilt, until his hips were flushed against yours. The fullness was overwhelming, his thick cock stretching your walls like nobody had stretched you before, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Robby stayed still for a moment buried deep, resting his forehead against yours as he looked straight into your eyes. “There you go. All the way in. You took every inch.” He started to thrust with deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls with exquisite friction. “Wrap your legs around me. Hold me close while I fuck you.”

You did as he said, locking your legs around his waist and digging your heels into his lower back. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and you cried out in pleasure, digging your nails into his shoulders. Robby kept talking you through it, just like he knew you liked.

“That’s my girl. Feel that? I’m hitting that spot inside you, huh?” He angled his hips slightly, grinding deep on every stroke. Robby slid one hand up to cup and squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple as he thrusted harder.

Robby moved his hand from your breast to cup your chin. His grip was gentle enough not to hurt, yet firm enough that you felt every one of his fingers pressing against the bones of your jaw. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to see how good my cock feels inside this tight pussy.” He tilted your face up and held it there, leaving you no choice but to meet his eyes.

And God… what a glorious sight he was. This handsome man, with his face flushed, his brow glistening with sweat, devouring you with his gaze as he kept driving his cock into you.

His face was only inches from yours, and he kept fucking you in long strokes while he held your chin like that, as if he were starving for every single expression that crossed your face. He loved watching the way pleasure wrecked you. The way your lips parted around helpless moans, the way you bit down on your lower lip only for it to slip free again with a broken sound. The way your eyes went glassy and pleading, silently begging him for more even as your body trembled around his cock. He drank it all in like a man who had been thirsty for years.

With his free hand, he gripped your waist, holding you in place so he could drive into you with more power. Every slide of his cock stretched you perfectly, dragging the fat tip along your g-spot like that was what it was made for.

“Robby—oh god, yes!” You moaned loudly, raising your hips to meet his thrust and tightening your legs around him. Your tits were bouncing with every powerful stroke, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth again, flicking his tongue as he continued fucking you.

“You feel so good,” he groaned against your skin, switching to the other breast. “So tight and wet around me. This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it? Taking me so deep.” His hand on your waist slid down to grip your ass, lifting your hips slightly to change the angle as he thrusted harder. “Lift your legs higher for me, sweetheart,” he said against your neck,kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there. Ronny held the back of your thigh, helping guide your leg up. “That’s it… over my shoulder. Let me get deeper.”

You whimpered as he assisted you, hooking your leg over his shoulder. He did the same with the other, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, until he was pressing the head firmly against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, grinding against your g-spot relentlessly.

“Fuck—Robby, it’s so deep like this,” you moaned, fluttering your eyes shut for just a moment as the intense sensation washed over you.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided gently but firmly, cupping your jaw with his hand to tilt your face back to his. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Keep them open. I want to watch you while I fuck you like this. Don’t look away.”

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his hungry gaze as he continued hammering into you. The eye contact made everything more intimate and overwhelming. The feeling of his hand leavinf your jaw and sliding down between your bodies made you shiver. Robby found your swollen clit and began rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.

The combined stimulation was devastating. The pleasure was burning higher in your core, so close to finally exploding. Your body was arching and squirming beneath his frame as you scratched down his back and trembled over his shoulders. Every thrust, every rub of his fingers on your clit, every moan and grunt that escaped his mouth pushed you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” Robby groaned, never removing his sight from yours. “Look at you taking my cock so deep. You’re getting close again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you cum all over my cock. Keep your eyes on me when you do.”

You bowed your back off the bed as your climax took over your body. A loud cry tore from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his length. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders and you dug your nails harder into his back when the waves of pleasure crashed through you. Robby sekpt thrusting through it, drawing out your orgasm with deep strokes and continued pressure on your clit.

“You look so beautiful when you cum for me… that’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me. You’re being so good.”

By the time he finally slowed and gently pulled out of you, you were still trembling and gasping. Robby layed back on the bed beside you, with his cock hard and glistening with your release. “Come here, baby,” he said. “Get on top. I want to watch you ride me.”

He helped you shift positions, gripping your hips firmly to guide you as you straddled him. “Easy, sweetheart. Take your time… that’s it. Feel me right there? Let me watch you take every inch.”

You positioned the head at your slick entrance and began to sink down, inch by inch. The stretch was intense all over again, his girth opening you up as you lowered yourself onto him. Robby kept his hands still on your hips to steady you, stroking your skin soothingly while watching every expression on your face.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groaned. “You’re doing so well. Keep going… take a little more. Feel how full you are?”

Louder moans left your mouth as you sank lower, the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. Bracing your hands on his broad chest for balance, you finally took him to the hilt, resting your ass against his thighs. Robby squeezed your hips encouragingly. “Ride me. Roll your hips like that… yes, just like that.”

Whn you started moving, rolling, and grinding your hips in a steady rhythm, the pleasure built quickly. His cock was dragging along your walls as you found a rhythm that made your tits bounce and your clit grind against his pelvis.

Robby kept moving his eyes are everywhere, watching where your pussy stretched around his shaft, sliding up to your bouncing breasts, then locking onto your face. He reaches up with both hands, cupping your tits and rolling your nipples as you ride him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep going… faster if you want. Take what you need from me.”

Without a word, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He sat up just enough to help you pull it off, and the second the fabric cleared his head, your hands were on him.

God, you loved his body. Your moved your palm slowly over his chest, feeling the coarse hair and the thud of his heart beneath your fingertips. You dragged your hands lower, mapping the soft, rounded curve of his belly with desire. It turned you on more than any gym-honed torso ever could. As you pressed your palms into the softness, your fingers dag in gently. Then you smoothed your hands over it again and again, savoring the way it yielded under your touch.

You were mumbling praises and moans between gasps, completely lost in the sensation. “Robby… you feel so good… so deep… fuck, I love your cock inside me…”

At one point, Robby planted his feet firmly on the bed, bent his knees, and started thrusting up to meet you. The change felt devastating, he was now fucking you from below with powerful strokes that made you cry out loudly as he droveinto you. 

The slap of skin on skin grew louder when the slamming into you intensified. “Fuck—Robby!” you moaned, letting your head fall back as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Eyes on me if you can, sweetheart,” he growled, moving his fingers down to rub your clit again. “I’m getting close. You feel too good. You’re gonna make me cum.”

You were a moaning and squirming mess on top of him, riding and grinding as he thrusted up harder. His fingers on your clit and his cock hitting deep pushed you toward another peak, but it was his impending orgasm that had you focused on him.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, snapping his hips up faster. “Fuck—can I cum inside you? Please, I want to fill you up.”

“Yes,” you gasped, riding him desperately. “Cum inside me, Robby. I want it. Fill me up. Please—”

With a deep groan, Robby thrusted up hard one last time and came, pulsing nside you, flooding your pussy with thick and warm ropes of cum. He held you down on him, gripping your hips tightly as he emptied himself completely. The feeling of him cumming inside you, fully claiming you, triggered your own smaller orgasm, making your walls clench rhythmically around his pulsing cock.

You both stayed locked together, panting. Robby stroked your back and thighs as you came down from the high befor pulling you down against his chest, kissing your forehead, keeping his cock still buried deep inside you as his release slowly leaked out around him, so much that you could feel the hot nd sticky evidence of his climax.

There were no more walls, just the two of you, finally giving in to everything you’ve both wanted and repressed for so long. You stayed draped on top of Robby for a long stretch of time, both of you catching your breath as the intensity slowly ebbed. Eventually, you lifted your head and looked at him. “That was… amazing. I wouldn’t even have dreamed that it’d be that good.”

He hummed in agreement, continuing his soothing path along your back. “It was. Better than I let myself imagine. You felt perfect.”

The praise made a warm feeling bloom in your chest. After a few more quiet moments, Robby gently helped you sit up, easing you off his cock with a shared sigh. You both winced slightly at the loss of connection and the feeling of emptiness, but he pulled you down beside him on the bed, wrapping his arms around you again as you cuddled into his side.

“So… you don’t regret it, do you?”

He met your eyes as a small smile began tugging at his lips beneath the beard. “Right now? I can’t regret having amazing sex with you. My mind is still somewhere up in the clouds.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow when reality hits, but tonight… no regrets.”

You nestled closer, throwing one leg over his. The cuddling felt easy, natural, like you’d been doing this for years. For tonight, the outside world, the hospital, the guilt, the what ifs didn’t exist. There was only the two of you, and Robby might be right about reality hitting tomorrow, but right now, in the darkness of his room, everything felt right.

A/N: Two attempts at posting this fic, and two times Tumblr’s stupid AI mistakenly flagged it😭 I’ve spent days trying to figure out what was causing the problem and doing everything I could to finally get this fic posted for all of you. So if you’re reading this, it means it worked. Hopefully.

If you end up enjoying the fic, I’d really appreciate it if you could help me share it with a reblog (only if you enjoyed the fic) cause I’ve put a lot of work on it

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I worked on when inspiration finally struck me. I don’t know if I read it somewhere or if we all collectively decided it, but Robby absolutely feels like the type of guy who talks you through it. You’re telling me the man who spends all day teaching med students and residents how to do procedures wouldn’t also be guiding his girl in bed? It’s literally in his nature!!! This TikTok also got me inspired because, yes, he absolutely looks at you through it too.

I also think Robby’s canon texting style is weirdly inconsistent. In that scene in season one where he’s texting Jake, sometimes he starts messages with capital letters and sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he ends sentences with a period, sometimes he doesn’t. In my head, he has perfect grammar but deliberately tries to sound Gen Z and chill when he’s texting someone younger than him lol. Anyway, I tried to replicate that here too.

Thank you all so much for your patience. I really appreciate it, and I hope I can stick around for good this time🩷

"Because you like me."

June 27.

It was a hot, sticky summer day, and you were practically melting after beating all the other kids in a game of tag. Everyone else had gotten into the pool for a swim, but your father had just gotten back from a twelve hour shift the night before and had completely forgotten to pack your swimsuit for the day.

You were upset, as any seven-year-old girl would be at her best friend's birthday party, and it showed in the way you sulked in one of the Abbots' porch swings.

"What's wrong, sweet girl? Why aren't you in the pool with everyone else?"

The voice was warm, motherly, even.

You looked up to see Ben's stepmother, a woman named Ziyana. She had a concerned pinch in her dark brow and a small frown curving her lips downward.

"My dad forgot my suit.." you mumbled, straightening up– almost embarrassed to admit it.

"Oh," Ziyana hummed before chuckling and ruffling your hair. "Come with me, I'm sure we have extra from my niece being over," she offered, holding out her hand.

You looked up at her in shock before sliding off the bench and taking her hand, the coolness of her palm a reprieve from the sweltering inferno you were surrounded by.

After a bit of rummaging around in the cozy guest bedroom, Ziyana eventually found a swimsuit the both of you could agree on– a tankini with lemons printed on the top and blue straps with matching blue bottoms.

You were more than ecstatic at the opportunity to just jump in the water with everyone else and continue your games, so you dressed quickly and thanked the older woman profusely.

"Don't worry about it, silly, now go back outside," she chuckled, giving you a guiding touch at the top of your back.

You ran down the stairs and out to the backyard, ready to get into the pool when you heard Ben talking with one of his other friends over a Caprisun.

"Why doesn't she look like her dad?" The other boy asked, looking over at your father as he did.

The words make you stop in your tracks and you could hear your pulse in your ears. It had always been a sensitive subject for you ever since you asked your father where your mother was and he explained how you weren't biologically his child.

Ben just shrugged at his friend's question. "I dunno, probably the same reason I don't look like my mom," he replied nonchalantly, sending relief flooding through your bones.

His friend seemed content enough with his response and went back to sipping his drink. You sighed and walked over to the pool, sitting on the edge to slide yourself in, until–

"What if she's adopted?"

Your heart sank to your stomach and your head whipped over your shoulder just to catch Ben looking at you too.

Ben laughed then. "No way, she's too cool for that– that's my best friend!" He shot back, shoving the boy lightly.

"I bet you won't ask your dad then!" The boy replied, shoving Ben back.

You began to panic, knowing if Mr. Jack was anything, it was honest and he would tell his son the answer. You scrambled out of the pool as the boys raced to Mr. Jack and ran to your own father.

"Hey, hey, slow your roll, kid. What's the matter?" Your dad asked as you barreled into his leg, setting his beer down and lifting you in his arms.

"They're gonna ask Mr. Jack if I'm adopted–" you breathed, feeling your body begin to tremble and your nerves light on fire.

Your father's brows pinched and he adjusted you in his arms. "What's so wrong with being adopted?" He asked gently.

You felt your little eyes well with tears. He didn't understand, of course he wouldn't– he hadn't been seven in a long time. "They're gonna make fun of me–" you tried to explain before the boys came running back.

"No, they won't, just go keep playing," your dad sighed, setting you back down on the concrete. You sniffled and tried to pull yourself together so you could go back to the party, but the task proved more difficult than expected.

You'd finally settled back on the edge of the pool when Ben and his friend came up behind you, their reflections staring up at you from the pool.

"Is it true your real parents didn't want you?" The friend asked, a stupid grin on his mouth.

You whipped around, bottom lip already trembling. "No! That's not true!" You shot back defensively, scrambling to stand up again.

"No, it is! You're adopted!" The boy yelled back.

"And we're gonna go tell!" Ben added in a sing-song tone. The boys ran off together, going to tell everyone else at the party.

"No! Stop!" You yelled, running after them, but it was no use. You were faster than them, but they yelled louder and soon everyone knew the ugly secret.

Everyone laughed and to the adults it looked like just a game, but you knew what it was. For the rest of the party, no one talked to you or asked to play, thinking your adoption status was contagious and their parents wouldn't want them either if they talked with you.

You ended up going inside and sitting at the dining room table with Ben's grandmother until your dad and Ben's parents came in, looking for you.

"Why weren't you out there playing with everyone else, kid?" Your dad asked as he came up to you at the table, turning your chair out so you faced him.

Your eyes welled up again and you could feel your teeth chattering in your mouth as you tried to speak. "They were making fun of me.." you finally managed, voice hoarse.

You could see Jack over his shoulder pinching his brows together in anger. He hated bullies, you knew firsthand after he yelled at a kid's parent because they bit Ben at the park.

Your father paused at your words and picked you up. "We're going home," he told you quietly. He turned and looked to Jack and Ziyana with a nod before leaving out the door with you in his arms.

On the drive home, his eyes kept flicking to you in the rear view mirror– the way you stared out of the window at the passing views and the Pittsburgh city lights.

"You know.. being adopted just means you were wanted way more than those other kids," he finally spoke, making your head lift from the window.

"Really?" You asked, almost silently.

"Yeah, really. I wanted you so much, I tracked you down and went through a really long process just so I could get my perfect girl," he replied with a small smile.

You sat in silence for a moment before smiling back.

"Because I like you?" You scoffed, shocked at the sheer audacity of his words.

You watched his face fall as he realized his assumption was completely wrong. "Well– I mean, yeah– you were kinda, like, checking me out–" he stammered, trying to explain his thinking.

You blinked once, then twice before laughing in his face. "Yeah, I checked you out. You're a guy! I check every guy out!" You shot back. "That doesn't mean I like you."

Ben's face scrunched in this ugly shape, like he was trying to figure out how someone like you– a girl, to be exact– could just check guys out without having feelings. "That's not–"

"–how that works?" You hummed. "No, it is. I have no interest in you," you told him seriously. "Don't think I forgot."

"Forgot what–?"

You slammed the door in his face, again.

You could almost cry because for a second there, the banter felt good, natural, and you almost let your guard down.

You grabbed your things from the cabinet and redressed before slinging your purse over your shoulder and opening the bathroom door, half-expecting him to still be there. He wasn't.

You walked down the staircase, seeing Ziyana and a few other moms chatting over the birthday cake as she finished adding the candles on it.

"Oh, hi sweet girl," she beamed as soon as she caught sight of you. "You're staying for cake, right?" She hummed excitedly.

Your heart clenched and you forced a small smile onto your mouth. You hated to disappoint, but you couldn't stay any longer– you already made your attempt for your father.

"No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Ziyana. I'm gonna just head home, stomachache," you replied to which she nodded.

"No, I understand, sweetheart. Go home and get some rest," she replied. "And limit your sun exposure tomorrow! You've had a lot today!" She called after you, like a true doctor.

You walked out of the house and found your dad still with Jack, talking over a beer, as always. You looked around for any sight of Ben, but couldn't find him. It gave you a weird feeling in your chest, like you wanted to find him again, but you pushed him away. You couldn't stand him.

"Dad," you called, making both the men turn.

"Yeah, what's up, kid?" Your father replied once he registered it was you calling for him.

"Let's go," you sighed. "I tried."

A small frown tugged at his lips before he caved and nodded. "Okay, let's go," he replied, tossing the beer into the nearby trash, making Jack shoot him a look. He noticed his friend's look and went over to put it into the recycling bin instead.

"Later, Rabbit," your dad sighed, patting his friend on the back.

"Later, Gator," Jack shot back before looking to you with a softer look. "Don't let them get to you, kiddo," he said as if he knew.

During the drive home, your father turned to look at you with a sigh. "What was it this time? Silly string in your hair? Crumbs in your swimsuit?" He asked, trying to lighten the tense mood.

You shot him a look before looking back out the window. "He said I liked him," you murmured.

He raised a brow at that. "And do you?"

You whipped your head to look at him. "Dad! You cannot–" you groaned. He laughed then.

"Hey, just asking the important questions here," he simply replied.

"No, I do not like him. I can't stand that idiot!" You retorted.

"Can't stand him, or can't stand that you still like him?" He hummed curiously.

"Okay, now you're pushing it."

"Okay, okay, sorry."

That night you sat in your room, picking at the exposed threads on your comforter as you thought about everything that happened through the day.

Ben's bold assumption, Jack's warning, Ziyana's look, and of course.. your father's words.

You knew you couldn't stand him– especially not after he made fun of you with his friends and never apologized or made up for it.

But at one point in time he had been your best friend and the sweetest guy you knew. Even from his reputation at school, he was still a massive sweetheart which only made you more conflicted. Then there was also the confusion he had at your words. Had he truly forgotten what happened at that party? The real reason you stopped being friends?

You sighed and flopped back against the mountain of pillows pressed against your headboard, unsure of what to think.

He was all grown up now– officially too– and maybe he had grown and changed. He sure looked it, and damn if that wasn't attractive enough–

You shook the thought entirely from your head and sighed before burying your face into the pillows.

You had no clue what the hell you were going to do.

a/n: holy hell, thank you so much for all the support, i really was not expecting this influx of people 😭. i love every bit of support though and you, my wonderful lovebugs, are so amazing! if the support for this stays this way, i might just have to post on my ao3 which has been sitting barren for almost a year now since ik aus are also loved there. but yeahhh, tell me what you guys would like to see more of and don't be shy to say what you'd like to see less of!

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You bite your bottom lip nervously, unsure of how to voice yourself. You know you’re a good person. You don’t view yourself as a loathsome person who no one can get along with. But you often wonder why people like you. Why do they put up with your attitude and anger and worries, just to be around you?  And when they do put up with it, it’s hard for you to accept. Even harder to accept when they finally get rid of you. 

“Are you hiding something from me?” 

He doesn’t look taken aback by your question, his eyebrows furrowed as he takes you in. “Like what?”

“You tell me, Andrew.” 

“Andrew?” He’s amused, the corner of his mouth quirked up. 

You nod, “yeah, some lame ass advice J told me.” You sigh dramatically once again, “are you cheating on me?” 

He huffs, “I’m not cheating on you.” He pauses and you can tell it’s a strain to speak his next words, “you’re the only one I want.” 

“Until the next one.” You chime with a scoff. 

His grip on your chin isn’t tight, but it’s enough for him to force your eyes onto his. “There’s no next one.”

“Until there is.” 

“You’re incredibly—“ 

“Gorgeous? Smart? Funny?” You interrupt with a small smack to his chest. “You’ll tell me if I annoy you, right?”

“You don’t annoy me.” 

“You are such a liar.” 

“I don’t lie.” 

“He lies—“ 

“Shut up.” His lips press to yours. It’s a tender kiss, his hands cupping your face as his lips move against yours. It doesn’t last very long, your mouth chasing him when he pulls away. “I can promise you, there’s no one else. You don’t annoy me. You’re not too much for me. You are very pretty. Anything else I need to cover?” 

You hum, a grin plastered on your face as you lean your chin on his chest. “Tell me my ass is fat.” 

“Your ass is fat.” 

You hum, content by how well he obeys. “You’re the only old man in my life who listens to what I say.” 

“How many old men do you have in your life?” 

“Nunya. Keep eating me out.” 

authors note . . . me vs putting in my hyperfixations and rn it’s those shitty vertical movies. love you give me your thoughts

it was the same cycle of little things here and there that had you realize sammy was unaware of how good to you he was. it ranged from sending him a dirty text or picture while he was gone only to be met with a response like "you know you sent that to me right?", to trying to get him undressed and in your pants the second he got home just for him to scrunch his face up and say "you don't have to do that for me."

some nights, you even thought you were the problem. because every time you tried to tell him you felt needy for him, he always double and triple checked if you actually wanted to. your confusion came to a head after dinner on his couch one night.

you'd wanted him inside you since the second he got home, but as always, he looked at you like you had four heads when you tried to make a move. so you waited until after dinner and halfway through the movie he let you pick out. you lean over to start kissing his neck and you hear his breath hitch when you sling a leg over his waist to straddle him. "missed you today sammy.." you hum as you reach his lips while trailing your fingers down his soft belly to his pants zipper.

"are you sure you want to?" is what he murmurs when you tug at the metal tab. you huff, pulling back to look at him. "do you.. not want me or something sammy?" his hazel eyes look cartoonish the way they bulge outwards. "w-what? of course i do."

you play with the buttons on his shirt as you whisper, "then why are you always acting surprised when i want to be with you?" his pudgy cheeks redden instantly, a hand carding through his curls as he looks anywhere but you. "cause it is surprising for me. i guess." when your face scrunches in confusion he rubs the back of his neck as he continues. "my ex she uh, she cheated on me. and i- i think its because of y'know.. her not being satisfied with my… abilities."

the frown takes over your face instantly, heart sinking at the fact that his insecurities come from a woman who wasn't even faithful to him. you think for a second, the last few months becoming clearer in your mind. "sammy… you know that i think you're really good at sex right?"

"baby, you don't have'ta lie-" "i'm not lying! i swear, sammy. you're the only guy who's ever made me finish." he blinks up at you, hands tightening on your hips as you rock once on top of him. "i- i am?" you nod sweetly, not being able to help grinding down on him as you feel him fully harden beneath you. a small groan slips out of both of you at the movement.

"mhm.. you make me feel so good sammy. only you" his lips part at your admission before he cradles your face in his chubby hands to pull you down to kiss him. by the time your tongue slips into his mouth you're desperate, rocking back and forth and whining on top of him.

a surge of confidence rushes though your boyfriend as he whispers against your lips, "w-want me to make you feel good right now?" you don't try to fight of your soft moan of anticipation, which causes sammy to buck his hips up involuntarily as you nod.

you both quickly stand up and all clothes are discarded in between needy kisses before settling back onto the couch. you stop him before he can roll you into missionary, his go to position, and you pray that you've reassured him enough that he'll let you try something new.

you scoot around until you're hovering upright on his lap as you face away from him. you glance over your shoulder and bite your lip when you see his eyes glued to your ass. "this okay sammy?" his enthusiastic nod has you giggle, which is quickly cut off by a moan as he guides you to sink down onto his cock.

"jesus- fuck- you feel so good like this baby." sammy babbles already as you start to ride him in reverse cowgirl for the first time. you're crying out his name as he stretches you until you feel him in your throat.

even though you're not face to face, the new position lets you lean back against his soft chest and easily turn your head to kiss him. it's a sloppy kiss that has your hips faltering when he starts grinding upwards to meet each of your bounces. "oh god- so big sammy ooohh god-!" you yelp when he reaches around to rub your clit just how you taught him to, which you reward with a "just like that- mhm-! so good sammy."

sammy starts to whine into your mouth when you clench around him. "tell me that you're making me feel good. say it sammy." he hesitates for a second before you bend down and gently cup his balls that sit just below where he's touching your clit. he chokes out a groan before nodding in agreement. "im makin' you feel good baby- makin' you f-feel so good."

you're tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth as you whimper, "so good sammy- best anyone's ever made me feel." he speeds up his thrusts, his thick tip hitting the sensitive spot inside you relentlessly. he breaks your kiss to stick two of the chubby fingers from his free hand in your mouth, humming in satisfaction at you when you suck fervently and look back at him with glossy eyes.

he releases them with a *pop* and brings them to pinch one of your nipples and your orgasm approaches you like the inevitable drop off at a cliff. you feel him puff out his chest a bit against your back. and when he grunts, "yea.. yea- i'm the best you've ever had- hnng - f-fucking this tight pussy better than anyone else has, r-right?", you're a goner. you spasm around him, reaching forward to grab at his knees when your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure and you free fall with a shaky moan.

and sammy's right behind you, muttering a few "so good baby, fuck- best ive ever felt." and "gonna fill you up jus how you like it- gonna be so full a'me. only me." the next second your insides are flooded with warmth as he whimpers your name. you shiver at his come filling you to the brim, sending lovely aftershock waves through your body.