Inlovewithfictionalmenholic

🩷

Sammy was officially in hell.

You were sat on the sofa, chatting and laughing with Tammi, excitedly telling her a story about college. You used your hands as you spoke, your smile infectious, despite telling her how you were just kicked out of college.

He could never see anyone struggle, and it was just a few weeks. Of course he'd offered for you to crash there. You were family... and another pair of hands to wrestle Richter in line.

Sammy had such a huge heart. You were crashing on the couch, your bags spread around you. You were wearing vans sneakers, a tiny pair of shorts and a crop top due to the LA heat. Sunglasses perched on your head, perfume wafting over as you laughed.

Sammy watched you both intently. He hadn't seen you since their wedding, you were a bridesmaid and, despite only being 5 years younger than Tammi, had looked considerably younger then. Pre-college. Excited to be an adult. But now...

But if he was such a good guy, he thought guiltily, then why did he feel his cock twitching when you moved beneath your crop top? He tried not to notice how you clearly weren't wearing a bra, how your nipples were starting to stand to attention as they brushed against the material.

His gaze flicked to Tammi, who clearly hadn't noticed. Sammy bit his lip and looked at the ceiling. What the fuck, he thought. That's your sister in law.

Just a few more weeks...

-- 🩷 --

Sammy had gotten up to use the toilet. Already, your things were spread along the shelf, and the steam in the bathroom smelled like your shampoo. Sammy tried not to take a deep breath or think about you in the shower. He tiptoed through into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

There you were. You had the lightest sheet they had covering you due to the heat. Your damp hair surrounded your head like a halo. Richter lay loyally at your side along the floor, whose eyes tracked his movements but didn't lift his head up. Sammy had tried to stay quiet but now he was frozen to the spot.

You made a soft noise in your sleep, something between a little moan and a contented sigh. Sammy wondered what you were dreaming about, as a big smile spread across your face, then realised he was staring. He turned and ran the tap as quietly as he could.

'Tammi?'' Your little voice, thick with sleep, called out.

'Um, no, sweetheart,' Sammy turned slowly, 'just me. Sorry to wake you.' A slow, guilty heat rushed to his face, even though he knew you were completely unaware of his gawking.

'Oh, sorry,' you smile, yawning and stretching your arms together above your head. Jesus christ.

'Did you, er- d'ya need something?' Sammy asked, clearing his throat.

'Oh no, I'm perfect,' you smiled. Yes you are, Sammy thought.

'Good. You, um... know where I am if you ne-need me.'

You nodded and lay back down on your side. 'Night, Sammy.' The sheet was half falling off your side, the oversized tee barely covering your thigh. If he was to move just slightly to the right, he would be able to see up it.

Before he could follow through with that thought, he quickly left the room. Climbing into bed next to Tammi, she pulled Sammy's arm around her waist and up to touch her chest.

'Unfhhh, you're half-hard for me already,' she whispered. 'I've been taking my prenatal vitamins.' Tammi tugged on his arm to pull Sammy up and on top of her. He bit his lip as she started touching him, trying desperately not to think of you two rooms away.

-- 🩷 --

You were making pancakes for everyone, a first day thank you for letting you stay. Sammy could hear yours and Tammi's voices, laughing in the kitchen as he wrestled with his tie. He hadn't heard Tammi so giddy in months. Richter flopped down in the bedroom, grumbling, pulling a flash of red between his paws. Sammy dived down to take whatever it was off him before he could chew it to bits. Richter whined as it left his grasp. Sammy looked at his fist and realised what it was. Your silky underwear, some sort of lacey see-through French knicker. He looked down in confusion at the panties which were not his wife's. It was crumpled, and Sammy realised Richter had stolen it from the bathroom after you'd showered last night. Your used panties. Jesus Christ.

As he stared at the scrap of fabric in his hand, he heard footsteps outside the bedroom. Panicking, he stuffed it into his suit pants pocket and began walking out of the room. Sammy almost collided with you. 'Morning!' Your smile was wide and genuine. 'I made pancakes!'

'Thank you,' Sammy replied, throat suddenly thick like molasses. You didn't seem to notice, your eyes dropping to his throat. 'Oh, let me!' Before he could protest, you were reaching up on your tiptoes and easing the tie from his grasp. Sammy felt your fingers brush against his, and he pulled them away as fast as possible. Your face was close to his, and he could smell your perfume and the shampoo in your hair. Sammy tried not to look at you as you worked his tie. Every time you touched his neck, it felt electric; burning hot lightning brushing against his skin. You were concentrating and seemed completely oblivious to the effect you were having on him.

Sammy curled his toes within his suit shoes as he desperately fought to keep his face neutral. Sammy's neck was sensitive, so sensitive, and it was like you knew. He felt his cock twitch against his leg, all flustered. Sammy tried to think of boring things, gruesome crime scenes. 'There,' you smiled, 'come on.' Your red underwear burned a hole in his pocket, just a thin strip of fabric separating your panties from his boxers.

-- 🩷 --

'Quickie before work?' Nate asked, grinning smugly.

'No thanks, I'm not that hard done by,' Sammy replied, as he jumped into the passenger seat.

'One - I'm way out of your league,' Nate raised his eyebrows, 'and two, I meant these.' Nate held up the red slip of fabric between his fingers, which had slipped out of Sammy's pocket into the footwell as he jumped in. 'Jesus Christ,' Sammy's face flushed bright red.

'Still trying then?' Nate asked, pulling down the street. 'What?' Sammy replied. 'With Tammi?' Nate shook his head, amused. 'Yeah, I mean, yeah... still trying.' As Nate drove further down the street, Sammy wound down his window and threw the panties out into the street. 'Well, that was normal.' Nate snorted.

-- 🩷 --

As Sammy unlocked the door and walked into the living room, he came in to see you sat on the sofa, straddling a man. Your back was too him, those tiny shorts riding up so he had a full view of your ass. Large hands were splayed round your waist as you kissed your visitor, who was pulling you slowly against his pelvis. He heard you moan.

Sammy coughed loudly and you jumped a mile into the air. 'Sammy, you're home,' you blustered, smoothing down your hair. 'This is my boyfriend, Josh.'

Josh looked like the sporty frat type, younger than Sammy with defined muscles and messy blonde hair. It was hard not to notice his bulge beneath gray sweatpants. Josh grinned at Sammy smugly, tipping his head back in acknowledgement. ''Sup.'

'Yeah, 'sup,' Sammy shook his head for half a second before moving into the kitchen. You followed him. 'Sammy, I'm so sorry, that was really disrespectful.'

Sammy carried on walking, trying not to picture what he'd just seen. ''sfine,' Sammy mumbled, a light sheen of sweat glistening over his face. 'No, it's not!' You insisted, pushing in front of him and placing your hand on his forearm.

The proximity of your body as you looked up earnestly into his eyes was almost worse than seeing you dry humping on his couch. 'Seriously, s'fine.' Sammy's rough voice was low and he avoided eye contact. He looked into your eyes for a second before removing his arm gently from your reach. ''m having a shower, s'ya in a bit.'

Sammy desperately tried to ignore your guilty eyes following him as he left the room.

-- 🩷 --

The hot water pounded over Sammy's shoulders as he closed his eyes. Tammi wasn't home yet and he was very aware he was naked, a room over from where you were probably kissing your boyfriend again. Sammy let himself picture you were kissing him for a second. His cock pulsed against his thigh. Sammy's intake of breath was ragged, the sound covered by the water. Sammy knew he should put the shower on cold, think about something else, think about his wife. But yet.... in his mind, he was sat flush on the couch, your body pressed up against him. He could smell your shampoo from the shelf. Sammy bit back a moan and closed his eyes. In his mind, you were wearing those little shorts, and he was just in his boxers. You were straddling his hips, and his hands were on your soft waist. Sammy whimpered, his cock throbbing as it grew harder. He knew he should stop this train of thought but he was too far gone, and Sammy's meaty hand was guided to his cock. As he slowly began pumping it, he imagined using your hips to guide your body, your hot core already wet with anticipation. It would leave a smear along his boxers, because you wanted him, needed to use him. Sammy's eyes closed as he tipped his head back, pumping a little faster. He replayed the small moan you'd made as you rode Josh. The head of his chubby cock would find the seam over your clit. It would be sensitive and you'd moan as he pressed against it, using the tip to grind against the little bud of nerves, against the spot you really needed. There, Sammy, you'd moan in his ear. Oh fuck... right there.

Sammy groaned, imagining how much you'd want it, how much you'd beg him for it. Sammy, please. How you'd tell him to shut the fuck up so he didn't wake Tammi, swallowing his whines with your mouth.

'Oh God,' Sammy found himself whispering. 'Yeaaahh.' He began fucking up into his fist, wet with pre-cum and the shower, one hand pressed against the wall to steady him. He was getting close. Sammy tried to shut out any feelings of guilt. He wasn't acting on it, doing anything with you, he was just thinking... Sammy imagined your tongue against his neck, sucking and licking. He groaned again, his stomach beginning to tingle, his muscles stiffening. You'd use your teeth, scraping behind his ear as you rubbed yourself on his cock. You wouldn't be gentle. No, you'd use him to take what you needed, to lift yourself higher and higher and higher. Sammy couldn't even imagine how it would feel for you to grind down hard on him, growing more and more desperate, crying out that you were gonna cum.

'Ahhh.. ahh.... mmmmf,' Sammy tried to keep quiet but it was too late. His stomach tightened and he began to see stars. 'Hi Sammy, I'm home!' Tammi poked her head around in the door. Sammy jumped in surprise, dropping his cock, the orgasm keeping him suspended on the edge receded. 'Uhh, hi,' he panted. 'Won't be a sec.' Fuck.

-- 🩷 --

Sammy was convinced you were trying to kill him. You were padding around in a little onesie. The buttons were open dangerously low, and the shorts were barely shorts, high-rise on your perfect thighs. Sammy was trying to focus on his paperwork, but his gaze kept dropping to your mouth, parted in concentration.

'All done!' You announced, pushing a plate in front of him. Homemade pasta and meatballs, covered in a spicy tomato sauce. You were bending over the counter, oblivious to the view of your tits you were flashing him down your onesie. Sammy quickly lifted his gaze to your eyes, hoping you wouldn't notice. He looked between each of your eyes, feeling a flush creep across his face. Had you held the eye contact a second too long? He looked uncomfortable and was squirming in his seat.

''smells amazing!' Tammi announced, sitting next to Sammy and squeezing his thigh in greeting. Sammy smiled at her and shifted sideways slightly so she couldn't feel the bulge straining against his jeans.

'Oh God, it tastes amazing,' you squealed, licking then sucking sauce from your index finger. Sammy made a squeak and tried to cover it with a cough as his eyes followed your wet tongue. 'It does,' he agreed, fighting to keep his rough voice low and even. 'Are you sure?' Your face fell, looking in concern at him. 'You don't seem to like it?' 'No, no, I like it,' Sammy rushed, aware he was flushing even more. A slight sheen of sweat reached his forehead. 'It tastes amazing.' He agreed in a whisper.

-- 🩷 --

You were driving him crazy but he was in heaven. The three of you were watching a movie, Tammi and you curled up on the sofa, underneath a blanket, and Sammy on the recliner. His eyes were on you more than the movie. Sammy couldn't tell if you were doing it on purpose, or if you were even aware, but you were sucking your thumb.

Each movement of your mouth on your thumb, deep inside your mouth, made your wet lips tighten around it, moving slowly up and down. Your eyes stayed forwards, intently watching the screen, but you had to be doing it on purpose.

Sammy gratefully reached for the cushion behind him, and tried to cover his hips with it, as surreptiously as possible. His cock pulsed, and his wedding ring bit into his finger.

You laughed at the film, your beautiful face lighting up, a slip of tongue revealed through your parted wet lips. This was better than watching porn. His cock throbbed insistently against his thigh, straining against his jeans. It twitched against the cushion, and Sammy breathed out in relief. No way. There was no way he was dry humping a pillow in the sitting room watching his sister-in-law, in front of his wife. And yet...

Sammy's grip on the cushion was a vice, fighting to keep it completely steady as he slowly rolled his hips against it. His cock pulsed as it brushed the rough fabric, desperate for relief. Sammy held his breath, eyes fixed on you. He felt like a creep, but he couldn't help it. There was no way he could survive a few weeks without doing something about it. Sammy was a really good guy but... maybe he wasn't that good. Tammi hardly paid him attention anymore, he was surprised she had initiated sex the previous night. She was usually mean and spaced out on weed. Sammy had guiltily pictured you making that little moan again as he fucked into Tammi, and he had finished so early Tammi didn't have chance to cum.

The friction started to build as Sammy guided his cock against the cushion. Rolling his tongue over his lower lip and biting down hard on it, he looked to the ceiling and tried to keep quiet. But his gaze soon found you again, so beautiful, your mouth working on your thumb. Sammy imagined it was his cock your lips were tight around, sucking in a light vacuum, whilst your tongue made circles around his head. Sammy was close. You laughed again at the movie and resettled on the sofa. Why did you never wear bras? He could see your nipples through your onesie, pert and waiting for him. Sammy wondered if you were wearing another pair of French knickers under there. If you had a lacy, see-through black pair, or if you had a baby-pink thong on. Fuck, he was right on the edge.

He was gonna cum in his boxers like a teenager. Spill into them with his warm load and sit in the pool, before walking out with them plastered to his cock.

He gripped the pillow even tighter. Would those panties be pushed to the side? Were they damp against your skin right this minute? Were you getting wet sitting there, smearing them with your arousal? Were you even wearing any?

'Sammy!' Tammi interrupted his train of thought, with the tone of someone who had said his name more than once. 'Hmmmf?' Sammy asked, immediately stopping his movements against the cushion, guilt filling him. 'Ice cream? Freezer? Can you get it?' 'Mmm'kay... just need to give me a minute.'

-- 🩷 --

It was Saturday. Tammi was out taking photographs in the park. It was burning hot and you were in a deck chair in the garden. Sammy walked out to join you, bringing a beer for both of you. He stuttered when he saw you, wearing what was probably sold as a bikini but in reality was a torture device. Sammy couldn't believe his luck.

Your bikini bottoms were obscene, the sides reaching way up over your hips with a tiny V heading towards your core. The top was all spaghetti straps, with little triangles of black fabric which barely covered your tits. They strained against it, giving a view of side boob and under boob, all pert and pressed together. Was this heaven or hell?

'Thanks,' you smiled, gratefully taking the beer. 'Are you not boiling?' You nodded at Sammy's tee. 'Um...' Sammy squirmed a little, sitting down on his chair. You could tell he was flustered by something, his meaty hand dragging down his face. 'No, I'm good.' His low, rough voice managed. 'Oh, come on!' You playfully tugged at his sleeve. 'It's only me!'

Sammy swallowed thickly. Only you was the whole problem. He decided to be honest. 'I've er- I've put on a little weight. 'rather not.' You lifted your sunglasses up onto your head. Fuck, you were so beautiful. 'Don't be silly,' you chided gently, looking at him with wide eyes. 'Besides... dad bods are in. Come on,' you tugged at his sleeve again.

Sammy realised he wasn't going to win this one and slowly removed his shirt. Your eyes took on his arm pits, full of thick auburn curls, and smelling faintly of body wash and deodorant. The freckles dusted across his chest matched his face. Sammy sat, embarrassed, his squishy tummy overhanging his swim shorts. You tried not to stare, or at his thick, meaty arms, or the pale, chubby hand gripping his beer tight.

Sammy squirmed under your gaze, flustered, heat blazing across his face. A slight sheen of sweat dampened his curls. 'S'stop looking,' Sammy mumbled, and you flipped your sunglasses back down over your face. 'Why? You're hot,' you shrugged and went back to your book. Sammy shifted in his seat and tried to think about his taxes.

--🩷--

You were both a few beers in and slightly buzzed. Sammy felt more confident in stealing quick glances at you. You sat up and moaned, stretching your arms out, pushing your tits forwards. The view of your breasts made it impossible to ignore and Sammy's mouth dropped open a little. He wondered how else he could pull that moan from your mouth... preferably made into his mouth.

'Please put some cream on me, Sammy?' 'What?' Sammy stared at you, guilty. Had his face given away his thoughts so easily. 'Sun cream?' You shook the bottle at him, a smirk on your face. 'Oh, right... yeah.' Sammy cleared his throat and sat sideways on his chair as you turned your back to him. 'My neck and back always burn.' 'Uh huh.'

Sammy took the bottle from you and squirted some lotion onto his hands, warming it between his fingers. He took a deep breath and bit his lip, starting along your spine and your lower back. As his hands rubbed up and down your sides, he tried to break the silence with the first thing he could think of... your body, your rolling hips, your moan...

'How're things with Josh?' Sammy tried to keep his voice even. Your skin was so smooth and soft under his thick fingers. They slipped under the string around your ribs. 'Oh, that's over,' you replied breezily, holding your hair up and out of the way of your shoulders. Sammy leant forwards, breathing in your smell, then feeling very guilty. 'That's too bad,' he murmured, trying not to feel pleased. Smug prick. 'Nah, he was a cheating loser,' you replied.

Sammy couldn't believe that anyone would cheat on you. On you. 'He must be insane,' Sammy muttered before he could stop himself, moving up to your shoulders. You snorted, 'yeah, well... he wasn't that great anyway. I had to keep faking it in the end.' Sammy nearly choked. 'Sorry,' you grinned, looking back at him. 'TMI.'

Sammy couldn't help but imagine you prone on the bed, that fucking prick above you. You look bored and sad, receiving no pleasure as Josh just used your body. It made Sammy seethe.

'No, sweetheart, you deserve better than having to do that.' Sammy's chubby thumbs pressed lightly against your neck, rubbing into the tight muscles. You moaned softly and leant back into his hands. The sound went straight to Sammy's cock, twitching in his shorts. It was just biology, he told himself. It didn't mean anything. It's just... his body doesn't know that. It's like it's a separate entity, ignoring his instructions and responding to your voice. He couldn't help it. 'Mmmm, feels so good,' you hum as you leant back harder into his thumbs. Sammy was fucked.

Sammy rubbed up your neck and back down. Nearly finished, nearly finished, nearly finished... 'Thanks!' You turn around with a bounce, smiling at him gratefully. 'Your turn!'

'W-what?' Sammy stuttered, putting on his own sunglasses to hide some of his panic. 'You don't have any on,' you explained slowly, gesturing to his chest and tummy. 'Oh er... 'sfine, I'll do it in a minute.' 'Don't be silly,' you laughed, taking the bottle from his hands, and pulling your seat closer. 'I can reach it all myself,' Sammy squeaked, gesturing to his front. 'Oh, shut uuuup,' you teased, rolling your eyes.

Sammy breathed a sigh of relief that his shorts were dark and baggy, hoping you wouldn't notice how ridiculously hard he was. His hand clenched tight around his beer bottle.

You warmed the lotion in your hands as Sammy had done, and then started along his chest. Sammy didn't dare breathe. You leant forwards and Sammy could see all of you escaping your bikini top now. Your round tits were pressed together, nipples hard and scraping across the glossy material. Sammy swallowed and had to look away.

Your hands pressed gently into his chest as you rubbed the lotion in, running your fingers through his chest hair, and Sammy had to press his mouth shut so he didn't whimper. He had dreamed of you touching him like this and, now that you were, he didn't know where to look or what to do with his hands.

You reached his tummy and Sammy bent away. 'Please don't,' he whispered. You pushed your sunglasses up off your face again and looked at him, even though he was still wearing his. 'I told you,' you repeated, softly and gently. 'Dad bods are in.' The wine was giving you a pleasant buzz and made you feel brave. 'Besides,' you said, rubbing your fingers into his squishy tummy, 'it's kinda really hot.' finally admitting to yourself that you wanted it pressed against your back, with his big, solid body wrapped around you.

Sammy dared not breathe. He must have misheard you. 'Mmmm, don't think so..' Sammy shook his head, desperate for the conversation to be over. Your hands reach beneath his belly button, then were rubbing the underside of his tummy. Sammy was frozen on the spot. The air between you shifted somehow, grew thicker. It sat heavy and charged. Your fingertips were inches, inches, away from the waistband of his shorts. You could slip them under without even moving your wrist. 'Sammy-,' you whispered, but were interrupted by a door banging shut.

You and Sammy immediately sprang away from each other, and Sammy found himself panting. His want and his frustration were warring for first place. 'You would not believe this awful... oh jesus christ, put some clothes on. Your sister doesn't wanna see that... and Sammy sure as hell doesn't.' Sammy could have burst into tears. His jaw clenched and his cheeks twitched. You glanced at him, an apology and a guilty look in one, and then stood. As you turned, Sammy got a view of your plush ass, right at eye level. 'Whatever, Tams,' you groaned, rolling your eyes. You poke her in the ribs as you walk past and she just sighs impatiently. 'Besides,' your voice floats away, 'anyone would be lucky to have this.'

--🩷--

Sammy's cock was weeping as he took a shower, the water pounding over his shoulders. It found his hand again, his meaty fingers struggling to wrap around the chubby length. He thrust his hips and fucked roughly into his fist, desperate and impatient. The tension in the air, the way you had looked at him, your fingers inches from tugging at his waistband, touching the top of his auburn pubic hair, scratching your nails down, down, down... Sammy bit his lip and tried to quieten his grunts as he pulled on his cock, imagining you taking him out of his shorts... Sammy stifled a wounded groan, he was gonna cum, he was gonna cum... 'Ah, ahhhh, aaaahhhh, mmmf,' Sammy turned his head into his bicep, biting down so hard to muffled his grunting he could taste blood. Fuck, here it comes. He was right on the edge, his balls tightened up, his stomach coiling, his toes clenching... A knock at the door. 'Sammy! Hurry up! We have takeout.' Sammy cried out in frustration. '.... you okay?' Tammi asked. For fuck's sake. 'Yeah! Fine!' Sammy hung his head and pressed it against the cold shower tiles. He couldn't remember a time he had ever been as frustrated as this.

--🩷--

Sammy barely spoke during the movie. He didn't know what to do with himself. You were back in tiny sleep shorts and a crop cami, relaxing into the sofa and laughing along. He couldn't help but take you all in. You were glowing from an afternoon outside in the sun. You were starting to get sleepy, your face all soft and relaxed, your thumb grazing your mouth. Every so often your eyes would flick to his and then quickly away, leaving Sammy insanely flustered. He had never been so desperate to fuck someone in his life.

The way you walked around in skimpy clothes, the amazing homecooked meals you made as if you had to earn your place (you didn't), the big smiles you gave him every time he came home. But then there were your nipples, always in his vision. Your peachy butt he wanted to bite down on until it bruised. Your gorgeous legs he wanted wrapped around his ears. Sammy was desperate for you with a carnal intensity, like a dog in heat.

It was heaven watching you float around his home, and hell that he hasn't had you yet. It was too much. He was going to have to do something about it.

Sammy was aching for you, so much so that it hurt. He was constantly half-hard just watching you, and his balls were so heavy; full and uncomfortable. His cock was sore for you. He hadn't even been able to jerk himself off to you, spraying the shower tiles with his cum like he wanted to, because Tammi always interrupted and ruined it. There was no relief for him. He had to fuck you. He had to.

Tammi went to bed early with a headache. For about half an hour, you didn't speak, sat in comfortable silence as mindless nonsense played on the TV. Sammy moved onto the couch and joined you under the blanket, after pushing Richter gently off. You were his favourite person, and Sammy could see why.

You turned to look at him and found him already looking over your face. You took a sharp breath, and Sammy's eyes dropped to your mouth, just for a second, and then back into your eyes.

'Sammy,' you breathed. 'I know,' Sammy's voice wavered at the end, deep and rough. He looked between your eyes with a blazing heat. 'I want to,' you whispered, searching his eyes for reciprocation. 'Fuck, I want you,' Sammy's voice was low but he was shaking slightly. 'You know we can't, though,' but you moved closer, so much so you could see the dusting of freckles over his forehead and cheeks. His hazel eyes burned into yours, darkened with want and blown pupils. 'No, we definitely can't,' Sammy agreed, moving closer still, lips inches from yours; closer than your fingers were to the waistband of his shorts. 'So we just go to sleep, then,' you whisper against his lips.

Sammy couldn't take it any more. The anticipation, the want, he had to have you. He had to fuck you. Sammy had to act upon it. 'Nuh-huh,' he disagreed, closing the space and pressing his soft lips against yours.

You made a soft moaning sound, which made Sammy groan into your mouth. As you kissed, he gently held your jaw, before pushing his thick fingers into your hair and curling them round a handful. He didn't pull hard, just enough to let you know that he could. The kiss was soft, gentle, tender. 'This okay?' Sammy whispered against your lips. You just nodded and made a soft sigh against his mouth, as if finally finding relief.

Sammy ran his tongue gently across your bottom lip, which you opened, and the kiss became more intense; full of the frustrations and anticipation of this moment, which you both knew deep down was coming. 'D'ya wanna stop?' Sammy panted, knowing how wrong this was. His wedding ring cut into his finger like barbed wire, but he didn't feel guilty. Not in this moment. Not with how Tammi treated him, and the way you were looking at him right now. 'Fuck no,' you whispered, pulling him closer to you and kissing him again. Sammy made a sound, a low whimper, and you put your arms around his neck, fingers toying with his auburn curls.

Sammy pressed his body closer to you, his solid frame soft against yoir body, large but plush at the same time. Another moan escaper your into his mouth, and he greedily swallowed it. '... 'hope that's not fake,' Sammy murmured, his hands running down your waist, finding your shorts and pulling you closer. You almost laughed. You were half-straddling him, his heat radiating onto you. He smelled so good, he felt so good. 'Somehow I don't think I'll need to fake it,' you whispered back.

Sammy growled in response, pushing you down onto your back on the couch, legs still intertwined. 'We're gonna have to be quiet,' you whispered, the door to the sitting room still open. Tammi could walk in at any time, and you felt a flush of wetness at the thought. Sammy was painfully hard, pressing against his jeans, which were damp from your wetness. He pushed his body weight down onto you and you thought you might cum there and then. 'Real quiet,' Sammy agreed as you unbuckled his belt. 'Don't want anyone to walk in 'ncatch us,' he murmured between kisses. 'Definitely not your wife,' you whispered, pushing his jeans down and pulling him close. Sammy groaned at your words, and then again at your hot cunt, as he slipped his cock against the thin fabric of your sleep shorts. 'And defnitely not my sister,' you agreed.

Sammy let out a loud, pained whine, and you covered his mouth with your palm. 'Gotta be quiet, baby,' you shook your head. 'Can't get caught before you cum inside me.'

Sammy made a pathetic, wounded sound. Pre-cum soaked the front of his boxers, smearing against the material as he slowly moved against you. The thick, mushroom head of his chubby cock rubbed against your clit, making you gasp. Your head went dizzy as the thick head made lazy circles against your bud, before roughlt flicking back and forth against it. You felt your pussy clench around nothing.

'Oh fuck,' Sammy panted. 'Ah.. uhhhh, please take me out. Please.'

When you placed a hand inside his boxers and felt the size of his cock, you inhaled sharply. This was gonna stretch you out. 'Wha..?' Sammy asked, kissing your face, your ear, your neck, your jaw. ''something wrong?' 'Nope,' you smiled, pulling him out of his boxers and shrugging them down past his knees. His cock waved against his stomach. 'Pulll these aside for me, baby,' Sammy begged, tugging your sleep shorts.

When he had access, he ran his fingers through your wetness. 'Fuuuuuck,' he breathed. 'Is this just for me?' 'All for you, Sammy.' You gently sucked along his jaw. 'Your pussy's so pretty, baby,' Sammy moaned as he circled your clit lazily, before flicking it sideways, up and down, circles, up and down, sideways... He was bringing you to the edge and letting you teeter there.

'Please le-let me touch youuu,' Sammy whimpered. You nodded against his lips, pulling him tighter to you. Sammy slid a thick finger inside you, swiftly followed by a second.

You gasped, feeling the enormous stretch as Sammy's fingers scissored inside you. The pressure and tickle felt almost too much to bear. Sammy began sliding his fingers in and out, and the obscene squelching noises filled the silent room. You pressed your head against Sammy's bicep, embarrassed. 'Hey, look at me, baby.' Sammy lowered his head to be back on your level. ''love you makin' a mess for me.'

You moaned in response, glad that it seemed to turn him on more. You felt his cock press insistently against your hip, twitching as Sammy added a third finger. You gasped. 'Sammy, I can't-' 'Oh you can, princess,' Sammy moaned, getting close to cumming from just this. 'Fuck, yeah, you can.'

He shifted slightly so he had more access to your cunt and curled his fingers, gently rubbing against your squishy spot. Your legs shook underneath him. 'There?' Sammy asked, looking up at you. 'Oh fuck,' you panted, 'there.'

Sammy continued massaging you, pulling his fingers in and out, the base of them covered in your cream. You felt yourself leaking out around his fingers, running down your ass and onto the couch. You were too far gone to care.

Sammy nudged your legs further apart with his knee when you tried to tighten them together. Sammy was fucking into the couch, humping against it, hips rolling up and down. His thrusting into the fabric became rougher as his fingers deep inside you began to speed up. His thumb circled your clit, palm pressing on your mound. 'There it is,' Sammy moaned. 'Cum for me.' Your orgasm hit you like a train. Your back arched as you saw stars, heat radiating through all of your muscles. 'Good girl,' Sammy whispered into your mouth, swallowing your moans. 'Theeere you go... you're doing so good.'

Sammy slowed his fingers down but didn't stop touching you until you had fully come down from your high. 'Fuck,' Sammy breathed. 'You're so beautiful.'

'That was amazing.' You fought to catch your breath. Your cum glistened all over his fingers from gushing into his hand. The couch was soaked from when you surprised yourself and squirted. Sammy dragged his finger down his tongue, sucking your wetness with his eyes closed. Then he leaned in and kissed you, so you could taste yourself on his tongue. ''made such a mess f'me,'

'Can I fuck you now?' Sammy's voice was cracked and hoarse. 'Please yes... fuck yes,' you replied, wriggling out of your shorts. ''m not gonna last long,' Sammy warned. 'Good,' you ran your fingernails up and down his neck, making his eyes roll back. 'It's so sexy that you can't stop yourself from cumming over me.'

You pushed his cock along your cunt, through your lips and covering it with your glistening wetness. 'Uhhh... uh. St-stop that,' Sammy stuttered. His face was completely red and screwed up, and he shuddered as you moved him. You loved seeing him, a big police detective, so flustered and falling apart for you like this. 'Why?' you asked innocently. ''cos I'm gonna cum,' Sammy let out a long groan, his eyes rolling back, and biting down on his lower lip. ''n-o, seriously... stop... 'wanna fuck you so good.'

You ran your fingernails up and down his biceps, and along his soft chest. Sammy groaned again, a guttural, pained sound, squirming as you clapped your hand over his mouth. 'Baby, you gotta shut the fuck up if you want fuck me.'

Sammy nodded desperately, obediently, too lost in the need for you to let him. He lined himself up with you and slowly pushed halfway in to you. 'You're so tight,' Sammy moaned, his head thrown back. 'Fuck, you feel so good.' 'Keep going,' you whispered, hands on his hips and pulling him closer, making him move further into you.

Sammy let out a series of broken sounds until he bottomed out; he was coming undone already.

You rolled your hips in slow figure 8s, dragging his cock along every part of your wet, warm walls, stretching you out. As his thick head bumped against your spot, your pussy helplessly clenched around his cock. 'Don't- don't do that,' Sammy begged, trying desperately not to just blow his load inside you straightaway.

'Sammy,' you pleaded, rolling your hips against his pelvis. 'C'mon... fuck me. This is what you want. This is what you needed. Come get it.'

Sammy nearly came. There was nothing gentle or romantic about the way he fucked you. He pushed you deep into the couch, thrusting down on you. His heavy weight pressed against you, and you could feel his big belly squishing hard into yours.

Sammy grunted in your ear like an animal every time he bottomed out. He fucked you with the aggressive energy of a dog in heat, mindlessly mating with its partner. Sammy's sweat dropped onto you, his face all red and screwed up. 'Uhhh... uh... huh... uhhhh,' Sammy grunted every time he buried himself in your warm, soaking cunt. You pulled on his hair and he moaned, which turned into a whine. ''m gonna cum,' Sammy's voice was broken, his eyes glassy. One was half-rolled back into his head and his mouth hung open as he buried himself deep within you.

'Cum for me, Sammy,' you whispered, one hand raking his back down hard with your fingernails, the other one reaching under him and gently holding his balls. 'Mmmmmf,' Sammy was getting louder. 'Oh I'm gonna... hnnnfgh.. I'm go-gonna...'

His hips moved rougher and sloppier, slamming into your cervix with uncoordinated precision. ''gon' fi-fill... oh fuck, 'm cumming.' You felt the load pumping into you immediately, warming you from the inside and sluicing around his cock because there was just so much cum.

Sammy let out high-pitched squeals, like a hurt dog, as he buried his face in your hair. He gave one, then two more thrusts before he stayed bottomed out, deep inside your cunt, as throb after throb of his cum spilled into you. Your insides were thoroughly hosed down, dripping out of you and onto your thighs.

Sammy lay on top of you, heavy weight pressed into you, sweaty and flushed red. You smoothed his auburn curls. 'Feel better now?' You asked. You could feel his cock softening inside you, but Sammy made no attempt fo move. 'Yeah,' Sammy's voice was shaky. 'Just for the record,' you whispered, 'none of that was fake.'

Your sister was the absolute last resort when you suddenly needed somewhere to stay.

The college housing situation you last minute arranged had fallen through, your parents sold your childhood home randomly in the fall to travel after retirement, and most of your friends were already triple bunking up with eachother by the time you started to get desperate.

You and Tammi couldn’t be more different and after a childhood full of arguing, hair pulling, and tense silences whenever you were in a room together, you pretty much resorted to only speaking on holidays.

Tammi thought you were boring and afraid of change, she’d go on and on about you wasting your youth and having no ‘shine.’ You thought, to put it frankly, she was an imbecile. You couldn’t stand her immaturity and lack of structure that left you often feeling like the older sister despite before over ten years her junior.

It didn’t help her case that she had an absolute bore of a husband.

Sammy was nice enough in the handful of conversations you’d had with him during visits back home, Tammi somewhere off demanding things of your parents or complaining about the niche aspects of holiday decorations.

He’d make awkward small talk with you while holding a beer that was growing warmer and warmer the longer he nursed it, asking you how school was going and scratching the back of his neck when you gave a dry response.

The most interesting thing about him was the one time you’d walked in on him smoking weed in the garage, his eyes widening as he hurriedly waved the smoke away from his face and told you it wasn’t what it looked like.

You’d told him you weren’t stupid and asked him for a hit, hand already extended with the same bored look on your face as always.

You both never talked about it and you wished you could have said you were surprised when a few years later he was suddenly in the police force but it seemed like a very obvious thing to do for a man as boring as Sammy Bryant.

Now that you were staying with the not so happy couple, he actually provided a good amount of entertainment even though it was a bit hard to watch.

They’d fight over just about everything, from dinner sides to him coming home a few hours late and being too exhausted to help out around the house. He’d get the same embarrassed look on his face everytime he saw you watching them curiously, either because he was the one stuck married to her or because he felt guilty your stay was a far shot from peaceful.

You weren’t sure when your small fascination with him started.

Sammy was of course easy on the eyes, especially when he would come home after a long day with his hair curlier than usual from exertion and his hands tugging at his tie and shirt buttons. You hadn’t ever missed the fact he was attractive but it seemed a lot more apparent now that you were seeing him more than annual visits.

And he was gentle, one of the sweeter men you had met in your lifetime. He was endlessly patient with Tammi even when she was acting in a way that would drive any normal person insane, devoted to his job and the troubled youth he encountered, and even warm to Richter who had his own share of canine problems.

You found him fascinating when he’d come home in the middle of dinner and greet her with a stiff kiss, starting to talk about his day with enthusiasm and then trailing off unfinished when he noticed she wasn’t paying attention.

Sometimes he’d catch your eye and you’d give him a sorry glance but most nights he silently finished his meal while staring at his plate.

Currently you’d been standing in the doorway of the kitchen for a few minutes, watching the muscles in his tense back as he scrubbed the dishes and occasionally muttered under his breath.

Him and Tammi had fought again, one of the screaming matches that seemed a bit heavier than the usual bickering.

“I’ve got it.” He jolted a little at the sound of your voice barely audible over the running water, stopping his movements and glancing over at you. “Seriously, you must be exhausted. I’ll finish up.”

He hesitated like he wanted to protest but the fatigue was obvious on his face, only having had walked through the door less than half an hour ago. Dinner had ended abruptly with Tammi in a fit of tears as she screamed about her broken camera and he screamed back about her getting a real job instead of spending all of his money.

You weren’t sure if he had even eaten anything before he was shoving his chair back and aggressively clearing the plates.

“You sure?” He sighed it out and ran a hand over his face, looking a lot less angry now as he slowly gained that familiar embarrassed look.

You gave him a reassuring nod and gestured for him to leave the kitchen, your eyes staying locked together in a silent exchange for a few seconds before he was pursing his lips and doing exactly that.

It became a bit of a routine after that, the two of you cleaning up together after dinner. Most of the time it was quiet between you but occasionally you talked about his day or rambled about your part time job downtown and the variety of ridiculous customers.

Tammi didn’t seem to notice the small bond forming between you considering she most likely wasn’t even aware you had a dishwasher in the house. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen her clean a single thing despite her messy tendencies.

However she did apparently notice your choice of wardrobe now that the summer weather had kicked into high gear.

“It’s a pair of shorts Tammi.” Your voice was detached and unbothered as you fiddled with Richters collar, attaching the leash to the metal ring and ignoring your sister as she scoffed.

“Barely. My husband lives here too you know.” She spat back in that shrill voice of hers and now you fixed your gaze on her with a sharp glare.

“He’s not even home and it’s almost 100 degrees outside, what the hell do you expect me to wear?” Your voice was louder now as you moved towards the door, a typical sister argument if it wasn’t for the slight truth behind her annoyance.

Despite your denial, you did find yourself dressing a bit more provocative when you knew Sammy would be around.

Maybe it was a bit cruel of you but you liked how awkward he got when you walked past him in a tight tank top without a bra underneath, or bent down to unplug the vacuum in a tiny pair of sleep shorts. His gaze was always on the ceiling when you checked his reaction, neck a little flushed as he cleared his throat and made some excuse to leave the room.

You saw the way he kissed your sister good night, both of them stiff and without any type of chemistry or heat. They barely touched and looked almost disgusted when they had to be in close proximity, no noises from their bedroom at night that would indicate either of them having a good time.

Sammy looked more heated when you were simply doing laundry together.

You didn’t blame him even though you could tell he blamed himself, an almost pained look on his face whenever you gave him a flirty smile or giggled a little too girlishly. He wasn’t the type of man to let his eyes wander in a marriage, even one as unhappy as his was.

It didn’t help that you were his wife’s younger sister, much younger.

You were storming out of the house as Tammi continued to try and lecture you about your clothing, lightly tugged along by an excited Richter. He pulled a little harder than normal when he spotted the car in the driveway, Sammy getting out right as you were passing by.

“Hey.” He greeted gently, approaching just enough to bend down and pet Richter on the head. His eyes slowly drifted up to your face, not before trailing over your bare legs and thighs. “You guys heading out?”

“Your wife is driving us both insane.” You said flatly and he laughed a little, shaking his head in disagreement. Sammy was never one to talk down on your sister, even after a huge blowout argument he still would try and convince you she just was having a hard time lately. “How was your day?”

He kissed his teeth at the question, eyes drifting off as he squinted against the bright sun. “Could’ve been better.”

You nodded sympathetically and gestured back towards the house with a thumb over your shoulder.

“Good luck in there then.” You said softly, half joking but genuinely feeling a little guilty knowing your sister was already in a terrible mood.

He clenched his jaw a little like he was just as aware as you were that a fight would unfold in no time, nodding his head in parting as he disappeared inside.

You took your time walking Richter around the neighborhood in circles, hoping that Tammi would be in bed avoiding household chores by the time you got back there. Both because you couldn’t take anymore bitching from her and because you were selfishly hoping to catch Sammy alone.

Fate was clearly not on your side because you walked back in to a rare sight, the two of them curled up on the couch beside each other as they watched a movie.

You could remember being in high school and seeing them like this, sitting together by a Christmas tree or kissing happily on Thanksgiving. There’d been no sign of it since you moved in and you felt a little surprised at the pure bitterness you felt in your stomach, a little rough as you tossed Richters leash on top of the shoe rack and shooed him away.

Tammi complained when you purposefully passed by them, blocking the TV momentarily with an emotionless look on your face.

You weren’t sure why it bothered you so bad.

Sure you thought Sammy was attractive and you liked getting under his skin, the complimentary nature of his stuttering when you blinked up at him or took a deep breath if you brushed by him closely. It was flattering and an ego boost for him to so obviously struggle around you but that shouldn’t leave you feel so sick at the sight of him resting his head on your sister’s shoulder.

His wife’s shoulder.

Your movements were a little rougher than necessary as you cleaned up the kitchen and you didn’t hear his footsteps over the clanking of the plates.

You stiffened when he was suddenly next to you, unbuttoning the wrist of his sleeves so he could roll them up to his elbows and help you wash up. He was silent for the first few minutes and then he cleared his throat, your eyes going to the side of his face.

“She feels bad that you fought.” He muttered and you glanced back at the living room, unable to see your sister sitting on the couch now and assuming she had retreated back to their room.

“Bet she does.” Your voice was cold and sarcastic which made him sigh in that disappointed paternal way that apparently made you shiver. “Did she tell you what it was about?”

You’d stopped with the dishes now to fully face him and he was putting a noticeable amount of effort into avoiding looking at you, letting you know she had in fact told him before he even hummed in confirmation. You scoffed bitterly and nodded slowly in disbelief at how obvious it was that she had said something to him about your clothing.

“Really Sammy? You’re not even going to look at me now?” Your voice dropped into a low whisper that made you feel like you had done something wrong.

Your intentions may had been a little misguided but you’d never actually crossed any type of line. His gaze and your subtle flirting could easily pass as just being friendly and a little awkward, you’d never done something as simple as felt his skin against yours before even in an accidental graze.

You’d never once actually flirted with him or said something that could have a hidden innuendo. The tension was simple enough it could have been entirely in your head even though you started to doubt that when he finally looked at you, clearly a little conflicted.

“Maybe you could just throw a shirt on sometimes.” He said it so softly that you almost felt bad, a little awkward stammer stunting a few words from leaving his mouth.

“It’s not my fault if you look at my tits Sammy.” Your words were harsher than you meant them to be and definitely a little counterproductive towards your possible end goal of actually catching his attention but you could practically hear your sister’s voice in his suggestion.

You were nearly certain she had whined and complained to him about you and how uncomfortable it was making her, begging him to talk to you and put up some boundaries.

He fully flushed at the statement and his eyebrows furrowed, taking an instinctive step back and resting a hand on the counter as he stared at you.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” He practically whispered and now it was your turn to sigh.

“Do you even care about how unfair this is?” You took a step closer to him under the guise of keeping the conversation private and he stared down at you with a level of knowing that almost made you embarrassed by how obvious you apparently were. “Isn’t this my house too?”

He said your name so softly that you felt a little dizzy, a little hot all over from him scolding you for some reason.

“You know how she gets.” He whispers like it’s a secret the two of you share and now you’re frowning, hating most of all when he tries to defend her to you like you don’t know her better than anyone for the worst reasons.

“Yeah she’s ridiculous, borderline crazy.” You say back and it’s a little less quiet which makes him send a panicked look towards the hallway that leads to their room. “She treats both of us like shit Sammy.”

“She’s go-“ He starts and stops the second you send him a sharp look, not needing to hear the same spiel about her and the hard times she’s apparently going through for the dozenth time this week.

He huffs out a defeated breath but thankfully doesn’t try to continue and make excuses for her that you both don’t actually believe. It’s followed by a moment of tense silence before you turn and head down to the guest room, feeling so bothered by your first slight argument that your chest burns.

Sammy doesn’t bring it up again even though Tammi clearly gets more and more annoyed by you, not just the fact that your clothes have since gotten shorter and tighter since the fight but now she’s started to nitpick just about everything she could think of.

Going for long walks with Richter just didn’t cut it for you anymore which is exactly how you found yourself sitting at the counter of some random dive bar you’d pass on your way back from work.

It wasn’t that late yet so there was only a dozen or so people sat with drinks, either having been there for most the day already or just getting off a shift and seeking solace the same way you were.

You felt almost like life was playing a cruel trick on you when the door opened behind you and a loud group came in, already a bit annoyed at the volume before you glanced over and saw the familiar uniforms now standing next to you.

There was a group of about six officers, most of them rowdy and shoving at eachother with overlapping jabs you couldn’t make out under the layers.

And in the middle of them was Sammy.

He was currently being nudged at by one of the guys who was clearly mocking him about something, a boyish grin on his face as he waved the man away playfully. He looked different like this, so much lighter than he seemed at dinner or after an argument with Tammi.

You weren’t sure if it was the feeling of your gaze on him or just natural instinct to scan his surroundings but his eyes were landing on you and the smile on his face was gone, replaced with a sort of deer in headlights look that almost made you laugh.

It took about four seconds for the others to notice where his attention had gone to and it clearly peaked their interest, seeing an opportunity to make the situation completely humiliating for him.

“Sammy.” You couldn’t stop yourself from saying his name in a light greeting, tipping the top of your beer bottle at him and slightly angling your body in his direction.

“Why aren’t you at home?” His response didn’t help his case at all with the other officers, curious smirks on their faces as one grabbed his shoulders from behind and shook him lightly.

The question was a bit nonsensical considering it wasn’t that late at night yet but the area you were in definitely wasn’t the safest and you’d never really been the type to go out, typically heading back home as soon as you were done with work or class.

“You didn’t tell us your wife was a total smoke show Bryant.” The guy behind him was loud and obnoxious but you smiled at the comment, fully turned in their direction now with your back leaned against the bar top.

He was either new or didn’t know Sammy very well considering he’d definitely brought Tammi around before but you figured her appearances probably dwindled in recent years once their marriage got rocky.

“She’s Tammi’s sister.” He mumbled but it was barely registered by the others who were going between snickering at his awkwardness and trailing their eyes up and down your frame.

“Ah younger model.” One of the others snickered and Sammy tensed completely now, jaw tensing when you audibly laughed.

“New and improved.” You were clearly laying it on thick, twirling your hair with your finger and arching your back in a way that practically shoved your tiny tank top covered chest in their direction. Your tone was flirtatious and far more seductive than necessary, maybe not noticeable to the rowdy officers but definitely to Sammy who had never heard you like that.

He was moving faster than you could process it, gripping your forearm and lightly tugging you off the stool as you made a sound of protest.

“Let’s go.” He gruffed and you had no choice but to follow after him, the whistles and hoots of his coworkers getting more and more distant behind you.

You yanked your arm away from him as soon as you were outside, feeling a burning sensation where he had been touching you.

“What the hell is your problem?” You hissed and he spun around to face you, expression just as irritated as it was when he fought with your sister which left a weird feeling in your gut.

“Why are you saying shit like that?” He spat back and your eyebrows furrowed, not buying that he was really that upset about your slight dig towards Tammi.

You were quiet as you contemplated the real reason he might be this agitated by the brief interaction, taking a few steps forward that made him clench his jaw and gulp as that familiar nervousness started to replace his anger.

“Don’t be like that Sammy.” You said it softly, that tone of voice you used when you were trying to fluster him. It was already effective enough in the kitchen doing dishes but even more deadly now, standing outside a bar in that outfit. “Are you mad they can look and you can’t?”

He didn’t reply, his eyes locked on your face intensely like he was physically restraining himself from letting his gaze wander, and you knew you had gotten it right.

“I won’t tell her.” You say quietly now and shift even closer, a bit distracted by the rare sight of him in full uniform and the way the shirt stretches around his biceps.

“Come on.” He says and it sounds exhausted, taking a few steps away. “Get in the car.”

You sigh but follow him without any resistance, disappointment that your first actually incriminating line hadn’t gotten much reaction from him. His lack of reaction was a win within itself though considering how pained he looked from trying to keep himself in check.

He drove in silence back to the house, parking in front of it when you arrived instead of in the driveway. You could see all the lights turned off except for their bedroom, blinds completely drawn where Tammi was undoubtedly obsessively editing her photos or searching for new camera equipment she’d force him to buy.

“I have to go back to the station for some paperwork.” He mumbled in explanation for the distant parking and you stared at him for a second.

He was keeping his gaze focused on the wheel in front of him, only glancing over when he felt your eyes on him. It was almost instinctually, the way it dipped down to your chest before flickering back up to your face with pure guilt.

You wanted to laugh but you almost felt pity for him and his inability to keep anything hidden.

“Sammy.” Your voice was half pleading and half tempting, your body shifting until you were facing him fully. “Go ahead and look.”

His eyes stayed locked on yours for a few breaths, clearly conflicted with himself. You felt a wave of heat at how obvious he was with his desire, regardless if it had anything to do with you or just the fact you were a young and attractive body in front of him when he was so obviously starved of intimacy.

Then he was finally caving and staring down at your chest, covered by the tank top mostly but still a noticeable amount of cleavage and smooth bare skin for him to gawk at.

You didn’t want to lose his attention now that you finally had it and you weren’t really thinking straight when you reached up to your shoulders to pull the straps down, ignoring the way he said your name in warning and tugging the tank top so it bunched up at your ribs.

He inhaled sharply at the sight of you in your bra, eyes darting all around your torso for a second like he couldn’t decide if he should still look or find something else to focus on.

His hands were twitching in his lap, curling into a fist and balling up the fabric of his pants.

“More?” You asked softly and now you were toying with the final straps on your shoulders, eyes curious as you obsessed over watching him and his reactions. He was almost embarrassing to observe, so clearly overwhelmed and torn by the sight of you.

You smiled when his head was nodding eagerly after a moment of contemplation, maybe too desperate to think straight or just having realized you’d already crossed a line.

Sammy wasn’t going to touch you, you knew that for a fact, atleast not yet. But he clearly had given up on pretending he didn’t want to look at you.

Your hands were steady unlike his still fidgeting anxiously, undoing your bra with an easy motion before you were taking it off completely and letting it rest on the middle console. His eyes went to it briefly, almost touching his forearm, before they were immediately locked back on your now bare chest.

You stared at him as his breath hitched.

He almost looked like he was going to cry when you were letting your palms glide over your ribs, teasing your skin until he seemed like he was going to lose his mind before you were cupping your breast and pushing them together.

“Do you like that?” You whispered softly and the sound of your voice, flirty and coaxing seemed to almost break him.

He groaned audibly and ran a shaky hand over his face, slapping it against the top of the steering wheel after as he adjusted his posture before looking back at you closely.

“Yeah.” He croaked it out with noticeable effort and you hoped the satisfaction you felt wasn’t as obvious on your face, practically beaming at the admission. “Keep going.”

You hummed in response and did exactly as he said, rubbing and groping your own chest as you stared at him closely. He seemed almost transfixed by the sight of it, your soft flesh being pushed and pulled by your hands and your hard nipples peeking through your fingers.

“Wish you’d touch me Sammy.” Your voice was definitely breathier now as you felt a familiar stirring in your gut from your own stimulation, a low groan leaving him when your words registered. “You don’t have to say anything. Just watch me touch myself.”

He stayed silent like you expected, clearly having decided that speaking to you would only make this situation worse than it was, but he kept his gaze locked on you and the way you were playing with your nipples and skin.

This went on for a few tension filled minutes before his radio was crackling to life with some combination of words you couldn’t register. You frowned as he noticeably stiffened and finally looked away from you, taking a deep calming breath.

“Please go inside.” He whispered, back to pointedly staring at the steering wheel and avoiding the sight of you. “Please.”

It was nearly begging and you had a feeling if you pushed just a bit further he would fold, halfway considering it before you were nodding and grabbing your bra off of the middle console.

Sammy was pulling off with a squeal as soon as you were at the front door, having waited and watched until you were off the sidewalk.

—

He practically acted like you didn’t exist after the encounter, no longer helping you with dishes or lingering around after dinner to have small talk with you about his day.

You’d expected it but it still stung the same.

He hadn’t taken advantage of you, if anything it was the opposite, but you still felt almost sick with shame and rejection. It drove you nearly insane to see him with Tammi now that you knew what it felt like to be under his wanting gaze, an obsession of sorts brewing dangerously under your surface as you went about your days like nothing had happened.

You waited to try your luck again until one of the rare days Sammy was home and your sister wasn’t. She had mentioned to you this morning that she had a dinner with a ‘model’ before talking your ear off about the photoshoot subject but you’d stopped listening as soon as she said she’d be gone for a few hours.

Sammy was somewhere in the living room when you had gone into the shower, making it one of your shortest of all time. You stayed in there just long enough to let the room get steamed up, your wet hair sticking to your shoulders and your bare skinned adorned with nothing but a small towel and water droplets.

You waited for a second after shutting off the shower head, listening closely to see if you could hear him in the living room. You smiled when you heard him clearing his throat and muttering something to Richter.

“Sammy?” You called out in an exaggerated helpless tone. You repeated it louder a few times until the sound of his quick footsteps coming down the hallway and you grin with excitement.

“You okay?” He asked softly, first half of the question muffled behind the door and the second clearer as you swung it open.

His gaze immediately raked over your towel covered frame, the bottom of it barely covering the swell of tour ass. He had a knowing look on his face when his eyes finally met yours again, worsening when you gave him a sweet smile.

“My clothes were too close to the shower and got wet.” You frowned at him in an exaggerated manner and he sighed loudly, glancing behind you to see the piles of clothes that looked suspiciously dry. “It’s too cold to walk all the way to my room like this, could you grab me something to wear?”

He said your name slowly in warning, fingers tapping against the wooden doorframe like he was considering calling you out on how obvious you were currently being. But Sammy was too sweet to do such a thing and you knew it, using his kindness as a clear weakness.

“Please Sammy.” Your pout was even more pronounced and you leaned in close enough for him to inhale sharply, leaning back immediately until he was nodding and heading down the hallway. “Thank you.”

He ignored your call after him and you waited patiently for him to return, leaning against the doorway in the tiny towel and trying to ignore the slight shiver that ran over you for the sake of your plan.

He came back with a stern look like he had mentally prepared himself to be unaffected by you and pushed a handful of clothes in your direction. You took it and laughed after a quick glance over.

“No underwear?” Your head cocked and his face fell, genuinely having forgotten in his determination to do anything but think about your drawer full of lacy panties. “That’s okay.”

There was no hesitance to the way you dropped the towel, letting it pool in a ball at your feet. His shoulders deflated and he instinctively stared at your chest before drifting down the smooth plane of your stomach and finally between your thighs.

He couldn’t see much considering you were both standing close enough together that he’d have to very intentionally strain his neck downwards to really look but you were fully naked in front of him and that fact was enough to make his head spin.

It was only a few seconds of bare skin before you were pulling the shirt he had grabbed over your head but it was long enough for the image to burn in his mind.

“More comfortable this way anyways.” You said softly as you smiled up at him and brushed past, letting your chest rub against his arm as you went to your room.

—

It turned out that driving Sammy Bryant to insanity was a highly entertaining hobby to have developed. He was so easy to fluster even after seeing all of you that day in the bathroom, still getting all red in the face whenever you got too close or touched his hand while passing salt at dinner.

Tammi had been relatively calm lately, the fights she picked daily consisting more of brief bickering than actual screaming matches. You figured it had something to do with that so called model she had dinner with the other night but that was also keeping her out of the house more often so you weren’t going to mention it.

You liked being alone with Sammy and for more reasons than your own selfish teasing. It gave you a genuine warmth to cook dinner for him, cleaning up side by side and sometimes watching movies when he could stomach being around you for long periods of time.

He would never sit next to you of course, maintaining a respectful distance and excusing himself awkwardly to bed the second you said something flirty or a romcom got too steamy.

Sammy Bryant was sadly a good guy.

So you really were left with no choice but to cross the line for him, knowing he’d never do it himself.

You’d been watching a movie silently like you were so often these days when you grew too impatient to continue trying to toe that stupid fucking line with him. You stood up and went to block his view of the TV, his gaze questioning and then panicked when you climbed into his lap.

“What are you doing?” He halfway gasped out and you kneaded your hands into his shoulders.

“Don’t play dumb Sammy.” You sigh softly as you settle onto him, knees on both sides of his thighs as you straddle his lap. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“We can’t do this.” He rushes out but he makes no move to remove you, maybe too scared to touch you at all.

You frown and lean forward so your chests are pressing together before placing a light kiss on his jaw. He practically melts right away, unsurprisingly easy despite how much he was pretending to not want you the same way you wanted him.

Your mouth is hot and wet on his skin and only gets more feverish when he’s finally letting his big hands rest on you, one on the small of your back and the other tangling in your hair like he’s preparing to stop you if you go too far.

“Does that feel good Sammy?” You whisper against his neck and he makes a sound from deep in his chest. You suck on his jaw lightly and his hands clench on you, eyes closing at the sensation. “Let me make you feel good.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out in agreement, a desperate pant as he nods. “Please.”

Your mouth is on his as soon as the word leaves him and it’s messy right from the start, moving together roughly as he slightly sits up off the couch to press into you. It’s depraved and dirty, the tension boiling over into a crash of teeth knocking and tongues colliding desperately. Sammy kisses you like he’d been thinking of it for far longer than you might have realized and you return it tenfold, gripping his shoulders tightly.

He hums and grabs your jaw to keep you steady as you lick into each other’s mouths, tilting your head just enough to allow him to get deeper as he eagerly tastes you. You hadn’t expected him to be this dirty considering how stale every interaction with Tammi seemed.

You’re desperate to get your shirt off and he waste no time, caught up in the heat of what’s happening and both of you dazed from how fast things escalated. His hand is roughly cupping one of your breast and he’s bringing his hot mouth down to it, wrapped around your hard nipple as you whine loudly and grab his hair.

“Oh fuck Sammy.” You gasp, back arching to push yourself further into him as he feverishly licks and sucks your heated skin. “There we go baby, I knew you wanted me like this.”

“Stop talking.” He grunts as he comes up for air just long enough to pull you into another bruising kiss, tongues immediately tangling again.

You’re rocking in his lap now and he’s groaning so much he can barely keep up with your mouth, more so just you licking into him while he completely loses control of himself now that he’s finally allowed himself to have you.

“Oh my god.” He grunts out, clearly pained from the desire filling him, his eyes lock down on his lap where you’re currently rolling your hips against the obvious tent in his pants. “What the fuck am I doing?”

“Letting yourself have what you want for once.” You’re whispering in his ear as you rock against him, panting slightly into his neck as you cling to his shoulders. He groans and lets his hands grip your hips roughly to help you move.

“Oh god.” He nearly whimpers as you speed up, getting sloppy and desperate as his own hips leave the couch to try and thrust up against you. You gasp at the feeling and nod to encourage him to continue.

“Fuck Sammy.” You whine and he grips you harder at the sound. “Wish you could fuck me like this, I’d ride you right now.”

“N-no.” He groans and you’re suddenly very aware of the cold metal band around his finger digging into your skin. “We can’t.”

“But I’m so tight.” You tease, going back to kissing him between panted temptations while what you actually mean is heard silently by both of you, tighter than Tammi, better than Tammi. “I’d make you feel so good.”

He curses under his breath as he bucks up to meet your pace again and you nearly collapse against his chest as you fall silent and let yourself atleast enjoy the feeling of humping against him like this.

You’re both losing it, whining and groaning as you make out sloppily and his hands rub up and down your bare back, occasionally snaking to the front to desperately grab at your chest and any part of your body he can touch.

“Oh my god.” He grunts out and you know exactly what the pained sound means, encouraging him with kisses to the neck and a nod of your head.

“There we go Sammy, come on baby please.” You gasp as you keep moving on top of him, the heat filling you almost making you dizzy as you exert yourself to please him. “Want you to cum for me.”

He’s gripping you so hard it’s painful as he rushes forward to kiss you again and shut you up, both of you moaning and panting into each others mouths as he finishes in his pants, still thrusting up against you until your whines get high pitched and you’re following right after him.

There’s a moment of softness after it’s over where you relax against his chest and continue to kiss each other, less heated now but still deep and passionate as you taste him eagerly.

It’s almost sweet, his hands much gentler now as he rubs your back and yours hold his face softly.

You kiss for a long time and your heart senses the end before it actually happens, just a split second of hesitance from him making your chest tighten up. He pulls away and his face is full of guilt, nearing so close to disgusted that you almost want to cry even though you know it’s not directed towards you.

He’s fully hating himself for what happened because Sammy is a good man. So good that it’s hard to blame him when he’s gently pushing you off of his lap and onto the couch before he’s standing up and retreating back to his room.

—

He’s flat out avoiding you now and not even bothering to hide it.

His hours at work nearly double and suddenly he’s always too tired to eat dinner with you and your sister or not feeling good, a headache or a back ache or anything that warrants him getting to hide out in their room as much as possible.

Tammi rants to you one of the nights he doesn’t come home until far past normal, telling you how she thinks he’s depressed and that he needs a creative outlet or a hobby.

You want to tell her that she’s an idiot and that if he was depressed he’d need real help and not a fucking paintbrush, but you settle for humming in vague acknowledgement.

You’re only half paying attention when she mentions the fact they’re trying for a baby, head snapping up to stare at where she’s currently sitting at the table and scrolling on her laptop.

“What?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it too and she narrows her eyes at you. “A baby? I mean… are you sure that’s a good idea Tammi?”

You tell yourself you’d have the same reaction regardless of what happened between you and Sammy, the knowledge of your sister being a terrible candidate for a mother existing long before you even took a second look at him.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She asked just as tensely, another sister disagreement already building at the mere suggestion you disagree with her.

“You just said Sammy might be depressed.” You reason even though it doesn’t even feel right to say.

Sammy would be an amazing father regardless of how he was feeling emotionally, you could just tell by how patient and gentle he was with just about everything and everyone around him. Including you before you’d pushed him too far, holding out for much longer than anyone else might have with your advances.

And even now he still wasn’t cruel to you although the distance was worse in your opinion.

“It was his idea.” She shrugs as she says it like it doesn’t send a pang directly to your heart.

It takes all of your effort to not show how affected you are on your face.

Sammy can’t avoid you when he comes home, you made sure of it. Tammi had fallen asleep hours ago and Richter was resting in his kennel, dishes done and house spotless without a single excuse for him to ignore you standing in the kitchen.

He’d have to really be an asshole and purposefully walk right pass you when you’re so clearly waiting for him and it’s just not in his nature so he slows down with a sigh, lingering there as he waits for you to or do whatever thing you’ve decided on torturing him with today.

“You’re having a baby?” Your voice is quiet and sounds more hurt than you expected it to, a little too accusatory. It was meant to be a question but the delivery barely landed and his eyebrows furrowed immediately.

“What?” He surprisingly takes a few steps closer in confusion, setting down his jacket on the chair. “What are you talking about? Did Tammi say that?”

You sigh and shake your head, realizing how what you said could be misunderstood as a very poor announcement of something he wasn’t supposed to know.

“No I just meant.. she said you were trying.” You try and explain but it comes out awkward and a little lost.

He takes a long pause as he just looks at you and you hate that it’s the first time he’s really paying attention to you in days and it’s with so much pity. The pity is ten times worse than any anger or distaste he might be able to muster.

“We talked about it yeah. Months ago, before you even moved in.” His voice is soft and reassuring even though you both know that it makes no sense in this scenario. He doesn’t owe you anything, not an explanation and certainly not loyalty.

You nod but your lips are pursed tightly and you feel a weird scratching feeling in your throat, suddenly very aware of the fact you want to cry.

You have no idea when your twisted attraction for Sammy turned into something else entirely. It had been a fun game for you to occupy yourself with while you were stuck in a suburban hell but somewhere along the ride you had gotten lost in the domestic nights you shared.

“Hey.” And then there was that, the sweetness of his voice as he moved closer to you.

It was rare he ever initiated contact, barely staying in a room with you lately, but his caring nature clearly made him drop some of his walls because he was cupping your cheek gently.

“Don’t do that please. I don’t want you to be upset.” He’s still whispering but it feels incredibly invasion, like he’d seen right through you far easier than you preferred.

You weren’t sure what drove you to it but you almost couldn’t help yourself, leaning forward on your tiptoes and pressing your lips against his.

He kissed you back immediately almost out of instinct after last time before he was sighing and pushing you back lightly, shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“We can’t.” He said sternly but his hand was still on your face, thumb lightly rubbing your cheek. “You know we can’t.”

It would have hurt more if it wasn’t for the expression he had as he stared down at you, gentle and so clearly wanting. You nodded in reluctant understanding but he was surprising you again when he made a low noise and dipped his head to kiss you again, clearly pushing past the mental block he was facing.

You eagerly kissed him back, similar to the last one you had shared full of sweetness and undeniable passion.

Your mouths moved together perfectly, chemistry obvious between you as your tongues tangled in sync and you halfway deflated in relief at the ever growing familiar taste of him.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles against your mouth and you try to quiet him with more kisses, a few being allowed before he’s continuing to speak. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you Sammy.” You attempt to reassure even though you know it most likely falls on deaf ears. “It’s okay to want something.”

“Not this.” He immediately disagrees but still pecks your mouth a few more times, the final time being a long press. “I can’t want this.”

You’re both silent for a second as you frown softly, your hands on his biceps as you rub softly.

“But you do?” It’s more vulnerable than you mean for it to be but now you’re plagued with the thoughts of him and Tammi having a baby, sealing their lives together forever and shifting his priorities and attention far away from you and whatever this was.

You needed to hear him say, not just assume from the desperate longing look in his eyes whenever he glanced at you.

“Yeah.” He whispered the confirmation down at you with little to no hesitance and you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding so deeply. “I want you.”

Sammy only had a few more seconds to spare before Tammi’s voice was coming down the hallway, questioning and beckoning him to bed while your stomach clenched painfully. He glanced down at your lips again like he was considering kissing you goodnight before he seemingly decided against it, giving you a pitying look before he was leaving.

—

He stopped ignoring you after that but you had decided that was almost worse.

You craved him all the time and it was a little less embarrassing now that he was hiding his own wants less. His hands were constantly finding you when Tammi wasn’t paying attention, grazing the small of your back or tucking your hair behind your ears with an overwhelming gentleness.

And then there was the kissing.

It happened less often than you would have liked but still almost every time he could, initiating most of the time. You’d be doing the laundry and suddenly pressed against the machine with his mouth on yours or getting a quick stolen peck when he passed by you in the living room before going to work.

You could almost pretend that he was your husband instead of your sisters.

You had the same domestic fantasy when you were walking into the police station, Richter in front of you slightly pulling you along as you tried to reel him in to the best of your ability. He was excited for the same reasons you were, spotting Sammy at his desk and nearly yanking your arm off.

“Hey you guys.” Sammy’s voice was soft when he spotted you both, rolling his chair slightly away from the desk so he could greet Richter with some playful pets. His eyes went to you next and you were glad to see him smiling, halfway worried he was going to be upset you showed up unannounced. “You okay?”

“Ask him.” You smiled back and gestured down towards the excited dog, pulling out the small baggie you’d been stashing when Sammy raised his eyebrows in question. “He found this on our walk, almost tripped me in the process of getting it out of a bush.”

You’re holding the plastic with your fingertips to avoid touching it too much and Sammy laughs in slight disbelief at the baggie filled with white powder, nodding his head slowly with a low whistle.

“I figured I should bring it to you instead of throwing it away at the park.” You continued to explain and he was standing now, pulling a plastic glove out of one of his drawers and taking it from you.

“You figured right, thank you sweetheart.” He said lightly and you both tensed up at the pet name, definitely accidental judging by the embarrassed look on his face.

You blinked at him for an awkward second before clearing your throat and glancing around the station.

“You have a second?”

His eyes darkened just enough for it to be noticeable before he was nodding and gesturing for you to follow him. You left Richter behind with some of the officers who had been fawning over him since he walked in.

Sammy was on you practically as soon as you turned a corner into a quiet hallway, mouth pressed against yours as you giggled softly into the kiss.

“Shouldn’t we go somewhere more private?” You asked him softly, your hands flat on his chest and rubbing softly while his went to the small of your back. He ignored you for a second in favor of kissing you again before he was huffing out a breath and nodding, taking your hand in his and leading you further down.

It was a small room with a few printers that looked old or broken, some leaning shelves full of stacks of paper and a noticeable lack of windows.

You kissed him desperately now that you were free to, hand holding his jaw as he guided you back against the door with his own grip on your waist. His mouth was hot and desperate on yours in a way that made your stomach clench with anticipation after waiting for him to want you like this for so long.

“Been thinking about you all day.” He confessed against your lips and you beamed up at him, letting the hand that was on his face move up to his hair.

“Yeah?” You whispered softly as pecked his jaw which drew a low hum out of him. “What about?”

You were kissing again like that was an answer within itself, his tongue slipping into your mouth and sending waves of warmth through your body. You matched it eagerly, tangling them together and using your free hand to try and tug his tie off.

He made another sound, this one of disapproval and grabbed your wrist lightly to stop you as he sighed and pulled away from your mouth. You frowned but were slightly satiated when he rested his head on your shoulder like he was physically exhausted from denying you.

It was quiet for a minute or two and you wondered if he was coming to a similar realization to that one you’d recently accepted.

This was more than lust and stupidly now.

Your hands were gently rubbing him, in his curls and across his back while his grip flexed on your hips. You could hear the sounds of other officers and detectives outside the door, a whole life he lived and belonged in while you were guided to the storage closet.

“You called me sweetheart.” You said softly just to break the silence, not even realizing the pet name he had accidentally used earlier had stuck in your head until you spoke.

His head lifted off your shoulder so his eyes could be locked on yours, they were so ridiculously fond and gentle it made you a little dizzy, a big change from the nervous and guarded look he had a few weeks ago.

“Yeah it just came out.” He spoke quietly, leaning forward as he did so you felt his breath on your lips before he was kissing you again. “Is that okay? Is it something you like?”

“Yes.” You breathed back immediately, deepening the frustratingly slow kisses for a few seconds before pulling back again. “I like it a lot.”

Sammy wasn’t shy with the pet names after that, using them almost constantly now that he knew you liked them. He used them so habitually that you felt a little anxious anytime Tammi was in the room and he was speaking to you, wondering when the time would come that he slipped up out of instinct.

Things were good between you for weeks even though there was the selfish part of you that was always wanting more and more. He still had that same guilt in his eyes, especially when you got a little more heated than just kissing in passing.

But he wasn’t denying himself of you any more and you were completely greedy.

You felt no shame about what you were doing, it didn’t keep you up at night thinking about how you were betraying your sister. That’s where you and him were different, where he was a good man still despite the growing affair.

The need for more was never satisfied just by kissing him, even if it was the type of kissing that left you with shaky legs and damp underwear. He’d let you say filthy things to him, running his hands all over your body and being a little too nervous to talk dirty back to you. You liked the redness of his neck when you whispered sweet sins to him

He even pushed aside his shame to let you blow him in the front of his patrol car, stopping by on a lunch break when you texted him that you had a terrible shift.

He’d looked so concerned when you pulled up that you almost felt bad for the hunger that hit you seeing him in uniform. He had barely gotten down the street before you were leaning over the middle console and gently kissing at his neck, trying his best to ignore you before he was turning into an empty parking lot.

It was the same as always with your mouths hot on each other, tongues tangling and him tugging you out of your seat until you were sitting on his lap and whining against his lips.

You could feel him getting hard under you and you were so desperate you could barely breathe, mouth watering as you begged him to at least let you see it, even let you just jerk him off before he went back to work.

“No baby no.” He had protested against your mouth even though he was visibly shuddering at the suggestions and groaning everytime you shifted your hips ontop of him. It didn’t take long before he was gently moving you back over and letting you take his belt off.

Things got much harder for you after that, getting to see his length and taste him on your tongue and down your throat without having him completely. It was driving you genuinely insane enough to the point you would have jumped his bones right in front of Tammi.

He was currently making it much worse by walking in the kitchen with the tired look on his face you liked so much and his big hands tugging off his tie.

“Is she asleep?” His voice is low and you nod, lip pulled between your teeth as you rest your back on the kitchen sink drawers and watch him approach you slowly. Your hands are behind you and curling around the edge of the counter with anticipation. “Hey baby.”

It’s soft, far softer than the things you’re currently imagining and you lean closer to him when he presses against you and cups your face to give you a greeting kiss.

Like you’re his wife.

“How was your day?” You hum back, more than happy to play the part.

“Long.” He says back and you can feel the words vibrating your mouth, answering him and his stressed out tone with a deeper kiss.

He doesn’t hesitate before reciprocating it, hand leaving your face in favor of spanning across your lower back and tugging you closer. Your head tilts naturally to allow the kiss to escalate even more and you almost feel guilty for the depraved things you’re thinking about.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” He mumbles against your lips and you pout a little at the gentle question, not knowing how exactly he could tell your mind was occupied.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You say back and he gives you a slightly firm look, clearly not buying your answer. You sigh and peck his lips before taking a second to consider how you want to word it. “You’re being mean to me.”

He fondly laughs a little in surprise at your statement, rubbing your back softly as you blink up at him. Your hands go to his loose tie to help remove it fully, working on the top few buttons next.

“I’m not being mean.” He denies with amusement, eyeing you as you maneuver with his clothes. You don’t stop at the top three buttons and his eyebrows raises. “I give you what you want.”

“Not everything.” You disagree easily and he knows what you’re talking about, he must know by now what you really need so desperately from him.

“It’s hard baby.” He whispers and kisses you again like it’ll soothe you enough for you to drop it. You don’t at all, the opposite in fact when you let your palm leave his shirt and go down to the minimal space between your bodies to tug at his belt buckle.

You’re not trying to undo it but simply pulling him forward and indicating what you really are wanting.

“You know we shouldn’t.” He sighs in a whisper but he looks conflicted and still a little fond of you and your antics, no matter how whiny.

“Can I at least blow you again?” You pout up at him like it’s such a simple request and his breath catches in his throat. “I did so good, didn’t I?”

“Of course you did sweetheart.” He agrees easily, bending down to kiss you again and softly tucking your hair behind your ears. He’s so sweet that it makes you a little angry, wishing so bad he’d just take what you knew he wanted from you. “You’re always so good for me.”

You’ve gotten halfway down his shirt now with the buttons before you stop, leaning forward to press your lips against his chest briefly before you’re blinking up at him again. A warmth fills you at the praise even though you’re well aware of how good you make him feel.

“Say it.” You whisper and he knows exactly what you mean, the same phrase you’d requested from him numerous times by now with no shame. His head tilts as he sighs, wanting to tell you no but knowing by the look on your face it’s a terrible idea.

“You’re better than her.” He says back, barely audible but still sincere. He’s looks a little pained to say it but it makes you breathe out in relief and nod your head in quick agreement. “You make me feel so good babygirl.”

Your mouths are pressed back together and it’s filthy immediately now, tongues tangling and his hands moving off your back and down to knead your ass under the small skirt you’re wearing.

It’s heating up quickly again, getting dizzier and dizzier the longer it goes on.

He’s groaning loudly at one point and pulling away from the kiss to roughly turn you around. You gasp at the movement and the way he crowds up behind you, his chest pressed against your back as you halfway bend over the counter.

You whimper loudly when you feel how hard he is against your ass and bend over even more so you can rub yourself back on him. He groans and immediately goes to roughly grab your hip with one hand, the other one smoothing over your cheek before he’s pressing a finger into your mouth. You suck happily on it as he experimentally ruts his hips forward.

“Gotta be quiet princess.” He urges as he slips another finger in and you moan obediently around them, arching your back as he rubs himself against you and fills your mouth.

Your tongue is eagerly licking all over his fingers as you suck desperately and he is clearly affected considering the way he’s humping you a bit desperately. His soft noises are driving you crazy and so is the mental image of how the two of you look, his big frame leaning over you and trapping you against the counter just to dry hump you like a teenager.

“God you feel so good.” He grunts and you audibly whine, eyes closing in bliss as you try your best to push backwards and meet his grinding. “You’re so pretty sweetheart.”

“I need you.” You’d grabbed his wrist to take his saliva covered fingers out, kissing against them as you speak through near sobs. “Please Sammy I can’t do this anymore.”

“Let me taste you first.” He says in the lowest voice you’d ever heard him speak in. You shake your head in protest immediately but he ignores you, free hand coming down to slightly lift your skirt and rub across the wet slit of fabric between your legs. “Fuck baby you’re soaked.”

“N-no more waiting.” You nearly sob as you continue to shake your head to really sell your point. “I need it so bad.”

It’s silent for a few seconds like he’s trying one last time to search for the self restraint to hold back but it’s clear what you want and you know he needs it just as bad as you do. You’d let him get between your legs with that tongue of his another time, any time he wanted, but right now you were desperate to be filled by him.

Sammy has you pressed against the kitchen counter tighter, your stomach digging into the top of it now as he bends you back over fully and roughly tugs the skirt up so it’s sitting in a messy pile around your hips.

He doesn’t bother taking it off, pulling your panties down your legs and grunting when he sees you all exposed for the first time.

“Do you want me to stretch you out?” He asks it lowly and the sound of his voice is nearly enough for you as is, a high pitched whine leaving you as you lay your face down on the counter and close your eyes. “Want me to take my time with you?”

“No no.” You pant out immediately and arch backwards again, knowing how depraved the sight of you must look. You feel his thumb rubbing through your soaking wet slit experimentally, a low sound from his chest coming from behind you.

The metal clasps of his belt being undone comes next and now you really feel like you’re about to cry, straining your neck to try and look over your shoulder to get another look at the thick length you’d be obsessing over since he was pushing it down your throat not too long ago.

He stopped you with a slightly rough hand to the back of your head, pushing your face back down against the cold counter just as he shifted even closer and rubbed up against you.

You could feel him now, bare and aching against your core as he teased it up and down softly. You knew you must have been soaking him from how wet you were, no doubt his intention to make the stretch easier for you.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks from behind you and now the low rasp is gone again, sounding more like his typical nervous cadence that you’re so fond of. “We can’t go back from this.”

“Don’t want to go back.” You say immediately and you’re shocked by how much you don’t recognize your own voice layered in this much desperation. “Want you to fuck me.”

He chuckles a little at the unashamed answer you give and bends down to press a gentle kiss to the side of your temple, your heart racing at the gesture even though you’re a bit distracted by less domestic fantasies. His weight leaning against your back almost makes you want him that much more and you impatiently rock your hips backwards against him.

He stills you with rough hands on your bare hips before he’s sucking in a shaky breath, the life changing feeling of the throbbing blunt head of his length pressing against you making you whine out desperately in anticipation.

“This what you wanted huh?” He groans as he pushes into you slowly and you whine happily, face flat on the counter as your eyes close from the pain of the stretch. “Wanted to be fucked like a whore baby?”

“Yes yes.” You cry in agreement as you clench around him, barely past the tip and already feeling like he’s filling you. “I’m a whore Sammy, wanted you so bad.”

His hand lands roughly on the exposed skin of your ass and you yelp, instinctively trying to move back away from the pain and instead taking a few more inches of him all at once. Your pained gasp is followed by a moan and he curses behind you.

“Slow babygirl slow.” He grunts, that softer side of him you like so much still showing despite his need having caused him to get rougher initially. “Don’t wanna hurt you princess.”

“Could never hurt me.” You gasp as you try and move further back against him, he grips your hips roughly to stop you and you whine in protest. “Please Sammy please, want you to fuck me.”

“I’m gonna fuck you baby.” He soothes the best he can but you’re too desperate to focus on what he’s saying. “You’re just so tight.”

You try your best to be patient but it’s nearly impossible, whining and squirming nonstop as he rubs your clit with his thumb and kisses against the back of your neck to try his best to get you to relax so he doesn’t stretch you uncomfortably. You’re glad he didn’t work you open first with his fingers, the pain so good you let the tears in your eyes fall endlessly.

Finally he’s bottoming out inside of you and groaning lowly, his forehead resting on your back for a second as he tries to collect himself enough to properly fuck you.

“Sammy please baby.” You gasp in a sob and you feel him tense up at the wrecked sound of your voice. “Fuck me hard.”

That seems to be the trigger that he needs to go from a soft conflicted husband to somebody fucking a tight young thing, a low grunt leaving him as he stands back up fully and grabs your sides.

Sammy is almost animalistic as he thrusts into you, kitchen full of his grunts and your high pitched whines as he fills you over and over again. The stretch is the perfect blend of pain and pleasure and you can barely catch your breath from his relentless place.

Your stomach is digging against the counter roughly and you’re barely able to catch your breath or think as he roughly fucks into you, filled up so deep you can feel him in your stomach.

“Oh my god oh my god.” You’re sobbing as he fucks you and his big hand comes forward to cover your mouth roughly, slightly lifting you off the counter to make sure you’re kept quiet.

“Gotta shut the fuck up if you want to be fucked baby.” He says it softly in your ear but it’s completely filthy and a big change from how gentle he normally is when he speaks to you. You’re most definitely crossed eyed by now from pleasure as you dumbly nod and listen to your muffled moan under his palm. “Fuck you feel so good. Best pussy I’ve ever had.”

It’s completely filthy and all you could have imagined for when he finally lost control, ramming into you over and over as he continues to speak the dirty confessions in your ear. Your stomach clenches dangerously early as he tells you how good and pretty you are, how he wants to fuck you everyday, how hard you get him just from a kiss.

“S-Sammy oh my god.” You sob out as he lifts you further off the counter, one of his rough hands smoothing over the front of your stomach and pushing down at the soft skin there like he’s trying to feel himself deep inside of you.

“I know princess I know.” He practically coos, kissing your neck sweetly while he continues to fuck you like an animal. “Does it feel too good baby? You like getting stretched like this by me?”

You can’t even bring yourself to respond, the filth coming from him and the feeling of him inside of you completely taking away your ability to think or communicate. You’re just whining and sobbing softly as he gropes you all over and brings you the type of pleasure you didn’t even know was real.

He falls silent too and you can tell by the stutter of his hips every few thrust that he’s getting close too, grunts getting lower and more desperate as he kisses against your skin.

“Want you to cum inside.” You beg him once you finally manage to get your voice back, high pitched and breathy. “Please Sammy please I want your baby.”

He curses audibly at that, a little too loud for the otherwise quiet kitchen and then you’re slammed back against the counter and fully bent over again as he speeds back up.

You’re finishing as soon as you’re back in the position and he’s able to get as deep as you imagine possible, a loud cry leaving you that is only halfway silenced as he remembers to clap a hand over your mouth too late. You can’t be bothered to care about that right now considering he’s filling you up only a few seconds after, groaning lowly while his hips stutter through his climaxed.

You’re both silent for a few seconds after, panting and catching your breath as you lay against the counter with shaky legs and he practically drapes himself over your back again.

A beat passes before he’s standing with a tired sigh and rubbing your back softly as he pulls out. You squirm uncomfortable at both the emptiness and the ache from the pace he’d been going, his hand still massaging you lightly as he shushes you gently and leans over to the sink to wet a washcloth.

It’s cold as he cleans between your legs quietly and presses light kisses to your body the entire time.

“Are you okay?” He asks you gently as he adjusts your skirt and helps you stand up, turning you around and making a surprised noise when you’re throwing your arms around his neck for a tight hug.

His hands rest on the small of your back as you hug, rocking back and forth with you for a minute or two. You pull back and help him with his belt, his eyes locked on your satisfied but tired face fondly as you close it for him so sweetly with your little shaky hands.

You finally kiss him once you’re done and it’s sweet again now, like you’re two people genuinely in love and not in laws who just railed each other a few rooms over from your sister and his wife.

There were only two things he wanted in life: you and a baby. 

Maybe multiple babies, but everyone had to start somewhere. And Pope wanted to get started now. But you kept waffling, saying “I don’t know” and “maybe next year.” You’d told him next year about three years ago, and he was done waiting.

Lucky for him, you weren’t on any birth control. That had partially been his doing. You’d complained about side effects from your IUD, so Pope had suggested that you get rid of it, that he didn’t mind wearing condoms if it meant you were more comfortable. And you trusted him wholeheartedly. You’d never have guessed he had ulterior motives.

So here he was now, taking a thumb tack to every single condom you kept in your night stand drawer. He was methodical, poking five holes in each. Pope didn’t want them to break, though, that would alarm you and then he’d have to get Plan B. He wanted them to stay intact, but give just enough room for some of his little swimmers to leak out into you.

By the time he had finished, he only had a few minutes before you were due to arrive home from work, so he settled back on the bed to wait.

That was how you found him, sitting with his back against the headboard, hands folded in his lap and eyes locked on the door.

“Andy,” you set your purse on the dresser, smiling at him as you walked over to give him a kiss. “How was your day?”

Before you could peck him and move on, Pope was grabbing you by the hips and dragging you into his lap. You squeaked against his lips in surprise, laughing as you relaxed in his hold. His hands roamed over you, moving from your tits to your hips to your ass, like he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to grope.

“Miss me?” You were grinning ear to ear as you finally freed your mouth from his, but Pope didn’t stop, dropping his head to kiss and suck at your neck and using his hold on you to rock your core over his. You could feel how hard he was growing already.

Pope had been half hard since he began sabotaging your contraceptives, but seeing you waltz in none the wiser had all of his blood rushing south.

“Need you,” he grunted. Momentarily, he stopped painting your neck in bruises and bites to pull your shirt up and over your head. He quickly popped your bra clasp open after, dragging it down your arms and throwing it across the room.

“You can have me,” your hands dropped down between your bodies, yanking and unbuckling his belt to get his jeans open as fast as possible. “Been thinking about you all day.”

“Yeah?” Pope looked up at you with wide eyes as he guided you up onto your knees to remove your shorts and underwear. Once he had them gone, it struck you that he was still nearly fully clothed, his pants pulled just far down enough to free his length while you were naked. A shiver ran up your spine. Something about your states of undress were much more attractive than it should be.

“Yeah, Andy,” your fingers came to wrap around his cock, stroking over him slowly. Your fingers swiped through the precum leaking from his head. Holding eye contact with him, you brought those fingers to your lips, licking the salty fluid off of them.

Pope groaned before he was frantically yanking your nightstand drawer open and grabbing a condom. You’d seen him put on a condom a million times before, so while he went through the motions, you took your turn to leave your mark on his neck. Working the skin between your teeth, you drunk in every little groan and gasp that came from him as he working the latex down over his length.

You’d been planning on riding him, but before you could pull back and sink down, Pope was lifting you up and off of him, manipulating your body to land face down on the bed.

“Andrew-”

“Want you like this,” his body laid over yours, pressing you down into the mattress before you could push up or protest. His cockhead was running through your folds, trying to catch and push into your hole, but he kept missing. Pope grumbled in frustration, and then his weight shifted off your back.

You looked over your shoulder to find out exactly what he was doing, but you quickly found out when he was jerking your hips up, folding a pilow and propping your hips up on it. His body was back over you once he had you exactly how he wanted.

“Oh fuck-” his head dropped to your shoulder as he finally sank into you. He swore he could feel your wetness on the little bits of skin exposed by the microscopic holes. It was incredible. He’d truly mourned not being able to fuck raw after you’d had your IUD removed, but he knew he’d be able to again once he finally got you pregnant. “Feels good.”

Pope couldn’t help himself. His hips jerked and ground into you, chasing his own pleasure. He needed to cum in you now. He’d give you as many orgasms as you wanted once he was done, but right now his sole focus was finishing as deep inside you as he could. 

“Fuck, Andy,” you were whining and pushing back against each movement he made. He felt so good deep inside you.

Pope’s thrusting picked up in pace. He was already embarrassingly close. You were so warm and tight and perfect around him. He just couldn’t help himself. His pace stuttered, hips slamming into your ass as he pressed as deep inside you as he could get. 

Pope was used to the sensation of his cum filling up a condom, how the warm heat would spread down his shaft as emptied himself into it. This was different. He could still feel some of that wet heat trapped in the latex, but it was not nearly as much as before. As far as he could tell, his plan had worked perfectly.

He waited until the aftershocks were done and every drop had been wrung out of him by your walls before he pulled out. You hadn’t finished, and he felt guilty, but he also needed to cover his tracks, at least until those two pink lines showed up.

Thankfully, when his cock emerged from your cunt, the holes he’d pricked in it were more visible, but he was pleasantly surprised to see that it had overall held its shape without tearing but had let almost all of his release flood your depth.

He quickly stripped the condom off and threw it in the trashcan beside the bed before he was yanking your hips up.

You squeaked in shock as Pope pulled you up onto your knees. He could see some of his milky white release starting to drip from you. He couldn’t let you see that.

So he buried his face in your cunt. His tongue licked from your clit to your ass, cleaning up any trace of his cum that leaked out of you. It hurt his soul to not push that precious fluid deep inside you, but he had no choice for now.

He focused his efforts on your clit, trying to work you up to an orgasm as fast as possible. The foggier your senses were, the more likely he’d be able to get away with filling you once again, and his already hardening cock was aching for it again.

“Andrew! Fuck!” You were rocking back against his face, panting and moaning. 

Two of his fingers pushed into you, curling down to press into your g-spot as his lips circled your clit. He sucked the little bud into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. Your thighs were shaking and you buried your face into the mattress as you cried out.

“Cum,” Pope growled, doubling his efforts and intensity. 

You came, fluid squirting out around his fingers as your walls spasmed and clenched around his fingers. He didn’t stop, fighting through your tightening insides and the tremors that wracked your body. You were whimpering, moaning his name, and reaching behind you to try and push him away when you started to come down.

“Oh my god,” he finally backed off, looking down at your slumped form as you tried to catch your breath. “Jesus Christ, Andrew.”

Pope leaned back to open the drawer again. You looked over your shoulder, expression incredulous as you watched him fish out a brand new condom. 

“Again!?” 

“Again.”

Pope was not going to stop until he got what he wanted.

taglist:

Your job before stripping was at an office. You were a receptionist, and it was a fantastic gig. The people were nice. Your hours were set, nine to five with weekends off. The women were lovely, regularly inviting you out to lunch with them. The men didn’t bat an eye at you. 

You didn’t have to worry about begging your landlord to give you a few more days to make rent. You didn’t have to fret about maxing out a credit card for all the necessities of your pets. You always had the money in your savings to pay it all back, thanks to holiday pays and overtime.

And for the first time in your life, you were happy. You were prepared for the future. You loved driving to work in your new car, lunch packed to exchange with your colleagues. 

Until one of your coworkers found an old webcam of yours. It started with one email that snowballed into everyone in the office watching you dirty talk to your camera. It was humiliating. No one looked your way any longer. You sat alone, often having to eat in your car to avoid the judgemental glares from the women and the perverted looks from the men. 

You’re not smart. You’re pathetic. You won’t amount to anything. You’re meant for one thing only. You’re meant for one thing only. You’re meant for one thing only. 

You’re meant for one thing only. 

You quit a week later, grabbed your belongings at the end of your shift and never returned. Your boss didn’t bother calling to ask if you were coming in. You were a stain on the business and they were glad to be rid of you. 

You met Geronimo a month later. You were putting in resume after resume into every company you found, even tried for cashier gigs. No one wanted you. You were resting on a bus bench, sobbing. You looked ridiculous, face puffy, snot falling down, and breaths hard and uneven. You thought little  of him sitting next to you. It is a public bus stop. You pulled out your pocket knife when he claimed he had a proposition for you. 

You were at his club a week later. The girls weren’t the nicest. It was clear the new girls were bad for their business, but they didn’t detest you. They helped you practice on the pole. You grinned when Yuri told you that you were made for stripping, crying about it later that night. 

You were dancing a week and a half later. You didn’t get as many clientele as the old girls, still stumbling in your comfortable pleasers. Yuri, the only girl who wouldn’t ignore you, advised you to be more confident. Men are attracted to that single attribute. Walk around like you own the place, show them who’s in charge. It was easy to do so when you realized the men who showed up at this place were all losers not deserving of much respect.

So, it’s not a shock that you agreed to Pope’s proposition. You’ve never been wanted. Not that he wanted you, he was using you like the others, and you realize this. You recognize that the sex is for him. The roleplay is for him. You perfect the role of the woman you’ve yet to meet, for him. All to keep him. 

You can’t explain why you want him. Why you search for him every single night, why you want to make him laugh when he drives you home after your shift at the club, or why you yearn for those moments of tenderness when he finishes and is pressing soft kisses to your face.  Why. Why. Why. It’s a never-ending stream of soul-crushing questions. 

“Another rump in the hay?” His voice pulls you out of your deep trance. You turn to him as he runs his fingers up and down your spine. His cool sheets are rumpled at your ass, over his own legs as well. 

You chuckle at his words, nose scrunched in disgust. “Rump in the hay? What the fuck?”

He scoffs, but it’s visible he’s not upset as he drops himself to lie back on his bed. “What do you want me to say?”

“Literally anything else.” He lightly smacks your ass as he gets up out of bed. “you are not leaving me here alone.” You sit up, using the sheet to cover your bare chest. “Last time you left me alone, I had to put up with Craig asking for a peek.” 

He huffs out a laugh as he grabs a t-shirt, throwing it on. “I’m assuming you didn’t give him one?” 

You roll your eyes. “Um, no? I’m a classy woman.” He looks over his shoulder. his expression makes you snag a pillow and throw it at his backside. “I’m a classy woman outside of work.” 

“Still not true.” 

“Asshole.” You huff as you put your clothes back on. “Give me a ride home.” 

“Get your own ride.” 

You snatch his keys, walking past him. “Shut up. Let’s go.” 

“You’re bossy.” He hums, following you and shutting his door behind him. 

“You like it.” His keys are being tossed back to him, sliding into the passenger seat when he unlocks it. His truck, despite being a neat freak, is peppered with a multitude of your items. Hair ties, hair clips, one of your necklaces wrapped around his rearview mirror, a few perfume oils in the center console, and glitter. Glitter on his seats, his car mats, and even on his steering wheel. He tried to clean it off when you first started getting rides from him, but he gave up. And you had to hide your content when you realized how much it looks like he has a girl. 

The drive to your apartment doesn’t take very long. Which saddens you, as now he’ll be off doig god-knows-what for days, not reaching out until he needs to release what he has pent up for Catherine. He parks in the parking lot of your apartment building. You sit there for a few moments. And embarrassingly so, you speak. “Are you free tomorrow?”

This doesn’t stun him. A part of you wishes it did because he’s used to this. He’s used to you asking for his plans in the upcoming days while he doesn’t ask about yours, nor does he truthfully answer you. 

“No.” Is his plain response. Nothing more, nothing less, like always. The sting of it would awaken any self-respecting woman. You’re not one of those. 

“Right,” you clear yout throat awkwardly. “Well, tell your brother it’s happy hour tomorrow at the club.”

“You can’t tell him?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the attitude in his words. As if what you're asking from him is such a drag. “No, I blocked him.”

He huffs, “then why invite him?”

“Because he tips well. What the fuck is your problem?” Like always, it turns sour. Something is always said or done. Someone always leaves upset for the night after an argument. Things are fine until they aren’t. You give him the sex he wants, with the act and name he wants and he makes it weird. His fantasy clearly upsets him but he won’t stop. 

And you won’t either. You do threaten it though. “So, what, Pope? Do you want to stop this because I'm more than happy to if it means I wont have to put up with this weird guilt thing that you make everyone’s problem.”

His scoff is loud and incredulous. “Not this again. It’s not fucking guilt. You're the one making it weird by making me your messenger.”

“Oh, get the fuck over yourself.” You angrily swing his truck door open, slamming it as he rolls his window.

“Come on, you’re being dramatic.” He calls out to you. 

“Wrap yourself around a tree for all I care!”

Happy hour comes along and while Geronimo doesn’t like it when his girls are high, you decide that's the only way you’d get through your shift without crashing out. Still, you try to compose yourself as best as you can, keeping up sober appearances around the customers and your boss. 

“And here is the entire reason why happy hour exists.” the tray of drinks in your hands spill a little at the sides with the way you jump at the booming voice. Craig sure knows how to make an entrance. 

You grin, “and why does that accomplishment belong to me?”  

“Cause youre the hottest piece of ass in this building for the next hour.”

Your laugh is an ugly snort, “yeah? So im ugly after the hour is up?”

He nods, taking your tray of drinks, "that's exactly it.”

“Asshole. That's for table three.” You chastise as you walk after him, surprised that Baz or Deran aren’t following after him tonight. “Where are the two gums at the soles of your shoes?”

He leaves the tray at table three and doesn’t let you apologize to them because the giant man is dragging you away. “Ah, is that your sneaky way of asking for Pope?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes at the mention of his oldest brother, even if you are itching to ask how he’s doing. You and Craig just aren’t that close to discuss this with. “No. I'm asking about Baz and Deran.”

He shrugs as he plops down on his seat, grabbing you to sit on his lap. He motions at the familiar server to bring him his usual, patting your bare thigh mindlessly. “They have some business to attend to. Pope too.”

“I didn’t ask about Pope.”

“But you wanted to, ballerina.” He uses the awful nickname he’s given you recently. “What the hell is going on between you two? I know you’re fucking. Which, by the way, I'm completely offended. Why the fuck did you give it up to him and not me?”

“You have this musty thing going on that completely turns me off.” He laughs, head thrown back, as if you made the funniest joke he’a ever heard. You're not joking but you won't burst his bubble.

“Whatever he did, I’m sure he's sorry. He's been a sulking mess around our moms. Being a fucking buzzkill.”

You haven’t gotten a lot out of Pope but you know his relationship with his mother is tricky. Which, story of your life. Mothers are nothing but narcissistic parasites who feed off the misery of their children. But this is different. You don't speak much of your mother but you’ve let him know that she's an alcoholic that you don't speak to. He tenses up at the mention of her, nothing like Craig like when his eyes softly turn distant but ends up laughing it off. You know better than to ask though. He refuses to tell you about his day, much less will he tell you about his mommy issues. 

“What do you know about Catherine?” you ask suddenly. 

This drags his eyes off the show on the stage and back to you with an inquisitive look. “My sister-in-law?”

You nod, confirming. “Yeah, what's she like?”

“Um,” he clears his throat as he adjusts you on his lap. “Shes cool, I guess. A ball buster. She's always on Baz’s ass about our family business. Good mother though. Lena’s great, she's my booger.”

You disregard all else, “family business? Your mother’s buildings?”

He snorts, nodding. “Yeah, ballerina, our real estate.”

“The fuck does that mean?” He’s about to respond but you see the realization of what he's said, cross his face.

Instead, “know she was Pope’s childhood best friend. Don't remember her much from then, didn't pay her any attention. Our mom and Baz tell me he was in love with her.”

Your blood runs cold. You know this, of course it does but no one else has ever confirmed this. And Baz knows? This throws you for a loop. “Baz knows?”

He nods, “yeah. He doesn't care. It was a long time ago. Not like he’s still into her, that’d be fucking weird, man.”

You want to yell. You want to spill it all to him but if there’s one thing the Cody's are, is loyal. To each other, blood is thicker than water. It’s a code of honor between them. So you stay quiet. 

“It's his birthday.”

You almost gasp at his words, “what?”

He downs his drink, “yeah. We usually do paintball, skydive, and go to a club but he’s on his fucking period or something.” He pauses. “He has a twin. Had a twin. Maybe he misses her. I don't know. He's not exactly the forthcoming type.”

—

He’s washing his truck when you get to his home. His dark grey t-shirt is form fitting, darker where he’s wet from the soapy suds. 

You’re wearing a pair of too baggy sweatpants and Craig’s hoodie that you stole from his car, not caring that your slutty outfit is still digging into you beneath it. All you can focus on is Pope. Pope and his birthday and how you snapped at him yesterday. 

“Washing your car at night isn’t the brightest idea.” He had been so wrapped up in scrubbing away the muck that he hadn’t noticed you were there. His head snaps up to your smiling face, holding up a box, presenting it to him. “A little birdie told me it’s your birthday.” 

He eyes the cake carefully before his eyes meet yours again. “I don’t celebrate.” 

You scoff, “you weren’t able to, there’s a difference.” You put the cake down, sliding up the sleeves to Craig’s sweatshirt. You’re glad to be wearing your sketchers as you grab a sponge from the metal bucket, letting the soapy suds cover your hands. “I’ll help. The quicker you finish, the sooner we get to eat cake.” 

You plop the sponge down, wiping once before his hand grabs the wrist, stopping you. “Stop.” He mutters out. “It’s too cold.” 

“You’re doing it.” You retort. “Double standard—“ 

“You’re not seriously going to argue with me on my birthday.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fine. I won’t argue with you today. But once that clock turns twelve, it’s fair game.” You nod at the cake, “grab it. I eyed it the entire bus ride here.” 

He does as told, picking the box up and following after you as you walk into his familiar home. He locks it behind him as you settle into his kitchen. Two plates, two forks, and a knife. 

“Sit.” He usually makes a snarky remark but he’s listening well. You realize he must be really out of it, he hasn't been this way with you since this entire ordeal began. 

You place it all down to his table, where the chip at the corner seems to be the most important thing around, his eyes stuck on it. You wish you could reach out and comfort him. But you still feel silly for snapping at him yesterday. 

You open the thin cardboard box of the cake and plop two candles into the blue and pink frosting. “The bakery only had a gender reveal cake left… no one picked it up.” You reach your hand out to him. “Lighter.” Because he always carries his own, you tease him about it. Now is not the time though. 

You light both the birthday candles, “one for you,” you light the next one. “One for your sister.” 

“What did you just say?” His voice is rough but not angry. Emotional, maybe. You can’t read him very well. 

“It’s your sister's birthday too.” You hum. “My sister and I are ten days apart. My mom was too cheap to celebrate separately so we always blew out candles together.”

He’s silent for a moment as you put the lighter down. “Where is she? Your sister…” 

“She died.” The smile on your face is sad but it’s there and that’s what matters. Or, that’s what Geronimo tells you when he’s trying to help his girls from their saddened moods. Strippers, as it turns out, are very sad people. “So I blow out two candles. Well, four in total. Two on mine. Two on hers. You’re lucky. You only do it once a year, I never know what to do with so much cake.” 

The candles are lit up between the two of you, his eyes watching them flicker for a moment. “Okay…” he’s about to blow but you instantly wave your hands. 

“Woah, woah!” You stop him. “You have to make a wish!” His expression seems slightly annoyed but you can’t care. “I’m serious. Birthday wishes are real. And you have two! I’m sure your sister won’t mind you taking hers.” 

He huffs, thinking for a second. “Fine. I wish—“

“Oh my god, you’re terrible at this.” You stop him from talking. “You can’t say it out loud! God, have you ever had a birthday? It won’t come true if you—“ 

“I wish you would shut up.” 

“Okay, well, now I’m never shutting up. That’s the birthday law.” 

He groans, “fine. I won’t say it out loud.” He blows the candles quickly, not giving you any room to interrupt him again. 

You grin, holding the knife out to him. “Want to see what the Walkers are having?”

He hesitates for a moment, sighing dramatically as he slices into the cake, the knife comes out brown. Your eyebrows furrow as he pushes the slice onto the plate. It’s a chocolate cake. No pink or blue. You huff, “what the fuck? Are they having a brown baby?” You cut up the cake some more after snatching the knife from him. “This is a fucking rip off. This shit was thirty-five bucks!” 

You finally look up at Pope to see his hands covering his face and his shoulders shaking. You’re immediately concerned, scooting your chair closer to him. “Are you…” you clear your throat, placing a single hand on his bicep. “Are you crying?” 

“I’m not crying.” He speaks in his fit of laughter, finally pulling his hands away. Your breath catches at the sight of him. His place is dim, too dark for you to see much of anything. But you can’t look away from the way his soft eyes crease as he laughs, face completely relaxed. 

You scoff, embarrassed to have read the situation wrong. And to be noticing him so tenderly. You replace your soft caress with a smack to his bicep. “Screw you. I was scared I did something wrong!” 

“You did!” He laughs. “They’re having a brown baby? Who the fuck talks like that?” 

You’re frowning, flushed with embarrassment. You look away from him, “shut up, asshole.” 

His laughter quiets down but you can still feel the amusement wafting off of him. His hand gently grasps your chin, making you look back at him. “Stop pouting.” A pause. “Is that the only gift you’ve got for me?”

You cackle, shoving his hand off of you. “You are not hitting this tonight.” 

He groans. “Come on. It’s my birthday! Birthday sex is a very real thing.”

You roll your eyes, shoving a fork into his slice of cake. “Nope. Ask Catherine.” You throw. 

“You’re my Catherine.” You hope the way you flinch isn’t noticeable. Of course it isn’t, Pope isn’t attentive to you in any way, and you’re slowly learning to live with it. He lightly pats your thigh. “Come on.”

You sigh, speaking with a bored tone. “Hey, Andrew. It’s me, Catherine! Want to have birthday sex?” 

He flicks your forehead, “Hello, Catherine. It is me, Andrew,” he adds to the joke. “I would love to have birthday sex with you.”

You laugh, “okay, Andrew, it is still me, Catherine. Let us have sex.”

He’s grabbing the sides of your chair, pulling you closer into him, lips meeting yours with a heavy and shaky breath. Your own body doesn’t hesitate, lips moving against his with vigor, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. His own hands slide down your body, gripping onto your hips and sliding you on his lap. 

The playful atmosphere melts away within seconds, his rough hands feeling you up. It’s how this always goes. Some days, all he wants is to bury his face in your cunt but those are becoming more and more rare as the days go on. 

It doesn’t take long for you to end up on his clean and fitted bed. His place is spotless, nothing like yours. You know that’s why he avoids your place. You don’t live in filth but you’re not tidy. One of the handful of times he’s been to yours, you were too worn out to notice him crawl out of your bed and clean your place. It went back to clean clothes hanging off chairs and your bed and makeup and water bottles everywhere. Now, you’re pretty much only at his. 

“That’s weird,” you huff, leaning on your arms to look up at him. “What could possibly turn you on about leaving my pleasers on?”

He gets slightly pouty, “what are pleasers? I said heels.” 

“Common misconception, rookie.” You hum, wiggling your foot clad in the black and silver accessorized pleaser. “While a form of heels, these are much better and weirdly, more comfortable.” 

He rolls his eyes, not entertained. “I love it when you tell me things I don’t care for. Please, keep going.” 

You laugh, head thrown back. “I don’t like this comfort you’re feeling with me. It’s made you mean. Where’s my shy Pope?” 

“Dead.” He tugs your sweats off, tossing them behind him. 

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, “you always speak to your Catherine’s like this?” 

He groans, letting his head fall to your shoulder. “Can you be quiet for a moment?” You can feel him wiggling atop of you, the clink of his belt, hand tugging once and he’s lining himself up into you. 

Before he pushes in, his voice is shaky, hands beside your face as he holds himself up. As usual, he looks vulnerable. Not only does he look vulnerable, he sounds it. His voice cracks, begs, even goes as far as whimpering. “Can you… you say the thing?” 

The thing.

The thing is what gets him off lately. What makes him moan louder and louder as he grinds into you. You nod, legs wrapping around his hips, pushing him into you, the intrusion making a breath of air shudder out of you. Your arms wrap around his neck, a hand threading into his head of hair. 

“Missed you, Pope.” It’s a switch. Your voice turns soft, your touch comforting against his back as your hands trail down. “I’m always thinking about you, my love.” You’ve only been guessing as to how Catherine would act with him. It makes you cringe if you think about it too hard, like you’re violating the poor woman. Not that you’re fond of her, with the way Craig speaks of her, you can’t believe anyone would like her. Calls her crazy, says she hinders Baz, whatever that means. Usually, you would know better than to believe a drug addict's words but you’re too blinded with jealousy. How could a woman have Pope and not want him? 

He’s breathing heavily into your ear as he moves tentatively. This is how it always starts. He needs to gather himself properly, let the roleplay settle. Some days, he’s quick and accepting of what you two are doing, others, it’s hard for him to focus, too ashamed. You can’t tell what he’s feeling yet. Not until his heavy breathing turns into moans.

Small gasps leave you as he pushes deep inside of you, his hips moving faster and harder as he gets it together. He likes it tonight, you decide. “Pope,” you moan, face twisted up in that familiar pleasure. You should have waited. You should have left those words until the end, until you got your own relief. “Happy birthday, Pope. I love you.” 

He’s spilling inside of you, a loud groan leaving him, hips stuttering into you as he fills you up. “Cath, oh, fuck, Cath!” You shut your eyes tight at the name being moaned into your ear. You don’t care for your orgasm then, you just wish it was your name. 

He’s lying back now, fully relaxed an hour later. You were too stuck. Your mind is hazy. Not from an intense orgasm like he is. You’re too upset. You’re aching from the absolute need you feel for him. You’re trying and trying to understand what it is that has got you hooked on him, why you can’t let this go even when all you want is to never see him again. 

You’re watching him. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The speckled freckles across his neck, no doubt from the Oceanside sun. His arm is strewn across his face, covering his eyes from the soft, cascading moonlight streaming in through his window. “Pope?” 

He hums, a rough one. It’s your sign to keep going. 

“Do you miss your sister?” 

You two sit in silence for a minute. “Yes.” 

“We could be at my place right now,” Pope sighs dramatically from his spot on the ground, looking up at you as you crawl around the stage. The club is completely empty. Which is extremely rare, Geronimo never closes. But half of his girls caught the stomach flu that’s going around and after one tried to tough it out, spilling their guts on a customer who demanded payment for his expensive shoes, he deemed the club a hazard. “Eating our meals.” 

You scoff from the stage, palms pressing against the black boards. “I got a meal. You got a fucking hamster meal. Who gets a protein style burger? Wack ass fucking hamburger.” 

“You’re just mad you can’t find your earring.” 

And it’s true. Your food was sitting cold in the back of his truck. You were frantic when you reached up to tug on your ear in an anxious tic, only to feel it empty. You made him pull over and search the vehicle with you. His truck was turned inside and out, seat covers yanked off harshly. You even grabbed his flashlight in his toolbox to search every dark nook and cranny. You were getting more and more frustrated. 

You threw the dressing rooms apart, even dug around in the bathroom. You searched behind the bar. Around the tables. Now on the stage. Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. And you’re angry. 

You let out a loud yell, dropping yourself onto the cold floor. “This is the worst!” 

Pope leans over on the stage, watching as you flop around on the ground. “Was it expensive or something?” A pause before he continues. “I’ll just get you new ones. Better ones.” 

You turn to lie on your stomach, leaning your chin in the palm of your hand. “As much as that turns me on… it's the sentimental value that makes them important.” 

A single eyebrow of his raises, watching you carefully. “Sentimental?” The shock in his voice is evident and this makes you peek up. 

“What? What’s wrong with that?” 

He shrugs, hands drumming against the boards of the stage. “You’re not really a sentimental person.” 

The face you make shows how offended you are by his words. “What? Yes I am.” 

He shakes his head, “emotional? Sure. Sentimental? Nope.” 

You huff, sitting up on your ass and glaring at him. “Do you even know what you’re saying? You sound stupid.” 

The way he sighs makes your blood boil. “It’s always a fight with you.” His words make it worse. 

“Excuse me, you shrimp dick loser?” He was right on the emotional front. You let your feelings win constantly. You can never not have the last word in an argument. If something so much as slightly offends you, you pounce. You argue. You scratch. It’s how you survive against men. 

“There you go. I’m just saying you—“ 

“You,” you interrupt him, eyebrows furrowed in complete anger and disdain for him. “You don’t know me—“ 

“Because you don’t let me—“ 

“Because you don’t ask—“ 

“When am I supposed to ask—“ 

“When you’re not moaning another bitches name in my ear!” You’re standing up, pacing back and forth. “God, do you even hear yourself?! I’m not sentimental? You don’t know shit! You are so fucking stupid, it astounds me how  you get through your day to day life—“ 

“You done?” 

“No!” You seethe. “You are such a fucking loser pining after  a woman who doesn’t want you! I’m the emotional one?! You’re the one begging me for sex so you can rock your jollies off to the thought of your sister-in-law—“ 

“I found your earring.” 

You gasp, jumping off the stage and rushing to him. You grab the fake diamond earring, immediately inspecting it for any scratches. “Oh my god, my baby.” 

“Your baby?” You can hear the amusement in his tone but you’re wiping at your earring with care

You roll your eyes at him, “I know I'm not sentimental enough for you but my moms ex-boyfriend got me this.” 

“Your moms ex-boyfriend?”

You don’t care for the judgment in his tone as you speak, “yeah. He was… important to me. He was the only one who really cared for me. Obviously I changed the part that goes in my ear. I went to a jewelry store and had to pay extra but… I love them.” You don’t care for the silence as you tuck the earring safely into the zippered slot in your bag. 

“Tell me more.” You freeze, fingers fumbling with the zipper of your bag as you secure the strap. You fix it on your shoulder, looking back up at Pope. 

“About?” 

He shrugs, his hands in the front pocket of his jeans as he leans against the stage, watching you. “I know you have a dead sister. Your mother was kind of slutty. And you have a favorite father figure.” 

You huff out a laugh, taking a seat on one of the soft cushioned seats in the club, you two seemingly forgetting about your argument less than a minute ago. “He wasn’t really a father figure. They dated for eight months.” 

“Okay, so… tell me about those eight months.” 

And for the first time, you do. You tell him about Thomas Peterson and how you still have the low quality photos of you and him. Your cheek pressed up to his, the two of you grinning up at the cheap camera he bought at a random pharmacy. How he helped you, even when he was gone, even when he forgot about you. You tell him about the other men, the nice ones and the ones who ignored you. You tell him about the gifts you received. About your sister. Your other siblings you haven’t spoken to in years. All of it. 

By the end of it, you two are completely wrapped up in the conversation. He’s putting in his own two cents, how his mother was with men as well. How she treated them all growing up. He hesitates during some retellings, hiding something deeper, but you don’t pry. He’s already giving you enough. 

“And then?” You’ve never seen his posture not be perfect but he’s leaning on the table at your story. “What happened then?” 

You raise your arms, motioning to the club around you. “Now… I’m a stripper.” 

He taps his fingers against the table, nodding. He’s looking around the room, taking in the room with its full lighting on. The fluorescent lights show off every nook and cranny of the usually dim place. “This place is ugly.” 

You snort, walking over to the stage and hopping on. “You think? We see it like this before shift all the time. Sometimes it’s hard to get in the mood.” You lift your sleeves. “Have you ever danced on a pole?” 

He chuckles, watching you from his seat. “Can’t say that I have.” He settles into the seat, arms crossed over his chest, thick arms bulging through his top. “Gonna show me?”

Your hands grips onto the pole, letting yourself twirl slowly. “You’ve seen my performances plenty.” You grin. “And then some.” 

“Yes, but those are for everyone.” He begins as you place your other hand onto the silver pole. “Give me something for me.” 

“I do give you something that’s just for you.” You try, lifting your feet as you twirl yourself gracefully. 

“Stop stalling.” 

You place your feet back onto the floor, watching as he sits back. His eyes are hooded as he watches you. And the growing tent in his jeans is very visible. “We have In-n-out in the car.” 

“Rather watch you.” 

You laugh easily, zipping your sweater down teasingly. “Yeah? What do you want to watch, Mr. Cody?” 

He adjusts himself in his jeans, hand gripping his cock through the rough material. “Anything.” 

You roll your eyes as you tug the material off, leaving you naked from the waist up. You find it pointless to wear a bra around him, better to be comfortable. “Jeans too, baby.” 

“How bossy.” You hum but do as told, leaving you in your panties. “This is extremely unhygienic. And now your cock is out of your jeans? How naughty. The cameras don’t scare you?” 

He shakes his head, hand tugging at himself as he watches you. “Don’t work.” 

“And how do you know that?” You’ve lifted yourself completely off the floor and you begin with your show for him. Twirling, spreading your legs, giving him a view of your ass. 

“Part of my job.” 

“Ah, the mysterious career of yours,” his chest is rising and falling, breathing labored, dripping some spit to lather on his pretty and pink cock to keep stroking himself to you as you dance for him. “Want me to stop talking?” 

He groans, “no. Fuck, no. Keep talking. Like listening to you.” 

“Well, now I don’t know what to say.” You giggle, pulling off of the pole, leaning your backside on it to watch him as he undoes himself. 

“Get on your knees.” He commands, voice rough as his hand jerks around him. 

You’re usually a brat with him but you decide today isn’t the day to test him. You slowly fall to your knees, legs spread, showing off the way your panties stick to your wet cunt like a second skin. The sight of him turned on, touching himself to you, it turns you on more than you ever would have cared to admit. 

“Like this?” You ask sweetly. Unlike your normal fiery self. “That good enough for you, Pope-y?”

He groans, nodding hastily. You can tell he’s teetering over the edge, “yeah. Good. So fucking good. Look good…” 

You really thought this was for you. The way he was pumping at his cock was for you. The way his eyes danced on your tits was for you. You just had a heart to heart with him. You spilled each other's guts out to one another. 

“Look so good, Cath.” He moans. 

You’re frozen in your spot. Your blood runs cold and pounds loud in your ears. Your confidence washes away instantly, feeling more naked than ever before. He doesn’t see you. 

He will never see you. 

You pull away slowly. You can’t meet him here. You can’t go there. His place is too far and you have an early morning. A vet appointment for one of your many cats. A coworker needs a lift to the airport. Geronimo needs you to watch surveillance after shift. You’re too tired. You’re on your period. 

He doesn’t show up to the club. He hates it there, it’s m too noisy. Too many men tossing their money. Too many women wanting his money tossed at them. It’s an overstimulating nightmare for Andrew Cody. 

Not for Craig Cody. 

“Gonna shake that ass for me?” He grins, leaning on the counter of the bar you’re standing behind. 

You had just gotten off the stage, your trash bag full of money beside you and your dark purple thong riding up your ass. You still feel hot from the performance too, a sheen of sweat over your cleavage and smooth chest. Usually, you’d be calming down in the dressing room but the bartender is heavily pregnant and peeing every second. 

You turn, scoffing at the man. “Talk about my ass again and I’ll get you trespassed.” 

“Nah,” he drums his hands against the table. “I’m Gero’s best customer. Ain’t that right, old man?” He calls out to Geronimo as the fat man walks past them. 

“Leave me alone.” He mumbles as he keeps walking off, barking orders at the next girl that’s on. 

And back to Craig, “what are you doing here? It’s a Wednesday. The freaks come out on Wednesday’s.” 

“Well, shit, you should’ve told me that. Would’ve been here way sooner.” He humps the air. 

You grimace at the sight, throwing a wet rag at him. “Ew, you’re disgusting!” 

He grabs the rag and tosses it back at you, “no. I’m here because your dog is hanging around me more than usual.” 

“My dog?” You question, genuinely confused by this mention. “I don’t get it.” 

“My brother.” 

You roll your eyes, annoyed by the thought of Pope. So you joke, “Aw, Deran misses me?”

“Oh, please, you’re the last woman he would ever miss.” 

The way he emphasizes the word piques your interest. “Wait… so you know?” 

He hums, a small smile on his lips. “Know what?” He feigns. 

You eye him carefully as you wipe a cup clean with a new rag. “Hmm… you know, Craig, when you’re not high out of your mind and not trying to motorboat me, you’re actually quite nice.” 

“I cannot stop staring at your tits.” 

You groan, putting the glass cup down. “You ruined it.” 

He laughs, “aw, come on! They’re in my face. Okay! Okay! Fuck, stop!” He can’t grab the limes you’re throwing his way any longer. “I’m kidding. You know I totally respect you as a woman.” 

“That doesn't even sound right coming from you.” You scoff. “There’s something else.” 

“Yeah, he’s miserable without you.” 

Now this really makes you laugh. “Right.” It takes everything in you to not explain why he misses you. Explain why Pope needs you so much. “Well, I need new dick. Getting tired of what I had.” You wipe the counter, trying to distract yourself. “Don’t suppose you want to volunteer?” 

“I will fuck you on this counter right now, you know this.” He downs a random shot that was forgotten on the table. “You’re Pope’s girl now, though.” 

“I’m not Pope’s anything.” You snap at Craig. “Seriously, all we do is hookup. That’s not special.” 

“Have you two emotionally fucked?”

You let out an incredulous laugh, “what?” 

“Have you two bared your souls to one another?” He rolls his eyes, as if exasperated by you. 

“Uhm… sorta?” 

“That’s it!” He slams his hand on the table making you jump, scolding him softly. “He fucked you emotionally and now he can’t get enough.” 

He can’t be more wrong. But you can’t exactly tell him that. So, you sigh dramatically instead. “Yeah. Maybe that’s it. Want your usual?”

—

“You are leaving me?” You caught Geronimo at his car before he could leave the clubs parking lot. 

The night is cold, the air biting your skin. Yet again, you had stolen Craig’s hoodie, using one of his old pair of sweats as well. “No, I’m not leaving. My sister needs help with her new baby—“

“You leave me!” The Russian man groans. “I need you. You not leave me!” 

It’s your turn to groan, “listen to me, fat man. I am not leaving you completely. I’m only going to Sacramento for a few weeks. I’ll still be back.” 

“I can feel this breaking.” He places his hand over his heart. “You okay with this? The breaking of my heart?” 

“Gero, you’re being dramatic. I’m coming back.” 

“You leave, you fired!”

“Gero, listen to me.” 

“No, you fired now!” 

“Gero, shut the fuck up and let me talk!” 

He nods, looking behind you. “Little man here.” 

You stiffen for a second but don’t bother turning. “Just… we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” 

The Russian scoffs, “no, you fired.” And he gets into his car angrily, driving out of the parking lot with a screech. 

You turn to finally come face to face with Pope. “Andrew Cody,” you hum. “What brings you here?” 

“Are you really fired?” He questions. “I can help you. You wouldn’t have to work here again.” 

Your eyebrows raise in amusement at this, “what?” 

“I can help… maintain you.” 

You cackle, “Shut the fuck up, Pope.” It’s truly the last thing you expected to hear from him. “He fires me twice a day. He’s just butthurt he won’t be making money from me for a while.” 

“Okay…” he’s struggling to speak again. He hasn’t done that with you in a while. “What does that mean?” 

You wrap the hoodie tighter around you as another soft breeze hits. “What does what mean?” 

“Why won’t he be making money from you?” 

You hesitate being honest with him. The last thing you need is Andrew Cody knowing where you’re going. This won’t be a relaxing break, since you’ll be spending all of your free time helping your sister with a newborn but it’ll be a break from him. From him and his drama. Or, really, from him and the drama you bring to this. He’s never really given you an issue, not unless you start one first. But you can’t stop making issues that stem from the insecurity and jealousy embedded in you. 

You try to hold back. You really do, but he’s looking at you with those soft brown eyes of his. You’ve been able to see them angry, hurt, pleasured, confused and on rare occasions, soft in the way he’s being now. “I’m going to Sacramento for a few weeks.” 

“What?” He seems perturbed by this information. “Why are you going out there?” 

“My sister’s giving birth in a week. She needs my help.” 

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, no doubt surprised at the mention of your sister. “You’re speaking with your sister?” 

You nod, shoving your hands into the pockets of Craig’s hoodie. “Yeah… I reached out to her last week. She got knocked up by some bum. Needs help. I think it’ll be nice for us.” 

“What about your cats?” 

You laugh, “what about my cats?” 

“What are you doing with them? You can’t leave them.” 

“No shit,” you snort. “I’m taking them with me.” 

“I can watch them.” 

“You don’t like animals.” You point out to him. 

He shrugs, “they’re cats. They don’t need much attention, right?” 

“That’s completely false. They need as much attention as dogs.” You huff, tucking your blowing hair behind your ear. “That’s your worst nightmare… litter changes.” 

“I can do it.” He sounds determined. 

Your face scrunches in confusion. “What is up with you? Why do you want to watch them so badly?” 

“Can’t I help out a friend?” 

You eye him carefully, unsure of what he’s trying to do here. It’s off-putting. “You’re being weird.” 

“That’s just my personality.” 

You don’t speak again. You’re standing there, arms crossed over your shivering body. You can’t figure out what to say to him. Looking at him, you know there’s no one else you want more. And that’s why you can’t be near him much longer. It’s why you need this break from him. It’s why you need to fight against these pathetic feelings that he’ll never reciprocate. 

“You’re coming back?” He asks, too soft. 

“Yeah.” Is your bored and lacking response. 

“I just don’t get why I can’t just watch your cats.” He starts again. 

“What the fuck is your issue, Pope?” You’re frustrated now, not understanding what’s going on. 

“Why won’t you let me watch them?” A pause, his fists clench and unclench. “If you’re coming back, it shouldn’t be an issue.” 

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re not making any sense, Pope. I’m going back inside if you have nothing meaningful to add he—“ you’re trying to walk past him when his bigger and rough hand grabs your forearm, pulling you into him. 

Your breath stutters at the way his nose nudges against yours, his rising and falling chest pressed to yours. “What are you—“ 

“I need to make sure you’re coming back.” 

You can’t look at him. You’re looking at anything but the parts that make you want to reach out and keep giving him your all. Instead, you watch the tiny scar that dances on his cheek with every word he speaks. Not his eyes. Not his lips. “And you keeping my cats is going to ensure that?” 

He nods, nose rubbing against yours. Your eyes shut for a moment. You have to gather yourself. This isn't the life for you, it can’t be. This pathetic back and forth. The way he makes you want to crawl into a hole and wither away. The way your blood boils and you snap at him mindlessly, snarling the cruelest words you can conjure up at him. 

Instead, you pull your arm from his hand. “I don’t need to do that, Pope. I’ll be back and whether you believe me or not is none of my concern.” You’re hoping your words are harsh but you can’t hear much of anything as you avoid looking at him. “We’re less than friends. Remember that.” 

You’re gone for two months. And you don’t want to pull away. You’ve fallen completely in love with your niece. You never understood parents when they said a child changed their world. Getting to be there for your sister, cutting that child’s umbilical cord, and caring for the baby did change your world. 

So, when the time comes, you’re standing across from Geronimo, handing him a month’s notice. He doesn’t believe you at first. He tosses it into the trash and tells you to go back out there. But you remind him every single day that comes. 

You don’t see much of Craig during your first two weeks back. Or any of the brothers, really. You don’t call or text Pope, not like you used to when you were begging for his attention. And you want to, badly. But you hold back. You’re proud of yourself for the time in your long life. 

Fatima calls out sick your last week in Oceanside. So you’re behind the bar this shift. It's not as much money as performing but it’s something until you’re out of here. Geronimo’s upset with you so he gives you Fatima’s gig, a sort of punishment for leaving him. But he’s not an evil man, he knows a guy up in Sacramento, getting you a secured dancer position at another club. You pressed a kiss to his scratchy cheek, thanking him. 

You’ve packed all that you own into a rented U-Haul. It’s not much, but it’s all you’ve worked for while performing at the club. And you’ve been living on scraps for something like this. For the move. You never dreamt it would be to move in with your estranged older sister and her newborn all the way up to Sacramento but you’ve got enough to secure a bigger space for the three of you. You don’t know much about children but you figure she’ll need space. 

“Woah, do my eyes deceive me? Is that the hottest woman in all of Oceanside?” You’re pulled out of your thoughts, glancing up at Craig who’s leaning against the bar again, just like he was almost three months ago. “Missed you, ballerina.” 

You smack his hand that’s sprawled on the counter, “I’ve been here. Where have you been?” 

He shrugs, running a hand through his greasy hair. “Around. Working on a big project with my mother.” 

“Ah,” you hum knowingly. “A top secret mission. You Cody’s are full of mystery.”

He agrees with a nod as he watches a new dancer walk past, blatantly staring at her ass. “Could’ve had all this.” He turns back to you. “My body. My heart. My business mind. But you chose Pope.” 

“I didn’t choose anyone.” You deny vehemently. “Haven’t spoken to him.” You bite your tongue but it still comes out. “How’s he doing?” 

“Weird.” He shrugs. “Hey, is the new girl single?”

“What do you mean weird?” 

“Weird. Just weird. He’s always weird though. Is she?” 

“As far as I can tell, yeah.” 

You get to your empty apartment that night with his words eating away at you. Weird. Pope is being weird. You know that’s who he is. You know that Pope being weird isn’t out of the ordinary. But you can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that fucked up brain of his. If something is gnawing away at him. 

You sigh, dropping your bag onto your countertop. Shake it off. You have to shake it off. You’ve got a single week left here and once you’re gone, you won’t have to think twice about your life here. It’s done. It’s over. Ties with everyone need to be severed. 

You miss your cats but you left them behind when you decided Sacramento was the way to go for the next step of your life. You’re lonely. Too lonely. You groan loudly into your pillow, frustrated with your need to fill the void with a guy. Not just any guy, Andrew. The worst you know. Did a prison stint, cheated with his brother's wife, still daydreams about sleeping with his brother's wife. You're not sure which is worse, his record or lack of loyalty to his brother.

The only thing you have in your fridge are carrots, ranch, and a bottle of sweet and cheap wine. So, deciding that the last thing your car needs is more miles on it after fourteen plus hours of driving, you realize this is the best it’s going to get. Ordering-in costs too much money too, especially since you've decided most of your money will now go to your new niece. 

The ring camera hooked onto your door rings annoyingly, the familiar tune ringing through the door and the notification through your phone. “Geez, fucking psychos–” your words are cut off when you open the notification and see a distraught looking Pope. 

You should ignore him. You were going to ignore him, pretend you weren't home even though you had just yelled. But you can see the tears in his eyes even through your shitty camera quality. And this worries you. 

Your door is swung open quickly, eyes frantically searching his body. He gets into fights sometimes, from that mysterious Cody work of his, but he's never cried over it. There's no visible blood, no open wounds that need tending to– whatever it is that's got him like this, it's not physical. 

“Fuck,” your breath is shaky as you take him in, “what’s wrong, Pope? Talk to me.” Your hands are on his face, thumbs wiping at the streaks of tears rolling down his freckled cheeks. 

The sob that leaves him makes your heart ache, and before you can think, he's pressing his face to your shoulder, crying into you. “I fucked up…” you dont hesitate to wrap your arms around him. “Bad. I fucked up, I fucked up…” he’s repeating into you. 

You're asking what's wrong in the softest tone you've ever carried for him. Your own eyes are tearing up, hands rubbing up and down at his back, trying your best to soothe him. But nothing is working. He's repeating the same phrases, calling himself a monster, that he’s going to hell after what he's done. You didn't peg him as the religious type but you can't question that now. “Shit, Pope, you aint…” you release a shaky and fearful breath, "I gotta know what you did in order to–”

His lips meet yours hastily, his salty tears mixing into the heavy kiss you're sharing. You fall into him for a moment, missing the way he felt and tasted. That familiar scotch and mint. But the sob he cries against your lips makes you crash back into reality. 

You pull your lips from his, shaking your head as you wipe him off your skin. “Pope, stop. We can't do this, you're not okay.” 

His hands are on your face, pulling you back in. “We can, we can," his voice cracks and you can't tell if it's because of how terrible he is or if he desperately needs you. “I need you… please…”

You're turning over a new leaf. You're making a move you didn't think you'd ever have the balls to make. No more trashy men, no more loneliness, and no more destructive tendencies. It’s definitely easier said than done, of course.

You realize just how fucked up you truly are when you let him press up into you, groaning as he tugs your jeans down, mouth sucking bruises into your neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” your breathing is heavy as his thumb rubs at your clit. Your lips desperately search for him, moaning into his mouth when you two meet. 

You're pushed onto the couch, letting him toss your jeans to the side, panties off as well. “Wait, Pope, you don't have to–” 

He doesn't let you finish as he sucks your clit into his mouth, “I need to. Fuck, I need to…” he groans into your heat, the vibrations running through your body. “Let me have this, please,” he's begging. Not completely unusual, but the name he moans is. Since starting this tryst with him, he's always moaned out for Catherine. Instead, it's your name he's repeating as he laps away at you. 

This pushes you into your orgasm sooner than you'd like. He eats away at you like a starved man, tongue flat and drinking up every drop of you. He only pulls back when your writhing turns uncomfortable, lips glistening and staring down at you, his breathing ragged.

He doesn't seem to notice your empty apartment, tugging his cock out of his jeans. Before he can move again, you place your hand on his wrist that’s tugging at his cock. “Wait, Pope. Talk to me.”

He refuses, shaking his head, “no. just… let me fuck you, please.”

You sigh, about to deny him but you won't. Maybe you can, maybe you've finally learned how to say no to Andrew Cody. But you won't do it. Instead, you let his cock nudge into you, let him fill you up like before. You watch him carefully as his face twists up in pleasure at the grip you have on him. “Pope, I–” 

He shuts you down again, “stop, just stop. Don't ask me again.” He whimpers in your ear as he slides in and out of you, arms shaking as he holds himself up. “Tell me… tell me… please…”

You're not playing as Catherine but the only way you can tell him such a thing is by pretending to be her. You're not sure that you can act this time. Even if your feelings for him are confusing and vary on the day, you know it's not love. A fucked up version of it maybe, but you’ve debased yourself too much around him. You're unsure if you can handle more. 

The words slip out easily when a single one of his tears falls to your chest, “I l-love you, Pope. I love you, fuck, love you.”

His hips are stuttering, and he’s crying into your neck. “Promise… promise you won’t leave me too.” 

Too. That sticks out. You won’t leave me too. Someone’s left him. It’s why he’s distraught. Your legs wrap around his waist, moving him to push deeper into you. You nod, agreeing in your hazy thoughts. “Promise, I promise, Pope. I’ll never- fuck, I’ll never leave you.” 

You two cum together that night. And you hold him for hours after. He’s too wrapped up in whatever trauma he’s reeling from, to take note of your apartment. How empty it is. How you’re leaving it all behind. 

He’s facing you, thumb caressing your cheek. For the first time all night, he looks calm. At peace. “Feeling better?” You ask softly, letting yourself fall into his touch. 

His voice is rough from his previous sobbing as he answers. “Yeah, yeah… feeling better.” He presses a warm kiss to the tip of your nose, lying his forehead against yours. “Thank you… you always make me… make me feel better.” 

You hum in content, letting him hold you on your couch. “Of course, Pope. I…” you clear your throat gently. “I care about you. Whenever you want to talk about it, I’m here.” A lie. You won't be here. You’ll never be there for him. And the thought makes you want to cry. 

He falls asleep, giving you the chance to slip out of his hold. You wrap your fluffy robe around your naked body as you slide into the bathroom. 

You don’t recognize yourself. You never have, really. There are deep bags under your eyes, skin having lost that glow of yours. Not that it was ever truly vibrant but it was never this dull. You’ve never been this dull. He’s sucking the life out of you. You’re letting him suck the life out of you. 

He wants you now that someone’s left him. Now that you’ve found even a tiny semblance of footing in your life, a reason for being— he wants you. 

You wonder if this is how your mother felt late at night after a long days of letting men use her. You wonder if she went from man after man to pull away from the one she really wanted. You wonder if she ever, at least once in her cruel life, wished you’d never be crying over your bathroom sink over a man. You remembered seeing her crying like this. Hiccuping silent sobs, gripping onto her chest, as if begging her heart to stop. 

You’ve never felt closer to your mother than you do now. 

—-

Leaving for your final shift is hard. It’s not supposed to be your final shift. You have three more in the books but you can’t handle any more of this. You need to leave sooner rather than later. 

Pope is sleeping like a log when you leave, not a single finger twitching. His long nights have caught up to him, which is helping you. You’ve packed the last of your stuff in your car, nothing but wrappers and the man who’s ruined you in your apartment. 

You mess up on countless drinks behind the bar. Most of the men scold you but a handful of them pity you. You’re not sure which is worse. One too many complaints to Geronimo and he tells you to go home. He doesn’t need the hassle of an emotional server. He’s confused when you wrap your arms around him, thanking him. He shoves you off, tells you to stop being such a crybaby. 

You’re on your way to your car when Craig’s familiar voice calls out to you. You turn, smiling softly at him. “Hey, Craig.”

His eyebrows furrow, “the hell is wrong with you?” 

You realize then that you haven’t told him you’re leaving. You sigh, grip tight around your bag. “I’m leaving.” 

“Well, duh. But this is really early for you.” 

You roll your eyes, “no, I mean, I’m leaving Oceanside.” You admit, wording yourself better. 

This stuns him. “What? Why? Where?” 

You nod with a small yawn, “yeah. Uhm, I have family out in Sacramento. Came to realize that’s what I need. It’s too… lonely out here.”

It takes a second but he eventually nods, “I get it. I’d go crazy without mine. When are you leaving?”

You glance down at your phone, it’s almost five and all you need to do is fill up your car and go. “Right now, actually.” 

“Geez,” he nudges your shoulder. “Late notice.” He pauses and the smile he shares with you is genuine. “Take care of yourself out there, ballerina. Always got a friend if you’re ever back in the city.”

“We’re friends?” You tease, nodding. “Thank you, Craig.” But this is too sentimental for the two of you. “Want to motorboat me before I go?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He gasps. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

“I’m kidding, pervert.” You punch his arm as you walk past him. “Bye, Craig.” 

Before you can climb into the driver's seat, he asks. “Pope doesn’t know?” 

You don’t hesitate. “No. He doesn’t.” 

He lets out a troubled whistle. “Sheesh. Did he screw up that bad?”

You laugh, “nah. I did.” 

“Find that hard to believe.” 

“Yeah, well,” you climb into your car with a sigh. “You’ve never had sex with me.” 

“Not for lack of trying!” He calls out as you reverse, flipping him off. 

The tall man waves his arms dramatically as you drive off, blowing kisses as he gets smaller and smaller until you can’t see him any longer. 

It’s not the Cody you wanted a goodbye from, but you’re also content it’s not the one who's broken you.

Deran and Baz were getting the bank tellers to fill up bags with cash. The Cody brothers had been robbing banks for years and they had mastered bank robberies down to a science. It was supposed to be a simple job, in and out within ninety seconds. 

“Is that all the cash?” Baz asked. His voice was muffled slightly by the ski mask covering his face. 

“Y-y-yes,” the shaking bank teller nodded. 

“We got it. Let’s go!” Deran called out to Pope. 

The boys rushed past the counter, heading towards the back doors where Craig was waiting in the getaway car. They only had twenty seconds left before the police would get to the bank and surround the entire building. Deran was first to exit through the back door, followed closely behind by Baz and then Pope. As Baz ran past the teller counter, he tripped on the waste basket. 

“Shit,” Baz groaned as he stumbled into the counter. 

From there, everything happened in slow motion. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Pope saw the security guard reaching for his gun and pointing it at Baz. 

“Fuck,” Pope cursed under his breath. He looked ahead at Baz who was trying to get to the exit. Pope was sixteen seconds behind Baz, there wouldn’t be enough time for him to get out of the bank without risking both of them getting shot. 

“Baz and Pope, get the fuck out of there!” Craig’s voice crackled in his earpiece. 

It was against Pope’s nature to let someone he loved get hurt and in that moment, there was only one thing he could do. He pulled out his gun and pointed it at the security guard, shooting him in the leg. The guard went down with a thud, clutching his right leg as he cried out in pain. At that same moment, he could hear the thud of the backdoor closing and the roar of the getaway car’s engine as it sped away; Baz had made it out. Then the unmistakable sound of sirens surrounding the bank rang in Pope’s ears, the familiar blue and red lights reflecting onto his face as police charged into the bank with guns drawn. 

“Drop your gun, put your hands on your head, and get on the fucking ground! Now!”

Andrew replayed that day nearly every second of the past few weeks since he arrived at Folsom State Prison. Although he didn’t regret sacrificing himself for Baz, he couldn’t help but feel a little resentment towards his family. It had been just over three weeks and they had only visited him a few times. When they did visit him, conversations were limited, he could feel a distance between him and his family that only grew larger with each visit. They were moving on with their lives while he was suffering alone in prison. 

“Inmates line up against the wall!” Hilty, one of the brutal corrections officers yelled out. “Inside that library are volunteers from the California Prison Library Program. These are unpaid volunteers, so don’t give them any shit. You are expected to behave, shut your fucking mouths, and listen to them. If anyone falls out of line, that's an immediate loss of privileges. And if anyone really wants to fuck with me, you’ll be thrown into solitary. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir,” some of the inmates grumbled. 

“I know most of you can’t even fucking read, let alone care about books but you’ll suffer through it. The volunteers will be coming every Wednesday for the next month before they move on to a different prison. Get in there and sit down at the tables,” another corrections officer said as he handed out pamphlets about the library program. 

Before Andrew could step inside the library, Hilty stopped him. Placing an imposing hand on his shoulder, grip so tight it was intended to leave marks. “I’m keeping my eye on you. If you act up, I’m gonna throw you back into solitary. You remember what happens there, don’t you?” he asked, a sinister smile forming on his scarred face. . 

“Yes, sir,” Andrew nodded in a monotone voice. His eyes stared blankly into the library ahead, unable to meet Hilty’s beady eyes. It was taking every ounce of self control he had not to punch Hilty square in the jaw but Andrew knew better. After beating up a prison guard in his first week at Folsom, the other guards retaliated by throwing Andrew into solitary, stripping him naked and blaring loud music for hours on end. The torture was relentless, seemingly endless attempts to break Andrew’s already broken spirit and Hilty was the ringleader behind the abuse. 

After Hilty let go of him, Andrew stuffed the library pamphlet into his breast pocket- the only pocket his orange jumpsuit had before he walked into the library and stood beside his cellmate, Vin. While Andrew wasn’t particularly fond of Vin- he talked too much and was too intrusive, Vin had been his only cellmate that lasted longer than a week. All of his previous cellmates had wound up in the infirmary after starting fights with Andrew. 

The prison warden was standing at the front of the library, calling up each volunteer before letting them introduce themselves. While Vin was whispering about how useless the library program was, Andrew found himself getting distracted by thoughts of his family. He wondered what jobs Smurf was planning, if Deran and Craig were out doing stupid shit, and whether Baz was taking care of Lena. The thought of Lena instantly sent a rush of melancholy through Andrew’s body, his perfect little niece who he was just starting to get to know before he was arrested. Lena was only three years old, just a baby in Andrew’s eyes and he hoped she wouldn’t forget him. 

Just as Andrew’s thoughts started drifting off to a darker place, as they often did when his mind went off on tangents, he heard your voice. The second you spoke, everything went quiet, which was more than rare for him. It was a miracle, divine intervention and you were that divinity. Your voice, so soft and sweet, was like that of a siren, your call luring him in. 

“Hi, everyone. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” you took a step forward and introduced yourself to the inmates. You moved your hands around as you spoke about what you studied in university and how excited you were to be at Folsom. 

For the first time since Andrew arrived at Folsom a few months ago, he was happy to be there, because in the depraved cruelty and coldness of the prison, there you were, standing with his fellow inmates, an angel amongst demons. You were far too beautiful to be in such an ugly place but he was eternally grateful that you were here. He was sure that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. 

“Reading has always been an outlet I use to escape-” you paused as you nervously glanced at the warden who met your gaze with a stern look and a subtle shake of his head at your word choice, “Sorry, that’s probably not the right word…but it’s just a great way to get away from your thoughts or whatever’s going on in your life. When I was younger, whenever things weren’t great at home, which to be honest was often, I would stay up all night with a blanket over my head and a flashlight in my mouth as I read books. For me, reading was an immersive experience that allowed me to take a break from all the thoughts in my mind and follow characters through their journeys of self discovery. I look forward to helping you guys do the same.” 

“Let’s give a round of applause to our volunteers,” the warden ordered. 

There was a scattered round of applause coming from the inmates but Andrew’s clapping, while fairly quiet so as not to draw attention to himself, was genuine. He admired the way you spoke about reading, you sounded so passionate and inspired. Your mention of reading at night to escape when things weren’t good at home resonated with him. He was all too familiar with trouble at home, Smurf was always pitting his siblings against each other, always vying to be in control of every situation. You didn’t have to share that part of your life, all the other volunteers had very surface level reasons for why they were volunteering- required community service hours, bullshit about helping the less fortunate, or a pretentious ramble on the pedagogical value of reading. But not you, you were real, honest, and vulnerable to people you didn’t even know, and not just people, convicts, men who had committed crimes the court deemed bad enough to be thrown into a six by eight feet cell. 

“You’ll be split into reading groups and assigned a volunteer to help you find something to read. Fifty inmates per group, each group will have three volunteers and six corrections officers,” the warden continued. 

Andrew held his breath while the groups were called out, hoping that he would be assigned to you. 

“Cody, group six.” 

“Group six over here by the window!” you called out. 

“I’m group eighteen. Tell me if someone gives you shit,” Vin said, patting Andrew on the back before heading over to join his volunteer. 

Before walking over to you, Andrew took a deep breath to compose himself. By the time he joined the group, you had already started speaking to some inmates, some of whom were shamelessly flirting with you. Although he had absolutely no reason to be, he felt a sudden pang of jealousy. He didn’t like the way the other guys were looking at you with hungry eyes like they wanted to eat you. 

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?”

“Ever been with a gangster?” 

You answered each flirtatious question with a pleasant smile, totally unfrazzled by the attention you were receiving. “No. I already answered that. And no. Now, let’s get started. I’m gonna get each of you to fill out a reading comprehension booklet. It has some standard reading comprehension questions- multiple choice along with some true and false that will help me gauge your literacy levels. Once you’ve finished those questions, make sure to fill out the ones about the genres or topics you’re interested in so I can help you find the right books.” 

The inmates each took a booklet and began answering the questions. Andrew’s eyebrows furrowed with concentration as he gripped the dull pencil tightly in his hand, trying his absolute best to answer the questions correctly. For some unknown reason, he wanted to impress you. As he answered the questions, his eyes kept gravitating towards you, as if there was a magnetic pull, willing his body towards you. 

With the other volunteers, it was clear that most of them were there for some ulterior motive. College students who were just there because it looked good on their resume and some older volunteers who probably just wanted to brag about volunteering; they didn’t really care about helping inmates read. But not you. You were there out of the kindness of your heart, although you seemed a little scared at first, you poured all your energy into helping people. You stood right beside each inmate, closer than anyone else would’ve stood, and helped them pick out books according to their literacy levels. You didn’t flinch or subtly move away from inmates if they got closer to you, instead, you leaned in, treated them like real people. 

Once he finished answering the questions, he stood up and walked towards the table you were sitting at with the other volunteers. He wanted to hand his booklet to one of the other volunteers. There was something about you, your overall presence that made him feel uneasy. It wasn’t because you were intimidating or seemed untrustworthy, it was the opposite. You had a warm, welcoming, and trustworthy presence. He wanted to be close to you, protect you, and let you disarm him. 

But you were the first one that looked up as he approached the table. 

His heart was pounding so hard that he thought it would explode. He wasn’t someone who was easily rattled, he could crush someone’s carotid artery without breaking a sweat but with you, his hands were fidgeting by his sides and for someone whose stare was so intense that people were constantly avoiding his eyes, he struggled to meet your eyes. It felt sacrilegious for him to even look at you, someone as pure, sacred, and beautiful as you. Your eyes were full of love and kindness, he felt guilty whenever your perfect eyes met his dark, troubled eyes, the eyes that some people had looked into before dying. 

A kind smile formed on your face that had Andrew’s heart pounding even harder and his pupils dilating. “Thank you,” you said, your voice soft and sweet like honey as you took the booklet from him. 

You didn’t even know it but in that moment, Andrew pledged his devotion to you All it took was a smile and you become the centre of his universe. The light that radiated off of you reflected onto him, overpowering the darkness that had seemed to plague him his entire life before meeting you. 

“Inmates, take a seat at the desk and the volunteers will come by with books for each of you,” a corrections guard ordered. 

Andrew sat down at the desk and eagerly waited to see what books he would get. Unlike his sister Julia, he had never liked school. The teachers didn’t care, the subjects were useless, and the homework was too hard. Smurf never cared about his grades, she focused on the things she deemed more important like how to steal, lie, and cheat. But you made him excited about learning and reading because in his eyes, it was a way to get closer to you and understand you. 

One of the other volunteers handed him a reading sheet and three books. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed your name beside his assigned list of books. These were the books you had chosen specifically for him and he would treasure the books. 

As the first session of the library program was wrapping up, Andrew overheard two of the inmates talking. The second he heard your name in their conversation, he stood up straighter, his body rigid and alert. 

“Did you see the way that pretty one kept looking at me? She wants me, I could see it in her smile.”

“Wasn’t she smiling at everyone?”

“Nah, she gave me a look. Fuck, it’s been so long since I’ve seen fine shit like that walk through here. I can’t let her go without giving her some special lovin.”

Andrew’s jaw muscle twitched and his fists clenched at hearing those words. Solitary be damned, there was no way he would ever let anything happen to you. Within seconds, Andrew’s fist was pummeling into the inmate's face. The inmate was knocked to the ground, his head hitting the ground with a thud but Andrew didn’t stop. With his biceps flexing against the fabric of his orange jumpsuit, he grabbed the inmate’s hand, pressing it against the wooden leg of the table and kicked it as hard as he could. The sound of bone cracking echoed in his ears as the inmate cried out in pain, trying to clutch his limp wrist. 

“Cody, on the ground now!” the warden yelled as three guards restrained him. 

“I’m taking you straight to solitary,” Hilty sneered as he cuffed Andrew and led him towards the dreaded room. 

Even while Andrew sat in solitary, naked and strapped to a metal chair with heavy metal music blaring from the speakers, he was unbothered. As cold as the room was and as much as his body ached from the beating he had gotten from Hilty, he was at peace because now he had you. The thought of you pulled him out of the darkness, you had become his escape. 

Later that night when Hilty finally let him out of solitary, Andrew lay on his cot and pulled out the pamphlet of the library program from earlier. He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. It was a picture of you, judging from the slightly shorter length of your hair, it was taken a few months ago. You were sitting in the library beside an inmate at another prison pointing at a section of books. Andrew held the picture close to his face and stared at the picture of you until the sun came up.

For the next month, Andrew watched you from afar, diligently taking note of all the books you talked about and mentally cataloguing every detail of you. He wanted to remember it all so that when the time came for his release, he would find you. Each night, he went to sleep with the photo of you from the pamphlet. He had torn out your picture as neatly as he could and stared at it all night. Sometimes he would play out conversations with you in his head, pretending that you were really there with him. He held the photo to his chest, wanting you to be as close as possible with the distant yet sure hope that someday, he would get to actually hold you in his arms. 

As the library program at Folsom was coming to a close, Andrew felt a sense of impending doom. You had been such a light in the darkness that consumed him, temporarily soothing his chaotic mind. He had grown attached to you and Wednesdays had become his favourite day of the week, solely because those were the days he got to see you. Each library session, he silently watched your every move and memorized every observable trait. He knew that the remaining five years and 10 months of his prison sentence would pass agonizingly slow so he wanted his memory of you to stay sharp. The thought of you would carry him through the rest of his sentence. 

On the final day of the prison library program, the urge he had to approach you and be close to you was stronger than ever but he held himself back. He didn’t want your first time meeting him to be in prison, that just wouldn’t be right. You deserved a real love story and that was exactly what Andrew would give you. 

Chapter 2: Obsession (coming soon)

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Lena shoved her feet into her sneakers without tying them.

Pope looked down.

“Tie them,” Pope said.

Lena crouched with Soup tucked awkwardly under one arm.

“We need shells first,” Lena said.

Pope paused. “Shells.”

“For finals,” Lena said.

Pope stared at her.

Lena pulled one lace tight.

“She likes shells,” Lena said.

Pope looked toward the front door.

Outside, the sky had started to turn gold at the edges. The store would still be open after.

He should have said they needed useful things. Coffee. Food. Pens. Things that made sense.

Instead, Pope grabbed his keys.

“Beach first,” Pope said.

Lena looked up fast. “Really?”

Pope opened the door.

“Before it gets dark,” Pope said.

The beach was almost empty.

Late sun sat low over the water, turning the wet sand gold in patches. The tide had left thin lines of seaweed behind, little broken shells caught in them like someone had emptied their pockets and walked away.

Lena went ahead with Soup tucked under one arm and a paper bag in the other.

Pope followed two steps behind her.

“Not too close to the water,” Pope said.

Lena stopped before her sneakers touched the darker sand.

“I know,” Lena said.

Pope looked at her feet. Lena looked too. Then she took one careful step back.

Pope said nothing.

That counted as good.

Lena crouched near the tide line and picked up a white shell with a chipped edge.

“This one?” Lena asked.

Pope looked at it. “Yeah.”

Lena put it in the bag.

“She likes scalloped ones best,” Lena said.

Pope’s eyes moved to the water.

“I know,” Pope said.

Lena sifted through the sand with one hand.

“Because they come in colors,” Lena said.

Pope looked down at her. Lena did not look up.

“She said that,” Lena said.

Pope remembered.

Of course he remembered.

You on the beach with Lena beside you, turning a shell in your palm like something small could still deserve attention. Your voice soft. Your hands careful. Lena watching you like you knew a rule about the world she had not learned yet. Scalloped ones are my favorite. They come in all kinds of colors.

Pope looked away.

Lena found another shell.

“This one has stripes,” Lena said.

Pope glanced down. “Good.”

Lena put it in the bag.

They walked a few more feet.

Lena picked up a gray one, then a tan one, then one so small Pope almost told her to leave it until she held it up and said, “This one tried.”

Pope let her keep it.

The light was going fast. He should have turned them around.

Then he saw it.

Half-buried near a strip of seaweed. Small. Scalloped. Pink. Not bright. Soft.

The kind of pink that looked like it would disappear if he held it too hard.

Pope stopped.

Lena turned back. “What?”

Pope bent and picked it up.

The shell sat damp in his palm, ridged beneath his thumb. He stared at it too long. Long enough that Lena came closer.

“That one’s pretty,” Lena said.

Pope closed his fingers around it.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena looked from his hand to his face. “For her?”

Pope should have said it was for the bag. For finals. For Soup’s project. For anything except what it was.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena held the bag open carefully.

Pope did not drop the shell in with the others.

He took a napkin from his pocket, wrapped the pink shell once, then set it inside near the top.

Lena watched him. “That one gets a blanket?”

Pope folded the bag down. “It’ll break.”

Lena nodded like that made perfect sense.

“She’ll be careful,” Lena said.

Pope looked at the bag. Then at the water.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

He did not know why that made his chest hurt.

The grocery store was too bright after the beach.

Lena carried the shell bag against her chest while Pope pushed the cart.

“Coffee,” Pope said.

Lena looked up at him. “For finals?”

“Yeah,” Pope said.

He found the brand you had mentioned once in his living room, half distracted while digging through your tote for a pen. You had laughed after you said it. Something about it being too expensive and probably not worth it.

Pope put the bag in the cart without checking the price.

Lena looked at it.

“She likes that one?” Lena asked.

Pope pushed the cart forward. “Yeah.”

The pens were worse.

There were too many. Black. Blue. Gel. Ballpoint. Fine tip.

Pope stood in front of them until Lena leaned against the cart and sighed.

“She uses colors,” Lena said.

Pope looked down at her.

Lena pointed at a pack. “Like those.”

Pope stared at the pens.

Pink. Purple. Blue. Green. Black.

He remembered your notebook open on his floor. Purple lines under sentences. Pink stars beside things you needed to remember. Blue notes in the margins.

He picked up the pack.

Lena nodded once.

“That one,” Lena said.

Pope put it in the cart.

He did not know why buying pens felt worse than buying coffee.

Coffee kept people awake.

Pens meant he had watched your hands.

Lena added a yellow highlighter before Pope could stop her.

“Yellow helps,” Lena said.

Pope looked at it. “With what?”

Lena shrugged. “Things.”

Pope left it in the cart.

Index cards went in next.

Then peanut butter crackers. Pretzels. A box of granola bars.

Pope stood in the aisle too long, looking at the cart.

Coffee. Pens. Highlighter. Index cards. Food. Shells.

It looked like care.

That irritated him.

Lena hugged Soup tighter. “She needs snacks.”

Pope remembered the unopened granola bar behind the register.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

At checkout, Lena placed the items on the belt one at a time. Very serious. Very careful.

The cashier scanned the coffee. Then the pens. Then the crackers. Then the index cards.

The shell bag stayed tucked under Lena’s arm.

Pope paid in cash.

Outside, the sky had gone darker.

Lena climbed into the truck and set Soup in the seat beside her.

Pope put the grocery bag on the passenger seat.

Lena leaned forward between the seats.

“We need a card,” Lena said.

Pope looked at her in the mirror. “At home.”

“And drawings,” Lena said.

Pope started the truck. “Yeah.”

Lena sat back, satisfied.

Pope looked at the grocery bag. Then at the folded paper bag of shells in Lena’s lap.

The pink one was wrapped in a napkin near the top.

He told himself this was Lena’s idea.

That was true.

It just was not all of it.

At the table, Lena bent over the card with her tongue caught between her teeth.

Soup sat beside the markers like he was supervising.

Pope stood in the kitchen with the grocery bag on the counter and the shell bag folded beside it.

He should have been doing something.

He did not know what.

Lena switched from purple marker to yellow.

“Uncle Pope,” Lena said without looking up.

Pope looked at her.

“What?” Pope asked.

“Stars are good luck,” Lena said.

Pope looked at the card.

Crooked yellow stars covered the front.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena nodded once, satisfied, then went back to drawing.

Pope looked at the grocery bag again.

Coffee. Pens. Highlighter. Index cards. Food.

The pink shell wrapped in a napkin.

It all looked worse under the kitchen light.

More obvious.

He pulled out his phone before he could change his mind.

Your name was still near the top of his messages.

Pope stared at it. Then typed.

Pope: Can we come over?

He looked at the words. Too much. He deleted them.

Pope: Can we stop by?

He stared at that too.

Less.

Still enough.

He sent it.

Lena looked up immediately.

“Did you ask?” Lena asked.

Pope put the phone facedown on the counter.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

“What did she say?” Lena asked.

“Nothing yet,” Pope said.

Lena looked offended by the phone.

“She’s probably doing finals,” Lena said.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena went back to the card.

Pope stayed where he was.

His phone buzzed against the counter. He picked it up too fast.

You: Is everything okay?

Pope looked at the message.

Of course that was your first question.

Because people did not usually ask to come over at night with no reason unless something had happened.

Because with him, something usually had.

He glanced at Lena.

She was drawing a turtle wearing glasses.

Then he looked back at the phone.

Pope: Yeah.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Pope watched them.

You: Okay. Yeah, of course.

Pope stared at the screen.

Of course.

Like stopping by was easy.

Like you were tired and busy and still willing to open the door.

Lena capped the yellow marker.

“She said yes?” Lena asked.

Pope put the phone down.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena smiled down at the card.

“She’ll like it,” Lena said.

Pope looked at the grocery bag.

He did not answer.

He did not know what he hoped you would do.

That was not true.

He knew.

That was the problem.

By the time they got back in the truck, Lena had three drawings tucked carefully in a folder.

One was Soup holding a pencil.

One was Soup beside a stack of books bigger than him.

The last one was the zoo.

Lena had drawn herself first, smaller than everyone else, with Soup tucked under one arm. You were beside her, smiling in purple marker. Pope stood on the other side, taller than the trees, with a straight mouth and one hand near Lena’s shoulder.

There was a giraffe in the corner.

There was also a turtle that Lena insisted was not Soup.

“That one lives at the zoo,” Lena said from the back seat.

Pope looked at the drawing in the rearview mirror.

“Okay,” Pope said.

Lena held it carefully so the marker would not smear.

“She’ll know,” Lena said.

Pope looked toward the road.

The grocery bag sat on the passenger seat.

The paper bag of shells sat in Lena’s lap.

The card was tucked on top of everything, folded unevenly, with crooked stars all over the front.

Pope had written one thing on a sticky note.

Eat something.

He had stared at it for too long.

Then he had stuck it to the box of granola bars before he could throw it away.

Pope drove the rest of the way with the streetlights coming on one by one.

Your building was ten minutes away.

Not far.

Still too far.

Still too close.

The outside lights were on when he pulled up.

Your window was lit somewhere above them.

Pope parked at the curb and turned off the engine.

For a second, he did not move.

Lena unbuckled immediately.

Pope looked back.

“Wait,” Pope said.

Lena froze with one hand on the door handle.

“I am,” Lena said.

Pope pulled out his phone.

Your name was already open.

Pope: Outside.

He stared at it for half a second before he sent it.

Lena leaned forward between the seats.

“What did you say?” Lena asked.

Pope put the phone facedown against his thigh.

“Outside,” Pope said.

Lena looked toward the building.

“Will she come down?” Lena asked.

Pope looked at the lit window.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

His phone buzzed.

You: Coming.

One word.

Still, Pope’s chest tightened around it.

Like you were already moving toward them.

Like he had asked and you had answered and that should have been a simple thing.

It was not.

Pope put the phone away and got out first.

He grabbed the grocery bag from the passenger seat and opened Lena’s door.

Lena climbed down with Soup under one arm and the shell bag pressed to her chest.

The folder was tucked carefully under her other arm.

She was trying not to bounce.

She was bad at it.

Pope closed the truck door.

“Slow,” Pope said.

Lena nodded too quickly.

“Slow,” Lena said.

The front door of your building opened before they reached the steps.

You came outside in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, your hair pulled back badly, a pen still tucked behind your ear.

No pale blue shirt. No counter. No bright shop lights.

Just you.

Tired.

Really tired.

Your eyes moved over Pope first, checking his face, his hands, the set of his shoulders.

Then they went to Lena.

Then the bags.

“Is everything okay?” you asked.

Lena looked up at Pope, waiting.

Pope stood beside her with the grocery bag in his hand and absolutely nothing useful in his mouth.

“Yes,” Pope said.

You looked at him. Then at Lena. Then back at Pope. Your worried expression softened, but not all the way.

“Okay,” you said carefully.

Lena shifted the paper bag higher against her chest. Pope looked down at her. Lena looked up at him. He had no idea how to start.

Lena apparently did.

“We made you something,” Lena said.

Your face changed. “You did?”

Lena nodded quickly, like she had been holding the answer in too long.

“For grown-up school,” Lena said.

Pope looked down at the sidewalk. He still had no idea what to say. You looked at the paper bag tucked against Lena’s chest. Then at the grocery bag in Pope’s hand. Then at Pope. Whatever was left of the worry on your face softened into something else. Something he did not know what to do with.

“For me?” you asked.

Lena nodded again. “Because finals are mean.”

Your mouth parted slightly.

Pope stared at the sidewalk. He should have said something. Anything.

Instead, he held the grocery bag out.

You looked at it. Then at him. Your voice was quieter when you spoke.

“Pope,” you said.

His name in your mouth was worse like that. Soft. Careful. Like you already knew this was not nothing.

“It was Lena’s idea,” Pope said.

Lena looked up at him. “You helped.”

Pope’s jaw tightened. You looked between them. Then you reached for the bag.

“Can I see?” you asked.

You took the grocery bag first.

Pope let go as soon as your fingers closed around the handles.

Too fast.

He knew it.

You noticed.

You did not say anything.

Lena held out the folded card next.

“This first,” Lena said.

You took it carefully.

“Okay,” you said.

The front was covered in crooked stars, purple marker, and a turtle wearing glasses.

Inside, Lena had written in uneven letters.

Good luck on grown-up school.

Soup says eat snack.

For a second, you did not say anything.

Then your hand came up to cover your mouth.

Pope looked back before he could stop himself.

Your eyes were bright. Not crying. Close.

“Oh, Lena,” you said softly.

Lena shifted on her feet.

“He helped,” Lena said.

You looked down at Soup.

“I can tell,” you said. “Very professional.”

Lena smiled, then pushed the folder toward you.

“And these,” Lena said.

You tucked the card carefully against your chest and took the folder.

“More?” you asked.

Lena nodded.

“Drawings,” Lena said.

You opened the folder.

There was Soup holding a pencil, Soup beside a stack of books bigger than him, and one picture of the zoo.

Your fingers paused on the last one.

Pope saw it happen.

The last picture was the zoo.

Lena had drawn herself in the middle with Soup under one arm. You stood beside her in purple marker, smiling wide beneath a crooked sun. Pope stood on Lena’s other side, taller than the trees, with a straight mouth and one hand near Lena’s shoulder.

There was a giraffe in the corner.

There was also a turtle near the bottom that Lena had insisted was not Soup.

“This is the zoo,” you said.

Lena nodded quickly.

“With the giraffe,” Lena said.

“And Soup,” you said.

Lena pointed at the turtle near the bottom.

“That one is not Soup,” Lena said.

You looked closer.

“Oh,” you said. “Different turtle.”

Lena nodded.

“He lives there,” Lena said.

“Important distinction,” you said.

Lena looked pleased that you understood.

You looked at the drawing again, your thumb careful on the edge.

Pope stood very still.

A kid’s picture.

A zoo day.

Three people standing too close to each other under a crooked sun.

“These are going on my fridge,” you said.

Lena’s whole face changed.

“Really?” Lena asked.

“Really,” you said.

Lena looked up at Pope like this was something he needed to hear too.

Pope looked at the grocery bag instead.

You followed his gaze.

“What else is in here?” you asked.

Pope’s jaw tightened.

“Stuff,” Pope said.

Lena bounced once.

“For finals,” Lena said.

You opened the grocery bag.

The coffee came out first.

Your mouth parted.

“Oh,” you said.

Pope stared at the sidewalk.

“You said you liked it,” Pope said.

“I said that once,” you said.

Pope said nothing.

Then came the snacks. Peanut butter crackers. Pretzels. Granola bars.

The sticky note came with them.

Eat something.

Your thumb stopped on the edge of the paper.

Pope looked at the truck. Anywhere but your face.

You were quiet for too long.

Then you gave a small, uneven laugh.

“Subtle,” you said.

Pope glanced at you.

You were smiling down at the note. Not teasing. Not really. Something softer than that.

Lena leaned closer.

“He wrote that,” Lena said.

Pope closed his eyes for half a second.

You looked at him.

“Did he?” you asked.

Lena nodded.

“I wrote the card,” Lena said. “Uncle Pope wrote eat something.”

Your eyes stayed on Pope.

“Good teamwork,” you said.

Pope’s jaw tightened.

“Pens,” Lena said.

You looked back into the bag.

The colorful pack came out next.

Pink. Purple. Blue. Green. Black.

All lined up bright beneath the plastic.

Your thumb moved over them.

Pope watched it before he could stop himself.

You looked at him.

“You got colors,” you said.

Pope’s voice came out rough.

“You use colors,” Pope said.

Your face changed.

The coffee had surprised you.

The note had softened you.

The pens undid you.

You looked down quickly.

Pope pretended not to see.

Lena held up the paper bag.

“We got shells,” Lena said.

You took it from her carefully.

“Shells too?” you asked.

Lena nodded.

“For finals,” Lena said.

You looked inside.

Most of the shells were loose in the bottom of the bag, pale shapes shifting softly against the paper.

But one thing sat tucked near the top.

A folded napkin.

Your fingers paused.

“What’s this?” you asked.

Lena looked at Pope.

Pope said nothing.

You unfolded the napkin carefully.

The little pink scalloped shell sat in the center.

Small. Soft. Ridged.

Pope went very still.

You lifted it out and your breath caught.

Pope looked away too late.

“You found a scalloped one,” you whispered.

Lena leaned closer.

“Uncle Pope found that one,” Lena said.

Pope’s throat worked.  Your eyes lifted to his.

“And it’s pink,” you said.

Pope looked at the sidewalk.

“It was there,” Pope said.

Your mouth softened.

“They’re my favorite,” you said.

“I know,” Pope said.

The words came out before he could stop them.

The night went quiet around both of you.

Lena looked between you and Pope, then down at Soup, like maybe Soup knew what was happening better than she did.

You held the shell in your palm for another second.

Then you looked at Lena.

“Can I hug you?” you asked.

Lena blinked. Then she nodded.

“Yes,” Lena said.

You set the pink shell carefully back in the napkin before you crouched and opened your arms.

Lena stepped into them with Soup pressed between both of you.

Your arms wrapped around her gently.

Pope looked away. Then looked back.

He could not help it.

Your cheek rested against Lena’s hair. Lena’s shoulders dropped in small pieces, like her body had been waiting for permission to stop holding itself so tightly.

When Lena pulled back, you brushed one careful hand over her sleeve.

“Thank you,” you said.

Lena nodded once, serious.

Then your eyes lifted to Pope.

The air changed.

He felt it before you said anything.

You stood slowly, the little pink shell held in one hand again.

Pope’s body went tight.

You did not step closer. Not yet.

“Can I hug you?” you asked.

Pope stared at you.

The question landed harder than touch would have. Can I. Not come here. Not it’s fine. Not making the choice for him because you were grateful and soft-eyed and standing too close with a shell he had picked because he remembered what you loved. Can I.

Pope looked at the shell in your palm.

Pink. Small. Breakable.

Then he looked at you.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

His voice came out rough.

You moved slowly. Giving him time. Always giving him time.

Your arms came around him.

Pope went still.

Completely.

Your cheek pressed against his chest, and for one awful second, he did what he always did.

He turned his face away.

Toward the street. Toward the dark. Toward anywhere that was not you.

Then your arms tightened.

Just a little.

Not enough to trap. Not enough to ask for more than he could give. Just enough for him to feel that you meant it.

“Thank you,” you whispered against him.

Pope closed his eyes.

His hands lifted. 

Stopped.

Then one settled at your back.

Careful.

Not tight.

Just there.

And without deciding to, without giving himself time to stop it, Pope turned his head back.

Toward you.

His cheek brushed your hair.

Cold night air. Vanilla. Coffee. You.

Your hand tightened once against his back, like you felt the choice in it.

Like it mattered.

Pope swallowed hard.

He had almost kissed you days ago.

He had stopped.

You had let him.

Now you were holding him because he had brought you coffee, colorful pens, and shells in a paper bag.

It was worse than kissing.

Softer.

Harder to defend against.

When you stepped back, you did it slowly. Not like you were afraid he would regret it. Like you wanted to give him time.

Pope missed the contact.

Immediately.

You looked up at him, the pink shell still resting in your palm.

Your eyes were bright. Not crying, but close.

“Thank you,” you said again.

Pope’s hand stayed half-lifted between you for one useless second before he let it drop.

He nodded once.

It was not enough.

It was all he had.

Lena crouched beside the paper bag.

“There’s another one,” Lena said.

You looked down at her.

“Another shell?” you asked.

Lena nodded, already digging carefully through the bag.

“The small one,” Lena said. “It tried.”

You smiled.

“That sounds important,” you said.

Lena kept searching, Soup tucked against her knee.

Pope should have stepped back. He did not.

You looked at him again.

The night felt too quiet. Too close.

Your fingers tightened carefully around the pink shell.

Then you stepped closer.

Pope went still.

You moved slowly enough that he could have stopped you.

He did not.

Your hand touched his arm first. 

Light and gentle.

A question.

Then you rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek.

Soft. Quick. Grateful.

Pope closed his eyes.

For one second, he let himself have that.

Just that.

Your mouth left his skin.

You stepped back before he could do anything stupid.

Before he could reach for your wrist.

Before he could turn his head.

Before wanting could get ahead of him.

Pope’s hand flexed once at his side.

You looked down, but not before he saw it. The small, private almost-smile you tried to hide.

“I found it,” Lena said.

Pope looked away. Too fast.

Lena stood with the tiny shell pinched carefully between two fingers.

“This one,” Lena said.

You crouched a little, still holding the pink shell in your palm.

“Oh,” you said softly. “This one did try.”

Lena nodded seriously.

“It’s small,” Lena said.

“But important,” you said.

Pope stared at the sidewalk. His cheek still felt like your mouth.

Lena dropped the tiny shell carefully into your open hand beside the pink one.

You looked down at both of them.

Then, very quietly, you closed your fingers around them.

Lena looked at your closed hand.

“Don’t lose them,” Lena said.

You looked up at her.

“I won’t,” you said.

Lena nodded once, satisfied. Then she looked at the grocery bag.

“Do you have to study now?” Lena asked.

You looked down at her.

“Yeah,” you said. “I probably should.”

Lena nodded seriously.

“You have snacks,” Lena said.

You looked at the bag.

“I do,” you said.

“And coffee,” Lena said.

“And coffee,” you said.

“And pens,” Lena said.

Your mouth softened.

“And pens,” you said.

Lena held Soup up a little.

“And Soup says good luck,” Lena said.

You looked at the turtle.

“Tell Soup thank you,” you said.

Lena turned Soup toward herself.

“She says thank you,” Lena told him.

Pope looked at you.

You were smiling at Lena, the pink shell and the tiny shell still curled safely in your palm.

Then your eyes came back to him, and the smile changed. Not gone. Just quieter.

Pope felt your kiss on his cheek. 

One second. Maybe less, but more than enough.

“Thank you again,” you said.

Pope’s jaw shifted.

He wanted to say something.

He did not know what.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

You held his eyes for one more second.

Then you looked down at the shells in your hand.

“I’m going to put these somewhere safe,” you said.

Lena looked relieved.

“Not by the sink,” Lena said.

You blinked.

“Not by the sink,” you agreed.

“They could fall in,” Lena said.

“That would be bad,” you said.

“They don’t swim,” Lena said.

You nodded seriously.

“Right,” you said. “Important safety note.”

Lena hugged Soup against her chest.

Pope watched the corner of your mouth move.

Watched you give Lena something normal again.

Shell safety. Snacks. Coffee. Pens.

Like you had not just kissed his cheek.

You stepped back toward the door, the grocery bag hooked over one arm and the card and drawings held carefully against your chest.

Lena lifted one hand.

“Bye,” Lena said.

You looked at her.

“Bye, Lena,” you said. “Good luck to Soup too.”

Lena looked down at Soup.

“She said good luck,” Lena told him.

Then you looked at Pope.

The whole night seemed to narrow around it.

“Bye, Pope,” you said.

Pope held your eyes.

“Bye,” Pope said.

You went inside.

Pope watched until the door shut behind you.

He stood there for a second longer than he needed to.

The building door stayed closed. Your window was lit somewhere above them.

Lena shifted beside him.

“Uncle Pope,” Lena said.

Pope looked down.

“What?” Pope asked.

Lena held Soup tighter.

“Are we going home now?” Lena asked.

Pope looked once more at the lit window. Then he looked away.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena climbed into the truck with Soup tucked under her arm. Pope opened his door. Lena buckled herself in.

“She liked it,” Lena said.

Pope started the engine.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena looked down at Soup.

“She liked Uncle Pope’s shell,” Lena said.

Pope stared through the windshield.

His cheek still felt warm where your mouth had been.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

He pulled away from the curb with the shape of your hug still on him and the feeling of one soft second he had no idea how to survive.

He had no idea how to put himself back the way he had been.

This time, he was not sure he wanted to.

The house was dark when they got back.

Pope parked in the driveway and turned off the engine.

Lena was half-asleep in the back seat, her head tipped against the side of her car seat, Soup tucked under one arm.

Pope sat there for a second.

The truck ticked softly around them. Lena stirred.

“Are we home?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

She blinked at the house.

“Did she put the shells somewhere safe?” Lena asked.

Pope looked through the windshield. The porch light was still on.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena nodded like that was enough. Pope got out and opened her door.

“Come on,” Pope said.

Lena unbuckled slowly.

Pope reached in to help her down, but she leaned into him more than stepped.

He caught her without thinking. She was warm and heavy with sleep. Pope held still. Lena’s cheek pressed against his shoulder. For one second, he thought about you doing the same thing outside your building.

Your cheek against his chest. Your arms around him. Your mouth on his cheek.

Pope shut that thought down hard.

Too late.

Lena yawned against him.

“Soup’s tired,” she said.

Pope looked at the turtle hanging from her hand.

“Yeah,” he said.

He carried her inside.

Not because she asked. Because she did not. Because her shoes dragged on the floor when he set her down, and she leaned against his leg while he locked the door behind them.

“Shoes,” Pope said.

Lena looked down at her feet like she had never seen shoes before. Pope crouched and untied them himself. Lena watched him with sleepy eyes.

“You’re doing it,” she said.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

“I can do it,” Lena said.

“I know,” Pope said.

He pulled one sneaker off. Then the other. Lena held Soup against her chest.

“She said thank you a lot,” Lena said.

Pope set the shoes by the door. “Yeah.” 

“That means she liked it,” Lena said.

Pope stood. “Yeah.” 

Lena looked up at him.

“You keep saying yeah,” she said.

Pope looked at her. Lena looked back. His mouth almost curved.

“Bed,” Pope said.

Lena sighed like he had asked her to carry the couch.

“Fine,” she said.

Pope followed her down the hall. She brushed her teeth with one hand while Soup sat on the counter facing the sink. Pope stood in the doorway and watched the hallway behind him. Then the mirror. Then Lena. Then the hallway again.

He still felt the warmth of your lips on his cheek.

He turned away from the mirror.

Lena spit into the sink. “Done.” 

Pope checked. 

“Again,” he said.

Lena groaned.

“You always say again,” she said.

“Because you always miss the back,” Pope said.

Lena looked offended, but she brushed again.

When she climbed into bed, she put Soup beside Bunny instead of under her arm. Pope noticed.

“Soup there?” he asked.

Lena looked at the turtle. “He’s tired.” 

Pope nodded once. He turned on the hall light. Cracked the door. Bunny on the outside. Soup beside her shoulder. Every rule in place. Lena looked at him through the dark.

“Uncle Pope,” she said.

Pope stopped with one hand on the door.

“What?” he asked.

“Are we going to see her again?” Lena asked.

Pope’s throat worked once.

He thought of your hand around the shells.

Your mouth soft on his skin.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena’s eyes drifted shut.

“Good,” she whispered.

Pope stood there until her breathing evened out. Then he stepped into the hall and pulled the door almost closed. Not all the way. Never all the way.

He went back to the living room.

The house was quiet. Not empty. Not exactly. But quiet in a way that made everything louder.

The refrigerator. The ocean outside. His own breathing.

Pope stood near the couch and stared at nothing.

He should have regretted it.

That was the thing.

He should have regretted standing there too long.

He should have regretted letting you step close.

He should have regretted closing his eyes when your mouth touched his cheek.

He should have regretted wanting more with Lena three feet away and the whole world still ugly and complicated around them.

He did not.

That scared him more than regret would have.

His cheek still felt like your mouth.

Soft. Quick. Grateful.

Not enough to be a mistake.

Too much to be nothing.

His phone buzzed. Pope looked down. Your name was on the screen.

For a second, he did not move. Then he picked it up.

You had sent a picture.

Your textbook was open on your table. The coffee sat beside it in a mug. One granola bar wrapper was torn open near your notebook. The colorful pens were scattered across the page, already in use.

And beside the corner of the book, safe on a folded napkin, sat the pink shell and the tiny one that tried.

Pope stared at the picture.

Then the message under it.

You: Study fuel acquired.

Another came through.

You: Please tell Lena her card made the fridge.

Then another.

You: And thank you.

Pope looked at the picture again.

The shells. The pens. The open snack. You had eaten something.

His chest hurt.

He did not know what to do with that either. Pope typed.

Pope: Yeah.

He stared at it. Too small. Again. He sent it anyway.

Then he walked back down the hall. Lena was almost asleep when he opened the door wider. She blinked at him.

“What?” she whispered.

Pope held up the phone.

“Picture,” he said.

Lena pushed herself up on one elbow.

Pope stepped closer and turned the screen toward her.

Lena squinted.

“That’s our pens,” she said.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

“And the snack,” Lena said.

Pope nodded once. “Yeah.”

“She ate it,” Lena said.

“Yeah,” he said again.

Lena’s eyes moved to the folded napkin.

“The shells,” she whispered.

Pope nodded.

“She kept them safe,” Lena said.

Pope looked at the picture.

“Yeah,” he said.

Lena looked at the next picture when he swiped. Her card and drawings were on your fridge. The zoo picture was in the middle. You had put it where anyone could see it. Lena went very still. Pope watched her face change in the blue light of the phone.

“She put it up,” Lena whispered.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena stared at the screen. “On the fridge.” 

Pope nodded again. “Yeah.” 

“She really did,” Lena said.

Pope looked at the picture again.

You had put Lena’s drawing on your fridge. You had kept the shells safe. You had eaten the food.

You had kissed his cheek.

Pope locked the phone before that thought could show on his face. Lena settled back down slowly.

“I told you she’d like it,” she said.

Pope slipped the phone into his pocket.

“Yeah,” he said.

Lena’s eyes closed.

“You say yeah too much,” she mumbled.

Pope stood beside her bed.

This time, his mouth moved. Almost a smile.

“Go to sleep,” he said.

Lena did.

Pope went back to the living room and sat on the edge of the couch.

He pulled out his phone again. Your last message sat there.

And thank you.

Pope stared at it until the words stopped looking like words. Then he typed.

Pope: Lena likes the fridge.

He sent it.

Your reply came a minute later.

You: I like the fridge too.

Pope read it once. Twice. Then another message appeared.

You: Now go to bed, both of you.

Pope’s thumb hovered over the screen.

There were things he could say. There were things he should not say. There was your kiss on his cheek outside your building, sitting between every word like a lit match. He typed nothing. Then, finally:

Pope: Yeah.

He put the phone facedown on the couch beside him.

The house stayed quiet around him. The hall light stayed on. The door stayed cracked. Lena slept. Soup kept watch.

And somewhere across town, you were awake with his shell beside your notes.

Pope leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and pressed both hands over his mouth.

Like that could make him stop feeling your lips on his cheek.

It did not.

Pope did not sleep much.

He slept some.

Maybe.

Enough that the house went soft and gray around the edges with early morning light. Enough that his head dipped forward once on the couch before he jerked awake with his heart too high in his throat. The phone was still facedown beside him. He did not touch it. Then he did. No new messages. Pope stared at the screen anyway. Your last one was still there.

He should have put the phone down.

Instead, he opened the picture again.

Textbook. Coffee. Open granola bar. Colored pens. Two shells on a folded napkin.

His shell.

Pope stared at it until the sky outside the front windows started to lighten. Then he locked the phone and stood. The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that came before Lena woke up and started asking questions he did not know how to answer.

Pope went to the kitchen.

He made coffee.

He drank half of it standing at the counter.

He could still feel the brush of your lips against his skin. 

He hated that.

He did not hate it.

That was the problem.

The hall floor creaked behind him.

Pope turned.

Lena stood in the doorway with her hair smashed on one side and Soup tucked under her arm.

She squinted at him.

“You’re awake,” Lena said.

Pope looked at the coffee pot.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena padded into the kitchen. “Did you sleep?” 

Pope picked up his mug.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena looked at him. Then at the couch. Then back at him.

“No, you didn’t,” she said.

Pope stared at her. Lena stared back. She was getting too good at that.

“Breakfast,” Pope said.

Lena climbed into a chair at the table. “Toast?” 

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena set Soup on the table facing him. Pope put two slices in the toaster. Lena rested her chin on her hand.

“Can we see the fridge picture again?” she asked.

Pope went still for half a second. Then he reached for his phone. He opened the picture and handed it to her. Lena held it carefully with both hands.

“She put the zoo one in the middle,” Lena said.

Pope leaned against the counter.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

“That means she liked that one best,” Lena said.

Pope looked at the phone in her hands.

Maybe.

Maybe it meant you liked the purple marker.

Maybe it meant you knew Lena would care where it went.

Maybe it meant nothing.

Maybe Pope was the only idiot in the house trying to make every little thing mean more than it should.

“Maybe,” Pope said.

Lena zoomed in by accident. Your fridge filled the screen. The crooked sun. The giraffe. Pope’s straight mouth in marker. His hand near Lena’s shoulder. Lena frowned at the drawing.

“I made you too tall,” she said.

Pope looked at her. “What?” 

Lena pointed at the screen. “You’re taller than the trees.”

Pope glanced at the picture.

“Trees are short,” he said.

Lena looked up at him. “No, they’re not.”

Pope took the toast from the toaster.

“These ones are,” he said.

Lena considered that. Then she nodded once.

“Okay,” she said.

Pope set the toast on a plate and put it in front of her. Lena picked up one piece and took a bite. She chewed. Then she looked at him.

“Are you weird because of the shell?” she asked.

Pope’s hand stopped on the back of the chair.

“No,” he said.

Lena kept looking at him. Pope looked back. Lena took another bite of toast.

“Okay,” she said.

It was not an okay that meant she believed him.

Pope sat down across from her because standing suddenly felt worse.

Lena pushed the phone back toward him.

“Can we see her today?” she asked.

Pope picked up the phone but did not look at it. “She has finals.”

Lena frowned. “All day?”

“Probably,” Pope said.

“That’s too many finals,” Lena said.

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena looked down at Soup.

“Maybe she can use the pens,” she said.

Pope thought about your hand moving over the plastic pack.

Your voice. You got colors.

His own answer. You use colors.

He looked at the coffee in his mug.

“Yeah,” he said.

Lena sighed.

“You really do say yeah too much,” she said.

Pope looked at her. Lena looked back, completely serious. His mouth curved slightly. Then his phone buzzed in his hand. Pope looked down too fast. Lena noticed.

Your name was on the screen.

Pope did not open it right away. Lena leaned forward.

“Is it her?” she asked.

Pope looked at the message preview.

You: Study fuel helped.

Another message came through.

You: I’m pretty busy this week, but I hope I can see you both after finals.

Pope read it once. Then again.

You both.

Not just Lena.

Both.

Lena stretched forward in her chair.

“What did she say?” she asked.

Pope turned the phone slightly away.

“She’s busy,” he said.

Lena frowned. “With finals?”

“Yeah,” Pope said.

Lena looked down at Soup sitting beside her plate.

“Still?” she asked.

“Still,” he said.

Lena picked at the edge of her toast. “But after?” 

Pope stared at the screen.

I hope I can see you both after finals.

“After,” Pope said.

Lena nodded once, satisfied. Pope typed with one thumb.

Pope: Okay.

He stared at it. Then he added:

Pope: Good luck.

He looked at the two words for too long. They were not much. Still more than he usually gave. He sent them before he could delete them. Your reply came a minute later.

You: Thank you.

Pope looked at the words.

Small. Simple. Still enough to make his chest tight.

Lena leaned forward.

“What did you say?” she asked.

Pope put the phone facedown on the table.

“Eat,” he said.

Lena narrowed her eyes.

“That’s not what I asked,” she said.

Pope looked at her. Lena looked back. Then she took a bite of toast like she was letting him get away with it.

For now.

He did, however, get first pick at the guest list. They were frat parties, of course, but sophisticated enough to have a guest list. And top of his list was always one name: yours. Which seemed an odd choice to his housemates as you never turned up.

“Party tonight, you know the place,” said Jack, pushing himself up from the wall that was his. His because he waited there for you every Friday. Waited to follow you, pestering you all the way down corridors and halls, up and down stairwells.

“I know the place, loud, rowdy,” you listed, a heavy looking book tucked under your arm. “I'll be sure to avoid it.”

“No, the open door means come on in, not hurry by.”

“I must have missed that class.”

“You? Miss a class? Nah.”

It was routine for Jack to do this: get the details of the latest party from Derran, run to whatever class you were still stuck in and wait for you to come out to invite you to the party.

The party where he'll linger by the door and let everyone think he was being a diligent owner, welcoming them in, handing them off to the kitchen were drinks were being downed already. Really, he lingered and waited for you. One day you would turn up and he'd back away into the crowd, making his way over all nonchalantly and bump into you, saying some practised line like “Oh, you came!”

“Speaking of class, you were later than usual coming out,” he noted, hands in his jersey jacket pocket.

“Do you ever hear yourself and think how creepy you sound?” you pondered.

“No, not really. I do catch myself in the reflection though and think, woah, you're a good looking guy.”

“Before it cracks right?”

Jack grinned. It was his favourite part of his days, when he got to see you and have this one on one. You bit back to his words and a lot of girls blushed at his teasing, tucking back hair in hopes Jack would catch the drift and do it himself.

He didn't know what it was about you that had you not falling for him. It drove him mad. He loved it. He was crazy, thought his friends, you clearly weren't interested, they were trying to get it through to him. And still, he persisted. Because when he saw you one day, narrowly missed getting hit the face with a soccer ball and instead of slick by you proceeded to yell at every player, and since he couldn't stop seeing you in crowds, finding you in libraries.

When he got talking to you and found you could keep up with him- well, he was smitten.

“What's the book today?” he asked, gesturing to the brick that was tucked under your arm. “Some Latin, some Greek.”

“An old Greek classic. It's in English, I just don't think you can read.”

Jack chuckled and followed you onto into the fields, where the sun beamed down. “Looks heavy, you want me to carry it for you?”

“No, I want you to stop stalking me.”

“I'm not stalking,” he denied, holding up his hands in surrender. “I was just passing by, I swear.”

“You seem to pass by every Friday, which is odd because you don't have classes over here on Fridays.”

Jack's hand darted out. He stopped you with a grin. “Now who's the stalker?”

You frowned, a roll to your eyes like you just couldn't be bothered with him. Yet he knew if that was fact you'd have already avoided him. You liked the bite as much as he did. “What?”

“How do you know my class schedule, huh?” he teased, tongue poking out and running over the bottom of his lip. “Unless someone's been looking.”

There was a stutter on your lips and he stood there, giddy.

“No. I-I just, I mean, my room mate has a friend who's studying medicine and he's not here on Friday's,” you argued.

Jack nodded along with you, rocking slightly back and forward on his heels. “Oh yeah? What's his name?”

You shook your head. “You wouldn't know him.”

Jack doubted, he doubted this guy was even real. It lightened him up to have you wanting to know things about him. That maybe you'd asked around to know his schedule, looked it up, actually spared moments out of your day to think about him while trying to act like you weren't.

Quickly, he followed after you as you took the long way around the pitch.

“Is this guy coming to the party?” he asked, just to entertain the conversation a little longer. “Maybe you can third wheel your roommate and him.”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds fun.”

“Well I'll be there to keep you company, don't worry.”

“Oh good, I feel assured.”

“C'mon,” he said, taking a jog to keep up with your long strides. “What's one night of relaxing, huh?”

You chuckled, dryly. “You and I clearly have a very different idea on what relaxing is.”

“You're a more book and a bath kinda person, am I right?” Jack asked.

You glanced at him, a small frown between your brows like you were trying to figure out how he knew. “There's nothing wrong with that,” you said, almost defensively.

“I didn't say there was. I enjoy a bath myself.”

“With the walls shaking? With all the noises and company? Not a moment's peace?”

Jack smirked, leaning in closer to you. “Just what kind of baths do you think I have?”

Your lips parted, a fresh sheen of gloss over the pink of them. Your tongue clicked as you shook your head, tucking it down but he still caught the corners of your lips tilting up that you tried to hide. One day you might just admit you found him funny, that you thought about him outside of your little coincidental meetings.

“Jesus,” you breathed out, turning from him and taking a path back to your dorm.

“That's what they all say!”

You were making your way down the path hurriedly.

“Think about it!” Jack's hands cupped over his mouth as he yelled after you.

You yelled back. “I've thought about it!”

Jack watched you until your form became a blur and he had pretty good eye sight so he must have been watching you a while. By the time he tore his gaze away from the long way you'd gone he saw jocks on the field, girls preening at them and looking at him with bitten back smiles.

All he thought was how you'd never bitten back a smile. Maybe you tried to hide your smiles around him but he'd seen you grin big before, when you were unabashed and un-afraid to be seen.

He wanted that smile to be his, one day.

The party was already in full swing by the time Jack abandoned his post at the door, trying to make peace with the fact you clearly weren't coming. It was going on midnight and he'd been keeping his spot in the entryway since well before the sun set, wearing a patch into the carpet that would definitely need looking at with sober eyes.

Jack allowed himself a flicker of disappointment before he replaced it with resolve. Next time, maybe he'd even just invite you out somewhere, try to get you on a date instead of carrying on the pointless crusade of dragging you to a party you clearly weren't interested in.

Girls lifted up their plastic red cups to him as he passed, guys clapped him on the shoulder yet none of it felt as rewarding as it should of.

“Jackie, boy!” yelled Derran from his own post of guarding the beers.

“Derran!” he called back with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

Derran spotted his glum look and empty side. “Better luck next time, bro!”

Jack nodded and continued on his venture.

Was it just him you didn't like? He'd seen you at a party before, Stacey M from psychology. He'd caught sight of you, little black dress, taking to someone he didn't know but wanted to if they were stealing your attention. He'd spotted you across the room and hadn't said anything because he didn't want to scare you away. He didn't think you'd seen him.

So, you could party. It must have been Jack you were trying to avoid.

He was thinking as much when he saw Kev.

Kev was Derran's buddy but even that was too generous a statement. He was more like a pestering fly you just couldn't get rid of and Jack spotted him buzzing around someone, animatedly.

“Geez, lighten up!”

“Lighten up? You were about to take a girl who could hardly stand upstairs!”

“She was literally begging for it an hour ago.”

“And now she can hardly string a sentence together!”

The crowd dispersed around the shouting, looking back and to each other with pulled faces. They were hoping for a fight. Someone always was. As they parted, Jack could finally make out who Kev was talking to.

You stood across from Kev, in a dress that demanded Jack's attention, your cheeks flushed and arms crossed over your chest. You were there, at his party, arguing with a guy notorious for being a huge dick.

“What the hell is it to you, anyway?” said Kev.

Jack shouldered past everyone, falling into the conversation. “Hey,” he said to you.

Your eyes moved from Kev's to his and softened. “Hey, Jack.”

Jack. He liked hearing it from your lips, instead of stalker.

“Jack, hey pal,” greeted Kev in a stony voice typical for him. “Get a hold of your fucking girl, would you?”

You scoffed as Jack took a step in front of you. “Excuse me?”

“She's not my girl, man,” said Jack. “And she's right. If a girl's too drunk to keep her eyes open she's way to drunk to commit to anything.”

“She wants it, bro! I can tell!”

“I guarantee you, she does not.” Jack watched Kev roll his eyes and guessed he wasn't a guy that took being told no easily.

“Whatever man,” he said, waving his hand in a dismissive sort of gesture as he turned. “Just get this bitch out of my face.”

Kev tried to go but Jack was hot on his heels. You were hot on his.

“What did you just say?” snapped Jack, yelling over the noise of the music that rattled in his bones and his own heartbeat he could hear pounding in his ears.

“You heard me!”

“Yeah, and I'm really hoping I fucking didn't!” Jack grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He was taller than Jack, bigger than Jack and heavier than Jack. But Jack was willing to bet he had only a tiny dick. “Say you're sorry.”

“Jack-” you interjected behind him.

“Apologise,” he ordered, standing his ground, ignoring the forming crowd.

“Fuck off, man. What the fuck is your problem anyway? Your girl not giving you any pussy so you have to go and ruin mine?”

Jack froze.

He didn't know how it happened. One minute, Kev was running his mouth, the next, your fist flew past Jack and a sickening crack sounded.

Kev was on the floor, cradling his broken and bleeding nose with a whine.

You brought back your fist, shaking it off. “Shit-” you seethed.

Jack was back at your side, quickly. “Ooh- are you okay?” Gently, he took your trembling hand, cradeling it in his as he would a hurt bird. There was a redness spreading along your knuckles, blood blooming at the tiny cuts.

Around the two of you, the party crowd that had formed and watched it all happen started to applaud.

“Let's go!”

“Whoop-whoop!”

“Dude, Kev just got knocked out by a girl!”

If Jack were anybody else he might have cheered to. He might have been apart of the crowd, clapping. But he was only himself. He was only focused on you and your had still held in his.

Your cheeks were flushed with spring time pink as you tucked your head low, leaving him to lower his own closer to hear you. “Is... is there... is there somewhere...”

It took Jack just a moment to realise what you were trying to ask.

“Yeah. Yeah, c'mon.” Jack kept a hold of your wrist as he dragged you past Kev still rolling around on the floor and moaning in pain. He pushed through the crowd that were meandering back to their drinking and dancing. He led you through and up the crowded stairs.

You were silent till Jack stopped the two of you in front of a locked door.

He fished the key out his pocket. “It's my bedroom.”

You stiffened under him.

Jack's eyes widened. “Oh! Oh no, I- it's ensuite. I'd take you to the other bathroom but I can promise you do not want to see what's going on in there. I just want to take a look at your hand, is that okay?”

Your lips pursed and you nodded.

Jack waited. “Words, please.”

“Yes, Jack, you can take a look at my hand,” you said, cheeks still red.

His room was organised, trophies from several sport competitions standing high and polished on shelves. Whenever his parents came around they made sure to keep them clean and straighten them up. On his desk there was a tall pile of medical textbooks, thick enough to act like building blocks and his half finished mug of coffee was left there next to them.

He flicked the lights on and finally let go of your wrist. “You can, sit, make yourself comfortable.”

Jack rushed into his bathroom that was a little less tidy, kicking towels on the floor and dirty boxers into a pile behind the door and reached under his sink to find his first aid kit.

You were stood at the end of his bed, looking around at the walls, at the posters of bands on the wall that he put up when he first moved in and didn't tear off. Your eyes scanned over sheets of paper he had stuck up, post-it notes full of medical terms that were like a different language if you didn't know how to read it.

Jack lingered and watched you study everything that made him, him. Suddenly he was very aware he didn't really listen to any of the bands plastered up on his walls, that his wardrobe doors were hutting open from a draw not closed properly.

“You used to play soccer?” you asked when he appeared again.

Jack eyed the trophies you stared at. “Er, yeah.”

“I didn't know that.”

Jack smirked. “There's a lot you don't know about me.” He held out his hand to his bed, inviting you to sit on the edge as he sat on his desk chair, switching on the lap and moving the neck till the gold glow was on your hand. He was lucky his room was small enough to accommodate the two of you close together.

You splayed out your hand.

“Nice throw,” said Jack as he took a cotton swab and dabbed lightly at the beads of blood.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“Where'd you learn to punch like that?”

“Self defence classes,” you told him. “When I thought about coming to your party I figured I best take another one, might come in handy.”

“Glad to know it wasn't me you were planning on punching the day lights out of,” he said.

“I'd have gone easy on you,” you shrugged. “Oh my god, I assaulted him!”

Jack chuckled at the sudden dawn of realisation on your face. “He had it coming. He's a dick anyway.”

The two of you fell silent again as Jack gently looked around your knuckles, checking for any injuries that he could see as if he was already a qualified doctor.

“It's probably the nasal bones you hit,” said Jack. “Might have fractured it.”

“Is it gonna harm is breathing?” you panicked.

“No. His nose will just be bruised for a while. Might have given him a free nose job, too.”

Your other hand combed back your hair. “He could report me for assault.”

Jack shook his head, glancing up through his lashes at you. “He won't. He'd have to explain how the fight began, how he wanted to have sex with a girl that couldn't say no, let alone yes. And besides, Kev wouldn't admit he was hit by a woman.”

“Some company you keep at these things,” you mumbled.

Jack swallowed away guilt. “I'm sorry, Kev just turns up to these things. Usually the parties aren't so bad,” he explained. “This is still going down as one of the best, in my books.”

“Because Kev got punched?”

“Because you showed up.”

Your gaze was hard on his, not un-kind but just watching him to try to catch out the lie. There was none. He was waiting to tell you.

“How come you changed your mind anyway?” he tried to distract you as he ran an anti-septic wipe over the small cuts.

Your hand still tensed and curled up. “Ow- Jesus!”

“Sorry,” he cringed.

You shuffled on the edge of his bed, pulling the hem of your dress back down. Not that he was looking. “My roommate was going, thought I'd see what all the fuss was about. And that way I didn't have to drive.”

“Where's your roommate now?” he asked.

“She and a couple other girls went to take the other drunk girl home, make sure she gets back safe and is okay.”

Jack smiled down at your hand.

“So much for sticking together,” you sighed with a little huff of laughter.

“You need a ride home?” asked Jack, perking up.

You raised your brows. “Haven't you been drinking?”

He shook his head. He'd never been happier to not be a big drinker. “I'm a med student. You think I can get drunk and the next day dissect a rat.”

Your lips pulled into a frown. “I thought dissecting rats in class was band in the fifties?”

“Who said anything about being in class?”

You laughed and Jack wished he could go back in time, make the joke again and savour it anew. He wanted to know what else he could say to make you laugh. What else made you smile. He wanted to know everything that made you happy and be apart of it.

He ditched the wipe on the side and went back to holding your hand. His eyes scanned over the expanse of the back of your hand as if he was trying to find factures or bruising when he just wanted to have an excuse to hold your hand a little longer and try to remember what it felt like.

“So, am I gonna live, doc?” you whispered, head ducking low and closer to his.

Jack raised a brow. “It's doc now, not stalker?”

“I guess I'm the one in your bedroom, I feel like the stalker now.”

“I really didn't have another agenda to this,” said Jack, stony at once at the implication he came up to his room with you for another reason. “You can leave at any time, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I don't.”

It was perhaps the longest conversation you'd had together without you walking off and him wondering if he'd see you again. This was different. You were sitting, letting him touch you and look after you in a room that surmised him.

“Your hand should be okay,” said Jack. “You might want to ice it when you get home. Or I can get you a bag now?”

“Will I make it if I wait till I get back?”

Jack tilted his head to the side, holding your hand in his and leaning back. “I dunno. Let's see-”

Studying your hand side to side, Jack slowly brought it up to him, making sure to leave you enough time to retreat. You didn't. He kept his eyes lowered as he brought it up to his lips and kissed it gently. It was just a press of his lips, not a brush or a bite. He just held himself there and felt your pulse under his fingertips race.

He was enjoying this medical training thing more when he could use what he learnt on you.

“You'll make it,” he said, letting your hand down onto your lap.

You shivered and held the hand he'd just kissed in the other. “Thank you, Jack.”

“Thank you for punching Kev and putting him in his place,” he said. “Think you can stick around till three and get everyone out of here?”

“Three is a little after my bedtime.”

“Bath and a book?” Jack asked. He found his voice naturally lifting in his flirting sort of way but there was genuine curiosity underneath it. He wanted to see you room and not in a creepy way. He wanted to know what posters were up on your walls, or what colour they were painted. He wanted to know the photos you had framed and books you had stacked on your bookcase.

You glanced at him, a degree of shock that he'd remembered. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Jack figured you'd be surprised to know he remembers your favourite sweater you wore when the weather was cold, the Margaret Atwood book you carried with you more than any other. The fact you preferred the south corridors because there was a breeze in the north. That you wore one colour more than any other.

If he admitted it you might just tease him again.

He could live with it though.

“I can give you a lift back, if my cars not blocked up,” said Jack, spinning his keys around his finger.

“Oh no,” you said, standing up with him. “I can't ask you to do that.”

“You didn't ask,” he pointed out. “I'm asking you.”

You looked around his room again, trying to find an excuse.

“C'mon,” said Jack, nudging you. “If I were to let you get home some other way I'd only be worried, I'd get no sleep, then how would I study the next day?”

“At least the rats would be safe.”

Jack waited still, holding his hands behind his back and rocking.

You sighed. “Sure, fine, if your cars not blocked in.”

Jack was willing to ram into any car he needed to to get you home.

And so Jack took you home that night and for the rest of the week thought about you more than usual. After all, now he knew how soft your hands were, fingers slightly rough from the constant turning of your pages. He knew what your hair smelt like closer up and how your body relaxed with the vibrations of a car. He knew so much and so little but Jack was on a mission to know everything.

Decades later and Jack had memorised the touch of your skin when trailed by his own fingertips. How warm it felt in the morning sun and the slight tremble when it was night. He'd seen shades of your hair through the years and the lengths you changed but he always remembered how it looked in the gleam of the afternoon sun. He knew- when he could once only dream of knowing- every secret dent and tint of your body, knew your curves like it was a road he took down every day.

You knew where Jack was starting to grey, when his leg hurt him more than usual. You knew the roundness of his stomach and kissed down it when he realised he wasn't as lean as he was when he was younger. You could map every freckle on his body and join them dot-to-dot with your eyes closed. It was the sort of knowing one only got from years of dedication.

That was why Jack knew he needed you to run into the ED when he'd only been there for an hour.

“Jack?” you were wind-swept, coming in through the ambulance bay doors that had seen you come in and out almost more than it saw emergencies.

He would ask you to come in to share some crappy dinner he'd prepped the night before, wonder if you were driving by in the morning to your own job at teaching English just so he could steal a kiss and taste your morning coffee on your lips. Any excuse, Jack was asking for you.

You were always happy to deliver.

He smiled as you stepped up to him and he grabbed your hips, bringing you closer and kissing him.

“You're so in love, I hate it,” said Nurse Vivi from Lena's side.

“You're adorable,” cooed Lana.

Jack pulled back, brushing your hair and framing your face. He peeked with a smug smile at Lena. “Thank you very much.”

“What's going on?” you asked. “You said it was an emergency?”

“I didn't want you to miss this-” he took your hand, the one branded with the two rings he'd slid on there and dragged you to an exam room.

You knew the floor planning almost as well as Jack did. He'd given you a tour of the place after only a week of working, introducing you to Dana and Lena, showing you off to Robby who couldn't believe Jack's wife was... well, you... that he'd stared, mouth agape for at least ten seconds.

The both of you like to tease him about it now.

“Miss what?”

Like he was showing you a show he'd rehearsed, Jack held out his arms to the glass windows of nine.

Two young women, alike in look and stature, stood over a bed. They were talking down with anger between their brows to a man slouched in the bed, a crooked nose and black eye, beard long and ill-kept-

Jack watched your eyes widen and brows raise. He grinned.

“No,” you gasped.

He nodded and chuckled to himself. He tried to keep his back straight, holding onto the reigns of composure he kept for his night shifts. Yet, with the dazzle of amusement in your eyes he couldn't stop himself from the boyish grin only you ever brought out.

“Is that- is that Kev?”

Jack nodded. “He's here for a conference. That-” he pointed to the woman on his right. “- is the conference and that is his girlfriend.” He gestured to the other.

“Some people don't change,” you chuckled.

“No they do not.”

He let you study Kev. The length of the beard was one thing, the scraggle of it another. The hospital gown in white and grey did nothing to flatter him, nor did the black eye and crook in his nose. He was balding at the top and reseeding on the sides.

“Wait, isn't this a breach of some patient confidentiality?” you asked, a hand on his bicep.

Jack pulled his lips down and shook his head. “I don't think he'll say anything.”

Kev's eyes flickered from the girls (because they were very much younger than he was) and found you and Jack standing there on the other side. He shrunk back in his bed and rubbed over the crook in the bridge of his nose.

No, he wouldn't say anything.

Pope is here because Smurf told him the property needs checking on. At least that’s the story he’s feeding himself.

And it makes sense. There’s water damage in one of the downstairs units and some dipshit’s been stripping cooper out of the laundry room again. If it’s not one thing going wrong, it’s another.

This building’s always two steps away from falling apart. Someone has to stop it from going to hell completely.

Plenty of good, rational reasons to be here. 

None of which do a thing to explain why he does not move from being propped on the hood of his truck just yet.

He stays at the curb as he watches the building’s familiar pulse of seedy activity.

It’s not even the worst spot owned by the Codys, not by far, but that doesn’t make it good. It’s definitely not good enough for you, not by a long shot. Run-down. Full of people who loiter outside longer than they should and pay too much attention to things that aren’t theirs.

A woman argues fervently on the stoop, body tense enough he can see the harsh jut of her collarbone from here. Two boys pretend to clean their bikes by the courtyard, their hands moving in repetitive, meaningless circles, rags never actually removing any grime.

And then there’s the smoker, with a long beard and crooked nose, leaning near the stairs, smoke rising around him.

Pope watches his sleepy gaze harden suddenly, tracking something straight ahead.

Pope’s neck cranes as his vision tunnels into pinpoint clarity, finding what the man found first: you.

Walking up the sidewalk with two grocery bags hooked over your wrists, pink flats picking their way carefully over the buckled concrete, skirt the same shade catching around your knees every time the breeze shifts. White cardigan buttoned all the way up over your chest despite the heat.

You don’t hurry. That bothers him.

You move through the courtyard with no care in the world. Unaware of the eyes that linger on your body, the curiosity you unwittingly ignite.

God he hates this place most when you’re in it. Without you, it’s just brick and mortar. But with you here, everything is suddenly hostile. A million scenarios blooming in his head. Someone following you from your car, someone hiding just around the corner waiting for you to pass by, a neighbor deciding your door lock doesn’t look so hard to force open.

He has tried to get you to stay at Smurf’s countless times now, using different tactics each time. Gentle coaxing, stubborn demands, pushing you into the kind of corner where the only real choice was already decided for you.

And those all work most nights. 

Still, every now and then, for reasons unbeknownst to him, you insist on sleeping here.

So every now and then, he comes and sits off to the side, his truck parked discreetly out of view. Always staying within striking distance should anyone dare to try anything stupid.

Thankfully he hasn’t had to act yet, people know better, whispers exchanged in doorways and hallways: that pretty little thing tucked away in apartment 2B is Cody territory. Off limits.

It takes him four long strides to reach you. 

He comes up behind you without saying anything, partly because he doesn’t want to startle you and partly because he wants to see how long it takes before you notice a man his size coming up behind you. Too long, apparently. 

You don’t notice him when his shadow cuts across the pavement beside yours, not when his boots hit the concrete close enough you should hear him, not even when he’s right behind you, inhaling the faint sweet drift of your perfume over the dirty air of the courtyard.

You just keep walking, grocery bags bumping into your legs every second step, head angled down as you watch your feet over the cracked walkway. 

Then you stop so suddenly he nearly runs into you, boots scuffing against the ground in the process.

Nearly turns into definitely when you move again, bending at the waist to grab a little carton that had tumbled out of your bag and rolled near your shoe.

He can’t dodge you fast enough before he’s crashing against you, the ample of your backside pressed flush against him, your skirt skimming his denim-clad thighs.

He grits his teeth, swallowing down the groan lodged somewhere in his throat, and his hands shoot out to grip at your waist. Half to steady you, half to hold himself back.

You jump, a sharp little gasp tearing out of you as you twist in his hold, eyes wide, lips parted.

But the fear vanishes when you realize it’s him. Dissolves so quickly into relief, then blossoming into that lovely smile of yours Pope spends half his days obsessing over. Lip gloss glistens like honey under the afternoon sun, squinting at him through the harsh glare.

“Pope,” you breathe, like he’s something good that happened to you rather than the man who decided to follow you through a parking lot to prove a point.

His fingers flex once before he makes them let go.

“You don’t pay attention,” he tells you plainly.

You smile pinches at the edges a little, like you’re trying to decide whether he’s teasing you or scolding you. You seem to assume the later. A good assumption.

“I do pay attention,” you insist, the words coming out with the stubborn certainty of someone who has already decided they're right. Then you glance down at the sidewalk as though it might testify on your behalf. One of the grocery bags slips lower on your wrist, plastic stretching, and you hitch it back up with a small huff of effort. “I was paying attention to the ground. Because last week I almost twisted my ankle right there.”

Pope follows the line of your finger.

Without a word, he reaches for the bags. His hand closes around the handles and lifts them clean off your arm before you can object. You make a small noise of surprise, letting him take them.

“What if it wasn’t me coming up behind you?” 

Your brows pull together. “But it was you.”

“Yeah, but what if it wasn’t?”

You hesitate visibly, your fingers weaving together, rocking onto the tips of your shoes. You look almost apologetic when you speak. “I dunno.”

Exactly, he thinks.

He breathes out very slowly through his nose to keep the worst of his frustration from showing. It still sits heavy on his face, he’s sure. In the hard line of his mouth, in the way his hands tighten around the plastic bags until the handles stretch thin. 

“You gotta be more aware,” he says, dipping his face towards yours, almost pleading. His gaze flickers anxiously over your face, desperate for more reassurance. “Can you do that for me? Check around when you get out of the car, look before you walk up the stairs, take a second before you open your door.” 

You open your mouth to speak, something potentially defensive at the tip of your tongue, before you reconsider, shoulders sinking just a fraction. 

“For me,” Pope urges again. No room for misunderstanding.

And because you are you, you give a gentle, almost reluctant nod in surrender. You have a hard time fighting him on anything.

He returns the gesture with his own stiff nod. He knows you don’t fully understand the fuss, not completely, but you’re trying, and that has to be enough for now. He’ll shoulder the rest.

He moves towards the staircase, leaving you to catch up. You hurry to follow behind him. 

“Why’re you here anyway?” you voice after him. “Did I miss rent or something?”

Pope doesn’t turn around; doesn’t trust himself to look at you without giving too much away.

“No,” he replies, casual, like it’s not something he thinks about every single month.

You would never be late. You are a meticulously precise creature. Keeping track of everything, neat little numbers, due dates, confirmations, all of it lined up exactly the way you like, and then you get that pleased look on your face when you send the payment, like you’ve done something worth being proud of.

Which you have. He lets you have that. But he can’t stand taking your money.

So every month he waits until that little deposit appears, waits another day or two to avoid suspicion, then finds a way to get it back to you.

Sometimes it’s hidden in elaborate Cody business expenses; other times Craig’s buddy does some invisible computer shit to push numbers back into your account, nothing ever traced to pope.

And occasionally, he just leaves cash in places he knows you’ll find it. In your purse, between pages of a book you’ve left out, tucked behind a coffee mug. 

He loves hearing you puzzle over it. You always chalk it up to luck, or fate, or some karmic gift from the universe. Never once suspecting Pope’s fingerprints on every cent.

It all sounds more complicated than it actually is.

Really, it’s just logical. You need the money. Pope has the money. Problem solved.

At the steps, Pope pauses, gently nudging you ahead of him.

It’s a selfish move. He’s got a bad feeling you don’t have shorts under that skirt, and he’s not in the mood to have that confirmed by anyone standing behind you. Better him at your back than anyone else. Better him blocking the view.

As if to confirm his fears, someone over his shoulder lets out a short laugh. “Man, a girl that pretty oughta let me buy her dinner. Hell, maybe I’d even send her home wearing a pearl necklace.”

Pope looks back and finds the bearded cigarette smoker slouched against the vending machine, filter hanging loose between two fingers, eyes still fixed on you with that same open, filthy interest. He’s got a buddy with him now, some wiry little shit standing half a step to the side, not looking too sure of himself now that Pope’s facing him. 

Pope thinks about how easy it would be. Pin the guy up against the machine, forearm to windpipe, watching the smartass shine drain out of his eyes. Pictures crushing the cigarette into the soft part of his cheek. But he can’t do that without scaring you off.

So he crouches just enough to place the bags on the stairs without jostling them, eggs and bread and whatever else cushioned upright where it won’t tip. 

When he rises, he goes back the way he came, jerking his head in your direction. “You talkin’ about her?”

“Just complimenting her.”

“No,” Pope says. “You weren’t.”

The wiry friend shifts back half a step. Smart. 

The bearded man tries to recover, but it’s too late, Pope can already see the little glint of fear sputtering in his eyes, igniting as he sizes him up.

He lifts the cigarette to his mouth. “Ain’t that serious, man.”

Pope reaches out and plucks the cigarette from his fingers before it gets there. Drops it to the concrete. Crushes it under his boot. 

“Look at her again, talk about her again, I’ll make sure the next thing I crush under my boot is your throat.”

The bearded man opens his mouth. 

“Don’t. I’m tryin’ real hard not to scare her,” Pope growls. “Don’t make that difficult for me.”

The man’s eyes flick once past Pope, towards the stairs, toward you, then snap back fast like even that was a mistake.

“Alright,” he mutters finally, hands lifting a little. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

A lie. A terrible one, at that. But Pope doesn’t spare the man another look. Just turns, grabs the grocery bags, and comes back up the steps to where you’re perched on the landing, watching him with that dazed little expression of yours. 

“I don’t even like pearls,” you whisper to him the second he gets close enough. “They’re kinda old-ladyish.”

Pope shuts his eyes for half a beat.

“Yeah,” he finally sputters, tips of his ears burning a little. He ushers you towards 2B. “C’mon. Inside.”

The inside of your apartment is cute. Small as it looks from the outside and from what he can see through your window at night, but it’s cute, all pinks and whites and soft little girlish details scattered across every surface.

There’s a coffee table crowded with tiny trinkets he can’t make heads or tails of, glossy little objects with no obvious purpose except that you liked them enough to bring them home. 

And it’s clean. He likes that it’s clean. Clean means he won’t spend the time here distracted by dust in the corners and fingerprints on glass, trying not to imagine bleaching every inch of it.

He carries the bags into the kitchen and sets them on the counter one by one. Behind him, you wobble a little taking off your shoes and catch yourself on his shoulder.

It leaves a searing brand behind when you pull away. 

“What was that out there?” you ask.

Pope shrugs. “Nothin’. Guy’s just a dick.”

He winces inwardly as soon as he says it. Dick feels too crude aimed anywhere near you, and he has to resist the urge to take it back and replace it with something nicer.

“It’s not like he said anything really bad or anything,” you say, shrugging in a way that suggests you’re used to it. 

Used to being stared at, cat called, talked about. And maybe it shouldn’t surprise him, given who you are.

He’s seen it before, at Smurf’s parties, men practically stumbling over themselves to offer you a drink, eyes tracking every movement you make. Drivers nearly wrapping their cars around telephone poles because their heads turn too fast when you walk down the street. 

You’re beautiful. Beautiful enough that people can’t help staring at you. But Pope’s never been forced to hear it firsthand, never had to stand there while some pervert talked about putting a pearl necklace across your throat and chest. And you don’t even understand what he was saying. 

He could handle it. He could handle it right now. If the guy’s still lingering around when Pope leaves, he might just have to. The asshole will be out of this building tomorrow regardless, he’ll will make damn sure of it.

Your hand touching his arm snaps him out of it. He looks down and sees your painted fingers resting there, cautious like you’re not sure what’s going on in his head. 

“Pope?”

The heat cools just enough for him to breathe. He rubs a hand over his jaw. “He said somethin’ bad enough.”

You cock your head to one side. “Taking me to dinner isn’t exactly the worst offer I’ve ever had. And like I said, pearls aren’t really my thing, but it’s a nice sentiment, I guess?”

Pope shoves his hand through his hair, forced to take a step back because standing this close to your face is messing with him. 

“Look a pearl necklace isn’t… it’s not jewelry, okay? It’s not fuckin’ nice. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

You fold your arms over your chest, your hair slipping forward and partly covering your face. Pope’s fingers twitch at his sides, fighting the impulse to reach out and brush it back into place. 

“Not really… I— well,” you pause, fingers drumming along your left arm. “What else could a pearl necklace be, if it’s not jewelry?”

His blood pressure ticks up exponentially. Why must you make everything so difficult?

“I’m not gonna explain it. Just trust me, it’s not somethin’ appropriate for anyone to say to you.”

“What happened to ‘I’m an adult’ and ‘it’s my call if I wanna know stuff’?”

Shit. He did say that, didn’t he?

Pope takes a deep, irritated breath, wishing he could turn back time and rip his own vocal chords out. This must be his own purgatory. Cursed to answer all your sex related questions for all of eternity and unable to do anything about it.

You trust him. That much is obvious. He doesn’t want to abuse that trust. A Sisyphean task. Endless. Futile.

“Alright, look. It’s slang for a guy… finishin’ on you. On your throat, your chest, wherever.” His voice is strained, worried he might break something delicate in you just by saying it. “It’s disrespectful. Sleazy.”

You blink, eyes huge as you look up at him, clearly stunned by what you just heard. You shake your head slightly, trying to puzzle it out. “So it’s… disrespectful if someone does that to you?”

Pope cracks his neck, wincing slightly, as if the right words are somewhere trapped there and refusing to come out easy. 

“Christ — yes,” he grumbles. Then quickly, backtracking, “I mean no — no, it ain’t disrespectful if it’s something you, uh, wanted someone to do, but it’s disrespectful for someone to say shit like that to you unprompted.”

“Oh, well, yeah, that was gross,” you agree, wrinkling your nose.

Then you turn away from him, starting to put away the groceries with a distracted, absent-minded care. He thinks he’s in the clear, that you’re satisfied with his sparks note version of the definition.

He’s eyeing the door, when you pause again, bottom lip caught between your teeth, a bag of carrots dangling in your hand.

“Why would someone even want to do that to someone? The guy, I mean? Not him specifically, just, like, any guy? Is that something… you think about? Like a lot?”

He coughs, almost choking, and a hot flush creeps up the back of his neck.

There’s an instant headache pulsing behind he eyes as he tries desperately not to picture exactly what you just asked him.

Is it something he thinks about? Not until this moment. Not until he imagines those same wide and trusting eyes looking up at him as he spills milky white ropes of cum across your bare chest.

Christ. He’s no better than that asshole downstairs, thinking shit like that about you. 

He presses two fingers to his temple. “No, it’s not like I sit around thinking about stuff like that.”

It feels like a fib now.

“So why would someone wanna do that at all?”

Because it would feel good, he thinks. Immediately. The act itself, yes, but the claim in the aftermath. The evidence left behind.

The way people are always trying to leave marks on things they like. Names carved into desks. Initials scratched into trees. Dogs pissing on fire hydrants. 

You stare at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. 

He looks at the wall behind you, at the cheap paint and the little crooked shelf you’ve decorated with candles and a tiny ceramic flower.

Anything but your face. Anything but the curve of your throat. Anything but the where your shirt dips when you shift closer. 

“It’s…” He cuts himself off, jaw ticking. “It’s visual.” The word sounds dragged out of him. “That’s part of it. Men are wired like that. And part of it’s ego. They wanna see you messy like that. Wanna see that you let ‘em do it.” His mouth flattens. “It’s not always romantic. A lotta the time it’s just selfish.”

“But maybe it depends on who it is? Like doing it to you?” You continue to worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Like… if it was someone safe. Someone you trusted a lot.” A tiny crease forms between your brows. “And if it was something you wanted too, couldn’t it be kind of romantic?” 

Pope goes still. All his blood seeming to rush downwards as the question lands between you like something lit, something rolling close to dry brush.

He can feel the conversation slipping somewhere it shouldn’t. He needs to reign it back in, regain control.

Instead he says, “Could be. If you trusted ‘em. If it was somethin’ you were askin’ for, or… into. Not somethin’ that’s being pushed on you.”

You go quiet, turning that over.

Then, in that soft, absentminded way of yours, like you don’t realize you’re lighting a match in a room full of gas, you say, “I guess that makes sense. A lot of things probably feel different with a person you trust.”

You’re looking at him so intensely he has to take another step back. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute. Can’t. Your gaze moves back down into the grocery bag with a shrug, sweet and unaware that you’ve just handed his imagination enough to ruin the rest of his night.

He’s corrupt for wanting to be that person for you. The one you trust enough to paint your body. To teach you all this dumb shit, but with his hands, with his mouth, with his cock.

He clears his throat hard, grabs the last bag off the counter even though it’s already empty, then sets it right back down like he forgot what he was doing in the first place.

“Yeah,” he says finally, voice flat in that way it only gets when he’s holding too much under it. “Maybe.”

He leaves not long after that. Before you ask anything else. Before he can give into his urges and contaminate you with his darkness.  

By the next afternoon, the guy downstairs is gone.

Smurf’s property manager tells the tenants it was a lease violation. Some issue with unauthorized guests, late rent, maybe smoking too close to the building. Nobody asks too many questions. Nobody wants to.

And a few days later, you mention in passing that the creepy man by the vending machine must’ve gotten into some kind of accident.

“His face looked weird when he was packing up all his stuff,” you say, frowning a little. “Like he burned himself or something.”

Pope just hums, eyes on the road.

He doesn’t tell you cigarette burns heal terribly.

No one wanted to tell Pope.

J’s hands tremble as he stands by the backyard door, looking out into the pool. Nicky can hardly contain her own sobs as she also takes in the sight in front of her. “Is she alive?!” She asks between violent and harsh breaths. J is too busy staring at the puddle gathered around Y/N.

The liquid is dark, but due to the concrete absorbing it, he couldn’t tell if it was the pool water, or blood.

“J!” Nicky cries as he finally snaps.

“What?! Fuck! Nicky, what?!” He shouts, the panic setting in finally, pushing the horror to the pit of his stomach.

“Is she fucking alive?!” Nicky cries more, her tense body jerking as she stomps her foot aggressively. J looks back at Y/N’s soaked and limp form.

“She fucking better be…” He whispers, mostly to himself.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here..

When the car had first screeched to a halt outside the Cody residence, Y/N had seen the men hop out the car before J or Nicky could fully understand what was happening.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here.

Y/N had ordered the couple into a bedroom and told them to not make a sound.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here!

J and Nicky listened from the bedroom as Y/N refused to speak to them about a damn thing. The sounds quickly turning from aggressive to just plain violent, but anytime J tried to move, Nicky would grab a hold of him, quietly begging him to not leave her alone.

J paces a bit, building up the courage to go out there, to check on her until he hears it. A car. Freezing, he barely registers Nicky rushing to his side to grip his shirt. “Fuck!” She cries as the front door opens.

That’s the only thing that settles J. Whoever parked in the driveway was supposed to be here. Until he hears the voice of the mystery person.

“Go get your shoes, tot. I’m sure mommy’s waiting up..”

Pope.

Fuck.

Pope walks over to the kitchen, pausing as he sees the two teens shaking with tear stained cheeks. “What?” He asks, his jaw instantly tensing in a way it hadn’t before.

Why would it have been? He’d been out all day with his three year old daughter, Aria. A relaxing evening was spent, and now here he was, letting all that stress come right back into his system.

Y/N had only popped by the Cody residence tonight because she assumed Pope was here, not knowing her husband had actually left for ice cream with Aria and Deran about 20 minutes before she’d pulled up.

She wasn’t supposed to be here..

J can’t speak as he stares at his uncle. The man who terrified him to the bone, the man who he only ever really saw smile thanks to the woman who’s still lying limp outside. The man who he didn’t know had emotions until he saw him tear up at Aria’s first steps and words.

“What?” Pope barks now, making Nicky jump a bit.

J feels his heart hammer against his chest. It’s in his ears, in his skull. It’s doing the talking for him. Pope finally looks beyond the two teens, his look of annoyance fading. Melting. Into one of pure horror.

J almost breaks. For so long, he thought of Pope as the devil.

Who knew the devil could get scared?

There’s no words exchanged as Pope runs out to the pool area. Deran walks into the kitchen, holding Aria only to be blocked by a shaking Nicky.

“Sh-She shouldn’t… see this.” She stammers as she takes a pouty Aria from Deran. J watches from the sliding glass door as Pope shakes an unconscious Y/N.

“Baby? B-Baby?” Pope whispers as he urgently checks his pulse and puts his head to her chest. He hears the heartbeat of his lover, but maybe that’s his own.

“Baby?!” He shouts, voice raw and authoritative as he tries to open her eyes. “Don’t fucking do this to me!” He struggles against his own panic to get the words out.

“Don’t fucking… Y/N!” He snaps as he begins CPR.

“Fuck..” Deran breathes out in shock as he watches his brother lose it.

“W-What do we do?” J asks finally, fidgeting with his phone, as if waiting for the word to call.

Deran doesn’t answer as he watches Pope start compressions.

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking.. Leave me. Don’t you fucking leave me! Baby..” Pope pants out roughly as he focuses on just this. He can do this, just this, forever. He has no choice in the matter. He does this.. Or he dies too.

There was no in-between here. He would be with her, because his end was her. His beginning was her.

Pope had known Y/N since high school. She wasn’t extremely popular, but to a young Pope Cody, she was a goddess. Funny, smart, caring. The first time they ever interacted was when Pope was getting arrested for stealing computers from the high school. The cops had him to the ground and Y/N had rushed over to tell them to not be so rough.

‘You don’t even know if he did it! Innocent till proven, right?!’

Pope had done it.

But her fierce and blind support had made him smirk all the way to the police station.

That was just Y/N. That’s how she’s always been. Loyal and supportive and constantly seeing the door. That’s why she had her own clinic, that’s why people in OceanSide love her, that’s what made her an amazing wife and mother. It was her heart.

The heart Pope was now desperately pumping at..

“Don’t leave me..” Pope mutters desperately, angry hot tears rolling down his face as he finishes the 30. He desperately leans down, his lips touching the soft and cold ones of his lover. He almost breaks.

It almost hits him that that’s not how her lips felt this morning.

But he pushes it back down. All the way down, just so he can focus. As he pulls away, a loud cough comes from Y/N, water spurting up from her now trembling lips, the cold setting in from being drowned repeatedly in the pool.

Pope is quick to lay her on her side, brushing her hair away from her face more. He shakily touches the bruise on her left cheek. She hisses as he finally breaks, taking off his jacket to put around her. He hurriedly uses his pocket knife to cut the tape off her wrists, as if wanting that last piece of evidence away from them both.

The evidence that showed he wasn’t there to protect her..

He lays on his side just to hold her to his chest as her hands shakily find his shirt to grip on to while she lets reality sink back in. She begins to quietly sob, digging her head into his hard chest as she realizes all that could’ve slipped from her.

“They’re okay?” She finally breathes. Pope doesn’t answer, busy kissing the top of her head repeatedly.

“Andy, are the kids okay?!” She whispers, voice hoarse and thick with tears as he nods, lips pressed hard against her forehead as if needing to feel her skin against him.

To assure himself that she’s still here..

*

*

*

Her eyes burned.

Her lungs burned.

Her nose burned.

And then in all one moment, the yank to her hair makes it all disappear.

She coughs roughly as she’s made to look at Manny. “Look at my fucking face. Do I look like a man you can fuck with?! Hm?!” He snaps as he grips her jaw, making her wince.

“You tell me about a safe that only has 25K in it?! You think I’m here for 25..” He trails off, anger getting the better of him as he backhands her. The force sends her to the ground, Manny’s men letting her fall. Her hands behind her back meant she couldn’t even try to catch her fall.

The stone around the pool had scarped her knees already, and the process of being dunked in and out of the pool made her disoriented and cold. Not to mention the constant hits she’d been endearing since they dragged her out here.

“Get her back up!” Manny orders his men. The two guys quickly yank her back up by her clothes as she silently prays they stick to just hitting her..

“Look at me..” Manny says quietly as he bends over to be eye level with Y/N. She struggles a bit, the ache to her neck and head making it hard to move.

“Ay!” Manny quickly swats her mouth. “I said look at me!” He orders. “You better focus on my words..” He says as she looks up at him.

“I want my fucking money. And I want it now. And if you don’t know where it is.. You better let the men know.” He says as he grabs her by the neck.

“And you better hope they can get it back to me. Because I always make my money back..” Manny says before eyeing her, a sick smirk growing on his face. “And I know people who’ll pay a pretty dime for you..” He says slowly as she shuts her eyes, stiffening her cries. She didn’t want to give him that satisfaction, but the fear was becoming overwhelming..

“Put her ass back in the water!” Manny orders, making her cry against the tape on her mouth as she’s dragged back to the pool edge..

“Ah!”

She’s drenched in sweat..

It’s quiet in the house, too quiet for her liking. The big gulps of air do nothing to slow her racing heart as she really takes in her surroundings.

The bedroom. Her bedroom. The room she shares with her husband, but he’s nowhere to be found right now. She snuffles slightly as she sits in the bed, recalling the rest of the night.

Pope had taken her and Aria home. She had weakly and shakily washed herself up, her shower only interrupted by a silent Pope. No words were shared as he got into the shower with her. It was a somber moment that both needed as she washed the trauma off of her..

They then got into bed, still not speaking. Y/N was much too tired to actually talk.

And now here she sat, in bed alone.

With a soft wince, Y/N moves from the bed and gets up slowly. She takes her time leaving the room and walking down the hallway. She peeks into her daughter’s room, sighing in relief as she sees her resting easy. She then heads downstairs.

Pope is sat out on the front porch with a double barrel shotgun right next to him. His posture is straight and his demeanor is one of a man on guard. Y/N frowns softly as she watches through the front door window before quietly opening the door. He makes no move at that sound. But he feels her presence.

“Where did you get that?” Y/N whispers as she leans against the doorframe now, arms wrapped around herself.

“It’s mine..” He whispers, voice rough and low as he doesn’t turn to look at her.

“Andy. Guns aren’t allowed in this house. You know that.” She says after a moment, voice soft as she somewhat shakes her head.

No response.

“What are you even doing out here? It’s 2am..” She continues.

“Watching.” Pope mutters after another long moment of silence. Y/N frowns.

“No. Come back inside. And.. Put that away..” She tries gently as Pope stays where he is. Y/N frowns at that.

“Go to sleep, Y/N…” He whispers finally. She shakes her head more.

“Andy, I’m serious. Put that in your car, it’s not coming into the house, and come inside..” She tries again, eyes welling up, but her voice is a bit firmer now as Pope stays still.

“Go. To. Sleep, Y/N.” He says again, this time ordering her as his eyes stare out into the vast darkness of nighttime in their neighborhood.

“No!” Y/N snaps finally. “I can’t!” She says, letting the tears fall now.

He finally turns to look at her. “I can’t sleep! I can’t go! because my husband is outside with a gun like he’s waiting to blow someone’s head off!” She fusses as he frowns deeply.

It’s as if her tears have broken him from his trance, making him slowly stand up now. “I can’t just go back inside because you’re! Not! Holding me!” She rants as she lets a sob wreck her body, holding herself tightly as Pope looks down in shame.

He silently wraps his arms around her, letting her fall into his arms. She sniffles as she nuzzles against his neck, arms wrapping around him like a child holding their teddy bear.

“I’m making arrangements. For you and Aria. For tomorrow.” He says, his voice against the top of her head giving soft vibrations through her hair. Y/N pauses as she pulls back a bit to look at him.

“What?” You whisper.

“I can’t have you here..” Pope whispers back as he shakes his head. “I can’t have my world touch you again. I…” He shakes his head fast as if once was enough. As if the idea of this ever happening again just guts him from the inside out..

“No.” Y/N whispers.

“Y/N, I’m not asking.” Pope tries as Y/N pulls away fully now.

“And I’m not listening.” She states firmly. Pope stares into the jagged jaws of her stubbornness that at one point he found extremely sexy.

Now, he sees the fault in it..

“No.” She repeats. “I.. I have a life here, Andrew. I-I have a business, I have friends, I have family. Aria has family here. Her preschool is here.” She lists. “No!” She says yet again.

“I had to pump your chest today!” Pope finally lashes out. Y/N frowns as she sees behind the darkness of his brown eyes is fear. Pure fear and shame. As if he had done this..

“I had to be tenacious, and then mourn you! Over and over! Again and again!” Pope continues on, fighting back the tears, but his voice trembles slightly.

“I imagined life without you, while I gave you mouth to mouth, and it was black. Because there is nothing. There is no life without you, Y/N.” He continues. “And I wasn’t there! I couldn’t..” His voice breaks finally, fully, giving way to the pressure of holding back his cries of heartache.

“I never thought… I always thought it’s worth it..” His voice is painful as the tears slip down his cheeks. “Everything I do.. All the dark shit. It’s.. It was supposed to be worth it. Because no one would touch you. And it didn’t matter, I didn’t.. I wasn’t strong enough..” He breaks, feeling as small as when he was a kid being tossed into closets and left to fend for himself.

Y/N frowns as she slowly moves to cup his face. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t..” He slowly drops to his knees to fully grip Y/N’s hips, his head pressing into her stomach as she strokes his hair.

Slowly, Y/N tilts Pope’s head back so he looks up at her. He lets her, his eyes beautiful even in this state..

“I knew.” She whispers. “The risks of being with you. I knew.” She nods. “But I’m still with you. Because I love you.” She says as he shuts his eyes. “And I knew the risk of tonight. Of making J and Nicky hide. And I still did it. And I’d do it again. Because I love your family..” She shakes her head.

“I’m a big girl, Andrew. I know what I’ve signed up for..” She says quietly as he sighs shakily. “And I’m not leaving it for any reason.” She adds certainly as Pope takes a deep breath, looking up at her with pure adoration. He silently grabs her hand to kiss and smell her palm, fully taking in her presence as he mutters quiet apologies the entire time…

*

*

*

The next morning, Y/N is woken up by small lips pressing against her left cheek. She smiles softly as she fully becomes alert. She knows those lips anywhere.

Aria..

Opening her eyes, she smiles softly at her three year old who is now worriedly brushing her hair back. “Mommy’s boo-boo..” Aria says as she carefully rubs Y/N’s cheek.

Y/N sits up more, body stiff, but she doesn’t let it show as she pulls Aria into her lap. “Mm.. Yeah, mommy has an ouchie. I’m so silly. I fell down..” Y/N lies smoothly as Aria gasps sharply, an overly dramatic gasp that makes Y/N chuckle a bit as Aria covers her mouth too. Her daughter was such a good actress..

“Uh-Oh..” Aria says before moving to excessively blow on the bruise on Y/N’s cheek. It makes her chuckle a bit. It’s something Y/N does anytime she or Pope gets hurt. Lightly blow on the hurt area to ‘make the pain go away’. Her daughter’s aggressive blowing seemed to do the trick too..

Pope walks into the bedroom at that moment with a tray of food in his grasp. Y/N smiles softly at the sight of her husband, home at 9am, something that’s rare nowadays..

“Mm… Look at that food..” Y/N says as Aria also cheers, getting distracted from playing nurse. Pope gets in bed, leaning over to kiss Y/N tenderly on the lips, never one to care about morning breath when it came to her..

“Morning..” Y/N whispers as Pope watches her. There’s a silent question in that greeting. One that asks ‘are you still trynna get rid of Aria and I?’

“Morning…” Pope whispers back, giving his answer. ‘Not a chance in hell’..

Y/N smiles, letting Aria feed her a piece of strawberry. “Let’s eat up. I’m thinking we take a little trip to… The cabin.” Pope says. Y/N’s eyes widen in excitement, smiling happily as she swallows the strawberry.

“The cabin?!” Y/N asks.

“For the weekend..” He nods certainly before watching her softly. “Smurf called. Said she was.. Gonna handle everything. I need to focus on my family right now..” Pope says gently as Y/N smiles, leaning in to kiss him again.

“Mm… Last time we were at the cabin..” Y/N pauses to think before realizing. Pope smirks as he silently eyes Aria to confirm her thought process. Three years ago…

“Oh… No…” Y/N laughs as she slowly shakes her head at him to show that they will not be repeating history…

Pope only smirks before letting Aria feed him a banana slice…

He was scrubbing a drink stain. Hearing the door, he stiffened slightly, his eyes darted up to meet yours.

"Oh," you said, tossing your bag onto a high stool. "Hey, Andrew. I thought Deran was closing tonight."

"He... had something to do, and I can't clean tomorrow," Andrew said and paused his scrubbing. "Bar is closed, you know?"

"I know, I just got off a brutal ten hour shift and needed five minutes before heading back to my apartment," you said with a sigh, rolling your shoulders to work out a knot. "Do you mind if I just sit here for a little? I won't get in your way."

Andrew looked at you, his eyes scanning your tired face.

"It's fine," he said as he walked into the kitchen. "You can stay."

"Thanks." You smiled.

For a few minutes, the only sound was the sound of his hands working. Most people found silence around Andrew Cody intimidating, but you’d known the Cody family long enough through Deran to know better.

Andrew was a man of few words, but he was grounded, precise, and surprisingly thoughtful.

"Rough day?" Andrew asked quietly, trying to break the silence.

"You have no idea," you chuckled, leaning your chin in your hand. "Every customer today seemed to have agreed on being as difficult as humanly possible. I think I lost half my brain cells by noon."

"People are noisy," he offered. "Don't know when to turn it off."

"Exactly," you agreed, brightening up. "That's why I came here. And it's a good thing you're here. You're the only one who actually respects quiet."

Andrew’s hands paused and he cleared his throat. "Yeah. Well. Quiet's good."

He turned back to the counter, reached for a stack of clean towels beside you, and his fingers brushed against yours for a moment. A sudden surge of static electricity seemed to pass between you.

Andrew quickly withdrew his hand, his shoulders tensing again as a faint blush crept up the back of his neck. He turned his back to you to wipe down the prep table, his movements a little more rigid than before.

"So," you began gently, watching him work, "did Deran leave you with all the cleaning duty, or are you just being nicer to his bar than he is?"

"He doesn't clean the grease traps right," Andrew said. "Leaves 'em sticky. Bugs get in."

"Good thing you're here, I reiterate. He'd probably let the place burn down before he deep cleaned a grease trap."

Andrew turned his head slightly, giving you a half smile. "Probably."

Then, he stood for a second, rubbing the back of his neck, seemingly searching for what to say next.

He wasn't used to small talk, especially not with you; not when every time you smiled at him, he felt his heart beat faster and he didn't exactly know what to do with that feeling.

"You... wanted something to drink? You said something about lemonade," he asked as he gestured vaguely toward the bar. "I think we have some pink lemonade left. Or water."

"A cold glass of pink lemonade would actually save my night," you said softly.

He nodded quickly, took a tall glass, and filled it with ice before going to the kitchen to get the lemonade pitcher. He offered it to you, careful not to touch your fingers this time, though his eyes remained fixed on your face as you took a long sip.

"Good?" he asked.

"Really good, oh my," you nodded.

"Deran will be here soon," Andrew said quietly, his eyes dropping to the polished surface of the counter. "He went to pick up something. Should be back any minute."

You set the glass down, tracing the condensation on the side with your index finger. "I'm not really in a rush for him to get back, you know?"

Andrew blinked. "He’s got the keys to the back room. If you needed something from his office-"

"Andrew," you interrupted gently, catching his gaze and holding it. "I like your company. You know that, right?"

The words seemed to surprise him. Andrew froze completely, his hand still resting on the counter. His eyes widened just enough for you to see the genuine shock behind them.

"My... company?" he repeated, almost a whispering. He looked at you like he was trying to figure out if you were pulling a joke, scanning your face for any sign of insincerity.

"Yeah. Yours," you smiled with honesty.

Andrew shook his head slightly, a furrow forming between his brows as he looked down at his own knuckles. "I don't... You don't have to say that to be polite."

"I'm not being polite."

"It's just... Weird to hear that," He cleared his throat, struggling to find the right words. "You are Deran’s friend. He is... easy to talk to. People... people like people like him. Not my company." He paused, his jaw tightening slightly.

"Well, they're wrong," you said and you were dead serious. "Do you know that If I have to choose between all of you, I'd choose you? Every single time. I love Deran but he's too much sometimes."

Andrew stared at you, utterly motionless. For a second, it felt like the entire room held its breath. Andrew’s mind was clearly racing, trying to process what he’d just heard.

"Me?" he rasped out.

He swallowed hard as a flush creep up his neck into his cheeks.

"Yeah, you, Andrew," you confessed softly, giving him a shy smile.

Andrew opened his mouth, but made no sound. His hands trembled on the counter before he withdrew them, leaving them at his sides, as if trying to control a sudden feeling he hadn't felt in a long time.

He looked away for a brief second, a helpless smile breaking through his face before he looked back at you.

"Okay, that's... nice," he admitted softly.

After that night, your days turned into a something you didn't know you needed.

It started with small things: you dropping by as he was finishing up, or Andrew hanging in the bar long enough after your shift just in case you walked through the door.

Then it was quiet late night drives along the coast after picking you up from work, sitting side by side in his truck, watching the dark waves roll in without the need to fill every second with noise.

With Andrew, everything felt deliberate, real and honest.

Those quiet drives and stolen moments at closing time slowly redefined everything between you.

What had started as comfortable friendship had shifted into something far quietly blooming under the surface.

Neither of you explicitly labeled it; it was written instead in the lingering touch of his hand as he passed you a glass of pink lemonade, the way his jaw softened whenever you walked into the room, and the rare smiles he saved for you.

You found yourself looking forward to his presence more than anyone else's, while Andrew silently guarded his growing feelings, convinced that someone like you could never truly look at him that way.

You began noticing the way his eyes tracked your every movement, and Andrew began to realize that your frequent visits weren't just about passing time in an empty bar.

You were both tiptoeing around a secret that neither wanted to ruin, yet neither could suppress for much longer.

It was a slow dance between two people who had seamlessly fallen from comfortable companions into being completely undone by one another.

Tonight, the bar was closing after a long day. You were sitting on top of the stainless steel prep counter in the back kitchen, swinging your legs casually while Andrew moved around the small space, putting away the last of the rags. You planned to have breakfast together tomorrow morning so he had to close the bar clean tonight.

Even after days of seeing each other, there was still an nervous energy between you two.

He finished and walked over, stopping between your knees. He looked up at you, his eyes scanning your face with that intense gaze that used to intimidate people, but now just made your pulse race.

"Deran asked me earlier if you are always coming around for him or for the free pink lemonade," Andrew said softly. "Said you never used to stick around this much after closing."

You tilted your head, watching him waiting for your answer.

"Maybe I only come for you," you murmured, letting the words drift softly between you.

Andrew froze.

"You what?" he rasped out.

A smile tugged at your lips.

You didn't break eye contact.

"You heard me, Andrew Cody."

The air between you grew thick, charged with tension. Andrew looked at you, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. He swallowed hard as his gaze dropped to your lips before snapping back to your eyes.

"Do you want me?" he asked, whispering, rough with exposed vulnerability.

You let your eyes soften, leaning forward, bringing your face closer to his.

"Maybe," you whispered back, teasing, but with enough heat in your voice to leave no real doubt.

That single word shattered whatever restraint Andrew had been clinging to.

He leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours with hungry intensity.

"Maybe, huh?" He whispered with a raspy voice and an exhale escaped him. His hands came up to frame your face, his palms were warm and trembling just a tiny bit against your cheeks.

The kiss was hard and possessive, his lips were firm, moving against yours with desperation.

You let out a sigh into his mouth, your hands flying up to wrap around his neck, tangling your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck.

At your response, Andrew let out a rough sound. One of his hands slid down from your cheek to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tightening gently to hold you right where he wanted you, while his other hand gripped your waist, pulling you so close there wasn't an inch of air left between you.

He kissed you deeper, his tongue parting your lips, taking control in a way that set your skin on fire. Every touch was heavy and deliberate.

To Andrew, you weren't just someone passing through.

In the dark mess of his life, having you here, choosing him, wanting him, felt like a miracle he was holding onto with everything he had.

-'🖤⛓ ⁠*⁠.⁠‧₊˚