cowgirl —You are on top of him softly moving up and down his length, his back is pressed on the couch, couldn't even wait to take you to bed, too eager when he came back home and found you wearing one of his shirts and nothing else underneath. And it is not just the visual that gets him, it is the knowing you are his, sitting on. his couch, wearing his shirt, with hickeys he left on you still fresh on your skin.

You feel his mind is wondering off a little but with at this point you can somewhat tell it is about you, it is always about you.

"Good?" Your voice sounds like warm honey, he is close.

"Perfect" Joost replies almost breathless.

He is holding you by the waist one strong hand massaging at your back and other holding tightly at the fat of your ass helping you move. The fabric from his shirt bunched up around your middle, but he wants more so he grabs at it and pulls it up revealing your tender skin, the bunched up fabric is close to your mouth before he speaks again.

"Open." It could sound demanding if only he wasn't so sweet, he doesn't really have to demand anything when he is so easy to spoil, so you just do as he says. He pushes the white fabric into your mouth and you bite down holding it in place.

He looks at you chest moving hypnotized the familiar heat on his gut bubbling and threatening to spill over soon, he thinks probably if you tried you could make him cum untouched but he doesn't say it too scared still of the possibilities that could open, his love is always bordering on obsession on fixation and fascination all at once, he never wants to overwhelm you but you can read him like the back of your palm, the way his hard picks up and his dick pulses inside you, you can see right though him like he is made of glass. He loves it.

His hand leaves the fat of your ass to travel to you lower belly pressing, he caresses at the soft flesh with his tattooed knuckles before softly pressing there, just to feel the muscles of your abdomen twitch under him. His hand settles right over your cunt petting soft circles on your clit that send waves of pleasure through your body and cause you to spasm all over him.

He pushes himself higher up on the couch grabbing you securely with one big palm on your back so you won't fall, on his new position his face is right in front your your breasts that are bouncing wildly with your new speed, right in front of his eyes and he is so starved, he always is. He must have been a saint in a past life to deserve this kind of treatment he thinks, makes mental note to thank his lucky star.

You grab harder at his shoulders, your nails dig into his skin, he likes that, the marks you leave to prove that he is yours. You raise to put all you weight on the ball of your feet so you can move faster, take him deeper, so close to your high you know he will follow.

"That is it baby, make yourself feel good for me." He loves it like this when you chase your pleasure using him, it is exhilarating to know you want him so bad.

He catches on of your tits with his mouth sucking greedily on you, feels you clench around his length, and happily smiles rubbing his face closer to your heart, the fact that your breasts are on the way is just a happy accident and he does enjoy the fast thumping of your heart, to feel you so close as if you are one. He sucks around your nipple hardly, bites softly at the sensitive skin and feels how you push against his touch, he lets go for a second looks at the tender skin shiny with his spit and red from his doing, he goes for the other repeating his treatment.

✿ constantly catching him jus starin straight at em anywhere, while your sitting on the couch, at a restaurant, at the table, in the mirror, this man has no shame

✿ or always catching the way his eyes will flutter down to your chest when you’re talking to him

✿ you absolutely tease the hell out of him for it, calling him a perv or a freak and watching him giggle and blush

✿ sometimes you’d purposely wear a thin white shirt around the house, wearing that black lacy bra he loves just to drive him fucking crazy

✿ his hands have a tendency to stray when your cuddling

✿ laying behind you on the couch or bed, his hands will move from your stomach and trail up to your tits, giving them a tight squeeze just to mess with you and catch you off guard

✿ you’ll push your ass into his crotch just to (again) tease him back

✿ it’s weird, but he’s obsessed with the way he can’t fully grope all of your breasts in his hands, there’s always more than he can hold in his palms, he just thinks it’s hot lol

✿ again with the teasing, sometimes you’ll purposely wear a bra or shirt/tank top too tight where a bit of your boobs start spilling out, which makes him go nuts once again

✿ they make an amazing pillow for his head. seriously. he’s fallen asleep on them before.

✿ he’ll lay his head on your stomach and massage your tits like they’re stressballs after a long day

✿ there may or may not have been a few times where a titjob has been involved during sex

✿ LOVES to put his face all up in them and is always kissing them

✿ man loves a good tittysucking, he’d go for hours tbh, he goes insane at the sight of them after he’s marked you up in hickies and lovebites, that freak

✿ he gets so flustered when you walk around in a bra

✿ or when you try on a new bra/top or new lingerie, turning from the mirror to face him asking “do you think I look good in this?”

✿ “y-you look stunning, you look good in anything, liefje.” he’d respond as he goes red in the face, holding a pillow to hide his crotch

✿ he can’t handle when you jog to go get something and he sees them bounce

✿ he also goes crazy over the way they bounce when you’re on top of him, he’ll be grasping onto them or sitting up and kissing/sucking all over your chest while you bounce

✿ this may be too wild but flashing him during a conversation or even an argument just to catch him off guard

✿ “you can’t just show me your boobs to get me to shut up when we’re arguing!”

✿ imagine getting in an argument with him and be mad at him and you catch him staring again so you just put on a hoodie cuz he’s lost boob staring privileges ☠️☠️

✿ gets so fucking giddy when you ask for help taking off your bra

Your heart jumped in your chest every time the elevator reached a new floor on its way up to Joost’s penthouse. The numbers on the display in front of you got bigger and bigger as the cogwheel stopped briefly on each floor, taunting you. As a child, getting stuck in an elevator was your worst fear - now it might have just been your saving grace.

Although you’ve been here many times before – under the exact same circumstances every time – it had never felt so cold and foreign before. It couldn’t have been Joost’s warm, drunken smile reflecting off the mirrored walls, or the barely audible yet soothing elevator music in the background. It was rather the realization that these late-night visits had to stop. They were hurting too much. What had started out as a no-strings-attached situation with abundant benefits on both sides had become something way more you had bargained for.

“What’s wrong?” Joost’s husky voice pulled you out of your thoughts. His hair was a tangled, sticky mess after partying in a packed nightclub until the sun came up, but he looked absolutely beautiful to you. And that was exactly the problem.

“Nothing. Why?” You furrowed your eyebrows, embarrassed about getting caught staring.

He smirked, his eyes wandering down to your heels that were nervously tapping against the fitted carpet. “Something’s up with you tonight. What is it?”

“I’m fine. Probably had too much to drink,” you answered, which wasn’t a complete lie. The last glass of champagne had definitely been one glass too many and a headache was starting to creep in.

“Hm,” he answered, and with that the conversation died down, Joost only displaying a sufficient amount of concern that would ensure you didn’t take the elevator back down. But the headache was the least of your concerns. Soon after, you reached the 23rd floor. The big white door had a magnetic pull, maybe inside the timeless capsule that was the elevator you might have mustered the courage to leave, but not with Joost directing you the last couple of steps to his penthouse with his hand skillfully placed on the small of your back, like a guard directing his prisoner to his cell.

Despite Joost’s insistence that he would always remain the same person he had been before his rise to fame, his life had undeniably changed. His once modest apartment had transformed into a showcase of abundant wealth. It was no longer a small, cluttered space but a sleek, stylish penthouse, furnished with designer pieces and decorated with pieces of notable artists. The vintage record player you had once found together at a flea market now felt completely out of place amidst the marble floors and contemporary art. It was hard for you to reconcile the glitz and glamour surrounding Joost with the down-to-earth boy you had met two years ago, and you couldn’t help but wonder if, despite his promises, Joost Klein had become a reflection of his success.

Tossing his jacket and dress shoes in the corner, Joost walked over to the stereo and pressed play before sitting down on the couch. You followed him, placing your clutch down on the golden liquor table right next to it.

“This is gonna sober you up, babe,” he said, reaching into his pant pockets and taking out a small, sealed bag. You couldn’t remember when he started switching to English terms of endearment. In the beginning, he would call you words like schat and liefje. Back when everything was okay. Back when everything felt good. Now everything felt detached, like this was some role Joost was playing and you had to submit to it. No traces left of the man you once knew.

Joost poured the contents of the bag onto the glass coffee table in front of him, then he reached into his wallet which he placed on the table as well. First reaching for his credit card, he used it to spread the white powder into thin lines with meticulous care. You watched him intently, as if beneath these lines lay a hidden message telling you what to do next. You scoffed silently, hoping Joost wouldn’t hear. As if you had a choice. As if the designer dress and the pearl jewelry on your body was just a thoughtful gift.

Completely entranced, you watched him take out a 500-euro bill from his wallet and roll it up. Joost leaned in, the bill positioned above the line, his hot breath tarnishing the glass. With a sudden sharp intake, Joost inhaled the powder, his face tightening momentarily. He inhaled once more before throwing his head back into the pillows, a flush of euphoria crossing his features. His arms drop to the side, the purple bill rolling out of his hand and onto the space between your thighs, leaving white residue on the maroon leather couch.

“Your turn,” he demanded, his voice raspy. Trying to conceal your shaking hands, you take the bill and roll it back up. You mimicked his movements, hovering over the table, right above one of the smaller lines Joost had laid for you. As you placed your nose over the opening of the rolled-up bill, his hands snaked underneath the fabric of your dress, making its way from your thigh up to your ass, giving it a hard squeeze. You inhaled the substance just as quickly, a flush of invincibility entering your neural pathway. You welcomed any sensation that fed into the illusion that this wasn’t actually happening. That you weren’t here right now.

As you threw yourself back, you noticed that Joost had straightened himself up again. He took his hand back so as to not trap it between you and the sofa but saw the look on your face as an invitation to move over you. His lips traveled from your mouth to your jaw and finally to your cleavage, the low neckline allowing access to leave pink and purple marks. To leave his mark on you. Your breath hitched, the sensation heightened by the substance travelling through your bloodstream, which only gave him confirmation to carry on, his hands working his way to the back of your dress to unzip it, leaving you with nothing but a lacy pair of lingerie, another one of his gifts to you. The sensation of his hands on you were almost unbearable in its intensity, his fingers seemed to bury into your skin, feeling the pressure still on you when his hands worked to undo his pants. Time felt distorted; each touch and sound seemed to stretch into eternity as one hand continued to explore your body while the other one massaged the bulge clearly visible in his tight boxers.

“My little slut,” he whispered as he slid one hand between your thighs, feeling the increasing wetness through the thin fabric of your panties. Your body knew something your mind didn’t, or maybe it was the other way around, just adding to the detachment you felt ever since you crawled into that black car with him, or maybe ever since you got to the club.

You shut your eyes closed, his warm hands seeping into every inch of your skin, feeling the way his hands moved your panties to the side to press his thumb onto your clit and finally taking your hand to move it to his bulge. A gasp escaped your mouth, followed by a loud moan as your brain finally caught up to it. His touch became a consuming wave of sensation, overwhelming and beautiful.

“Shall we move this to the bedroom, babe?”

***

It was one of these days where everything pissed you off. You had overslept, subsequently missed your bus and therefore came in late for work, earning you a scolding from your asshole boss. You hadn’t had breakfast, which was starting to weigh on your stomach, and to top it all off, your friends had canceled on you – you were supposed to check out this amazing new Korean Barbecue place that had opened up in your neighborhood. It had been the only thing you’d been looking forward to all week, and now that was taken away from you.

And to make matters even worse, it was a slow day at work. There was no one to humor you besides your Instagram feed you were mindlessly scrolling through. Influencer scandal. War in the middle east. Your ex-boyfriend on vacation with his new girlfriend.

Until your phone chimed. Your empty stomach dropped and the phone almost fell out of your trembling hands.

Joost: I’m lonely, send a pic

And suddenly, you didn’t care that you didn’t hear your alarm or couldn’t try out Korean food with your friend group. All you felt was dirty. Like a cheap sugar baby without the contract.

I’m in a bad mood, you replied. It seemed wild to you that he still hadn’t memorized your work schedule after six months of whatever the fuck this was. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

Joost: Please. I’ll buy you something nice in return.

Joost: I bet you look so fucking sexy right now in your pencil skirt. What would it look like pulled up?

So he did remember. He just didn’t care.

You didn’t want to give in. Certainly not at the prospect of getting clothes you didn’t want and need anyway. But your legs didn’t know that, and before you knew it, you were locked inside the restroom, pulling your skirt up and your tights down, trying to figure out the best angle for the photo. Shoving your panties to the side, pulling them down completely, one finger on your clit, two fingers inside of you. When you were satisfied, you sent the photo to Joost.

You dropped your phone on the edge of the sink as if it would bite you as you fixed your uniform. Immediately regretting it, you reached for it again.

Typing…

Gone.

Typing…

Still nothing.

The thrill inside of you was starting to die down and transform into something else – shame maybe. Guilt. Or maybe even grief. Grieving what could have been between you if you’d never said yes to this god-awful friends with benefits thing.

Then it came. The call. And of course you picked up.

“Damn baby, already wet for me?” His voice was so low and raspy, he was practically growling. “Fuck, your pussy is so pretty.”

You felt as if someone else directed you. Because it surely couldn’t have been you saying, “You like what you see?”

“Mmmm fuck,” Joost whimpered on the other side. You, on the other hand, were rooted to the spot. You’d never been particularly fond of phone sex, let alone at work. This and the fact that Joost was clearly only using you for sex was heavily weighing on you. “Touch yourself for me, baby girl.”

“I’m at work, Joost.”

“I promise I’m quick.”

Of course he was. He always was.

Your reflection in the mirror looked unfamiliar, as if you were seeing someone else’s mistake. You glanced down at your phone, your fingers hovering over the “End Call” button. But you couldn’t bring yourself to press it.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned against the stall door, pressing your forehead to the cool metal. A sigh escaped your lips – one that wasn’t sexy or needy, just tired. Fucking tired.

“I can picture it,” he said, his voice a low hum in your ear. “You pulling those sexy lace panties to the side. That little gasp you make when you hit the right spot. You’re such a good girl for me.”

Your body reacted before your mind could stop it. That reflexive pull of desire, trained like muscle memory. Pavlovian. You hated how easy it was for you to slip into submission when he said all those things to you. To mistake being wanted for being loved.

But it had to stop.

Your voice was barely above a whisper when you asked, “What are we doing here, Joost?”

Silence. Not the sexy kind.

“What do you mean?”

You scoffed, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear with one hand, wiping away a tear with the other. “This. Whatever the hell this here is.”

Another pause. Then a rustle on his end, like he was sitting up. “What do you think this is, silly?”

“I have to go. Boss is calling,” you lied, fixing your skirt once more, flushing the toilet for no other reason than to create noise. To fill the space. To cover up the attempt at making this mean anything more to Joost than a little bit of fun.

“Maybe a pic for goodbye?” Joost teased.

You just hung up.

***

The floor of your bedroom looked like a small boutique had exploded. Dresses, skirts, boots, tops and two different curling irons lay in a big pile on your bedroom floor as you stood in front of the mirror, holding up a sheer black top up to your chest, wondering how much skin was too much tonight.

“I like this one,” said a voice from behind, muffled by some chips.

“You think? Or does this make me look like a slut?” You reached for a dark red blouse, only then realizing how much of your wardrobe was bought by Joost. “Is this one better?”

“We all know what you’re going to the party for,” Ava retorted, “so go for the top.”

 You sighed. “It’s just a house party.”

“Uh-huh.” She raised her brow, chewing slowly. “Sure, Jan.”

You flopped down on the bed beside her, letting the blouse slide from your fingers onto the floor. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters because I’ve watched you orbit around this man for months, like a moth circling a lightbulb that’s already burned out.” Ava picked a pile of fishnet tights off the bed with her toes. “And I don’t like who you are when you’re with him. You ghost me. You flake on plans. You stop eating unless he tells you to. It’s like he texts and only then do you come alive. Like a fucking sleeper agent.”

You stayed quiet. It’s not like she wasn’t right. You had nothing to say in your defense.

“Joost and I are friends.” You hated how fragile your voice sounded. You couldn’t even convince yourself, so why were you trying to persuade your best friend? The person who knew you best?

“Friends my ass,” Ava said, shoving another handful of chips into her mouth. “You know you deserve better than this, right?”

You wanted to tell her that she didn’t understand. That Joost was complicated, and the modern dating scene was even more complicated. That it was messy but there were good parts, too. That sometimes, when he was quiet and you were lying next to him in the dark and he wasn’t trying to fuck or snort anything off the nightstand, it almost felt like something real.

“He likes me,” you offered lamely, folding your hands in your lap.

“Well, he also likes snorting coke and calling women ‘babe’, so the bar is not exactly high.”

You stood up, haphazardly putting together an outfit to go with the sheer top. A leather skirt, those fishnet tights that were lying next to Ava on the bed and some combat boots. “Is this okay?”

“Honey, if he doesn’t drop to his knees when he sees this, just go ahead and throw the whole man away.”

This earned a small chuckle from you as you started undressing.

“Just promise me one thing, okay?” Ava said.

“Hm?”

“Don’t let him get to your head. I don’t want to see you end up hurt.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. But you nodded. “I promise.”

You were already halfway into your third layer of mascara when your phone lit up. Ava had gone home, leaving you to get ready on your own. For a second, your breath caught in your throat.

Not Joost. Just a Vinted notification. Somebody finally bought that ugly sweater you were dying to get rid of.

You picked up the phone anyway, fingers moving instinctively to open your messages. No new texts. The last one of him still sat there, unread again after you’d reopened it for the fifth time.

Joost: You better wear something I can tear off later.

Your stomach knotted. It wasn’t even the words that hurt anymore. It was the space between you. You tried your best to ignore the message and finished getting ready.

By the time you got to the address Joost had sent you, the party was already in full swing. Colorful light spilled from the windows as you passed them, and the bass thumped in your ears in the same rhythm of your heartbeat. Nerves were running high as you walked up the stairs to the front door. As if on cue, the door opened, revealing a drunk couple stumbling outside for some privacy. You took a step toward the door, peeking your head inside to check if you could make out Joost.

Of course, as always, Joost was the life of the party. Dancing on a coffee table, spraying prosecco into his friends’ mouths, passing the bong along to the other partygoers. He seemed like the center of the universe as you watched him from the doorway, taking in his effervescent presence.

You hesitated in the doorway, one foot in the threshold, the other inching forward like it needed permission. Nobody noticed you yet. The air inside smelled like cheap weed and expensive cologne, a cocktail of sweat, smoke and youth.

Joost hadn’t seen you. He twirled around, his blond hair sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed with adrenaline and whatever he’d taken. There was a halo of attention around him, like always. People laughed louder when he spoke, moved closer when he danced, floated in his orbit like satellites terrified to drift too far.

You could’ve turned around. It’s not like Joost needed you there. Maybe you even should have turned around. But something kept you there, like a magnet.

Then, as if summoned, his eyes found yours. A flicker – recognition, desire, something else you couldn’t name – passed over his face. It certainly wasn’t the same glint you had in your eyes whenever you saw him. It looked a lot more possessive. The bottle slipped slightly in his hand.

“Y/N!” He yelled, and suddenly, it seemed like the world stopped around you. Dozens of pairs of eyes were fixed on you.

“Don’t be shy, love. Come on over,” he added, waving his hands towards you. And when Joost told you to do something, you obliged.

He leaned over the coffee table littered with white powder, empty shot glasses and rolled up money bills to give you a side hug. You didn’t need any drugs; Joost’s cologne and his warm body against yours was enough to make you feel lighthearted. But by the time you had adjusted to him against you, he had already pulled away. “Drink?”

“Whaddaya got?”

“Anything your heart desires, m’lady,” Apson, who was on the couch next to Joost, answered with a smug grin on his face.

“Can you make me a pornstar martini?”

“Of course,” Joost smirked, “a woman after my own taste. Am I right, boys?”

His friends laughed, and it stung. But it was already way too late to back out, so you accepted the bantering among the friend group.

As Joost walked to the kitchen, you took his place and plopped down on the ragged leather couch. His friends have never been particularly fond of you or the thing you had going on with Joost. Although you had insisted to both your friends that you and him were just friends, they had caught up to the facts quickly. At least they were nice enough to wrap you into some small talk.

Soon, Joost returned, drink in hand. He handed it to you before sitting down on the armrest, hovering over you so he could whisper into your ear, “I can’t wait to tear up those tights.”

“At least let’s dance first,” you demanded, wanting to sound as easygoing as possible, although your knuckles were turning white from the tight grip you had around the martini glass.

Joost didn’t move. He cocked his head, eyes narrowed like he saw right through your performance. Then, as if boredom had caught up with him, he reached out and took the glass from your hand, downed the rest of the lukewarm martini in one swallow and set it down on the already cluttered coffee table.

“You’ve finished now,” he said. “Come dance with me then.”

Right on cue, the music switched from classic hip-hop to techno. The bass dropped just as your fingers brushed his. You let him take your hand and drag you to the makeshift dance floor.

It wasn’t a dance so much as a silent argument set to music. His body pressed to yours, guiding your hips with slow control, then pushing the tempo—testing boundaries. You matched him, refusing to retreat. Each beat struck like a challenge. A hand on your waist, too low. Your arm slung around his neck, too familiar. The way he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear like he owned the air you breathed.

“Ten minutes, then we’re gonna look for the nearest free bathroom,” he muttered, voice muffled by the heat between you.

And then his hand slid down your back, firm, possessive. People danced around you obliviously. The lights stuttered like camera flashes. You could still walk away—you should—but his mouth was almost on yours now, and it was impossible to breathe, let alone move.

Ten minutes were up.

So was your self-control as you followed him up the stairs.

Even the crammed bathroom at the end of the hallway had that distinctive weed stench that was starting to seep into your pores. But you could hardly think about that, not when Joost was towering over you, looking at you with big hungry eyes.

He kicked the door shut, the clicking of the flimsy lock echoing in the small space. The dim light hummed, casting a sickly glow on the space around you. He didn’t waste a second as his hands found your waist, pulling you against him. There was an urgency in his touch as you met his gaze, a mixture of apprehension and raw desire swirling within you. This was impulsive, reckless and everything your rational mind screamed against. But rationality had left the building a long time ago, replaced by the insistent drumming of your heartbeat and the intoxicating scent of him.

He reached for your top, pulling it upwards, revealing a black bra. “You know, for a minute there, I thought you were going to bolt,” he breathed, his voice thick with anticipation. Your pulse hammered against your ribs as goosebumps littered your skin. Then his hands wandered to your back, where he unclasped your bra in one swift motion.

“What if I had?” You managed to get out.

You thought for a moment that Joost didn’t hear you. That he was too caught up in the moment to catch your words as he connected his lips with your body, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites along your neck down to your collarbones. “You wouldn’t,” he muttered against your neck, his voice vibrating against your skin.

And how right he was about that, you thought as you connected your lips with his in a passionate kiss that set fireworks off in your stomach, your hands wandering to his messy mullet while his cupped your breasts, circling your nipples with his thumbs. The tightness of the space made everything feel more intense, the heat from his body enveloping you like a warm blanket. You didn’t care that your heart was racing or that you could hear the faint sounds of the party outside the door. All that mattered was the feel of Joost’s calloused hands on your skin.

He kissed you harder, his tongue delving into your mouth with a hunger that made you ache. Your legs felt wobbly and you leaned against the sink for support, the cold porcelain a stark contrast to the heat between your thighs. He took advantage of your position, his hands sliding down to undo your skirt and slip it off, leaving you in nothing but a black thong.

You felt exposed but also incredibly alive as he knelt before you, his eyes raking over your naked body. He kissed your stomach, his tongue tracing the line of your navel before moving lower, his breath hot against your skin. Your hands went to the hem of his dress shirt as he hooked his thumbs into the band of your thong and pulled it down, leaving you bare before him.

With one swift motion, Joost heaved you up on the counter, his hands tight around your thighs, his bulge pressing against your center. Your hands found his hair again, tugging on it, desperate for more. “Joost, please.”

He took the hint, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he knelt and began to suck and nibble on the sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation was overwhelming, your body responding to his every touch, every flick of his tongue.

You could feel yourself getting wetter, the sound of his mouth on you echoing in the small room. Instinctively, your hands went to his belt, unbuckling it and unbuttoning his jeans. Your trembling fingers slipped inside his boxers, wrapping around his hot, hard length. He groaned into your skin as you began to stroke him, matching the rhythm of his tongue. The sound of your breath mingling with his was the only music in the room, already having forgotten about the party downstairs.

Joost’s hands slid up your thighs, spreading them wider, giving him better access. He teased you with his thumb, tracing your folds before sliding it inside you, making you gasp. His fingers moved in time with your strokes, filling you up and making you crave even more. “You like that, huh?”

“Please, Joost. I-“ you moaned, overtaken by the pleasure starting to bubble up inside you.

“Not so fast,” Joost smirked, the eyeliner around his eyes smudged from repeatedly squeezing his eyes open and shut. He pulled his pants and boxers down. You nodded eagerly; your eyes locked onto his hardened member. You crawled down from the counter, putting your hands on Joost’s shoulder to support your already trembling legs. Kneeling, you took a deep breath and began kissing the tip, tasting the faint saltiness of his precum. Finally, you took him into your mouth, his gaps filling the room and his hands coming up to cradle your head. You began to bob up and down, taking him deeper with every movement, feeling him throb and pulse in your mouth. “Mmmh you take it so good, baby. Take it deeper.”

You looked up at him, the excitement in his eyes obvious, you so fragile beneath him. You felt completely powerless as he took your head and pushed it down, making you gag on his length. Your eyes watered as you struggled not to pull away, your hands gripping his thighs for balance. “Deeper,” he growled, fistfuls of hair in his hands and pushing you down further.

The anger grew, mixing with the pleasure as your throat constricted around him. You didn’t want to like this, didn’t want to be this submissive to him. But your body was betraying you, responding to his dominance in a way that made you feel ashamed.

You tried to protest, but all that came out was a muffled sound against his shaft. Joost just chuckled, his grip on your hair tightening. “You’re so eager,” he said. “So eager to please.”

Your jaw ached by the time he began thrusting into your mouth, his other hand on the back of your head to keep you in place. Tears were beginning to spill out of your eyes, rolling down your cheeks, but you had no possibility to wipe them away. Not with Joost’s firm grip on your head and your hands on the back of his knees for support. Each time he pushed in, your gag reflex kicked in, and each time he pushed harder, his hips snapped against your face.

With a sudden jerk, you pulled away, his grip on your hair slipping. You stood up, panting, glaring at him with wet, angry eyes. "You think you can just use me like this?" you spat.

For a moment, Joost looked surprised, his chest heaving with excitement. Then his smirk returned. "Isn’t that what you want?" he taunted, stroking himself. "To be used, to be filled with cum?"

The words were like a match thrown into a pool of gasoline. Your anger flared, and without thinking, you slapped him hard across the face. The sound reverberated in the small bathroom, echoing off the tiles. Joost’s eyes went wide, his hand flying to his cheek. But the shock quickly gave way to a look of pure lust.

"You like it rough, huh?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire. Slowly, he stood up, placing a haphazard kiss on your lips before he flipped you over, your stomach pressing into the cold porcelain. “I want you to look at yourself while I fuck you senseless, you little slut,” Joost growled, pushing you into the sink by keeping a firm grip around your neck.

You whimpered with anticipation as Joost positioned himself behind you, your hands grasping the edges of the sink to keep your balance. He didn’t bother with any more foreplay; he was too consumed by his own lust. With one swift motion, he entered you, the force making your knees buckle slightly. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunted, his eyes fixated on your reflection in the mirror. He watched as he began to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the bathroom. You could feel his cock stretching you to your limits, the roughness of his movements making you wetter with every thrust.

"You're mine," he snarled, his teeth grazing your ear. "You're going to take every inch of me like the good little whore you are." His words sent a thrill down your spine, and you pushed back against him, meeting his every thrust with a desperate moan.

Your breasts bounced with the force of his movements, and your cheeks were flushed with a mix of arousal and pain. He reached around to squeeze one of your nipples, twisting it just enough to make you gasp. You felt his hand slap against your ass, the sting adding to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

"Look at yourself," he ordered, his voice rough. You obeyed, looking into the mirror. Your eyes were wide with lust, and your mouth was slightly parted, the sight of your own desperation turning you on even more. You watched as he claimed you, his hips slapping against your ass, your body shaking with every impact.

The pressure built inside you, and you felt your orgasm approaching rapidly. "I'm going to cum," you whined, your voice high with need.

"Cum for me," Joost demanded, his pace increasing. "Cum on my cock, baby."

With a final, brutal thrust, you did just that. Your body convulsed around him, your pussy tightening around his cock as waves of pleasure crashed through you. And then, the words that you hoped would never see the light of day spilled out of you. Just like that. “I love you.”

"Fuck," he groaned, his own release following closely. He pulled out, his cum spurting onto your ass and back. "Look at the mess you made," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. He let go of you, and you slumped forward, gasping for air.

Joost stepped back, his chest heaving, and admired the scene in the mirror. You were an absolute mess, your body glistening with sweat and cum, your makeup smudged, and your hair wild.

"You're so beautiful when you're used up like that," he murmured, running a gentle finger along your spine.

***

Nobody talked when you got redressed. For what it was worth, your tights had remained mostly unharmed. Not like it mattered, though. Not when tomorrow, your whole body will be sore, littered with bruises, and your throat will hurt. “You’re not gonna say anything?”

“What?” He asked, laughing as one hand tightened his belt and the other held a cigarette. “Not the first time I’ve fucked someone this good they thought they were in love with me.”

You scoffed, but decided not to press on it. But it seemed as if your face told everything. Joost crouched down so you were face to face, his thumb softly stroking your cheek. “You don’t love me, okay? That was never part of the plan. So cut it out, please.”

You let him touch your face.

You let him talk to you like that.

Because what other options did you have, having been humiliated like that?

For a second, you didn’t even flinch. Just stared at him, at his fucked-up tenderness, the cruel petting of someone who liked to see the damage he’d done up close.

It wasn’t just your face that betrayed you. It was your silence. The way you didn’t correct him. The way your chest rose too fast, tears forming in your eyes like a kid who’d just had her favorite toy stolen.

He smiled like he won.

So you stood up. Slipped into your top without bothering to fix your smudged makeup, your crooked tights, the bloom of red beginning to form on your collarbone.

You turned toward the door, hand on the knob, then paused.

“Fuck you, Joost.”

And you didn’t look back when you walked out.

But you wished you had. Just to see if he flinched.

But deep inside you knew the answer was no.

***

You: Wanna come over?

You: Please talk to me.

You: Joost. We need to talk.

You: Are you seriously ignoring me?

You: Fuck you.

You: You’re a fucking asshole, Joost.

You’d had your fair share of bad dating experiences. You’d been stood up more often than you could count. You’d been catfished. You’d been mansplained politics. The list goes on.

But never had a bad dating experience made you spend the entire afternoon on your balcony, getting drunk off cheap wine and chain-smoking whatever cigarettes were left in the pack, cursing yourself for not buying more at the corner store.

It had been a week since you and Joost had last spoken. A week since you stopped living.

You used to cringe at couples who said they couldn’t live with or without each other. So why did it feel so true?

Not like you had ever had some sort of claim of ownership over him. It was perhaps naïve of you to assume that this wouldn’t end the way it did. But you had hoped, until the very last minute, that Joost would come around. After all, what is a sex-drunken confession when stacked against a years-long friendship?

You stubbed your cigarette out on the balcony railing. One of a dozen today. The ashtray looked like a graveyard. You were becoming someone you didn’t recognize – bitter, messy, obsessed with Joost’s digital silence like it was gospel.

Then, so silently that you almost thought you’d imagined it, there was a knock at the door.

You didn’t move. Surely, it was just a delivery guy. But you hadn’t eaten in days. Then came another knock, and you knew you had to do something.

So you answered it. And when you opened the door, Joost stood there like it hadn’t been a week. Like he hadn’t been ghosting you.

“Hey,” he said, as if that were enough.

You stepped aside, not because he deserved it, but because you were curious enough to see what he’d do.

He looked around, his gaze fixed on the empty wine bottles littered on the counter. “Shit, you throwing a party or something?”

“Yeah, for finally getting rid of you,” you snarked. “What the hell do you want now?”

He didn’t laugh. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes refusing to meet yours.

“You know, it’s not my fault you fell in love with me.”

You snorted. “Are you done?”

“You’re the one constantly texting me. It was getting on Bet- my nerves,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Wait, who?”

“I said it was getting on my nerves.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose, in order to stop the tears from streaming down your face. “You’re seeing someone.”

For a moment, the entire apartment was silent. Then, he said, “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Why, Joost?” The sadness had now been replaced by anger. You couldn’t believe he had moved on from you so quickly. “Why her and not me?”

He shifted on his feet like he couldn’t decide whether to run or throw another punch – because that’s what his words had been feeling lately.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” he said finally. “We weren’t together.”

You let out a laugh. Hollow. Bitter. “Just give me a fucking reason, Joost.”

He stepped forward, but you stepped back instinctively. “Fine? You really wanna know? It’s because you’re a fucking drag, Y/N. I’ve done so much for you and you repay it by being a little bitch about it. Everything’s so much more complicated than it has to with you.”

“Oh, I’m difficult?” You snapped. “You show up here after ignoring me for days, tell me you’re dating someone else and somehow I’m the problem?”

He just shrugged. He fucking shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Unbelievable.”

“You always read into shit too much,” he said, his voice cold. “That’s not on me.”

Your jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “It is on you. You fucked me like you meant it. You held me like I mattered. And the worst part is, I believed it. I believed you.”

Joost looked away, like he couldn’t stand to see you like this. Like seeing you broken was somehow inconveniencing him.

“Betty’s a lot less complicated. You have no one to blame but yourself, Y/N.”

That was it. Your knockout.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. But your entire body felt padded, like somehow this wasn’t happening, because there’s no way the person that was supposed to be your friend was throwing these words at you.

“Get out.”

He hesitated.

“Can we at least still be friends?”

“I said get the fuck out of my apartment, Joost.”

This time, he listened.

***

It’s been months since you’d last talked to Joost. It had been hard – oh, had it been hard. At first, you spent entire days staring at your phone, willing him to text you. You had sent him hundreds of text messages, ranging from threats to pleads, desperate for any kind of reaction from him. But of course he had gone completely radio silent on you.

So here you were, spending your Friday evening at the bar with friends instead of a high-end nightclub with Joost. And maybe you were starting to be okay with that.

And what better soundtrack than Charli XCX when talking shit about your exes with your best friends?

“Oh god, I almost forgot about that guy,” Taya said, kicking her Tabis against the booth table before taking a sip of her espresso martini. “What a total loser.”

“Remember Dave though? The one who made that spreadsheet ranking his exes? Cam jumped in, rolling her eyes. “Men are insane.”

You laughed or at least performed the laugh. It came out brittle, but nobody noticed. The bar was dim, warm with bodies and gin-sweet air.

Ava turned to you. “What about you? Any news about he who cannot be named?”

You shook your head. “Radio silence.”

Ava gave you a knowing nod. You could tell she was happy for you, helping you get through the “break up”. She was happy that you came out alright. But were you?

While the others kept swapping stories about their horror dating stories, you quietly pulled up your text conversation with Joost. Or rather, your monologue. The last message you’d sent to him was a long, raw paragraph about how badly he’d treated you and how you vowed to never let a guy talk to you like this ever again. He’d left you on read, of course, but not without speech bubbles appearing and disappearing again. As pathetic as it sounded, you found some solace in the fact that he at least had a decency to listen when you poured your heart out.

You put your phone away again, half-heartedly nursing your pornstar martini while listening to your friends’ conversation you had disengaged from.

And then your phone suddenly vibrated. You looked at the screen as if it had grown fangs. Joost’s name had appeared.

You didn’t open it. Couldn’t open it. For a second, the noise of the bar dropped out. The music, the clink of glasses, even your friend’s voice became muffled as your brain began to catch up on what happened.

Ava laughed at something Cam said. Taya tapped the rim of her glass like she was counting down seconds.

You stood up.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you said to no one in particular, and slipped away before anyone could ask questions. Before Ava could stop you.

Once inside, you leaned against the sink, examining the dark circles under your eyes. You were puffing as if you’d run a marathon. Your hair stuck to your sweaty forehead. What did he want? Did he suddenly come around? Did you want him to?

You locked the stall behind you, sat down and finally dared to look at the notification.

Joost: Hey

Joost: Can we talk?

That was all. Just that. But your stomach turned over anyway.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an hour, reading and rereading that text in case your mind had decided to play a sick game. But there it was, white on black. Joost wanted to see you.

You hovered your thumb on the keyboard. Then you locked your phone. Unlocked it. Locked it again.

You wanted to tell him to get lost. That he had no right to show up again after ghosting you when you needed him the most.

“Y/N?” A voice suddenly inquired. It was Ava. Of course it was her.

“Be out in a minute,” you answered, trying your best to keep your voice steady.

When you unlocked the door, Ava stood there, a blank expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I think I gotta go,” you stuttered, not bothering to make up an excuse for suddenly vanishing from the booth.

It was no use anyway, because Ava knew what was going on. “It’s Joost, isn’t it?”

There was an unreadable expression on her face. Something like understanding, or scolding, or just the quiet disappointment of someone who’d seen this story play out before and hated knowing how it would end.

“I’m not gonna tell you not to do it because I know you wouldn’t listen,” she sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “Just be careful, okay?”

You nodded, rooted to the spot. “Thanks for understanding.”

Then, he texted again.

Joost: Can I come over?

And this time, you didn’t overthink it. You just replied: Be there in 5.

You barely remembered saying goodbye to your friends. You barely remembered the walk home, hands in fists inside your leather jacket to stop the trembling. But when you finally got to your apartment and found Joost leaning against the door, you knew he had it worse than you. He gave you a look that was almost sheepish, almost apologetic, but neither of the two in the end.

“You look good,” he said.

“You look like shit,” you replied, fishing the keys out of your bag and opening the door, kicking your shoes off next to it.

He chuckled softly, stepping inside like he belonged there, like he hadn’t vanished off the face of the Earth for months. The door shut behind him with a soft click, and suddenly the room felt smaller. Warmer.

You didn’t ask why he came. You couldn’t bare to hear her name. Besides, you knew what he was here for, didn’t you? Instead, you poured a glass of wine for the both of you.

For a while, you just stood there, sipping your drinks. Joost studied the posters in your living room, pretending like he’d never been to your place before.

“I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

You crossed your arms, the ache in your chest getting harder to ignore. “Well that’s a first.”

“Me and Betty broke up. Funnily enough she said the same thing to me that I’d said to you all these months ago.”

“Serves you right.”

He flinched. “I know.”

“Why are you here?”

“I didn’t know where else to go. And I miss you.”

“Bullshit,” you spat. “You miss how convenient I was. One whistle from you and I was there. Like a fucking lap dog. But you don’t miss me.”

He looked away, like a kid caught doing something it was not supposed to be doing. “Why did you invite me here then?”

You exhaled sharply. “Because no matter what I do, I just can’t seem to quit you. I’m addicted to you as if you were coke.”

And before you could overthink it, you kissed him – slow, like you needed to taste the damage again, just to remind yourself why it hurt so much to begin with.

Joost kissed you back, but not with the same urgency. Like he was waiting to get it over with so he could fuck you. Now he took his time. Like he was making up for lost time.

Joost’s kiss grew deeper, his hands reaching up to cup your face. Your hands explored his body as if you were a sculptor rediscovering your favorite piece of art, before your fingers settled on his shirt, pulling it swiftly over his head. The moment the fabric gave way, your hands roamed over his bare skin, feeling the warmth of his chest. He groaned into the kiss, his tongue dancing with you in a rhythm that was both familiar and exhilarating. He pressed you harder against himself, and you felt the unmistakable hardness of his arousal through your thin dress.

Breaking the kiss, he took a closer look at you. His breath was hot, sending shivers down your spine as his hands traced the curve of your waist. His hands moved up, undoing your blouse button by button, all the while wearing the expression you swore would make you go insane one day. The blouse fell to the floor, Joost attacked your chest with kisses all the while his hands worked to unclasp your bra. He leaned down to kiss your chest, his teeth grazing your skin gently, making you gasp. With your hands around his neck, he continued to litter your skin with little kisses.

You felt a rush of excitement and anticipation as Joost’s hands moved deftly to unbutton your pants. His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze only growing stronger with each piece of clothing that fell away. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of you, his hands ghosting over your hips before hooking his fingers into the delicate lace.

“Joost, wait,” you breathed, a confused look on Joost’s face. “Take me to bed.”

Joost scooped you up, carrying you over to the bedroom and gently placing you down on the bed. Joost hovered over you, hands placed on either side of your head as he began kissing you again, starting from your lips and making his way down to your collarbones. Down to your neck. Lower. Down to your breasts, your stomach and eventually settling on the inside of your thighs. Your panties were off in a swift motion, slick with your lust. It was embarrassing how wet you were already, but you couldn’t help yourself. Not when Joost was worshipping your body like this. His kisses grew more urgent, his hands more insistent as they roamed over your sensitive skin.

Joost’s touch was like fire, burning away any shyness or hesitation you might have had. His hands moved down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he buried his face between your thighs, his tongue darting out to taste you. You felt his hot breath against your slick folds before his mouth closed over your clit, sucking gently. His teeth grazed against your g-spot, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. It was like he knew your body better than you.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, holding him in place as he devoured you. Your moans grew louder, more desperate as Joost worked his magic, alternating between licking and blowing on the sensitive area, which drove you crazy. You were close, so close to the edge, and he knew it.

“Come for me, liefje,” he moaned against your clit, the vibration of his voice sending jolts of pleasure through your body. And so you released the pressure bubbling up in your stomach, coming all over Joost’s face. “Good girl.”

With a final lingering kiss for good measure, Joost stood up, his own arousal evident in the bulge straining against his hard cock. He stripped off the rest of his clothes, before positioning himself between your legs. That’s when you gripped his shoulders, attempting to flip him on his back and repaying him with this incomparable feeling. But he just kissed you, his lips slick with your cum. “No, tonight is about you,” he whispered.

He was so focused on you as he moved up to your breasts to kiss them. It made you feel desired. Almost loved.

You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh as he hovered over you, his eyes full of lust and something else – something deeper that you didn’t dare name. And then he kissed you again, slower this time, like there was no rush in the world. Like he was going to take your sweet time with you.

“Mmmm need you, Joost,” you mumbled against his lips.

“So needy,” he chuckled silently as he positioned himself at your entrance, his lips never disconnecting from yours.

You gasped, feeling yourself stretching to accommodate his size. It had been too long since you’d felt this full, this alive. And he took his time with you alright, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, wanting you to feel all of him. You wrapped your legs around his hips as his thrusts became more quick, more urgent, as he claimed you once again. “God, I’ve missed this.”

You moaned in response, your hips rising to meet his, nails digging into his back. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your gasps and his groans. Joost’s hands wandered over your body, caressing and teasing every inch of you. He found your clit again and began to rub it in slow circles, matching the tempo of his thrusts. You moaned at the overstimulation, almost becoming unbearable.

“Joost, I-“ you groaned.

“I know, liefje. Hold on for me.”

Suddenly, with a wicked grin, Joost reached down and flipped you onto your stomach. He kissed down your spine, leaving a trail of fire behind his lips. He took a moment to appreciate the view of your round ass in the air before spreading your legs wide. He grabbed your hips and slammed into you from behind, the sudden change in position making you cry out. You felt so exposed, so vulnerable, but in the best way possible.

Joost’s hand reached to cup your breasts, playing with your nipples as his tempo grew more quicker, more urgent. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your spine, making you arch your back and push your ass out further for more. He was relentless, his cock pounding into you like he owned you, like he had every right in the world to take what he wanted.

“You’re so tight, baby. So wet for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His words only spurred you on, making you want to come even more.

You reached back, trying to touch him, to feel him, but he took your wrists and pinned them above your head. “Let me do all the work tonight,” he said, voice low.

You felt his hand move down to your clit again, his fingers circling it, applying just the right amount of pressure. The sensation was almost too much, but you didn’t want it to stop. You needed this, needed him to push you over the edge again.

“Please, Joost, I need to come,” you begged, your voice strained with need.

“Not yet, liefje. I’m not done with you yet.”

The suspense built as Joost’s grip tightened around your wrists, his rhythm becoming more erratic, his breathing more ragged. He was so close, you could feel his whole body tense with the effort of holding back. You bit your lips to stifle your own moans, feeling the tension coil tighter within you.

He leaned down, his hot breath against your neck as he whispered, “You want to come, don’t you? You want to feel me fill you up?”

You nodded frantically, your body begging for release, but he only chuckled darkly and squeezed your breasts harder. “Not yet,” he said again, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

He withdrew almost completely, the head of his cock teasing your entrance before slamming back in, making you gasp. You felt your orgasm building, a pressure so intense it’s almost painful. Your body started to quiver uncontrollably, the beginnings of your climax rushing through you.

Joost’s strokes became shorter, more deliberate, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. You knew he was close too, his breathing erratic and his hips jerking against you. You could feel him swell inside of you, and it took all of your strength to hold on.

“Now, schat, come now,” he commanded, his voice strained with his own need.

You obeyed, your body shattering around him as you came harder than you ever have before. Your muscles clenched around his cock, and he groaned, his own climax following immediately after. He filled you with his warmth, collapsing on top of you as the aftershocks of pleasure continued to pulse through your veins.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room were your panting and his harsh breaths. Neither of you dared to move as you concentrated on your breathing. Then, when your vision came back, you turned around, his head on your stomach. You stroked his hair, him keeping his eyes closed as you hummed contently.

You traced your fingers along the curve of his ear, then down the side of his neck, the way you used to. He didn’t flinch. He just let you touch him like nothing had changed, like the silence and the months and the other girl hadn’t happened. Like he had never stayed gone long enough for you to miss him. But you had missed him, so much.

He opened his eyes slowly, lifting his head to look at you. “God, you’re driving me crazy,” he huffed, almost like he was blaming you for it.

You laughed, but there was no joy in it. “Yeah,” was all you managed to get out as you continued to stroke along the sides of his face, scratching the space as if he were a puppy you’d gotten for Christmas. He closed his eyes again, savoring the feeling of his hands on your skin. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, and your face fell. Just like that, the illusion cracked. “Let’s see each other again. See how it goes, okay?”

His voice was quiet. Measured. Like he was offering you a favor instead of pulling you back into the same trap.

You stared at the ceiling. Your chest ached in that dull, familiar way. You were so tired. Tired of being the one who stayed. Tired of being the girl he came back to when the others didn’t work out. Tired of convincing yourself that maybe this time he meant it.

You stand there, completely naked, waiting for him to turn around. Excitement builds inside you, your heart near almost jumps out of your chest. In this very moment, you know — there isn’t a feeling in the world that compares to how he makes you feel.

“I am leav—” he begins, turning around. But the sight of you stops him mid-sentence. His eyes slowly trailing from your face down the curves of your body. You’re so close, standing in the doorway, your heartbeat pounding wildly. You begin to walk toward him, your feet leaving wet footprints on the floor — not that you care. All that matters is him — and the way he’s looking at you.

You reach him and wrap your hand around his neck. His body remains frozen, as if he’s forgotten how to move. You look into his eyes, now only inches away. They’re filled with lust. He’s seen your body countless times, yet still, you take his breath away. In this moment, every doubt you’ve ever had about his feelings vanishes. It’s clear — he’s completely mesmerized.

“Come with me” — you whisper, taking his hand and trying to lead him to the bathroom. But instead, he pulls you toward him, strong and sudden, until you’re pressed against him. Your bare chest meets his, leaving drops of water on it. 

His hand rises to your cheek with tenderness, his thumb brushing your skin before his lips find yours. He kisses you — slowly at first. But when you return the kiss, he deepens it, his lips parting as his tongue slips into your mouth. His fingers slide into your wet hair, gently scratching your scalp. 

A quiet, uncontrolled moan escapes your throat. Finally, a shot of your favorite drug — just when you’d lost hope of feeling it again. Adrenaline rushes through you, flooding every nerve, your heart pounding as your hands begin to explore his back. 

"Come on” you whisper, breaking the kiss just for a few seconds.

He slips off his jeans, they weren’t even zipped properly — and now stands in just his boxers. You can’t stop staring. You’ve seen him like this so many times, yet the sight of him half-naked always brings up something wild in you.

Before he follows your lead, he gives in to temptation and kisses you again, now harder, and deeper. His hands wander down to your ass, fingers curling firmly around one cheek, squeezing just enough to make you gasp into his mouth. You can’t see the pure pleasure written all over his face. You’re his drug too, and he’s been waiting to touch you like this ever since he saw you looking so hot in the club.

You deepen the kiss, your fingers exploring the familiar lines of his body — his arms, his shoulders, his neck. All of this was once yours. And deep down, you know… it still is. 

He finally stops kissing you, but instead of letting you lead him to the other room, he lifts you up effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as if they’ve always belonged there. He places soft kisses on your temples and ears before finally whispering:

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you will remember it forever.”

You smile to yourself — this was so like him — shameless promises whispered between kisses. And you know he’s not lying. He always kept his word when it came to this. Every. Single. Time.

It’s no wonder your mind still clings to those addictive memories. Nothing — and no one — had ever made you feel the way he did. Sometimes you’d get completely lost in those thoughts, unaware of the world around you.

You look at him, both of your hands resting on his cheeks. It feels so good to be so close again — you want to savor every second of this intimacy. You don’t want to blink, or sleep or leave him for even a moment. You don’t want to waste a single second not being as close to him as humanly possible.

“You want to go back to the shower? Or do you want me to fuck you in your bed?” He whispers in your ear, sending goosebumps on your skin. You can hear it in his voice - the hunger, the desire, the feelings he has for you. 

You press your hips to his, desperate to be closer. You can’t get enough. It’s not just lust — it’s addiction. Even a whole lifetime wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the craving you have for his body. 

“Let’s go to the shower” you say, your breath quick and unsteady. You’re already imagining the droplets of water on his bare skin, the way he’ll press you against the cold tiles, and your stomach tightens with anticipation.

He smiles, and places a kiss on your lips. It doesn’t matter what your answer is — whatever you wanted, wherever you wanted it, he’d give it to you in a way that would melt your mind and make your body beg for more. That’s just who he is.

He slowly opens the bathroom door and presses your back against the cold wall under the shower, just as you pictured it. His kisses grow more intense, more demanding. His mouth trailing down to the soft skin of your neck. A rush of excitement surges through you as you feel his hunger grow with each touch. And you love it. 

It’s exactly like taking a hit of something you promised yourself you’d never touch again. And even though somewhere deep down you know the crash is coming — the aching, the emptiness, the withdrawal — it’s irrelevant now. That’s tomorrow’s problem. Right now, all that matters is him — his hands, his mouth, the delicious pressure of his body against yours. You’re completely lost in the pleasure — and it’s only the beginning. 

He lets you lower your feet to the floor. One of his hands presses against the wall beside your head. You rub your knee slowly against his thigh, feeling the tension build as he kisses your breasts. 

Your fingers move with intention, sliding towards the last piece of clothing still separating you from him. You take off his boxers and slowly touch his penis with your fingertips. Oh, how much you missed that, how much you couldn’t wait to feel him inside you again, reaching depths you didn’t even know were possible. You couldn’t even count how often you thought about him fucking you while touching yourself. It was always the thought of him that helped you reach the orgasm, remembering all the times he made you scream and cry out with pleasure. But now, he’s here to give you everything you want. Everything you need.

“You make me crazy” he whispers right into your ear, his voice thick with need. His hands still roaming over your body, touching every inch as if he doesn’t know where to stop — like he wants to memorize all of you at once. His hands finally stops on your tits, and he fondles your nipples with his thumbs. You let out a soft sigh, and cross your legs rubbing them together in a subtle attempt to ease the tension building inside you. You’re already aching with need, your body begging for more — and he doesn’t rush. 

“No, baby” he whispers against your neck, and moves his lips to your nipple. “Don’t close it” he says, his tone commanding. His hand moves between your thighs, parting them with confidence. You open your legs slightly, giving his hand room to move, and he takes his time teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs with light, barely-there touches. It’s unbearable — the way his fingers linger just enough without giving you what you crave. 

Desperate, you shift your hips forward, silently begging for more. He’s kept you starving for days, for weeks even, and now the need is overwhelming. You look at him with wide, pleading eyes, as if your body alone isn’t enough to show how badly you want him. You don’t even try to hide it. Every inch of you is begging.

He chuckles softly, his eyes meeting yours, filled with hunger.

“Look at you.” He says with a cocky smile, clearly proud of himself. “Already mine.”

He knew all along how this night would end. And he was right. You just couldn’t say no to him.

You lean in for another passionate kiss, as you feel his finger making slow circles on your clit. You let out a soft moan, your knees suddenly weak beneath you. He notices it too, smiling into the kiss like he’s proud of how easily he makes you weak.

“This is just the beginning” he whispers, his voice low and teasing “I don’t think you’ll be able to take it standing…” 

Every word only pulls the tension even tighter inside you. You’re already breathless, your body aching, your eyes locked on his - pleading silently for more.

You smile at him and move his fingers to your entrance, looking at him challengingly. He smiles, but he doesn’t put his fingers inside, he continues to move them around, trailing over your heated skin, making your breath quicken and your eyes flutter shut in anticipation. Every movement sends a wave of pleasure through you, but it also stokes your impatience — you want more. You’re savoring every second, but at the same time, you’re silently begging him to finally move on and give you what you’ve been aching for. 

How could you ever think that you could live without this? Right now, it feels impossible, all the thoughts of moving on, leaving him behind — they seem like a cruel joke. In this moment, you’d do anything to keep him. If it meant holding him hostage just to make him stay, you’d do it without a second thought. Every moment, every touch from him feels like something enchanted, sweeter than anything you’ve ever known. He always leaves you wanting more. It’s as if he has a map of your body, always knowing exactly where to touch and how to do it.

He moves the fingers back to your entrance, slowly pushing one of them inside. You whisper his name under your breath, your head falling back as you lick your lips and let out a soft sigh. 

You feel him add another finger, and slowly move them, to then speed up the pace. You slide your hand into his blonde hair, giving it a gentle tug to make him look at you. As much as you love the way he touches you, you crave the sight of his eyes locked onto your face — seeing how proud he is of what he makes you feel.

“You make me feel so good…” you say with your voice rough with pleasure, eyes half-closed as you surrender to every movement he makes. He doesn’t respond — he doesn’t need to. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s always known. He moves with confidence of someone who understands your body better than anyone else. His other hand finds your nipple again, teasing it between his fingers — rubbing, then pulling gently. His eyes stay locked on yours, intense and unblinking, drinking in your submission. You can see it in them — he missed this just as much as you did. Maybe even more. 

You move one of your hand to his hard dick, and tease it first with your thumb, moving it up and down, to then wrap your hand around it, speeding up the movements. You can feel each vein pulsing beneath your touch, and you wish you could feel it with your mouth now — you wish there was a way to do everything with him at once. Your body is so starved for him that every craving feels like it’s bursting inside you all at once. You silently hope he’ll stay the whole day and night, just so you can explore every fantasy, every urge, without ever letting him go. 

At the same time, you feel his thumb tapping and rubbing your clit, which makes you let out yet another, but louder moan. You reach for the faucet, gripping it to steady yourself as your knees weaken beneath the weight of pleasure. You can see the satisfaction in his eyes — he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. He always has. He was the first to ever make you come, and since then, he never failed. Every time he touches you, is like he rewires your body, making you more addicted to him than before.

“Let’s get you to bed.” He says, pulling away, making you clench around nothing, leaving you groan in frustration. He does it on purpose — stopping in the worst possible moment, just to see how desperately you’ll react. 

It’s intentional — of course it it. He loves watching how badly you want him. You can already feel the trembling anticipation. You wonder if he’s going to make you beg for it…

He loves this. Loves seeing how far gone you are, how desperate, how helpless under the weight of your own craving. And that spark in his eye? It tells you he’s just getting started.

You go first, and feel his hand slap your ass, making your knees buckle. He always made you feel weak but today, after so many days without him, it all went to another level. You react so strongly to everything and he seems to enjoy playing with you. Seeing how much you react to everything he does only excites him more, and you can’t stop yourself.

“Yeah, i remember how much you like it when I do that” He laughs. You sit on the bed, your legs slightly apart. You feel your crotch pulsing with desire, so you take him by the hand, trying to pull him closer, between your legs, but he just chuckles and removes his hand from your grip. So he really wants you to beg.

“Not yet, baby. Lay on your back for me.” — he says softly, still standing beside the bed. You can’t help yourself, but observing his tall body, adorned with tattoos. He’s all naked just for you. You look at him and the memory of everything you’ve ever done together, all the positions he was in makes your desire even greater. Damn him, why couldn’t he just be a little uglier? Maybe then it would be easier to forget him? 

“Joost…” you say desperately reaching your hand to him. Every second without his hands on your body felt like hour. He smiles, but there’s something evil in that smile. You know he’s enjoying all of this. He’s been hoping for this since the party yesterday, you’re sure about it. And as always, he got what he wanted, you just can’t resist him. You just can’t deny yourself this pleasure, no matter how high the cost.

“What was that you said at the party? That you are not mine?” He says, his tone almost malicious. You knew those words would come back to bite you. But now, in this position, completely naked for him, you’d do anything he wants if it means he’ll give you what you’re craving. You know you’re truly his, every inch of your skin belongs to him. He knows it too, but you can tell he wants to hear it — over and over, until it’s engraved in his brain. And oh, he’ll punish you for ever denying him, for ever claiming you were anything but his. He’ll make you take it back, forcing you to prove it isn’t true — again and again. 

“I am.” You whisper, locking your gaze with his. It’s the truth — every word of it. You are completely and entirely his, especially now, exposed, vulnerable, and utterly at his mercy. You belong to him, only to him. You could tattoo it on your skin, sign your body with his name, and it would still be completely true.

“You are what, babygirl?” He asks, his hand briefly touches your folds, but he quickly takes his hand away. It feels like a torture, you want to shout at him and take his hand and force his fingers inside you and guide them, but as you try to grab his wrist he takes his hand away again. You know he’ll want to hear it again. And again. And again…

“I am yours.” You say again, a hint of impatience in your tone. You’re burning with the need — desperate for him to give you what you crave. Your breathing is uneven as you feel the pulsing between your legs getting worse. 

“Yeah?” He gets closer to you, his fingers barely touching your body, you reach for his hand and try to force him to touch you again but he takes it away, a low chuckle escaping his lips. Oh, how he loves to tease you… How much he enjoys you wanting it, he can’t get enough of looking at you. Your eyes plead with him, silently begging him to continue. 

“Yes” you answer, but you can’t wait any longer, with or without his help you want to reach the orgasm. You put your own hand between your legs, rubbing your sweet spot, and spreading your legs a little more. If he doesn’t want to continue, you can give him a show. You know he loves to see it, you lock your eyes with his, biting your lip and speeding up your movements. His eyes go wide and his hand instinctively reaches for his penis. You part your lips letting out one sigh after another, closing your eyes and arching your body in pleasure. You feel you’re getting closer and closer to release. 

“I like the view” he says, licking his lips.He gets a little closer, placing one of his hands on your knee. You are laying down, squirming on the bed, closing your eyes from the pleasure you are giving yourself. You can see it in his eyes — the view is only intensifying his hunger. You move your fingers away and open your eyes so that you can look straight at him. You bring your fingers to your lips and lick them, putting them much deeper into your mouth than necessary. It works exactly as you wanted. You catch a spark of desire in his eyes. Oh, how he loves what he sees. 

“That’s enough” he says, and it’s more command than statement, his voice low and determined. He kneels above you on the bed, and rubs your clit just a few more times, so he can put his fingers down your throat, just like you did earlier. He gets you by surprise, so you choke a little, but then you start licking and sucking on his fingers. His eyes are blown wide from the desire, and you’re not sure he’s even blinked — like he’s terrified of missing a single moment of the sight you’re offering him. 

He places himself between your legs, and you can feel him slowly pushing himself inside you. You reach up and place one hand on his neck. You give yourself a moment to adjust to his size, it’s been a while since you did this. He places his hand gently on your cheek, as he keeps a slow pace, that allows him to go deeper and deeper each time. Your mind is completely consumed by the moment, lost in the heat between you, until his voice snaps you back to reality.

“Say it again” he whispers, getting closer to you, his breath hot against your skin, as your fingers dig into his arms. He quickens his pace, making you gasp for air. In this moment, you’re entirely his — whether you whisper it or scream it, there’s no denying it. You’re at his mercy, completely surrendered. You could shout it to the world - your body, your mind, your life — everything belongs to him. 

"I’m yours.” You say, your voice trembling from the waves he’s sending through your body. “I’m yours” you say again, this time with more confidence, wanting to say it a thousand times, hoping it lingers with him. “I love you.” You add, your voice heavy with desperation, hoping he’ll return the words. But then, doubt creeps in — what if he doesn’t? Yet, he looks at you, sweat shining on his forehead, and you already know the answer. The words aren’t necessary — the desire, the silent connection, are clear in the way your eyes meet.

“I love you too.” He says, and these words send a different rush of excitement through your veins. He not the type to speak those words lightly — he only speaks them in those rare, deeply emotional moments between you two. You know this feeling won’t last forever, his emotions will likely overwhelm him soon. But for now, you decide to cherish the moment of him giving you the part of him he usually keeps hidden. You put your hand gently on his cheek, holding his gaze as soft moans escape your lips. It feels so intimate, so personal, and you wish time would freeze. He’s completely yours, and you see it in his eyes — it’s not just lust, it’s a mix of emotions, of everything he feels for you.

He puts his hand on your nipple, rubbing and pulling it, the other hand going to your crotch. You feel getting closer to your peak with every push, and he notices that, so he speeds up the pace. 

“Come for me baby” he says softly, and you do as he says, shutting your eyes, and moaning loudly. The orgasm sends your body into convulsions. The feeling seizes you completely, you want to scream his name, but you only allow yourself to moan it loudly, and squeeze the sheets in your hands. He doesn’t stop touching you, and you feel your body shaking and squirming under his. You feel the sweat running down your forehead as you open your eyes, still trembling beneath him. The look of complete adoration in his eyes makes a smile of pure happiness spread across your face - a response to the joy his closeness brings. This is what matters most to you — having him right there beside you. You can’t shake the feeling that this is exactly how it was meant to be. He’s your person.

“Good girl.” — he gives you a beautiful, confident smile, you notice his messy hair sticking to his forehead. He speeds up the pace again, and you move your hips following his rhythm to give him the orgasm he is chasing. He closes his eyes and moans loudly, you watch his face go through a range of emotions. You could watch him like this every single day —  no, multiple times a day — anytime he wants, really.

You feel him coming inside of you, whispering your name under his breath. The veins in his neck pulse as his head falls back, another deep moan escaping his lips. His fingers press into your thighs, so deep they’re sure to leave marks. But you don’t care — you’ll likely trace them later, replaying this moment in your mind. 

He finally sinks onto the bed beside you, his head resting gently on your shoulder. You run your fingers through his hair, still damp with sweat. He looks like everything you’ve ever wanted.

You’re not even on the pill anymore — you stopped taking it weeks ago, when he hadn’t responded, convinced you wouldn’t need it. But that’s a worry for tomorrow. Right now, he’s with you, in your arms, and that’s all that matters. You’ll hold on to this moment, for as long as it lasts. 

“Do you want me to go?” He asks, his voice is hesitant as it breaks the silence between you. The question seems ridiculous, but the doubt in his eyes tell you he’s completely serious. He’s uncertain, but deep down, he’s hoping you’ll ask him to stay.

“No.” You say, your voice soft but certain as he turns to face you. “I want you to stay. Stay forever” you add in a whisper, the words escaping before you can stop them. You hate how desperate it sounds, how you’re once again handing him your heart without hesitation — but his presence is so familiar and magnetic. Everything feels right and for a moment you let yourself believe — maybe this time it’ll be different. But with that fragile hope comes fear: fear that his answer will crush you, that you’ll regret ever asking.

He looks at you, his face unreadable, and says nothing. Instead, he lifts your hand and presses a gentle kiss to your fingers. You know why he’s quiet — it’s not that he doesn’t feel something. It’s that he can’t promise it will still be there tomorrow. Right now, holding you like this, he might even believe he could give you everything - even propose on the spot if it meant keeping this feeling alive. But you know him, you’ve seen how quickly it fades. You never know which version of Joost you’ll get next. Tomorrow, he might ghost your message, tell you it’s all too much, that he doesn’t want love and that you were foolish to ever believe otherwise.

Life with him was always like this — unsteady, uncertain. And yet, no matter how much it hurt, you kept coming back. You gave him every part of yourself, offered him reassurance, patience and love. But he always ran, as if the idea of being truly loved terrified him. And still, you chased him, clinging to the belief that he was the one, that your endless love could fix the chaos in him. You were willing to forgive it all, every wound he left, if only he would look into your eyes and promise to never leave again.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know. Like you’re not drowning in thoughts of how he’ll disappear for days or weeks and make you feel like none of this ever mattered. You’ve run every possible scenario through your head, searching for something that might make him stay. But he knows exactly what you’re thinking. And the worst part is that there’s nothing he can say to make you believe this time will be different. Maybe because he doesn’t believe it himself. Deep down, he’s convinced he’ll mess it all up again. That he’ll fail you, like he always does. 

“About you… about us” you say quietly. “I missed this.” You move closer, pressing your body to his, his skin familiar and comforting — like home. The only place that’s ever truly felt like home to you.

He turns on his side, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your face gently. 

“I missed this too, baby.” He says, his voice quiet but sure.

In this moment, you know it’s real — he did miss you, he does care. But what about the months of silence, that time when you reached out and got nothing? What was he doing then? Maybe he was giving these same words to someone else. Maybe you didn’t even cross his mind. Maybe he’ll walk away from this night and act like none of it ever happened. You don’t know - and that not knowing is what’s slowly tearing you apart.

“Please… just stay this time” your voice trembles. You’re holding back tears with everything you’ve got, but your heart is louder than your brain now. You can’t hide how much this matters. Pride means nothing now — not compared to the chance to make him understand just how deeply you need him.

“Don’t make me go through this again. I can’t keep waiting in silence, hoping for a reply that never comes. I can’t take hearing you love me one night, only to push me away the next. Telling me I deserve better, that I should forget you. I can’t keep doing this.” You feel weak and exposed, but there’s no undoing it now. You know you never should’ve let him in last night — but you did. And now you’re begging again. Tears are already in your eyes, not out of regret for what just happened, but out of fear for what tomorrow will bring. And you know, once again, you’ve returned to where it all began.

You feel his arms around you, but the silence between you speaks louder than any words could. He doesn’t say a word, and you already know why. He can’t offer you another empty promise, not after everything that’s happened. He can’t give you what you want, not without risking disappointment. 

And you realize, maybe you should’ve known from the start. Maybe staying friends, or just having a casual fling, would have spared you the heartbreak. But you got caught up in this never-ending, toxic cycle. It didn’t start that way though. At first, he was that sweet guy who made every date feel special, who always made you feel wanted. But as things got more serious, you saw it — his past, his unresolved fear of commitment and vulnerability, made him pull away just when things needed to go deeper. He couldn’t offer you anything lasting, because he couldn’t even offer himself. It was always one step forward, two steps back. 

You fight the tears, your mouth trembling, struggling to keep control. A shaky breath escapes your mouth, but you try to convince yourself it’s okay. You’ve been here before. You try to calm yourself, telling yourself there’s no need fore more tears, no point of reliving it all. Crying won’t change anything. You’ve already done it.

“I’m here” he finally says, pressing a gentle kiss to your head. It’s not an answer you were hoping for, but you don’t need to hear it. You already knew how this story would unfold. 

He shifts, lying back down, and you rest your head against his chest. His fingers trace circles on your arm and you can’t help but glance at him. In this moment, you wish you could hold on to this moment, this intimacy — if only for a little longer.

“Let’s order something. Pizza?” You ask. You smile, but it feels forced. You try to sound casual, as if the weight of everything isn’t pressing down on you. You both know the truth — the fear, the uncertainty of tomorrow — but neither of you dares to acknowledge it. He can see right through you, but you both pretend that the tension isn’t there. You pray that your moment of vulnerability won’t push him away.

“Yeah, pizza Is good, but I’d rather be eating you” he says with a smirk, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his corny attempt to lighten the mood. 

“If you want me to go another round I need to recharge first. So, pizza it is.” you say, grabbing your phone. You notice Clara’s texts popping up, but you decide to ignore them for now. You’ll have to call her later and explain yourself, though you’re certain she’ll be disappointed. Then again, part of this mess is on her — if she hadn’t let you get so drunk last night, none of this would’ve happened. Not that you’re complaining, though… Still, at least you’ll have a decent excuse for your actions. Clara, of all people, should’ve known better than to leave you alone with him.

You both curl up on the couch, pulling a blanket over your bodies, still naked except for the underwear. You put on something from Netflix, more for noise than for watching. You’re lost in each other — fingers trailing over skin, mouths finding one another in soft kisses. For a while, it feels like none of the hard conversations ever happened. You make love again on the couch, slow and familiar, and later fall asleep in each other’s arms with the TV still playing in the background. When he wakes you again with kisses you let him — because your need for him never stops. 

The night changes into early morning as you sit together smoking weed, and laughing at stories you’ve told each other a hundred times. It feels like the version of love you always wanted with him — simple and real. If he asked you for anything in that moment, you’d say yes without hesitation. You’d give him everything. And maybe that’s the saddest part: how right it feels when you know deep down it still might not be enough.

It feels like the two of you stepped into a version of your love where everything is perfect again, like a return to the honeymoon phase, where nothing hurts. You both silently agree not to touch the fragile topics that could destroy this peace. The hard truths have already surfaced, and now, it’s up to him. He needs to confront his fears.

The dark clouds are still there, just not as close as usual. You know the cycle by heart, the way things fall apart no matter how hard you try to keep them like this. But for now, you let yourself believe. With every shared laugh and soft kiss, hope comes back, and you’re letting it grow again. 

“I love you” you whisper, sitting on his lap out on the balcony, the scent of a cigarette smoke in the air. He places a kiss on your shoulder, his lips impossibly soft against your skin. Oh, how much you want to stay in that moment.

“I love you too…” he says, his lips touching softly against your skin again as if he needs to feel you with every word. 

Then why can’t you always be like this? — the thought crosses your mind, but you don’t say it. Instead, you just hold him closer, trying to memorize him before he disappears again. Sleep feels impossible — you know morning means goodbye. As you play with his hair he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world looking at. He was the reason you stayed here, in this foreign country. Even with all the heartbreak and all the damage — you don’t regret for a second. What you had with him was a love story fit for a novel, beautiful, messy and intense. Even if one day you walk away for good, he’ll be your most intimate secret — your once-in-a-lifetime memory you’ll carry to your grave. 

“Let’s go to bed” he says, his nose softly touching your bare skin, sending a shiver of warmth through your body.

You both make your way to the bedroom, and before you know it, he is making you moan again. He leaves you exhausted, and you fall asleep almost instantly, his arms around you. His fingers move gently through your hair, soothing and slow as he wonders how he managed to find someone like you. As you sleep, your dreams carry you away to a life where everything between you both finally settles into something real.

You know it’s a fairytale that will never come true — not in this lifetime, at least. The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed, and the first message you see from him says:

Joost was thrilled. The past few days he's been constantly buzzing with energy - texting you every little Update, sending you the weather reports from Leeuwarden like it was breaking news

When you got on the train from Amsterdam to Leeuwarden, he was basically bouncing up and down in his seat,it was adorable to say the least.

After two and a half hours of him not letting you sleep, you finally arrived in fryslân.

You stretched your arms with a yawn, still a bit dazed from the ride, when Joost gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

"Wolkom yn Fryslân," he said,not being able to contain his big, giddy grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Hope you won’t forget Dutch here," you teased, your faint chuckle barely being heard. He chuckled, already pulling your suitcase along like he was on a mission.

His response?"Hope you’ll learn some Frysk here," playfully bumping his shoulder into yours while talking.

You gave him a look — the kind that said "don’t push it" but also "you’re kinda cute for trying."

"Let’s just find the hotel first," you muttered, trying (and failing) to hide your laugh.

After finally waving over a taxi (after 4 failed attempts) you arrive at the hotel

Joost held the hotel door open with a small, over-the-top bow. "After you, mijn koningin."

You stepped inside with a huff of amusement. "You’re so unserious."

The lobby smelled faintly of lavender and wood polish, warm light spilling onto the tiled floors. It was calm, quiet — a sharp contrast to the buzz of the train and Joost’s constant narrating of every passing cow.

"Not bad," he said, nudging your shoulder as you both walked to the front desk.

The check-in didn’t take long. Joost chatted casually with the receptionist in Dutch, tossing you a little smile now and then like he was proud of showing off. Within minutes, you were riding up in the small elevator, Joost humming softly beside you.

The hotel room wasn’t huge, but it was clean and warm. A big bed sat in the middle, fluffy duvets folded neatly, and a small window gave a peek at the street below.

As soon as the door shut behind you, Joost flopped onto the bed with a dramatic groan.

"You’ve been here five seconds," you said, setting your bag down by the chair.

"And yet," he replied muffled into the pillow, "I am one with this bed now."

You let out a quiet laugh, slipping your shoes off. "I’m gonna freshen up quick. Then maybe going out for dinner?"

He raised a thumbs up without moving. "Only if I don’t fall asleep first."

"don't worry i'll wake you up" you say, walking off to the bathroom.

"can't make any promises I'll wake up" he joked, his face now turned to side on the pillow.

As you got out of the bathroom and settled in front of the mirror they had on a desk, his eyes watched you intently, after a minute he spoke up "Hey, can I help..?"

You looked over your shoulder, raising a brow.

"My face isn’t a canvas for experiments, Joost."

He grinned, already getting up and walking over. "Oh come on, I’m very precise. Steady hands. Musical hands, actually."

You rolled your eyes, but handed him the blush anyway. "Alright then, maestro. Impress me."

He took it with exaggerated seriousness, tapping a bit too much powder onto the brush. His tongue peeked out slightly as he focused, gently dabbing your cheek.

"That’s not bad," you said, checking the mirror.

"That’s not great either," he replied, examining his work critically. "Round two?"

A laugh bubbled out of you as he leaned in again, totally absorbed.

"Okay okay," you said, taking the blush back.

"That’s enough artistry for one afternoon."

He flopped dramatically onto the bed again, arms stretched out. "Now I need to get ready."

You smirked, tossing a clean shirt at him. "Then chop chop, sleepyhead."

While you were finishing up your makeup, he pulled his suitcase open and started carefully inspecting each item, fingers grazing the fabrics like he was making an important decision. You glanced over your shoulder. He looked almost too serious about it.

"Planning a fashion show?" you teased.

He didn’t even look up. "This is a fashion show."

A beat passed, then— "Liefjeee, can I pick your outfit today?"

You raised an eyebrow in the mirror. "You trust yourself with that responsibility?"

He gasped dramatically. "Excuse me? I am a visionary."

You chuckled, and before you could even respond, he was already halfway into your suitcase like a man on a mission. Holding up one top, then another, squinting like he was analyzing the emotional backstory of each piece.

"Okay but this color? This would eat. And with those jeans? No one’s ready."

He kept going—five whole minutes of pure hype, throwing compliments like confetti while tossing clothes onto the bed. "You don’t understand how lucky the world is to witness you in this fit," he said, placing his hand over his heart like it physically pained him.

Eventually, you just flopped back on the bed, laughing. "You should be illegal."

"And yet," he smirked, offering you the chosen top like it was sacred, "here I am."

Before you could even argue, he was already halfway into your suitcase, flipping through your clothes like a stylist on a tight deadline. He held up a top, squinted dramatically, then tossed it aside. Then he froze with another in his hands, turned to you with a grin, and in the most exaggerated American accent said,

"Okay but this color? This would eat. And the jeans? No one’s ready."

"let's just go out already"

Arrived at the restaurant, it was soft, cozy, the lights dim, the chairs mismatched, the air reeking of good food, the sound of people talking all over the place.

Joost looked around and let out a satisfied little "Hmm", nodding to himself.

"This is niceeee," he grinned, sliding into the seat across from you. "You see that lamp? It’s crooked. That means the food slaps."

You laughed, shaking your head. "That’s not how restaurants work."

"It is exactly how restaurants work," he shot back, already reaching for the menu but barely glancing at it. His eyes flicked up to meet yours again.

He reached across the table, gently plucking a crumb off your cheek with a teasing little smirk. "Messy eater," he said softly, but his thumb lingered just a second longer than needed.

You rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh, but your skin still burned where he’d touched. "Better than loud chewer," you shot back, watching his grin deepen.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The clatter and chatter around you blurred out, like you were sitting in your own little world. You could feel his gaze settle—slow, thoughtful, warm.

He leaned in just a bit, arms crossed on the table, voice lower now. "Did I tell you how happy I am you’re here?"

You smiled, heart catching a little. "You might’ve mentioned it once or twice."

It made the candle between you flicker like it knew something was about to bloom..

To finish off you each got a glass of wine, or eventually it'd turn into two..?

He raised his glass slightly, "To Fryslân—and to having you here."

You clinked yours against his. "To Joost dragging me to the middle of nowhere."

He laughed, that full, carefree kind that always made your chest flutter. "Rude, but fair."

A few sips in, the buzz started kicking in—warm, cozy, a little light-headed. He rested his chin in his hand, eyes soft as they scanned over you. "You look really good tonight," he said, casual but sincere.

Your cheeks flushed. "That the wine talking?"

He grinned. "Nope. That’s been brewing all day."

You tried to fight the smile tugging at your lips, but it was no use. The mood had shifted—still playful, but there was something else simmering underneath. His hand found yours across the table, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

The air outside had cooled, but neither of you felt it—your cheeks warm from the wine and something heavier hanging between you. He called an Uber, his hand brushing your lower back as he guided you in.

. His hand slid over, resting gently on your thigh. Warm. Intentional. You didn’t look at him—just leaned slightly closer, and that was enough.

His thumb started tracing slow circles. Not fast. Not urgent. Just… there.

You glanced down at where his hand sat. "Getting bold, aren’t we?"

His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "Been thinking about you since before dinner. You looked too good."

The car turned a corner, headlights casting brief shadows over his face. His expression didn’t change—still that same soft hunger.

You bit your lip and said nothing.

The rest of the ride was quiet.

Heavy with silence that wasn't awkward—it was charged. Anticipation threading between glances, between breaths.

When the driver finally stopped in front of the hotel, Joost didn’t move right away. He looked at you. You looked at him. And this time, you were the one who reached first.

"Let’s go."

Entering the hotel, he grabbed your hand, interlocking your fingers with his before stepping into an open elevator, pulling you in behind him.

The elevator ride? A whole experience.

He picked you up effortlessly, lips crashing into yours—he didn’t feel like bending down when he could just hold you instead. You melted into it, your mouths moving fast, kisses messy, eager. Tongue brushing your bottom lip, asking—no, begging—for permission.

The elevator dinged.

He stepped out like it was nothing, still holding you, still kissing you when he could. At the door of your suite, he fumbled with the card, finally managing to unlock it without letting go of you.

The second you were in the room, he kicked the door shut behind him and carried you to the bed—surprisingly gentle, like he’d been rough with everything except you.

"God, been waiting all day for this, schatje," he groaned, climbing onto the bed with you. His hands cupped your cheeks as he pulled you into another kiss, deep and eager. One hand trailed down to the neckline of your dress, tugging it down your shoulders, his fingers a little shaky with anticipation.

He broke the kiss for a breath, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you. "You know you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen," he murmured, eyes drinking you in. That smile you gave him was his favourite.

You didn’t reply—just crashed your lips into his again. Your hands worked at his belt, fumbling slightly from the rush. He grinned into the kiss, helping you unclasp it with one smooth motion, letting you unzip his pants. He lifted his hips slightly, letting you slide them down with ease, leaving him in his boxers

Finally separating for some much needed air, he was quick to take off his shirt, leaving him in only boxers. But his eyes never left yours. "Y’know I think this is a bit uneven," he murmured, voice dropping as he laid you back against the pillows, trailing kisses from your collarbone downward. His fingers moved to unclasp your bra with practiced ease, and once it slipped off, his boxers were gone too—when, you didn’t even notice.

His eyes lingered, dark and hungry, fingers lightly tracing down your sides. "Zo fucking mooi…" he murmured, voice low and hoarse, like he couldn't believe you were real. His mouth followed his hands, lips pressing hot kisses down your chest, nipping gently, sucking a mark just above your heart.

He decided to take it a step further, putting one of his hands on your little panties, pushing it to the side, thumb circling your clit.

When your breath hitched, he grinned against your skin. "Je houdt hiervan, hè?"

(You like this,don't you?)

You could only nod, whimpering a soft "Joost…"

His hands slid lower, palming the back of your thighs before yanking you closer with a strength that had you gasping. "Been thinking about this all fucking day," he muttered, voice rough now, impatient. "Every time you smiled, every time you leaned in—I wanted to ruin you right there."

Then he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your underwear, pausing just long enough to tease, "Mag ik…?" (Can I...?)

The way you whispered "alsjeblieft"—needy and breathless—had him growling low in his throat.

As his fingers dipped under the waistband, he paused again—just for a moment—pressing a kiss to your hip. Then he leaned over, opening the bedside drawer like it was the most casual thing in the world. His hand returned holding a small silver packet, flashing you a grin that was far too pleased with himself.

"You put those there?" you asked, breathless, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

He chuckled, tearing the foil with his teeth. "Misschien," he said with a shrug, his accent thick and teasing. "Let’s just say… I had a good feeling about tonight."

"You’re unbelievable."

"Unbelievably smart," he corrected, leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time. “And definitely not about to take chances with the prettiest girl in Fryslân.”

He laid you down on your back, pulling back from the kiss.

He tore the wrapper open fast with his teeth, sliding the condom on with a low grunt. His eyes met yours, pupils blown wide, and for a second he just looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world he could even see.

But halfway through, when you were clinging to him, gasping into his mouth, he pulled back slightly, panting hard.

"kan het niet meer, schatje.. " (can’t do it anymore, baby.. ) he whispered, voice breaking into Dutch from the haze "Baby.. mag ik.." “Zonder… wil je dat?”

(Without… do you want that?)

The need in his voice made your stomach flip. You nodded, tugging him closer again. He pressed his forehead to yours for a second, breathing shaky, before pulling off the condom and slipping right back in—both of you moaning at the feeling of it, raw, real.

You could feel the knot in your stomach forming, nails digging into his back, god, this felt good. You barely had time to think before he spoke, voice rough against your ear,

"On your hands and knees, liefje."

You blinked up at him, not immediately reacting, your mind hazy from what you had just experienced. He chuckled lowly at your dazed state, his hand sliding down your back.

"Kom op, op je handen en knieën," he repeated, firmer this time,the Dutch rolling off his tongue so easily made you crazy.

Without even giving you a second to recover, Joost gripped your hips, lining himself up again.

You barely caught your breath before he pushed into you in one deep thrust, knocking a whimper out of you.

Joost’s fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave little bruises for tomorrow.

You barely had time to catch a breath again before he pulled you back onto him, forcing himself deeper inside you than you thought was even possible.

The new angle had you arching deeper than ever before, a broken cry spilling from your lips.

It was overwhelming, the stretch, the fullness, the wet heat between your legs — your mind went entirely blank.

"Fuck," Joost groaned above you, his voice wrecked and low. "Taking me so good, schatje."

You could only whimper in response, thighs shaking, body helpless against the way he used you — still so gentle, still so loving, but so goddamn much.

He slowed down for a second, keeping you pinned there, buried as deep inside you as he could go.

His thumb found your clit again, rubbing sloppy, desperate circles, pushing you over that edge again, before you even had a chance to recover.

The only thing you could hear was his heavy breathing, the obscene sounds of your bodies, and the low, messy praises falling from his lips.

"mooi... mijn meisje," (Pretty... my girl) he groaned, voice absolutely wrecked with need.

His fingers dug into your waist, guiding you back onto him, setting a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping filling the room.

Your arms gave out, forehead pressing into the mattress as he rutted into you, the stretch almost overwhelming.

You barely registered his hand snaking around to your front, rubbing messy circles over your clit, chasing your second orgasm.

“Kom voor me, schatje. Laat me voelen.”

(Cum for me, schatje. Let me feel you.)

His words were low, desperate — begging.

When you finally came, clenching around him, Joost cursed under his breath, thrusts growing uneven before he buried himself deep one final time, spilling inside you with a broken moan.

He stayed inside for a moment, panting against your back, almost collapsing over you.

When he finally pulled out, he couldn't help but watch, hypnotized, as his cum slowly leaked out of you, thumb gently pressing against your entrance to push it back in.

"Zo vol van mij," (So full of me.)

Your body was shaking by the time he thrusted into you again, and again, grinding himself deep inside you, spilling into you with a broken groan against your neck.

The feeling of him filling you up had you shuddering, tipping into another orgasm you didn't even know you could reach anymore — a third, messier, sloppier high that left you sobbing into the sheets.

You could feel it, his cum leaking out of you already, your thighs trembling from the overstimulation, but he didn’t pull away immediately — he stayed there, chest pressed to your back, his hand still splayed wide over your stomach like he was claiming you.

Finally, after a few heavy breaths, Joost pulled out with a groan, and you whimpered at the loss.

He smirked, grabbing a tissue half-heartedly from the nightstand to wipe you down a little — though his thumb still lazily spread the mess over your inner thigh with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Ruined you," he murmured, the grin on his face visible.

You were too fucked out to argue.

Instead, you just flopped back onto the bed, boneless and hazy.

Joost chuckled softly, rolling over onto his back next to you.

He reached over to the nightstand again — this time, for a crumpled pack of camel blue.

He lit one, took a slow drag, and then turned his head to look at you, messy and glowing in the soft hotel room light.

He offered the pack toward you with a satisfied look on his face.

You drink the last shot of tequila, feeling the familiar burn in your throat as the room blurs around you. You’re laughing at something Clara just said. Maybe you shouldn’t have had so many shots, but you just ran into your ex at the party - what better excuse to get completely wasted?

Now you’re laughing at… well, you’re not even sure what. Clara is holding onto your shoulder, tears almost streaming from her eyes, her mascara slightly smudged from the chaos of the night. The other girls have already left, and more than half of the people at the party are gone too, but you weren’t even thinking about it - you’re having a blast. and Honestly you want the drinks to keep coming. Even Joost has already slipped from your mind. 

“Enjoying the night, girls?” A man smiles at you both. He looks like he’s pushing 50 - old enough to be your father - and definitely not the kind of company you’re looking for. Before you can even open your mouth to respond, he leans toward the bar and calls out: “Hey! Two shots for these lovely ladies!”

You look at Clara and chuckle. You could say no to the man, but you sure as hell aren’t going to say no to a free shot. Especially in a place this expensive. You’ve already gone over your budget for tonight, and you know you’ll be scared to check your bank account tomorrow. 

“Here you go.” The bartender says, sliding the shots toward you, concern written all over his face. You might have noticed it - if you weren’t completely drunk. But you don’t care what happens tonight. It feels like your life can’t get any worse anyway.

“Come closer girls, let’s talk” the man says and you two look at each other. 

You and Clara exchange a quick look. You don’t want to get closer, but the alcohol is telling you otherwise. You are just about to open your mouth when, out of nowhere Joost appears between you and the man. 

He’s all tense, his jaw tight, looking at both of you - worried and angry at the same time.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you. We already called an Uber. Let’s go.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he takes your hand and Clara’s, leading you through the dance floor to the exit. 

It must look ridiculous from the outside - like a dad dragging two stubborn children out of a toy store. The state of complete drunkenness doesn’t let you fully register what he’s doing, but after a moment, you finally understand. You pull out your hand from his, and say:

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Joost” you say, looking at him, struggling to stay upright. 

When did you get this drunk? You completely missed the moment when you should’ve stop and go home.

“Yeah, then what are you going to do? Stay there with that man?” He gets closer, his eyes locked on yours. “Are you out of your mind? He could slip something into your drink the moment you turn away.”

“So what?” You snap, your voice sharp. “That’s still better than leaving with you” 

The moment the words land, you feel the weight of them and you regret them.

Of course it wasn’t worse - not really - but you hold so much resentment toward him that you want your words to hit, to hurt, just as much as his actions once hurt you.

“You can hate me all you want, Y/N” his voice is low, controlled. He is dead serious. “I will still not leave you here. I will get you home and make sure you’re safe in your bed, whether you like it or not.” 

He's angry, but you know it’s coming from a place of care. You know him well enough to see that. You know he wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened to you, not when he could have stopped it. 

It makes you obediently give him your hand and timidly walk along with him, stumbling a little, letting him guide you to the elevator. Maybe you should really save the anger for tomorrow - because being a girl, alone and drunk in a place full of strange men is not the best idea. You glance over at Clara and finally notice just how wasted she is - her eyes half closed, the strap of her dress slipping off her shoulder. Damn. She’s even more drunk than you are.

“Clara, you have to give me your adress” he says, handing her his phone. He looks concerned, but also annoyed with the situation. He probably thinks this isn’t your style. Well, he can meet the new you. Say hello to what you created, Joost.

“Oh… yeah” she says, squinting at the screen as she slowly starts typing. 

You watch him get more and more annoyed, his foot tapping, but he still doesn’t say a word.

He was always like that. Always the one making sure everyone got home safe. Always the one stepping between you and trouble. You know that the way he treated you - the things you hated - were never because he didn’t care. It was just his own personal shit getting in the way. Or maybe he did care… just not enough to meet your emotional needs. Not in the way you deserved. 

You stand there, waiting for the Uber, the cold breeze scattering your hair, making you shiver. You look at him. He looks good - black jeans, a tank top. His blonde hair is fluffy, and you think about all the times you run your hands through it. How are you supposed to forget him? Sometimes it was bad, sure - but oh when it was good it was SO good. You want to take his hand, feel his warmth, wrap your hands around him. 

But it’s too late for that. You made your choice, and even drunk, you don’t forget it. You can’t turn back now. 

Still, he’s so close, his familiar perfume hits your nose, and it’s almost impossible not to reach out and touch him. You think about him lying in your bed, holding you close, your sheets always smelling like him afterward. The memory sends a huge wave of sadness crashing over you. 

Why did you tell him you didn’t want this? It’s not true. 

You want him in your bed, you want to wake up next to him. You want him whispering nice things in your ear. You want him sending you goodnight messages. You don’t want to move on, you don’t want to meet someone new. 

Whose idea was that anyway?

You sigh to yourself, looking down at your feet. Clara is sitting on the bench with her head hidden between her arms. Joost lights up a cigarette.

“You’re okay?” He asks, looking at you. 

There’s real concern hiding in his voice, though he tries to play it cool, like he isn’t wondering what’s going through your mind.

“Yeah.” You say, but you are not really okay. You want to cry and throw yourself in his arms. And forget about everything for just one second. Pathetic.

The Uber pulls up, headlights washing over the sidewalk. You and Clara slide into the back, and Joost takes the front seat. You catch him glancing at you every few seconds in the mirror. Clara falls asleep almost immediately after the car starts moving - you were worried she might throw up, but she just snores softly, her breath fogging up the window. It takes only a few minutes to get to her place. 

“Wait here, I’ll get her inside and come back to you.” Joost says.

You nod, watching him as he helps Clara out of the car, his arm steady around her toward the building. You love seeing him like this - protective and kind. You’ve seen that side of him many times, and you wish the bad moments didn’t always overshadow the good in him. But you know he has another side too - the one that cut people off, says harsh he doesn’t really mean, like earlier tonight. 

He’s gone for five minutes, but it feels like five hours. When he comes back, to your surprise opens the back door and slides next to you. You look into his eyes, but you can’t read anything there. 

You know you are drunk and that you might regret this tomorrow, but you can’t help yourself. You shyly reach out and rest your hand on his thigh. He doesn’t even hesitate. His fingers slowly find yours and intertwine them together. A warm feeling blooms in your chest, and you have to stop yourself from letting out a sigh. You lean your head on his shoulder, and you swear you can feel him relax under your touch. He wants this too, he misses this too. If only everything could be as easy as this moment. 

The Uber gets to your apartment, and you climb out of the car, the night air cold against your skin. You stand there for a second, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Will you stay with me?” You ask quietly, your gaze fixed on the ground, a little ashamed of how quickly you’ve run back to him. You proved his words right again.  

“I…” you start, wanting to explain yourself, to make it sound less desperate, but nothing comes. What is there to say, really? The truth is you just want him close. “I don’t want you to leave me alone.” Your voice is cracking a little. It sounds pathetic. But at least you can blame it on the alcohol later. 

He sighs, but you are almost sure that there’s a flicker of satisfaction in it. He nods, closes the car door and follows you to the first floor of the building. He knows the way - he has been here too many times to count. You keep sneaking glances at him, unable to stop yourself. He catches you doing it and chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. A few steps, another glance, a brush of your hand against his, a small smile thrown his way - you know exactly how much danger you’re in, and you know exactly how this night will end. You know exactly where this night is heading, even if you pretend otherwise.

You open the door with trembling fingers and let him in.

You look him in the eyes and take his hand, leading him to the couch. He sits down, and although you have the overwhelming urge to climb into his lap, you settle beside him instead. It feels awkward, but also comfortable and painfully familiar. You want nothing more than to close the space between you, to lose yourself in him - but he doesn’t move, and it doesn’t look like he’s planning to.

“You should go to sleep” he says, voice low and strained.

You can see how tense he is, using every bit of willpower not to reach out, not to pull you into him.

“Only if you come with me” you answer, surprising even yourself with the boldness in your voice. This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go, but you’re restless, and you don’t care what he - or anyone - might think anymore.

“No, Y/N” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” He adds, turning his head to the side to avoid your eyes. You know this isn’t easy for him. You know he wants to touch you, kiss you and follow you into your bed. But he’s not that kind of a man. He won’t take advantage of you while you’re drunk. He won’t do something you might hate him for tomorrow. And even though you want him desperately now, you have no idea how you’ll feel about any of it when the morning comes.

But it doesn’t matter now, because you’re drunk and you really want it. 

Like… really, really want it. 

You lift your hand, cupping his cheek, your fingers trembling slightly. Your other hand settles on his lap, and you shift onto your knees, closing the last bit of space between you. 

He looks at you, a storm of emotions flickering across his face, waiting for your next move. You lean in your lips brushing softly against his. You want him to grab your waist, pull you into his lap, kiss you back with all the passion you know he has for you. You want him to take off your dress, kiss your neck, your shoulders - Oh God, you don’t think you’ve ever wanted him this badly. Is it the alcohol? Is it all the time that’s passed? Or is it simply that he looks so painfully good tonight? You don’t know, and you don’t care. You just need something from him - anything. You lean in again, desperate now - but he stops you. His hand gently catches your wrist, and he turns his face away from you, breaking the moment.

“We are not doing this.” His voice is weak and quiet, but you can hear it perfectly.

It feels like a slap across the face. Everything feels so much more intense with the alcohol running through your veins - the rejection, the humiliation, the shame. Even though you know he’s doing it for the right reasons, it doesn’t stop it from hurting. You pull away from him on the couch, hugging your knees to your chest, acting like a child who has just been yelled at. Great, now he doesn’t even want you. Now you’re not just heartbroken - you’re pathetic, too. You sit there, silent, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Go to sleep.” He says. When you don’t move he sighs and adds “Come on. I’ll help you.” 

His voice is sweet - too sweet - like he’s trying to make up for the damage he’s done. The damage he caused by doing the right thing. But it doesn’t matter, because in this moment there is no right choice. Whatever he chose, it would always end like this - disaster.

He offers you his hand and pulls you gently up from the couch. You both head to the bedroom, a strange silence hanging between you. He asks if you need help changing, his voice soft and tender. You shake your head, without looking at him, grabbing the pyjamas you had left on the bed. You go to the bathroom to take off your makeup, stumbling over your own slippers on the floor. 

“Careful” - he says and you immediately feel a surge of irritation. 

Who does he think he is? Coming here, pretending to care, pretending you’re still something. You’re not. Not anymore. Maybe he just came to see you drunk and pathetic, to watch you beg him to stay, to fuck you? Maybe he wants to see you humiliated. Yeah, that sounds like something he’d do. 

You glare at him from the bathroom, all emotions written all over your face. You’re too drunk, too hurt and too angry to hide it. 

“What are you thinking about?” He says calmly, which only fuels your anger. Why is he so calm?

His calmness feels like gasoline thrown onto your fire.

“Nothing important” you mutter, finishing brushing your teeth. 

Slowly, the drunkenness starts to wear off, replaced by heavy sleepiness. At least you know now you’ll be able to fall asleep without feeling like you’re trapped on a rollercoaster.

“You alright there? I’m going to sleep.” he says, standing up. 

You glare at him, annoyed how casually he’s handling everything.

“You can sleep in the bed, you know. It’s not like we didn’t sleep in one bed before.” You try to sound casual, unaffected, but your voice betrays you - annoyed and hurting. 

“I don’t want you to do something that you’ll regret in the morning. Then you’ll blame me and it’ll turn into another huge fight” he says.

You sigh. You know he’s right, but you would never admit it out loud - not tonight.

“It’s just sleeping though. I’m not talking about sex.” You roll your eyes. Even though as the words leave your mouth, you both know it’s a lie. 

He steps into the bathroom, standing right in front of you. He looks you right into your eyes.

“I know.” He says quietly.

And then he leaves the room and you can hear him making himself comfortable on the couch. You sigh, disappointed, and turn off the lights. You pull the blanket up over yourself and lie flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling. All the tiredness from the night vanishes, replaced by an unbearable desire to be with him - to crawl onto that couch next to him and never stop feeling his closeness. Yeah, no way you’re falling asleep now. Especially knowing that what you want, what you crave is right there, just behind that wall.

You didn’t want to continue this. You’ve learnt more than enough. You went back to him a hundred times and it always ended with you crying, even if that was never his intention. You know there are more fish in the sea and maybe, just maybe, if you gave it even a little more attention, you could finally move on. Be happy alone or maybe even meet someone who doesn’t make you feel like you’re in a toxic cycle every damn day.

On the other hand, you can’t imagine anyone being better for you. That was what made you fall in love with him in the first place - he was different from any other guy you had met. His humor, his bubbly personality, his intelligence… not to even mention how good he was in bed, how easy it had been from the start, like you were two pieces of the same puzzle finally clicking into place. You had felt it that first night you met, in the middle of chaos of some party. He was the only person who never made you feel trapped or drained by their presence. If anything, you could never get enough - you always wanted more time, more laughter, more of him. Even now you’re sure: a whole lifetime wouldn’t have been enough to satisfy that hunger. You can’t picture feeling that way with someone else. It almost feels like it should be illegal to find something that rare more than once in a lifetime. 

You turn to the side, pulling the blanket tighter around you.

It’s ridiculous how you’re still here, stuck in the same place. You thought you had made so much progress, but you’re still stuck between leaving him forever and holding on to the history between you, a connection that gave you feelings you never knew existed before meeting him. The choice would be simple, if you could only see a change from him, a real sign that things could be different this time.

But it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to you, and it wasn’t fair to him. You couldn’t expect him to change to fit into your world.

And yet, a part of you still hopes, that maybe you could work together on a solution that would be good for both of you. If only he would try… 

You turn to the other side, your body unable to settle. The thought of him being just a few steps away drills a hole in your brain. He’s right there, beyond the wall - you can even hear him coughing. You wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s lying there wide awake, thinking about you, wanting to be close to you. Does he think about the moment you kissed him just a few minutes ago? Is he also replaying your past, thinking about what went wrong? Does he regret how the story - your story - that had such a beautiful beginning, ended up like this?

In a rush of a sudden, overwhelming longing, you get out of the bed and sneak into the living room. Your bare feet are silent against the floor. He’s lying there with his eyes closed, but you’re not sure he’s actually asleep. You doubt it. 

You sit down on the couch and then carefully lay down next to him, squeezing into the limited space, your back pressed against his chest. The couch is way to narrow for this  especially with him being so tall — but being between his arms again makes it more than worth it.

“You’re killing me Y/N, you know that?” He says, his voice low and raspy.

“I can’t sleep with the thought that you’re so close but not next to me” you answer, your voice quiet and calm. Just the touch of his skin on yours makes you feel so much better.

He sighs deeply, as if giving in to a battle he fought all night. He shifts, pulling you up gently by your hand.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.” He says, his tone softer now.

*

The headache comes before anything else. 

You can feel a strong pulsing in your temples, sharp and unforgiving. It makes you groan softly. You press a hand to your forehead, desperate for even a little relief, as if your fingers could somehow press the pain away. You curse yourself for not drinking more water before bed.

As if water could fix the damage caused by tequila shots and stupid decisions.

You open your eyes to see your room filled with daylight. It must be around noon, maybe even later, judging by how high the sun is already. Your head is pounding, but it’s nothing compared to the heaviness in your chest. You feel Joost’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his body pressed against yours. You can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing on your back.

You were drunk yesterday, but not drunk enough to forget what you have done. Memories from the night come back slowly, one by one. The kiss he rejected, the way you crawled next to him on the couch, him taking you back to bed without a single word. You grimace a little at the thought of him turning his head away from you, but at least you know he did it for the right reasons. He would never take advantage of you, he was never that type of guy.

You are surprised to find out that you are not even mad. Not at him, and not at yourself. At the end of the day, you didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t try to convince you to give him a chance, or continue whatever you two were doing without thinking about the future. He took care of you, he took care of Clara. That was the Joost you liked - the version you wished had been there more often.

You turn around to look at him. 

He’s still sleeping, lips slightly parted, hair a complete mess. He’ s shirtless - he must have taken off his shirt after you fell asleep. You feel the overwhelming urge to touch him. You want to trace the lines of his jaw, press kisses to his shoulder, tell him things you were always afraid to say when it mattered the most. But something stops you. Instead, you move slightly lower and hug your cheek to his chest. The familiar scent of his perfume wraps around you instantly. You would recognize that scent anywhere, even in the biggest crowd.

“Hope you’re comfortable” he says, his voice rough from sleep, his eyes still closed. 

You smile to yourself. God, how much you missed mornings like this. 

You wonder what will happen next - if he’ll jump out of bed and rush home, or he’ll stay here with you, giving you one of these lazy mornings you used to have all the time. You hope for the second option. You didn’t get enough of him yesterday. 

You close your eyes listening to the steady beat of his heart. You feel his fingers running gently through your hair.

Maybe for this morning you could pretend that nothing went wrong. Pretend there weren’t a thousand fights, a thousand letdowns. Pretend you didn’t know that this softness would probably disappear again, leaving you aching and empty.

“I am” you finally breathe out moving slightly away to look at him.

He blinks at you lazily, still half-asleep, and he looks even more beautiful than usual, if that’s even possible. You take his hand, the one still wrapped loosely around your waist, and bring it to your mouth, gently kissing his fingertips. You close your eyes for a second, pretending that this could last forever. Just you and him, tangled up in bedsheets, your body pressed to his, skin on skin, breath on breath. It didn’t even have to be about sex. You just wanted the closeness and intimacy. The feeling of being seen, wanted and safe. And you knew there would never be anyone who could give you that the way he did. 

But that’s not your reality anymore.

A heavy sigh escapes your chest as you untangle yourself from him, sitting up in bed. The sudden movement makes your head pound even harder. You rub your eyes with the heel of your palms, feeling the dull ache spread across your forehead. 

“I’m going to take a shower” you say, standing beside the bed. "If you want, you can keep sleeping. You look tired. I’m sorry I got so drunk yesterday and made all that mess. You know me and tequila shots… not the best combination.” 

You chuckle softly, the memory flashing in your mind - the first night you really got drunk together. Tequila shots, your head spinning, and him - holding your hair back, rubbing your back, whispering dumb jokes until you fell asleep. He always took care of you.

“No, no, I’ll leave in a few minutes, don’t worry” he says, 

He doesn’t move though. Still lying there, one arm lazily over his eyes, the other resting there, where your body had just been. 

“For real. It’s fine. You can stay” you say as you disappear into the bathroom. “I don’t mind.” 

You wonder if it sounds desperate. You wonder if he can hear it - how badly you want him to stay, how little you want to be alone today. But at this point, does it even matter? After everything that happened last night, whatever progress you thought you made was already crumbling. 

Deep down you know he shouldn’t stay, he should leave. You should both pretend that last night ever happened. You should save yourself the heartbreak. 

You pull off your clothes, and throw your hair into a messy bun. You glance at yourself in the mirror - mascara smudged under your eyes, a lovely souvenir from your drunken nighttime skincare attempt. You brush your teeth, clean your face properly this time. Maybe you still had it in you - nights of tequila shots and mornings where you didn’t completely fall apart. 

You enter the shower and let the water hit your back and your hair. 

You wonder where Joost is. Did he leave quietly while you are in the bathroom. Or is he still lying there, fighting the same battle you are?

You can’t stop the images playing in your mind - the way he wrapped you tightly to his body this morning, how his fingers ran through your hair. He was hungry for your touch too, he was just better at suppressing it than you. Yesterday, the way he took you from that bar… You didn’t like it then, you were so angry at him, but now looking back at it, it was kind of hot. The way he was grabbing your hand, the way he took the complete control over you. 

You bite your lip, feeling a wave of desire building in your stomach, completely inappropriate and completely uncontrollable. 

But what if he would grab you like this right now? What if he would drag you like this to bed, but this time with a different purpose? What if he would be as bold, but not because of anger - because of desire?

He’s already there, right? A few steps away, just behind that door. You could go out of the shower and just… use the fact he’s still lying there. Instead of touching yourself, he can do it for you, right? What’s the worst that could happen? 

He’s already there… 

You step out of the shower, feeling a rush of adrenaline going through your body while you decide to just go to him. At this point, you have absolutely nothing to lose. You don’t even bother reaching for the towel. The drops of water are shining on your naked body, dripping from your wet hair, as you put your hand on the door handle. 

You take one last glance in the mirror, looking at yourself before coming up to him. You bite your lip. You don’t know if it’s just the thoughts inside your head, but you are feeling exceptionally hot today. Your naked body, the wet hair, the slightly red cheeks. Oh he will love it, you’re sure.

You get to the bedroom, but he’s not there on the bed. You slowly go to the living room, where he is standing, putting on his pants. His back is facing you, but he clearly heard you opening the door. He hasn’t seen you yet. But he’s about to.

You stand in front of the mirror, fixing your hair and checking your outfit from different angles. You and Joost are going on a date to a restaurant, there is no special occasion really, you both just wanted a reason to get dressed up and spend time together.

"You look great." you feel a pair of warm hands on your hips, your eyes meet Joost's in the mirror. He leans to kiss your shoulder.

You turn in his arms. "Speaking of looking great, look at you." He is wearing a fitted black suit, thick framed black glasses, his hair is freshly trimmed, and when he smiles at your compliment you notice he put in the grills on two of his teeth. He needed to add more personality to the suit. You fix his tie and smooth down the white shirt moving your hands from his pecs down his torso, stopping at the chunky belt buckle.

You turn back to the mirror checking yourself one last time. You are about to bend down to do the strap on your heels.

"Let me." Joost says and kneels in front of you. His hands gently move from your calf to your ankle, his touch is feather light, but still sends a shiver down your spine. He looks up at you and you move your foot closer to him. He puts his his head down to focus on the task at hand, you see a faint smirk form on his lips in the reflection of the mirror. He buckles the strap around your ankle and motions for you to bring your other foot closer. All of his touches are gentle, his hands so warm on your skin.

When he is finished, he leans in to leave a kiss on your exposed leg, just above knee, you feel your cheeks start to go red.

"Thank you." you say quietly as he stands up in front of you, you have to tilt your head up to look him in the eyes.

"My pleasure." he bows his head dramatically. He is joking, and his theatrics make you giggle, but it's true - caring for you is a pleasure to him, he would do just about anything for you.

When you are about to leave, you make sure you have the polaroid photo in your purse and rush out of the door, where Joost is waiting for you.

The restaurant you picked is fancier than the usual places you go on a date to, the reviews are great and the dim lighting with candles on each table is making it very cozy. There is a live band playing soft music on the instruments, which Joost is immediately impressed by. His usual music preference is fast and loud to match his energy and fast-pace thoughts, but he appreciates a good live instrument.

After getting seated and ordering, you feel yourself get more nervous about the surprise you prepared for him. You saw a trend of people getting their partner a spicy polaroid of themselves and decided to treat Joost to one too. You bought a new lingerie set, a lacy see-through bra and matching panties with a delicate bow, but one thing let to another, you started trying out new things and poses, so after looking through the results, you decided on the one where you are completely naked. It is on a riskier side, but the idea of him reacting to it here turns your nerves into excitement. But it is not the time to reveal it yet.

"What's on your mind?" Joost asks. He takes your hand in his, tracing his thumb on your skin. You are sitting in a small booth type table, he is on the opposite side of you.

"This handsome guy I saw, actually" you reply, your tone neutral.

"Really? Who is he? Should I check him out too?" he turns to look around the room.

"I think you might know him. He is wearing a nice suit, it looks expensive. The pants fit around his thighs so nice." you whisper the last part and he turns back to look at you. You are glad that your table is a little further away from others and it feels secluded. "And if you are lucky and get him to smile, you will see those silver grills, which make him even hotter, if that's possible." you see a blush spread on his cheeks, but he quickly regains his composure, matching your eye contact.

"Damn, hope he is taken by the prettiest girl, which caught my eye earlier, in this tight silky dress which challenges his willpower to keep his hands away from her in public and not take it off." he squeezes your hand, which he is still holding. "or else I might ask for his number, he sounds like a treat." he ends the sentence with a wink to you.

You both laugh at each others comments and turn the conversation to talk about what you both did that day, you haven't seen each other since the early morning when you left for work and until he came back from the studio in the evening, when you both got ready and left for the date.

You are discussing the documentary you watched last night together, when the waiter brings the wine. You are glad to finally have a drink, it will help take your mind off the surprise, which lays heavy in the back of your head.

"It's nice here." Joost says lifting the glass to his lips.

"It is. I'm glad we decided to go." you are happy he is enjoying it.

"Me too." he leans back on the chair, his stature seems more relaxed now. You fall back into the conversation again.

The waiter brings the pasta which you both ordered. As much as you would like to hate the overpriced food, you have to admit it's delicious. After the first bite, you close your eyes and a quiet moan slips past your lips. Joost looks at you, finishes chewing, and reaches his hand across the table to your mouth.

"You've got something here." he swipes his thumb across the corner of your lower lip, slowly on purpose. It feels so nice to feel his touch on you. There is a little bit of red sauce, which he brings to his mouth and licks off, maintaining eye contact, and continues eating. You swallow hard.

You are glad he is feeling as flirty as you, it makes you giddy to what the night holds. You continue talking, eating and drinking wine, the giggles start to escape both of you.

An idea pops into your head and you immediately act on it, as you start to move your foot closer to his. The first touch of the tip of the heel you are wearing is very light right above his ankle. You keep it there. He continues telling the story. You nod while listening and move your foot a little higher along his leg, you see a glint in his eyes appear, which are staring intently into yours. You act as if nothing is happening, matching his eye contact, while moving your foot up and down his calf slowly. You bring it higher, just under his knee, which makes him stumble over his words and loose the staring contest, having to look down into his now empty plate. He loves to act like he is in control, and you have fun pushing his buttons seeing how far you can go to make him break his act and show how he is truly wrapped around your finger.

"Having fun, are you?" he says leaning back on the chair, you notice the tips of his ears are red. He puts his hands under the table, finding your leg, holds your ankle, then moves further to message your calf. Your skin soft under his hands, he is just happy to touch you.

"I am." you reply calmly and give your opinion to the story proving you were listening carefully to the story he was telling and are unbothered. You count it as a little win. Making him flustered feels so good, knowing you have that effect on him.

"Do you want to order desert?" you suggest and put your foot down on the ground.

"Yes, I would love some." he agrees.

The dim light, instrumental music playing in the background, murmur of the conversations around you, and the nice buzz from the wine, makes you a little bolder. Everyone around seems to be in their own little bubble, focused on food and their company. You decide it's time.

You are laughing at the story Joost was telling from one of the times he went to Berlin with his friends, when the desert is placed on the table. You have to wipe the tears in the corner of your eyes from laughing so hard. He would tell you stories all night, if that meant he got to hear the beautiful sound of your laughter. Joost hands you one of the two spoons and waits for you to try first, because he knows you love the first bite.

"Actually, I have something else for you." you say and reach into your purse. You carefully take out the polaroid photo, holding it face down and sliding it to him across the table. You lift your hand and leave it front of him. You feel your own face going red at the excitement and nervousness. He looks puzzled, puts down the spoon, tries to read your expression, but you just motion for him to look at it. He takes the photo and flips in his hands to look what it is. His eyes immediately go wide, he quickly presses the polaroid to his chest, looking around to make sure no one around saw. You watch his every move, enjoying his reaction, you can't hold in a laugh that escapes you.

"Fuck." his voice sounds breathy. He looks at you exaggerating the shocked expression with his jaw open, you smile brightly. Not only his cheeks are flushed, but you see his neck slowly turn red.

He lets out a breath and looks at the polaroid, taking his time now. He leans against the back of the booth seat. You hear him swear under his breath as his eyes move across the photo, not even caring anymore if anybody walks by. He wipes the sweat the formed on his brow, trying to regain his composure. He looks at the photo again, the tips of his ears red, you are drinking in his every move.

"You did this for me?" he asks, as a little chuckle escapes him, when he sees how are excited you are.

"No, I did it for the neighbour upstairs. But he didn't answer the call in time, so I gave it to you" you say, your foot playing with his under the table again.

"Great thinking. That actually might have stopped him from complaining about the noise again." he matches your joke.

"Of course I did it for you." you touch the bracelet he got you with his initials. "Yours forever." your words make his heart race faster. He brings your hand with the bracelet on to his lips, kissing it softly.

A playful smile spreads across his face, he shakes his head and looks up at you.

"So that's what's got you so fidgety all night." he leans in placing his elbows on the table, turning the polaroid to you. It even takes your breath away, you look good in that photo.

"I wasn't fidgety." you say, defending yourself.

"Baby, I could see your hands shaking when we sat down." he says, sliding closer to you in the booth. "If I knew I had that on me, I would be nervous too." he is now only a few inches away from you. He looks at the photo again. "That is so fucking hot." he traces his finger along your body on the photo.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he takes one last look at it and puts into his card holder. To him it instantly becomes worth more than any card he owns. As much as he would love to stare at the photo for the rest of his life, he also can't believe you are sitting right in front of him, he is not possessive in a true sense of the word, but the thought that you are his, that you love him as much as he loves you, fills his heart with so much happiness.

"That's what I've been wondering too." you say, placing your elbows on the table, holding your head in your hands and turning to look at him through your lashes.

"So do you want the desert?" you take a spoon, swipe it across the white cream on the top of the piece of cake in front of you. He watches you bring the spoonfull of heavy cream into your mouth and lick it, closing your eyes, enjoying the taste. He knows you are trying to torture him and it's working.

You open your eyes, his eyes which were focused on your mouth meeting yours, his pupils are wide, the candle light reflecting in them. The fire matches his thoughts racing through his head right now.

He moves even closer to you, his lips close to your ear "I would love the desert." he whispers only for you to hear. You turn to face him, your faces only a breath apart. He almost leans in to kiss you, but you turn to the plate again, you dip your finger into the cream and bring it to his mouth this time. He looks into your eyes and takes it in without a second thought. His tongue swirling against the tip of your finger tasting the delicious cream, his tongue feels so wet and warm. You take it out as quickly, lick off the residue and wipe it on the napkin.

He brings a hand to your jaw, his fingers splayed on the side of your face, holding you this time, so you won't move, and kisses you. You let him and lean into him. His lips are soft against yours and you can still taste the desert. The closeness, his hand tight on your jaw, tilting your head the way he wants and the smell of his cologne almost makes you forget you are still in public and you can't do what flashes through your head.

"I'm gonna be right back." you end the kiss quickly and push at his chest, making him lean back. You stand up and head to the bathroom. You turn around the corner, down the hall and reach for the door handle, when you hear footsteps right behind you, a familiar cologne smell enveloping you again. Joost hurries you inside, locks the door, and pushes you against the wall, your chest flush against his.

"What are you doing?" you are breathless from all the sudden movements.

"I couldn't wait." he leans in licking his lips, you feel his breath against your lips. He smiles looking into your eyes for a silent confirmation that you are okay, you nod and catch a glimpse of his grills. He kisses you hungrily as he presses you into the wall with his full weight. You answer the kiss trying to keep up with his pace. You planned on teasing him longer, not letting him have his way, but you are so weak and his strong hold on your hips and warmth feels so good on you. One of his hands moves to grab at the muscle of your ass through the dress, you feel him breath heavily into the kiss.

You are getting dizzy, he seems to be everywhere all at once, it all feels so good. Your hands are around his shoulders, fingers scratching at the nape of his neck. He tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, you open your mouth for him, his tongue instantly finding yours, tasting you. He can't get enough of you, can't get close enough. You feel so soft under him, the prettiest needy sounds leaving your mouth in between kisses. He slowly moves his hand from your waist down to your hip, then your thigh, squeezing it, feeling the soft plush skin, earning more sounds. He doesn't have a plan, he just had to come with you here. He is happy with just a makeout session, but somewhere in between the desert and this moment he started to get hard, the pants getting uncomfortably tight. He wraps your leg around his hip to be even closer to you.

"Let me make you feel good." he tries to sound sexy, but it comes out more as a whimper.

You lean your head into the wall trying to catch your breath. His lips trail down your jaw leaving wet kisses on his path to your neck. With your leg wrapped around his hip, where he is holding it tight still, you can feel him hard close to your core. His other hand sneaks into the top of your dress, you are not wearing a bra, so it is easy for him to feel your chest, which he thought about all night. You moan under him, your nipple getting hard at the touch of his big hand. You feel his other hand leave your thigh and trail down your stomach closer to the slit of your dress.

"Joost." your voice is breathy. "Let's wait till we get home." his kisses on your neck slow down. You feel bad for denying him right now, but you need to stick to your plan.

He peels himself off of you, his soul coming back into his own body after what felt like intertwining with yours. "Okay" he leans in to kiss you on the lips again.

"I'm sorry." your eyes move down his crotch, his bulge visible in his suit pants.

"No, it's fine. We just have to wait here a little." his voice gentle.

"Um, I actually do need to pee." you say. This bathroom is not a big space, a sink with a big mirror and a toilet.

"Okay." he says matter of factly. "I'll turn to face the wall." he adds when he notices you raise an eyebrow. "I can't go out now like that." he points to his crotch. "Also as if I haven't seen you pee before." he says more quiet. He is right, while traveling by car with him from country to country for his concerts, you had to make some questionable stops in the middle of nowhere. Also living together for so long, you both are long past locking the door while showering, so the other can use the bathroom at the same time.

"You did this to yourself by the way." you motion to his dick.

"I know, but can you blame me?" he turns to look at the wall, his eyes closed, you are sure he is trying to think of something to make the boner go away. "Next time I will give you my nude photo at dinner." he jokes, but the idea actually plants in his mind.

You are washing your hands, fixing your hair in the mirror.

"I can't stop thinking about that polaroid. Can't believe you did that for me." his voice soft, full of love. He feels like that photo is burning through the card holder, through the pocket of his pants.

"I'd do anything for you, you know." you look at him through the mirror.

"Don't say that right now." he throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, blood rushing back to his dick.

"I have one more, if you will be a good boy, I will give it to you." you turn to him, leaning back against the sink.

He looks into your eyes, a sweet smile on your face, a contrast to the words which just came out of your mouth, makes him close the space between you, his hands on your hips again, slotting so perfectly against your body. He is convinced you were made for him how good you fit on his hands.

"Will you be a good boy?" you look up at him, placing your hands on his chest, trying to feel his pecs through the suit.

He feels like a teenager again, trying not to get hard at every word a girl he likes says.

"You are torturing me, you know?" a potential image of another photo circulating through his mind. He leans in to kiss you again, slow and soft this time. Enjoying your lips on his. He bites your lower lip, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make you gasp in surprise.

You lean back in his embrace, your lipstick all over his lips. You bring your thumb to clean it off.

"Want to go for a smoke?" you offer. "Might help your situation." you trace your nail slowly just under his belt.

He takes your hand in his and leads you outside, a cigarette sounds really good right now.

You go into an alleyway next to the restaurant. It is a warm evening, but you still shiver as soon as you step outside. He shrugs off his jacket, and puts it around your shoulders. He doesn't even need to look at you, already knows you will be shivering, he feels hot all over on the other hand.

He takes out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket, which hangs from your shoulders. Offers you one, which you take and place it between your lips. He lights your cigarette and then for himself. Joost inhales the smoke slowly, nice feeling spreading across his chest. You watch him roll up the sleeves of his white shirt, as you bring his jacket tighter around your shoulders. It smells just like him.

"So what's the plan?" you ask him.

"I don't know, you tell me." he smiles, now more relaxed, the grills shining back at you from his wide smile. "I'm at your mercy."

"We head back to finish the desert. I hope they are not looking for us by now, thinking we ditched the bill." you say.

"And what if we do ditch it?" he blows the smoke up into the night air. "Run away. Just me and you."

"It's always just me and you." you step closer to him, placing your hand on his exposed forearm, moving further up to play with his tie. He looks so good, the rolled up sleeves revealing his tattoos, which you always had a soft spot for.

He takes a slow drag, blows the smoke away from your face, even though you are also smoking. Then leans in, putting your hair behind your ear and off your shoulder, "Such a tease tonight." his mouth right next to your ear, "Do you want me to bend you over right here and take you against the wall?"

Your eyes go wide, suddenly the night breeze is not enough to regulate your temperature. He straightens up to stand tall in front of you, looking down at you. A surprised chuckle comes out of you. The real answer is: You do, but you will never admit that to him. Not now at least.

"When did you get so bold, mr. Klein?" you are still holding his tie loosely between your fingers. His cocky stage persona taking the light now, you love it.

"Learned from the best." he says and you try to pull him closer to you by the tie.

"You are right. Let's head back for the desert." he doesn't give in to your pull. Both of you playing this cat and mouse game, which makes the end result all the more exciting. You giggle and lead him inside by the tie, dropping it, as soon as you walk in. He still follows you blindly, as if bound by an invisible string.

You finish the desert, he pays the bill and you can't get home soon enough. His hand is trying to trail up further and further up your thigh, you keep swatting it away playfully.

"Be patient." you whisper to him. "We can do anything you want when we are back home." you make a promise to him. He loosens the tie around his neck at your words.

You open the door, he follows right behind, you can feel his heat behind your back. You turn around, facing him, now walking backwards slowly towards the wall, he is following you a few steps behind. You lean forward to take off your heels, kicking them to the side. relieved to finally fully touch the floor. Without the added inches, you are even shorter now, having to look up higher to face him. He is walking you into the wall like he is hunting a prey. You beckon him closer with your finger, as a giggle escapes you, sparkles dancing in your eyes.

Your back hits the wall, as he closes the distance between you, his eyes fixated on yours. You take a good look at him, a smile on his lips reveals the shiny grills, rolled up sleeves of his crisp white shirt make his shoulders even wider, the pants fit him so nice. He looks incredible, you should go out all dressed up more often. You take his tie in your hands.

"Come here." you bring him closer to you by the tie. He leans in crashing his lips into yours, a groan escapes his lips, which you can feel through your whole body. It excites you even more.

His hand is on your neck, applying a slight pressure, his fingers splayed on your pulse point, under your jaw, which makes you moan into his mouth, a sound so delicious to him, he drinks it all in. His hand feels so big and warm on you, you start to feel a pulse between your legs. You let go of his tie, when he uses the hand on your neck to turn your head the way he wants to deepen the kiss. His other hand grabs a handfull of your ass. Every time he is close to you he feels like it's not enough, wants to envelop you whole, there is so much space for love in him and it is all for you. You make him dizzy with just your presence, your perfume, your soft skin, the rapid pulse he can feel under his hand, it all makes him the happiest man on earth.

You break apart gasping for air, his hair messed up from your hands running through them. His lips are swollen, stained with your lipstick, you try to wipe it off, but end up smearing it even further, he follows your hand pushing his face against it, craving your touch. He kisses your palm, your wrist, your hand so much smaller in his. He takes both your wrists in his one hand and hold them above your head.

"So beautiful." he says quietly. It's just you two in the apartment, but he wants those words to belong just to you. His hand traces from your jaw down your chest, stomach, slowly tracing the curve of your waist, while you can't move, your wrists pinned above your head. He is eating you with his eyes, enjoying the view. He sees you every day, but it is still never enough. You try to wriggle your wrists.

"Joost. Please" you whine, getting impatient.

He leans in closer. "Get on your knees for me, liefje." he lets go of your wrists, you immediately follow his request, your knees hitting the floor, you can't wait to get your hands on him. You lift your eyes, while undoing his belt, slowly moving to the zipper. He is looking down at you, his hands softly petting your hair.

You palm him through his underwear, he is already half hard. He moans a sound of satisfaction finally feeling you close to him. You lean in to kiss his still clothed length.

"Go on, baby." you leave one last kiss right on his tip, before taking off his pants and boxers. His dick springs free, he feels so heavy in your hand. You place your other hand on his thigh, steadying yourself. You move closer placing featherlight kisses along his length, while he makes a makeshift ponytail with your hair to get it out of the way. You lick a long stripe from the base to the tip, spitting on it, mixing it with his pre-cum, now your hand slides so much better along him. You keep moving your hand up and down while looking at him through your lashes, his mouth is open, slight moans escaping his mouth, but you hear him. You cup his balls and his head falls back, you massage them pulling more sounds from him.

You feel him pull your hair tighter. "Open your mouth for me, schat." you oblige, sticking out your tongue. He takes his dick in his hand, slaps it on your tongue and pushes in. He lets you set the pace, but still keeps a strong hold on your head. You try to steady your breathing to take more of him. He feels your nails on his thigh, secretly loves that feeling, it feels grounding when he feels like floating away from the warm and wet feeling of your mouth, bringing him so much pleasure. You keep sucking him, hollowing your mouth, following the pulsing vein with your tongue.

You breathe steadily through your nose, looking up at him, watching the expressions on his face, when he starts to buck his hips into your mouth.

"Fuck, baby. Feels so- good." his voice is low. "Can I-" his words are not coming out properly, he is so lost in you. But you know what he wants, you hum a confirmation around him. He puts one hand on the wall behind you, the other hand on the side of your head as he starts thrusting harder. Tears are forming at the corners of your eyes. Drool coming out down your chin and around his shaft, your nose hits his pubic hair, and he keeps your head there moaning loudly. He is so close suddenly, you feel him twitch in your mouth.

He pulls you off of him, you try to catch your breath, wiping your mouth. You reach out to touch him again already missing the heavy feeling of him in your throat, but he brings you up.

"Let me have a taste of you too." he says quickly pulling up his pants back on not bothering to do the belt properly, when you are face to face with him. He kisses you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue, a reminder what you just did. You keep kissing as he walks you into the living room, blindly stumbling towards the couch, but he catches you. His hands steady on you, always holding you and you trust him completely.

He spins you around, bending you over the back of the couch. He presses himself behind you, kissing your shoulder, his hands quickly moving to the top of your dress

"I need you so bad." he kisses along your spine, moving lower and lower. He bunches up your dress along your hips, exposing you to him.

"You have me." you say, turning your head to look at him, holding yourself up on the couch.

He exhales loudly, as he squeezes your ass, only a thong separating you from him. "I've been thinking about this all day" he says kneeling down behind you. He is so impatient, so pent up and so inlove with you, he feels everything at the same time. He touches you through your underwear.

"So wet." you feel his breath in between your legs. You've never been with someone who loves giving head as much as him, he would put your pleasure above his own any day.

After continuing to touch you through the fabric, feeling your folds, hearing your impatient frustrated moans spurs him on, so he finally moved your underwear to the side and dives in immediately. He pushes you further into the couch with a firm hand on your lower back, you arch for him to have better access.

"The prettiest pussy and all for me." He spreads you with his two fingers and licks a long stripe from your clit to the hole, he feels it clench under his tongue. He is obsessed with how sensitive you are, your taste the most delicious to him. He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard, you buck your hips into him. You were already getting close by giving him head and all the pretty sounds you were able to pull from him, you feel like you won't last long.

He continues to make out with your cunt, his eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed, listening to every little sound you make, focusing on what makes you twitch the most, moan the loudest. He moves his head from side to side, which makes you arch even further.

"Please, Joost, don't stop. I'm almost there" you plead to him.

You feel him smile against your folds, it is so messy, you feel your thighs are wet when he pulls back and starts do draw fast wide circles around your folds, the sounds your pussy is making would embarrass you, if you weren't so lost in the building climax you feel in your lower stomach, pulsing through your whole body, your mind blurry, you keep repeating his name over and over, which makes him impossibly hard. You see him move his own hand between his legs, palming himself through the pants, groaning into your core.

"I need you inside of me. Please." you manage to say.

He would love nothing more in that moment, he stands up, pulls down his pants and underwear in one movement. His tip an angry shade of red, balls heavy, you turn your head forward, moving your hips closer to him, inviting him in.

"Quickly" you whine.

He is holding your hip with one hand, while he holds his dick in the other hand, slowly moving it through your folds, collecting your slick.

"Can you go again after?" he asks, his voice breathy.

"Can you?" you turn to him, placing your hand over his own on your hip, to feel more of him.

He chuckles. His tip catches your hole, pushing in. You both inhale at the same time. "You are in for a fun time today" he says, as he pushes in further, you are so wet, it is so easy for him. He bends over to be closer to you.

His heart runs like an engine as he bullies his drooling cock up against your soft cunt. His words close to your ear, nothing but filthy praise, about how you are perfect for him, that you were made for him, he loves you. His hips meet yours in a fast pace behind you, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. As soon as he moves his hand to draw circles around your clit, you scream out his name and gush all over him, squeezing him impossibly tight, which makes him lose his pace. It triggers his own release, after a few more pumps, you feel his cum paint your walls, there is so much, it starts to trickle down your thighs. He collapses on top of you, barely able to catch himself putting his hands on either side of you on the couch. His white shirt is sticking to his skin with how sweaty he is.

You feel he is still not fully soft inside of you. The stamina he has today makes you excited, because you are also ready for more.

You wince when he pulls out.

"Was that not too rough? Sorry, we didn't even make it to the bedroom." he asks, while his eyes are trained between your legs, it is so wet and shiny with both of your releases. He is almost hypnotised.

"I can't even catch my breath still. I don't think we could have possibly made it to the bedroom." you say and you both laugh.

He helps you stand up, you stand in front of him, moving your hands behind you undoing the zipper and slipping out of your dress, leaving it on the floor. He watches you intently, your naked figure in front of him. It is dark in the room, only a street light coming from the window and low light from the hall illuminating you.

"You are so beautiful." he repeats the words he says to you every day, no matter if you are in your pyjamas or full make up and expensive dress, if he was a painter he would paint you and only you. He gives you so many compliments, you started to believe them, boosting your self confidence, which you are thankful for.

"It is your turn now." you undo his tie, throwing it on top of your dress. He starts undoing the buttons on his shirt, while you move towards the bedroom.

You are both completely naked when you fall on the bed. You lay on the pillows, he slowly crawls on top of you, kissing your calfs, your thighs, as you spread your legs apart, giving him more space. He continues kissing his way up, your stomach, stopping on your chest, focusing on your tits. He looks into your eyes, when he takes your nipple into his mouth, playing with it with his tongue, sucking in. You arch your back, whining and moving your hands to his head, holding him close. His hand moves to touch your other boob, squeezing it, twisting and pulling the nipple, enjoying your moans. You feel so good in his mouth. He moves to the other nipple, changing hands to play with the shiny wet nipple from his spit.

You start lifting your hips to meet his, his cock lays heavy on your lower stomach. You pull on his hair to get his attention, he moves his hands in between your legs, you are so warm and wet at his touch.

He looks up at you, letting go of your nipple, moving further up closer to your face.

"You ready to go again?" you ask him, placing your hand on the side of his face, wiping the residue of you on his chin.

He kisses you, and you melt under him immediately. His lips ever so soft capturing yours.

"Yes." he says sitting up. "Are you?" he moves his hands from your neck slowly down to your chest, feeling your fast heartbeat, matching his own, down to your lower stomach. His thumb presses on your clit, your hips lift on their own, a whine escaping your lips, still overstimulated, but it feels so good at the same time. He sees you clench around nothing, waiting for him.

"Don't tease, Joost. Put it in." you reach out to touch his cock. You move your hand up and down his shaft, but he takes control again. He holds himself by the base, leaning in closer, he aligns your hips, putting his cock onto your lower stomach, the tip almost reaching your bellybutton, seeing how deep it will go in. The sight makes his breath catch. The tip leaves a wet spot on your skin.

"I love you so much." he says as he finally reaches your hole, sliding in. He moves your thighs further apart, holding them. He watches your face, your expressions helping him set the pace, seeing what makes you moan louder and what movements make you clench around him. He builds the thrusts around your pleasure. Your arms cling to his on your thighs.

"Feels so good" your head falls back on the pillows.

"Look at me, baby" he moves your head back to look at him. "I want to see you when you cum on my dick." each word is followed by a harder thrust. One of his hands moves to touch your nipple, letting go of your thighs. The other hand draws fast circles around your clit. He rolls his hips just the way you like, you feel your climax envelope your entire body, from your toes to the tips of your fingers. He lets you ride out your high, your hips moving on him, his hands moving softly on your sides. His dick keeping you full.

"That's it baby. That's it. So good for me" he praises you.

You come to your senses and feel him pull out. You start to flip on your stomach, thinking he wants to change positions.

"No, wait." he stops you, laying you on your back. His hands come to your chest, squeezing your boobs together. You are confused for a second, following his gaze on your chest, when you realize.

"Do you want to fuck my tits?" you ask. You could tell he wanted to do it for awhile, but he wouldn't bring it up for some reason. You wish he would believe your words, when you say you would let him do anything. You trust him completely.

"Yes. Would that be okay?" he asks meeting your eyes unsure.

"Yes. Come here" you push your boobs together. He can't believe the sight in front of him. He gets even harder than before. He moves his hand to your pussy, covering his hand in your release, when he brings it in the valley between your boobs, making it slippery.

"You are so nasty." you say. He always loves it messy, even prefers to cum on your stomach or chest, spreading it after, but truly you don't mind.

"And you love it." he says and lets his spit fall on your chest, holding your boobs together, making it even more wet. He plays with your nipples, twisting them in between his pointer finger and thumb, as he moves to straddle you closer, making sure not to put his weight on you.

You help him hold your boobs, when he lines himself in the valley of your breasts. He tries to move, his head falling back with a loud groan, it feels so good. You watch his face contorted in pleasure. He keeps moving his hips, as you squeeze your boobs tighter around him.

"Oh fuck, liefje." one of his hands move to the backboard of the bed for leverage. You open your mouth catching his tip when he thrusts in. He moans at that, his mouth agape, looking down at you.

"Do that again." you oblige and keep your mouth open. He keeps thrusting in and out, his tip staying in your mouth. You move your hand to cup his balls, feeling the tender skin. You make sure to place your tongue on his slit on his next thrust.

"Feels so good. So good." his brain is a mush at this point, he starts to chase his high, moving faster. Your neck is getting tired, so he holds you by the back of your head.

"I'm so close, gonna cum." he warns you, in case you want him to move away. But you hum around him, sucking him harder. He shuts his eyes shut, after a few more thrusts he cums in your mouth, but pulls out and also finishes on your chest. His own chest is contracting in shallow breaths, he plops down next to you on the bed, his legs can't hold him anymore. You feel his warm release on your chest, which he can't stop looking at and starts massaging it into your tits.

"Joost." you whine. "You are such a freak." you swat his hands away laughing.

"And what if I did this?" he leans in quickly and puts your nipple into his mouth, feeling it wet with his spit and his own release. You squeal at feeling, pulling his hair.

"The biggest freak ever." a giggle escapes you. "Let's get in the shower."

After you get back all clean, you show him the other polaroids you took, but didn't end up choosing for the final surprise. He inspects every single one, commenting on what he likes about each one and makes you promise you will wear the underwear set you wore for it tomorrow.