⍟AlcaPzr⍟

Dylan Minnette ♧︎︎︎

Braeden Lemasters ♫︎

Cole Preston 𖠌

Stranger Things ☏︎

Clay Jensen ㋛︎

Isabella Elei 𑁍

Matty Healy 𓃠

Various✫

Mcr ☠︎︎

Kinktober

Advent calendar 🎄

The evening air was warm and thick with the promise of summer as you stepped out of your building, the hem of your short sundress brushing against your thighs with every step.

Your heart was already racing—Dylan had texted you earlier with that simple, devastating message:

>“Album’s done. I need you all to myself this weekend, baby. Pack light… you won’t be wearing much.”

You spotted his black car idling at the curb, the headlights cutting through the twilight. Before you could reach for the door, Dylan was already out, circling around to meet you with that crooked, boyish smile that always made your knees feel a little weak.

He looked unfairly good dark hair slightly messy, black button-up rolled up to his forearms, those sharp blue eyes softening the second they landed on you.

“Wow…” he breathed, stopping just a breath away. His gaze dragged slowly down your body and back up, appreciative but reverent. “You look absolutely beautiful. Fuck, I missed this face.”

Before you could reply, he took your hand gently, lifting it to his lips. The kiss he pressed to your knuckles was soft, warm, and lingering, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. No rush. No heat yet. Just Dylan being the sweet, attentive guy who still made your stomach flip like it was the first time.

He opened the passenger door for you, one hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you slid into the leather seat. The car smelled like him—clean, a little woody, with that faint hint of his cologne that always drove you crazy.

Once he was back behind the wheel, he reached over and laced his fingers with yours, bringing your hand up for another gentle kiss before resting it on his thigh.

“We’re going straight to my place,” he said, voice low and warm as he pulled away from the curb. A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “The album’s finally done, and I told the guys I’m disappearing for the whole weekend. No studio, no phones if we can help it. Just you and me, baby. We need this. I need to fuck you slow and deep for hours, until neither of us can remember our own names… but first, I’m spoiling you a little.”

He glanced over at you, eyes sparkling with affection and the faintest edge of something darker, something that promised the weekend was going to be filthy. But right now he was still your sweet Dylan—gentleman through and through—rubbing slow circles on the back of your hand with his thumb as the city lights started to blur past the windows.

“Tell me about your week, beautiful,” he murmured, squeezing your hand. “I want to hear everything before I get you home and start worshipping every inch of you.”

You let the comfortable silence settle for a moment, watching the city lights streak past the windows as Dylan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other still gently holding yours. Your heart hammered against your ribs. The weekend ahead already had you throbbing with anticipation, and you couldn’t wait anymore.

“I thought a lot about you this week,” you said softly, your voice a little husky.

Dylan’s smile widened, warm and adoring as he glanced over at you. “Yeah? I always think about you, wifey. Every damn day. You’re always on my mind.”

You bit your lip, feeling heat creep up your neck. You shifted in the seat, turning slightly toward him. “No… you know what I mean.”

Your hand slipped from his grasp and slowly slid onto his thigh, fingers resting high enough to feel the firm muscle tense under the fabric of his pants. You gave him your sweetest, most fake-innocent smile — the one that always drove him crazy — eyes wide and lashes fluttering.

Dylan’s breath hitched. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles paling for a second as he looked at you again, really looked. That gentlemanly sweetness was still there, but something darker flickered in his blue eyes.

“Fuck, baby…” he murmured, voice dropping lower. “You’re gonna kill me. Tell me exactly what you were thinking about.”

You traced a slow circle on his thigh with your fingertips, inching just a little higher. “I thought about your hands… your mouth… how you sound when you’re buried deep inside me.” Your voice turned shy for a real second. “I even recorded some videos for you. Touching myself, moaning your name… but I got too embarrassed to send them.”

A low, rough groan escaped Dylan’s throat. He shifted in his seat, already half-hard under your teasing touch. “Jesus Christ, wifey, You recorded videos of that pretty pussy and didn’t send them? That’s cruel.”

He brought your hand up quickly, kissing your knuckles again, but this time his lips lingered, teeth grazing lightly. When he placed your hand back on his thigh, he pressed it down harder, encouraging you.

“You’re gonna show me those videos the second we get home,” he said, voice thick with promise. “And then I’m gonna recreate every single thing you did to yourself… only better. I’m gonna fuck you so good this weekend, baby. Slow, deep, filthy — until you’re shaking and dripping all over my cock.”

His free hand dropped to cover yours, guiding your palm to rub slowly along the growing bulge in his pants. The sweet, chivalrous Dylan was still there… but the heat was rising fast. The car suddenly felt way too small, the air charged with filthy chemistry.

“Keep talking, beautiful,” he murmured, voice rougher now. “Tell me more. What else did you think about while I was stuck in the studio?”

Your fingers didn’t stop moving. They slid higher up his thigh, bold and hungry, until they reached the waistband of his pants. With a playful little tug, you popped the button open, the sound soft but obscene in the quiet car.

The zipper came down easily under your hand.

A surprised, delighted laugh bubbled out of you as you realized what you’d just uncovered.

“Wow… you’re free balling?” you whispered, eyes wide with that same fake-innocent smile, your palm sliding down to feel the warm, half-hard length of him already thickening against your touch. No underwear. Just smooth, hot skin and Dylan’s cock twitching under your fingers.

Dylan let out a low, shaky chuckle, his hips shifting slightly into your hand as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. “Wanted to be ready for you, wifey. Knew the second I picked you up I wasn’t gonna last long without feeling you.”

You wrapped your fingers around him slowly, giving him one lazy stroke from base to tip, feeling him swell and harden fully in your grip. He was already leaking a little at the head, hot and silky.

“Mmm… I can tell,” you murmured, biting your lip. “But I can’t show you those videos right now while you’re driving… that would be dangerous.”

You leaned closer, voice dropping into a filthy whisper as your thumb circled the sensitive head, spreading the bead of precum.“But there’s something I can do…”

Dylan’s breath hitched hard. His jaw clenched, one hand still gripping the wheel tight while the other came down to rest on top of yours, not stopping you — guiding you to stroke him a little firmer.

“Fuck, baby… you’re gonna make me pull over,” he groaned, voice rough and dripping with lust. His thumb brushed over your knuckles as you pumped him slowly, teasingly. “You have no idea how bad I’ve been aching for this pretty hand… for that mouth… for that tight little pussy all weekend.”

You kept stroking him with slow, deliberate movements, twisting your wrist just the way you knew he liked, feeling him throb and pulse against your palm. The car filled with the wet, quiet sounds of your hand on his cock and his heavy breathing.

“Eyes on the road, Dylan,” you teased sweetly, leaning in to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his neck. “I just want to make you feel good until we get home… where you can bend me over and fuck me like you’ve been dreaming about.”

He groaned again, louder this time, hips bucking up into your fist.

“You’re such a dirty girl,” he muttered, voice thick with affection and raw need. “My dirty girl. Keep going, baby. Just like that.”

Your hand moved with deliberate slowness, fingers wrapped snugly around Dylan’s thick, throbbing cock. You stroked him from base to tip in long, teasing drags, letting your thumb swirl lazily over the sensitive head every time you reached the top. You smeared the steady leak of precum around the swollen tip, pressing lightly into the slit just to feel him twitch and pulse in your grip.

Dylan’s breathing grew heavier, ragged. His hips rolled subtly into your fist while he forced himself to focus on the road, jaw tight, veins standing out on his forearm as he gripped the wheel.

“Fuck… just like that, baby,” he groaned, voice low and rough. “So fucking slow… you’re torturing me.”

You smiled that sweet, wicked smile and kept pumping him with torturously languid strokes, squeezing a little tighter at the head before sliding back down. His cock was rock hard now, hot and heavy in your palm, veins prominent under your fingers.

Dylan glanced over at you, eyes dark with lust, that crooked smile mixing with pure hunger.

“Pretty girl…” he murmured, voice dripping with need, “can you take it in your mouth? Keep me warm and hard while I find somewhere to park this shit.”

The words sent a rush of heat straight between your legs. You didn’t hesitate. You leaned over the center console, the seatbelt digging into your hip as you lowered your head. Your lips brushed the slick tip first, kissing it softly before parting to take him into your warm, wet mouth.

Dylan let out a deep, guttural moan the second your lips wrapped around him. “That’s it… good girl. Just like that.”

You sucked him slowly, tongue swirling around the head, tasting the salty precum as you took more of him deeper. Your hand stayed at the base, stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach yet, keeping that same lazy rhythm. The car filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your mouth working him — soft slurps, your hums of satisfaction, and Dylan’s broken curses.

“Shit, baby… your mouth feels so fucking good,” he growled, one hand dropping to rest gently on the back of your head, not pushing, just holding you there. “Keep me nice and warm while I look for a spot. I need to be buried inside you soon… can’t wait much longer.”

His fingers threaded through your hair as he drove, eyes scanning the streets for a dark, secluded place to pull over. Every slow suck and swirl of your tongue made his cock throb harder against your tongue, his hips twitching up to meet your mouth.

“You’re gonna be the death of me this weekend, wifey,” he breathed, voice thick with filthy affection. “But fuck… what a way to go.”

Dylan’s eyes scanned the darkened streets, searching for a quiet side street or empty parking lot away from the main road. His breathing was uneven, jaw clenched as he tried to focus on driving while your warm, wet mouth enveloped the head of his cock.

You couldn’t help yourself. The taste of him, the way he throbbed against your tongue, made you greedy. You started to suck — hollowing your cheeks, swirling your tongue around the sensitive underside, taking him a little deeper with a soft, eager hum.

Dylan’s hand tightened gently in your hair, not pulling you off, but holding you still. His fingers caressed through the strands almost tenderly as he let out a low, strained chuckle.

“No, baby…” he murmured, voice rough and commanding, yet laced with that affectionate tone that made your pussy clench. “I told you to just keep it in your mouth. Just warm me up. No sucking yet.”

You whimpered around his thick length, the sound vibrating down his shaft. You tried to obey, relaxing your tongue and simply holding him there, lips stretched around the head while the weight of his hard cock rested heavy on your tongue. But it was torture — for both of you. You could feel him twitching, leaking more precum that you swallowed slowly, savoring it.

“That’s my good girl,” Dylan praised softly, his fingers still stroking your hair lovingly as he finally spotted a dimly lit, mostly empty parking area behind some closed shops. He turned the wheel smoothly, pulling in and driving toward the back where the shadows were deepest.“Fuck… you feel so perfect like this,” he groaned, hips shifting just slightly, pushing another inch past your lips before stopping himself. “All warm and wet around my cock, keeping me nice and hard for that tight little pussy. You’re being so patient for me, wifey.”

He parked the car, killing the engine but leaving the lights off. The sudden quiet made every wet sound, every heavy breath, feel even filthier. His hand stayed in your hair, gently petting you as he looked down at the sight of your lips wrapped around him.

“Don’t move that pretty mouth yet,” he whispered, voice dropping into something darker, more dominant. “Just hold me there… let me feel how much you want it. I’m gonna fuck your throat properly soon, but right now? I want you to feel me throb on your tongue while I decide how I’m gonna ruin you tonight.”

You moaned softly around him, eyes watering as you looked up at him through your lashes, obedient but aching. Dylan’s thumb brushed your cheek tenderly, even as his cock pulsed harder in your mouth.

“Such a dirty, perfect girl,” he breathed, eyes burning with lust and love. “Now stay just like that while I enjoy my warm little cocksleeve for a minute…”

The car finally rolled into the underground parking garage of Dylan’s building. The dim lights cast long shadows across the concrete as he pulled into his reserved spot and killed the engine. Your mouth was still stretched around his throbbing cock, keeping him warm and leaking on your tongue just like he’d ordered.

Dylan let out a shaky exhale. “Fuck… we’re home, baby.”

Before you could react, his hand tightened gently in your hair and he lifted you up off his lap. You barely had time to gasp before his mouth crashed into yours in a deep, hungry kiss. It wasn’t sweet anymore — it was messy, desperate, and passionate. His tongue pushed past your lips, tasting himself on you as he groaned into your mouth.

“Come here, wifey,” he growled against your lips, voice thick with need. “Sit on my lap.”

He reclined the driver’s seat slightly and pulled you over the console with strong hands, guiding your legs until you were straddling him. Your sundress rode up your thighs as you settled over his hard, spit-slick cock, which was now trapped between your bodies, pressing hot and heavy against your soaked core.

Dylan’s hands slid up your thighs, bunching the dress higher. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties and tugged them down roughly, sliding them off one leg and then the other. He didn’t throw them away. Instead, he brought the soaked fabric right up between you two, eyes darkening as he looked at the obvious wet spot you’d left.

“Look at this…” he murmured, voice low and filthy. “So fucking drenched for me already.”

He held your gaze as he lifted the panties to his mouth and licked a slow, deliberate stripe right over the wet patch, tasting you with a deep, satisfied groan. His eyes fluttered half-closed, like your flavor was the best thing he’d ever had.

“Mmm… fuck, baby. You taste even better than I remembered,” he whispered, licking again, slower this time, sucking the fabric lightly between his lips. “This little pussy has been dripping the whole ride thinking about my cock, hasn’t it?”

You whimpered, grinding down instinctively against his bare length. Dylan dropped the ruined panties onto the passenger seat and grabbed your hips, pulling you tighter against him. The head of his cock nestled right between your slick folds, sliding through your wetness without entering you yet.

He kissed you again, deep and claiming, the taste of your own arousal still on his tongue.

“I was trying to be sweet and take you upstairs first,” he breathed against your mouth, nipping your bottom lip. “But the second I felt how soaked you are… I don’t think I can wait. Tell me, pretty girl — you want me to fuck you right here in the car before we even make it inside?”

His fingers dug into your ass, spreading you open as he rocked his hips, letting his thick cock glide teasingly along your clit.

Dylan’s eyes were dark with lust as he looked up at you straddling him in the driver’s seat. The parking garage was quiet except for your heavy breathing and the faint creak of the leather seat. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you flush against him so his thick, throbbing cock slid through your soaked folds.

He brought one hand up between your faces, palm open right in front of your mouth.

“Spit on it, baby,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Get my hand nice and wet for my cock.”

You didn’t hesitate. Looking straight into his eyes with that mix of innocence and filth, you leaned forward and let a thick string of spit drip from your lips onto his waiting palm. Then another. The sound was obscene in the small space of the car.

Dylan groaned deeply, “Good girl… such a good fucking girl for me.”

He wrapped that spit-slick hand around his cock and stroked himself slowly, coating every inch of his hard length with your saliva mixed with your own dripping arousal. The wet, filthy sounds filled the car as he pumped himself a few times, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

You felt the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance, nudging your slick folds apart. Dylan gripped your hip with his free hand, guiding you as he pushed in — agonizingly slow.

“Fuck… that’s it,” he breathed, watching your face intently. “Take me slow, wifey. Feel every inch stretching this tight little pussy.”

You gasped as he sank into you gradually, the thick head popping inside first, then the rest of his shaft spreading you open inch by inch. He was so hard, so hot, filling you perfectly. Your walls clenched around him greedily as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours.

Dylan let out a long, guttural moan, forehead pressed to yours. “Goddamn… you feel so fucking good. So warm and wet and tight around me.”

He stayed buried deep inside you for a moment, not moving yet, just letting you adjust while his hands roamed your body — one sliding up under your dress to squeeze your breast, the other still gripping your ass. He kissed you deeply, passionately, tongues tangling as he rocked his hips in tiny, teasing movements, grinding against that spot deep inside you.

“You’re dripping down my cock already,” he whispered against your lips, voice dripping with filthy affection. “This weekend I’m gonna ruin this pretty pussy in every room of my apartment… but right now? I need to feel you ride me just like this. Slow and deep until you’re creaming all over me.”

He thrust up once, hard and deliberate, making you moan loudly into his mouth.

Dylan’s hands stayed firm on your hips, guiding you in slow, rolling movements on his cock. He didn’t let you bounce yet — just deep, grinding circles that dragged every thick inch of him against your walls, pressing right into that sweet spot over and over. The car creaked softly beneath you with every lazy roll of your hips.

“Like that, baby… nice and slow,” he murmured, voice husky against your skin. His lips found your neck, kissing softly at first, then sucking and licking the sensitive spot right under your ear. He groaned as he felt your pussy flutter and clench around him from the attention.

You moaned, head tilting to give him better access, your hands gripping his shoulders as pleasure pulsed through you. His cock throbbed deep inside, stretching you perfectly with every controlled thrust upward.

Dylan trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, nipping gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. One of his hands slid from your hip to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh and spreading you open as you rode him.

His breath was hot against your ear when he whispered, “Fuck, you feel incredible… so wet and tight around me. I can feel you dripping down my balls, wifey.”

He kissed your neck again, harder this time, leaving a mark as he guided your hips in another deep, filthy grind.

Then, voice low and filthy, he asked:

“Can I put a finger in your tight little ass, baby?” His middle finger teased along your crack, pressing lightly against your puckered hole. “I want to feel you even fuller… want you squeezing my cock while I play with this pretty hole. Tell me yes, pretty girl. I’ll go slow, I promise. I just need to feel all of you tonight.”

He sucked another bruise into your neck while still rocking you slowly on his dick, waiting for your answer with dark, hungry eyes and that perfect mix of dominance and devotion.

You didn’t even hesitate.

Looking straight into Dylan’s hooded blue eyes, you grabbed his wrist and brought his middle finger to your lips. You parted them slowly, sucking his finger into your warm, wet mouth with a filthy moan. Your tongue swirled around it, coating every inch with spit, sucking it deeper like it was his cock — hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head just enough to make him groan.

“Fuck… that’s my dirty girl,” Dylan breathed, voice wrecked with lust as he watched your lips stretch around his finger. “Getting it so nice and wet for your tight little ass.”

When you finally released his finger with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the glistening digit, Dylan wasted no time. His other hand kept guiding your hips in those slow, deep rolls on his cock, keeping you full and stretched around him.

He reached behind you, spreading your ass cheek with one hand while the spit-slick finger circled your puckered hole teasingly. Then, agonizingly slow, he started pushing in.

The thick tip of his finger breached the tight ring of muscle, sliding into your ass inch by inch. You gasped sharply, clenching hard around both his cock in your pussy and the invading finger.

“Shhh… easy, baby,” Dylan murmured soothingly against your neck, kissing and licking the marks he’d left there. “Just relax for me. Let me in… that’s it. Good girl.”

He worked the finger deeper, slow and careful, until it was buried knuckle-deep inside your ass. The feeling of being so completely full — his thick cock stretching your dripping pussy and now his finger filling your ass — made your head spin with overwhelming pleasure.

“Fuuuuck,” Dylan groaned loudly, forehead pressed to yours. His voice was raw, passionate, filthy. “You’re so fucking tight back here, baby. I can feel my cock through you… so warm and full. You’re taking me so perfectly.”

He started moving both in sync — guiding your hips to ride his cock in slow, deep strokes while his finger gently fucked in and out of your ass. The dual sensation had you whimpering and shaking on top of him, your juices dripping down his balls and onto the leather seat.

“You like being stuffed full like this, don’t you, wifey?” he whispered hotly against your mouth before kissing you deep and messy. “My cock in that greedy pussy and my finger in your tight little ass. I’m gonna make you cum so hard you forget your own name… then I’m taking you upstairs and doing this all over again in every position I can bend you into.”

His finger curled slightly inside you, pressing against the thin wall separating him from his cock, and you moaned loudly into his mouth, clenching around him like a vice.

Dylan’s control started to crack.

He thrust up harder, matching the pace of his finger in your ass with the deep strokes of his cock in your dripping pussy. Both movements quickened — faster, more insistent, perfectly synchronized so you felt completely stuffed and claimed from both holes at once.

“Fuck, yes… just like that, baby,” he growled, voice rough and breathless. His hips snapped up to meet yours while his finger fucked into your tight ass in the same rhythm, curling and pressing against that thin wall every time he bottomed out.

You were falling apart on top of him.

Your mouth fell open, drooling shamelessly down your chin and onto his shoulder as broken, filthy moans spilled out of you. “Dylan… oh my god—fuck—”

You buried your face in his neck, biting down hard on his shoulder through his shirt to muffle the loud cries that kept ripping out of you. Your teeth sank into him as pleasure overwhelmed every nerve in your body. Your pussy clenched violently around his thick cock, juices soaking his lap and the seat beneath you.

Dylan hissed at the bite but groaned in pure pleasure, his free hand gripping your ass harder, spreading you wider as he drove into you faster.

“That’s it, wifey… bite me, drool all over me,” he panted hotly against your ear, voice dripping with filthy pride. “Look at you, falling apart on my cock and my finger like a desperate little slut. You’re creaming so fucking much… I can hear how wet you are every time I thrust into this greedy pussy.”

He sped up even more, pounding up into you with deep, powerful strokes while his finger fucked your ass in perfect time. The wet, obscene sounds of skin slapping and your dripping arousal filled the car completely.

You moaned loudly into his shoulder, biting harder as your eyes rolled back. Tears of overwhelming pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes while you drooled uncontrollably, lost in the feeling of being so deliciously full and used by him.

Dylan kissed the side of your head, even as he fucked you harder, his voice thick with passion and lust.“You’re so fucking perfect… taking everything I give you. I love feeling you lose it like this. Cum for me, baby. I want to feel this tight cunt and this pretty ass squeezing me when you fall apart.”

His pace became relentless — fast, deep, and perfectly matched — driving you closer and closer to the edge with every thrust.

Dylan’s pace turned punishing — fast, deep, and relentless. His cock slammed up into your soaked pussy while his finger fucked your tight ass in perfect sync, stretching you open and hitting every sensitive spot inside you at once.

You couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your whole body tensed, thighs shaking violently around his hips. A broken, muffled scream tore from your throat as you bit down hard on his shoulder again. Your pussy clenched like a vice around his thick cock, fluttering and spasming uncontrollably.

You squirted — just a little, but enough. Hot, clear fluid gushed over his cock and balls, soaking his lap and the seat beneath you in messy, wet pulses.

“Fuuuuck—!” Dylan groaned loud and raw, eyes rolling back for a second as he felt your walls squeeze him impossibly tight, your squirt dripping all over him. The sudden, intense pressure and the wet heat pushed him over the edge with you.

“I’m cumming, baby— fuck, I’m cumming so hard,” he gasped, voice wrecked.

He buried himself as deep as possible, hips stuttering up into you as thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pulsing pussy. He kept thrusting through it, grinding deep while his finger stayed buried in your ass, drawing out every last wave of your orgasm. Your mixed juices and his cum leaked out around his cock, making everything even wetter and filthier.

You were shaking, drooling, and whimpering against his neck, tears of pure bliss slipping down your cheeks as the orgasm crashed through you like a storm. Dylan held you tight through it, groaning your name like a prayer, his cock twitching and pulsing inside you as he emptied himself completely.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the car were your heavy breathing and the wet drip of your combined release.

Dylan slowly pulled his finger out of your ass, then wrapped both arms around you, holding you close against his chest. He kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips — soft and reverent now, even as his cock was still buried deep inside your fluttering pussy.

“Jesus Christ, wifey…” he whispered breathlessly, voice full of awe and love. “You squirted all over me… felt so fucking good. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

The dim lights of the dive bar wrapped around the three of you like a familiar haze—low chatter, clinking glasses, and the faint smell of whiskey and worn leather.

Braeden leaned back in the booth, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, a half-empty beer bottle dangling from his fingers. Cole was mid-story, gesturing wildly about some ridiculous studio mishap, and Dylan was laughing so hard he nearly spilled his drink.

Braeden grinned, the kind of easy, genuine smile that only came out when he was with his boys. It had been a long week, and tonight felt like a much-needed reset.

His phone buzzed against his thigh. Once. Twice. He glanced down, the screen lighting up with your name.

> You: Babe I miss you already… the bed feels too big without you

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He typed back quickly, thumb moving across the screen without missing a beat in the conversation.

> Braeden: Miss you too pretty girl. I’ll be home soon, just wait for me

He hit send and slipped the phone back into his pocket, chuckling at something Dylan said. Another buzz. He didn’t pull it out right away.

> You: I can’t stop thinking about you… hurry home please?

Braeden’s jaw flexed just slightly, but his expression stayed casual as he took another sip of his beer.

Cole raised an eyebrow at him. “Everything good, man?”

“Yeah,” Braeden replied smoothly, voice low and relaxed. “Just her checking in. You know how it is.”

He finally glanced at the new message, heat already starting to pool low in his stomach. But he was enjoying the night—laughing, bullshitting, letting the stress of tour prep melt off his shoulders. He loved you more than anything, but right now the guys had him in a good mood and he wasn’t ready to cut the night short just yet.

> Braeden: Be patient for me baby. I’ll make it worth the wait when I get back. Promise.

He sent it with a little smirk, imagining your sweet, innocent face reading that text and probably thinking he just meant cuddles and kisses. You were too pure sometimes. It drove him fucking crazy in the best way.

The phone buzzed again almost immediately.

> You: Okay… I’ll try to stay awake for you ❤️

Braeden bit his lip, eyes darkening for just a second before he locked the screen and leaned forward to clink his bottle against Dylan’s. “Another round?” he asked, voice steady even as his mind was already drifting ahead—to you, warm and soft in his bed, waiting for him like the perfect little thing you were.

The night was still young, and so was his patience… for now.

The bar had gotten louder as the night stretched on. Empty bottles crowded the table, and the guys were deep into another round of stories—Cole recounting some chaotic tour moment while Dylan kept feeding him shots. Braeden was laughing along, but his phone had been burning a hole in his pocket for the last hour. Every buzz made his cock twitch under the table.

Then it rang.

Your name lit up the screen. He excused himself quickly, stepping outside into the cool night air where the noise dulled to a distant hum.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he answered, voice low and warm, a smirk already playing on his lips.

Your voice came through soft and sleepy, a little pouty. “Babe… don’t worry about me, okay? I’m gonna go to sleep now. You’re having fun with the boys, I don’t want to ruin your night.”

Braeden’s grip tightened on the phone. “No, baby. Don’t fall asleep yet.”

You let out a small, innocent laugh that went straight to his dick. “But I’m so tired… and the bed’s cold without you.”

He leaned against the brick wall, free hand running through his hair as he pictured you curled up in his sheets, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts. His voice dropped lower, rougher around the edges.

“Stay awake for me a little longer. I’m not done with you tonight.”

There was a pause on your end, then that sweet, teasing tone that always drove him wild. “Well then… you’ll have to think of a way to wake me up when you get home, won’t you?”

Braeden’s jaw clenched, heat flooding his body. His mind immediately went filthy—spreading your soft thighs while you slept, burying his face between them, licking and sucking until you woke up gasping his name. He had to adjust himself in his jeans right there on the sidewalk.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, almost a growl. “You have no idea what you just asked for. Be a good girl and stay in bed for me. I’ll be home soon… and I’ll wake you up real nice.”

You hummed sleepily, completely unaware of how hard he was getting just thinking about it. “Mmm… okay. Hurry though. Miss your mouth already.”

Braeden bit back a groan. “Yeah? You miss my tongue, pretty girl? Keep that thought warm for me.”

He stayed on the line a few more seconds, listening to your breathing, letting the dirty promise hang between you before finally hanging up with a quiet “I love you.”

When he walked back into the bar, Cole raised an eyebrow. “You good, man? You look… worked up.”

Braeden just smirked, grabbing his jacket. “Yeah. I’m heading out. See you guys later.”

The night with the boys was over. He had something much sweeter—and much wetter—waiting for him at home.

The drive back felt endless. Traffic in LA at this hour was a special kind of hell—red lights stretching on forever, horns blaring, while Braeden’s mind raced ahead of him. His cock had been half-hard the entire ride, pressing uncomfortably against his jeans every time he remembered your sleepy voice on the phone. “You’ll have to figure a way to wake me up…”

By the time he finally pulled into the parking spot under your building, he was throbbing. He took the stairs two at a time, keys already in hand, heart pounding with that dark, hungry anticipation.

The apartment was quiet and dark when he stepped inside, just the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the windows. Braeden kicked off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket, and made his way down the hall toward the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar.

He pushed it open slowly.

There you were.

Sprawled out on your stomach in the middle of the bed, completely naked, the sheets tangled around one leg. Your hair was messy across the pillow, and soft little snores escaped you—adorable, innocent, and so fucking tempting. The curve of your bare ass caught the low light, smooth and perfect. Your thighs were slightly parted, giving him just a glimpse of what he’d been craving all night.

Braeden’s breath caught. He stood there in the doorway for a long moment, just drinking you in, his cock now fully hard and straining in his pants.

Then he noticed it.

A little yellow post-it stuck right at eye level on the doorframe:

“you’ll have to figure a way to wake me up babe <3”

A low, filthy chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Oh, pretty girl… you really have no idea what you just signed up for.”

He stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His eyes never left your sleeping form as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, letting it drop to the floor. The room smelled like you—your lotion, your shampoo, that warm sleepy scent that always drove him insane. He could already imagine how wet you were going to get for him.

Braeden approached the bed, his gaze dark and predatory, tracing every inch of your naked body. His hand palmed his cock through his jeans, squeezing once to relieve some pressure. He was going to be so good to you… but first, he was going to savor this.

You stirred slightly in your sleep, letting out a soft, unconscious sigh and shifting your hips. The movement made your ass jiggle just a little.

Braeden licked his lips, voice barely a whisper in the dark room. “Such a good girl, waiting for me like this… all naked and ready.”

He climbed onto the bed carefully, the mattress dipping under his weight, but you were still out cold, snoring softly. His large hand hovered just above your lower back, not quite touching yet. The heat radiating from your skin made his mouth water.

“Fuck, look at you… all spread out for me like a needy little slut, pretty girl. You left me that note knowing exactly what I’d do, didn’t you?” He pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, savoring the warmth of your sleeping body. His breath was hot against your skin as he continued whispering, voice thick with lust.

“I’m gonna start by kissing every inch of you… wake this pretty body up nice and slow. Then I’m burying my face between your thighs and eating that sweet pussy until you’re soaking my tongue and begging me to fuck you awake.”

Another kiss, this one lower on your shoulder, teeth grazing lightly. His big hands finally made contact—rough palms sliding up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, squeezing the soft flesh of your hips. He groaned quietly against your skin, one hand moving down to grip your ass, spreading you just a little as he kneaded it possessively.

“You’re already getting wet for me, aren’t you baby? Even in your sleep… this greedy cunt knows who it belongs to.”

His mouth traveled lower, kissing and sucking along your shoulders and the top of your back, leaving faint marks. His hands roamed everywhere—cupping your tits from behind, rolling your nipples between his fingers until they hardened, then sliding down your stomach, teasing the sensitive skin just above your pussy but not quite touching yet.

You stirred slightly in your sleep, a soft whimper escaping your lips, but your eyes stayed closed, little snores still mixing with unconscious sighs. Braeden smirked against your skin, grinding his hard cock against your thigh through his jeans for a moment, letting you feel how fucking desperate he was.

“Gonna make you cum on my tongue first… then I’m sliding this thick cock so deep inside you, you’ll feel me for days. My good girl… my perfect fucking wife-to-be, waiting naked just so I could ruin her.”

He kissed the back of your neck again, slower this time, more passionate, while one hand dipped between your thighs, fingers brushing teasingly over your folds—feeling the slick heat already gathering there.

Braeden’s hands gripped your hips firmly as he slowly kissed his way down your body, lips trailing hot and wet along your spine. Each press of his mouth was deliberate—slow, open-mouthed kisses that left a glistening path from your shoulders all the way down the elegant curve of your back. He took his time, savoring every inch of your warm, sleeping skin, his breath coming heavier with every second.

When he reached the small of your back, right above that perfect ass, he paused. His eyes dropped lower.

Fuck.

Your pussy was already gushing. Even in your deep sleep, your body was reacting to him—slick, shiny arousal coating your folds and starting to drip slowly down your inner thighs. The sight made his cock jerk hard in his jeans, a low, filthy groan escaping his throat.

“Wow… you’re even a slut when you’re asleep, huh pretty girl?” he whispered, voice thick and dark with lust. “Look at this needy little cunt… gushing all over the sheets just from a few lingering touches. So fucking desperate for me even when you don’t know I’m here.”

He kissed lower, right at the base of your spine, then gently spread your thighs a little wider with both hands. His thumbs brushed the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, spreading the wetness that was leaking out of you. Another soft snore left your lips, completely unaware, but your hips twitched unconsciously, pushing back toward his touch like your body was begging for more.

Braeden licked his lips, eyes locked on your dripping pussy. “That’s my good girl… dripping like a filthy little whore for your man. You left that note knowing I’d come home and find you like this, didn’t you? Naked, snoring, and soaked.”

He leaned in closer, hot breath fanning over your exposed cunt as he placed one more slow, teasing kiss right above your ass. His fingers traced lightly along your slick folds, not pushing in yet—just feeling how wet and ready you already were, how your pussy fluttered at the lightest contact.“Gonna eat this pretty pussy now, baby… wake you up with my tongue buried deep inside you.”

Braeden settled between your spread thighs, his broad shoulders pushing your legs open wider as he lowered his face to your dripping pussy. The scent of you—sweet, musky, and so fucking needy—hit him hard, making his mouth water. He started slow, teasing, exactly like he promised.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss right at the bottom of your slit, lips brushing against your soaked entrance. Then another… and another… working his way up with gentle, wet little kisses all along your puffy folds. Each one made your slick coat his lips more.

“Mmm… fuck, baby,” he murmured against your cunt, voice vibrating through you. “So wet already. This greedy little pussy is weeping for me.”

He reached your clit and gave it a slow, reverent kiss—lips wrapping around the swollen bud gently, sucking just enough to pull it into his mouth before releasing it with a soft pop. Then another kiss. And another. Worshipping it.

You moaned in your sleep.

A sweet, breathy little sound that went straight to his aching cock. Your hips twitched unconsciously, pushing toward his face as another soft moan slipped from your lips. Your eyes stayed closed, soft snores mixing with the needy whimpers now leaving you, but your body was reacting beautifully—your pussy gushing fresh slick onto his tongue as he kept kissing and licking lazily along your slit.

“That’s it, pretty girl… moan for me even in your dreams,” Braeden groaned, his voice thick and filthy. “You’re such a dirty little slut for me, aren’t you? Snoring away while your cunt drips down my chin.”

He kissed your clit again, slower this time, letting his tongue flick out to trace tight circles around it before sucking it gently between his lips. Your moans grew a little louder, needier, your thighs trembling slightly around his head even though you were still deep in sleep.

Braeden’s hands gripped your ass, spreading you open more as he continued his slow, passionate assault—kissing, licking, and sucking your soaked folds and sensitive clit like he had all the time in the world. He was rock hard and leaking in his jeans, but right now this was all about waking his girl up the filthiest way possible.

Braeden couldn’t hold back any longer. The taste of you—sweet, slick, and dripping down his chin—was driving him fucking feral. With a low, hungry growl against your soaked cunt, he stopped teasing.

He devoured you.

His tongue plunged deep between your folds, licking a long, filthy stripe from your leaking entrance all the way up to your throbbing clit. He did it again, harder, more desperate, burying his face completely in your pussy like a starving man. His mouth worked you open with wet, obscene sounds—sucking, licking, and tongue-fucking your tight hole with long, greedy strokes.

“Fuck… that’s it, baby,” he groaned into your cunt, the vibration making your hips jerk. “Taste so fucking good even when you’re snoring for me.”

Your moans grew louder, needier, turning into breathy whimpers and soft cries in your sleep. Your body was betraying how much you needed him—your pussy gushing fresh wetness all over his tongue and lips as he ate you like he owned you. Braeden’s big hands gripped your ass cheeks hard, spreading you wider so he could bury his tongue even deeper, fucking you with it in steady, filthy thrusts while his nose rubbed against your swollen clit.

He pulled back just enough to spit on your pussy, watching the saliva mix with your juices before diving back in, sucking your clit into his mouth with hard, rhythmic pulls. His tongue flicked fast and relentless over the sensitive bundle of nerves, then flattened to lick broad stripes that had your thighs shaking around his head.

You were still mostly asleep, but your body was responding beautifully—hips grinding weakly against his face, soft little “ah… ah…” moans spilling from your lips, pussy clenching and fluttering around his tongue like it was begging for more.

Braeden was rock hard, painfully trapped in his jeans, leaking pre-cum as he humped the mattress once for relief. But he didn’t stop. He devoured you messily, passionately, hungrily—sucking, licking, and groaning praises into your dripping cunt like a man possessed.

“That’s my dirty girl… cumming on my tongue even in your dreams. Gonna wake you up soaking and screaming my name.”

Your eyes fluttered slowly, heavy with sleep, as pleasure dragged you out of the haze. Soft, needy moans spilled from your lips, louder now, no longer muffled by dreams. Your hips moved on their own—rolling and grinding lazily against Braeden’s face, chasing the relentless heat of his tongue.

Braeden groaned deeply into your soaked pussy, the sound vibrating straight through your core. He could feel you waking up, your movements becoming more intentional, your slick cunt pressing harder against his mouth as you rode his tongue in slow, sleepy circles.

“Mm… Brae?” you whispered, voice hoarse and confused with pleasure, still half-lost in sleep.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he gripped your hips tighter, holding you down against his face as he continued devouring you—tongue fucking deep into your dripping hole, lips sucking messily on your swollen clit. Your juices coated his chin and cheeks, the obscene wet sounds filling the dark room.

“Shhh… rest, pretty girl,” he murmured against your pussy, voice thick, low, and filthy. “Sleep. I’ll take care of you.”

You whimpered, eyes slipping closed again even as your body kept grinding on his face, hips rocking lazily, chasing the building pleasure. One of your hands fisted the sheets while the other reached back weakly, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

Braeden growled in approval, doubling down. He licked you harder, faster, alternating between tongue-fucking your tight cunt and sucking on your clit like it was his favorite meal. His hands spread your ass cheeks wider, thumbs teasing the sensitive skin around your entrance while he ate you with pure hunger.“That’s it, baby… use my face. Grind that needy little pussy on me while you’re still half-asleep. Such a dirty fucking girl for me.”

Your moans turned into soft cries, body trembling as you hovered between sleep and waking, helplessly riding his tongue, getting wetter with every filthy pass of his mouth.

Your body tensed suddenly, hips stuttering against Braeden’s hungry mouth as the pleasure crested hard. Even deep in that sleepy haze, your orgasm hit you like a slow, overwhelming wave.

You came while still mostly asleep.

A broken, whiny moan tore from your throat—“Brae… mmph…”—high and needy, your back arching sharply off the bed. Your pussy clenched and fluttered wildly around nothing, gushing fresh slick all over Braeden’s tongue and chin as your thighs shook around his head. Your hips jerked and ground messily against his face through every pulse, soft little whimpers and whines spilling continuously from your parted lips.

Braeden groaned loudly into your cunt, the vibration only prolonging it. But as you trembled and arched, he gentled his mouth instantly—switching to slow, soothing, worshipful licks. His tongue dragged flat and gentle over your pulsing clit, lapping up every drop of your release with tender, passionate strokes. No more devouring. Just soft, loving licks, kissing your swollen folds, drinking you down like you were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

“Fuck… that’s my good girl,” he whispered reverently against your dripping pussy, voice hoarse and thick with lust. “Cumming so pretty for me even in your sleep… look at you arching that back like a needy little slut. So fucking perfect.”

He kept licking you gently through the aftershocks, slow and careful, prolonging the pleasure without overwhelming your sensitive body. His hands stroked your thighs and hips soothingly, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin as you whimpered and twitched, slowly sinking back into the mattress. Your breathing was ragged, soft snores mixing with little after-moans, eyes still closed but your body glowing with release.

You hated hospitals. Not in the dramatic “I faint at the sight of blood” way, but in the “this place smells like anxiety and bad coffee” kind of way. Still, your new job had been very clear: routine blood panel and labs before your contract was finalized. So here you were, walking through the sliding glass doors of Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital on a suspiciously sunny Seattle morning, clutching your paperwork like it was a shield.

Your heels clicked against the polished floor as you approached the reception desk. The waiting area was already packed with the usual chaos—nurses rushing, pagers beeping, and someone coughing dramatically in the corner. You smoothed down your blouse and tried to look like a functioning adult.

“Hi,” you said to the receptionist with a polite smile. “I’m here for outpatient labs? I have an order from my employer.”

The woman barely looked up as she typed. “Third floor, Lab Wing. Take a left after the elevators. Someone should be there to help you.”

“Great. Thank you,” you replied, already feeling a little out of place in your civilian clothes among all the scrubs.

Meanwhile, two floors up in the attending lounge, Dr. Andrew DeLuca was not having a good morning.

“Bailey, this is cruel and unusual punishment,” he complained, arms crossed dramatically as he followed his boss around the room. “I’m a trauma surgeon. I save lives. I don’t take blood from little old ladies who pinch my arm and call me ‘sweetie’ every five seconds.”

Miranda Bailey didn’t even slow down as she gathered her files. “You disrespected my OR schedule last week, DeLuca. Consider this character building.”

“Character building?” he repeated, Italian accent thickening with indignation. “I’m stuck in the lab drawing tubes while actual surgeries are happening! This is a waste of my very talented hands!”

Bailey finally turned, raising one sharp eyebrow. “Those ‘very talented hands’ are going to be taking blood samples all day. And you’re going to smile, be professional, and not scare the patients. Understood?”

DeLuca groaned, running a hand through his messy curls. “This is going to be the longest day of my life.”

Little did he know… his day was about to get a lot more interesting.

You had just sat down in the small, brightly lit lab room when the door opened. A tall, ridiculously handsome doctor with messy dark curls and bright eyes walked in, adjusting his white coat like he was being forced to wear it at gunpoint.

He froze the second he saw you.

You offered a polite smile. “Hi… I’m here for routine bloodwork?”

Andrew DeLuca stared at you for half a second too long, his brain short-circuiting. “Mierda,” he thought. You were stunning. Way too stunning for fluorescent lighting and plastic chairs. He cleared his throat and tried to sound professional.

“Buongiorno,” he said, voice a little rougher than usual. Then, under his breath as he turned toward the supplies tray, he muttered, “I didn’t study to be a gynecologist… but fuck, I wish I had right now.”

You blinked. “Sorry… what did you say?”

DeLuca spun around quickly, eyes wide. “Nothing! I said… uh… I’m waiting for the gynecologist to bring me something. Different rotation stuff. Not important.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m not here for gynecology. Just regular blood samples. My company needs labs done.”

He nodded a little too fast, pulling on gloves while his brain kept betraying him. As he reached for the tourniquet, another unfiltered thought slipped out loud in a low whisper:

“No… io sì che ti farei il Pap test con la lingua…”

Your head tilted. “Excuse me? What did you say?”

Andrew’s face went bright red. He coughed violently into his elbow, pretending to check the labels on the tubes.“Nothing! I said… today I have a Pap smear scheduled and… a tongue mucosa sample. Very important. Scientific. For… research.”

You stared at him, lips twitching with the effort not to laugh. This very attractive doctor was clearly malfunctioning in front of you, and it was the funniest thing you’d seen all week.

He rubbed the back of his neck, giving you a sheepish, crooked smile that made your stomach do a little flip.

“Okay,” he said, trying to recover. “Let’s start over. I’m Dr. Andrew DeLuca. And you are…?”

DeLuca cleared his throat again, trying to regain some professionalism after his earlier brain farts. He gestured toward the chair beside the blood draw station.

“Alright, let’s do this properly,” he said, flashing that charming half-smile. “Could you roll up your sleeve and show me your arm, please?”

You nodded and slid your sleeve up, extending your arm toward him. He sat on the stool in front of you, closer than necessary, and gently wrapped the blue tourniquet around your upper arm. His fingers were warm and careful as he tightened it, his touch lingering just a second longer than strictly professional.

Then he leaned in, studying your veins with exaggerated focus.

“Wow…” he murmured, almost reverently. “Seriously, these are the most beautiful veins I’ve ever seen. Textbook perfect. Like they belong in an anatomy book with a golden star next to them.”

You let out a surprised laugh, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Wow. What a medical compliment,” you teased, tilting your head. “Are all doctors this flirty with their patients, Dr. DeLuca?”

He looked up at you, those bright eyes sparkling with mischief and a hint of genuine nervousness. A slow, crooked grin spread across his face as he swabbed the inside of your elbow with alcohol.

“Well… I don’t know if all doctors are like this,” he admitted, his Italian accent wrapping around every word, “but this is the first time I’ve had the privilege of attending to a patient as beautiful as you.”

The words hung in the air, sweet and cheesy and completely sincere. Your cheeks warmed despite yourself. This man was ridiculous — and ridiculously cute.

He picked up the needle, but paused, glancing back at your face instead of your arm.

“I’m going to be gentle, okay?” he said softly. “Tell me if it hurts.”

DeLuca kept his eyes on the vials as the dark red blood flowed steadily into the first tube. His hands were incredibly steady, precise, and gentle — nothing like the usual rough jabs you’d gotten in the past from other nurses. You couldn’t help but notice.

“So,” he started, his voice warm and playful while he swapped to the second tube without you even feeling it, “what brings a beautiful civilian like you to Grey Sloan today? Please don’t tell me you’re actually sick. My ego couldn’t handle it if I’m flirting with someone who’s about to be admitted.”

You laughed softly, trying not to stare too obviously at his face. But fuck… he was stupidly handsome up close. Those messy curls falling over his forehead, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the light scruff along his jaw. And the way he was so focused on making this as painless as possible? Dangerous.

“Not sick,” you replied, biting your lip. “Just routine bloodwork for my job. They’re very strict about it.”

“Good,” he said, glancing up at you with a bright, genuine smile. “I’d hate for this to be the last time I see you.”

He was smooth. Too smooth. But it didn’t feel sleazy — it felt attentive. He kept checking your face to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable, adjusting the angle of your arm slightly with careful fingers.

“You’re really good at this,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Most people make it hurt more.”

DeLuca chuckled, that rich Italian accent wrapping around you like warm honey. “Years of practice. Though I have to say… having such a lovely distraction makes it easier to focus.” He winked. “Or harder. Depends how you look at it.”

You felt your stomach do a full gymnastics routine. This man was charming without even trying. Every little thing — the way he held your arm like it was something delicate, how he kept the conversation light and fun, the little smiles he kept throwing your way — it was working. You were falling. Hard. And fast.

He finished the last tube and gently removed the needle, pressing a cotton ball to your arm with the softest pressure.

“There. All done,” he said, but he didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he looked straight into your eyes. “So… I know this is probably the worst timing in the world, but if I let you walk out of here without asking… I’m going to regret it all day.”

He paused, giving you that crooked, boyish grin again.“Would you let me take you out for coffee? Or dinner? Or… honestly, I’ll take anything. Even hospital cafeteria coffee if you’re feeling brave.”

Your heart was doing cartwheels.

You stared at him for a second, a surprised little laugh escaping your lips. This doctor was something else.

“Wow… you’re really direct, huh?” you said, raising an eyebrow with a playful smile. “You don’t miss a single shot, do you, Dr. DeLuca?”

He let out a soft, embarrassed chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck, looking adorably flustered for a second. The confident flirt from moments ago cracked just enough to show the nervous guy underneath.

“Sorry if that was too much,” he said quickly, his Italian accent thickening with sincerity. “But I had to shoot my shot. You walked in here looking like that and… well, I figured if I let you leave without asking, I’d be kicking myself for the rest of my lab shift.”

You bit your lip, feeling butterflies explode in your stomach. He was still gently pressing the cotton ball against your arm, even though the bleeding had stopped minutes ago. His eyes kept flicking between your face and your arm, like he didn’t want to stop touching you just yet.

You tilted your head, smiling.

“Well… tell me what you have in mind then,” you replied, voice lighter and a little flirty. “If I’m going to say yes, I need to know what kind of trouble I’m getting into.”

DeLuca’s face lit up like you’d just handed him the best Christmas present ever. His grin was wide, bright, and dangerously charming.

“Coffee,” he said immediately. “Tomorrow morning before my shift? There’s this little Italian place two blocks from the hospital that makes the best cappuccino outside of Italy. Or if you prefer something less intense, we can do lunch. Or dinner. Or… honestly, I’m free whenever you are. I’ll even bring pastries.”

He paused, then added with a wink, “And I promise I won’t talk about your veins the whole time… unless you want me to.”

You couldn’t stop smiling. This was the most fun you’d had in a hospital, ever.

You pulled out your phone from your bag, feeling a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. DeLuca watched you with hopeful eyes, still sitting way too close on that little stool.

“Here,” you said, handing him your phone with a small smile. “Put your number in. I’m free tomorrow morning, so… coffee sounds nice.”

His face broke into the brightest grin you’d seen yet. He typed his number quickly, then sent himself a text so he’d have yours too. When he handed the phone back, his fingers brushed against yours on purpose.

“Thank you,” he said softly, genuinely happy. “You just made this terrible lab rotation the best one I’ve ever had.”

You tucked your phone away, then tilted your head, letting a playful smirk cross your lips.

“I noticed your accent, by the way. Italian, right?” You paused, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve heard Italians have a certain… reputation. Something about being the best lovers in the world. Is that just tourist propaganda, or should I be worried about accepting this coffee date?”

DeLuca let out a low, warm laugh, the sound rich and charming. Without hesitation, he gently took your hand — the one he’d just drawn blood from — and brought it to his lips. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of it, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’d be more than happy to prove the reputation is well-deserved,” he murmured against your skin, voice dropping a little. “But only if you let me. Starting with coffee… and seeing where the day takes us.”

Your heart did a full somersault. The way he looked at you — equal parts flirty and sweet — made it impossible not to smile like an idiot.

He finally let go of your hand, but not before giving it one last gentle squeeze.

The plates were nearly empty, the low lighting in Braeden’s apartment casting a warm, golden glow over the wooden table. You’d both taken your time with dinner pasta, a little wine, easy conversation that had slowly grown more charged as the night went on. Braeden leaned back in his chair, his long fingers lazily tracing the rim of his wine glass. His eyes, dark and playful, stayed locked on you with that signature half-smirk that always made your stomach flip.

He let the comfortable silence stretch for a moment before tilting his head, voice low and smooth.

“So… I’ve been thinking,” he started, his tone casual but carrying that unmistakable edge. “Have you ever played strip poker?”

You blinked, a small surprised laugh escaping your lips as you set your fork down. The question hung in the air between you, electric.

“Strip poker?” you repeated, eyebrows raised. “I’ve heard of it, obviously. But no… I’ve never actually played.”

Braeden’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, gaze dragging over you like he was already imagining how the night was going to unfold.

“Never?” he asked, voice dropping an octave, husky with interest. “Not even once? Not even some drunk college version?”

You shook your head, feeling heat creep up your neck under the intensity of his stare. “Nope. Never.”

He hummed softly, biting his lower lip for a second as his eyes flickered with clear hunger. The air between you felt thicker now, heavier with promise.“Well then…” murmured, his fingers drumming once against the table. “Maybe tonight we fix that.”

Braeden chuckled softly at your answer, the sound low and warm in his chest. He pushed his chair back and stood up, walking over to the drawer in the living room cabinet. You watched the way his black t-shirt stretched across his shoulders as he reached inside and pulled out a brand new deck of cards, still sealed.

He came back to the table, ripping the plastic off with his teeth before shuffling the deck with practiced, elegant hands. The cards flew smoothly between his fingers as he sat down again, closer this time, his knee brushing against yours under the table.

“Alright,” he said, voice calm and deep, eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll explain it properly so there’s no confusion.”

He dealt a few cards face up on the table to demonstrate, his tone steady but laced with heat.“Five-card draw. We each get five cards. After the deal, you can choose to discard up to three and I’ll give you new ones. Best hand wins the round. Nothing wild — just standard poker rankings: high card, pair, two pair, three of a kind, straight, flush, full house, four of a kind, straight flush. We’ll play multiple rounds.”

Braeden’s gaze dropped slowly to your lips, then back up.“Every time you lose a round, you take off one piece of clothing. Shoes and socks count. We keep going until someone’s naked… or until we decide we’re done with the cards.”

He leaned in a little closer, elbows on the table, the corner of his mouth lifting.“And here’s my rule. The person who loses the most rounds by the end has to do whatever the winner wants for the rest of the night. No limits. No backing out.”

His eyes darkened, voice dropping even lower, almost a murmur.“So… you still want to play?”

You felt your pulse quicken under his intense stare, the new rule hanging heavy in the air between you. A slow, wicked smile curved your lips as you held his gaze.“Yeah,” you said, voice soft but certain. “I want to play.”

The second the words left your mouth, Braeden’s eyes flashed with raw hunger. Without a word, he stood up, pushed his chair back, and rounded the table in one smooth motion. His hands slid under your thighs and he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you toward the open living room floor.

You let out a surprised laugh, your arms looping around his neck. The way he held you — strong, confident, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment — made heat flood straight between your legs.

He lowered you gently onto the soft rug in the middle of the living room, kneeling with you so your back met the floor while he hovered above, his body caging yours. The cards and the rest of the wine were forgotten on the dining table behind you.

“Wow…” you breathed, half-laughing, half-aroused as you looked up at him. “We’re really going all in, huh?”

Braeden smirked down at you, his dark hair falling slightly over his eyes. He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice low and filthy.“Oh, baby… you have no idea how all in we’re about to get.”

His hand slid slowly up your thigh, squeezing possessively as he pulled back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide with want.“Still sure you want to play?”

You didn’t even let him finish the question.

You pulled him down by the back of his neck and kissed him hard, hungry, tongues sliding together instantly. Braeden groaned into your mouth, the sound deep and rough as he kissed you back like he wanted to devour you right there on the rug. His body pressed heavier between your legs, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to leave marks.

After a few heated seconds he forced himself to pull back, breathing ragged, lips wet and slightly swollen.

“Fuck… baby, wait,” he murmured, voice husky and strained. “Let me start the game or we’re never actually gonna play.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, still dazed from the kiss. Braeden sat up on his knees, adjusting the obvious bulge in his pants without shame before grabbing the deck from the table. He dealt five cards to each of you right there on the floor, the cards sliding smoothly across the rug.

His eyes kept flicking back to you — dark, filthy, full of promise — as he picked up his own hand.“Five cards. Discard what you don’t want,” he said, voice low. “Then we show.”

He watched you like a predator while you looked at your cards, that dangerous little smirk playing on his lips again.“Your move, princess.”

You stared at your cards, eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. None of it made much sense — you knew the basic idea of poker, but the actual combinations felt like a blur. You shifted on the rug, biting your lip as you tried to figure out what the hell you were supposed to do.

Braeden watched you with dark, amused eyes, his smirk growing wider the longer you struggled.

“Having a little trouble there, baby?” he asked, voice low and teasing. He glanced at his own hand, then back at you. “Don’t worry. Since it’s your first round and you’ve never played… I’ll go easy on you this time.”

Without breaking eye contact, Braeden reached behind his neck, grabbed the collar of his black t-shirt, and pulled it off in one smooth motion. His toned chest and stomach were exposed, the soft lighting catching on the light sheen of sweat already starting to form on his skin. He tossed the shirt aside carelessly.

Your mouth went a little dry at the sight.

“But…” he continued, leaning forward on his hands, voice dropping into that filthy register again, “for the next round, we’re doubling it. Loser takes off two pieces instead of one. You good with that?”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting, his bare shoulders flexing slightly as he shifted closer to you on the rug. The heat in his gaze made it very clear he was already imagining you losing the next hand.

The next few rounds went by fast, and the cards were not on your side.

Braeden’s smirk only grew darker with every hand he won. You lost the second round, then the third, then the fourth. Each loss made your cheeks burn hotter as you peeled off piece after piece under his hungry stare.

First your socks.

Then your shirt, revealing your bra.

Then your jeans, sliding slowly down your legs while Braeden’s eyes followed every inch like he wanted to bite them.

Then your bra, your tits spilling free into the cool air of the apartment, nipples already hard from the tension and his gaze.

By the fifth round you were down to just your panties — a thin, black lace pair that was already damp. You sat there on the rug, knees pressed together, almost completely naked while Braeden still had his pants on, looking far too composed and dangerously turned on.

He leaned back on one hand, slowly licking his bottom lip as his eyes dragged over your bare body like he was memorizing it.

“Fuck, look at you…” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “Losing this bad already, baby? You’re making it way too easy for me.”

He dealt the next hand, but his attention was barely on the cards anymore. His free hand reached out, fingertips lightly tracing up your bare thigh, stopping just before he reached the edge of your panties.

“You’ve only got one piece left,” he said lowly, eyes locked on yours. “If you lose this round… those pretty little panties come off. And then you’re all mine.”

His voice dropped even lower, filthy and promising.

“And I’ve been waiting to see how wet that pussy is for me.”

You swallowed hard, heart hammering in your chest as you sat there practically naked on the rug, the cool air brushing over your exposed skin. Braeden’s fingers were still teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you were already soaked.

“Not now,” you said breathlessly, catching his wrist before he could push further. Your voice came out softer than you meant, but you held his gaze. “You said… whoever loses the most rounds has to do whatever the winner wants for the rest of the night. Remember?”

Braeden paused, tilting his head as a slow, filthy grin spread across his face. He let out a low, dark chuckle, eyes gleaming with pure lust as he looked you up and down — your tits out, nipples tight, thighs pressed together, only that tiny black lace covering your pussy.

“Oh, I remember,” he murmured, voice rough and dripping with hunger. He leaned in closer, his bare chest almost brushing against your breasts. “So you’re really trying to lose on purpose now, huh?”

He licked his lips slowly, gaze dropping to your mouth before coming back up.“Wow… you really love sucking my cock that much, baby?”

His words were low, dirty, and unfiltered, sending a fresh wave of heat straight to your core. He cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he smirked.“Because if you keep losing like this… that’s exactly what you’re gonna be doing. On your knees, choking on me while I tell you how pretty you look with my dick down your throat.”

He leaned in and bit your lower lip gently, voice barely above a whisper.“Still wanna keep playing… or are you ready to admit you want to lose?”

You looked up at him, cheeks burning, pussy throbbing from his filthy words. There was no point pretending anymore.“Yeah… I admit it,” you whispered, voice shaky with arousal. “I lost on purpose.”

Braeden’s eyes darkened instantly, a low, hungry groan rumbling in his chest. That confession seemed to flip a switch in him.

“Fuck, baby…” he muttered, voice thick with lust.

Before he could say anything else, you moved forward on your knees, hands greedy and eager. You grabbed the waistband of his pants and tugged them down hard, taking his boxer briefs with them in one pull. His hard cock sprang free, thick, heavy, and already leaking at the tip. It bobbed right in front of your face, veins pulsing, the head flushed and glossy.

You wrapped your fingers around the base, feeling how hot and heavy he was. Braeden hissed through his teeth, hips twitching forward instinctively.

“Look at you…” he breathed, one hand sliding into your hair, gripping it firmly but not pulling yet. “So fucking desperate to choke on my cock that you threw the whole game.”

He watched with dark, blown-out eyes as you stroked him slowly, your other hand resting on his toned thigh. His pants and boxers were bunched around his ankles, but he didn’t bother kicking them off.

“You wanted this so bad, didn’t you?” he groaned, thumb brushing your cheek. “Admit it again while you’re on your knees like a good little slut for me.”

You didn’t hesitate.

Still on your knees, you leaned forward and dragged your tongue slowly across the swollen tip of his cock in soft, teasing kitten licks. You swirled around the head, tasting the salty precum that was leaking steadily for you, eyes looking up at him the whole time.

Braeden groaned deeply, his grip tightening in your hair as he watched you.“Fuuuck… that’s it, baby,” he praised, voice rough and low. “Look at you, being such a good little cockslut already. Those pretty kitten licks… so fucking cute and filthy at the same time.”

He let out a shaky breath when you licked a slow stripe right under the head, right where he was most sensitive.

“Yeah? You love tasting me, don’t you?” he murmured, mixing praise with that dark edge. “My sweet girl on her knees licking my dick like a desperate little whore. So pretty with your tongue out like that… but we both know you can do better than just teasing, can’t you?”

Braeden’s hand guided your head a little closer, not forcing you, but clearly impatient.“Keep going, princess. Lick every fucking drop like the needy cumslut you are. You threw the game just so you could worship this cock… now show me how much you fucking love it.”

His words sent heat flooding through your body as you continued those soft, wet kitten licks, swirling your tongue around his throbbing tip while he watched you with dark, hooded eyes.

You didn’t wait any longer.

With your eyes locked on his, you parted your lips and took Braeden’s thick cock into your mouth, sliding down slowly until the head hit the back of your throat. He let out a deep, guttural groan, his fingers tightening in your hair as wet heat enveloped him.

“Shit… just like that, baby,” he growled, voice hoarse with pleasure. “Fuck, your mouth feels so good. Warm, wet little slut taking me so deep already.”

You started bobbing your head, sucking him with sloppy, eager strokes — hollowing your cheeks on the way up, swirling your tongue around the underside on the way down. Obscene wet sounds filled the living room as you worked him faster, spit already dripping down his shaft and onto your chin.

Braeden’s hips bucked slightly, pushing a little deeper into your throat every few thrusts.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised breathlessly, looking down at you with dark, lust-drunk eyes. “Sucking my cock like you were fucking born for it. Look at you — on your knees, tits out, choking on every inch like a desperate cumslut.”

He groaned louder when you relaxed your throat and took him even deeper, nose brushing against his pelvis.“Fuuuck, yes… just like that. You threw the game just so you could swallow my dick, didn’t you? Such a nasty, cock-hungry little whore for me.”

His hand guided your rhythm, not too rough but firm, fucking your mouth with controlled thrusts while you moaned around him, the vibrations making his thighs tense.“You’re doing so fucking good, baby… keep sucking just like that and I might reward that pretty throat.”

Braeden’s breathing grew ragged, his grip in your hair tightening as you sucked him harder, faster, taking him deep into your throat with wet, filthy sounds. Spit ran down your chin and dripped onto your bare tits while you moaned around his thick cock, eyes watering but never breaking eye contact.

“Fuck— baby, I’m close,” he groaned, voice wrecked and deep. “You’re gonna make me cum so fucking hard…”

He pulled you off his cock with a wet pop, stroking himself fast with one hand while the other kept your head in place. His eyes were dark, pupils blown as he looked down at your messy, eager face.

“Open your mouth. Tongue out,” he ordered, breathing heavy.

You obeyed instantly, sticking your tongue out like a good little slut, eyes locked on his as he pumped his slick cock right in front of you.

“That’s it… my pretty cumslut,” he growled, voice shaking with pleasure. “Gonna paint that beautiful face. Fuck—”

With a deep, broken moan, Braeden came hard.

Thick ropes of hot cum shot across your face — landing on your tongue, your cheeks, your lips, and dripping down your chin. He kept stroking himself through it, milking every last drop onto your skin while groaning your name under his breath. Some of it landed on your tits, sliding down slowly over your hard nipples.

You stayed there on your knees, breathing hard, face covered in his cum, looking up at him with hazy, satisfied eyes.

Braeden stared down at you for a long moment, chest heaving, then let out a low, possessive chuckle. He ran his thumb across your bottom lip, smearing his cum a little more.

“Fuck… look at you,” he murmured, voice soft but still filthy. “All messy and pretty with my load all over your face. Such a good girl for me.”

He leaned down and kissed you deep, tasting himself on your tongue, before pulling back with a dark smirk.

The city hummed faintly outside the window of Dylan’s apartment, a low, distant sound that made the silence inside feel even warmer. You were tangled in his sheets, legs loosely intertwined with his, your head resting on his chest while his fingers traced slow, lazy circles along your spine. The room smelled like him faint cologne, clean laundry, and the candle you’d lit earlier.

Dylan’s lips brushed yours again, gentle and unhurried. The kiss was soft, almost reverent. He tasted like the mint tea you’d shared after dinner, and every time he pulled back just slightly to look at you, his blue eyes were full of that quiet, patient affection that still made your stomach flutter.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispered against your mouth, voice low and warm. His hand slid from your back to your waist, then lower, cupping the curve of your hip with careful fingers. “I could kiss you for hours.”

You smiled into the kiss, letting yourself melt a little more against him. Your fingers played with the soft hair at the nape of his neck as you deepened the kiss, tongues brushing lazily. It felt safe. It felt good.

Until you felt it.

The hard press of him against your thigh, unmistakable even through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. His breathing had grown heavier, more ragged. And then his hand moved — sliding down to grip the back of your thigh, pulling you closer with a low, appreciative hum against your lips.

Your body locked up instantly.

The warmth in your chest turned to ice. Your breath caught sharply in your throat. For a split second you were no longer in Dylan’s soft bed. You were somewhere else rough hands, demanding grips, pain disguised as passion.

The memory hit like static, ugly and fast, even if you tried to push it away.

You froze completely, lips still pressed to his but no longer moving. Your hand tightened on his shoulder, not in desire, but in sudden tension.

Dylan noticed immediately. He pulled back just enough to see your face, his hand instantly loosening on your thigh.

“Hey… baby?” His voice was soft, concerned. Those gentle blue eyes searched yours, brows slightly furrowed. “You okay?”

Dylan’s hand froze the second he felt you go rigid in his arms. His blue eyes widened with immediate worry, the gentle warmth in them shifting to soft concern as he pulled back a little more, giving you space without fully letting go.

“Hey, hey… talk to me,” he murmured, voice low and careful, like he was approaching a scared animal. “Did I do something wrong? We can stop. We don’t have to—”

The pressure of his fingers still lingering on your thigh — even though it was light — sent panic exploding through your chest. Your heart hammered violently against your ribs. Suddenly the sheets felt too heavy, the room too small, and Dylan’s body against yours too much like his. The ghost of rough hands, bruising grips, and words that cut deeper than any slap flashed through your mind in ugly fragments.

“Don’t touch me!” you shouted, voice cracking sharply as you shoved at his chest with both hands. The movement was harder than you meant it to be. “Get off— don’t fucking touch me!”

Dylan recoiled instantly, sitting up and pulling his hands away like he’d been burned. His face went pale, eyes wide with shock and hurt, but mostly worry. He raised both hands in surrender, scooting back on the bed to give you room.

“Okay— okay, I’m not touching you. I’m right here, baby. I’m not moving,” he said quickly, voice steady even though you could hear the fear in it. “Breathe. Just breathe for me, please.”

But you couldn’t. Your lungs felt tight, like someone was squeezing them. You scrambled backward until your back hit the headboard, pulling your knees up to your chest. Tears burned hot behind your eyes and then spilled over without warning. Your whole body started shaking uncontrollably as the memories clawed their way up — the way your ex would ignore “no,” the way pleasure was always mixed with pain, the way you learned to dissociate just to survive it.

“I’m sorry— I’m so sorry,” you choked out between sobs, burying your face in your arms. “I didn’t mean to yell… I just— I can’t. I can’t do this. It feels like him again and I hate it. I hate that he still gets to ruin this—”

Your voice broke into ugly, gasping cries. The kind that hurt your throat. You rocked slightly, trying to hold yourself together, but the breakdown was already swallowing you whole.

Dylan stayed exactly where he was, hands still up, eyes glassy with his own worry and helplessness. His voice was soft, almost broken.

“Shh… you don’t have to apologize. Not to me. Ever.” He swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to reach for you. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. When you’re ready… I’ll be right here.”

Dylan didn’t move for what felt like forever. He stayed exactly where he was — sitting a respectful distance away on the bed, hands still slightly raised so you could see he wasn’t going to reach for you without permission. His blue eyes were full of worry, but there was no anger, no frustration… only that deep, quiet care that always seemed to wrap around you like a blanket.

Your sobs kept coming, ugly and raw, shaking your whole frame. You hated how small you felt. How broken.

Eventually, Dylan spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.“Can I come closer, baby? I won’t touch you unless you say yes. I just… I hate seeing you hurt like this and not being able to hold you.”

You hesitated, tears still streaming down your cheeks, but you gave a tiny, shaky nod.

The second you did, Dylan moved slowly, carefully. He slid across the bed until he was right beside you, then opened his arms without pulling you in. He waited. When you leaned toward him, he gently wrapped you up, one arm around your back, the other cradling the back of your head as he tucked you against his chest. His heartbeat was steady under your ear — a little fast from worry, but strong and safe.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair, pressing the softest kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve got you, okay? Let it out. Cry as much as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back — never too low, never demanding. Just comfort. Just presence. You clung to his shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric as another wave of sobs hit you. He held you tighter, rocking you gently like you were something precious and fragile.

After a few long minutes, when your crying had quieted into shaky breaths, you whispered against his chest, voice hoarse and terrified“Dylan… I want to tell you. About why I… why I reacted like that. But I’m scared. I’m so scared of how you’re gonna look at me after.”

His arms tightened around you protectively, but his voice stayed gentle, warm, and steady.“Hey… look at me for a second?”

You lifted your tear-streaked face. His eyes were soft, a little glassy, but full of nothing but love and patience.“Nothing you tell me is going to make me love you less. Nothing. You don’t have to tell me tonight if you’re not ready. But if you want to… I’m listening. And I promise I’ll stay right here holding you the whole time. You’re safe with me. Always.”

You swallowed hard, heart still racing, but the warmth of his body and the sincerity in his voice made something inside your chest crack open just a little more.

“I… I want to tell you,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Just… don’t let go of me, okay?”

“I won’t,” he said softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve got you, baby. As long as you need.”

You stayed curled against Dylan’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, one hand still rubbing those slow, comforting circles on your back. His heartbeat was the only steady thing in the room. You took a shaky breath, fingers gripping his shirt tighter.

“I… I was with someone before you,” you started, voice barely above a whisper. “For almost two years. At first it seemed okay, but then… he changed. He got violent. Not just yelling. He would grab me hard enough to leave bruises. Throw things. Push me around.”

Dylan’s body tensed beneath you, but he didn’t interrupt. His hand never stopped its gentle motion.

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out even though they burned.

“And the sex… it was the worst part.” Your voice cracked. “He was so rough. Always. No matter how many times I told him it hurt, or asked him to slow down, or said I wasn’t ready. He didn’t care. It felt like he wanted it to hurt. He’d hold me down, choke me too hard, ignore me when I cried. Sometimes I just… dissociated. I’d leave my body because it was the only way to survive it. It wasn’t love. It was just pain.”

Tears started falling again, hot and silent against his shirt.

“I want this with you, Dylan. I want you. I want to feel close to you like that. I want to make you feel good and I want you to make me feel good… but every time things start heating up, my body panics. My mind goes back there. I get scared that it’s going to hurt again. That I’m going to feel trapped. I hate it. I hate that he broke me like this and now I’m ruining this beautiful thing with you—” Your voice dissolved into quiet sobs again.

Dylan held you closer, pressing soft kisses to the top of your head, your temple, anywhere he could reach without letting go. His voice was low, rough with emotion, but incredibly gentle.

“Baby… listen to me,” he whispered, his hand carefully cupping the back of your neck. “You’re not ruining anything. Not even close. I’m so sorry you went through that. No one should ever treat you like that. Especially not someone who was supposed to love you. It makes me fucking angry that he hurt you… but that anger isn’t for you. It’s for him.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears.“You’re not broken. You’re surviving. And the fact that you trust me enough to tell me this… it means everything. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Ever. If sex is scary right now, then we wait. We take it slow. We kiss. We cuddle. We touch only when it feels good for you. And if you never want to go further, that’s okay too. I’m with you, not just your body.”

He rested his forehead against yours, eyes soft and full of love.“I want you to feel safe with me. Completely safe. So we go at your pace. Always. Okay?”

You nodded weakly, still trembling, but the weight on your chest felt a little lighter now that the words were out.

“Baby… look at me,” he whispered.

You lifted your eyes to his. Those blue eyes were warm, patient, and full of so much love it almost hurt.

“I’m never going to pressure you, my love. Not ever,” he said softly, his voice steady and sincere. “If we never have sex, that’s okay. If we wait six months, a year, five years… it’s still okay. Because I didn’t fall in love with you for your body. I fell in love with you. With the way you laugh at my stupid jokes, the way you steal my hoodies, the way you make me feel calm even when the world is loud. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy. That’s what matters most to me.”

You felt your chest tighten again, but this time it wasn’t just fear.

“That’s the problem, Dyl…” you whispered, voice shaky and small. “I do want to. I want to be close to you like that. I want to feel you and make you feel good and finally have something beautiful instead of what I had before. But I’m so scared. What if I freeze in the middle? What if everything comes rushing back and I ruin the moment? What if I panic again and you get tired of dealing with all my broken pieces?”

Your voice cracked on the last words.

Dylan’s arms tightened around you protectively. He gently tilted your chin up so you couldn’t look away.

“Hey… none of that,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours in the softest way. “You’re not broken. You’re healing. And if you freeze, we stop. If it comes back, we stop. We breathe. We talk. We cuddle. There is no ‘ruining the moment’ with me, okay? This isn’t a performance. It’s us. And I’m never going to get tired of taking care of you. Never.”

He kissed the tip of your nose, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth — all feather-light and full of affection. “We can take it one step at a time. Kissing. Touching over clothes. Under clothes. Whatever feels good. And the second anything feels scary, you tell me and we stop. No questions. No disappointment. Just love.”

He rested his forehead against yours again, eyes closed.“I’ve got you. Always.”

His hands cradled your face with so much tenderness it made your chest ache. After a long, quiet moment, he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his voice low and soft.

“Can I… kiss you, baby?” he whispered. “Just kiss you. Nothing more unless you say so.”

Your heart fluttered. Even after everything you’d told him, he was still asking. Still checking.

You nodded, barely audible. “Yes.”

The smile he gave you was small, warm, and full of love. “Thank you.”

He leaned in slowly, giving you time, and pressed his lips to yours — incredibly soft, almost reverent. The kiss was sweet, unhurried, like he was pouring every ounce of care into it. His mouth moved gently against yours, warm and patient, tasting like comfort and safety. One of his hands slid into your hair, fingers threading through it delicately while the other stayed on your waist, holding you but never trapping you.

You melted into it, kissing him back with shaky tenderness. When you let out a small, relieved sigh against his mouth, Dylan smiled into the kiss.

“You can stop me anytime,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky but gentle. “Any second. Just say the word and I stop. Okay?”

“Okay…” you breathed.

He kissed you again, deeper this time but still so sweet it made your toes curl. Then his lips trailed slowly from the corner of your mouth, across your cheek, and down to your jaw. He took his time, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, savoring every inch. When he reached your neck, he lingered there, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear with feather-light pressure.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin between kisses. “So fucking beautiful… and so safe with me.”

His mouth moved lower on your neck, warm and slow, sucking gently — not hard enough to mark, just enough to make you shiver in a good way. One of his hands stroked your back in soothing circles while he continued kissing and softly nipping at your neck, never rushing, never demanding.

Every touch felt like a promise: I’ve got you. I’ll wait. I’ll be gentle.

Dylan’s lips stayed gentle on your neck, kissing and tasting you with slow devotion. Each press of his mouth sent warm shivers down your spine. He lingered on the spot that made your breath hitch, then slowly started moving lower, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

His hand slid down your side, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt.

“Can I take this off, baby?” he whispered against your skin, voice low and careful. “I want to feel you closer… but only if you’re okay with it.”

You nodded, heart racing. “Yes.”

He sat up slightly and helped you out of the shirt with painfully slow movements, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes roamed over your bare skin with pure adoration, not hunger. Not yet. Just reverence.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed.

He leaned back in, lips returning to your neck before continuing their descent. He kissed down your chest, taking his time, until he reached the soft swell of your breasts. His mouth moved tenderly across your escote, pressing warm, lingering kisses between them, then along the curve of one breast and then the other. Every kiss was feather-light, loving, like he was worshipping you.

His hands rested on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin soothingly.

“You’re safe,” he murmured against your skin, voice husky but incredibly soft. “I promise you’re safe with me, my love. Nothing’s going to hurt you here. If it feels too much, we stop. I just want to make you feel good… only good.”

He kissed lower, lips brushing the top of your bra, then looked up at you with those beautiful blue eyes, checking in again.

“Still okay?” he asked gently, waiting for your answer before moving even an inch further.

Dylan’s fingers traced lightly down your back, finding the clasp of your bra. He looked into your eyes, his gaze full of patience and love.

“Can I take this off too, baby?” he asked softly. “I want to feel your skin against mine… but only if it feels right.”

You whispered a quiet “yes,” your voice trembling but trusting.

He moved slowly, so slowly, unhooking your bra with careful fingers and sliding the straps down your shoulders. He pulled it off gently and set it aside, his eyes never leaving your face at first — making sure you were still with him. Then his gaze dropped to your now-bare chest, and the way he looked at you made your heart ache in the best way. There was desire, yes, but mostly adoration.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss right above your heart. “I’m never going to hurt you. I swear it. You’re safe with me, my love. Completely safe.”

His words broke something open inside you.

The weight of feeling truly safe — maybe for the first time in years — hit you all at once. Tears welled up fast and spilled down your cheeks before you could stop them. Not from fear this time, but from overwhelming relief. From the gentleness in his touch. From the way he was looking at you like you were something precious instead of something to be used.

Dylan noticed immediately. His expression softened even more, and he reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles tenderly while his other hand stayed respectfully on your waist.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Let it out, baby. I’ve got you.”

He leaned down and started kissing your bare chest again — slow, warm kisses across your breasts, over your sternum, and up to your collarbones. His lips were incredibly gentle, almost healing. Every kiss felt like a promise. His thumb stroked the back of your hand in soothing circles as he continued kissing you, never rushing, never grabbing.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered between kisses, lips brushing your skin. “So brave. And so beautiful. I’m right here with you.”

You cried quietly while he kissed you, the tears mixing with the warmth spreading through your body. For the first time in a long time, the touch didn’t feel threatening. It felt safe. It felt like love.

Dylan’s mouth continued its slow, worshipful path across your bare chest. He kissed the soft curve of one breast, then the other, before his lips closed gently around your nipple. He sucked softly, warm and careful, flicking his tongue in slow circles while his hand cradled the other breast with feather-light touches. A quiet, appreciative hum vibrated against your skin.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, switching to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same tender attention. His touches stayed loving, never rough.

After a few moments, his hand slid lower, fingers brushing the waistband of your pants. He started to tug them down slowly, carefully, giving you time.

That’s when it hit.

Your body tensed sharply. The feeling of fabric sliding down your hips brought back flashes — hands that didn’t stop, pressure you couldn’t escape. Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“That’s enough,” you said quickly, voice shaky but clear. “Dylan, that’s enough.”

He stopped instantly.

Dylan pulled his hands away from your pants immediately, moving them to rest safely on your waist instead. He lifted his head from your chest and looked straight into your eyes, concern flooding his face.

“Okay, baby. We stop,” he said softly, voice calm and steady even though you could see the worry in his eyes. He didn’t pull away completely — he stayed close, but gave you space to breathe.

He gently tugged your pants back up to where they were, then pulled you into his arms, holding you against his chest. One hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back while the other cradled the back of your head.

“Shh… I’ve got you. You did so good telling me,” he murmured against your hair, pressing soft kisses to the top of your head. “We’re not going any further. You’re safe. I’m right here. Breathe with me, okay?”

You clung to him, heart still racing, but his immediate response and the warmth of his body kept the full panic from crashing over you. He rocked you gently, whispering soft reassurances the whole time.

“I’m so proud of you for saying stop. That’s exactly what I want you to do. Always.” He kissed your temple. “We can stay like this all night if you want. Just kissing. Just holding. Whatever feels good for you.”

You’d been dating Clay Jensen for six weeks now, and you still hadn’t gotten laid.

Not for lack of trying. God knows you’d tried.

Clay was sweet, respectful, and so ridiculously into you that it made your chest hurt in the best way. The problem wasn’t desire. The problem was six-foot-something of tattooed, loud-mouthed, permanent-houseguest chaos named Justin Foley.

Ever since Justin had crashed at the Jensens’ garage-turned-bedroom setup, the place had become a fortress of interruption. Clay’s parents were cool, but they weren’t about to let two hormonal teenagers go at it in the main house. So the garage it was. Except Justin never left. Ever.

You were sprawled across Clay’s bed (a lumpy twin mattress on a metal frame) while he sat at his desk pretending to study. Justin was three feet away on the old couch, playing some shooter game with the volume way too high, shirtless, crumbs of Cheetos all over his chest.

“Bro, you’re getting Cheeto dust on my pillow again,” Clay muttered without looking up.

Justin didn’t even pause the game. “Your pillow’s seen worse, Jensen. Remember last week when you jerked off so hard you—”

“Justin!” Clay yelped, face instantly scarlet.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. This was your life now. Third-wheeling in your own almost-sex life.

It had been like this for weeks. Every single time things started heating up, Justin appeared like a fucking genie of blue balls.

The first time you’d tried, you’d waited until Justin said he was going out with Jess. Twenty minutes later he came back because he forgot his wallet. You and Clay had barely gotten your shirts off.

The second time, Justin claimed he had “nowhere else to go” and just sat in the corner with headphones on, promising he wouldn’t look. Clay couldn’t even stay hard knowing his brother was right there.

The third time you’d tried sneaking in after midnight. Justin was “asleep.” Except every time Clay’s hand slipped under your shirt, Justin would let out the loudest, fakest snore you’d ever heard, followed by a mumbled “Don’t forget the condom, kids.”

You were starting to think Justin had a sixth sense for blue balls.

Tonight was supposed to be different. Justin had texted the group chat that he and Jess were going to the movies and then “probably back to her place.” Clay had practically vibrated with excitement when he showed you the text. He’d even lit a candle. A candle. In the garage. It smelled like vanilla and motor oil.

You crawled over to him now, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind.“So… movie night means we finally have the place to ourselves?” you whispered, lips brushing his ear.

Clay shivered, turning to kiss you softly. “Yeah. I think so. I mean… he said he’d be gone for hours.”

From the couch, Justin snorted without looking away from the screen. “Hours? Yeah. Sure. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, lovebirds.”

You and Clay both froze.

Justin grinned, finally glancing over. “Relax. I’m leaving in like ten. Just gotta finish this round.”

Ten minutes later he was still playing.

Fifteen minutes.

Twenty.

Clay’s hand was on your thigh, thumb stroking higher and higher, but his jaw was clenched so tight you thought he might crack a tooth.

You leaned in and murmured, “We could just kick him out…”

Clay sighed, forehead dropping against yours. “I’ve tried. He has nowhere else to go right now. And he’s… Justin. He’s my brother.”

You loved that about Clay. You really did. But right now you wanted to smother Justin with one of the Cheeto-dusted pillows.

Justin finally stood up, stretching obnoxiously. “Alright, I’m out. Don’t wait up.” He winked at you. “Use protection. Clay’s a shooter, not a scorer, if you know what I mean.”

“Justin, get the fuck out,” Clay groaned, burying his face in his hands.

The door slammed. Silence.

You looked at Clay. Clay looked at you.

For the first time in weeks, the garage was actually, finally empty.

Clay’s eyes darkened with something that was equal parts relief, hunger, and pure teenage desperation.

“Come here,” he said, voice rough.

You didn’t wait. You didn’t ask. You just launched yourself at Clay like you’d been starving for weeks — because you had.

Your hands fisted in his hoodie as you crashed your mouth against his, kissing him hard, deep, and messy. Clay let out a surprised little sound that melted into a groan, his arms wrapping around your waist instantly, pulling you flush against him. The chair he was sitting in creaked dangerously under the sudden weight, but neither of you cared.

“Finally,” you breathed against his lips between kisses, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “Six fucking weeks, Clay.”

His hands slid up your back, trembling just a little — that perfect mix of nervous and desperate that was so Clay. “I know, I know— Justin’s the worst cockblock in the history of—”

You shut him up by kissing him harder, tongue sliding against his, tasting the faint mint from the gum he’d nervously chewed earlier. Your fingers tugged at the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head in one quick motion. You tossed it somewhere behind you, not caring where it landed. The cool garage air hit your skin, making you shiver, but Clay’s warm hands were already there, smoothing up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra.

“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes wide and dark as they raked over you. His cheeks were flushed crimson, but he couldn’t stop staring. “You’re… you’re so beautiful.”

You grinned, straddling his lap properly now, grinding down just enough to make him hiss. “Less talking, Jensen. More touching.”

Clay’s hands explored your bare waist, sliding higher, thumbs hooking under the straps of your bra like he was scared to go further too fast. But you could feel how hard he already was beneath you, straining against his jeans. You rocked your hips again, deliberate and teasing, and he dropped his forehead to your collarbone with a shaky laugh.

“I’ve been thinking about this every single night,” he admitted, voice muffled against your skin. “Every time Justin was snoring three feet away I wanted to murder him.”

You laughed softly, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging his head back so you could kiss him again. Slower this time, but no less hungry. Your bare chest pressed against his hoodie, and the friction made you both moan quietly.

His hands finally cupped your breasts over your bra, thumbs circling, and you arched into the touch with a soft gasp.

Clay pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy with want. “You sure? Right now? We can slow down if—”

You answered by reaching behind your back to unhook your bra.

The second your bra hit the floor, Clay’s brain short-circuited.

His eyes went wide, lips parted, and for a second he just stared like he’d never seen anything so perfect in his life. Then, in a voice rougher than you’d ever heard from him, he breathed“Fuck… what beautiful tits you have.”

The words hit you straight between the legs. Before you could even tease him for the awkward delivery, Clay leaned in and pressed his mouth to the swell of your left breast, kissing it reverently. Then harder. Wetter. His lips parted, tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth with a low, desperate groan.

You gasped, back arching as you rocked your hips forward, grinding softly against the very obvious bulge straining in his jeans.

The friction was perfect — slow, teasing, delicious. Every little roll of your hips made him suck harder, his hands coming up to cup both breasts like he was afraid they’d disappear.

“Clay—” you moaned, fingers tightening in his messy hair as he switched sides, leaving a trail of wet kisses across your chest.

He pulled back just enough to admire the first mark blooming on your skin — a rosy hickey already forming right above your nipple. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but there was that adorable flush on his cheeks too.

“Been wanting to do this for so long,” he muttered, almost to himself, before diving back in. He sucked harder this time, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper. Another hickey. Then another. He was marking you up like he needed the whole world to know you were finally his.

You kept grinding down on him in soft, lazy circles, feeling how hard and hot he was beneath you. The seam of your jeans pressed right against your clit with every roll, and the way Clay’s hips twitched up to meet you made it even better. His breathing was ragged against your chest, hot little puffs of air between each messy kiss and suck.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he groaned, voice muffled as he buried his face between your tits, kissing and licking everywhere he could reach. One of his hands slid down to grip your ass, encouraging your movements. “Keep doing that— fuck, just like that…”

You smiled breathlessly, rolling your hips a little harder, feeling him throb underneath you through both your clothes. The garage was filled with the wet sounds of his mouth on your skin and your shared heavy breathing.

He pulled back to look at his work — your chest covered in fresh, possessive hickeys — and let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. “I’m never letting Justin back in here again.”

Your hands were shaking with pure need as you slid off his lap just enough to reach for his jeans. Fingers fumbling with the button and zipper, you yanked them down his hips along with his boxers in one eager tug. Clay lifted his ass to help you, breathing hard, his cock springing free — hard, flushed, and already leaking at the tip.

“Shit,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around him and giving one slow stroke. Clay’s head fell back with a choked moan, hips jerking up into your fist.

But before you could lean down and take him in your mouth like you’d fantasized about for weeks, Clay suddenly grabbed your wrist.

“Wait— fuck, wait,” he panted, voice wrecked. “I want to do something first.”

You barely had time to blink before he flipped you. In one surprisingly smooth move (you didn’t know quiet, anxious Clay had that in him), he rolled you onto your back on the lumpy mattress. The springs creaked loudly as he settled between your thighs, hovering over you with wild eyes and flushed cheeks.

Your heart hammered. His cock brushed against your thigh, hot and heavy, but he wasn’t focused on that right now. His hands were already working on your jeans, tugging them down your legs along with your panties until you were completely bare under him.

Clay stared down at you like he was seeing heaven. His gaze lingered between your legs, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

He looked up at you, nervous but so fucking determined it made your stomach flip.

“Can I…?” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard, fingers gently spreading your thighs wider. “Can I eat you out? Please? I’ve been dying to taste you.”

The words alone made you clench around nothing. Clay Jensen — sweet, overthinking Clay — was between your legs asking permission to go down on you like it was the only thing he wanted in the world right now.

You nodded quickly, threading your fingers through his hair. “Yes. God, yes, Clay. Please.”

A relieved, hungry smile broke across his face. He didn’t waste another second. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, lowered his head, and pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss right above your clit before dragging his tongue slowly up your folds.

The moan he let out vibrated straight through you.

“Fuck… you taste even better than I imagined,” he groaned, then dove in like a man starved.

Clay didn’t hold back.

The moment you gave him the green light, he buried his face between your thighs like he’d been waiting his whole life for this. His tongue dragged slowly up your pussy again, flat and broad, savoring every inch before he zeroed in on your clit and started sucking.

“Oh my god— Clay,” you moaned, hips bucking up against his mouth.

He groaned loudly, the sound vibrating right through your core. “Mmm… fuck, you taste so good,” he mumbled against your wet folds, barely pulling back enough to speak. Then he dove right back in, licking and sucking with messy enthusiasm that made up for any lack of experience. His tongue circled your clit, then flicked it fast, then sucked again — like he was trying every trick he’d ever read about or imagined and loving every second of it.

You gripped his hair tighter, thighs trembling around his head. He was so into it. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth on your pussy filled the quiet garage — sloppy, eager, perfect. He licked down to your entrance, pushing his tongue inside you as far as he could, fucking you with it while his nose rubbed against your clit.

“Clay— fuck, that feels so good,” you gasped, grinding against his face. He moaned in response, the vibration making your eyes roll back.

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and chin wet with your juices, eyes glassy with lust. “Yeah? Am I doing it right?” he asked, voice hoarse. Without waiting for an answer he dove back down, sucking your clit hard while two fingers teased at your entrance.

When he finally slid them inside you, curling them just right, your back arched off the bed.

“Oh fuck— yes, just like that,” you whimpered.

Clay was a fast learner. He kept the perfect rhythm — sucking, licking, fingering you deeper — completely lost in making you feel good. His free hand gripped your thigh, holding you open while he devoured you like he was starving.

You could feel the pressure building fast, embarrassingly fast after weeks of nothing but teasing and interruptions. Every swirl of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers, every hungry little groan he made against your pussy was pushing you closer to the edge.

He looked up at you again, eyes dark and proud. “Come on, baby… let me feel you come on my tongue.”

Your thighs were shaking around Clay’s head, fingers yanking his hair as the pressure built higher and higher. His tongue was relentless on your clit, two fingers curling deep inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over while he moaned like he was the one getting eaten out.

“Clay— fuck, I’m so close,” you gasped, hips grinding desperately against his face. “Don’t stop— oh my god, I’m gonna—”

The garage door suddenly burst open with a loud creak.“Finally, some fucking privacy— whoa, shit!”

Justin’s voice cut through the air like a bucket of ice water.

You froze. Clay froze, face still buried between your legs.

Jess’s surprised laugh followed right after. “Oh my god. We really thought you guys were out. We were gonna… you know.”

Justin stood there in the doorway, arm around Jess, both of them looking equal parts shocked and amused. Jess had her hand over her mouth, trying (and failing) not to laugh. Justin’s grin was pure evil.

“Bro,” Justin said, not even bothering to look away. “You finally got her naked and you’re going down on her like a champ? Proud of you, Jensen.”

Clay pulled back from your pussy with a wet sound that made you whimper in frustration. His face was flushed dark red, lips shiny with your arousal, hair a total mess from your hands. He looked mortified but still painfully hard, cock twitching against the mattress.

“Justin— what the fuck?!” Clay yelped, quickly grabbing the blanket and throwing it over your naked body. “Get out! We thought you were gone for the night!”

Jess smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “We thought the same about you two. Movie sucked, so we came back here for some alone time. Didn’t expect a live show.”

You wanted to die. You were literally seconds away from the best orgasm of your life and now Justin Foley was standing there staring at your covered tits like it was casual Friday.

Justin shrugged, completely unfazed. “Relax, we can wait our turn. Or… y’know, we could make it a—”

“Out!” Clay snapped, voice cracking. He still hadn’t moved from between your legs, one hand protectively on your thigh under the blanket.

But Justin didn’t leave. He just kicked the door shut behind him and Jess, grinning like the biggest asshole on the planet.“Chill, man. We’ll just hang on the couch for a bit. Pretend we’re not here.”

Jess elbowed him, laughing. “Babe, they were about to fuck.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. The ache between your legs was unbearable now — so close, throbbing, ruined.

Clay looked down at you, eyes wild with frustration and leftover hunger. His hand squeezed your thigh under the blanket, silently promising he wasn’t done.

Clay’s face went from mortified red to full-on determined in half a second.

“No. Nope. Not happening,” he said, voice surprisingly firm for someone who still had your arousal all over his chin. He stood up quickly, not even bothering to pull his boxers and jeans all the way up — they hung low on his hips, cock still hard and obvious as he marched toward the door.

Justin raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Come on, Jensen, we can just—”

“Out,” Clay cut him off. He reached into his desk drawer, grabbed his wallet, and pulled out every bill he had — a messy wad of twenties and tens. He shoved it straight into Justin’s chest. “Here. Take it. Go get a hotel room, go to the movies again, go fuck in your car, I don’t care. Just don’t come back for at least two hours. Minimum.”

Jess burst out laughing. “Holy shit, Clay’s negotiating with sex money now.”

Justin looked down at the cash, then back at Clay with the biggest shit-eating grin you’d ever seen. “Damn, bro. You’re that desperate? Respect.”

Clay didn’t even blink. “Yes. I am. I’ve waited six weeks because of your constant cockblocking. Take the money, leave, and if you come back early I swear I’ll tell your mom about the time you—”

“Alright, alright!” Justin laughed, pocketing the cash instantly. “Two hours. You got it. We’re gone.”

Jess winked at you under the blanket. “Have fun, girl. Sounds like Clay’s finally about to score.”

Justin threw an arm around her shoulders, still chuckling as they headed for the door. “Use protection, kids! And Clay — make her cum at least twice for me!”

The garage door slammed shut behind them.

Silence.

Clay stood there for a second, breathing hard, then turned the lock with an audible click. He even dragged a chair in front of the door for good measure.

You sat up on your elbows, blanket slipping down to your waist, still throbbing and frustrated from being edged so brutally by the interruption.

Clay looked at you, eyes dark and wild, hair a mess, lips swollen.

“Two hours,” he said, voice low and rough. “I’m not wasting another fucking second.”

He crossed the room in three strides, yanked the blanket off you completely, and climbed back on top of you, kissing you hard and deep — letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He kicked off his jeans and boxers the rest of the way, letting them pool on the floor. His cock was still rock hard, flushed dark and curving up against his stomach, tip glistening. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed the condom he’d stashed there weeks ago “just in case,” and tore the wrapper open with his teeth.

You watched him roll it on with shaky hands, breathing fast, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The second it was on, he climbed back between your thighs, spreading them wide with his knees.

“No more waiting,” he muttered, voice hoarse and desperate. “I need you. Now.”

You nodded quickly, pulling him down by the back of his neck. “Yes— fuck, Clay, just do it.”

He lined himself up, rubbing the head of his cock against your soaked pussy once, twice, coating himself in your wetness. Then, with a shaky exhale, he pushed in.

In one long, steady thrust he buried himself to the hilt.

“Oh my fucking god—” you moaned loudly, back arching off the mattress as he stretched you open. He was thick and hot inside you, filling you perfectly after all those weeks of teasing.

Clay let out a broken groan, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Fuck… you feel so good. So tight— shit, I’m not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that.”

He stayed still for a second, buried deep, letting you both adjust. His arms were trembling as he held himself up over you. Then he started moving — slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that made you feel every inch.

But the hunger took over fast.

Soon he was thrusting harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the garage along with your moans and his wrecked little gasps. Every time he bottomed out he let out this quiet, desperate “fuck” against your neck.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, pulling him even deeper. Clay’s mouth found yours in a messy kiss, tongues sliding together as he fucked you like he was afraid the universe would interrupt again.

“Been dreaming about this,” he panted between thrusts, one hand sliding down to grip your hip. “You under me… taking me like this— fuck, baby.”

particularly strong stroke, just the tip still inside you, breathing ragged.

You looked up at him, desperate and bold, the words tumbling out before you could overthink it.

“Can I…?”

Clay’s eyes met yours, dark and hazy with lust. He knew exactly what you were asking. For a split second his breath hitched, but then he nodded quickly, almost frantically.

“Yeah… fuck yes,” he rasped.

Your hand shot down between your bodies. You grabbed the base of the condom and ripped it off him in one smooth motion, tossing the latex somewhere on the floor. Clay groaned at the sudden feeling of your bare hand on his bare cock.

“No interruptions,” you whispered, echoing his earlier words. “Not even this.”

“Shit—” Clay’s control snapped.

He pushed back inside you raw, skin on skin, and the moan he let out was broken and loud. The feeling was overwhelming — hot, wet, tight, with nothing between you. He buried his face in your neck, hips snapping forward hard.

“Fuck, baby… you feel so much better like this,” he groaned, voice shaking. “So warm… so fucking wet—”

He started thrusting again, deeper and more desperate than before, the slick sound of him sliding into you completely bare filling the garage. Every stroke dragged against your walls perfectly, no barrier, just pure heat and friction.

Clay’s rhythm got messier, more frantic, like he couldn’t hold back anymore now that there was nothing stopping him. His hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wider as he fucked you raw.

“No more waiting… no more fucking interruptions,” he panted against your skin, biting down gently on your shoulder as he drove into you again and again.

Clay’s hips snapped forward harder, picking up the pace instantly. The sound of skin slapping skin grew louder, wetter, more obscene as he fucked you deep and fast, chasing the feeling of your bare heat around him.

“Fuck— yes,” he groaned, voice wrecked.

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him impossibly deeper with every thrust. The new angle made him hit that perfect spot inside you over and over, and you cried out, nails dragging down his back.

Clay buried his face in your neck, lips and tongue hot against your skin. He kissed you there messily at first — open-mouthed, desperate — then started sucking, leaving fresh hickeys right where your pulse was hammering. Every time he thrust in hard, his mouth would press harder against your neck, moaning against your skin.

“You’re squeezing me so fucking tight,” he panted between kisses and bites. “Feels so good… so warm… I don’t wanna stop— never wanna stop.”

Your legs locked around him like a vice, ankles crossed, forcing him to grind deep instead of just pulling back. The pressure was insane. Every roll of his hips rubbed perfectly against your clit while he filled you completely raw.

Clay kept his mouth on your neck, sucking a particularly dark mark as his rhythm turned punishing — fast, deep, and a little sloppy in the best way. His breathing was ragged, hot puffs against your skin with every thrust.

“Mine,” he whispered against your neck, almost like he didn’t realize he said it out loud. “You’re mine.”

You could feel the tension building again, stronger this time, your walls fluttering around his bare cock as he kept pounding into you, mouth never leaving your neck.

Clay adjusted his angle just slightly and suddenly he was hitting that perfect spot deep inside you with every single thrust. Hard, fast, relentless.

“Right there— oh fuck, Clay, don’t stop,” you moaned, voice breaking.

He groaned against your neck, hips snapping harder, driving into you exactly where you needed him. The raw slide of his cock filling you over and over was overwhelming. Your whole body was burning.

Your hand slid up into his messy hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, caressing and tugging gently as he fucked you. Clay let out a broken whimper at the touch, like your fingers in his hair was the best thing he’d ever felt.

He lifted his head from your neck, eyes glassy and wild, and dropped his mouth to your tits. He kissed them hungrily — wet, open-mouthed kisses all over the soft skin, right over the hickeys he’d left earlier. Then he latched onto one nipple, sucking hard while his hips kept pounding into you.

“Fuck, these tits… I can’t get enough,” he mumbled against your skin, switching to the other breast, tongue swirling around your nipple before sucking it deep into his mouth.

You arched into him, holding his head against your chest with one hand while the other stayed tangled in his hair, pulling just enough to make him moan louder. Every thrust pushed your breasts up against his face and he devoured them — kissing, licking, sucking, leaving even more marks while he railed you deep and raw.

The combination was too much. His cock hitting that spot inside you, his mouth worshiping your tits, your fingers in his hair guiding him exactly where you wanted.

You could feel yourself getting dangerously close again, walls fluttering and clenching around his bare length with every powerful thrust.

Clay looked up at you without stopping, lips shiny and swollen, eyes completely fucked out. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he panted, then sucked your nipple hard again, hips never slowing down.

The pressure inside you snapped.

Clay’s cock kept hitting that perfect spot deep and raw, his mouth sucking hard on your tit, and your fingers tightening in his hair — it was all too much.

You came hard.

“Clay— fuck, Clay!” you screamed, voice breaking loud enough that you were glad the garage was detached. Your whole body seized up, back arching violently off the mattress as pleasure crashed through you in waves. Your pussy clenched tight around his bare cock, pulsing and fluttering as you came, soaking him with every throb.

You writhed underneath him, thighs shaking, legs locked so tight around his waist it probably hurt, but you couldn’t stop. Your hips jerked up against him uncontrollably, grinding through the orgasm while broken moans and cries spilled from your lips.

Clay moaned loudly against your breast, the vibrations making it even more intense. He didn’t stop moving — he fucked you through it, slower but deep, letting you ride every second of it.

“Fuck, that’s it— come on me, baby,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “You’re squeezing me so fucking good… shit, I can feel you coming all over my cock.”

Your vision went blurry, fingers yanking his hair as you twisted and trembled beneath him. The orgasm seemed to last forever, rolling through you in strong waves while Clay kept kissing and sucking on your tits, completely lost in the feeling of you falling apart around him.

By the time the peak finally started to fade, you were panting, sweaty, and still twitching with aftershocks, legs weak around him.

Clay lifted his head, eyes dark and proud, lips swollen as he looked down at your blissed-out face.

“You’re so fucking hot when you cum,” he whispered, still buried deep inside you, hips giving tiny little thrusts like he couldn’t bear to stop moving.

Clay’s thrusts grew erratic, desperate, losing all rhythm as he chased his own release. He was still buried deep inside you, raw and slick from your orgasm, every slide of his cock making wet, filthy sounds that filled the garage.

“Baby— fuck, I’m so close,” he panted against your skin, mouth still brushing your tits before he buried his face in your neck again. His hips snapped forward hard a few more times, grinding deep.

You held him tighter, legs still locked around his waist, fingers stroking through his sweaty hair. “Cum inside me, Clay. Want to feel you.”

That was all it took.

Clay groaned loud and broken, hips stuttering as he came hard. His cock pulsed deep inside you, spilling hot and thick, filling you with every twitch and throb. He kept moving through it in shallow, desperate little thrusts, like he couldn’t stop even after he finished.

“Fuck… fuck—” he whimpered, voice completely wrecked.

For a long moment he stayed there, buried to the hilt, trembling on top of you as the last waves rolled through him. Then his body went heavy, all the tension draining out as he collapsed against you.

He hid his face in the crook of your neck, breathing hard and fast against your skin. You could feel his heart hammering against your chest.

After a few seconds of silence, he let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

“Wow…” he mumbled into your neck, pressing a lazy kiss there. “That was… holy shit. Totally worth the wait. Six weeks of Justin cockblocking us and it still feels like the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You smiled, running your fingers gently through his messy hair, holding him close while he stayed hidden in your neck, shy and blissed out now that the heat of the moment was fading.

“Yeah?” you whispered, kissing the side of his head.

“Yeah,” he answered, voice muffled and soft. “I’d wait six more if it ended like this… but please don’t make me. Justin’s getting kicked out more often from now on.”

You both laughed quietly, still tangled together, sweaty and satisfied in the tiny garage bed.

You still remember the exact moment you met Clay Jensen.

It was the first day of university, move-in day, and the campus was pure chaos. You were struggling with a ridiculously heavy box full of books when your foot caught on the edge of the sidewalk. The box went flying, and so did you—straight toward the concrete.

Except you never hit the ground.

A pair of arms caught you around the waist, steady but a little awkward, and you looked up to find the softest brown eyes you’d ever seen staring back at you in mild panic.

“Woah— are you okay?” he asked, voice gentle, cheeks already turning pink.

“Yeah… thanks to you,” you laughed breathlessly, still half in his arms.

He helped you pick up your scattered books, and when he saw the titles—mostly psychology, mystery novels, and a worn copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower—his eyes lit up.

“You like this one too?” he asked, holding up the book.

That was it. One shared favorite book and a clumsy rescue later, you and Clay Jensen became inseparable.

From that day on, you were the duo everyone saw together: sitting in the back of lectures whispering comments, studying in the library until it closed, getting late-night coffee runs, and binge-watching old movies in the dorms.

The spark was there from minute one— the way he’d smile at you like you were the only person in the room, the way you’d always save him the seat next to you, the lingering hugs that lasted just a second too long.

But you were “just friends.”

Even when your roommate would smirk every time Clay showed up at your door with your favorite snacks after a bad test. Even when his friend would straight-up say, “Dude, just ask her out already.” Even when the whole friend group placed bets on when you two would finally stop being idiots.

You both denied it every single time.

“We’re just really good friends,” you’d say, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, exactly,” Clay would add quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Best friends.”

And everyone around you would just groan and laugh, already knowing the truth you two were too scared to admit.

A few months had flown by since that chaotic move-in day, and your friendship with Clay had only grown stronger.

You two were basically attached at the hip now late night study sessions, spontaneous walks around campus, and inside jokes that no one else understood.

It was a warm Friday afternoon near the end of the semester when Clay found you sitting under your favorite tree on the quad, headphones in and textbook open on your lap. He dropped down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed, and gave you that shy little smile that always made your stomach do a weird flip.

“Hey,” he said softly, bumping your arm lightly. “So… there’s this end-of-semester party happening tonight in my dorm building. The whole floor is throwing it—music, food, fairy lights on the rooftop terrace, the usual chaos.”

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he was a little nervous.

“I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come with me?” His eyes met yours for a second before flicking away. “As friends, obviously. It’ll probably be fun. We could grab some snacks beforehand if you want. Or not. No pressure.”

The way he said “as friends, obviously” almost made you laugh. Because the way his gaze lingered on your face, the slight blush creeping up his cheeks, and the hopeful tone in his voice? It felt like anything but “just friends.”

Still, you played along like always, smiling brightly even as your heart beat a little faster.

“A rooftop party with you? Sounds dangerous,” you teased. “But yeah, I’d love to go.”

Clay’s face lit up instantly, that genuine, warm smile breaking across his features.

“Cool. Really cool,” he said, trying (and failing) to sound casual. “I’ll come pick you up at your dorm around eight?”

You nodded, biting back a bigger grin. “It’s a date— I mean, it’s a plan.”

He chuckled awkwardly at your slip, his ears turning pink, but neither of you corrected it out loud.

Just friends... Right.

At exactly 8:02 PM, there was a soft knock on your dorm room door. You took one last look in the mirror, smoothing down your dress — nothing too fancy, but cute enough for a rooftop party. A little makeup, hair done nicely, and your favorite perfume. You wanted to look good… but not like you were trying too hard. At least that’s what you told yourself.

When you opened the door, Clay was standing there in a dark button-up shirt and jeans, looking unfairly handsome with his slightly messy hair and those warm brown eyes. He froze for a second when he saw you, blinking like he’d forgotten how to speak.

“Wow…” he breathed out, his gaze traveling over you before quickly snapping back to your face. A soft blush crept up his neck. “You look… really beautiful. Like, seriously.”

You felt your cheeks heat up instantly, but you tried to play it cool.

“Thanks, Jensen,” you said with a small smile.

He rubbed the back of his neck, that classic nervous habit of his, and let out a little awkward laugh.“I mean it. You always look great but tonight… damn. If you weren’t my best friend, I’d probably be asking you to be my girlfriend right now.”

The words hung in the air for a second, both of you pretending they were just a casual joke. Your heart did a full cartwheel in your chest.

You rolled your eyes playfully and stepped forward, flicking his shoulder with your fingers.

“You’re so gorgeous too, dummy,” you teased, your voice light but affectionate. “If you weren’t my best friend, maybe I’d say yes.”

Clay laughed softly, the sound warm and a little shy, his eyes lingering on yours just a beat longer than usual. For a moment, the hallway felt too quiet, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

But then he cleared his throat and offered you his arm like the gentleman he was.

“Shall we, best friend?” he asked, emphasizing the words with a grin.

You looped your arm through his, trying to ignore how perfectly you fit together.“Let’s go, best friend.”

The walk to Clay’s dorm building was short but felt electric. Your arm stayed looped through his the whole way, and every time someone passed by and smiled at you two, Clay would subtly straighten up like he was proud to be seen with you.

As soon as you stepped into the building, the party vibe hit you: music pulsing from the rooftop, string lights twinkling everywhere, and people already laughing and chatting on every floor. The moment you and Clay walked in together, heads turned.

A group near the entrance grinned immediately.

“Oh look, Clay brought his girlfriend!” someone called out.

You felt your face heat up. You quickly pulled your arm back from his (though you instantly missed the warmth) and waved your hands.

“No, no! We’re just best friends,” you said, laughing it off like always.

Clay nodded quickly beside you, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, exactly. Best friends.”

But the guy organizing the snacks table on the rooftop terrace — tall, with a drink in his hand and a knowing smirk — raised an eyebrow at both of you.

“Sure… best friends,” he said, clearly not buying it. “Then why does Clay keep saying The Cure wrote ‘Just Like Heaven’ about you?”

Your eyes widened as you turned to look at Clay. He froze, face going bright red in record time.

“I— I never said that!” Clay stuttered, shooting the guy a betrayed look. “I said it was… a good song. That reminds me of… things.”

The organizer just laughed and shrugged. “Dude, you literally said it last week while we were setting up the playlist. ‘This song feels like her.’”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling too big, your heart doing that stupid fluttery thing again. You bumped Clay’s shoulder playfully.

“‘Just Like Heaven,’ huh?” you teased, voice soft. “Interesting choice, Jensen.”

Clay rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes but failing to hide his shy grin.

“It’s a good song,” he mumbled. “And you… you kind of make everything feel like that. Light. Happy. Whatever.”

The air between you got thicker again, even with the loud music and people around. For a second it felt like the rest of the party disappeared. But you both quickly looked away, falling back into your usual routine.

“Best friends?,” you repeated, almost like you were reminding yourself.

“Yeah,” Clay said, voice quieter this time. “Best friends.”

The rooftop was alive with music and laughter, but after that very public “Just Like Heaven” comment, Clay leaned in closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours protectively.

“Okay,” he said, voice low just for you, “let’s do the polite ‘make an appearance’ thing for like an hour. We stay until 11, tops. Then we can bail and do something better.” He gave you that soft, conspiratorial smile. “And I’ll make you a drink.”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “Wow, you know how to make actual drinks? I thought you only drank depressing and pretentious beer.”

Clay let out a genuine laugh, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. He gently guided you toward the drink table with a hand on your lower back.

“Yeah, I mostly drink depressing and pretentious beer,” he admitted, grinning shyly. “But I know you love your weird vodka combinations.”

He started mixing without waiting for your answer — a little bit of this, a splash of that, exactly the kind of random fruity-sweet-spicy mess you always ended up creating when you were in charge of drinks. He even remembered the tiny pinch of chili powder you liked to add for kick.

When he handed you the red plastic cup, your fingers brushed and you both paused for half a second too long.

You took a sip and your eyes widened. “Okay… this is actually really good,” you said, nudging his shoulder with yours. “I’m impressed, Jensen.”

Clay shrugged, trying to look casual even though the tips of his ears were pink again.

“I pay attention,” he murmured, almost too quiet for you to hear over the music. Then louder, “Figured I should know how to make your weird drinks… you know, as your best friend and all.”

There it was again. That little pause. That tiny hesitation on the word “friend.”

You looked at him over the rim of your cup, heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it always did around him.

“Best friend,” you repeated softly, like a reminder to both of you.

Clay met your eyes for a long moment, the fairy lights reflecting in his warm brown gaze.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice a little rough. “Best friend.”

But neither of you moved away. You stayed standing close together, shoulders touching, pretending the rest of the party existed while the world felt like it was just the two of you.

The music kept playing and people kept laughing around you, but the world felt smaller the longer you stood there with Clay. After a couple of sips of your drink, he suddenly turned to face you more directly, his usual shy expression replaced by something more intense.

He took a small breath and asked, voice quieter than before“Have you never thought about us… like that? Not even once?”

You blinked, heart skipping hard. For a second you wanted to deflect like always, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible to fully joke. Still, you kept that playful tone, smiling softly.

“Maybe…” you said lightly, tilting your head with a little teasing grin, like it was just another one of your back-and-forths.

But Clay didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. He set his beer down on the ledge beside him and looked straight at you, brown eyes serious in the glow of the fairy lights.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice low and a little shaky. “Maybe I never took the next step because I thought I didn’t have a chance with you. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known… inside and out. And right now? I don’t want it to be eleven o’clock. I don’t even want to finish this beer. Because maybe this is the only chance we’re ever going to have to actually talk about this.”

The air between you felt heavy, electric. Your breath caught in your throat. Clay was looking at you like he’d been holding those words in for months — maybe since that very first day when he caught you from falling.

No more “best friends” shield this time. He was putting it all out there, vulnerable and honest, right in the middle of a noisy rooftop party.

You could feel your cheeks burning, your pulse racing, but you couldn’t look away from him.

You stared at Clay for what felt like forever, your heart hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it over the music. His confession was still hanging in the air between you, raw and real, and for once you didn’t want to hide behind jokes.

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around your plastic cup.

“Yeah… I have thought about it,” you admitted, voice soft but steady. “A lot, actually. Every time you walk me back to my dorm. Every single time someone tells us what a cute couple we’d make. Hell… even the first day, after you caught me from falling, I had to stalk your Instagram just to make sure you were real.”

Clay’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. He just kept looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

You let out a nervous laugh, cheeks burning.“I’ve even dreamed about it… that if you ever kissed me, I’d probably drop dead right there. But I kept telling myself it was just a stupid warning from my subconscious. Like, ‘don’t fall for your best friend, you idiot. You’ll ruin everything.’”

The words spilled out faster than you could stop them, all the feelings you’d been pushing down for months finally breaking free.

You looked up at him, vulnerable and a little scared.“So yeah… I’ve thought about us like that. More than I probably should.”

Clay’s breath caught. For a second he looked completely stunned, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. The fairy lights above you painted soft shadows across his face, and the way he was looking at you now — warm, intense, full of everything he’d been holding back — made your knees feel weak.

Neither of you moved. The party kept going around you, but it felt like the whole world had gone quiet.

“Well then…” he whispered, voice low and a little rough, “I guess I’m gonna have to stay right here forever.”

Before you could even laugh or respond, Clay closed the small distance between you. One of his hands gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with a tenderness that made your heart explode. The other hand found your waist, pulling you closer.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t a hesitant, nervous first kiss. It was all the months of longing, all the stolen glances, all the “just friends” tension he’d been holding back finally breaking free. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that surprised you — deep, passionate, and full of every unspoken “I want you” he’d never said out loud.

You melted into him instantly. Your hands grabbed onto his shirt as the world spun around you. The music, the party, the people — everything disappeared. There was only Clay. The way he tasted faintly like beer and sweetness, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, and the soft little sound he made when you kissed him back just as eagerly.

He kissed you like he was scared you might disappear. Like he’d been dreaming about this exact moment since the day he caught you on the sidewalk. Slow and deep one second, then more desperate the next, pouring every hidden feeling into it.

When you finally pulled apart just enough to breathe, your foreheads stayed pressed together. Clay’s eyes were still closed, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

“Fuck… I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered, voice shaky with emotion.

You looked up at him, eyes half-lidded, a shy but bold smile playing on your lips.

“…Can you kiss me again?” you whispered, voice soft and a little shaky. “Because that was way better than anything I ever imagined.”

Clay’s eyes darkened with something warm and hungry. A soft, almost disbelieving chuckle escaped him as he gently brushed his thumb across your cheek.

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

“All the times you need,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and full of promise.

Then he kissed you again. This one was slower, deeper, sweeter. Like he was savoring every second now that the dam had finally broken. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, tilting your head slightly as he poured everything into it — every late-night conversation, every almost-touch, every time he’d wanted to pull you close but held back.

You kissed him back just as eagerly, melting completely into his arms. One of your hands found its way into his soft hair, tugging lightly, and you felt him smile against your mouth at the touch.

When he finally pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours again, both of you breathing heavily, he let out a quiet, happy laugh.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he whispered, his nose brushing against yours. “You. Me. Actually doing this.”

You smiled, still a little dazed, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.“Me neither,” you admitted. “But I’m really glad we stopped being idiots.”

Clay grinned — that bright, genuine smile that always made your stomach flip — and pressed one more soft, lingering kiss to your lips, like he couldn’t help himself.“Me too,” he murmured. “So fucking glad.”

Somehow you both ended up slipping away from the main rooftop party. Laughing and stealing kisses, Clay pulled you toward the quieter stairwell of his dorm building. The moment the heavy door closed behind you, he backed you gently against the wall and kissed you again — deeper this time, more urgent.

Your hands roamed his chest, then slid down as the heat between you grew. You tugged at the button of his jeans, fingers working quickly, lost in the feeling of his lips on yours and the way he whispered your name between kisses.

Clay let out a shaky breath and gently caught your wrist, stopping you before you could go further. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and full of desire, but also incredibly soft.

“Wait…” he murmured against your lips, voice hoarse. “Let’s slow down.”

You blinked, breathing hard, cheeks flushed.“But—”

He smiled tenderly, resting his forehead against yours.

“We’ve waited months, pretending we were just friends,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “What’s a few more weeks? I don’t want to rush this. I want it to be right… with you.”

You felt your heart melt at his words. The way he looked at you — like you were something precious — made your chest ache in the best way. “Okay,” you whispered, smiling softly.

Clay pulled you into his arms, wrapping them tightly around you in the most corny, movie-perfect hug. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in as you hugged him back just as fiercely, arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his chest.

“I really like you,” he mumbled into your hair, voice muffled and adorably shy. “Like… stupidly, can’t-function-properly like you.”

You laughed softly, squeezing him tighter“I really like you too, dummy.”

You stepped into Bella’s stylish apartment, the warm lights and soft music wrapping around you like a familiar hug. The place was already buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses, filled with that effortless cool vibe only Bella could pull off. You smoothed down your outfit, took a deep breath, and smiled as you spotted her weaving through the crowd toward you.

“Finally! You made it,” Bella exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug. Her energy was contagious as always. She pulled back with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Come on, I have to introduce you to someone.”

You raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “Like that brilliant idea you had last month with Braeden? Bella, I’m not that into guys. You know this.”

Bella laughed and rolled her eyes, linking her arm with yours as she guided you further into the living room. “No, dummy. It’s Manon.”

You blinked. “Manon? As in… the Manon from KATSEYE?”

Bella nodded, still smiling. “Well, she was in KATSEYE. She left they call it a hiatus or whatever but it’s her. The real deal.”

You shook your head with a soft chuckle, gently pulling your arm back. “Bella, I don’t need you to sell me on someone just so I can enjoy a party. I’m perfectly fine on my own tonight.”

Bella tilted her head, giving you that classic best-friend look — half teasing, half serious. “Well… you haven’t kissed a girl since you broke up with your ex. And you still owe me that introduction to Dylan, so consider this payback.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Bella just grinned wider, clearly pleased with herself. The night felt like it was just getting started, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered who this Manon really was.

The energy in the room seemed to shift just a little, and your eyes moved toward the entrance without thinking.

And then you saw her.

Manon stepped inside with that effortless grace, her long brunette braided hair falling perfectly over her shoulders. She wore a simple but stunning black top that hugged her figure and a soft smile that lit up her whole face. She was drop dead gorgeous the kind of beautiful that made your brain short-circuit for a second. You forgot how to speak. Your mouth went a little dry and, honestly, you almost started to drool right there in the middle of the living room.

Bella noticed immediately. She let out a quiet, victorious laugh and nudged your side with her elbow.

“See? I told you,” she whispered, clearly proud of herself. “I knew you’d like her.”

You tried to play it cool, but your eyes kept drifting back to Manon as she greeted a couple of people near the door. She had this warm, magnetic aura confident but not intimidating, with a softness that made your stomach do a silly little flip.

Bella didn’t even give you time to recover. She grabbed your hand and started pulling you through the crowd before you could come up with an excuse.“Come on, let’s go say hi,” she said with a grin.

Your heart beat faster as the distance between you and Manon got smaller. She turned her head in your direction, and when her eyes met yours, she gave you the sweetest, most genuine smile you’d seen in a long time.“Manon! Come here,” Bella said brightly. “I want you to meet someone special. This is my best friend, Y/N.”

Manon’s eyes lit up as they landed on you. She stepped a little closer, her expression open and friendly, like she had been waiting for this moment too.

“Hi,” she said softly, her voice smooth and sweet. She extended her hand, and when you took it, her touch was warm and gentle. “I’ve heard so much about you. I finally get to put a face to the name… and wow, what a beautiful face.”

The compliment came out so naturally and sincerely that it caught you completely off guard. You felt your heart skip, and a shy smile crept onto your lips before you could stop it.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Manon,” you managed to reply, still a little stunned by how approachable and kind she seemed. No idol aura, no distance — just a girl at a party, looking at you like she was genuinely happy you were there.

Bella watched the two of you for a second, her grin growing wider and wider. She let go of your hand and took a small step back.

“Well… my job here is done,” she announced with a satisfied little laugh. “I’m going to grab a drink. You two behave… or don’t. Either way, have fun!”

And just like that, Bella gave you a cheeky wink and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Manon standing there together.

Manon let out a soft laugh, glancing at you with playful eyes.“She’s something else, isn’t she?”

With Bella gone, the noise of the party faded into the background as you stood there with Manon. She tilted her head slightly, her smile still warm and inviting, and gestured toward a quieter corner of the living room with a couple of empty seats.

“Shall we sit?” she asked. “It’s easier to talk without shouting.”

You nodded quickly, trying not to look too eager, and followed her. Once you were both settled, Manon turned toward you, resting her chin lightly on her hand.

“So… Bella has told me bits and pieces about you,” she started, her voice gentle and curious. “But I’d rather hear it from you. What do you do when you’re not being dragged to parties by our very persistent best friend?”

You laughed softly, already feeling yourself relax under her easy gaze. You told her about your job, your favorite coffee spot in the city, and the silly hobby you had of collecting vintage postcards. Manon listened like every word mattered, nodding along and asking questions that showed she was genuinely interested.

At one point she leaned in a little closer. “That sounds really nice. I’ve been traveling so much the last few years that I miss simple things like that. Just… being normal for a minute.”

Her honesty was disarming. You found yourself smiling wider than usual, hanging on every little detail she shared — how she loved late-night drives with music blasting, her secret weakness for strawberry desserts, and the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed at your dumb jokes.

The more she spoke, the deeper you felt yourself falling. Her voice, her laugh, the way she looked at you like you were the most interesting person in the room… it was all too much. Your stomach did little flips every time she smiled, and you caught yourself staring at her lips for a second too long.

Manon didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she kept the conversation flowing naturally, teasing you lightly when you got a little shy.

“You’re cute when you do that,” she said once, after you stumbled over your words.

And just like that, you were done for.

You felt your face growing warmer by the second. Manon’s compliment still hung in the air, and you couldn’t help but let out a nervous little laugh as you looked down at your hands for a moment.

“Why am I cute?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

Manon’s smile turned even gentler. She studied your face for a second, her eyes sparkling with amusement and something sweeter.

“Because you’re blushing,” she answered honestly, her tone warm and playful. “But it’s okay, really. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

Before you could respond, she reached up slowly and brushed her fingers against your cheek in the softest caress. Her touch was light and careful, like she was testing if it was alright. The warmth of her fingertips sent a shiver down your spine, and your heart started racing even faster.

You swallowed, feeling completely exposed but in the best possible way.

“It’s just… you make me nervous,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re really pretty.”

Manon’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then she let out the cutest laugh, the kind that made her shoulders shake just a little. She didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she let her thumb graze your cheek once more, almost absentmindedly, while looking at you with pure fondness.

“You’re dangerous,” she murmured, still smiling. “Saying things like that with that face.”

The space between you felt smaller, the party noise fading even more into the background. All you could focus on was her — the way she looked at you, the gentle touch still lingering on your skin, and the undeniable spark that had been growing since the moment Bella introduced you.

The words slipped out before you could overthink them. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure she could hear it.

“Can I kiss you?” you asked, voice quiet but clear, eyes locked on hers.

Manon’s breath caught for a split second. Then her smile grew slow and bright, that beautiful mix of surprised and delighted. She didn’t pull her hand away from your cheek. Instead, she tilted her head, looking at you with playful, sparkling eyes.

“Only if you promise we’ll have a date after this,” she answered softly, her thumb brushing your skin once more. “And you keep being this adorable.”

A nervous but happy laugh escaped you. The way she said it — so sweet, so teasing, so genuine — made your stomach do cartwheels. Manon leaned in just a little closer, waiting for your answer, her gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.

“I promise,” you whispered, barely able to contain the smile taking over your face.

Manon’s expression softened even more, warm and full of affection.

“Good,” she murmured. “Then yes… you can kiss me.”

The party continued around you, but in that little corner of the room, it felt like time had slowed down just for the two of you.

You didn’t wait another second. Leaning in slowly, you closed the small distance between you and Manon. When your lips finally met hers, everything else disappeared.

The kiss was incredibly soft and sweet, like something out of a romantic movie. Her lips were warm and gentle against yours, moving with a tenderness that made your heart melt. Manon cupped your cheek a little more firmly, tilting her head just enough to deepen the kiss in the most delicate way. There was no rush, no pressure — just pure sweetness and the quiet joy of discovering each other.

She tasted faintly like strawberry lip gloss and the drink she’d been sipping earlier. You felt her smile against your lips for a moment, and that tiny smile made the kiss even sweeter. Your hand found its way to her waist, holding her lightly as the world around you faded into soft background noise.

When you finally pulled back just a little, your foreheads rested together. Manon’s eyes were still closed for a second longer, and when she opened them, they were shining with the same warm happiness you felt.

“Wow…” she whispered, letting out a soft, breathy laugh. “That was really nice.”

You couldn’t stop smiling, your cheeks warm and your heart doing happy little flips. “Yeah… it really was.”

She brushed her nose against yours in a gentle, playful nuzzle before pulling back enough to look at you properly, still cradling your face with one hand like she didn’t want to let go just yet.

Manon kept her forehead gently pressed against yours, her thumb still tracing soft circles on your cheek. Her eyes were full of warmth as she looked at you, a playful little smile dancing on her lips.

“For sure I’m calling you back,” she whispered, her voice soft but certain. “I’m not letting you disappear after a kiss like that.”

You couldn’t help it — you started blushing hard again, a shy giggle bubbling up from your chest. The sound made Manon’s smile grow even bigger, her eyes sparkling with pure affection.

“You’re so so so cute,” she said, almost like she couldn’t believe it. “Seriously, how are you this adorable?”

Before you could respond, Manon leaned in and started covering your face with light, sweet kisses. She kissed your cheek, then the other one, your nose, your forehead, and then back to your cheeks again in a silly but incredibly tender flurry. Each little kiss made you giggle more, your face burning with happiness as you tried (and failed) to hide how much you were enjoying it.

“Manon!” you laughed between kisses, but you didn’t pull away at all.

She finally stopped, pulling back just enough to look at you with a satisfied grin, her hands still cupping your face.

“There. Now you’re officially mine for at least one date,” she teased, brushing one last soft kiss on the tip of your nose. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

You never expected Mikey Way to look at you the way he did—like he’d finally found someone who understood the chaos inside his head without needing him to explain it.

From the very beginning, there was something different about the two of you. The connection wasn’t just sweet or romantic. It was hungry. Electric. A little dangerous.

Mikey had always carried this quiet, intense fascination with the darker edges of desire. The control, the surrender, the raw vulnerability that came with pushing limits. He’d thought about it for years—fantasized, read, watched—but he never believed he’d meet someone he trusted enough to actually explore it with.

Until you.

You matched his freak perfectly. The way your eyes would darken when he pinned your wrists above your head during a heated makeout session. The way you’d bite his lip hard enough to draw a low groan from his throat. The way you whispered filthy little confessions against his ear when you were both drunk and tangled in hotel sheets. You weren’t shy about wanting more. You craved it just as much as he did—the intensity, the trust, the beautiful filth of it all.

Mikey never said it out loud at first, but you could feel it in how he touched you. Like he was testing waters he’d only dreamed about. Like he was slowly realizing that maybe, just maybe, he’d finally found the person he could go deeper with. Someone who wouldn’t flinch. Someone who would look him in the eyes and beg for whatever twisted little thing he wanted to try.

And tonight, after months of this slow-burning tension, you could tell something had shifted in him. He’d been quieter than usual, more thoughtful, watching you with that intense hazel stare that always made your stomach flip. Like he was on the edge of asking for something more.

He pulled you closer on the couch, fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh, voice low and warm against your hair.

“You know… I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “About how fucking perfect we fit. How you’re not scared of the parts of me that aren’t soft.”

You smiled against his chest, heart already beating faster.

Because you both knew this was only the beginning.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, studying that familiar intense expression on Mikey’s face. His eyes were darker than usual, pupils already a little blown, and the way his fingers kept tracing slow, absent patterns on your thigh told you everything.

“You’re hiding something,” you said softly, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips. “I know you, Mikey Way. You get all quiet and thoughtful like this when you’re overthinking something filthy.”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against your skin as he pressed his face into your neck for a second, almost shy. But when he pulled back, there was a spark of excitement in his eyes.

“…How the fuck do you always know?” he muttered, half-amused, half-impressed. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “Alright. Yeah. I’ve been… researching.”

You raised an eyebrow, heart kicking up a notch. “Researching?”

Mikey swallowed, then met your gaze head-on, no longer hiding.

“Bondage,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Shibari. Rope. Restraints. The whole thing. I’ve been reading about it for weeks. Watching tutorials, looking at safe techniques, learning about aftercare… all of it. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

He shifted on the couch, pulling you closer so you were straddling his lap, his hands settling firmly on your hips.

“I never thought I’d actually want to try this with anyone,” he admitted, voice husky. “I’ve had these thoughts for years, but it always felt too… much. Too intense. Too dark for most people. But with you?” His fingers dug into your hips, possessive. “You match me. Every sick little fantasy I have, you look like you’d beg for it. And that fucking drives me crazy.”

You could feel him getting hard beneath you already, just from talking about it.

“I want to tie you up,” he continued, eyes locked on yours. “I want to watch you helpless, completely at my mercy. I want to take my time with you until you’re shaking and dripping and saying my name like it’s the only word you remember.”

He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered“But only if you want it too, baby. Tell me… does that turn you on as much as it turns me on?”

Mikey’s eyes darkened with lust the second you gave him that hungry little smile. He didn’t waste another second.

He stood up from the couch, tall and lean in his black hoodie, and walked over to the bedroom. You heard him open a drawer, the soft rustle of rope against wood. When he came back, he was holding several neatly coiled lengths of soft black rope in his hands — clearly brand new, bought just for this.

Your eyes widened, a rush of heat flooding between your legs.“Wow…” you breathed, biting your lip. “So you just needed to ask me, huh?”

Mikey gave you that crooked, almost shy smile, but his voice was low and rough when he answered.“I just wanted to be prepared. I didn’t want to bring it up and then not know what the fuck I was doing. I spent weeks making sure I wouldn’t hurt you.” He stepped closer, ropes dangling from his fingers. “I wanted to do it right.”

You reached up and grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulling him down to you.

“That’s why I love you,” you whispered against his lips, sincere and filthy at the same time. “You’re such a fucking nerd about the things you care about.”

Mikey laughed softly, but the sound quickly turned into something darker as he kissed you hard, tongue sliding into your mouth possessively. When he pulled back, his hand was already gripping your jaw gently, thumb pressing on your lower lip.

“Remember your safeword?” he asked, voice suddenly serious even as his eyes burned.

You nodded, breathing faster. “Red.”

“Good girl.” He leaned in until his lips were brushing your ear, voice dropping into a growl that sent shivers down your spine“Because I’m going to be a real motherfucker with you right now.”

Mikey stepped back, eyes locked on you with that intense, predatory stare that made your thighs press together. He dropped the coils of rope onto the bed and crossed his arms, voice low and commanding.“Take your clothes off. Slowly. I want to watch every fucking second.”

You stood up, heart hammering, and started peeling off your shirt first, dragging it over your head teasingly. Mikey’s gaze never left your body.

“That’s it… good girl,” he murmured, voice dripping with lust. “Look at you, so fucking eager to show me what’s mine. My pretty little slut.”

You slid your pants down your legs, bending over just enough to make him groan softly. When you reached back to unhook your bra, he licked his lips.“Fuck, baby… you’re so beautiful. So perfect for me. But we both know what you really are, don’t we?” His voice got darker. “You’re my dirty little whore who gets wet just from me telling you what to do.”

Completely naked now, you climbed onto the bed and knelt in the center like he wanted — knees spread, back straight, hands resting on your thighs. The position left you completely exposed to him.

Mikey walked around the bed slowly, admiring you from every angle, his fingers brushing lightly over your shoulder, down your spine, then gripping your hair just tight enough to tilt your head back.

“Such a good fucking girl on your knees for me already,” he praised, voice soft and sweet for a moment. Then it turned filthy. “But we both know you’re dripping right now, aren’t you? Already aching to be used like the needy little cumslut you are.”

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear as his free hand cupped one of your breasts, thumb flicking over your nipple. “You look so fucking perfect like this… ready to be tied up and ruined. My beautiful, filthy girl.”

Mikey’s fingers slid under your chin, tilting your face up firmly so you had no choice but to look straight into his eyes. His thumb pressed against your lower lip, pulling it down slightly as he stared at you with pure hunger.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered softly.

The second your lips parted, Mikey leaned over you and spat directly onto your tongue — warm, slow, and deliberate. The filthy act made you moan quietly, the taste of him making your pussy throb.“Swallow,” he commanded, voice rough.

You obeyed instantly, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a dark, satisfied smirk.

“Good fucking girl,” he praised, stroking your cheek. “Now put your hands behind your back.”

You shifted on your knees and obediently moved both arms behind you, wrists crossing just above your ass. The position pushed your chest forward, leaving you even more exposed.

Mikey picked up one of the soft black ropes, unfolding it with practiced hands. He stepped behind you on the bed, his body heat pressing against your back. You felt his breath on your neck as he started wrapping the rope around your wrists.

“Nice and tight… but not too tight,” he murmured, voice low and focused while his fingers worked. He looped the rope carefully, knotting it with the knowledge he’d spent weeks studying. “I’ve been dying to see you like this — helpless, all tied up for me.”

He pulled the rope firmer, securing your wrists together. The pressure felt perfect — restrictive but safe. Once he finished the knot, he ran his hands down your arms, admiring his work.

“Fuck… look at you,” he groaned, voice thick with lust. “All bound and pretty for me. My perfect little fucktoy.”

He gave the rope a gentle tug, testing it, then leaned in and bit down softly on your shoulder as his hands roamed around to squeeze your tits from behind.

Mikey gave the rope binding your wrists a sharp tug, yanking your arms back harder. The sudden pull forced your chest forward and made you arch your neck, your head tilting back with a surprised gasp.

“That’s it,” he growled, voice low and mean. “Arch that pretty back for me like the desperate little whore you are.”

He kept the tension on the rope with one hand, controlling your body completely, while his other hand slid down your spine. Then he moved with purpose, looping the excess rope down toward your ankles.“Legs apart,” he ordered coldly.

When you didn’t spread them fast enough, he kicked your knees wider himself, forcing your thighs open until you were completely exposed — knees bent, pussy on full display, dripping and aching. He worked quickly, tying the same rope from your wrists down to your ankles, connecting them in a tight, restrictive hogtie position that left you arched and helpless.

“Fuuuck, look at you,” he laughed darkly, stepping back to admire his work. “All tied up like a filthy little toy. Can’t even close your legs. Pathetic.”

He walked around to stand in front of you, gripping your jaw roughly again and forcing you to look up at him. His thumb pressed hard into your cheek as he smirked.

“You’re soaked already, aren’t you? Just from being tied up like a fucking animal. I knew you were a depraved little slut, but this…” He leaned down, spitting on your tits this time, watching it drip down your body. “This is perfect.”

Mikey ran two fingers slowly up your inner thigh, stopping just before touching your dripping cunt, teasing you mercilessly.

“Beg for it,” he said, voice dripping with dominance. “Beg me to touch that greedy pussy while you’re all tied up and useless.”

Please, Mikey…” you whimpered, voice already shaking with need. Being tied like this — arched, exposed, completely helpless — had you dripping down your thighs. “Please touch me… I need your fingers, your mouth, anything. I’m so fucking wet for you.”

Mikey stood in front of you, arms crossed, that cruel little smirk on his lips as he watched you struggle against the ropes. He tilted his head, clearly enjoying your desperation.

“No,” he said simply, voice cold and amused.

You let out a frustrated whine, trying to shift your hips toward him, but the ropes kept you perfectly in place.“Mikey, please… I’ll be so good, I swear. I need you so bad, baby. Please touch my pussy, I’m aching—”

“I said no,” he cut you off sharply, grabbing your face again. “You don’t get to make demands when you’re tied up like a fucking toy. You take what I give you.”

He stepped away and reached for the other coils of rope he’d left on the nightstand. Your eyes widened as he picked them up, unfolding them slowly.“You thought that was all?” he chuckled darkly. “Oh no, baby. I’m tying you up completely tonight.”

Mikey moved with purpose, wrapping more rope around your thighs, binding them to your calves so you couldn’t close your legs at all. Then he added rope just under your tits, creating a tight harness that squeezed your breasts and made them bulge obscenely. Every new knot, every pull of the rope made you moan louder.

He finished by looping rope around your upper arms and torso, pinning your arms even tighter against your back until you were almost completely immobilized — back arched hard, tits pushed out, legs spread wide open, pussy glistening and exposed.

When he was done, Mikey stepped back and admired his work, palming his hard cock through his pants.

“Fuck… look at my pretty little rope slut,” he growled, voice thick with lust. “All wrapped up like a gift. Completely fucking helpless.”

He leaned down and spat directly onto your exposed cunt, watching it drip down your folds.“Now… let’s see how much louder you can beg.”

Mikey circled you slowly on the bed, his fingers trailing over the ropes already digging into your skin. You were trembling, completely bound and dripping, every breath making your chest strain against the harness.

“Not quite done yet,” he murmured, voice dark and hungry. “One more thing, baby.”

He took the last length of rope and worked it with expert hands. First, he looped it around your throat — not too tight, but firm enough to feel the pressure every time you swallowed. A soft, controlling collar of rope. Then he slowly ran it down the front of your body, between your breasts, over your stomach, and lower.

You gasped sharply as he positioned the rope right between your spread legs.

He tied a thick, deliberate knot exactly where it would press against your swollen clit. The knot was firm, perfectly placed so that any tiny movement would grind it against your most sensitive spot.

“There we go…” Mikey said, voice low and satisfied as he stepped back to admire you. “Now you’re really fucked.”

The rope connected your neck to your cunt — every time you moved your head or arched your back, the knot rubbed harshly against your clit. You were completely trapped by your own body’s reactions.

“Fuuuck, look at you,” he groaned, palming his cock again. “All tied up with a rope running straight to that greedy little clit. You’re going to torture yourself for me every time you squirm.”

He reached down and gave the rope a light tug, making the knot press harder against your clit. A broken moan tore from your throat instantly.

Mikey leaned in close, gripping your jaw roughly as he smirked.“Does that feel good, you pathetic little rope whore? Bet you’re already close to losing your mind and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

He spat on your tits again, watching it slide down your body toward the rope.“Move for me. I want to watch you fuck yourself with that knot.”

Mikey’s hand came down hard across your cheek in a sharp, stinging slap. The sound echoed in the room as your head snapped to the side, a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body.

“Eyes on me,” he growled.

You whimpered, lips parted, completely at his mercy. Mikey grabbed the rope around your neck and tugged it upward, making the thick knot grind harshly against your swollen clit.“I said hump it like the desperate little slut you are,” he ordered, voice dripping with cruelty. “Rub that pathetic cunt on the knot. Show me how badly you need it.”

You tried immediately, desperate to please him. You rocked your hips forward as much as the tight ropes allowed — but the hogtie and the connections between your wrists, ankles, thighs and neck barely let you move. Every small shift made the knot press and slide against your clit, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through you, but it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t get the friction you craved.

You let out a frustrated, needy moan, struggling harder, trying to grind down on the rope.

Mikey watched you with dark amusement, tilting his head.

“Is that the best you can do?” he laughed coldly. “Look at you… pathetic. Tied up like a fucking toy and you can’t even hump a rope properly. Such a useless little whore.”

He slapped your face again, lighter this time but still sharp, then gripped your jaw tightly.

“Faster,” he demanded, voice mean and low. “I said hump it. Grind that dripping cunt like you’re in heat. You’re not even moving, baby. Are you that fucking helpless? That stupid? All you’re good for is taking whatever I give you and you can’t even do that right.”

You whined loudly, trying desperately to move more, the ropes digging into your skin as you rocked your hips in tiny, frustrated movements. The knot kept teasing your clit, never giving you enough pressure, making you drip even more.

Mikey smirked, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.“That’s it… keep struggling for me, you filthy, desperate rope slut. The more you fight it, the wetter you get.”

Mikey grabbed the rope around your neck again, using it as a leash to control your movements. He pulled it just enough to make the thick knot grind harder against your swollen, aching clit.

“Don’t stop,” he ordered, voice low and mocking. “Keep humping that knot like the pathetic little bitch in heat you are. Come on, move those hips for me.”

You tried harder, whimpering desperately as you rocked your body in the tiny range the ropes allowed. The knot rubbed against your clit with every struggle, sending sharp sparks of pleasure through you, but it was never enough.

Mikey laughed darkly as he watched you fight against your own restraints. Without warning, his hand came down hard on your tits — a sharp, stinging slap on your left breast, then your right, making them bounce and turn pink.

You whined loudly, voice breaking.“But Mikey… you tied me up so I can’t even move properly…” you cried out, frustrated and dripping, eyes glassy with need.

Mikey’s smirk grew cruel and amused. He slapped your tits again, harder this time, watching them jiggle as you moaned.“And isn’t that the fucking funniest thing I’ve ever done?” he chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Look at you — all trussed up like a little fuck puppet, trying so hard to hump a rope because you’re too desperate to think straight. You can barely move an inch and you’re still grinding on it like a brainless whore.”

He tugged the rope again, forcing the knot to press and drag against your clit while he continued slapping your sensitive tits, turning them redder with every hit.

“Keep going,” he taunted, voice dripping with mean delight. “Hump it faster, baby. I love watching you struggle. This is so fucking pathetic… and so fucking hot.”

You were desperate, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you struggled against the tight ropes. But then you found it — the right angle.

By pushing your chest forward as much as the rope around your throat allowed and rolling your hips in a small, sharp circular motion, you could finally grind properly against the thick knot pressed to your clit. The movement was limited, almost pathetic, but it worked. The knot rubbed firm and steady against your swollen nub with every roll, sending real waves of pleasure through your soaked cunt.

You started doing it faster, moaning loudly as you humped the rope like your life depended on it, completely lost in the feeling.

Mikey’s eyebrows raised slightly, clearly surprised. He watched you for a long moment, eyes dark with lust as you kept grinding, your tits bouncing slightly with every desperate movement.

“Well… fuck me,” he muttered, voice low. Then a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.

“Look at that. My stupid little rope slut finally figured it out.” He reached down and stroked your cheek almost tenderly, even as he continued, “I thought you were just a brainless whore who couldn’t even hump a knot without help… but here you are, fucking yourself on it like a good girl.”

He slapped your tits again, but lighter this time, almost like a reward.

“That’s it, baby. Keep going. Grind that greedy clit on my rope. Fuck, you look so pretty when you’re actually trying.” His voice dropped into something softer but still filthy. “Such a good fucking girl for me. Not completely useless after all, huh?”

Mikey leaned down and spat on your tongue again as you kept desperately humping the knot, moaning into his mouth when he kissed you roughly.“I’m proud of you,” he whispered against your lips, stroking your hair. “My perfect, filthy, smart little cumslut.”

Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure.“Mikey— fuck— I’m gonna— I can’t—”

You didn’t even get to finish the sentence.

Your whole body tensed violently as the orgasm crashed through you. A raw, guttural cry tore from your throat as you squirted hard, soaking the ropes, the bed, and Mikey’s hand that was resting on your thigh. The mess was surprising, even to you — a clear, powerful gush that kept spilling out with every pulse of your cunt, dripping everywhere while you shook and twitched in the tight bondage.

Mikey’s eyes widened for a second in raw lust… then darkened with dangerous amusement.

Slap.

His hand connected hard with your cheek, snapping your head to the side as you were still mid-orgasm.

“You fucking slut,” he growled, voice low and furious. “I didn’t give you permission to cum. Not once.”

You whimpered pathetically, still twitching from the aftershocks, your pussy still dripping onto the soaked sheets.

Mikey grabbed your jaw roughly, forcing you to look at him. His thumb dug into your cheek as he stared straight into your glassy eyes.

“Look at this fucking mess you made… squirting all over my ropes like a brainless whore who can’t control herself.” He slapped your face again, lighter but still sharp. “That was pathetic. And now you’re gonna pay for it.”

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear as he whispered darkly:

“You’re staying tied up exactly like this for a long time, baby. I’m not even close to being done with you. That little orgasm you stole? That’s gonna cost you. I’m going to edge you until you’re crying and begging… and maybe — maybe — if you’re really good, I’ll let you cum again.”

He gave the rope around your neck a firm tug, making the knot grind against your oversensitive clit again, forcing a broken sob out of you.

You wiped the dusty counter of the video store with a rag that had definitely seen better days, humming absentmindedly under your breath. The afternoon shift was usually quiet, which gave you plenty of time to overthink everything — especially him.

“Seriously, Sidney,” you muttered, stacking returned tapes, “can you please tell Randy that if he doesn’t bring back Halloween today, Mr. Johnson is actually going to ban him? He’s three days late already. Three! GUESS WHO'S GONNA GET CHARGED FOR IT”

Sidney leaned against the counter, flipping through a magazine with a knowing little smirk. “I’ve told him twice. He says he’s ‘studying the film for academic purposes.’”

“Yeah, right,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “The only thing he’s studying is how many times he can watch Jamie Lee Curtis scream before—”

The little bell above the door chimed cheerfully.

Your heart immediately did that stupid fluttery thing it always did whenever he walked in. Stu Macher stepped inside, tall, messy-haired, wearing that signature goofy grin like he owned the entire planet. His eyes scanned the store lazily until they landed on you and Sidney.

Sidney didn’t even try to hide her amusement.“Oh look,” she said sweetly, loud enough for him to hear, “there’s your boyfriend.”

Your face burned instantly.“Sidney!” you hissed, elbowing her hard. “Shut up. He’s dating Casey Becker, first of all. And second, he wouldn’t even notice me. I’m just… the girl who organizes the horror section.”

Sidney raised an eyebrow, still smiling like she knew something you didn’t. “Um… you didn’t hear? They broke up like two days ago.”

You froze mid-wipe, the rag hanging limp in your hand. “They… what?”

Before Sidney could answer, Stu’s loud voice cut through the store.

“Yo! Ladies! What’s good?” He strolled over, hands in his pockets, that chaotic energy radiating off him like usual. “Please tell me you guys finally got the new Nightmare on Elm Street in. I’ve been dying to rewatch it but was kidnapped by Randy like every good movie in here .”

His bright blue eyes flicked to you for a second longer than usual. Or maybe you were just imagining it. Probably imagining it.

You swallowed hard, trying to play it cool even though your stomach was doing Olympic-level gymnastics.

“Uh… yeah, it’s on the recently back shelf,” you managed, pointing vaguely behind him.

Stu grinned wider. “Sweet. Thanks, babe.”

Babe.

He said it so casually it made your brain short-circuit.

As he wandered off toward the shelves, Sidney leaned in close and whispered: “See? This is exactly why I’m playing matchmaker. You two are exactly the same brand of weird. Just wait.”

You groaned and hid your burning face behind the rag.“Sidney, I swear to God…”

You stood there frozen behind the counter, rag still in your hand, mind spinning after what Sidney had just dropped on you.

They broke up? Stu and Casey actually broke up?

Your brain immediately started playing dangerous little scenarios. What if Sidney was right? What if… no. You shook your head. Stu Macher was still way out of your league. Popular, loud, ridiculously cute Stu who probably only saw you as “the nice girl who works at the video store.” Nothing more.

You were so deep in your daydream that you didn’t even notice him coming back until a tape case landed on the counter with a loud thump.

“Yo, this tape is broken,” Stu said, leaning on the counter with that signature crooked grin.

You blinked, snapping out of it. “Huh?”

“Yeah, I opened it and instead of Nightmare on Elm Street there’s some Thai porno inside. Wild, right?” His eyes sparkled with pure mischief.

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “I doubt Randy returned a Thai porno instead of Nightmare on Elm Street, Stu.”

He shrugged dramatically. “Hey, it’s a possibility! Guy’s been weird lately.”

You were about to reply when he suddenly leaned in closer, voice dropping into that playful tone that made your knees weak.

“But honestly? I mostly came back ‘cause I heard Sidney say I’m your boyfriend.” He tilted his head, grinning. “I didn’t know we’d been dating this whole time. Why didn’t you tell me, babe? That was rude”

Before you could even process, Stu gently took your hand and pressed a soft, dramatic kiss to the back of it, looking up at you through his messy hair with fake-serious heartthrob eyes.

Your face went nuclear. “I’m going to cut Sidney’s tongue out,” you muttered, mortified but unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips.

Stu let out a bright laugh, still holding your hand.“I adore that homicidal impulse. Super hot.”

He finally let go (reluctantly) and straightened up, though his grin stayed firmly in place.

“Alright, real talk though — I actually came to ask for a movie recommendation. Billy wants Nightmare on Elm Street but he’s banned from here… thanks to you, by the way.” He pointed at you playfully. “And because the idiot didn’t return Back to the Future on time. So hook me up with something good. Something we could maybe… watch together?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

You stared at him, heart hammering so loud you were sure the whole store could hear it. Stu was still leaning on the counter, looking way too pleased with himself after that hand kiss.“Wait… are you asking me out on a date?” you asked, voice coming out higher than you intended.

Stu blinked once, then his grin stretched even wider, all teeth and playful energy.“Nah, not exactly,” he said casually, tapping the counter with his fingers. “I’m just saying you should recommend me a movie so we can watch it together at my house.” He shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. “It’s just a date, no going out. ‘Cause we’re not going out… we’re staying at my house.”

He said it so smoothly, so matter-of-factly, like he hadn’t just flipped your entire nervous system upside down. His blue eyes stayed locked on yours, waiting, that mischievous sparkle making it impossible to tell if he was joking or half-serious.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.“So… you want me to come to your house… to watch a movie… and you’re calling that a date?” you clarified, cheeks burning.

“Exactly!” Stu pointed at you like you’d just solved a puzzle. “See? You get me. No pressure, no fancy dinner, no parents around… just you, me, a killer movie, and probably way too much popcorn. What do you say?”

He tilted his head, giving you that puppy-dog look mixed with his usual chaotic charm. For a second he almost looked nervous under all the confidence — or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Your brain was screaming. This can’t be real. Stu Macher is asking you (sort of) on a not-going-out date.

You bit your lip, trying to play it cool even though your heart was doing cartwheels. Stu was still waiting for your answer with that ridiculous hopeful grin. “Okay… how about Possession?” you suggested, voice a little shy. “The one with Isabelle Adjani. It’s from 1981. Super intense, weird as hell, and kinda underrated.”

Stu’s eyes went wide like you’d just told him the meaning of life. “Wow. Not only do you have my full respect for picking an underrated gem… but a ‘80s horror film? That’s connoisseur level right there.” He placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “It’s not like I would’ve canceled if you picked something from the ‘70s or even Chucky, I’m not that pretentious… but damn. You got me on my knees.”

And then, without warning, Stu Macher actually dropped to one knee right there in the middle of the video store, looking up at you like you were some kind of goddess.

You couldn’t help it — you burst into giggles, covering your mouth with both hands. He was so expressive, so extra, so completely ridiculous… and somehow exactly what you wished you could be if you weren’t so painfully shy.

“Stu, get up!” you laughed, face burning bright red.

He stayed down for a second longer, grinning up at you.

You shrugged, still giggling. “I just know a lot about movies because… well, it’s my job. And when the store’s empty I usually sneak into the backroom and watch whatever I want. Last weekend I watched Cannibal Holocaust back there.”

Stu’s jaw dropped. He dramatically clutched his chest with both hands.“Marry me. Please. Right now. You’re a diamond in the rough. Marry me, I’m serious.”

Stu stayed on one knee for a dramatic second longer before standing up, brushing off his jeans with a sheepish but still playful grin.

“Okay, maybe the marriage proposal was a little sudden,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s only fair, right? I only found out we were already dating because Sidney announced it.” He leaned on the counter again, eyes soft but sparkling. “But for real… would you wanna watch the movie with me? Please?”

You couldn’t hold back the giggles anymore. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. He was ridiculous… and you loved it. “Yeah,” you said softly, still laughing. “I’d like that.”

Stu’s whole face lit up like a kid on Christmas. “YES!” he shouted at the top of his lungs in the middle of the store. “She said yes! She said YES!”

He immediately started doing the most ridiculous victory dance you’d ever seen — flailing arms, shaking hips, spinning around like an idiot while knocking into a display of horror movie standees. One of the Cardboard Freddys almost fell over.

You were giggling so hard you had to hold onto the counter for support, face completely flushed. “Stu— oh my god, stop—”

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT HERE?!” Your boss, Mr. Johnson, stormed out from the back room, red-faced and furious. “Get back to work! This is a video store, not a damn circus!”

Stu instantly flipped him off behind his back while still grinning at you. Then he leaned in super close, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper:“Just ‘cause of that, I’m stealing the movie.”

“No!” you whispered back, still laughing. “They’ll deduct it from my paycheck!”

Stu gasped like that was the worst news ever. “Well then… I guess I’ll just have to steal a kiss instead.”

Before you could even react, he cupped your face with both hands and leaned over the counter, planting a quick but warm kiss right on your lips. It was playful, a little clumsy, and tasted like cherry soda and pure trouble.

When he pulled back, he was smirking like he’d just won the lottery.“See you tonight, babe.”

The second Stu walked out the door (still doing a little happy dance on his way to his car), you spun around so fast you nearly knocked over a stack of tapes.

“Sidney,” you whispered, voice shaky with disbelief, “please tell me all of that was real and I didn’t just hallucinate the last ten minutes.”

Sidney came out from behind the horror aisle with the biggest, most satisfied smirk you’d ever seen on her face. She looked way too proud of herself.

“Well…” she started, trying (and failing) to look innocent, “maybe it slipped out that I told Billy my best friend is head-over-heels in love with his best friend… and he told Stu. So… I guess you’re welcome?”

She reached over and gave your shoulder a gentle, supportive pat like she’d just fixed your entire life.

Your mouth fell open. “Sidney Prescott!”

“What!” she laughed, raising her hands. “You two have been staring at each other for months like lovesick puppies. Someone had to do something! And honestly? After watching Stu drop to one knee and then steal a kiss like that… I think my work here is done.”

You covered your burning face with both hands, peeking at her through your fingers.“I can’t believe you. I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die before I even get to his house tonight.”

Sidney grinned and bumped your hip with hers.

“You’re welcome, by the way. Now stop panicking and go pick out a cute outfit after your shift. Stu’s house, movie night, and Possession? This is straight out of a rom-com. My best friend is finally getting her moment.”