Welcome

Blonde.

Beautiful in an unfair kind of way.

The type of man who looked expensive without trying.

Your gaze drifted toward the single yellow rose and an envelope propped up on a candle sliding back up to his face.

Oh.

He got stood up.

A small crease pulled between your brows. That almost never happened to men who looked like him.

Leaning forward, your elbow pressed against the table while your cheek rested lazily against your palm, eyes lingering and then—

He looked over.

Red eyes met yours instantly. Tired at first. Distant. Before the realization settled that someone had been staring.

And not just someone.

His attention caught briefly on your half-lidded gaze before lowering —burgundy under gloss stained lips. The delicate jewelry resting against your throat. The way your posture somehow stayed elegant even folded over the table like that.

Pretty wasn't enough of a word.

What threw him more was the familiarity crawling at the back of his mind. Like he'd seen you somewhere before.

Not enough for him to place.

Just enough to itch at the back of his mind.

Then you smiled.

Small. Knowing. The corner of your burgundy lips curling around the rim of your wine glass like you caught him slipping.

He cleared his throat immediately, dragging his gaze back toward the windows before he embarrassed himself.

Cute.

You finished the rest of your glass in one slow sip before setting it down gently against the tablecloth.

And before your brain could talk you out of it —your body moved first, delicate fingers folding around the handle of your matching purse.

The short walk between your tables suddenly felt louder than the entire restaurant. Boots clicking softly against the floor until you stopped beside him.

Up close, he looked even worse for your sanity.

Broad shoulders folded into the back of the chair. Blond hair slightly messy from his hands dragging through it all night. Those red eyes sharper this close —deep ruby under the dim lighting, intense enough to make most people nervous.

You liked that right away.

“Waiting on someone?” you asked softly.

Not teasing and not innocent either.

He looked up at you, visibly caught off guard by the fact you were speaking to him at all.

“Not anymore,” he answered after a second, rubbing the back of his neck.

A quiet laugh slipped from you. “Bummer.”

And before he could even process what was happening, you sat on the chair next to him. One leg crossed smoothly over the other, body turned completely toward him like he suddenly had your full attention and no-one else in the room mattered.

That nearly did him in right there.

Because beautiful women existed —obviously.

But women like you didn't just walk across restaurants and place themselves into a stranger’s night like this.

Not willingly.

Not looking at them like that.

His gaze flickered over you before he could stop it. The fitted black fabric hugging your body. The pleated skirt riding dangerously high once you crossed your legs. The faint shine of sheer stockings.

Every detail about you felt expensive.

intentional.

“And you…” His voice roughened slightly before he cleared it. “What about you?” -then your perfume hit him fully. Warm. Addicting. Feminine in a way that settled low in his stomach almost instantly.

Jesus Christ.

He forced himself to focus.

You tilted your head thoughtfully at the question, fingers tracing slowly around the rim of an untouched water glass.

“Just looking for a distraction.”

The eye contact never broke once.

And that answer combined with the way you said it nearly made him forget how to think. His ears warmed despite himself.

“That so?” he asked carefully, though the slight challenge in his tone betrayed him.

Because part of him still didn’t believe this was real. Didn’t believe someone who looked like you would willingly sit here flirting with him while his ex technically still occupied the back of his mind like unfinished paperwork.

You hummed softly before letting your gaze drag over him again.

“Hard to believe someone who looks as good as you got stood up.”

A grin tugged at your lips.

“She’s gotta be a bitch.”

For the first time all night —he laughed.

Low and genuine.

And somehow that sound felt more rewarding than it should’ve. It finally broke the tension between you. He leaned back slightly, a low laugh slipping out of him as he rubbed at his jaw.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “M’not so good at picking nice ones it seems.”

You smiled into your glass at that.

Cute.

“Gonna ask you a couple questions.”

His brow lifted.

“Just keep your answers simple, k?”

Something about the way you said it made his stomach tighten.

He nodded once, shifting in his chair slightly. “Alright.”

Your eyes flicked toward the envelope propped up next to candle.

“What’s in there?”

“A check.”

Short answer.

Just like you asked.

“Drove here?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

“You a good driver?”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth this time. “Better than most.”

"Occupation?"

"Aerospace engineer"

You hummed approvingly.

“Name?”

“Katsuki.”

The way you repeated it almost sounded obscene. “Mmm… Katssuukiii.” The syllables melted right off your tongue smooth and slow, he physically felt the effect of it somewhere deep in his chest.

Or maybe lower.

His tongue dragged briefly across his bottom lip before he caught himself.

“And yours?”

You gave him a fake name easily.

Your finger tapped once against the stem of a wine glass before your gaze dragged slowly back to him.

“Think you could lift me?”

He actually scoffed at that.

Not cocky.

Certain.

“Easily,” he said. “One hand too.”

That made your smile widen properly for the first time tonight.

God.

He almost stopped breathing over something as small as that.

You leaned back on the chair after that, crossing your arms loosely beneath your chest while still facing him.

The movement alone nearly distracted him.

Then came the dangerous part.

Your lashes lowered slightly as you looked up at him.

“Wanna leave here?”

He held your gaze.

“with me?” you added softly.

His throat worked around a swallow as his eyes flicked down to your lips for the first time all night without immediately looking away after.

He was trying so hard to keep it together.

Trying to stay smooth. Calm. Unaffected.

Meanwhile you were sitting beside him looking like temptation dressed in black fabric and glossy lips.

“Yeah,” he answered finally, voice lower now.

— — -- -- -

The restraint he carried all night cracked open the moment you stepped into his domain. Palms firm beneath your thighs hauling you up against him like he’d been thinking about it the entire drive home.

A startled laugh barely left your mouth.

God.

Your pulse fluttered instantly as you wrapped your legs around him. You pressed open-mouthed kisses against his neck just to feel the way his breathing broke.

His mouth found yours too, rough kisses pressing against sensitive skin hard enough to make your head tip back.

“katsuki”

He grunted softly at the sound of his name falling from your lips like that. He held you with embarrassing ease while he walked you deeper into the apartment.

You loved that.

Loved the confidence in it.

The way he handled you like he already knew you liked being moved around. Like he knew pretty girls like you got dizzy over strength.

By the time the edge of his desk hit the backs of your legs, your breathing had already gone uneven, barely giving you a second to recover before his hands were undoing the zipper to your boots.

He turned you around so quickly it made your head spin.

One second you were facing him — the next your front was pressed against the desk, trapped between the solid edge of it and the heat of his body crowding close behind you.

A breath caught in your throat.

His hands moved slowly this time.

Deliberately.

Sliding over your shoulders and down your arms like he was taking his time learning every inch of you beneath his palms before settling firmly at your hips.

Then he bent you over.

The position alone nearly made your knees weaken.

He paused there for a second just to look at you.

And fuck.

You looked unreal like this.

Spread out beneath the low office lighting, skirt pushed up your thighs, breathing uneven already from how easily he handled you.

A rough sound left him before he dropped to his knees behind you, fingers hooking impatiently into your stockings.

The fabric tore under his hands without much effort.

His gaze darkened slowly the higher the ripped material disappeared down your legs, revealing flashes of warm skin until finally—

Bright red lace.

Already damp.

The sight made him still for half a second.

Of course your panties were red.

His favorite color.

The sight pulls something dangerous from him.

A low sound.

Satisfied.

His mouth dragged along the inner parts of your thigh —greedy with it, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss it or ruin you first.

“Open,” he demanded.

And your body obeyed before your brain even caught up.

A satisfied sound rumbled low in his throat at how quickly you listened.

God, he liked that.

Liked the way your thighs opened without hesitation the second his hands touched you. The heat of his fingers spread across the backs of your thighs before gripping tighter, pulling your pussy lips further apart for him with an ease that made your pulse flutter embarrassingly fast.

The first touch of his mouth made your breath catch.

Then sharp inhale tore from your chest as he kissed you deeply, taking his time like he wanted to taste every reaction he pulled from you. The pleased hum he let out afterward sounded almost distracted. Like he couldn’t believe how much he liked this already.

“Katsuki…” you breathed shakily, fingers scrambling against the desk as he pressed another heated kiss against your clit.

The sound of his name nearly made him lose his mind.

His hands spread wider against your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted while his mouth worked lower again. Impatient now, like he’d spent too long imagining this during the drive home and couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

He glanced up once —just once —your head tipped back as another breathless sound slipped from you, fingers tightening against the desk while the warmth of his mouth and the rough drag of his hands sent heat spiraling through your stomach.

“Fuck,” he muttered, half under his breath.

Not even trying to sound smooth anymore.

The shaky inhale.

Your thighs twitching

The way your hips kept trying to chase more from him.

Another low, satisfied sound vibrated from his chest as his hands slid higher up your ass, keeping you spread like he's sure he's found that spot. He sucks at your clit and dips his tongue inside over and over. Flicking it faster and faster until you unravel in front him in real time.

The breathless little sounds slipping out every few seconds like you couldn’t stop them.

“katsss…” you hissed weakly.

That finally pulled him back up.

Yeah.

He really fucking liked hearing that.

You turned your head just enough to look over your shoulder and nearly lost your mind at the sight of him.

His lips were swollen. Chin damp.

And somehow the sight of a man like him looking ruined because of you made heat curl low in your stomach all over again.

Pretty girls usually acted nervous under attention like this.

You didn’t.

You just looked wrecked already.

The size of him alone made anticipation twist tightly in your stomach. Your thighs pressed together unconsciously at the sight of him palming his cock.

He noticed immediately.

A rough smirk tugged briefly at his mouth before fading again, attention dropping lower like he was admiring the exact effect he had on you.

God, you were eager.

“Open f’me,” he said low.

The roughness in his voice sent heat straight through you.

Your body obeyed instantly.

He liked that far too much.

He dragged his cock slowly over the mess he’d already made of you. Focused. Concentrated. Like he was trying to burn the sight into his memory.

The other hand held firmly on your ass before gripping it and pulling you apart again. You glanced back just in time to catch the way his jaw tightened, the subtle twitch in his expression betraying just how badly he was trying to stay composed.

The first push of him forward knocked the breath clean from your lungs. Fingers gripping the desk harder as the sheer intensity of him overwhelmed your thoughts all at once.

Too much in the best possible way.

Behind you, he let out a strained sound through clenched teeth, head dropping briefly forward like he felt it just as hard.

“Fuck…” he breathed.

Low. Blissed out.

The warmth. The tightness. The way your body reacted to him instantly—

When he finally moved again, the reaction ripped matching sounds from both of you almost instantly.

Your head tipped back. His grip now on your hips tightened hard enough to keep you still when your body tried chasing more on instinct and that was apparently all the encouragement he needed.

His pace turned rougher immediately —not sloppy, not rushed — precise. Like he was learning your body and already figuring out exactly which movements pulled those sounds from you.

A strained groan slipped from him as one hand tightened hard against your hip while the other slid upward, fingers threading into your hair before gripping firmly.

The pull arched your back beautifully.

“God damnit…” he hissed under his breath.

You’re warm. Tight. Responsive. Completely gone for him already.

You felt so good it was genuinely starting to mess with his head. The way your body kept tightening around him. The breathless sounds breaking apart every few seconds. How pretty you looked bent over his desk taking exactly what he gave you.

It was driving him insane.

“You like that?” he asked low, almost teasing but his voice barely sounded controlled anymore.

Before you could answer, his hand tightened in your hair again, guiding your head back while his rhythm stayed devastatingly exact —deep enough to keep pulling shaky gasps from your chest over and over.

Then something shifted.

A strange looseness against his hand.

At first neither of you noticed.

You were too lost in the feeling of him. Too consumed by the overwhelming heat twisting through your body.

But the next pull felt different.

Lighter.

His movements slowed slightly, brows furrowing as something soft slipped loose through his fingers.

Your wig came off completely.

Time stopped.

The room fell dead silent outside of both your uneven breathing.

His pace slowed.

Stopped.

Blonde strands mixed with auburn tumbled down as your real hair spilled over your shoulders, highlights catching beneath the dim office lighting.

He stared at it first.

Then at you.

And suddenly every blurred thought in his head started crashing together all at once.

Your voice.

Your face.

The familiarity that’d been clawing at him since the restaurant.

The hair.

Auburn and blonde streaks from your most recent photoshoot.

His entire body went still.

Then he says it... The sound of your real name leaving his mouth made anxiety slam into your chest instantly.

He’d already pulled back completely now, letting the wig slip from his hand onto the floor while he stared at you like his brain physically could not catch up.

Fuck fuck fuck.

This had literally never happened before but then again, you've never done this before either. You weren’t supposed to be recognizable tonight.

But your real hair framed your face now —unmistakable beneath the office lighting —and judging by the look on his face?

He knew exactly who you were.

Not just recognized.

Knew.

His realization hit harder when he pulled back completely, he stared at you like his brain physically could not process what was happening.

And honestly?

Neither could yours.

Your stomach twisted hard enough to make your body tense involuntarily.

“Shit,” he muttered immediately, stepping back.

He looked even more overwhelmed now than he did before. His chest rose sharply with each breath while one hand dragged through his messy blonde hair, ruby eyes fixed entirely on your face like looking away would somehow make this less real.

“I knew you looked familiar,” he said finally.

Quiet.

Dazed.

an: fuck I loved this… 100 likes and ill drop part 2 tomorrow

<< back PRT 2 >>

The way it hums through your body in a way that has something start to build in your lower stomach. You shift slightly.

Subtle.

It doesn’t help.

Your fingers curl against him, tightening without you meaning to, and you press your lips together under the helmet like that might steady you.

The road curves sharply before you’re ready for it. Your grip locks instantly, arms tightening around him as he leans into the turn like it’s nothing. Your heart jumps and instead of fear —something else rushes in to take its place.

You like it.

The speed, the drop, the way everything tilts for a second before leveling out again —it pulls a soft, breathy sound out of you before you can stop it. Not quite a gasp nor quite a laugh.

It surprises you and he feels it.

There’s a shift —not in you, in him. Subtle, controlled. The kind of adjustment that doesn’t ask, just reacts.

The bike answers it.

The engine deepens, louder now, the pull forward stronger as he rolls the throttle like he’s testing something —like he already knows the answer. Your grip tightens again, but this time it’s not reflex. You’re holding on because you want to.

And that seems to be all the confirmation he needs. He pushes it just a little more.

Not reckless. Not careless.

Confident.

Measured.

Like he knows exactly what you can handle —and how far to take it.

And this time—you laugh.

For real.

It slips out easy, unfiltered, carried off by the wind as your arms tighten fully around him, chest pressed against his back without hesitation.

Whatever space you were trying to keep before —gone.

You don’t think about it.

Don’t question it.

Don’t pull back.

You just hold on, letting the movement, the speed, the heat of him under your hands take over completely.

And for the first time since getting on you stop trying to control any of it.

— — -

The bike slows before coming to a full stop. The engine cuts, and the silence that follows feels louder than the ride itself.

For a second, you don’t move.

Then you pull the helmet off, dragging in a deep breath as the air hits your face.

“wow…” slips out of you, soft but full, your chest rising with it. You let out a long exhale, almost a quiet laugh under it, like your body hasn’t caught up yet. You’re still buzzing. Still a little unsteady in a way that has nothing to do with balance.

He takes the helmet from you, resting it over the handle before swinging off the bike with easy familiarity. When you glance at him, he’s smiling —really smiling this time, not the subtle almost-smirk from before.

And it does something to you.

The fact that he knows you liked it. That he can see it.

That’s when you notice it. Not just your heartbeat, not just the lingering rush still sitting under your skin —but something else.

Lower. Warmer.

The same feeling from earlier, but stronger now. Settled deeper between your legs. Your thighs press together slightly before you even realize you’re doing it.

Your stomach tightens.

Because now you’re aware of your own arousal in a way you can’t ignore. You go still on the seat, suddenly very aware of how wet you’ve become.

He notices changes.

Not all at once, but in pieces. The way you don’t move. The way your legs shift and then press together like you’re trying to control something —keep something at bay. The way you won’t look at him anymore.

“…You good?” he asks.

Your head nods a little too fast. “Yeah.”

But your eyes stay anywhere but his.

That’s enough for him.

He steps closer, one hand lifting slightly —not touching you, just there, waiting. Then he gestures for your hand.

A silent c’mon.

You glance at it, hesitate, then look away completely.

Your head shakes, small and quick. “I’m —I’m good,” you murmur, but your body doesn’t match it. Your knee bounces once, then again, and your thighs press tighter together like you’re trying to hold something in place.

That’s when it lands for him.

Understanding.

His gaze lingers for a second, dipping lower before coming back up to your face. “…mm,” he hums quietly.

And instead of calling you out he turns and swings back onto the bike —but this time, he’s facing you. The movement pulls your attention back to him immediately, your head lifting before you can stop it.

Now he’s closer than ever.

Your knees brush his, the space between you gone in a different way one of his hands settles lightly near your leg —not grabbing, not pulling —just there.

“hey” he says, quieter this time.

You swallow.

“you’re not the only one,” he adds.

Your breath stutters.

He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t crowd you. Doesn’t make you feel cornered. He just lets that sit there between you.

“Been feelin’ it all mornin' too” he says, low and simple. Your fingers shift against the seat beneath you, your shoulders dropping just slightly, because that

—that helps.

You finally look at him properly again, and he’s already there, watching and waiting. His hand shifts just barely, his thumb grazing once against the side of your leg like he’s testing if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

Something in his expression settles, like that was the only confirmation he needed. He leans in slowly, giving you time to see it coming, to decide what you want to do with it.

Close enough now that you feel it before anything actually happens. He stops just before the distance disappears. The same way he did at the table. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, that subtle pull of him, but he doesn’t close the gap. He just waits for you.

Your eyes lift to his, the color of them, the way they’re locked on you, steady and unreadable but not distant —it holds you there longer than it should. His scent wraps around you again, stronger now and everything about him feels closer, heavier, it pulls you in.

You don’t overthink it this time. You lean forward letting your lips meet his. At first, it’s soft. Just a press, testing, like you’re both feeling it out in real time.

Then his lips move.

Slow at first, deliberate, like he’s taking his time now that he has you here. There’s nothing rushed about it, nothing unsure. He kisses you like he meant to from the start, like he’s just been waiting for you to get here.

The way his lips moves against yours makes something loosen in your chest, and a quiet sound slips out before you can stop it. It’s soft, barely there, but it goes straight into him and that’s what changes it.

His head tilts, deepening the kiss, shifting the angle just enough that it’s no longer tentative. It’s fuller, warmer, pulling you in instead of meeting you halfway.

His hand slides down to your thigh, settling there with purpose. His fingers spread slightly, steady, and grounding.

Then it moves.

Slowly, dragging upward, not rushing, not asking, just there, firm and certain.

Your breath shifts as his palm travels higher, his thumb brushing along your side as his grip settles at your hip. It tightens just enough to guide you, to test how close you’ll let him pull you.

You don’t pull away —you lean into it.

His other hand follows, both of them working together now, easing you forward, closer, until there’s no space left between you.

The moment you settle on his lap, it hits all at once. Your hands find him without thinking, sliding up his shoulders, fingers curling into the back of his shirt as the kiss begins to shifts again.

Now you’re kissing him back.

Matching him, the way he moves his tongue and that pulls a low sound from him. Something rougher than before, his hands tightening where they hold you as he pulls you in just a little more, like he forgot for a second to pace himself.

Your hips move before you fully think about it, a small roll forward, instinctive, barely controlled. His grip tightens for a split second, sharp, like it surprised him.

Then he pulls back.

“—fuck…” slips out under his breath.

His forehead hovers close to yours, not quite touching, his hands still on you like he hasn’t decided if he’s about to pull you closer again or let you go.

And for the first time since you met him, he doesn’t look completely in control. His voice dips, a quiet, almost disbelieving chuckle under it. “I was doin’ real good—” he shakes his head slightly, breath still uneven, “—till you did that.”

He drags his thumb slowly across his bottom lip, like he’s still feeling it, like he hasn’t fully come back down yet.

You let out a small breath, still close enough that it brushes against his lips. Your hands tighten slightly on him again, like you need something to steady yourself —but you don’t move away.

“You say that like you’re gonna stop,” you murmur, your voice low, a little uneven.

There’s a pause.

“…are you?”

That does it.

A grin pulls at his mouth, slow and a little sharper than anything he’s shown you yet. “Careful,” he murmurs, his voice lower now.

“…you’re askin’ for it (y/n)"

His hands tighten once at your hips, not pulling you back in —but not letting you go either.

“My place?”

You nod with your lip catching between your teeth.

— — -

The ride back feels different.

Shorter.

Not because of the distance —but because your mind won’t stay still.

Every second is filled with snip-its of what just happened a few minutes ago. The engine cuts, he gets off first, steady like he always is, then reaches back for you without saying anything.

You take his hand.

The moment the door closes behind you the outside world disappears. He doesn’t even fully turn around before you’re already there. Your hand finds his first, fingers wrapping around his like you’re pulling him back into something unfinished.

He exhales once, low, like he understands exactly what you’re doing without you having to explain it.

You tug lightly at his hand.

Not impatient.

Just certain.

And that’s what breaks him.

His keys hit the counter behind him with a soft, careless sound, like whatever he was holding onto before this doesn’t matter anymore.

And then he turns fully into you. His arms come around you in one motion.

Firm.

It feels like everything from earlier just picks back up where it left off —no reset, no distance, no hesitation in between.

Just continuation.

His mouth finds yours again without warning, The kiss deepens almost immediately. Turning from slow recognition into something urgent, something that doesn’t feel like testing anymore —it feels like wanting.

His hand finds your waist, then shifts like he’s deciding there’s no point in pretending to be slow about any of this anymore.

You barely manage to pull back just long enough to tug your purse off your shoulder.

It slips into his hands before you even fully register giving it to him. You move with him as he turns, guiding you both closer to the counter without breaking the kiss. His hand plants your bag down, but only for a second —because his attention is already back on you.

Already on your mouth.

Already on everything else.

One hand finds the zipper of your sweater as he starts to pull it down slow and deliberate, while still kissing you like he refuses to give up either.

His mouth shifts from yours, trailing along your jaw, then lower, a long your neck in a way that makes your breath catch harder than you want it to. A soft, unsteady sound slips out of you before you can stop it.

It’s small but he hears it.

Feels it.

And it changes something in him.

His hand shifts, sliding from your waist to your lower back, fingers spreading then tightening on your ass. The sudden squeeze pulls a sharper sound from you, louder this time, less controlled.

—

That does it.

—

His grip firms, your breath stutters, and your hands move, sliding up under his shirt, needing to feel more of him, needing something solid to hold onto.

You move higher, like you can’t quite believe he feels like this in real life. Then he pulls back just enough to take his shirt off and look at you.

And that’s when you really see him.

No jacket.

No distance.

Just him.

It hits you immediately how much presence he actually takes up. How defined he is, how built he is in a way that isn’t exaggerated —it’s real. Earned. Lived in.

Your fingers pause against him.

And then your lip catches between your teeth without you meaning it to.

He sees it.

A small, knowing smirk pulls at his mouth.

Like he’s… satisfied.

Like he expected that reaction.

His hand catches yours gently, pulling it away from where it hesitated, and places it flat against the center of his chest.

“Feel that?” he murmurs against your mouth, voice low.

Your breath shifts as your palm settles there.

You nod slightly, but he doesn’t let your hand stay still. His hand slides over yours, guiding it lower with slow control, like he’s showing you instead of rushing you.

At the same time, his other hand comes up to your jaw, holding you there just long enough to keep your attention exactly where he wants it.

Then he kisses you again.

Deeper.

Like he’s trying to keep himself from losing the edge completely.

*His POV

He didn’t expect this to feel like this.

Not how fast it turned. Not how you feel against him like you already fit too well into something neither of you said out loud.

And definitely not the way you’re looking at him now —like you’re trying to understand him while still wanting more of him at the same time.

His hands slide down your sides, deliberate —thumbs hooking into the elastic part of your leggings, pulling down until you step out of it.

Then his gaze is back on you. Lips on your hips, then following your panty line until he gets right to the center. He kisses the front of it looking up at you.

Your head tips back against the wall as the sensation builds. He shifts it with his thumb but the scene in front of him is almost too much. Translucent threads of your warm slick already dampen your panties and his thumb. You’re glistening —he licks his lips and swallows.

Mesmerized by the sight in front of him. His lips are on you within seconds. Tongue kissing your pussy as if it was your mouth. He flattens his tongue next and licks from your warm tight little hole slurping up your wetness and twirling around your clit. The way he moves —measured, controlled —like he knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly what it’s doing to you.

Your hands don’t stay still. They find him —his hair, his shoulders —anything to ground yourself as your body starts to give in to it.

“Mmm—” the sound is louder than you expect. Seeing him from this angle, such an attractive man kneeling before you, servicing like this makes your stomach coil.

“sh— mm’fuck” you can’t even form coherent sentences when he slips his tongue inside and wiggles it. He’s got your fingers curling into his hair —pulling every time his tongue makes your pussy clench.

“mm God!” your hips roll forward to meet his tongue. Back arching completely off the wall as you tug on his hair. Then *smack* an encouraging slap to your ass and a moan follows after 

“damnit! I could come like that” he wills himself away from your sweetness and as soon as he’s standing straight —you make quick work of his belt, button, then zipper. You help him out of his shorts. 

There’s a pause when you look up at him from this new angle. You see his cock straining against his gray boxers and when your eyes meets his, he’s already looking down at you.

“We’ll have time for that” he says reaching down to pick you up. Your legs instinctively wraps around his torso. You pull his face to yours for another kiss. It’s even better than the last because tasting yourself on him is addicting 

“god.. i wana ride you s’fuckin bad” you mutter againt his mouth. That’s all he needs to hear.

He doesn’t stop moving until the couch catches him, dropping down with you still pulled tight against him, like letting go even for a second isn’t an option. His mouth stays on yours, deeper now, like he’s trying to take more of you with every second that passes.

His hands are squeezing your ass, spreading you apart and guiding your slick folds along his hard length. 

“Use me” he mutters against your ear, rough and impatient, like the words slip out before he can slow them down.

And just like that, your pussy clenches at the thought. You reach down angling his cock up. You shift to your feet in a low squat and slide down —taking every inch greedily until you bottom out. He fills you so so well, the stretch is exactly what you need.

When you start dragging that wet pussy up his cock and drop down —your pussy just cannot stop clenching around it. "Shit —you're tight!" his hips stutter just a bit to chase your pussy as it glides off. You moan at that, how eager he his to stay deep in you. Your hands find his shoulders for support and balance.

Then you move up again, bouncing on him as your pussy makes squelching noises making him moan. You're loving the way his jaw clenches, his heavy pants, the way his grip is firm on you, not guiding just there as if he's holding on for dare life.

"fuck I—" he gets cut off when you switch to reverse cowgirl. Hisses when he sees how perfect you look from behind on his cock like this. You go back to work on him, hips rising and falling as you lean over just enough so he can see where you're both connected. It brings an almost feral sound out of him causing another smack to your ass

"fuck you're —really somethin' else" he watches as your sopping cunt swallows him faster and faster. Losing it, as his head now tilts to the side watching all that gushing, squeezing and clenching. The sounds your ass makes as it claps against his lap.

“Yeah” he mutters, low, voice roughened out by everything building between you. “That’s enough.”

But it doesn’t sound like he wants it to stop.

His hands adjust you with purpose, lifting slightly, holding you closer in a way that changes the angle of everything—like he’s found exactly where he wants you to be.

Where you fit him best.

Your breath catches at the sudden change, but he doesn’t slow.

“Stay right there” he says heavier. Not a question. Something more like possession made verbal.

His eyes are locked on you like he’s committing this moment to memory —that lewd look on your face looking back at him like that.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters, jaw tight, “and I’m not stoppin’ this once I start.”

There’s no threat in it.

Just certainty.

And something almost pleased underneath it.

You don’t answer fast enough.

Or maybe you can’t.

Because he’s spreading you again, thumbs on either side of your pussy lips. Thrusting with precision, intent on molding your pussy into the shape of his cock.

“suki fuck —fuck fuck”

“Yeah…” he exhales, like he’s steadying himself through you instead of away from you. “There it is.” His grip firms again —not changing you for control’s sake, but for precision. For him. Like he’s realized exactly what drives both of you now.

And when he speaks again, his voice drops lower, rough at the edges but undeniably intent:

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl” eyes locked on where he’s disappearing inside you —he’s barely holding himself together. The way he’s fucking you has your body tilting further with each lonnnggg deep thrust causing the air to be knocked out of you

“God I’m cummminngg” you cry “don’t stop! please fuck me” you’ve been reduced to a desperate pleading fucked out mess. He pulls you back on him, cock fully sheathed inside as your legs are between his.

One of his hands has now moved to pressing right under your tummy while the other hand snakes its way between your thighs, fingers rubbing your clit at just the right speed that has you squirting as he grinds his cock inside of you.

“Fuck yes —all over me baby” he doesn’t stop, not when you feel this good, not when he feels you leaking this much. Instead —he licks just below your ear, a long stripe to the shell of it causing you to gasp out loud, making your legs to shake, your pussy to flutter on his cock as he cums inside of you. Filling you with his hot cum, breathing hard as he taps on your clit.

A rough chuckle brushes against your ear.

He mutters quietly “how long do you need? —cause I’m not even close to being done with you”

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Not because of the bike but because of how easy he looks standing there. Like this isn’t anything. Like you didn’t stand in front of your mirror longer than you should have this morning. Like you didn’t pick something different twice on purpose. Your fit <<

You slow just slightly as you get closer.

His head lifts, eyes finding you immediately —and this time, there’s nothing else pulling his attention away.

No classroom.

No kids.

No reason to look anywhere else.

— — -

*His POV

He notices it right away.

Not just that you look different —but that you did it on purpose. Clothes that don’t hide you the way they do at school. Softer. Fitted in a way that makes him slow down a second when you get closer.

Yeah.

You knew what you were doing this morning.

And that—

he likes more than anything else.

He lets his gaze drag, not rushing it, not pretending he’s not looking. You catch it.

Good.

Because now he doesn’t have to guess anymore.

You’re not shutting this down.

You’re just… pacing it.

Same as him.

Only difference?

He’s pretty sure you don’t realize how far gone you already are.

— — -

*Back to you

You stop just in front of him.

“Morning.”

“Hey.”

His voice is the same.

Low. Even.

But the way he’s looking at you isn’t.

You glance at the bike, then back at him.

“…this your way of making a first impression?”

His mouth shifts, just slightly.

“Workin’?”

You hold his gaze.

“…maybe.”

A beat settles between you.

Not awkward.

Just—

there.

You glance past him toward the café, then back.

“…been waiting long?”

“Long enough.”

You shift your weight slightly, then—

“How old are you?”

It comes out clean.

No lead-in.

No softening.

His brow lifts just a fraction.

“Twenty-six.”

Your shoulders drop before you can stop them.

“…okay.”

He catches that.

“Okay?”

You huff a small breath, shaking your head.

“I just needed to make sure I wasn’t about to do something stupid.”

His gaze doesn’t move. Then, like it’s nothing—

“Stupid? No.”

“…fun? Yeah.”

Your lips part slightly before you catch yourself, and there’s a small breath of a smile you try to hide when you look away.

“I’m twenty-five”

He nods once, like that settles into place easily.

“Yeah,” he says. “that checks out”

Not surprised.

Just confirming.

You glance toward the café door, buying yourself a second, fingers tightening lightly around your bag strap.

“Thanks for asking me out,” you add, quieter. “By the way.”

It slips out more honest than you intended. His eyes shift slightly —like that actually registers.

Then—

“Was hard not to.”

You don’t even mean to, but a small smile pulls at your mouth before you can stop it. “…Come on,” you murmur, like you’re trying to shake it off.

When you reach the door, he gets there slightly ahead —pulls it open without a word, holding it steady for you.

A simple gesture.

But it doesn’t feel simple.

You pause for half a second as you pass him.

“…thanks.”

“Yeah.”

— — -

The shift hits you the second you step inside.

Inside, it’s quieter.

Smaller.

More intimate than you expected.

Low R&B lofi hums softly in the background, something slow and steady that fills the silence without interrupting it.

You step up to the counter, placing your order.

You feel him behind you.

The space between you isn’t neutral anymore.

You step to the side when you’re done, reaching into your bag for your wallet—

and pause.

Because he’s already there “same thing,” he says easily, nodding toward the barista.

No hesitation.

No glance back at you.

Just —handled.

You turn toward him, brows lifting slightly.

“I can pay for my—”

“Pretty girls shouldn’t have to pay for anything.”

It’s smooth.

Not forced.

Like he believes it.

Your breath catches —just a little.

Because now he’s looking at you again.

“And if you insist,” he adds, voice dipping just enough, “you can ask me out next time.”

That—

lands.

Not just the words.

The next time.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your bag strap before you catch yourself, rolling your eyes lightly to cover it.

“…wow.”

Soft.

Not dismissive.

You glance away first this time, turning toward the seating area like you’re not about to overthink that.

“Thank you,” you add after a second, quieter now.

It’s not automatic.

It’s meant.

You don’t go far.

Just a small table off to the side —tucked enough to feel a little removed without being hidden.

You sit first.

He follows a second later taking the seat across from you. Close enough that conversation doesn’t need to carry.

There’s a brief pause.

Just settling.

You glance up at him, fingers loosely wrapped around your cup. “You know a lot about me already,” you say, tone lighter now. “Figured it’s my turn.”

His gaze flicks to your mouth —quick, familiar —then back to your eyes.

“Yeah?”

“What do you do?”

A small shift in his posture.

Not guarded.

Just deciding how much to give you.

“I was in the army,” he says, voice even. “Few years, got out when she came along,” he adds. “My sister.”

Your brows lift just a little.

He continues after taking a sip “She’s adopted. Been with us since she was a baby.”

“...Our mom’s in the hospital. Has been for a while.”

He doesn’t dress it up.

Doesn’t soften it.

Just says it.

“So,” he continues, like it’s simple, “she’s mine.”

Your chest tightens slightly at that.

Steady. Certain. No hesitation.

Not obligation.

Choice.

“And you just… stepped into that?” you ask, softer now.

He shrugs lightly.

“Didn’t feel like a choice.”

There’s no weight in it.

No self-praise.

Just fact.

Something about that, the way he carries it, the way he doesn’t make it a thing sits with you. You nod slowly, eyes holding his a second longer.

“I like that,” you say before you can overthink it. It slips out honest and his gaze shifts slightly at that.

Not surprised.

Just… noting it.

“Yeah?”

You clear your throat lightly, glancing down at your cup like you didn’t just say that out loud.

“I mean —it says a lot about you.”

That earns you the smallest shift in his mouth.

Not quite a smile.

But close.

Silence settles again but it’s different now.

Warmer.

Your attention drifts before you can stop it. Not away just… lower. His arm rests against the table, relaxed. The sleeve of his shirt sits just high enough —then you see them.

His veins.

Defined.

Subtle movement under his skin when his fingers shift slightly against the table.

Your breath catches.

Soft.

And you stay there a tad bit too long.

— — -

*His POV

There it is.

He saw that.

Didn’t miss it for a second —the way your eyes dropped, the way they didn’t come back up right away.

You weren’t even trying to hide it.

He shifts his hand just slightly against the table, not enough to be obvious but enough to confirm it.

Yeah.

You’re looking.

His tongue drags once along his lower lip, slow, instinctive—

but you don’t catch it.

Too busy watching him.

And that almost makes him smile.

— — -

*Back to you

“…so what do you do now?” you ask, a little late, pulling your attention back up like it didn’t just drift.

Your voice isn’t as steady as before.

“Work here and there,” he says. “Mostly just make sure she’s good.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around your cup. You nod, but your focus isn’t landing the same anymore. His head tilts just slightly, eyes on you.

“You were just lookin’ at me,” he says.

It’s not a question.

Your eyes widen.

“I wasn’t—” you start, too quick.

Too obvious.

His brow lifts just a fraction.

Not buying it and not letting you off either.

“I don’t believe you”

It’s quiet.

Almost amused.

You open your mouth —then close it.

Because there’s nothing you can say that doesn’t make it worse.

“…I was just—” you try again, softer now, words catching on themselves, “you—your—”

God.

You stop.

Heat creeping up your neck.

His gaze doesn’t move.

If anything—

“Take your time,” he says, low.

That does not help.

You let out a small breath, shaking your head once like you can reset this.

“…you work out,” you land on finally, and even you hear how weak that sounds.

His mouth shifts again.

There it is.

That almost-smile.

“Is that what you were lookin’ at?”

Your stomach flips, and you don’t answer.

Which, in itself, is an answer.

The silence stretches —not awkward, not empty, just long enough to settle between you and mean something. He doesn’t rush to fill it either. He just watches you, like he already knows what that hesitation says.

Then his hand moves.

Not suddenly, not hesitant —just deliberate. It slides across the table, palm up, stopping just short of you. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t close the distance. He leaves it there, open, like an offering he’s not going to explain.

Your eyes drop to it immediately, then lift back to his.

He doesn’t say anything this time. He just looks at you like this part is yours.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your cup as you hesitate. You could ignore it. Pull back. Pretend this moment didn’t just shift into something else entirely. But you don’t.

Your hand moves before your mind fully catches up, hovering just above his. Close enough now that you can feel the warmth of his skin, close enough that the space between your hands feels intentional.

You pause there because now it’s real. If you do this, there’s no pretending this is just coffee anymore.

Then you go for it. His hand is bigger than yours, rougher too —not careless, just worked in a way that makes your stomach tighten the second his fingers shift around yours.

He doesn’t grab you or pull you in; he just lets his hand close slightly, holding you there, letting you feel the difference.

Your thumb moves without thinking, a small, absent shift as if you’re testing the shape of his hand against yours and his grip tightens in response.

Your stomach flips and your gaze drops for a second before snapping back up.

He’s already looking at you.

Lower this time.

To your mouth.

Then back up again, slow and deliberate, like he’s taking his time with it.

His thumb shifts once against your hand.

“Do you trust me?”

The question lands differently now, —heavier, because you’re already holding his hand. Because you already chose.

You don’t even hesitate.

“… I do.”

Your voice is steadier than you expect, but something about it feels honest in a way you didn’t plan.

His expression shifts, subtle but certain, like that was the answer he was waiting for.

Your fingers move against his again —this time not accidental—and he feels it. His gaze drops briefly to your hand, then lifts back to your face, something in his focus settling into place.

Decision made.

“Let’s go for a ride.”

And only a second passed before you nod.

— — -

He stops in front of the bike, turning slightly toward you.

“Ever been on one?”

You shake your head “no.”

“Alright.”

He reaches for the helmet, stepping in closer, lifting it in his hands as he closes the space between you.

“Hold still.”

He raises it —but just before it settles over your head he pauses. The way he’s suddenly not focused on the helmet anymore. Your brows pull together slightly as you look up at him, your voice quieter than before—

“…what?”

His gaze drops.

Slow.

Your lips.

And stays there.

“You got really nice lips.”

Your breath catches before you can stop it, and your lips press together for a second —like that might help —before your teeth catch your bottom lip instead.

A small exhale slips out through your nose.

That did something.

Something in his expression tightens just slightly —like he let that linger longer than he meant to.

So he moves.

Finishes what he started.

The helmet slides over your head, his hands brushing lightly along your jaw as he adjusts it into place. His fingers are careful —more careful than you expected. His hand dips under your chin to secure the strap, thumb brushing just enough to make you aware of it again.

“Good?” he asks, voice lower.

You nod once.

“…yeah.”

He pulls back, just enough to give you space, then swings one leg over the bike like it’s second nature, settling into it with ease.

Then he looks back at you.

“C’mere.”

You step forward, a little unsure now —not of him, just… what you’re supposed to do. His hand finds yours again, steady, grounding, guiding you closer as you climb on behind him.

“Easy,” he says, not teasing this time. “I got you.”

The words land before you can think too hard about them. You settle onto the seat behind him, but your hands hover for a second, unsure where to go, what’s too much, what’s not enough.

He doesn’t wait long.

Reaches back, catching your wrists gently, pulling your arms forward around him.

“Hold on.”

Your hands land against him.

He’s solid.

Warm through the fabric, steady in a way your body registers before your mind does.

Safe.

And your fingers shift slightly against him before you can stop yourself —you know you wouldn’t mind feeling more of it. The thought hits just as fast as you try to push it away.

He starts the bike.

The engine comes to life beneath you, low at first —then deeper as he revs it slightly.

And you feel it.

Through the seat.

Through him.

Up into your chest.

Your arms tighten around him without thinking.

And just like that you’re not thinking about anything else anymore.

an: and just to paint a picture check him out << 🫦

PRT 3 >>

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