⋆˚࿔ chérie 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Maybe it was wrong, this little arrangement you had with Mr. Sunderland–James, as he always insists. It certainly would look like it on the outside, to those who didn’t understand the way grief can bring two people together like the forceful spin of a tornado, grabbing and tossing limp bodies in any direction. And you didn’t care. It didn’t have to make sense to anyone but you and the pitiful, old man who moved next door a couple months ago, looking for something resembling reprieve. 

It had been a year since your mother passed away–since your father gave up on loving you, not feeling like being much of a father if he couldn’t also be a husband. 

Mr. Sunderland’s wife had died too, and one would think he would have found company in your father, the two of them being in the same position, after all. But it was you who visited him, first out of curiosity and perhaps an inkling of boredom, then it blossomed out of a forlorn desire to heal, if not yourself of your father, than someone else. 

It’s not as though anything inappropriate was happening. The two of you talked, that’s all. 

“You want to watch a movie?” James asks as you follow him into the living room, the soles of your shoes padding on the scuffed planks. You wonder how much sand has collected beneath the slats over the years. 

“No,” you say, lowering yourself onto the sofa, a worn, upholstered piece, fraying in various spots. Like muscle memory, you settle onto the cushion, kicking your shoes off before tucking your feet beneath you, curling up like a kitten in the sun. 

He reaches down to the coffee table, grabbing the remote anyway. It’s a question he asks you every time you come over, a question you used to give different answers to but now have no patience for the aged merry-go-round he insists upon. Even if you turn him down, he’ll still turn on a movie, sometimes muted, other times with the volume down just high enough to be heard above the hum of the refrigerator, the thrashing of the summer storm on the sea outside the window. 

The television flickers on to some nondescript black-and-white film. An actress with painted lips and not a single strand of hair out of place looks up at her suave co-star, a man in a pin-striped fedora, gelled locks smooth at the nape of his neck. They’re speaking, though their voices are far too low for you to make out the words of their assumed love confession. 

“You haven’t come by in a while,” he says matter-of-factly, sitting himself down on the square cushion beside you, leaving a chaste patch of space between your bodies. His presence next to you stirs something unidentifiable within your gut, a sinking sensation as though you’re on a plane and the thin air causes the craft to dip ever so slightly. Or the first decline on a rollercoaster. The scent of his skin–clean soap and shaving cream–fills your nostrils as you lean in an inch. Not enough to push him away, but enough to bring him closer just an inch.

For a fleeting moment, you ponder apologizing. It’s your first instinct. I’m sorry, you want to say, the words begging to jump off your tongue. The way he looks up at you with those glassy eyes, always a blink away from tears, has your heart aching. 

Still, the stretch of the strings is not enough to overpower the bubbling need in your core, especially when you think back to your last meeting, when James accidentally placed a palm on your thigh as you recounted to him how your father had guzzled down every drop of liquor in the house, leaving him a useless mess on the sofa, threatening to die and rot into the cushions.

It had roused something altogether electric beneath your skin, sending vibrations through your nerves. You held onto that feeling for the last two weeks, and you rely on the memory now to give you the courage to explore your desires.

You glance up at him from beneath fluttering lashes. “Did you miss me?” 

He sighs, shaking his head ever so slightly from side to side as though he can’t believe you’d ask such a thing. “So much. I didn’t realize how much I…needed you.” His brows bunch and he blinks hard, not liking how those words sounded as they hit the air–far too presumptuous, like he’s asking for trouble. 

“Needed me?” You repeat the phrase in an almost-whisper, asking for clarification if only to goad him on further, wanting to hear him trip over his tongue to explain. 

“I just mean you’ve helped me, a lot. Talking to you, I mean…it–it’s helped.” He rubs a hand on the back of his neck. Oh how you’d love to touch his neck, to replace the palm he has there now and hang off of it as your lips suction onto his. 

You’ve had two weeks to stew in the guilt you felt when the first pangs of attraction hit your core. Two weeks of racking your brain, searching for some band of morality to strap you down, keep you tethered to the truth of your situation: he’s a widower and you’re his young neighbor. He’d never return your attraction, and the refusal would split you in half. It’s not something you can risk. Not now. Not when you need him too. 

“I need you too,” you verbalize the thought, eyes faulting to your hands as they fiddle in your lap, against the floral print of your frilly skirt–one you only wear as a cover-up atop your bikini, but today the fabric only curtains a pair of lacy panties. 

It seems like an eternity of silence before James responds, but not in the way you anticipated he would. 

Unexpectedly, his finger comes just under your chin, not pulling, not directing just yet. It lingers there hesitantly, waiting perhaps for permission, which you give in the form of your eyes contacting his, looking up at him with want heavy in your gaze. 

In the split second his touch deepens on your skin, pulling you onto his lap, neither of you thinking about the gaping holes left in your life by the people you have lost. 

His hands are cautious as they trail up your thighs bracketing his lap, your hips as they move to grind against it. They linger on the curves of your waist, holding you down onto the erection straining the crotch of his dark pants. His lips are soft, a contrast to the stubble growing across his jaw, above his mouth, at his chin. It tickles you as you stick your tongue into his mouth, met by his own, just as desperate. He kisses you with zealous need, no longer restrained by the hesitation usually present, dripping off of every word he speaks to you, tense in the hands he keeps far away and tucked in his pockets, or slid under his thighs when he sits next to you.

“Do you need this as much as I do, James?” 

You pull back an inch to look down at him, and he takes the moment to return the favor, glancing up at you with pulled brows that crease the skin between them, and eyes the color of the brewing storm outside. Winds of guilt thrash against the bitter sea spray of wanton carelessness, reflected in the threatening clouds visible through the framed panes of glass over the arm of the sofa. Nasty clouds hang in the sky, the breeze brushing through tall blades of marram grass separating the porch from the shore. 

His lips find yours again, and he murmurs a response into your mouth. “So bad. Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, retreating from your face once more to cup your cheeks and meet your eyes. “This is wrong, isn’t it?” 

Whether he’s referring to the fact that you’re young, or that he’s so recently widowed, or maybe that neither of you are thinking logically–minds muddied by the nebula of grief that fogs every waking thought–you aren’t sure. 

Apparently, neither is he, because his palms are dragging down the length of your neck, your chest, landing on the thin cups of your bra. Expectantly, your nipples peak beneath the sensation, waiting for the attention they so badly crave.

“I don’t care,” you say, hands tugging at the collar of his shirt, the pads of your fingers, clammy and wet, easily wrinkling the unstarched fabric. “Do you?” 

He shakes his head as you play with the buttons of his collar, slowly beginning to reveal the smooth, pale skin at his clavicle. Eyes wide and fat with desire, he silently begs you to keep going. 

So you do.

Your hands move lower, continuing to unlatch the knobs down the front of his shirt, those at the sleeves cuffed at his wrists. He’s always clothed, from hand to ankle. Even the buttons of his collar are always done one too high. 

His hands grab yours, keeping you from your ministrations. For a second, your heart stills, afraid you’ve pushed him too far and he’s going to turn you away, throw you out on your ass for trying to seduce him. But he doesn’t do either of those things, his grasp tender.

“I don’t want to do this here,” he confesses in a whisper before releasing one of your wrists to reach up and brush a thumb across your cheek. “You deserve better.” 

You’re not sure you do, but you let him lead you to the bedroom anyway. 

The blue-striped curtains framing the window are drawn, letting in the view of the ocean, foamy waves crashing against the sugar-white sand of the shore. You can almost smell the salt and brine through the wavy glass. 

James closes the door as you settle onto the edge of the bed, watching him walk back toward you, shirt untucked and hanging open. You reach out, extending your arms toward his belt, hooking a finger into his waistband to pull him closer in between your spread thighs. The clinking of the buckle harmonizes with the drum of rain at the window–thick, oily pellets beating against the pane. Leather whizzes through the fabric loops as you sling the accessory onto the floor. It lands with a thump, followed by the buzz of metal teeth, the tongue of his zipper lowered by your fingers, soon revealing a pair of black briefs, strained by his erection. 

His hands come up to your head, smoothing your hair down in a gesture of caring intimacy you haven’t experienced in so long, caressing you while you lower his pants and briefs down his legs, the clothing falling to his ankles. An exhale leaves the keyhole of your parted lips as you take in his form.

You’ve let yourself picture this exact moment in times of desperation when you would ache between the apex of your thighs and your mind would flutter to thoughts of the neighbor you would visit almost every week and exchange stories of your late loved ones. But no image you could conjure up in your imagination can do justice to the sight in front of you. Beneath your tongue, saliva pools in anticipation.

Under the ever-present articles rests a well-chiseled body: lean and defined, thick in all the right places, but not a body of a man who actively tries to maintain it. His thighs betray a history of playing a sport that requires trunkish legs to spring off of–maybe rugby or lacrosse–and his arms are those of someone who doesn’t pump weights in a gym but maybe used to, in another time long ago.

He steps out of his pants and briefs, sinking down to his knees, cutting your view of his body in half as the lower part disappears behind the edge of the bed. 

“Lie down,” he commands softly, palms flat on your knees, spreading them slightly as his hands slide up your thighs, reaching beneath your skirt to the fabric of your panties. The linen bedspread is cool and crisp as your shoulder blades, covered only in the sheer cotton of your t-shirt, fall against it. 

He curses, something breathy and inaudible to you, and you feel the puff of his breath on the dampened gusset of your underwear. It causes your thighs to reflexively shut, but before they are able to close even an inch, James presses them back down, gaze never leaving your pussy. 

“Can I?” He asks, finally looking up at you. There’s no way you could deny him, even if you wanted to, not with the way his eyes grow wide, his brows cinching. “I want to make you feel good,” he adds, the extra attempt at convincing not necessary. 

“Please.”

His fingers hook around the band of your panties, sliding the article down your legs, your ankles, pressing them up to his nose, inhaling–an act so lewd it makes you squirm. 

“You’re so sweet,” he says before shoving his entire face into your cunt without warning, without hesitation, without any warm-up licks or kisses you’d typically expect. You’ve never had a partner dive into you in such a way: with the heat and desperation of a man who has been walking in the desert and stumbled upon an oasis in between your thighs. 

“Oh god,” you cry out, the sudden sensation leaving you immediately helpless. His hands grab the backs of your thighs, keeping them spread open, using their weight as an anchor to you as he presses his face further into your pussy. 

The point of his nose ruts at your clit as his tongue attacks your entrance, lapping the arousal gushing from your seam. Your hips jerk up to meet him, chasing his mouth. 

He groans, a deep guttural sound, and the vibrations send electric shocks through your veins. It happens quickly, the way your core tightens, clenching around nothing. How your abdomen tenses, the muscles contracting with each wave of pleasure that rolls through it. 

“James.” His name leaves your lips in a whine. His own suction around your clit, tongue dancing across the bud now rolled between his teeth. “Fuck.” He’s eating you like a starved wolf finding fresh meat on the forest floor. 

The sounds are obscene; the ones coming from your throat and the ones he’s creating between your legs: wet and soppy like a mop being wrung above a bucket. 

Your hands find refuge on his head, grabbing the long, blonde strands of hair that flop across his temples. They’re soft and fine against your fingers as they weave between them, grabbing and tugging. He groans as you pull at his hair, not enough to remove him from your pussy, but enough that his nose drags against your clit once more.

“I’m so close, James,” you mewl, hands retreating to the linens on either side of your hips, grabbing up the fabric in your fists as though to transfer the tension in your core onto it, white knuckles on fire as you grip. Your thighs begin to shake and James digs his digits deeper into the flesh, holding you still as he continues to gobble you up, his tongue entering you to lick your walls–a sensation that has your back arching off the mattress, sticky skin peeling off the bedspread like a body possessed. Like he’s exercising the grief from your body, one orgasm at a time.

“Give it to me,” he growls with a meanness you didn’t know he was capable of, only ever hearing his voice speak to you in soft, dulcet tones. It sends you that much further toward the edge. “I need it.” 

That does it. You scream out as your climax hits you, every sensation intensified by a thousand. White spots dot your vision, now blurred at the corners as he continues to lap at your pussy, tongue-fucking you through the crest of your pleasure. Your walls clench viciously, the throbbing in your core reaching a new high as the muscles of your abdomen release, lowering you back to earth.

“James,” his name is weak in your throat, hoarse from crying out in rapture.

“What is it?” He asks, planting a gentle kiss on your clit.

“I want more,” you say, keeping your thighs open so he can easily access your hole. “I want to make you feel good too.”

The gush of your orgasm seeps through your seam, drenching his chin and mouth in a viscous glaze. He’s panting, breath labored, as he rises off his knees, crawling to kiss his way up your body, stopping at your mouth to let you taste yourself on his tongue, sweet and warm. 

You take in a deep breath, pressing your shoulders against the cool leather seat to collect yourself for just a moment before reaching into the passenger side glove box to retrieve your registration and car insurance, kept neatly organized in an envelope for this exact occasion. Your license is in your wallet, inside the front pocket of your backpack, sitting erect on the seat next to you. All three documents in hand, you roll down the window just in time for the officer to approach. 

Cut off at the shoulders by the low roof of your sedan, his body stands outside your car door. With a flashlight in tow, he leans down, flickering the light into the inside of your car. 

“Good evening, officer,” you say as politely as you can muster while also being temporarily blinded. 

“Hello there,” he responds in a single breath. The words are courteous, but his tone is unmistakably professional and cold. “Have you had anything to drink tonight?”

Aghast at the accusation, you gasp, pressing a flat palm to your chest. “No, of course not. I’m just driving home from the library.” 

He hums, nodding. “License and registration.” Not a question. Not a request. A command.

Officer Kennedy, as reads the patch on his shirt, aims the flashlight down to the ground outside, and once your pupils adjust for the second time, you’re able to make out the details of his face: as chiseled as a Greek statue yet as soft and warm. All rosy cheeks and dimples. He’s in uniform, dark pants and a button-down shirt in the same color, short-sleeved to show off the well-maintained arms that extend from them. Handsome.

You hand him the documents and he raises the flashlight once more, directing the light to your driver’s license and the tri-folded paper behind it. Blue eyes scan the card, his brow creasing.

“So, um…” Your voice trails off as you decide the most polite way to phrase the question so eager on the tip of your tongue. “Why was I pulled over, officer?” 

“Your license is expired,” he says, ignoring your question, though if you ask why he gave you a ticket, you’re sure that would be the answer. 

“What?” Your lips part, mouth pursing to form a circle. Surely he can hear the genuine shock in your voice. Right? “Are you sure?”

He lowers his eyes, giving you a daring look. “Yes, I’m sure. It says right here, miss.” His finger comes up to point at the date printed on the card, nestled in nicely right beside your picture. It expired last week. “It’s against the law to drive with an expired license.” 

“I seriously had no idea,” you plead, throwing your hands up in defense. “I swear, officer. I’m a student. It’s exam week. I haven’t even looked at my license in…well, forever. If I knew, I definitely would have gone to the DMV to have it renewed, I swear.” 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, gestures thick with disapproval. “It’s your civic duty to pay attention to these things, miss. Like I said, driving with an expired license…it’s a misdemeanor.” 

The word is heavy, hitting your ears like the cupped hands of a boxer. It knocks the wind out of your lungs. Goodbye, grad school. Goodbye, career. Vicious tears well up on your lashline. 

“Officer, please,” you cry, fingernails digging into the leather of the interior door. “I had no idea, really. This is my first time being pulled over, and I don’t even know what I did wrong or why. And I had no idea my license was expired, really. I promise.”

“I’ll be right back,” is all he says, taking your documents to the sedan parked behind you, lights still blaring from the roof. 

You sit inside your car, hands trembling, lip quaking, eyes red and bleary. Not so much as a parking ticket is on your record. Not so much as a jaywalking charge. He won’t find anything, and that gives you a sliver of hope, the only beacon of light keeping you from melting into a puddle of worry on your seat. 

A misdemeanor. That’s serious. That’s a strike–more than a strike. That’s permanent. A misdemeanor can mean assault, drunk driving, or theft. A misdemeanor can mean jail time. Time you can’t afford.  

A fine. 

A fine you can’t afford, not as a student on an already hermetic budget. 

He’s back before you can begin your breakdown, tapping on the frame of the door with the butt of his flashlight. “I’m gonna need you to step out of the vehicle, miss.”

“What? Why?” 

“Please do what I ask, and you’ll be on your way before you know it.” 

“Can I ask why you need me to step outside? Why was I even pulled over in the first place?” 

“Step outside the car, miss.”

In an act of complete and total desperation, you shrug your cardigan off your arms. Now clad in nothing but a tank top and skirt, you unlock your car door and step outside, the rubber soles of your flats squelching on the gravely asphalt. The air smells like petrichor, pine, and loam–wet and cold. You can already feel your nipples harden beneath your too-thin, barely-there bra as a brisk Spring wind passes by, slapping against your face and arms. 

His eyes fall to your chest, if only for a fleeting moment, before rising back to meet your gaze. 

“Thank you.”

Officer Kennedy is young, probably not much older than yourself, and he isn’t horrible looking. No, he’s handsome. And he’s new, guessing from the textbook language he used, and his own shaky hands as he handles your license. 

“Why was I pulled over?” You prod, deciding this may not be the best tactic for getting yourself home before dawn. Too late, the words have already left your tongue in a defensive tone, causing Officer Kennedy to narrow his eyes and crease his brows. 

“You were swerving into the other lane,” he replies shortly, placing one hand on his belt, the other gesturing to the dotted line in the middle of the road. “I’m going to have you complete a field sobriety test–”

“What?” 

He ignores you. “Now can you please recite the alphabet backwards, starting at ‘z’.” 

“No one can do that,” you whine, throwing your hands up in defeat. “Not even sober. It’s impossible.” 

He blinks hard, perhaps thinking that you’re right and it’s an unfair ask. A tired exhale leaves his nostrils, shoulders faltering. “Are you refusing to comply with the test?”

“Yes–no–I mean, it’s not fair. I–”

Idiot. You should have just tried, even if your brain is mush from studying for twelve hours, even if you feel super defensive right now, even if you’re running on two hours of sleep and three-hundred milligrams of caffeine. 

It’s too late. You hear the metallic clink of handcuffs as he pulls a pair from his belt, asking you to turn around and put your hands behind your back. 

You open your mouth to refuse–to explain–but it’s of no use. 

“Turn around,” he repeats, voice lower this time, though with just as much feigned authority as before. And you do. You turn around and give him your wrists, letting him cage them in the metal prisons, letting him walk you to the back of his car, hand coming to the crown of your head to guide you into a seated position on the cool leather cushion beneath your thighs. 

Before he can ask you to pivot your legs inside the car, or move to shut the door, you stick one limb  out, keeping it open. 

“Surely, there has to be another way, officer.” 

The words disgust you as they leave your tongue, but you can’t deny the excitement bolting through your nerves. You should really get some sleep or take a break from the textbooks, because you’re not feeling much like yourself tonight. Too bold. Too reckless. Bribing a police officer with sex might land you with two charges, but you trust that the handcuffs won’t come off until you’re booked for the night, so this really is your last chance for freedom. Your last chance to sleep in your own bed tonight. 

His eyes widen as your legs part, exposing the drenched gusset of your panties to him as you lean back, pressing your weight into your palms. He stutters, mumbling an incoherent string of nothingness. You can make out something about this being unethical, maybe, or how it’s against the law to bribe an officer–nothing that was said with a whole lot of conviction. 

But you’re determined. Determined to not go to jail. Determined to get back to your cozy apartment, beneath the blankets of your own bed. Determined to make it to your 9am study group. 

You lift one foot off the ground, point your toe to drag it up the length of his slack-clad thigh. A full-body shudder rolls through him, causing a hand to race to the side of the door, fingertips clawing at the white paint. A groan as the toe of your shoe traipses closer and closer to his groin. 

“S-stop that,” he whines, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t back up or pin you down or shut the door. In fact, his hips jolt forward, giving you all the non-verbal permission you need to continue. “You’re under arrest.” His voice is weak. 

“Come on, Officer Kennedy,” you goade. “It’s late. Isn’t there something I can blow on to prove that I wasn’t drinking?” 

Pupils eclipsing the blues of his irises, he stares down at you. 

“I wasn’t drinking,” you affirm. “I can prove it.” 

“How’s that?” It’s barely above a whisper. 

“Come kiss me.” You trace the lines of your lips with your tongue, an obscene, pornographic gesture. “And see if you taste any alcohol.”

Without a second to waste, he dives into the backseat of his vehicle, landing on top of you with all the desperation and enthusiasm of an empty-belled puppy. His body is warm against your exposed skin, carved arms coming to either side of your waist, fingertips digging into your flesh. He kisses you, hungry and needy, tongue gathering yours in a sultry tango. He tastes like mint and his lips are soft.

“This is so wrong,” he huffs into your mouth, the chastisement directed more at himself than at you. “We shouldn’t.” 

So easy.

“Officer K–”

“Leon,” he corrects, breaking away from a kiss to meet your gaze. Leon. The newbie cop arresting a college student to prove he’s so big and strong. Leon. The twenty-something boy that, in another life, could be in one of your classes. Leon. The office you’re kissing in the back of his police car. 

“Leon,” you repeat aloud, pushing up to plant another onto his lips, though you’re sure you prefer calling him ‘officer’. 

He’s so beautiful, you think as you pull away an inch to admire the lines and curves of his face. A soft jaw and even softer cheeks. A straight nose that draws the eyes down to the dimple in his chin, sitting below a set of plump lips. Perhaps, this has become less of a way to get out of these cuffs and on your way back home, and more of a way to take out the pent-up tension from weeks of back-breaking study. Flash cards and study guides replaced by Leon’s mouth on yours, his fingers curling at the hem of your panties. 

You let out a gasp as he dusts his thumb across your throbbing clit. Your hips buck up, trying to find the sensation once more. His name is a whisper on your lips as his mouth comes to your neck, hot and wet, and his hand comes to the small of your back, keeping most of your weight off your cuffed hands, helping you stay erect, sitting up. 

“Can I push these to the side?” 

He looks up at you, fingers ghosting the crotch of your panties, inserting one as you nod in permission. There’s no resistance as he slides in another finger, collecting your arousal on his palm as he fucks the digits into you. The stretch has you purring like a kitten, and once he’s knuckle-deep inside, pressing the button that has your vision blurring at the corners, you’re crying out for him to keep going. 

Part of you wants to stay cuffed, so you don’t dare complain about the metal digging into the raw skin of your wrists. Part of you want to be set free so you can grab at the taut muscles of his back as he fucks you on his hand, pumping harder as you approach your climax. 

“Woah,” he says, eyes blown with awe. “I can feel that.” 

You’re clenching around his fingers as the peak of your orgasm hits you, abdomen tensing and releasing, walls throbbing. You cry out like a wounded animal, the pleasure in your voice echoing off the roof of the sedan.

He whines as you confess that you want to feel him inside you. He whimpers when you open your knees wider. 

“Please, officer.” 

“Are you sure?” He asks, already unzipping his pants, shoving them down alongside his briefs. 

In the dark of the night, you can’t make out the details of his cock, but you can feel the head as he guides it to your entrance, soaked and desperate for something to cling to, ready to be stretched. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” you promise in a pitchy cry. “Need you inside me, Officer Kennedy.” 

He curses under his breath, whether from the feeling of his head pressing inside you, or the formal address…you’re not sure. 

And you don’t really care, because once you feel the white-hot sensation of his cock filling you up, there’s no room for anything else to occupy your thoughts. He bottoms out, falling down onto you, pressing your back and arms into the seat. 

“Fuck,” he groans at your ear before begining to pump in and out of you, pulling his cock out an inch, returning with twice the amount of force and heat. “You feel so good.” 

“So do you, officer,” you mewl in a seductive rasp, tossing your head back in the pleasure the rhythm brings as he trusts his hips, the head of his cock hitting the button behind your pelvis. “So good.”

He fucks you into the seat, his hands gliding up and down your back, your waist, the flesh of your thighs, grabbing and taking like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers like sand. His cock pistons into you at a growing speed, and his grows turn deeper, more desperate. His movements become sloppy, less ordered and precise, as he gives into the molten pleasure running through him. 

“Holy shit,” he gasps as you clench one more, this time around him, as you chase after your second orgasm, which is fast approaching. “I’m gonna come.” 

The two of you find your releases, one after the other, and Leon crashes on top of you as he finishes inside you…at your request, of course. Chest heaving, he plants tiny pecks down your jaw, the length of your neck, huffing out labored breaths as he does so. 

You have a dad. Technically. But can you call someone like your dad a “dad"? Probably not. He was more like a biological father to you. You had no emotional bond whatsoever.

Your mother divorced him when you were a teenager. It wasn’t long before you lost contact with him. The day you knew you wouldn’t be seeing him again soon was your 18th birthday. And you were right.

You’re in college now, in your twenties. And last summer, your mother got a new boyfriend. Leon. At first, you were more like strangers. Both of you were really shy about the whole new step-dad, step-daughter situation that was coming. But he’s been very kind to you. Really kind. When you two saw each other, he was always asking how you were, engaging you in conversation, and bringing gifts… You really liked him and being around him.

It wasn’t long after he and your mother got married. It happened so quickly; you felt weird, to be honest. He’s now your step-dad officially. It’s not like you don’t want him to be that. It’s probably because it’s been a long time since you had a father around you. And the fact that it’s going to be Leon, who you’re gonna call ‘dad’from now on… You don’t know why something doesn’t sit right. You really like him. Then why does it feel weird..? 

It’s safe to say that it’s a possibility that you love him more than you should. The amount of time you spend thinking about him every day tells the whole situation you’re in. You think about what he’s doing, what he’s thinking, what happened that made him who he is right now, if he had a girlfriend or a crush before, if he really likes your mother, if he thinks you’re beautiful… 

You’re quite ashamed of yourself, but you even go as far as fantasizing about him before sleeping, thinking about twisted things you regret when you wake up. It’s quite obvious that you have a crush on him, on your step-dad. And you definitely know it’s very, very wrong.

Leon has alcoholism problems, which made him and your mother grow quite distant every passing day. Sometimes you find him in the living room with a whiskey bottle in his hand, watching a game, completely lost in another world. You never interrupt him; you actually help him by cleaning up the mess, trying so hard your mother doesn't notice. You don’t even know why you’re doing this, why you’re protecting him. But it’s what daughters do, right?

౨ৎ

Your mother got a call from work: a job offer that requires her to go to another state for a few weeks. It’s gonna be the first time you and Leon are alone in the house. It was nighttime. You were in your room, staring at the wall, listening to loud rock music while Leon was downstairs with his bottle of whiskey. Both of you were minding your own business.

You could feel how your heart was aching, how it had been so long since you’d received any sort of affection, even a small embrace. With your mother gone, it got even more lonely. You were too shy to go to Leon, and he didn’t want to disturb you. So you spent most of the time in your room.

Suddenly, you could feel your tears starting to fall. The music became a background noise. Everything was hurting. Your chest was getting heavy. It started to become hard to breathe. 

You grabbed your phone, only to realize the harsh reality that you had no one to call; you didn't want to disturb your mother, who was probably busy right now. Only one option seemed to surface.

You headed downstairs, breathless, your eyes teary. And just looked at Leon. He had the whiskey bottle beside him, but it looked like he had just started drinking.

He was the only person you could trust right now. You didn’t have any choice besides him.

“Dad…” You said, your voice shaky. You rarely called him ‘dad’; you were still trying to get used to ‘dad’. That made him turn to face you very quickly.

“What’s up, sweetie? Y’kay?” He noticed your teary eyes, which worried him.

You sniffed. “I-I really need someone right now.” You couldn’t hold yourself any longer and burst out into tears, standing there while trying to cover your eyes.

He immediately got up, rushed to you, and pulled you into a tight hug. It was sudden but felt very protective. “Shh. I’m here, sweetie. I’m here.” He caressed your head, giving soft kisses. “Come on, let’s sit down.” He sat you down on the couch with him. You pulled your legs in and lay your head at his chest while crying.

“Tell me. What’s wrong?” He gently rubbed your back while you continued to cry.

“I… I don’t know. I just… feel so lonely…” You could hardly let the words out of your mouth; when you finished your sentence, it made you cry even more. You were shaking.

“Jesus… You could come to me sooner.” He kissed your head one more time.

“I know… I…”

He pulled you closer. “You’re here now; that’s what matters.” He rubbed your shoulder while you started to calm down. You breathed in his scent; it filled you completely, relaxed every part of you. His touch was so gentle. He was all you needed.

After staying like that for a while without a word, you slowly tilted your face to look him in the eyes. He smiled slightly, then rubbed your cheek with his thumb. “Feeling better?”

You don’t know why, but looking at him from this angle made your heart rush. It shouldn’t have. But you couldn’t help it. “I-I want to lie down on my bed for a while… Can you stay by my side?” You didn’t know where you planned to go with this at all.

He looked at you for a while. At first he wasn't sure, but he was willing to do anything to make you feel good. He planted a small kiss on your head. "Whatever you want, sweetie.”

With an easy move, he lifted you from the couch, princess style. You wrapped your arms around his neck, inhaling his scent and letting it fill your whole body.

౨ৎ

When you arrived at your room, he carefully placed you on the bed, lay down beside you, and pulled the cover over you both. He wrapped his arms around your waist and planted a gentle kiss on the back of your head. “My sweet girl.”

You remained like that for a while, feeling each other's presence. Both of your eyes were closed. You felt calmer now. There was someone to hug you, to make you feel valued, to love you. Minutes passed; you both remained in the same position; he was occasionally stroking your waist with his finger. After some time, you slowly turned towards him, looking into his eyes, and he looked into yours. “Y’kay now, sweetie?” he said, stroking your cheek with his finger.

You took a deep breath and held his hand as it stroked your face. “Yeah. I’m feeling much better.”

“I’m glad.” You moved your body closer and slowly buried your head in his neck. He was unsure where to put his hand, but finally placed it at the back of your head and stroked your hair.

“You smell so nice…” You whispered, then tilted your head up to look at him. Your eyes said everything, even things that shouldn't be said, even things that were forbidden.

He had never seen you look at him this way. Never. The way you looked at him made his heart do something. He could tell what your eyes were trying to say, but he was too afraid to admit it. You placed your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. “Sweetie? What are you— ”

You cut him off by planting a short kiss on his lips, then pulling back immediately. He just looked at you, like processing what just happened. Your kiss awakened something in him, something that shouldn't have been awakened. He was staring at you, replaying the moment, trying to resist the urge growing inside him. He shouldn’t feel anything like this for his step-daughter. No. It’s forbidden. But the way you’re making him feel… Your whole existence is poisoning him in a good way. Then, without saying anything, he pulled you into another kiss. This time, both of you took your time; it was very small and slow, with neither of you moving. 

Then you started licking his bottom lip, teasing him a little. Then parted your lips slightly for him, desperately waiting for a response. He didn’t hesitate. You felt his tongue moving around yours in a perfect rhythm, which made you let out a sweet little noise.

When you pulled back, your cheeks were burning from the heat, and you could feel the wetness underneath your panties. He just stroked your lips with his thumb, processing what he just did. 

“I-I wanted to do this… for so long.” You looked at him with needy eyes.

“Jesus…” he was out of words, just looking at you. “I shouldn’t have…” he pulled his hand from you and tried to distance himself from you.

But you pressed your body to his. “It’s my fault… I couldn’t stop myself.” You felt the rising bulge on his pants, and he felt your wetness from your thin shorts. “But… I need you so bad right now.” You whispered.

“Fuck… Don’t say stuff like that.”

You smiled. “But It’s true.” All doe-eyed.

“No — No! Sweetie, It’s wrong.”

“But I love you,” you sigh out; for some reason, you get teary eyes again, gently tangling your fingers in his hair. “Don’t you love me?”

He blinked slowly, feeling very heavy. “Of course I love you, baby. But it doesn’t change the fact that it’s wrong.”

“Not if I want it.” You start to kiss along his face. “Don’t you want it too?” You coo.

“It doesn’t matter if I want it too… Baby, stop.” His dick is twitching in his sweatpants. His body is rejecting him. No matter how much he wants to believe he doesn't want you, deep down he does; he can't resist you; he noticed you since the first day; he just kept it inside and tried to forget. Just like you did. But now, you were stepping on the red line, waiting for him to cross it together. It’s wrong in any way, but it feels really nice in a horrible way. 

You’re his forbidden fruit.

Instead of pushing you away, he let you kiss all over his face. He closes his eyes, feeling your soft lips around his face. You’re moaning in need of his touch. Hips moving against his. He slowly placed his hand on your shoulder as you moved. “Please, daddy. Can we at least do oral…” You whispered seductively.

“Sweetie, you should be having this conversation with guys your age. Not me.” 

“Why not? What if I’m not interested in them?” You pouted, and your eyes started to get teary. “Pretty please…” You placed your hand on his chest.

“You’re going to be the end of me…” he said breathlessly, defeated.

“Is that a… yes?”

“Fuck— Yes. Just once, and that will be the last time, no arguments. Only because I love you so much.” He tangled his fingers in your hair as he said that.

“Thank you,” you said, eyes sparkling. “Thank you, daddy.”

“You’re going to kill me if you keep using that word,” he muttered.

You lifted yourself up and sat cross-legged on the bed. “I want us to get naked.” You grabbed his arm and pulled him towards you. “I want to see you.” 

 ౨ৎ

It didn’t take long before you were both completely bare, sitting on the bed and drinking in the sight of each other. His gaze moved over your body with open reverence, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. It was so wrong, but also too late to go back to normal.

He leaned in and captured your lips in a deep, hungry kiss before trailing his mouth lower. Soft, open-mouthed kisses traced along your neck, your collarbone, and down to your breasts. He sucked one sensitive peak into his mouth, tongue swirling slowly, while his hand caressed the other. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he lavished attention on you, completely lost in the taste and feel of your skin.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your stomach as he kissed his way downward. When he finally settled between your thighs, he looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes. 

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

“Yes! Please,” you said breathlessly.

He spread you open gently with his thumbs and dragged his tongue along your slick folds in one long, slow stroke.

“Fuck, babygirl…” His voice was rough with need. “You taste so fucking good.”

You moaned loudly, hips twitching at the overwhelming sensation. He licked you with slow strokes, savoring every reaction, every desperate sound that fell from your lips. You were so sensitive, trembling under his mouth like it was your first time feeling this kind of pleasure. He was just as lost in you, drunk on your taste, on the way your fingers tangled in his hair, on every broken moan that proved how badly you needed him.

He parted your folds with two fingers and pressed his tongue inside you, fucking you with slow, deep strokes. “Such a good girl,” he murmured against your soaked pussy, the praise vibrating through you. He breathed warmly over your clit, sending sharp shivers racing up your spine, then sealed his lips around it and sucked gently.

Your orgasm built fast and intense. You rocked against his mouth, chasing the pleasure as his tongue worked deeper. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled back with a wicked grin and crawled up your body, kissing and sucking at your nipples before claiming your mouth again.

“N-No… I’m so close,” you begged, your voice shaking.

He chuckled softly against your lips. “Patience, sweetheart.” His fingers continued to stroke your breasts as he kissed you deeply, letting the edge fade just enough to keep you aching.

Then, without warning, he slid back down and pushed three fingers inside you while his mouth latched onto your clit again. The sudden fullness and intense suction ripped a cry from your throat. 

He curled his fingers just right, stroking that perfect spot as he sucked harder.

“So sensitive for me…” he whispered reverently.

“P-Please—!” you gasped.

He gave you exactly what you needed. With a few more deep thrusts of his fingers and relentless pressure from his tongue, your orgasm crashed over you. You came hard, back arching, thighs trembling around his head as you cried out his name. He didn’t stop until he’d drawn every last wave of pleasure from your body, groaning in satisfaction at how beautifully you fell apart for him.

“Look at you… my dirty, perfect girl,” he murmured, pressing a final soft kiss to your inner thigh.

You were still panting, body buzzing, when you finally managed to speak.

“M-My turn.” You said breathily. He lifted his head and looked at you. “I want to suck your cock, daddy.”

“You want to suck daddy’s cock?” You shook your head, clearly impatient. “Such a good girl.” He murmured, then rested on his back gently while you leaned towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Then he traced his finger across your lips. You started pressing sloppy, wet kisses across his lips.

He groaned softly into your mouth, one hand sliding into your hair as you kissed him deeper, tasting yourself on his tongue. You trailed your lips down his jaw, then his neck, savoring the way his breath hitched with every touch. Lower and lower you went, kissing his chest, his stomach, until you settled between his thighs.

His cock was hard and flushed, twitching under your gaze. You wrapped your fingers around the base, giving him a slow, teasing stroke. He hissed your name, hips jerking slightly. Smiling, you leaned in and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip before taking him into your mouth.

“Fuck—baby…” His voice was rough, strained with pleasure as you swirled your tongue around him. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, moving with slow, deliberate rhythm. His hand tightened gently in your hair, not pushing, just holding on as if you were his anchor. You loved the sounds he made: low, broken groans and whispered praises that made heat pool between your legs again.

You worked him with your mouth and hand in tandem, finding the rhythm that made his thighs tremble. His breathing grew ragged, muscles tensing beneath you.

“I’m close—shit, I’m so close,” he warned, voice hoarse.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you took him deeper, humming around him. With a guttural moan, he came hard, pulsing in your mouth. You swallowed every drop, stroking him through it until he was spent and shivering.

You released him gently, pressing one last soft kiss to his hip before crawling back up his body. He immediately pulled you into his arms, holding you close against his chest. His heart was still racing under your cheek.

౨ৎ

For a long moment, the only sounds were your mingled breathing and the quiet rustle of sheets as he shifted. He rolled you both onto your sides so you were facing each other. His hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing tenderly over your swollen lips.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, voice full of awe and affection. “Come here, sweetheart.”

He kissed you slowly, deeply, not caring that he could taste himself on your tongue. Then he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes soft in the dim light.

Without another word, he reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and helped you sit up, holding it to your lips so you could drink. He took a sip himself before setting it aside.

When he was done, he pulled the covers over both of you and wrapped you in his arms again, tucking your head beneath his chin. His fingers traced lazy, soothing patterns up and down your spine.

“I love you,” he murmured against your hair. “Not just like this… though god, I love this too. I love how you trust me. How you let me take care of you.” He kissed the top of your head. “You’re my everything, you know that?”

“Yeah… I love you too, daddy.” You whispered, “Thank you for this… I really needed it.” 

You snuggled closer, feeling safe and adored in his embrace. He reached down and intertwined your fingers, squeezing gently.

“Of course, baby,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Always. But this has to stay between us, okay?”

Leon was your roommate, and you’ve been living together for some time. He’s a rookie officer, while you’re still in college. Since you’ve been good friends for a long time and renting an apartment on your own was impossible, you decided to share an apartment until you save enough to live alone.

Your friendship was wild. Can you even call each other ‘friends’ after all the teasing that’s been going on for years? And not to forget the one time you two made out after drinking recklessly. You told him it was a mistake and that it would never happen again.

For him, it was something he will never forget. Although he doesn’t admit it aloud, he had a crush on you for a long time, and you’re well aware of it. Sometimes you tease him about it, and he doesn’t seem to mind. He actually likes it when you tease him.

You’re a good friend, and Leon feels lucky to have you in his life. But his feelings for you haven’t changed. And probably never will. He doesn’t want to ruin everything by bringing it up, so he keeps it to himself, which is sometimes hard for him, especially when you talk about the ‘cute guys’ you see in college.

You’re gone for yoga, and Leon got off work. He’s alone in the apartment. And being alone means that he could do anything. Well, for Leon, ‘anything’ means jerking off thinking about you.

The room was quiet except for Leon’s ragged, desperate breathing. He’d been stroking himself for a long while, sweatpants shoved down around his thighs, fist pumping furiously up and down his throbbing, veiny cock. He was right on the edge. Every stroke was sending him closer.

He thought that you were still at yoga. So there was no reason to hold back. Right?

Well, the door swung open.

You bumped it with your hip, grocery bags in your arms. “Leon? I got those magazines for you—” You froze mid-sentence, eyes widening as you took in the scene.

Leon’s hand stuttered for half a second. You just walked in, him jerking off. But he kept going. It was so stupid, but he’s too desperate to think normal. “H-Hey… yeah. Thought you were out,” he muttered, trying to sound casual even as his abs clenched hard and his cock pulsed visibly in his grip.

You dropped the bags, kicked off your sneakers, and slowly turned fully toward him. Your gaze locked onto his hand and cock. A wicked smirk spread across your face.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God. Leon,” you laughed full of amusement. “You’re actually jerking off right in front of me, and you don’t even bother stopping? That’s next-level pathetic.”

He didn’t say anything, nor did he stop. He just kept going. He was too close to think straight, and the fact that you were watching actually added to the excitement.

You didn’t leave. Instead, you leaned against the doorframe, one hand sliding down your own body teasingly. Your fingers slipped under the waistband of your yoga pants, pressing against your pussy as you watched him stroke. “Keep going,” you ordered sweetly. “Don’t you dare slow down. I want to see you lose it.”

Leon groaned, cheeks burning, but his hand kept pumping. Slick sounds filled the room. “Fuck… this is, uh, not how I planned my evening.”

“Aww, look at you,” you teased, biting your lip as your own fingers started rubbing circles over your clit. “So close already. Your cock is twitching like crazy. Bet you’re gonna make a massive mess all over yourself while your dear bestie watches.” Your breathing grew heavier, eyes glued to his shaft as you rubbed yourself faster. “Mmm… It’s kinda hot, actually. You’re such a desperate little perv.”

“Shit — Stop it.” His strokes turned faster, hips bucking up into his fist. The pressure built unbearably fast.

Your voice dropped, mocking. “That’s it… cum for me, Leon. Show me how hard you’re gonna explode just because I’m standing here touching my pussy while I watch you jerk off like a horny idiot.”

That did it.

Leon’s whole body tensed violently. “Fuuuck—!” he gasped your name, voice cracking. His cock throbbed hard in his fist as the first powerful spurt shot out, then another all across his chest and neck. His hips jerked wildly. He kept stroking through it, groaning loudly. He was trembling and gasping for air. He’d never come this hard from jerking off before; you were the magic.

Your eyes were wide with delight, your fingers rubbing frantically inside your yoga pants as you watched him unravel. “Holy shit… look at that huge fucking load,” you moaned. “You just kept cumming and cumming like a broken faucet. Such a good, messy boy for me.”

As Leon slumped back, panting and trembling, covered in his own cum from chest to stomach, you pulled your fingers out of your pants and climbed onto the bed and straddled his lap, grinding your soaked yoga pants against his cum-slick cock.

“W-What are you—”

“Awww, don’t think we’re done yet,” you purred, dragging your fingers through the mess on his stomach and licking them clean while staring down at him. “You made me so fucking wet watching you explode like that. Now you’re gonna take care of me, okay?”

You quickly shoved your yoga pants and panties down your legs and kicked them aside with your tank top. You were now naked on his lap. Your hand wrapped around his sensitive cock, stroking it firmly. Leon twitched hard.

“Fuck, are we really doing this?” he said, trying to control his breathing as his voice came out shaky. “Give me a minute, yeah?”

“Too bad,” you grinned, positioning his tip against your slick folds and rubbing it up and down. “You’ll get hard again. I can already feel you twitching.” You sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch into your tight, dripping pussy. “Mmm… there we go.”

Leon groaned, hands instinctively gripping your hips. “Fuck… you’re really tight. This is… uh… intense right after.”

You laughed breathlessly and started rolling your hips, riding him with slow, deep movements. “Aww, is my awkward little perv roomie sensitive? Poor baby. Trying so hard to act all chill while I’m fucking you.” You planted your hands on his cum-splattered chest and picked up the pace, bouncing harder. “How’s it feel having me use your cock right after you blew your load everywhere?”

Leon’s head fell back, breathing ragged. “It feels… really fucking good,” he admitted, trying to keep his tone casual. “Didn’t expect my night to end up with you riding me like this… but I’m not complaining.”

You smirked and leaned forward, your tits brushing against his messy chest as you rode him faster. “Of course you’re not. Look at you — still trying to act cool while your cock is buried inside me.” You clenched your pussy around him on purpose, making him hiss. “Bet you’ve thought about this before, huh? I bet you were thinking about me while jerking off like an idiot, yeah?”

“Fuck,” Leon groaned, hips starting to thrust up to meet you. “You’re… really enjoying this, aren’t you? Teasing me the whole time.”

“Obviously,” you moaned, grinding down hard. Your movements grew frantic, slamming down onto him again and again. “Come on, Leon. Tell me how good it feels.”

Leon’s fingers dug into your hips, his voice strained but trying to stay cool. “It feels insane… Keep going like that, and I’m not gonna last long again.”

Your laugh turned into a moan as you chased your pleasure. “Good. I want you to cum inside me this time.” You rode him even harder, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his cock. “That’s it… just lie there and let me use you.”

Your breathing turned into sharp gasps. You tensed above him, crying out as your orgasm hit hard. Your walls pulsed and squeezed tightly around him. “Fuck, Leon—!”

The feeling of you cumming pushed him over the edge too. “Shit, I’m gonna—” Leon groaned loudly, thrusting up into you as he came for the second time, spilling deep inside her with long, powerful spurts. His body shook beneath you, hands gripping you tightly as the intense pleasure rolled through him again.

You slowed her movements, still seated fully on his cock, breathing heavily with a satisfied grin. You traced a finger through the drying cum on his chest and tapped his nose playfully.

“Mmm. Not bad at all,” you purred. “We both know you loved getting caught like that.” You leaned down and kissed him mockingly before climbing off, his cum leaking down your thigh. “Next time you’re feeling horny, just leave the door open again. I might even watch longer… or join sooner.”

You gave his softening cock one last teasing pat. “Clean up your mess, Leon. And maybe lock the door… unless you want round three later.”