CHERRY

ᴡᴀɪᴛ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴇᴅꜱɪᴅᴇ

ɪ’ʟʟ ʟᴀɴᴅ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ

Sammy Bryant is just the kind of guy who can never keep his hands off his girl. From the moment he sees you it’s like a switch in his brain, prioritizing touch and proximity above all else, loves to cop a feel wherever possible—doesn’t matter whose around. The moment he’s in through the door from work, languid with exhaustion he’s beside himself to find you bent over the kitchen counter, a sweet smile spread across your face while you speak into your phone. A friend, a colleague, he wasn’t sure, frankly—he didn’t really care. Eyes draping over the arch of your spine, dancing onto your tip toes with each lilted giggle that passed your pretty lips. He’s loosening his tie coming around the kitchen island, palm sliding against your hip and around to press to your tummy while his thick frame encases yours, front pressed to the soft dip of your spine, hips hunching against the supple curve of your ass to relieve the ache restrained beneath his slacks, hard cock pressed against the zipper seam. He’s pressing slow open mouth kisses to the soft line of your jaw, your open mouth stilting pants from travelling through the phone line, fidgeting back against him to feel the hard outline of his cock digging into the back of your thigh, “Hang up the phone.” “What? Oh, nothing, what were you saying?” “Come on, hang up the phone, baby.” “Um—yeah, I—ah—sorry, I thought I heard someone at the door,” you excuse pathetically, looking back at Sammy scandalized when you feel his thumbs hook into the soft fabric hem of your lounge shorts, slipping down your legs in a heap at your ankles with your panties. 

watched winter soldier last night and thought of you !!

miss you lovely :)

hehe u were thinking about me

Pope Cody didn’t like to wait. An opportune moment, methodically crafted through time, a slip up to wedge his way into an ordeal where he was not welcome. It didn’t appeal to him. He had spent enough time waiting, biding his time, prison, clean up duty for his families piling messes that restricted every positive aspect of his otherwise dim life. You were the only thing Pope wanted, the one thing he wouldn’t wait for. The slim band on your ring finger did nothing to sway his desire, jagged and enormous. He spent his days palming himself with tight shut eyes to the thought of your smile, the high lilt of your laugh to his unfunny stiff humor, cock stirring at the memory of the day's earlier blithe conversation with you. Tugging his hard cock under the steady stream of water steaming the bathroom tile, forehead lulling the cool squares, lips peeling back over his teeth to bite back the stuttered groans that rumbled through his heaving chest.

Pope's entire family is an afterthought when you come around. They know better than to rely on Andrew for much anymore, always at your beckon and call, revving his truck engine in the parking lot of their family meetings to come to you, ignorant to their badgering incessant calls after him as he veers off down the road. It’s impossible to hold his attention when you call, finger already pressing the answer button as his brother's words clip to call his name, but it’s an entirely different demon when you are within close physical distance. It’s like they’re not even there. They can hardly keep his focus with you tucked into his lap, thick hands tugging you back into him by the soft crease of your thighs, bouncing you up with a startled shriek from your lips so your feet dangle off the ground between his spread thighs.