Dani

“Just inside is fine, thanks,” you said, stepping back to let him pass. The scent of clean sweat and cheap deodorant filled the entryway as he maneuvered the box past you, his forearm brushing against your bare arm. He set it down with a soft thud, but instead of turning to leave, he straightened up, his gaze catching on the empty water glass in your hand. “Rough day for it,” he remarked, nodding toward the glaring window.

“The worst,” you agreed, a nervous laugh escaping you. “Can I get you some water? You look like you’re melting.” He didn’t refuse, just gave a slow nod, his eyes never leaving yours. You turned toward the kitchen, acutely aware of his presence filling the small space behind you. You heard the soft click of the front door being pushed shut.

When you turned back, glass in hand, he was much closer than you’d left him. He took the glass, his fingers wrapping around yours for a moment too long before he lifted it to his lips, his throat working as he drank. He set the empty glass on the hall table with a deliberate quiet. “Appreciate it,” he said, his voice even lower now. One hand came up, his thumb swiping a stray drop of condensation from your bottom lip. The air conditioning unit kicked on with a whir, but the room felt hotter than ever. His other hand settled on your hip, his touch firm and sure through the thin cotton.

You didn’t pull away. The shock of his touch melted into a wave of pure, electric heat. His thumb still rested against your lip, his gaze locked on yours, a silent question hanging between you. The only sound was the hum of the fridge and the pounding of your own heart. Then, his head dipped, and his mouth covered yours.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was hungry and immediate, all pent-up energy from a dozen polite, fleeting interactions at your doorstep. His lips were warm, tasting faintly of salt and the mint gum he must have chewed earlier. One of his hands slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the hard planes of his chest, the dampness of his shirt, the unmistakable ridge of his arousal pressing against your stomach through his uniform shorts. A low groan vibrated from his chest into yours.

He walked you backward without breaking the kiss, your legs bumping against the sofa in the living room. He guided you down onto the cushions, his body following, covering yours. His weight was solid, anchoring. He kissed a hot trail from your mouth to your jaw, down the column of your throat. His hands were busy, tugging the hem of your tank top up, his calloused palms rough against the soft skin of your stomach. “Been thinking about this,” he muttered against your skin, his breath scorching. “Every damn time I pulled up to this house.”

He pulled the tank top over your head in one swift motion, tossing it aside. His eyes darkened as he took you in, his gaze lingering on the lace of your bra. He lowered his head, his mouth finding your breast through the fabric, sucking hard enough to make you arch off the couch with a sharp gasp. His hands worked at the button of your shorts, yanking them and your panties down your hips in a single, impatient motion. The cool air of the room hit your exposed skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of his palm cupping you, his fingers sliding through your slickness with a rough, knowing stroke.

"You're already so wet for me," he growled, the words vibrating against your neck. He shifted, kneeling between your legs, his own hands going to his belt. The buckle clinked, the zipper hissed, and then he was free, thick and heavy in his hand. He didn't wait, didn't ask. He guided himself to your entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging against you, spreading your folds. He pushed inside with one deep, relentless thrust, filling you completely, stealing the breath from your lungs. A ragged sound tore from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt, his hips flush against yours.

He set a punishing rhythm almost immediately, his thrusts deep and purposeful, each one driving the sofa cushions into the back of the couch. The frame creaked in protest. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging in, holding you in place as he drove into you. Sweat dripped from his brow onto your chest. You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper with every snap of his hips. The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, his low grunts, and your own desperate cries. He leaned down, capturing your mouth again, swallowing your moans as his pace became frantic, his control unraveling.

He gave one last, powerful thrust, his body going rigid above you. A guttural groan was muffled against your shoulder as he spilled himself inside you, his hips stuttering through the release. For a long moment, the only sound was both of you gasping for air, the sofa springs groaning in sympathy. Then, the distinct, cheerful jingle of his company's ringtone blared from the pocket of his discarded shorts on the floor.

Jake froze, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "You gotta be kidding me," he mumbled, his voice thick and gravelly.

The jingle played again, insistent. With a sigh that was half-exhaustion, half-exasperation, he carefully pulled out of you, a wince crossing his features. He patted around blindly on the floor until his fingers closed around the buzzing phone. He held it up, squinting at the screen. "It's dispatch." He looked from the phone to you, lying utterly spent and exposed on the couch, then back at the phone. He answered, his voice attempting a professional calm that was utterly ruined by how wrecked he sounded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm... finishing up a delivery on Oakridge. Big package. Complex placement." He listened, nodding, his free hand absently rubbing at a red mark your nails had left on his bicep. "Got it. The Anderson job. I'll, uh... I'll be there in ten." He hung up, tossing the phone back onto the pile of clothes.

He looked down at himself, then at you, and a slow, lopsided grin spread across his face. "So," he said, gesturing vaguely between his still semi-hard cock and the general mess of the living room. "You wanna sign for the package, or...?"

The fluorescent lights of the grocery store aisle hummed overhead, casting a harsh glare over rows of canned goods. You held a basket in one hand, trailing half a step behind Jake as he reached for a jar of pasta sauce, his attention focused entirely on checking the label.

He looked completely normal—just in his relaxed, off duty clothes, hair slightly messy, casually chatting about what you were making for dinner later.

You, on the other hand, were silently going through a personal crisis.

It was near the end of your cycle, that lingering tail-end phase where your body decided to throw off every predictable rule it usually followed. Out of nowhere, an intense, persistent wave of heat and friction settled in your stomach.

It wasn't pain, it was an inconvenient, entirely unwanted surge of arousal that had no right popping up while you were standing in the middle of a grocery store.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, fighting a sudden tightness in your chest.

The thought made you cringe internally, a spike of embarrassment hot on its heels. It felt ridiculous, almost irritating, that your brain and body were entirely out of sync.

You squeezed the handle of the shopping basket a little tighter, hoping the feeling would dissipate, trying to focus on literally anything else.

"Do you want the marinara or the garlic basil?" Jake asked, turning back toward you.

Before you could smooth out your expression, his eyes locked onto yours. The casual, easygoing look on his face instantly shifted. Jake’s gaze was always ridiculously sharp when it came to you, he caught every micro expression, every tight pull of your shoulders.

"You okay?" he asked softly, stepping closer and lowering the jar into the basket. His hand hovered near your side, warm and grounding. "Are your cramps acting up again?"

"I'm fine," you said a little too quickly, forcing a small smile as you turned toward the next aisle. "Just... tired, honestly. Want to just finish up and head home?"

Jake didn't call you out on the rushed tone, but he didn't entirely buy it either. He let out a quiet "Yeah, okay," and took the heavy basket from your hand without asking.

But as you continued shopping, you could feel his eyes stealing glances at you every few seconds, his quiet concern hanging in the air between you.

The drive back to the apartment was agonizingly quiet.

Jake was focused on the road, one hand resting lightly on the steering wheel, but the air inside the car felt thick with your unvoiced frustration. You leaned your head against the passenger window, watching the streetlights flick past, doing everything in your power to keep your body still.

Every slight bump in the road, every gentle turn of the vehicle, only seemed to sharpen the sudden, maddening sensitivity pooling in your lower belly.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, pressing your knees together as if physically locking down the thought could force your mind back to sanity.

You wished you could just turn your brain off. You wanted to be thinking about dinner, or the cold drinks sitting in the back seat, or literally anything normal. Instead, every time you glanced sideways and caught sight of Jake’s hands on the wheel, or the clean, familiar scent of his cologne filling the warm cabin, your chest tightened with a unwanted spike of heat.

It made you feel exposed, completely distracted, and thoroughly annoyed at yourself. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, biting the inside of your cheek until it hurt, hoping the mild pain would finally break your concentration.

The car pulled into the driveway, the engine cutting out into a quiet hum before the world went still. You kept your hands tucked firmly in your lap, waiting a beat too long before reaching for the door handle.

"Hey," Jake’s voice broke the silence, soft and low in the quiet space of the car.

You froze for a second before turning to look at him. He had unbuckled his seatbelt, turning his body toward you with an expression full of careful consideration. His brows were pulled together slightly, his eyes searching your face with that intense, quiet focus he only ever used when he knew something was off.

"Are you sure you're doing okay?" he asked, his hand reaching out to gently rest over your knee, warm even through the fabric of your jeans. "If you're in pain, you don't have to pretend you're fine."

The genuine concern in his voice made a prickle of shame heat up the back of your neck. If only it were just cramps.

"I'm fine, really," you said, forcing your tone to stay light, though the quickness of your answer betrayed you. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before pulling away to grab your bag. "Just tired. It's been a long day."

Jake didn't push. He knew better than to corner you when you were putting up walls, but he didn't miss the subtle tension in your jaw or the way you avoided direct eye contact.

"Okay," he murmured, his gaze lingering on you for a long second longer before he finally let out a quiet breath and nodded. "Let's just get inside."

He grabbed the grocery bags from the back, but as you both walked up to the front door, you could feel his attention sharpened entirely on you, tracking your every move with quiet, observant care.

The moment the front door clicked shut behind you, you made a straight path for the bathroom, needing a moment of space to breathe and reset.

You turned on the shower, letting the room fill with hot steam before stripping down and stepping under the heavy stream of water. You stood directly under the showerhead, closing your eyes as the heat washed over your skin, hoping it would somehow rinse away the lingering, restless ache in your lower belly and reset your brain.

You scrubbed your skin thoroughly, focusing on the simple, grounding motions of lathering soap and rinsing off the day. But even as you washed away the fatigue, the physical sensitivity wouldn't completely recede. Every warm droplet sliding down your stomach felt almost too sharp, a constant reminder of the frustrating mood you were trying so hard to scrub clean.

After turning off the water, you dried off and pulled on a pair of soft, baggy sweatpants and an oversized shirt—anything loose and comfortable that didn't press against you.

You wiped the fog off the mirror, looking at your slightly flushed reflection, and took a deep breath.

Just cook dinner, eat, and relax, you told yourself, stepping back out into the hallway as Jake was waiting, towel in hand, ready to take his turn in the shower.

The sound of running water echoed faintly from down the hall as Jake stepped into the shower.

Taking a slow breath, you pulled out the cutting board and set to work, hoping the familiar rhythm of the kitchen would finally give your mind something else to anchor onto.

You focused on every tiny detail. The sharp thump of the knife hitting the wood, the quiet sizzle of olive oil heating up in the pan, the aroma of crushed garlic filling the air. You diced the tomatoes with meticulous, unnecessary precision, focusing your brain to be completely consumed by the recipe.

It worked for a minute or two—until your thoughts drifted again.

As you leaned over the counter to stir the sauce, the soft cotton of your sweatpants brushed against your skin, and that subtle, persistent warmth flared right back up in your belly. A wave of frustration rushed through you. Seriously? Still?

You gripped the wooden spoon a little tighter, stirring faster than necessary. You tried to force your mind onto anything else. But the quiet feeling of the house only made the silence inside your head louder.

Every time you tried to push the mood away, your brain traitorously reminded you of Jake—how warm his hands felt on your knee earlier, the low tone of his voice when he checked on you, the way he looked with his hair slightly messy.

Feeling a sudden flush heat your cheeks, you let out a silent, irritated breath and turned the stove flame down, angrily wiping off the counter to keep your hands busy.

By the time Jake walked into the kitchen, fresh faced with damp hair curling at the ends and the clean scent of soap following him, you had already set the plates down.

He gave you a soft, appreciative smile, pulling out his chair and digging in almost immediately, chatting casually about how good the food tasted.

You sat across from him, but you were completely somewhere else.

You held your fork loosely, resting your chin in your free hand as you twirled a few strands of pasta around the tines over and over, only to let them slide back down onto the plate. You couldn't eat. Every time you tried to focus on the food, that nagging, heavy sensitivity in your lower belly pulled your attention right back into your body.

Your mind was spiraling down the same exhausting loop. You felt ridiculous for letting it get to you like this, frustrated that a simple biological shift in the final days of your period was making you feel so strangely exposed in your own home.

You stared fixedly at a quiet spot on the wooden tabletop, your thoughts running so loud that the subtle hum of the refrigerator and the clinking of silverware faded into complete background noise.

Across from you, Jake’s quiet banter slowly trickled to a stop. He set his fork down, his eyes lingering on the tight line of your shoulders, the way you hadn't taken a single bite, and the distant, troubled look in your eyes.

"Hey," he said softly.

When you didn't react right away, he reached across the small table, his warm hand settling over your wrist. His touch was light, but it sent a sharp, involuntary shiver straight up your arm. You blinked hard, snapping out of the daze, and looked up to find him leaning forward.

His eyes were searching your face with an intensity that made your heart do a sudden, nervous flip. There was no annoyance in his expression—just a quiet, patient worry that made you feel even guiltier for hiding things.

"Where did you go just now?" Jake asked softly, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over the back of your hand. "You've been picking at the same bite for five minutes."

You instinctively swallowed, trying to force a neutral expression, but the steady warmth of his thumb against your pulse point only made that stubborn heat coil tighter in your stomach.

"I'm just thinking," you murmured, keeping your voice low as you tried to gently pull your hand back—only for his grip to tighten just enough to keep you grounded to him.

"You're not just thinking," Jake countered gently, his brow furrowing as he caught the subtle hesitation in your voice. "You've been holding your breath all evening. Talk to me."

"It's really nothing, Jake," you said, trying to offer him a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. You made a weak show of finally taking a bite of food, desperately hoping he’d take the bait and let the topic drop. "Just a random mood. I'm fine."

Jake didn't drop it. In fact, your quick brush off made his jaw tighten slightly.

He let go of your wrist, leaning back in his chair, but the sudden space between you didn't feel like a relief. A small, hurt crease formed between his eyebrows, his eyes searching your face with a mixture of quiet frustration and disappointment.

"Why do you always do that?" he asked softly, though the edge of raw emotion in his voice made you freeze.

"Do what?" you whispered.

"Act like you have to shut me out the second something is bothering you," he said, his voice quiet but steady. He wasn't yelling, and he wasn't angry at you—it was worse than that.

You could see the subtle hurt in his posture, the way it stung him every time you put up a wall over something you were carrying alone. "We’ve been together way too long for you to keep pulling the 'I'm fine' routine on me. I know you. I’ve known all afternoon that something’s off."

You opened your mouth to apologize, but the words caught in your throat.

"It just sucks," Jake continued softly, his gaze dropping to the table for a brief second before locking back onto yours. "It feels like you don't trust me enough to just tell me what's going on in your head, even when it's driving you crazy. I'm not here to judge you, or force you to fix whatever it is—I just want you to talk to me."

The vulnerability in his voice hit you like a physical weight, making the knot of shame in your chest tighten even further. You sat there, completely caught, unable to offer another empty deflection when he was laying his feelings out so plainly.

Before you could say anything to fix the heavy silence, Jake pushed his chair back and stood up.

He didn't say a word as he walked around the small dining table to your side. Reaching down, his warm, large hand closed gently over yours, his fingers wrapping firmly around your palm. He didn't pull roughly, but there was a quiet, unyielding intention in his grip that left no room for you to pull away or slip into another deflection.

You let him guide you away from the half-eaten plates and out of the kitchen, the quiet hum of the house following your footsteps into the dimly lit living room.

Jake sat down on the soft fabric of the couch first, sinking back against the cushions. Before you could take a seat on the opposite cushion, his hands settled on your waist, his grip warm and steady through your shirt, and he gently hoisted you up to sit directly over his lap.

You landed straddling his thighs, your knees tucked against his sides, your body flushed completely against his. He wrapped both arms around your waist, locking his hands together behind your back so you were held close, grounding you entirely to him.

The proximity was overwhelming. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your hands, the warmth radiating through his clothes, and the soft heat of his breath against your skin. With nowhere else to look and no room to retreat, you were forced to look right at him.

Jake didn't move away or try to force a grand gesture, he just held you securely against him, his eyes locked onto yours with a quiet, patient focus that made all your defenses start to feel entirely useless.

The low hum of the air conditioner was the only sound filling the room. With your legs hooked around his waist, you could feel every quiet breath he took, his thumbs rubbing steady, calming circles into the fabric of your shirt.

"You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

Jake’s voice dropped into a low, quiet murmur, stripped of any lingering frustration. His hands stayed firmly grounded at your waist, holding you steady against him so you felt anchored, completely safe in his space.

"You're sitting here stressed out, carrying something like I'm going to turn around and judge you," he continued softly, his gaze searching your face. "Whatever's going on in your head, just give it to me. I'm right here."

The sincerity in his eyes made your chest ache. You looked down at his collarbone, unable to keep eye contact, but his grip remained warm and steady—giving you the space to process without letting you slip away.

You stared down at the cotton fabric of his shirt, your fingers nervously picking at a loose thread near his shoulder.

"I've just... been having really weird feelings today," you muttered softly, your voice barely carrying over the quiet hum of the apartment.

Jake tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to piece together the sudden wave of embarrassment rolling off you.

"Weird how?" he asked, his tone still remarkably patient. He shifted slightly, his thumbs continuing those slow, grounding rubs against your hip bones. "You have to elaborate, baby. I can't read your mind, no matter how hard I try."

You fought every instinct screaming at you to bury your face into the crook of his neck and hide. The irrational weight of shame was still pressing down hard on your chest, making your throat feel tight and dry. It felt so completely foolish to say out loud—so unglamorous, so messy, so entirely misplaced.

"I just... I thought you'd be grossed out," you whispered, the words slipping out in a hurried, breathless rush.

Jake went completely still, his hands pausing against your waist. "Grossed out by what?"

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you finally forced the truth out in a quiet, halting whisper.

"I've just... been horny all day," you admitted, the confession leaving your lips like a secret you'd been desperately trying to bury. "Out of nowhere. While we were at the store, while we were in the car, while I was cooking... it just wouldn't go away. And it made me so annoyed at myself because the timing is terrible, and I just kept thinking how gross it was for me to be thinking about... that... right now. I was scared if I told you, you'd think I was disgusting for even wanting it."

The room fell into an overwhelming, heavy silence as the words settled in the air between you. For a second, you held your breath, bracing yourself for the uncomfortable shift, the awkward laugh, or the slight recoil you’d been terrified of all afternoon.

Instead, Jake just stared at you.

He didn't pull away. He didn't tense up. He sat completely still, letting everything you just spilled out sink in, his eyes softening until every trace of worry completely vanished from his expression.

Then, he let out a soft, low sigh—a quiet exhale that carried a mix of lingering disbelief, half amused relief, and immense tenderness.

The quiet, breathy sound vibrated against your thighs, instantly deflating the suffocating tension that had been building up in your chest all day.

Jake’s hands moved up from your waist, his large, warm palms cupping the sides of your face with a tenderness that made your throat tight. He tilted your head up gently, forcing you to look at him, but there wasn't a single trace of judgment or distaste in his eyes—just a soft, overwhelming warmth that made all your lingering shame feel completely unnecessary.

He leaned in, closing the remaining distance between you, and brought his lips to yours in a deep, slow, and grounding kiss.

It wasn't rushed or demanding, it was heavy with reassurance, a quiet declaration that cleared out every spiraling thought you’d been carrying all day. You let out a quiet, trembling breath against his mouth, your hands instinctively rising to rest against his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as the knot of anxiety in your belly finally began to loosen.

When he pulled back just an inch, his thumb gently smoothed over your cheekbone, wiping away the heat that had settled there.

"You really thought I’d judge you for that?" he asked softly, his voice a low, breathy murmur right against your lips.

Before you could even try to formulate an answer, he pressed another lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, then shifted to press a warm, deliberate kiss into the soft skin of your cheek, and down along the tight line of your jaw.

Every touch was deliberate, and agonizingly sweet, working to ease the tension right out of your shoulders until you felt yourself sinking entirely into his chest.

"You're allowed to feel whatever your body feels," Jake murmured against your skin, his breath warm against your neck as his hands slid back down to rest securely against your lower back, keeping you anchored right where you were. "You never have to hide that from me. Especially not that."

He pulled back just enough to catch your eye again, his expression shifting into something quiet, focused, and intensely deliberate.

"I can help you with it," he said, his voice dropping an octave, rich with a calm, unbothered confidence that sent a completely different kind of shiver down your spine. "If you want me to."

You sat there on his lap, still holding onto a tiny, lingering shred of hesitation—the habit of feeling self-conscious wasn't completely gone, but being wrapped in the absolute safety of his arms was melting the last bit of your resistance away.

Jake seemed to sense that slight, silent pull inside you. He didn’t push, and he didn't rush to move things forward. Instead, he brought both hands back up to cup the sides of your face, his large palms warm against your skin.

His thumbs brushed tenderly over the tops of your cheeks, smoothing away the lingering heat as he looked at you with an intensity so soft, so completely unwavering, it made your chest ache. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his entire world.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered, his voice a low, heavy murmur in the quiet room. “We’ll go as slow as you want. Whatever feels good for you.”

You let out a soft breath and nodded, the final knot of tension dissolving in your stomach.

Jake smiled gently, leaning in to pull you into a deep, agonizingly slow kiss. It started out completely gentle—his lips warm, soft, and patient against yours, testing the waters and grounding you to him. But as you melted into the touch, your arms slipping up over his broad shoulders to wrap around his neck, the kiss shifted. It grew heavier, thicker with an unspoken need.

Your mouths parted, tongues sliding together in a slow, familiar rhythm that drew a soft sigh from your chest. Quiet sounds filled the small space between you—the sound of breathless kisses, the rustle of fabric, and the heavy beat of your hearts.

Jake’s hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt, his warm fingers pressing directly against the bare skin of your back. He stroked your spine in soothing, deliberate circles, keeping you tethered to him as the warmth in your belly began to flare into a deep, steady throb.

He shifted your weight slightly on his lap, bringing you in so you were pressed flush against his chest and hips. Instinctively, you began to move—a slow, hesitant roll of your hips against him.

The friction through your clothes felt incredible. Every slow, grinding motion drew a low, appreciative groan from the back of Jake’s throat. His hands tightened at your hips, guiding your rhythm, matching you move for move as your breathing grew heavier in the quiet living room.

He slid his hands beneath your thighs, pulling you flush against him as he stood up. You tightened your legs around his waist, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he carried you out of the living room and down the quiet hallway to the bedroom.

He set you down on the center of the bed with gentle care. Leaving the main lights off, the room was bathed in only the soft, dim glow of the LED strip along the headboard. He didn't rush to strip your clothes off. Instead, his hands were slow and thoughtful.

He pulled your shirt over your head, stopping to press a lingering kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, then down the curve of your neck. As he undressed you piece by piece, his lips followed every inch of skin he revealed.

The entire time, his voice was a low, constant hum, whispering sweet, low praises about how beautiful you were, completely stripping away any remaining grain of self-consciousness.

When you were both bare, he reached into his nightstand. Rolled a condom on—a simple, transparent moment that made everything feel completely clear, safe, and deliberate.

He slid back over you, settling his weight between your legs. Rather than resting heavily on top of you, he held himself up on his forearms, keeping his chest barely brushing against yours so he could look down into your eyes.

He leaned down, kissing you deeply as his hand slid down between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance. Slowly, inch by careful inch, he pushed inside you.

A quiet, shaky breath escaped him as he sank all the way in, his jaw tightening slightly at the sheer warmth of it. He froze right there, completely still, letting your body get used to the feeling of him filling you.

One of his hands slid down to lace his fingers firmly through yours, pressing your knuckles into the mattress. “You doing okay? Tell me if it’s too much.”

You shook your head softly, holding his gaze, and at your nod, he began to move.

It wasn't fast or aggressive, he rolled his hips in long, deep, steady thrusts that sent a wave of liquid heat straight through you.

Every movement was careful and loving. His free hand cradled the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he kissed you through every single push. Your bodies fell into a natural, seamless rhythm, your chest rising and falling against his, breaths mingling in the quiet dark.

He kept talking to you the entire time. He never stopped checking in or pouring his quiet affection into the quiet space between you.

Every thrust felt like a silent promise, making sure you felt completely wanted, cherished, and held.

When the tension in your belly finally snapped and the wave carried you over, Jake held you tightly through it. He deepened the kiss, absorbing your breathless moans, whispering over and over how perfect you were as your body trembled around him.

Only when the ripples of your release began to settle did he finally let himself go. With a low, breathless groan buried into the side of your neck, he pressed as deep as he could, his arms wrapping tightly around your back, holding you flush against him as he finished.

Jake stayed inside you for a long, quiet moment afterward, his heavy weight supported carefully on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush you. He just held you close, burying his face into the crook of your neck as your shared breathing slowly leveled out.

He pressed soft, lingering kisses to the warm skin of your throat, then to your temple, your forehead, and the corner of your soft lips, his thumb tracing slow, soothing patterns along your hip.

When he finally pulled out with deliberate care, an immediate, familiar wave of panic spiked in your chest.

Before he could even sit up, you instinctively turned your face away into the pillow, your eyes squeezed tightly shut and your cheeks burning with a fresh, hot flush of embarrassment.

You couldn't bring yourself to look. The irrational shame came rushing right back, you didn’t want to see the condom, didn’t want to face the physical evidence of your period mixed with everything else, and you desperately wished you could just shrink into the mattress and disappear.

"Hey..."

Jake’s voice was a soft, low rumble right beside you. "Hey, look at me."

You kept your eyes locked tight, completely mortified, but he didn't let you retreat into your own head again. Quietly and quickly, he tied off the condom, wrapped it in a tissue, and threw it completely out of sight in the trash can.

Once it was gone, he shifted back over to you. His large, warm palms gently cupped both sides of your face, his thumbs brushing over your burning cheeks, turning your head until you were facing him again.

"None of that," he murmured, his tone stripped of any humor or lingering arousal, leaving only a quiet, overwhelming affection. "Open your eyes for me, baby."

When you finally fluttered your eyelids open, looking up at him through a blurred lens of lingering vulnerability, his expression was so impossibly soft and full of love it made your chest physically ache.

There wasn't a single trace of hesitation, discomfort, or disgust in his dark eyes—only complete, unwavering adoration.

"I know what's going through your head right now," he said softly, his thumbs smoothing over your skin with steady, grounding pressure. "It's just your body, and I love every single part of it. There is nothing disgusting about you."

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a deep, slow, and lingering kiss that tasted like pure reassurance, pouring every ounce of his devotion into every second of it.

"You letting me be this close to you... letting me see you like this... it’s a gift," he whispered against your mouth, his breath warm against your lips. "I'm honored that you trust me enough to let me take care of you. You don't ever have to feel ashamed with me."

He pulled back gently, giving your cheek one last kiss before sliding out of bed. He stepped into the bathroom for just a moment, returning with a soft, warm, damp cloth.

Sitting back on the edge of the mattress, he cleaned you up with the absolute gentlest touches—slow, and completely unbothered, making sure you felt entirely cared for. Every touch was an unspoken promise that you were safe in his hands.

When he was done, he tossed the cloth aside, slid back under the heavy duvet, and pulled you flush against his bare chest. He wrapped the blankets securely around the two of you, locking his arms around your back and holding you as if he never intended to let you go.

"You don’t have to hide anything from me," Jake whispered into your hair, his hand rubbing slow, hypnotic circles into your back as your head rested directly over the steady, comforting beat of his heart. "I’m yours, every part of you. The good days, the messy days, the needy days... I want all of them. Because it’s you."

You let out a long, shaky breath, burying your face into the warm crook of his neck, finally letting your body relax completely in his arms. The earlier shame, the doubt, and the quiet fear completely washed away under the sheer weight of how deeply he cared for you.

"I love you," Jake added softly, his chest vibrating beneath your cheek as he pressed one last, lingering kiss to the top of your head. "So much."

you fall back onto the bed, fingers tangling in jake’s hair as he makes a humming sound against you, the vibrations sends sparks up your spine.

jake is good at this, always has been, but tonight he’s showing off. his tongue traces slow circles around you before flicking at your opening and dragging up, seeking out the place where you need him most.

“oh”, you whine. “oh fuck.”

“the clitoris”, he says against you, pulling his head back enough to meet your gaze, eyes becoming glossy as if he wants something more. “did you know it has over eight thousand nerve endings? the most of any part of the human body.”

“jake.” you threaten, fingers finding his temple as he continues to suck gently on your clit, his other hand splayed over the juncture of your thigh and hip.

“its educational,” he teases.

you laugh, a high pitched giggle that turns into a moan when jake sucks your clit into his mouth. your hips buck upwards as he braces himself over you.

“you’re such a nerd,” you manage to say through your moans.

“you are dating a nerd,” he says against your skin. “you knew what you were getting into.”

jake eases two fingers into you as you groan, your head falling back. he uses the stretch of his fingers to find the place deep inside you that makes your whole body twitch. his fingers are long and beautifully angled, curling in just the right way to send another pulse of sensation through you.

“see?” he murmurs, his mouth pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “angles and vectors, all geometry.”

“shut up,” you gasp, your mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as you try to catch your breath. “ah— jake!”

“the g-spot is actually part of the clitoral structure,” he says, his fingers sliding in and out as his mouth finds your core again. “it all connects.”

“jake, i swear—”

“did you know that the clitoris is shaped like a wishbone?” he asks, tracing slow patterns along you with his tongue, working you over from bottom to top. you forget what you were about to say when he begins rolling his tongue over your clit in fast, shallow strokes.

you are so close, already writhing, and jake knows it, he always knows it. he knows your body the way he knows his textbooks, every little sound and reaction to a chapter he memorizes with devotion.

“you’re gonna come for me, baby?”

jake asks, his voice thick with something between amusement and need as his tongue skates over your thigh. “on my face? are you really going to do it? let’s test it, shall we?”

“your— fuck, glasses—!”

“forget the glasses.”

they are completely fogged over now, all opaque. its absurd, really, the way his tongue flicks over you in short bursts while his fingers curl inside you, making you dizzy with need. you can barely focus on what he says next.

“take them off,” you whine, practically begging. “jake— ”

“cant, im too busy recalling the theory of..” he says, practically purring. you find yourself laughing and whimpering at the same time.

“that doesnt even— thats not how it—”

“maybe physics isnt my strongest subject.” jake sighs dramatically before his tongue licks insistently at your folds, his fingers pumping in and out at a steady pace. he manages to ignore the fog on his glasses long enough for you to climax, shuddering and whimpering his name as your thighs shake on either side of his head. jake hums against your skin.

“come on, baby,” he groans, voice rough. “let me taste it. let me have it.”

“ah— jake!”

“i’ve got you. i’ve got you.”

your orgasm rolls over you, until you are gasping your release into the air, your back arching violently. your fingers dig into jakes scalp, his hair splayed out on either side of your hips. jake licks at you determinedly until your whimpers die down, your body limp, exhausted.

you push his head away weakly.

jake grins, finally lifting himself off of you, his chin glistening. he peeks up at you, the lenses blurred with condensation.

“see?” he says, sliding them up his nose. “perfectly functional.”

“you can’t see a thing.” you scoff.

“i can see enough, princess.”

jake leans over you, his head hovering just above your torso as he peppering kisses all over your body. you taste yourself on his lips when his glasses press against your cheek, warm and fuzzy.

you lift his head by the back of his skull, kissing him thoroughly before sliding his glasses off his face.

“hey,” he whines, blinking up at you. his lashes cast shadows across his cheeks. jake’s face is softer without the frames.

“i was going for a look.” he mumbles softly.

you raise your eyebrows, “the look was clouded nerd who cant see.”

“hey, that’s a classic aesthetic!”

you laugh, pulling him down on top of you. jake melts against you, kissing your collarbone, his fingers finding the sensitive spot at the juncture of your thigh and hip.

“i could go again,” he murmurs, voice heavy with intent. “we could run another trial. for science.”

“for science,” you repeat, laughing when jake’s fingers push into you once more, coaxing another moan from your lips as his glasses sit on the nightstand, forgotten.

• “There’s no more room on the couch, c’mere,” he says with that sweet smile, even when there’s clearly space. He pats his thigh and locks eyes with you until you sit.

• Once you’re there, his arms wrap around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He rests his chin on your shoulder and continues whatever he was doing, but you can feel him getting hard underneath you <3

• He gets bolder over time. His hands start sliding under your shirt to rub your stomach softly <3. Sometimes he “accidentally” shifts his hips so his hard cock presses right against your ass cheeks

• “You’re so comfy, baby,” he whispers in your ear one night while you’re watching a movie. His voice is lower than usual. “So soft and warm.”

• The tension finally breaks during one of your usual sleepovers. You’re sitting on his lap in his bed, watching TikToks, when he suddenly grips your hips and pulls you down harder against him. You can feel how hard he is through his sweatpants.

“Jake…” you breathe.

• He buries his face in your neck. “Yeah sweetie?” he asks softly. He starts grinding up slowly, hands guiding your hips. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me every single time you sit here like my good girl.” 🤍

• From then on, “sitting on Jake’s lap” takes on a new meaning.

• He loves when you face him, straddling his lap while he kisses you deeply. He loves when you face away so he can grind his cock against your ass while playing with your tits. He especially loves when you’re wearing his hoodie and nothing else

• Jake your needy, touchy best friend who never lets you sit on your own couch <3

──────────────────

— berry 🍓