sour skittles make my tongue hurt:(

The next best option is to give the extras to your neighbors. ‘How about the old lady across the street?’ You contemplate, ‘No, you've already done that once this week… And she has diabetes, so she'd probably reject a second batch anyway.’ Now, there's always the newlywed couple to the right of you, but whenever you talk to them, you end up staying for absolutely too long because they keep reliving their relationship journey. Every. Single. Time. It'd always start with what you’d bring them.

Didn’t matter if it was brownies or cookies; they had an unrelatable love story for it. One story that they never let down is one about cupcakes.

“And that’s when she took the cupcake and smeared it all over my face. Mind you, I looked down for one second to grab the ring box from my pocket!” Darrel laughed with a toothy salesman smile.

“Oh, hubby, stop it! If I knew that you were going to propose, I would’ve never caked you. The sign in the restaurant said that if you unsuspectingly caked the person you came with, your meal would be free.” Gabriela pouted with her bottom lip jutting out.

It's grossly cute in a way, a way that makes you want to cry and binge eat all the cookies you just made until you die from sugar poisoning. Nevertheless, you have a successful business to run, so you can't. Before you could get yourself worked up about it, the sound of a nearby car pulling into its driveway snaps you out of it. You look at the time and let out another sigh. ‘Late as usual’ you trail off while pushing the extras to the side to carefully pack the order into small boxes while counting them in increments of ten.

You grab your biggest delivery basket and arrange it so they all fit a bit too snug for your liking, and rush your way out to your car. The basket begins to slip from your grip as you groan and grunt. “Shit, shit, shit!” You exclaim louder than you’d like, even though it’s warranted. After all, you didn’t spend three additional hours perfecting a loaded Cookie Monster x s'mores cookie recipe just to drop ALL of them (curse your “one trip only” mentality) before you even make it to the car. Despite you trying your hardest, all your efforts are in vain. You feel the woven straw and wood handle slide from your grasp, peppering your hand with splinters to dissuade you from hanging on any longer. Then poof, it’s gone from your grasp. With how heavy the basket was, you expected it to hurt at least a little when it dropped on your foot, but it didn't. You sigh, eyes squeezed shut in frustration and pain. You reach down with your good hand only to miss the basket multiple times. With no other choice, you look down, expecting to see that the basket may have just missed you, only to be met with a pair of scuffed black boots.

Slightly alarmed by the mysterious man towering over you, your eyes begin to slowly rake up his body like you were in a horror movie. You start with his heavy-duty boots that were polished yet splattered with mud and… ash, through a wild guess. Once you determine that there is nothing else of interest down there, your eyes wander farther up. They trail over to his thick black sweatpant-clad thighs, and it doesn't take more than one glance for you to realize the girth he’s packing there. It seemed like one of them was twice the size of your head. From his legs alone, you can only imagine what else the man could be packing. The thought makes your mind run with foul ideas and your mouth parts with your tongue darting out to subtly lick the top row of your teeth.

You snap out of your lustful train of thought when you feel something tap you on the head.

“My eyes are up here, princess.” The man above you says, followed by another chuckle that has you shooting upright with a shiver pulsing through your body. Your eyes squeeze shut, trying to adjust to the sudden movement before you meet his face. Blinking open your lids, you notice that his eyes were already on yours, analyzing and reading you like an open book. Along with that, his expression is relaxed, yet knowing. Almost as if he already knows everything you want to do to him. And everything that he is going to do to you when the opportunity presents itself.

The newfound sexual tension between you two weighs heavily on your shoulders and washes a hot wave over your cheeks. The heat has every crevice of your body moistening with sweat and/or arousal. God, you need to get laid. There is no reason for you to be folding so easily when nothing has happened. ‘Stupid fucking imagination’ You think to yourself. You open your mouth to speak in hopes of making you look less like a horny dumb bimbo, yet your body works against you. Your throat viciously dries up, causing you to stand there, parched with your mouth open. Only when the man starts talking again do you conscientiously close your mouth.

“Were you… expecting something?” He jokes once more with a low laugh. Finally getting fed up with getting laughed and chuckled at, you find the words to defend yourself.

“N-No, No, not at all. What I meant to say was, um. Thank you for your help, but I’m fine!” You say, snatching the basket of cookies from his grasp, forgetting how heavy it was and only causing the splinters in your hand to ram themselves deeper than you ever felt.

“Are you sure you got it under control?” He says, finally displaying another expression other than his knowing smirk. “Yup!” You retort back, clearly struggling with the heavy basket, breath hitching in your throat. Yet, you power through and shimmy closer to the car, almost sandwiching him in between. When you jolt your head to the side, he realizes that he's in the way of you and the delivery car. He scoots out of your way, slowly, his eyes still trained on you as you gently toss the basket into the backseat and strap it in like it was a toddler. You slam the door when you're done, and turn around only to notice that the fine man helping you was still standing there, watching. Not knowing where to start, you both stand in silence as time and the world around you moves painfully slow. Your mouth opens once again, and again, nothing comes out. Not because you were sexually smitten by the man, though your actions and the heated tension between you both would say differently, but because there simply isn't anything you know about him to start a conversation. In fact, you expect him to take the awkward situation into his hands and tell a joke with a low chuckle again, but nothing. There is no joke made, only silence.

‘Why is he still here?’

‘I hope he isn't expecting a reward because I don't have anything for him…’

Your thoughts trail off as an idea pops into your head.

“Oh! Wait here!” You exclaim out loud and jog back inside.

After five minutes of disinfecting and patching up your hand, you pack up the extra cookies and write down the allergens, ingredients, and flavors on the box. You jog them back outside to your helper, bandaged and determined. “There you go! This is a token of my appreciation for you saving my ass when I almost got flipped out on it. And don't worry, I wrote down all the allergens just in case.” You smile and place the cookies you proudly baked into his hands. “Hmmm, I'm kinda watching how I eat right now.” He says, making your face drop, before he decides not to be such an ass. “But if you made them, I'll try them… After all, a little taste wouldn't hurt.” He drops his voice a couple of notches, reverting back to the tone and demeanor he started the conversation with. The last part of his sentence would've gone right over your head if it wasn't for his lustful eye contact.

Your eyes light up with shock, but before a single word can leave your lips, he's already brushing past you with the kind of ease that speaks of confidence and danger. His hand slides across your waist, slow and deliberate, a firm touch that lingers just long enough to leave your skin burning in its absence.

You stand there, replaying the brush of his fingers, every unspoken word humming in the air between you. There's something about him, something sexy, something mysterious that makes you want more, and something sweet under all that.

Then you hear it. A soft, creaky hinge.

A door opens.

You turn around on instinct, curiosity snapping through your body like electricity. That's when you see it. The door to the house beside yours swings open, and in he goes.

He lives right. next. door.

Suddenly, your late-night thoughts and depressive ponderings have a new star. One with strong hands, a dangerous grin, no name... and a front door just steps away.

Who knows how long before those thoughts leak into the foreground of your brain and become actions.

—

The door clicks shut behind me, and I don’t move. Not yet.

I lean into it, shoulder first, lazy and loose, like I’ve got all the time in the world. Like I didn’t just walk away from something irresistible….

No, someone.

I glance down at the minty green and pastel pink box in my hand, immediately thinking of her.

Cute. Sweet. Gentle. Thoughtful. “Saint-like”...

Those words come to mind by instinct, but I know that there is more to her. She wants to seem innocent, like she’s simply the good-girl-next-door with vanilla and buttercream stained jeans, like she “unknowingly” marinates in temptation, and good intentions.

Bullshit.

Her intentions were nothing but lustful towards me, and that was upon arrival. That was before she even saw my face. She “tried” to pretend like she wasn’t eye-fucking me the moment I showed up. But I see right through her. Anyone could. The way her tongue flicked across her teeth. The way her thighs clenched oh so deliciously when I chuckled. The way her stare clung to my thighs like she was picturing herself right on top, riding like her pleasure depended on it.

Oh and it will…

The kind of softness she portrays is always hiding something filthy underneath. And the way she looked at me? She wants it dirty. She wants it fast. She wants it all. And I’d give it to her. Right on her flour-dusted countertop, her cheek pressed to the marble, with nothing but that heart-shaped apron on while she moans and whines as we watch those little cookies that she probably put hours into burn to ash.

A low, whispered, groan emerges from my throat at the thought. I wipe my face in pent-up frustration and toss the cookie box onto the coffee table. I don’t even want the damn things. But I do want her.

Keeping these thoughts in my head for any longer will be torture, but I’ll also enjoy every second of it.

—

It’s been a week.

Seven days.

Seven sleepless, jazz-filled, touch-starved, baking-filled days since your embarrassing encounter with the man next door.

But that’s on purpose. Because your bakery is still out of commission, you've had to continue working out of your personal kitchen, which didn't pose a problem at first. You enjoyed the musical freedom you had at your house. Blasting jazz, r&b, and house music is something you could never do at your bakery because there was an apartment building on top. You also loved that you could lounge around on the couch when you had down time. And lastly, you didn't have to drive home after work. Once your shift was done you could walk upstairs and take a shower. The 5 o’clock traffic after a tiresome day was no more. But then there were the cons. Only hours into your fifth day working from home and you realize how fucked you are with having a clear view into your next door neighbors house. With how much you've watched him this week, you can practically guesstimate his schedule.

He runs an 11/13 split. 11 hours gone at work and 13 resting and whatever his day entails. And you found out through observation that he is a fire fighter, so your soot hunch wasn't far-off.

He wakes up before the sun and takes a jog around the neighborhood before coming back to take a shower. Walks around in nothing but that god forsaken burgundy towel, and you don't want to admit how much you should've given him his privacy during times like that, and you didn’t. Anyway, he throws on his undergarments and leaves his chest bare while he makes his mediocre breakfast of slightly burnt toast from his toaster (everyone knows it's the best when it's from the oven) slaps some jam, not jelly on one half and protein peanut butter on the other and eats them separately at his kitchen island before getting dressed and heading off to what you guess is work. Then it cycles Monday through Sunday.

You know this is unhealthy. Obsessive, even. Maybe borderline or over the line unhinged.

But it’s just looking. Just… observation.

You haven’t done anything.

Yet.

—

You’ve overcooked this time.

Of course you did, haha! It's like the universe is taunting and laughing at you, or… The universe might be trying to take you exactly where you belong…

So now you’re standing here, hot plate in hand, heels that were meant to impress but now feel like self-sabotage weapons, making you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You try telling yourself that you're not falling for him in the most shallow way possible without even knowing his name yet. You tell yourself it’s just a neighborly gesture. A nice deed out of the goodness of your heart. A peace offering.

But deep down, in that sweet-sticky part of you that is kept locked behind lipstick and linen aprons, you know it isn’t. In fact, you want him to taste, devour that part of you.

It’s not about feeding him. Or being polite.

It’s about maybe brushing fingers again.

About hearing that low, amused laugh that tightens things inside you that have no business tightening. About how he looks at you like he’s already tasted the mess between your thighs and decided he wants seconds. A dark lust filled glance. A low chuckle in that voice that made your thighs clench oh so naughty and deliciously.

You damn near drool at his doorstep before the soft creak of his front door pulls you back to earth, just in time to feel the warm press of his presence fill the space in front of you.

Your eyes flutter open before he says anything, giving you a moment. Just one sinful, stolen moment to drink him in.

He’s dressed head to toe in black.

A black compression shirt clings to his broad shoulders like it was tailored with your fantasies in mind. Black joggers hanging low on his hips, low enough to show the lethality of his v-line, but cuffed just enough to tease what else is down there and the casual sin in his stride. He looks like trouble disguised as need, heat wrapped in shadow and mystery.

And the way he leans against the doorframe, one hand on hip and the other by his head with his bare forearm flexed just so, it makes your mouth go dry.

He looks you up and down like you’re a dessert he didn’t order but fully intends to devour anyway.

“You always dress like this to drop off cookies?”

God, that smirk. That knowing in his eyes.

It’s not polite. It’s not sweet.

It’s feral. Starved. Curious.

It almost makes you want to forget how shallow everything is and feel him plunging deep into every hole you have.

Almost.

“Well, actually, it’s food this time.” You say, side stepping the question he already knows the answer to. You hold the plate up as if it was a delicate gift. You see him scan your features as you put on a small truly innocent smile while you still switch the weight back and forth on your feet which he chooses not to comment on yet. Instead, an unnecessarily lustful groan accompanied by what you believe to be his signature chuckle gracefully leaves his lips, making a hot dip in your stomach. There's a hint of rasp in his voice as his next words, filthy and sinful, roll off his tongue like hot ice. “Oh Sweet thing, you shouldn't have.”

Oooooh. fuck.

You almost dropped the plate right then and there and forced him into a mating press, if that was even a forcible position. Your hands tighten around the edges of the plate you were holding, your shoulders tensing along with them. A toothy grin tugs on the corner of his lips as he watches the words make waves on your body. He makes the pet name sound like it's your name, like it's on your birth certificate, like it was made for you. It's like a verbal lick to every sweet spot and erogenous zone in and out your body all at the same time. His words shoot straight down to your cunt and flood your panties in arousal after doing a number on your shoulders. You mash your legs together to combat the drenched feeling and clear your throat.

“A-ah, well… I did…” You murmur, voice tight in your throat, the strength in your arms faltering from tensing them for so long. The plate almost slips from your hand.

He sees this but doesn’t make a move to take it from you. Instead, he leans in just enough for you to catch the scent of something woody. The arm on his hip gracefully wraps around your waist, his hand leaving a faint guide on your lower back. “Why don’t you bring that inside?” he taunts low, coaxing, devastating. His words leave your mouth with nothing to say and your brain empty, leaving you with no other option but to obey.

You take three small steps inside, yet they feel like the biggest decision you've ever made. As if it was only to confirm the way you were feeling, the door shuts behind you with a quiet click followed by a lock. It’s a seal. A promise. A warning. A warning that you didn’t take but are ready to receive all of the sticky consequences for.

Your eyes scan over his living space, it's dim with soft lighting and sleek cream colored walls. The place looks very modern with dark academia pops of color, seeing as most of his furniture and miscellaneous table pieces were burgundy or navy blue. You walk past the living room, straight through to the kitchen. You place the plate down on the counter with care, like it’s still your main reason for being here. But the moment you straighten up, you feel his presence behind you.

Coming closer. Closer. Closer until his hands–strong, calloused, and hot sneak onto the counter top on both sides, caging you in. They're still far enough from your body that you can still think coherent thoughts, however you don't know how long that'll last. His proximity makes you sputter out as you direct your focus to the covered plate of food in front of you and drag it closer. “I… I made oven baked salmon with a side–” A hand, specifically his left one inches closer to your body until it rests ever so lightly on your lower stomach, it makes your breath hitch.

“You know damn well that's not why you’re here.” He whispers, teeth making themselves known on your ear. “May I?” He asks, to which you consent. As if it wasn't what you wanted most right now. “I'd like nothing else more.” He nips the top and you find yourself leaning into the pain with closed eyes rather than jolting away. He hums a ‘mhmm’, watching your expression gently contort from shy and guarded to one full of pleasure and longing. “If it was, then your face wouldn't be twisting with ecstasy when I've barely even touched you.” You only catch the tail end of his sentence and bite your lip when you feel the need to challenge his words with begs and pleads of ‘more’ or ‘please’.

As if he could read your mind, both hands trail down to your cunt and to no surprise, your pussy is sopping, weeping, crying for him to touch it. “And if it was, – holy fuck–” He rasps, flipping your skirt up to slide a finger through your clothed pussy. “You wouldn't be this fucking drenched.” You hadn’t noticed his feather-like touches on your cunt until he moved his arousal clad finger to his lips. “Oh, sweet thing. You taste like absolute heaven.” Two thick fingers, riddled with aged scars and even a lonely burn mark tease the outside. They ghostly wander up, down, and side to side on your lips with feather-like touches. You grind backwards onto him, hoping that he would get the message that you didn’t want to be teased. “So impatient, sweet thing. It looks like you really came over here for one thing.” He attempts to taunt you but it goes in one ear and out the other until he pulls your panties to the side and slides two thick fingers inside your sopping pussy. Your body arches against the cool edge of the counter when they plunge deeper. He moves unapologetically, stretching you with each deliberate thrust. The scars on his knuckles brush against your inner walls with tastefully bold and insistent strokes. Heat coils tight in your core, your thighs trembling as slick already starts dripping down his hand. He curls his fingers inside you, looking for and finding that spot that makes your vision blur.

"That's it, sweet thing," he praises against your neck, his breathing wispy and ragged. "Let me feel you squeeze around my fingers." His free hand slides up your side, gripping your hip hard, pulling your frame back against his chest. You buck your hips, chasing the pressure, and moans spill from your lips as he pumps faster. His thumb presses down on your clit, rubbing in tight slow circles that send sparks shooting up your spine. The orgasm crashes over you without warning. Your walls flutter and spasm around his fingers, gushing slick that soaks his palm. You cry out, head falling back onto his shoulder, but he doesn't stop. He keeps driving, drawing out every pulse until you're shaking, bent over on the counter, oversensitive and whimpering.

You hear the wet slide as he licks them clean, moaning at the taste. Before you can catch your breath, his hands are on your waist, spinning you to face him. His eyes gaze into yours as he lifts you effortlessly onto the counter. You don’t realize that he's slipped off your panties until your ass hits the cold surface. You yelp, startled legs spreading instinctively, but he steps between them, his joggers tented with the thick outline of his cock.

He peels your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside, then yanks your pants and soaked panties down in one rough motion. Naked now, you feel exposed under his gaze, your smaller body flushed and quivering while he towers over you, still fully clothed. His hands roam your skin, squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples until they harden into peaks. You reach for him, fingers tracing the ridges of his abs through the compression shirt, but he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one massive hand.

"Not yet," he says, smirking as he grinds his clothed cock against your bare pussy. The friction makes you whine, hips rolling up for more. He releases your wrists only to shove his joggers down, freeing his thick cock. It's long and veined, the head already leaking precum, and the sight makes your mouth water even as your pussy aches to be filled. He strokes himself once, twice, smearing the precum along his length, then lines up at your entrance.

After probing for a bit, he buries himself inside you to the hilt, causing a sharp gasp to push out of you. Feeling so full, your pussy stretches around his girth, the burn mixing with pleasure when he bottoms out. You cry out, legs wrapping around his waist, but he's too big, too strong, too long. His hips snap forward, fucking you deep and hard on top of the counter. Each plunge sweetly kisses your cervix, his balls slapping against your ass, the wet sounds echoing in the dim kitchen.

He leans in, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue fucking your mouth in time with his cock. You taste yourself on him, salty and sweet, as your hands finally grip his shoulders, feeling the massive muscles work under your palms. The size difference amplifies everything when his body engulfs yours, pinning you down as he drives into you relentlessly.

"Fuck, you're so perfect for me," he grunts, breaking the kiss to nip at your jaw. His pace quickens, cock dragging along your walls, hitting that hot spot again and again. Air is knocked out of your sails with every slam. Your second orgasm builds fast, coiling tighter with every thrust. He senses it, one hand sliding to your throat, not yet squeezing, just resting there like a promise.

"Cum for me," he says, voice rough. You shatter around him, pussy clamping down like a vice, milking his length as waves of pleasure rip through you, more powerful and electrifying than the first. “Oooooh, FUCK!” He doesn't slow, pounding you through it, your juices squirting around his base and dripping onto the edge of the counter.

As you come down, panting, he pulls out just enough to flip you over. “Was that good, Sweet Thing?” He teases. You both know that he knows the answer, but you dumbly nod anyway. “You need a name to scream while I fuck the lights out if you, Sweet Thing?” You nod again, nothing fully processing what he's saying. “It's Leon.” Before you can repeat it, your chest is pressed against the cool marbled surface, ass out, and he pushes back in from behind. The new angle lets him go deeper, his hips slapping against your cheeks with a bruising force. One hand snakes around your waist, pressing down on your tummy bulge while the other flexes, his bicep bulging hard against your throat.

He pulls you back into it, the thick muscle compressing your airway just enough to make your head spin. Stars burst behind your eyes as oxygen deprivation heightens every sensation, making your pussy flutter wildly. Your eyes threaten to roll back with your core getting hot. You gasp for air in short bursts, the pressure building a third orgasm from the edge of pain and ecstasy.

"Feel that?" he rasps, tightening his bicep hold as he fucks you harder. The feeling is intoxicating, your smaller neck trapped in his massive bicep, veins popping under the skin as he stays flexed with each thrust. You reach back, fingers digging into his arm, feeling the sturdiness there, and it tips you over. “Oh fuck, Leon! Oh, oh yea!”

Your body convulses, toes pointing as all the blood in your body rushes to your pussy for the third time. He groans, the squeeze pushing him close, but he holds off, releasing your throat to let you breathe. You suck in air, dizzy and euphoric, as he flips you back over, legs over his shoulders now.

He folds you in half with his hands in the crevice on the back of your knees, the position letting him plunge even deeper, his muscular frame engulfing yours. Sweat glistens through his compression shirt, outlining every ridge of his toned, lived-in, chest, and arms. You stare at his biceps, still marked from your nails, and he notices, flexing them deliberately as he rails you.

"You like these?" he teases, voice strained. "Fucking slut." He laughs heartily. The words send you spiraling toward a fourth peak, your clit gently grinding against his pelvis with every thrust.

You come undone, walls pulsing frantically, and that's his undoing. With a guttural and weathered moan, he buries himself deep, cock throbbing as he unloads. Hot ropes of cum flood your pussy, painting your insides white, the creampie overflowing around his base and trickling down your ass. He keeps thrusting through it, milking every drop, until you're both spent, his weight pressing you into the counter.

Finally, he pulls out, watching his cum leak from your tight hole with a satisfied smirk. He scoops you up, carrying your limp body to the bathroom, before he gets the shower started. Despite how new all the amenities were in his house, the water still took a second to warm up. Pushing you up against the glass shower door, he takes your lips with his as you wait. He switches it up every now and then, going from your lips, to your neck, then collarbone, all before repeating.

Eventually, you both get in the shower and words become non-existent between you two. Just gentle breaths as you wash his back, and he washes yours, thorough, but brief.

Wrapping you in a spare towel, he carries you through the dim house, and straight to his room. He tosses a clean sleep shirt your way and you immediately know what to do with it. The rest of the night passes in a calm, uncomplicated breeze. Ultimately, the focus shifts toward rest, as the exhaustion of the day and certain activities finally takes hold.

“Good night, Leon.”

When you interrupted a gaming sesh with the boys to show him a video of some guy fucking the mouth of some girl and asked, “Can we try this?” In what world would he turn down an opportunity like that? Ever since that moment he's been throat training you everyday; Mostly twice a day too, and that was a week ago. Twice a day he would put you on your knees, to actively stretch your throat out. “Breathe through your nose.” He'd say through labored breaths, only trying to help you whenever you tried to bail and back off of his cock.

Just how you did now.

Your hands are planted on his inner thighs as you sink down onto him till your nose reaches his pubic area. Disgusting schlick noises fill the air when you encase his dick with your lips and bob up and down. “See, I knew you could take it.” He jokes, trying to hide the heavy breathy and shakiness in his voice. It doesn't go unnoticed. Through damp lashes and a haze of heat, you tilt your chin up just enough to really look at him. He's stretched the eye part of his balaclava down just below his chin for you to see how his bottom lip takes in his top one. You also catch the smaller tells he doesn’t mean to show. The way his shoulders are held too tight. The way his chest rises faster than he wants it to. The way his fingers are digging into his thighs for an ounce of the control you hold over him. The ounce left that you want to break.

Drool spills out of your mouth and onto his length, only aiding you in taking him. “You really got better at this.” He murmurs in a husky tone. The praise ignites something in you, causing you to take his tense hand and guide it into your hair. His dick twitches in your mouth. He cracks an eye open to shoot you a warning before the verbal one comes. “Oh dovie…no. No, you don't know what you're asking for.” It comes out like a taunt, but you can tell that there is genuine concern there. His grip tightens at the back of your head, a silent warning, but you don't pull away. Instead, you sink deeper than possible, ignoring his protest to guide his other hand to your head. You easily come off his length only to tease him in hopes of making him snap. Your tongue darts out of your mouth, licking a hot flat stripe from the base of his cock to the top. He sucks in a sharp breath from your brazen actions, but before he can say anything, you beat him to it. "Simon, I want you to fuck my throat. Hard. Like in the video. Make me take it all." Your words hang in the air, bold and unfiltered, your lips still glistening from the slick mess coating his cock. You hold his gaze, chin tilted up defiantly.

For a second, his fingers loosen in your hair, like he's weighing the line between care and the dominance you both crave. But then his jaw clenches, and that ounce of restraint you teased snaps like a taut rope. Without another word, he moves, both hands reclamping down on the sides of your head, fingers threading deep into your hair as his palms avoid your face. He doesn't ease in this time, no more gentle guidance or patient breathing tips. Not a lick of concern or care behind his eyes. His hips buck up sharply, driving his cock straight into your mouth, past your lips, over your tongue, and straight to the back of your throat in one unrelenting thrust. The stretch burns and forces your gag reflex to clamp down, but you know better now. Your throat muscles yield, molded from a week's worth of twice-daily invasions, and you swallow around him, the wet constriction pulling a guttural groan from his chest.

"That's… It…" he pants, breath hitching as he starts to thrust. His grip holds you steady, your nose mashed against his pelvis at times, inhaling the musky scent of his skin mixed with sweat. He pulls back just enough to let you gasp a ragged breath before ramming back in. The rhythm builds fast, his thighs tensing under your palms as you brace against them. You go from meeting him halfway to each one of his controlled thrusts punching the air from your lungs. Your world narrows to the slick slide of his cock filling you, the obscene shucking and slurping sounds echoing off the living room walls. Saliva bubbles at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin in thick strands, soaking your chest and promise-ring necklace that he gave you.

Tears stream freely now, not just from the strain but from the overwhelming rush. The way his control floods over you, making your core clench with unmet need. His chest heaves, muscles coiling tight under his shirt, and you catch glimpses of his face, eyes squeezed shut, balaclava bunched at his forehead, lips parted in a wince of pleasure.

"God, your throat's so fucking perfect," he rasps, voice breaking on a particularly deep plunge. He holds there, grinding against your face, his cock pulsing hot and thick against the walls of your mouth. You fight the urge to pull back, nails digging into his thighs instead, urging him on. The burn in your jaw spreads, muscles aching from the stretch, but it's drowned out by the throb between your legs, the slick heat building from the sheer dominance of it all.

He picks up the pace, hips snapping with less restraint, each withdrawal leaving your throat raw and gasping before he fills it again. "Look at you, taking my cock like a good little slut," he murmurs, the words laced with that taunting edge, but there's pride there too, woven into his tone. It sends a shiver through you, your body responding even as your vision blurs from the tears. You hum around him, the vibration drawing a sharp hiss from his lips, his fingers gripping to a comfortable tightness.

The tension coils in his stomach. You feel it in the way his thrusts stutter and the subtle swell of his cock twitch against your tongue. He's close, fighting it, but you don't let him. "Shit dovie, I'm gonna—" His warning cuts off in a choked moan as he buries himself to the hilt one last time. Hot spurts flood your throat. It's thick, salty, and slightly coats the inside of your mouth. He holds you there through it, hips jerking in shallow pulses, until the feeling fades.

Finally, he leans back, his cock slipping free with a wet pop, strings of saliva and cum connecting your lips to the glistening tip. You cough, chest heaving, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand as you slump against his inner thighs. Your throat feels wrecked, swollen, sore, a constant reminder of the depth he claimed. But it's a good ache, one that makes you hum with satisfaction. Simon's hands soften, one cupping your jaw gently, thumb brushing away the mascara tear stains etched down your cheeks.

"You okay?" he asks, voice hushed now, the dominance receding into something tender, his usual self. “Think I definitely got a little lost in the feeling.” He tugs your close-eyed self up carefully, mindful of your knees, and settles you onto the couch beside him. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close as he grabs a nearby blanket to drape over your lap. You nod, leaning into his cozy warmth, the emotional pull of submission lingering like an afterglow.

"Yeah," you whisper, voice hoarse and cracked. "Better than okay. That was... intense." A small smile tugs at your lips, and he chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The conversation moves along smoothly once you leave. But to Kenma’s surprise the boys begin drilling him on how much he's changed.

“Damnnnn, Kenma. When you'd become such a beast?” Bokuto slurs, sipping on the alcohol in his cup, and gathering the attention of Tsukki, Yamaguchi, and Kuroo who sat on the couch. “I don’t know what you mean. It's always been like this.” Kenma banters, failing to stick the cocky tone to his words. In return he catches a weird look from Kuroo. His only friend that knows everything, but doesn't ever plan on busting his bubble. Tsukki chuckles, knowing he's gotta be full of shit. “Uh, yeah sure. Let's not forget about the anti-social hunchback creature you were in high school. Face glued to your 20th century Gameboy with your headphones plugged in to ignore all other sound. Trust and believe, we remember.” Tsukki gains a very subtle side eye from Kenma until the rest of the group joins in on laying it on thick. “Yeah, now that I think about it, you changed a lot after high school. Appearance-wise too. Your hair is barely bleached anymore, just the tips, and it's way longer now.” Yamaguchi adds, but before Kenma can get a word out, they begin talking about how much everyone has changed since their senior years. Reminiscing about the funny moments, volleyball games, going to eat out with their teams, and all of a sudden he notices that the attention is no longer on him.

He starts to come down from his social high and realizes how angry he might've made you and how he'll pay for it later. He lifts up from his loveseat, setting out to go find you only to be pushed back down by a strong force. He looks up at who is to blame and to his pleasure his eyes meet yours. “Oh, Y/n. Listen, I'm really sor-”

“It's too late for that now.” You scold in a heartless tone. He pinches his lips closed with his teeth, knowing how pissed you are right now. But what confuses him is why you squish in next to him with your legs over his lap and blanket delicately placed over the both of you. “You want to stay? Then we'll stay, so get comfy.”

—

Just when Kenma begins to sink down into the Lazyboy chair, he feels a hand rub his thigh. The action blasts him awake. His eyes dart over to your face in search of an emotion that might give away your intentions, but nothing.

He readjusts his legs in hopes to shake your touch, but you grip his thigh tightly to hold him still. The action is very subtle to the group, but it speaks volumes to him as he catches you in a half-assed smirk. “Stay still for mommy.” You whisper into his neck while tugging at the zipper on his pants.

—

Kenma's soft and breathy moans hit your eardrums as you stroke his cock and whisper degrading things into his ear with your head on his shoulder. Your hand moves up and down gently and delicately while rubbing his tip every time you reach the top, making his tongue roll out of his mouth. And there's a strong temptation to lean forward and take his lips with yours, but you don't want to draw attention to your actions. Even though there's a good chance no one would notice with the alcohol that's coursing through them. Hell, most of them are even knocked out with drool spilling from the corners of their mouths while the rest make drunk phone calls and texts to their designated drivers, or play games on their phones.

Turning your attention back to Kenma, you search his face for an expression only to see tears bubbling at the ends of his eyes and it's hard for you not to find the sight cute. If you were alone, you'd rip the blanket off, place his legs over the arms of the loveseat, and tease his cute little butthole until he cums all over his stomach. But sadly, that's not going to happen right now.

“Mommy faster, please.” He whines lowly, taking you out of your raunchy thoughts. To your dismay, he starts bucking into your fist and digs his heels into the carpet below for better balance and strength. “Last time I checked, that's not how you ask for things Kenken.” You whisper, folding your arms, taking your legs off his lap, and turning away from him. Unbeknownst to him, you had a fat smile on your face, excited and wondering what he might do next. And of course, his only course of action is the wrong one.

“No, mommy!” He whisper-yells, gripping your shoulder and you quickly shake him off, having to fix your face before turning back to whisper. “Well, you're just breaking all the rules, huh? You know not to touch mommy without permission.” You hop up from your shared seat and walk to the kitchen for a drink. You make sure to stay in his line of vision to tease and teach him a lesson. Just when you pick up a bottle of Vodka, a hand takes your wrist and leads you to the bathroom.

He leans you up against the bathroom door and sits his head on your shoulder. He moans into your ear, breathy and whiney just how you like it, “Mommy please, I'm sorry. I need you. I want you so bad. I can't take it anymore. I'm gonna go fucking crazy.” Fuck, he knows how to get you going. His hands are heavily placed at the sides of your waist with his knee brushing against your pussy. It makes you get wetter by the second and you bite your lip to stop a low and wispy ‘fuckkkkk’ from escaping your lips.

To get the upper hand again, you switch positions with him, pushing him up against the door while gradually sliding a hand down his chest to his clothed hard dick. An immediate whimper is pushed out his mouth and you can feel him rut against you again. “Don't you fucking dare unless you want me to stop again.” You threaten. “Or, maybe I should stop anyway. You've been a very bad boy Kenken. Giving me sass, rutting against me, and using your hands. If only there was some way to make it up to me.” Your hand unzips his pants for the second time tonight, but this is the first that you actually got on your knees. “Beg.” You say, kissing the tip of his cock and going as far as taking his balls in before you leave him hanging again.

That little taste of what's to come was all that was needed to throw him over the edge because from then on he completely breaks. “Oh my god, mommy please~ I'm really sorry for earlier, please forgive me. Please, please, please, take me into your mouth. I need it mommy. Fuck~” He begins to hiccup and the tears beading at the corners of his eyes finally stream down his face. Only then do you realize his physical state. His body is entirely reliant on the door behind him as he pants and whines. His voice comes out hoarse with constant cracks in it, and his eyes blink slowly almost as if he's not all the way here anymore. His hair sticks to his forehead and neck with sweat, tears wet his face, and his raging boner is an angry chili pepper red color with precum dripping everywhere. You finally give in to his delicious submissiveness and can't wait to see how cute he’ll look when he cums.

“Kenken, look at all that yummy precum. You want mommy to lick you clean?” He feverishly nods his head, even banging it against the door by accident a couple of times and a wimpy “pleaseee” leaves his quivering lips. You take him into your mouth once more, hollowing your cheeks to create a vacuum-like sensation to get the most of his precum into your mouth. Once you're done, you go back and forth pumping and sucking him when he finally begins to feel that growing knot of pleasure in his stomach. “Oh fuck! Mommy, your mouth feels so good around me. Don't stop.” He praises. Not only turning you on times a thousand, but taking you by surprise in how loud he gets as if you guys weren't in his friend's bathroom. ‘Well there goes all my efforts of being discreet.’ You think to yourself. You'd usually tell him to pipe down, or take a second to stuff your panties in his mouth, but you think that if you stop again for even a second, he actually might die. “Mommy, I'm so close. Please let me cum. Please?” He cries out loudly, hyperventilating, hiccuping, and gasping like he just ran a marathon for the first time ever. The pleasure has him on cloud nine and in a moment of weakness, his legs give out for a split second. He leans over you while gripping the sink for balance and a mixture of tears and sweat drips off his chin and onto your forehead as you pump his cock at a break-neck speed. “Cum for me Kenma.” You say mouth open and ready to receive his seed. “Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh my god, Y/n! I'm gonna fucking- I'm gonna- Fuck, fuck fuck!~” He moans before going completely radio silent, mouth agape, and eyes rolled back as you stroke him through his mind-numbing orgasm. “What do you say, Kenken?" You ask as he subconsciously begins sliding down the door, but you catch him and sling an arm over your shoulder. “Thank you mommy.” He says, putting together his last two brain cells to sound coherent as you help his exhausted self limp out of the bathroom.

You almost overlook the message, thinking it was some crazed fan who found your number until the gears in your head click. You kiss your teeth when you think of standing toe to toe with him in a heated verbal dispute that was most likely started by you out of sudden anger. “Fucker. How dare you?” You frown, muttering as you type those exact thoughts adding the question, “How did you get my number? I changed it like three times.” Onto the back. The reply you get is immediate. “I’m not supposed to say.” He says which is… ominous for sure but also a little out of character for him. Almost as if he weren't here to start an unnecessary argument with you or ruin the rest of your day. “We have better things to discuss. I have a favor to ask of you, but it’s the kind of thing that should be asked in person if you catch my drift.”

Hell. Nah. And that’s where you’ll leave it. In fact, you’ll wipe the pointless conversation from your memory.

You stare at your phone, the feeling of cringe almost overflowing as you read the text. No, you don’t catch his damn drift. His words don't answer any questions and only confuse you more after he drops a time and place for today before going radio silent.

. Seriously, the audacity of this man! To grab your personal number from where ever the fuck, or whoever the fuck, and contact you early in the morning like a close friend, knowing you are no longer that and hate his guts. Well, not his guts. More like his brother’s to be frank, but in your eyes they are basically the same person. Hell, Miguel is probably where Gabriel learned all his terrible behavior because why wouldn’t he take after his bigger brother? Anyway, despite knowing your distaste for the family, he still tried it? It truly makes you wonder if there's a brain up there, at least a working brain cell. Then he thinks that you’d meet up with him? That you’d do him a favor? Pshhhhh, a dream if he ever had one.

Setting the shower to your preferred temperature, you lock the door and shut the windows to prevent the steam from escaping. You set your phone face down on your bathroom’s pristine marble counter before getting ready to shower and laze around the house all day. Having already kicked off your shoes at the front door, you begin undressing. First, your socks, then leggings, next, your top and bra, and lastly your makeup. Drying your face, you close your eyes as a huge breath is sucked into your mouth and released in one big whoosh as a sigh. Almost all nerves are terminated except the last one that weighs on your mind, telling you this seems like a too-good-to-be-true dream.

But, even if it is, you won’t mind falling for it just this once because you rarely get a full day to yourself. Just think about all the things you can do. The thought makes a pleasurable shiver run up your spine, releasing a certain set of chemicals in your brain, and you refuse to deny what they want your body to do. Finally, the steam surrounds your body and it’s not long until you get caught up in the mood of things and start feeling another heartbeat between your legs. You step into the bathtub, with not only a small gratifying smile on your face but a different objective than what you originally came for. You let the water run down your body, watching it as it hits your chest as a whole before breaking up into multiple streams again. Some travel down the valley of your breast while others go haywire with all types of twists and turns after running down your boobs, ribcage, and curves of your midsection. Once you’re warm, you begin getting into position, knees to your chest, under the bathtub faucet switching the water from the shower head to the nozzle below.

The water wastes no time making its way to your clit making you gasp from the suddenness even though you should’ve been prepared since its release was in your hands. Nevertheless, this miniscule experience doesn’t dull the tender leg-shaking feeling the water gives you. The pressure, the warmth, the wetness, it’s everything as you let the water beat up on your clit in the best way possible. A hand sneaks around your butt, gently feeling around as to not break emersion before sliding your fingers into your pussy, but they don’t do much considering the lack of length on them. But you still crave a little more stimulation even going as far as pulling the hood on your clit back a bit before feeling your orgasm come on too quick for your liking. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and you will savor and drag it out for as long as you can. Trying to get more than 24 hours out of the 24 hours the day has given you. Plus, everything feels better when you have to wait for it, just like this day. Just like your orgasm, but it doesn’t hit you as it usually would. There’s a build-up to it that explodes with pleasure in the middle but also plateaus at the highest peak before gradually coming down with half-lidded eyes and a brain that buzzes oh so sweetly with every thought. You push away from the faucet and lay there until you can get a hold of your bearings, letting out a big sigh before rising to your feet to continue where you left off.

You feel excited as you step out of the shower and into your robe and slippers, only to realize that you finally have the opportunity to go through your whole skin and body care routine. The thought brings not only a smile to your face but also motivation to shave your whole body neck to toe. Another shiver skips down your spine but this time it was one of joy. Oh, how ecstatic you were for something so minuscule in others eyes. Mental Health Days with a sprinkle of body care have been one of your favorite things in the world ever since breaking up with your toxic ex. Your mind begins to drift into the past but you quickly stop yourself, only preaching to look forward in life, never back.

In the midst of jamming to your music and putting on your gel face mask you get a call. At first, you roll your eyes thinking it was Miguel again until you remember that you blocked his ass immediately after the interaction y’all had. You pat various places on your counter until looking down and see your phone missing, not having time to look for it, you tell Alexa to answer it for you.

“Hello-” Before you can get a whole sentence out a loud voice overcomes yours, “Finally the little diva picks up the phone. I’ve been calling you for the past 20 minutes. Do you have any idea how much my phone bill is gonna be?”

“You can’t blame that on me. You know, most people would stop calling after the third one and say, “Hm, it looks like she’s busy right now. I guess I’ll call later.” And go on about their day waiting for either a callback or a reasonable time to call again.” You huff, half frustrated that you can’t find your phone and half frustrated that Lyla interrupted your Mental Health day. Unbeknownst to you, Lyla retorts something but as said, it goes over your head as you search your house room to room, upside and down, and inside and out. In defeat, you stalk back into your bathroom, head down only to see your phone on the floor behind the toilet. You can feel your eye twitch before a reasonable roar rips through you and Lyla goes silent on the other side. It seems as if you’ve broken her train of thought because she begins talking about what she truly called you for. Which would seem like a relief for you, but in reality it’s not.

Anyhow, you put your phone down and begin the second half of your skincare, body care.

“Anyway, I noticed that your schedule seemed too empty today, so I did you a favor and-” Before she finishes her thought, you cut her off. 

“NO!” You yell and everything goes quiet. Her breath hitches on the other side and you continue your thought after realizing she isn’t going to chip in. “My schedule is very much full today with me, myself, and I. No room for anything else today, sorry.” You say and right before you can hang up she manages to get a word in. “Oh, come on! You act like I filled up your schedule. I only booked one thing, which you would’ve known if you paid attention to your phone because I sent it to you! Plus you should drop the 'tude! Everything I do is for you and your success. I mean that as a friend and your manager.” Your shoulders sag seeing how right she is when you turn on your phone only to see ten missed calls and desperate texts. “Ugh, what is it even about?” Dread oozing from your voice.

“Read the calendar I sent you.”

“When is it?” You push for an answer which you still don’t get.

“Read the calendar I sent you!”

“Where is it?” You push once more, tipping her over the edge.

“READ THE CALENDAR- UGH YOU KNOW WHAT? I ALREADY KNOW YOU’RE DOING THIS TO GET ON MY NERVES, BYE GIRL.” She hangs up in your face and you silently chuckle to yourself, "Payback." You mutter. Opening up your text messages you see that she sent you one last text after the call.

'Hm, it's a link.' You think as you hesitate to tap, praying that this isn't another meeting.

Your thumb finally makes contact with the screen and a dark bubble in your stomach pops with relief. Well, half relief because it isn't another meeting, but a date?

MYSTERY MAN!! (Information below)

-DRESS FORMAL

-NO MONEY NEEDED (All expenses paid)

-FOOD AND ALCOHOL SERVED

-WEAR GOLD CLOTHING AND JEWELRY OR CLOSE TO IT

-THE DATE SHOULD LAST FROM 8:00PM TO AS LATE AS 12AM

-MOST IMPORTANTLY, HAVE FUN

-LYLA WILL BE IN THE ROOM TO ENSURE NO ONE GETS HANDSY yet ;)

XOXO, Your manager.

Knowing that you most likely won't be able to control whatever happens next, you pour yourself a moderate glass of red wine, turn on your favorite show, and kick back on your sofa to enjoy the rest of your mental health day before getting back up again.

And today will be no different or better. Today will be all three jam-packed into a single conversation like a smelly can of sardines that might, no, will affect him for the rest of his life. But there isn’t enough time to dwell on it when his brother Gabriel strides in head held high, hair slicked back, sporting his favorite tan suit with a powder blue uniform shirt on under, and displaying a toothy grin once they make eye contact. However, they only maintain it for a split second before Miguel redirects his eyes to the chair in front of him on the other side of the table. For Gabriel, that action speaks volumes about where they stand after their previous spat. Yet, he doesn’t voice his newly found information to prevent turning their father’s “father-son meeting” into an immature sibling squabble they’ve had countless times.

“Ah, you’re here early.” He voices instead, his tone friendly but versatile, ready to switch up the second Miguel throws a jab which happens sooner than later.

“Early is on time.” There it is. Miguel barely holds back the bite in his voice making it evident that he isn't in the mood for simple banter or conversation. But the bite in his tone bounces off of Gabriel like two positive ends of a magnet, which is ironic in a sense. It almost makes Miguel want to laugh, but it never makes its way to his vocal cords or face, not a sliver of a chortle on the way. “You sound more like our father every time I see you.” Again… Ironic. Miguel doesn’t voice it, instead, he goes for another jab but closer to the heart, “You act more and more like him every time I see you.” A subtle change to the insult once used towards him that packs a very heavy punch. It’s the value that the words hold that has Gabriel stilling for a second before sitting down and a very small grin tugging on Miguel's lips considering the heinous crimes their father has committed.

He’s a true tyrant and capitalist at heart. He has to have complete control over his employees and doesn’t believe in being able to rise to the top without stepping on someone’s toes, a true realist if you will. “That’s not true and you know it.” Gabriel’s eyes narrow and his tone is almost juvenile while Miguel remains unbothered. ‘Oops, struck a nerve.’ Miguel thinks, noticing his brother’s tan suit-clad elbows and forearms now on the table as he leans forward, an intimidation tactic old as time itself. Miguel knows he should be the bigger person and leave the conversation hanging, but the creak of the first door echoes into the room. ‘Father is here.’ He thinks to himself, and it’s all the motivation he needs to engage and end the silly game he started. “Why do I get the feeling that you're trying to convince yourself more than me?”

Gabriel can’t do anything but respond with silence and lean back in his chair when their father walks in with a suit nearly indistinguishable from his. Miguel doesn’t want to do anything but laugh at the nearly defeated expression Gabriel wears on his face, but he settles for a small smirk that can only be noticed if you’ve known the man all his life, which only a handful of people do.

“Ah, as to be expected, you're both early. But I suppose early is on time, it’s me who is late.” Their father George chuckles unbeknownst to himself being ignored as glares and looks are briefly thrown between Miguel and Gabriel before he realizes that it’s his turn to subtly smirk with irony. Something so small that only his eyes alone communicate, “Who is trying to convince who?” With an impish tone. It truly is miraculous the connection they have. Before Miguel can talk back with his eyes, their father puts the meeting into session. “Ahem, enough glaring, children. Leave your problems and spats at the conference door. After all, we have things to discuss.” Gabriel drops everything pertaining to Miguel and gives his undivided attention. Miguel on the other hand, doesn’t give a damn about pissing off their father or having his approval for shit, “Then let’s get to it while you’re still alive, old man.” He retorts, but to no avail, it does not affect their father. Instead, he wears a small close-eyed smile and nods.

“As you both know, I’ve gotten up there in age.” He begins.

“You also know that I can’t run this business in my death bed or casket.”

“I’m pretty sure you can see where this is going…”

“I’m going to pass Alchemax down to either of you.”

Now, Miguel doesn’t want to jump out of his seat because his odds of receiving Alchemax are 90/10, but he can’t help the way that his foot starts tapping rigorously with thrill. Not to say that running Alchemax is right down his line of work, but running Alchemax is right down his line of work. It was made for him the same way Peanut Butter was made for Jelly and you can't convince him it's not.

“But,”

Oh?

With that single word, he feels that his 90/10 odds are going to drop not-so in his favor. After all, it would be his family that causes him the most problems.

“Since both of you have your heads on straight and are qualified to run Alchemax, you won’t be competing through smarts or who is the better businessman, but instead, popularity.”

Yeah, his odds are looking more like 30/70 now. But he doesn’t voice how much he hates the thought because ultimately, it’s a decent idea and he only hates it because he isn’t the more popular one out of him and his brother. Not by a long shot, really.

In a world full of bored and gossipy civilians who are searching and foaming at the mouth for drama and entertainment, he’s been made out to be the mean, hardass, big brother while his brother is the understandable, golden retriever type of guy in every piece of media. But, that narrative also comes from a certain someone not liking him.

“This might seem meaningless and unnecessary, but things aren’t like how they were back in the day. Nowadays people care about the man or woman behind the product they’re buying because by all means if they don’t like you, they will take their business elsewhere. Take Amazonian for example, one whistleblower exposed them for their terrible working conditions and now everyone hates them. Everyone is using this new thing called Temo which honestly sounds like a scam, but they’d rather get scammed than put money in Amazonian’s pockets.”

Almost right after ending his last sentence, Gabriel's hand shoots up to his side, raising his hand as if he's back in grade school. But he doesn't wait for his father to call on him, instead, he starts talking on his own time. “And how long do we have to meet your expectations?” A question that has their father showcasing a once-in-a-lifetime grin, aka, Miguel is not going to like this answer. “Two weeks.”

You know, their father has always not only favored Gabriel but put more effort into building a healthy relationship with him altogether. So yes, they’re close, but never did Miguel think that his father would be so narrow-minded with favoritism that he’d give his younger brother an advantage in being his successor. That is just illogical. “Father, I know you’re a smart man and surely you have a plan for how you want things to go. But giving Gabriel a leg up by suggesting something he is a professional at seems unjust and mindless to me.” Just like that, their father’s smile is gone, only to be painted back on his face once he finds a witty comeback. “What seems mindless to me is the fact that you opened your mouth without thinking first. Do you not remember the speech I gave about Amazonian? In case you don’t let me recap it for you in five words. You need to be likable. That might seem like a foreign concept since you never cared if others liked you, but in the adult world you live in and the CEO world you want to enter, it is essential. Now, if you ask me, you shouldn’t have such a problem with being likable because I’m sure you’re getting tired of being “the hated one” all the time. Lastly, if you have such a problem with it, you don’t have to compete. I have no problem with writing Gabriel’s name into ownership of Alchemax.”

Right, he almost forgot who he was. Who his father was. He’d never sway his opinion to side with Miguel of all people. And that’s fine because Miguel has never been one to bitch and complain. He overcomes and follows through. “Well, there’s no need for that. I will meet your standards and more. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make.”

“I look forward to it.” His father quips right before he can make it out the door.

Almost as soon as Miguel makes it out the door and shuts it behind him, a prominent sigh is pushed out of his lungs and through his lips. “A few calls.” What was he thinking? He desperately tried to make it seem like he had more going on than what he actually had. To be truthful. He doesn’t know where to start nor does he know the first thing about popularity.

But he may know someone… Actually, he might have to make a few calls.

—

“Cynthia, stop laughing! We’re being serious!” You and Edamura pout as you stop drinking the half-full glass of wine he poured for you. “Oh, I know, and I feel you. Wouldn’t we all like to make the blonde bastard fall to his knees one day? But I just can’t stop myself from laughing. Your plan is too simple. Don’t you think he’ll see right through it?” Your mouth opens to combat her, but Edamura takes the words from your mouth. “How is it simple? We’d turn on him mid-heist, take the money for ourselves, get paid by his enemies to rat out his location, and turn on them by sending them to a location with fake police and get paid off there because they don’t want to go to jail. If that doesn’t scream intricate and complicated, then I don’t know what does.” He slams on the table with each sentence to emphasize the deceitfulness of your scheme as you nod along, but none of it phases Cynthia as she sighs. “I’m only going to tell you guys this once because I don’t even like the idea, but the only plausible way to get him on his knees is sexually. Which will already be hard to do, but I don’t see him swallowing his pride otherwise.” Your breath hitches with her response, and your hands fly to hide the hot blush creeping onto your cheeks. The way that she says it without blushing or getting shy has you feeling like such a dork compared to her.

 “This is where I leave the conversation, but mark my words, we’ll get him.” Edamura finishes his drink and sets it back on the table, leaving the cleaning to you. You don’t notice it, but Cynthia watches you like a hawk as you bid Edamura goodnight and down the rest of your wine. “Would you like another one?” She asks, and you nod yes, “Don’t think I could have this conversation any other way. So another glass it is.” You smile, already feeling the buzzing and heat flutter to your face. When she’s finished pouring, your lips immediately make contact with the rim of the glass as an inquiry floats into your head. Feeling bold off of liquid courage, you pop the question. “Why would you know that about him anyway?” She’s halfway through refilling her glass when you catch her by surprise. She tilts her head in confusion, still not catching on before her eyes go wide with realization, “Oh god! If you’re implying what I think you’re implying, then you’d be wrong. Trust me, we haven’t done anything like that. You have him all to yourself, hun.” You’re unsure if the heat dusting your cheeks is a blush or a drunk buzz, but you cover your face in embarrassment. “I mean, you do want him, yes?” A warm silence passes through as you think long and hard about what you really want from him. “I want to break him, his pride, wipe that playful smirk off his face, and make him genuinely beg for something. Show him that he’s not so high and mighty and knows everything just because he always acts like it. I just want to knock him down a couple of notches. The satisfaction I would have if I could do that.” You snap out of your trance when your rambling stops, only to see Cynthia looking at you as if she saw a ghost. Her mouth’s agape, her eyes wide open, and her brows almost touching her hairline. “Oh… Never in a million years would I have imagined that somebody like you would go into so much detail about something like that.” You immediately cover your mouth and begin to sink into your seat on the couch, scared that you overshared or said something completely out of pocket for even a cons man. Just then, she eagerly leans in like a nosey little kid, hands on her knees to keep herself from falling forward. “How do you plan on doing that, though?” As if to save you from the question, the man in consideration walks in unbeknownst to your attention. Cynthia begins to chug the rest of her drink before leaving the glass for you to clean up and gracefully gets up from her seat on the other side of the glass coffee table. Before you can ask where she’s going, the voice you least expected to hear at the moment makes itself known.

 “A little get-together, and I wasn’t invited. How cruel. Let me guess. Edamame was here, huh? I can understand why he wouldn’t tell me, but you? I thought we were closer than that, bavarde.” He scans the area, seeing only two empty glasses before sitting half a foot away from you and pouring some wine into the glass that Edamura used. A stiff calmness passes through the air as you watch him take a refreshing swig of the expensive wine Cynthia bought. You don’t notice it, but you end up staring so hard that he catches on, watching your eyes drink in the sight of him piece by piece. Staring at his lips as they turn a slight shade of the deep red wine, his fingers as they firmly but delicately hold the glass to his mouth, and lastly, his eyes, which you only just now noticed were watching you back, causing him to smirk. The glass clinks onto the table as he turns his body towards you, laying an arm around the back of the couch. “So, you want to break me, huh?” You choke on your wine before finally finding your grounding, “I- I’m going to hit the hay-” You shoot up from your seat, but he grabs onto your wrist and pulls you down on his lap, “Oh no, don’t do that because I’d actually like to take you up on your interest.” He slides an arm around your waist, and a hand comes under your thigh to spread your legs, making you feel a second heartbeat. “I’d love to see what you can do, but I have one condition.”

—

If you can’t make me completely submit in thirty minutes, then I get to show you what I can do.

Of course, you pushed for forty minutes since you said it was unfair that he was way more experienced than you. So you might have just fucked yourself before he could with this deal. Still, you fight the urge to leave him tied up and run so you don’t go down without a fight.

 After briefly giving it some thought, you finally make your move by slowly stripping everything but your underwear and straddling a very bored Laurent’s hips. You make sure not to slide his length inside but leave its aching self behind your butt. “Finally, something is happening. You know, you’ve wasted a mighty fine ten minutes sitting there-” You interrupt him, wasting no more time on thoughts and words, and begin leaving kisses along his jawline. “Oooooh. Spicy first move.”

 “Shut up.” You say and begin putting your hands to work. One squeezes his cheeks together to prevent him from speaking, and the other sneaks behind you and gently rubs circles on his tip. He jerks up into your hand, and you nip his jaw as punishment, which isn’t the last time that happens. Precum begins to bead on his tip, and you gather some on your finger before putting it in your mouth while maintaining the finest eye contact. Laurent’s head falls back before you feel him buck under you. “Mhm!” You hear him bite back in his most tranquil voice. You smirk and pause your actions, “Hm? What was that?” He looks at you in muted shock from the way that you almost don’t sound like yourself. Then he sees the cloudiness in your eyes and puts two and two together that you’re tipsy and running off a high of liquid courage. “Who are you?” You snicker at the genuineness in his voice, “The person who is going to break you.” With that answer, you slide off his lap, leaving a wet spot on one of his thighs, before dropping to your knees in front of him. You gulp before looking up at him, wondering if this is a good idea, only for him to give you a smug smile that boosts your confidence. Taking his dick into your hands, you spit on the tip as both of you watch the thin stream of warm liquid slide down to his balls, “That tickles!” You ignore his complaint and start stroking at a slow pace after spitting a couple more times regarding his pleasing length. You hum in arousal as your mouth entertains itself with his inner thighs, pressing soft kisses onto them before surprising him with a couple of nips.

 “Nice try, but easing your way into this at snail speed isn’t going to break me how you want it to.” You refuse to look his way, already knowing the expression he’ll be wearing if you do, the same shit-eating grin he always has. Viewing what he said, you have no problem brewing another idea.

 Feeling bolder than the last time, you don’t hesitate to start phase two of your plan. You stop nipping Laurent’s thigh and begin kissing your way to the tip of his shaft. Only then do you tease the tip gently with your teeth before finally taking it between your lips. And your lips are the only thing it touches. You focus on not bobbing your head and strictly kitten-licking the tip. He jerks up into you only to run into your teeth like a brick wall preventing him access. “If you want my mouth so bad, ask for it.” You glance at him and see his head tilted back as if the decision put his life on the line. But in reality, he was just trying to give himself time to cool down and let time fly by with his pride still intact. 

The knee-jerk reaction to look at you when you lick a line up his shaft for his attention wins, and he almost gives you a facial immediately. ‘What a sight for sore eyes.’ He thinks to himself. His eyes start at the bottom, where your legs are gathered neatly under you, then your ass which you poked out for him so generously before finally moving up to your lips that glistened with spit and precum. ‘Fuuuuuck!’ He thought to himself. He wasn’t sure if it was the liquid courage in your veins or if you were just a different person when you were horny, but he was confident that you were not the same shy tsundere he was talking to in the hotel’s living room. That shy person would never touch him like this. That tsundere wouldn’t have even admitted to wanting to break him. But he’s here now, so there is something that he undoubtedly doesn’t know or have right about you. 

You grab his attention by tapping his thigh since the licking wasn’t making him decide any faster. He redirects his eye line from your lips to your eyes, only to be met with the beautiful stare that captured him the first time you met him in a casino where you single-handedly scammed some rich guy for all he was worth. He clears his throat, trying to sound like he wasn’t about to pop if you breathed on him too hard. “Please, Y/n.” He asks. You frown, knowing you should be satisfied with what he gave you, but deep down, it feels like it’s not enough. Sure, he said please, but he still has that damn smug smile on his face, and he couldn’t even throw in the extra neediness you wanted. You want him to beg like it’s going to save his life, like if you don’t touch him, he’s going to die of yearning and blue balls. You need to rip that smile off his face and fast.

“I know you can do better than that, Laurent. Otherwise, I’d have to leave you high and dry. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?” You egg him on by sucking his tip harder than usual as you watch his stomach dip and do flips. He pushes out a heavy sigh of relief before you put his pleasure on hold once again and start kissing around where he needs you the most. Just when you start kissing up his length again, “Fuck, please don’t leave me hanging, bavarde.” You freeze from hearing the genuineness in his voice, and your head snaps up at him, expecting to see Laurent torn to shreds with his hair sticking to his forehead and panting faster than his ability to get a word out. But you’re met with a slightly different-looking smile. His brows furrow together while his lips shake up a tiny storm, and his teeth that you can barely see through his almost closed mouth grind together, ‘This is the hottest he’s ever looked.’

You smile at him and spit on his tip before gulping him down inch by inch until your nose reaches his pubic area. Trying your best not to gag, you move slowly while your fingers work magic that you didn’t even know you had on his balls, smiling when you hear his nails claw on the end of the armrest. “Thaf fewl gud?” You tease. Only to feel another heartbeat deep inside once you see his chest rise and fall quickly with his teeth encasing his bottom lip to suppress his heavy, serene groans, “C'est tellement bon, bébé.” He pants out, finding himself physically incapable of breaking eye contact with you even though he knows that’ll only make him finish faster. It’s just the euphoric way his cock slides down your warm, wet, and tight throat with ease that makes him want to explode a thousand times.

 ‘Not experienced my ass!’ He complains, regretting that he chose to go easy on you and allow you extra time. Now, he’s dangerously close to cumming down your throat as you suck all his pride away. And him cumming isn’t even the problem. It’s the matter that he held his head up so high, thinking that you wouldn’t even know what to do if you got near his dick. Then he was going to make you scream all night long once your little forty minutes were up, and you’d just keep on coming back to him when you were sexually frustrated because, in his head, there’s no way or anyone that can fuck better than him. And he was the best of all the girls he's fucked, but that other part. Oh, he is so wrong. And you’re only going to make it harder for him.

You start bobbing faster once you get comfortable with his size, even going as far as to take the opportunity to try out some stuff that you heard makes it more pleasurable for guys. You try moaning around him to produce vibrations, give him the salt and pepper to create friction when your mouth gets tired, and even ever so slightly rake your teeth along his shaft, which he wasn’t a big fan of, so you go back to the first two. “Are you close?” You ask after feeling his leg tense multiple times. “Je suis si proche.” He nods with his answer, knowing that you still aren’t as fluent as Cynthia in French, only to regret being so kind when you pull off of him. “Beg me to cum. You can’t cum otherwise.” You say, laying your head on his thigh while letting your fingers ghost up and down his very sensitive shaft.

'This is it!' You think, you were finally going to get that whiney beg out of him, that scream of submission, you were going to win.

His head tilts back for the first time in a while, but you already know he’s trying to stall and let time run out. So you take it a step further and give your sore knees a rest by sitting on the end of his legs so his dick is in front of you. “No stalling. I need an answer now.” He takes no shame in staring when you start rubbing your panty-clad cunt against his erection, listening to each moan you throw in when the friction against your bundle of nerves becomes too much. “Come on, Laurent.” Words that sound like a siren’s song when said in this scenario, and he’s praying to god that he doesn’t give in when you move your panties to the side, exposing your glistening clit to the cold air. You lean forward, laying your head on his shoulder while gently grinding into and stroking his length, letting any shlick that oozes from your pussy melt onto him. “I’m waiting, Laurent.” You hear his breath hitch, and thinking you are getting a response out of him, you pop up. Only to realize that it was just him shying away from you with his eyes shut tight. Frustration begins to cloud your mind, and you grab him by his jaw, forcefully turning his head back over to you. “Laurent, you’re cheating. Honestly, I should win by default-”

 “Fuck!” He stiffly shoots out. “My… My answer is no!” Your teeth begin to grind until you feel his cock twitch with need in your hand. Realization and confidence paint a smile across your face, “Are you sure? Because your mind is trying desperately to resist my touch, but your body is falling victim to it so hard.” He shakes out of your grip and looks away once more, “I am sure.” You groan, “Still so stubborn, huh.” You stroke him a couple of times before lining his dick up at your entrance, taking three fingers to transfer your shlick to the tip of his cock for easier access. The sensation is mythical in he has to clench every muscle in his body to not jerk into you, knowing that he’s going to explode during penetration. “Say goodbye to your pride. There is no way in hell you can come back after cumming on the first pump.” You probe him at the entrance a few times, getting ready to sink onto him, but before you can. ‘Bloob, bloob, bloob, bloob, bloob.’ rings three times on the Apple watch Laurent is wearing. A heavy sigh is exiled from his mouth as all you can think is how close you were while untying him.

 But it’s hard to feel bummed when you catch a hot glimpse of Laurent greedily finishing himself off. His head lolling back onto the back of the chair with his bangs sticking to his forehead due to the sweat. Both of his hands double-fisted his length as fast but gently as possible before deciding that one was enough and started tweaking his nipples with the free hand. Then, his long legs stretch out, taking up more room than needed as they twitch with each jerk. And lastly, the string of curses that you swore you’ve heard your name floating around once or twice, which you certainly did. 

He delivers his last thrusts into his hand before cumming and collapsing back into the chair with a more fucked out expression than before. You roll your eyes and start gathering your clothes, “What are you doing?” He asks, immediately hopping out of his chair as if he didn’t just have the most insane and unhinged-looking orgasm ever. “I’m getting dressed to head back to my room, obviously. Why else would I be getting dressed? To sit around here? No.” You retort, prepping your shirt to put it on.“You must not remember the other half of the deal.” 

“Nope, I remember it just fine. I just figured that since you orgasmed right now, you’d be all done for the night.” You’d think he saw you as a clown or comedian because before you got the last word out, he was hysterical while rolling on the floor laughing. “No, no, no, no, no. If you think that one was enough then you have a lot to learn. I'd be the dumbest man alive to watch you walk out of here after the torture you just put me through. So I think it’s time that I put the time we have to use.”

 You and your masseur were in the middle of your massage and the stubborn knots in your back were finally easing up after endless kneading and caressing, which isn’t all the rage since he’s getting paid by the hour. To be honest, you were starting to think that your friend’s recommendation wasn’t all that and it seems like you need to get a new masseur. You sat up and faced Eddie with a towel wrapped dangerously low around your chest. You didn’t have the strength, time, or patience to deal with this. “Eddie, you know that I’d never cheat on you and you know that if we are in a rut or argument, I'm always the first one to try and work things out, you should also know that my back is fucking killing me so we’re gonna continue the massage now.” You readjust yourself in your masseur's foldable massage table, back popping and cracking a couple of times as you gesture the masseur back over to you. A soft moan slips out of your mouth when the man's hands target a painful spot on your back. “You can stay and watch for your peace of mind. I don’t care. Hey, you can even pick up a thing or two and you can be the one to give me massages. Then I won’t even need this guy.” You laugh at your own joke before Eddie leaves with a “Thanks, but no thanks.” Only hinting at the fact that this is not the end of this discussion. 

—

You roll over in bed just to find him scowling at what was the back of your head. “Eddie-” You begin but get interrupted. “What does he give you that I don’t?” You look at him sideways before laughing, only making him scowl deeper. “Eddie… Isn’t it obvious? Massages, duh!” He begins to sputter, but you cut him off. “Listen, I already told you that you can stay and watch, maybe pick up a few things if you want, but what you’re not going to do is complain all night when there are ways to fix this.” You roll your eyes and turn back over to your other side. Eddie pulls your back to his chest by your waist, murmuring about how he will give you the best massage ever while he drifts off the dreamland.

— 

He’s a man of his word and the next massage day he comes in, grabs a chair, and sits almost too close to the massaging action. “Eddie, I know that you want to watch, but do you have to sit that close?” He ignores your question and that's when you realize that he brought and is now using a pen and notepad to jot down whatever he feels right. You sigh and start to part your lips to make a funny comment, but are hushed by a studying student, “Shhhh, not right now. I’m learning.” You then emerse yourself into the massage and roll your eyes which is half caused by a good knot in your back being kneaded out of existence. 

 Once the session is done, instead of saying your usual goodbyes, Eddie interjects and scowls at the masseur for a brief second, shakes his hand, says something inaudible then leaves. You shrug at the masseur before sending him on his way and closing the door before heading over to Eddie. “Eddie, what did you say to the masseur guy before he left?”  He stops in his tracks, being the doorway to your shared bedroom. “I told him that his services would no longer be required and that I had attained all the information I needed.” You almost look flabbergasted and dumbfounded until you realize this is totally in the league of what a jealous Eddie would do. “Wha… Dude! You can’t just-” He then interrupts you with a skinny finger dragging across your lips, “You’re the one that said I could stay and watch. You even said that if I was good enough,-” You try to say something but he adds another skinny finger like the sassy man he is and hushes you once more. “You even said that if I was good enough, you wouldn’t need that guy anymore so why not cut him out of the picture right now? I promise that I will be more than efficient, just wait till your next massage day, and you’ll thank me.” He shuts the door with a wink, leaving you with your jaw dropped to the floor and the couch which you stomp over to. You grab the remote and plop down to watch the show that you two planned to watch together just to get back at him. As you start to immerse yourself in the show, you can’t help your mind from wondering about his massage skills and that you’ll probably have to call your masseur for backup or the ER if he really messes up.

—

It’s been a couple of hours since you got home from work. You already settled in and showered, now you were just waiting for your masseur to get here and your day would be complete when he left. Except you forgot that Eddie told him off or did whatever he did and now the only man who gave your back a break wouldn’t be here to relieve you today. “Y/n! Come to the bedroom.” Instead, you had Eddie. Which…Wasn’t too bad, but he also wasn’t a professional here to work on your back and you were extremely terrified that he would somehow reverse your progress. You stand up on weak legs from the couch where you were lounging and step your way to your said destination.

 Through the closed door is a much more romantic setup than what your regular masseur would set out for you. A rose petal trail that leads to a massage table that looks homemade and stable at the same time, you almost assumed that he’d bring out wine or champagne. And you assumed right, he comes to you with a silver tray that has your favorite wine and champagne in separate glasses with the option to pick either one. You look up from the tray that you’ve never seen in that house just to see Eddie in a get-up that you know he would not only never wear, but also never had. A white pirate-type shirt that was kind of flowy and open in the front, black slacks with white horizontal stripes, and on the very bottom, he kept it in the wardrobe and wore his custom hell fire socks from high school that had holes in the bottom. The outfit was strange, but you could see that he put his foot in this little project, and that went a long way with you so even if it does undo some of the progress, at least he tried?

You finally stop your analysis and take a glass for yourself and leave the other to him only to see that he also has two glasses to choose from and would base what he drinks on your answer. You sit down on the homemade massage table and one of his hands work their way to your shoulder. The movements were a little rough since you still had your shirt on until he instructed you to strip naked and handed you a towel. With him watching, you strip down and wrap the towel around your chest. You don’t know where he got these magical fingers from, but now you don’t question it. You’re more focused on trying not to let your drink glass fall out of your hand from the relaxation of your body. “Mhmmmm, Eddie.” There it was, the moan of satisfaction that he had been waiting and yearning for. Just in time, you finish your drink, and he tells you to lie down on your stomach and push your towel down to your butt. He reaches to a table behind him, grabs a bottle of oil, opens it, and squeezes a thin line down your back. His fingers gently spread the liquid to everywhere it needs to be and get to work on your shoulders first. His fingers are a bit ridge at first, but the minute he reaches one of your knots, it's like first nature.

 He begins to somehow do wonders on the knots in your back, identifying them, and then kneading them just right. Every circle and dig he makes into your back drags out loud moans, unlike the ones your usual masseur drags out. “God, Eddie. Where did you learn all of this?” Your eyebrows knit together and moans continuously spill out of your mouth much to his pleasure. “You can say that I’ve been studying, practicing, and working very hard never to come home and see that man with his hands all over you again. Aka Youtube but I guess the masseur taught me a little something.” You would laugh at his joke, but his kneading doesn’t stop, most thoughts in your brain getting muffled, resulting in them not being said. He begins to work his way down to your lower back and lingers for a second before removing your towel and massaging your ass. “Eddie…” 

 “Shhhh, let me work my magic.” You don’t carry on with the questions since it feels so good. With every rub, his fingers move closer to your inner thighs than the last. "Ass up." He says, referencing your legs as he cups the underside of your ass. You obey without a word and a finger trickles lightly between your lips, just barely digging in. Goosebumps coat your skin no matter how warm you are with the oil on your body. He switches from his finger to his thumb which starts to rub repeated circles on your clit. When you begin to relax into his touch, he goes in with his mouth. He licks stripes up your pussy with eager slurping noises filling the room before darting his tongue in and out of your needy hole. You grind back onto his face, only making him more keen to show you a good time. "I’ll never get enough of this fucking pussy." He leans into your grind for more stimulant until ultimately giving into his and your needs. 

 You don't see it, but you know that Eddie is undressing from the way that all touch has left your skin and the sound of clothes hitting the floor. But it’s not long before he can keep his hands off of you, “As much as I want to fuck you from the back, I know I shouldn’t. Honestly, that's probably where your back problems originated.” He then flips you on your back and without a second thought, you wrap your arms around his neck. 

 He plants a hand on your left thigh and the other on the towel by your head. “Ready?” You give him a nod with your eyes squeezed shut, and he experimentally pushes into you before deciding you could take anything he gives you. “Eyes on me.” A hand lightly raps on your jaw a couple of times to wake you out of your dazed state. When he notices that you’re ignoring his orders, his hand grips your neck, and his teeth graze along your jawline, briefly sinking his teeth into it. You spring to life from the pleasure-filled pain and your arms tighten around him. “That woke you up, huh? Are you ready now?” This time you give him a verbal response and he begins to gently snap his hips into you. You hiss from the sudden movement, but you quickly adjust to his speed, moans clawing their way out of your mouth.

“Fuck, how I’ve missed these velvety walls of yours.” With that sentence, he claims your lips in a longing kiss while rutting a fair pace into you. His lips suck yours for only several seconds at a time then nip the meaty flesh before adding his tongue into the equation. “Oh, and these lips. So silky, smooth, and plump.” He says in between kisses which start to trail to your neck, leaving hickeys in your wake. His continuous actions drag you closer to your orgasm. But despite all of that, you couldn't help having this nagging voice in the back of your head that told you that these hickeys would be a pain no matter how good they felt now. Or the fact that even this position would somehow have a negative effect on your back. But all that worry and nagging leaves your mind when you feel your lower half heat up and the knot in your stomach loosen. "Eddie! I'm so fucking close.” Sweat beads on your forehead and your legs squeeze his torso, only making it harder for him to please you, but he persists in making you climax. “Then cum for me!” As if his words were the key to a locked box, you came with him only a few deep pumps behind you. He doesn’t take the time to slide out, instead, he collapses on top of you.

 You prance around in summer wear all year long. Tiny shorts in the winter, then swimsuits in the summer. Did you never get cold? He had to do a double-take when he looked across the street and saw you washing cars for unneeded money. He was sure you just wanted the attention and he was willing to give it to you, pulling up a chair on his balcony with a nice cold beer and taking in the view. Shirt see-through, jean cut-offs up your ass, and these plastic platform sandals that went clickety-clackety up his porch stairs when you came around to bring him cookies. He never ate them, the only thing he ever did was jerk off to them, his grown imagination running wild in hopes that he could just simply bring the cum-clad cookies back over to you and watch you gulp them down with seconds in mind. Seconds that he would gladly serve to you hot and ready.

 Just then the doorbell rang and the suddenness almost made him cum in his pants. He had been holding it back for a while, telling himself that he wouldn't tend to that type of thing right now. If only he knew what the day held for him. 

 He frantically looked around his living room before finding an apron that lay across his sofa. He swung the door open only to find no one, then directed his eyeline a bit lower. You, in a black tank top, jean mini skirt, and your signature black Chuck Taylors, panting as if you were coming down from a high. Your hand rests next to his head on the door frame, your other hand on your hip, and your body covered in a thin sheet of sweat. "Thank god you answered. I desperately need your help. I would've asked the other neighbors, but they either don't like me or are too old. Plus, I think you're the fittest guy here." You stared at him for a second until you realized you hadn't told him what you needed help with. "Oh, right. I kinda need you to help me push start my car." You give him a sheepish smile, that drops when he wipes his forehead in what you assume is frustration and annoyance but is actually him trying to hide a very mischievous and impish grin. "I'm sorry. It's wrong of me to bother my neighbors with my problems. Please forgive me." You begin to turn away for a graceful exit before he puts a hand on your shoulder. "It's fine. I can do it." You quietly cheer as you lead him to your car which was only at the beginning of the block. 

  You hand him a pair of rubber gloves and before you can say a word, he rolls up his sleeves and gets to pushing. A gasp drops out of your mouth from seeing the muscly arms you dreamed about. His strong arms wrapped around your waist as you rode him on your couch. Or him putting you into a choke hold while fucking you from behind and degrading you. You nearly drooled then snapped yourself out of your daydream for being so silly.

 You realize that he was already more than halfway to your house and you get in the car to direct it all the way.

 "Wow Mr. Nanami, you've got big muscles." You yell, driving into your driveway. "Want to touch them?" He flexes, his playfulness catching you off guard. You never suspected him to return your energy or anything of the sort so you lay it on even thicker, trying to see how far you could take it. "Don't think I won't." You both smirk as he puts a hand on the top of your car. "You don't know what you would be getting yourself into if you took that next step." You pull him closer by the pocket of his apron, "I'm a big girl. I think I can handle myself, hop in."

 It's all a haze of bottoms coming off until he's in between your legs with the bottom half of his face soaked from your teased cunt. He had been denying you of your orgasm for the longest, trying to make this encounter last for hours to get you to crumble in his hands. Even five minutes would be enough, but he wants to drag everything out of you for as long as he can. "Nanami..." You groan, taking a while to finish your sentence since you lost your train of thought in the last wave of pleasure. 

 “Please let me cum!” Breaths of air continuously push out your mouth as you grip any and everything closest to you with your eyes shut tight. He shakes his head between your legs, but it goes unnoticed so he nips at your inner thigh, “Look at me, slut.” A gasp leaves your mouth at the drop of his pet name and you lock eyes with him immediately. “That got your attention, huh?” You nod slowly, scared that if you take too much attention away from holding your orgasm, you’ll explode. You almost can’t hold it in even while crossing your legs, "Nanami please, fuck! Let me cum!" Your gaze into his eyes deepens, but he still shakes his head, “I want you to work for it.”

—

 You look back at him from your position on his lap with an unsure and teary expression, only to see him checking out the view of your ass. He scoots the front seat up to tip you forward and catch a glimpse of your wet pussy from behind. "Well, what are you waiting for? Put it in yourself." Your tears are painfully close to spilling out of your eyes. "But Nanami, this position is kinda embarrassing-" You cut yourself off when he spanks your ass, "Did I ask for your input? If it wasn't a question, then I expect you to follow my orders to the T. Embarrassment should be the last thing on your mind when you flaunt around in tiny skirts and tight shirts all year long." Your eyebrows raise vividly and a dopey smile etches onto your face, “So you noticed? Glad to see that my efforts haven’t been overlooked.” A deep and unholy-sounding chuckle erupts from his throat and heads straight to your cunt which now has its own heartbeat. “God, you’re such a fucking attention whore.” He begins to line himself up with your entrance since you stalled on the idea.

 "Nanami, you're so mean." You pout, completely oblivious to his current actions. "I know. You can handle it though." He slams himself into you and you cum instantly with a roar of his name. Your core goes tight, heat rushes over your body, and your legs spazz while your toes bend and flex themselves to take away from your built-up orgasm. The look that Nanami gives you is a mix of disappointment and dissatisfaction and his hand slides up to your neck, “Didn’t I tell you to hold it?” You nod and the hand on your throat makes its presence known with a firm squeeze. ”Fuck. Did you just get tighter?” You hadn’t even noticed it, but another orgasm was starting to build and just as your body was starting to relax into him, you started moving again. The thought of another world-shattering orgasm being around the corner was enough encouragement for you to get moving unlike before. You catch Nanami by surprise with your sudden enthusiasm, but he easily picks up his sadistic and impish demeanor again. Asserting dominance and supremacy by grabbing you by the hips when he feels you tighten even more and working you down onto him faster. Bumpy moans of his name drag out of your mouth as you get worked closer to your release. You open your mouth to beg, but before the words can come out he grants you permission to cum. Heat spreads over your body once more and your fingers dig into the back of your driver seat almost to the point of tearing through the leather. You would’ve screamed his name if not the tightening grip on your neck as he cums with you.

 You come home exhausted because the date that you’ve been anticipating all week turned out so poorly. He looked nothing like the pictures, he was nothing like his bio, and he was just downright rude to the waiter which was a big ick for you. Now, here he is walking you to your door, thinking that he’s doing his due diligence as a date or hoping to get something extra from you. You make sure to take the stairs up to your fourth-level apartment just to get back at him. When you finally reach your level, it’s another long walk to the end of the hall. You squint your eyes when you see a silhouette in front of your door. As you get closer, the figure looks more and more distinct. “Y/n…” Your posture becomes guarded before your body is propelling itself into the arms of a stranger. Your memory catches up with your body and all of a sudden the scent is familiar, the build is familiar, and tears are running down your cheeks. “Miguel!” You whisper over and over, your voice gradually getting louder, arms tightening around his neck, and the date you were with fading into the background. 

 Beyond your realization, Miguel gives the man a death glare. Looking him up and down, noticing all of his flaws and rough edges. His untamed hair and beard, his wrinkled clothes, and his scuffed shoes. Did you find him on the street? Then he looked down at you. Your big eyes, now closed with tears flooding them, your hair done in an updo and displaying your gorgeous neck, and your beautiful body wrapped in a silverish blue party dress. 

“My love, you look stunning.” His arms squeeze your waist possessively. His eyes darken as he has yet to break eye contact with the opposing male. Your date almost reminds you that he’s still there by clearing his throat, but Miguel grabs your attention, shuffling his hand onto the back of your head and leading you into a kiss. He groans into your mouth, practically feeling the jealousy and anger radiating off your date. Before he knows it, there’s a hand flying to your shoulder with a death grip only for him to catch it. Without any explanation he crushes the man's hand backward, “Don’t you ever lay your dirty fingers on my woman.” He drops the man's hand as he screams in agony. Fishing through your purse, he finds your keys and drags you inside before the neighbors catch wind of what happened.

 There are a ton of questions riding the tip of your tongue that all get shut down by another kiss which you ultimately push away. "Where were you?! You filed my head with hopes then burried them without even touching the shovel! You couldn't even send me one text? Not even and letter by mail? My penpal from 6th grade still writes me from time to time but you couldn't even dedicate one minute out of the day to me. I thought you died, Miguel..." He pushes your back flat against the front door, arms caging you in at your waist and head. "I know, mami... I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." He wipes the tears from your cheeks and kisses jawline, "Please let me make it up to you."

---

His kisses become quicker and rougher when they begin trailing down to your neck. Moans probing your lips. His breath is heated and his cologne melts all of your senses so much that you don't notice him hooking you by your legs and slinging you over his shoulder. He speed walks into your once-alone, now shared bedroom, tossing you on the center of the bed. Even after years, you still remember what to do and start to strip with him. Despite the burning anticipation on both sides, you both undress slowly, taking your time when scrunching your dress to your upper thighs as he takes forever just to show you a sliver of his abdomen. His shirt is finally off and tossed somewhere in the room. He joins you on the bed, immediately going for your hips and mashing your panty-clad ass onto his covered erection. You moan in unison from the friction, “Miguel, please!” He licks a stripe up from your collar to your jawbone, “Those are the exact words I wanted to hear tonight.” 

 He flips you on your stomach, “Ass up, pretty girl.” You obey his orders, trying not to get on his bad side and anxious to have him again. You begin to beg, but he pulls your panties to the side and prods your entrance with his hot tip. You moan, rolling your hips onto his and feeling him inside you for a split second before he pulls your hair. “Needy girl, aren’t cha?” He hunches over the length of your body, his mouth meeting your ear. He tries to get a teasing word out, but you continue to grind back onto him. “Fuck! Alright, I’ll give the princess what she wants.” He slides into you slowly before you slam back onto him. “Harder! Faster!” You begin to cry until he finally gives you what you need. 

Just then, your phone pings with a notification. Miguel, disapproving of the interruption, picks up your device and reads the message, “Hey, we need to talk about what happened tonight with that guy. Give me a call as soon as you can.” Miguel almost stops thrusting, but then an idea pops into his head. You were so in your own pleasure that you almost didn’t notice the dial tone on speaker in the background. “Huh, Mi-Miguel…? What’s that?” Your question is cut off by a third voice that makes your eyes go wide.

 “So, what is it that you wanted to talk about so badly?” Miguel teases, only to be met with the annoying voice of your bad date. “Huh? Who is this?” His frantic voice makes you cover your mouth in a desperate attempt to mask your moans. “If you want to know who ‘that guy’ is, you’re talking to him right now.” Miguel chuckles, looking down at you covering your mouth, and puts the phone right in front of your face. You move to press the end call button, but he quickly grabs your hands and puts them behind your back, his other hand nesting itself into your hair. “Where is Y/n?” Miguel smirks adjusting you until you’re comfortable, hands behind your back and all. “Oh, she’s right here. And I think she has something to say too.” He starts his thrusts back up, not caring to go slow or even be gentle, just pounding you into the mattress relentlessly. Pleasureful moans and cries of Miguel's name squeezing out of you. “Oh, princess. It’s been years and you still take me so well. Have you been letting other men stretch this pussy out?” His grip on your hair tightens and you can tell that he’s starting to get possessive again. “No! Never!” His eyebrow cocks up without notice, “Oh, so you’ve been using your fingers?” You nod and turn back to look at him with teary eyes that only make him pound into your G-spot harder. You both failed to realize, but your date had hung up the phone, most likely fuming while typing out the interaction on Reddit.

 Miguel’s eye line travels down to your ass then a bit lower, watching the mesmerizing sight of you swallowing him up. “If you could see what I see. You’re needy little cunt is doing such a good job of taking me. She feels so good too.” His hand unravels in your hair, gliding down to your hips only to grip them with a deadly clutch. He starts jackhammering into you, your head moving up and down the sheets like crazy and ruining your hair. “Miguel, I… I’m gonna agh!” 

 It was only brought to his attention once he overheard your book club while he was making a snack in the kitchen. He didn’t intend to spy at first, but the urge became irresistible when they started to talk about their husbands going down on them. Some of them go as far as to describe the techniques they use— grinding down on his face, rolling their hips, and nudging their clit with the tip of their husbands' noses. Miguel doesn’t even notice how obvious his eavesdropping is until the laughter and chatter from the living room dies down. Now turning into whispers about how much food he’s piling on and stares that he can feel through the back of his head. He looks down at his plate and sees an abundance of varying foods, carrots, celery, a glob of peanut butter, and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Before you can say something about it, he finishes making it and takes it upstairs. Only to turn back around and sit on the steps, snooping again, and realizing he didn’t get a spoon for his ice cream.

 The topic slowly deviates from Miguel to you and about why you haven’t shared a story of your own. They let out a sob out of empathy for you when you explain that Miguel hasn’t ever gone down on you or let you ride his face before. And that your sex life had been kinda dry at the moment. They all put in their unwanted two cents before you direct the conversation back to the book.

 After checking the time and realizing that you have to get dinner started, you shoo your friends out. Some of them bring up the previous topic, “Trust me not only does it feel good, but it opens up a whole new world of pleasure in your sex life.” And with that, you shut the door in their face, but out of all the unwanted advice, that one was the only remotely useful one. 

You turn around just to be met with Miguel’s chest as he presses you flat against the door. Your hands press against his chest to steady yourself, breath hitching when he goes straight for your neck, kissing and sucking the sweet spot on it. “Miguel! I have to get dinner started." You quiver, feeling a tingle and heat pool at your entrance. Your eyes begin to flutter as your head knocks back, giving him more access to your neck. “I was thinking that we’d have dessert first.” 

“M-Miguel…” His hands crawl onto your breasts, teasing your nipples until he flips up your shirt and his lips join his hands. Your legs buckle under his touch and he’s picking you up to put you on the kitchen counter. "Miguel— If— If this is about— what my friends— Ugh, shit!” His kisses trail lower with each word that falls out your mouth, now sliding off your shorts, but leaving your panties. A big calloused hand spreads your legs apart, taking one by the knee and placing it on his shoulder. Surprising you with a wet lick to your clothed slit. “God, you taste like heaven. Why didn’t you suggest this is the first place?” He doesn’t wait for a response to his rhetorical question, immediately stuffing his face in your nether region. Your hands move to the head separating your legs, fingers sliding into and tugging his brunette mane, split between wanting him and not wanting him there. He hisses at the pain. “If this is about what my friends said then you don’t have to. It’s not like a need a story to–” He stops you short, biting your inner thigh hard, his fangs sinking into you and relaxing your muscles with his venom. 

 “Miguel!” You start to slur.

 “This is for me as much as it is for you.” And just like that the fingers in his hair relax, relieving his scalp of the stinging he didn’t pay any mind to. “Now let me make you feel good.” You hum in response, not capable of doing much else than that and moaning. He continues to lap at your gushing pussy. Slurping and sucking up the juices and neglecting where you need him most. Your clit ached for attention and you couldn’t do anything about it other than moan or groan. So you groan, “I know, but you taste so good.” Just then an idea popped into his head. He repositions himself, putting the other leg over his shoulder and wrapping his arms around them. He begins to rub his nose against your clit, watching your face carefully for your reaction. You mewl loudly, eyes shut tight, and very little scrunching of your face due to the venom. He takes it as a good sign and advances with his movements. His thumbs move to your pussy lips spreading them wide and scooping out all you have to give him.