⋆˚࿔ Busy Woman 𝜗𝜚˚

you’d had the best week—really, one of those golden, heart-full kind of weeks that makes everything feel light. you visited your boyfriend, will’s, hometown for a few days, met his family who welcomed you like you’d always been part of the furniture, slept in will’s childhood bedroom, youtube memories from his early career still clinging to the walls, everything soaked in nostalgia.

it had all been amazing—except for the drive.

will, in all his confident, slightly-too-proud glory, had insisted that it would be fun to drive there and back. ‘road trips are romantic’ he’d said, grinning, already mapping out the playlist. and, to be fair, the drive there was fine. better than fine. you left early, sunlight dripping through the windows, singing along to old songs, eating service station snacks, stopping once for a coffee break. you arrived mid-afternoon, the day still stretching ahead of you like a welcome mat.

the drive home, though. that was a different story.

you left late—too late, really. will had wanted to squeeze every last minute out of the visit, and you’d agreed, thinking it would be fine. six hours back, home by midnight. you’d sleep in your own bed, wake up feeling fine.

wrong.

everything that could go wrong, did. first, traffic. thick, unmoving traffic that clung to the motorway like syrup. red brake lights in a sea of stillness. an accident ahead, apparently, but no updates. after an hour and a half of waiting, will made the executive decision: take the back roads. ‘quieter’ he’d said. ‘we’ll save time.’

you weren’t sure when exactly the sky had gone from dusky blue to full black, but now it was pitch dark, and the road you were on had no lights—just trees pressing in on both sides, tall and quiet and vaguely menacing. the radio had long given up trying to find signal, and your phones had followed suit: no service.

then, like a cruel joke, the car stuttered. once. twice. then nothing.

a soft, mechanical sigh, and silence.

you both sat there, blinking, waiting for it to come back to life. it didn’t.

so now here you are: seven hours into what was supposed to be a six-hour drive, still two hours from home, parked half on the grass shoulder of some barely paved country road that probably hasn’t seen another car in hours. there’s no service, no light except for the stars and the dim interior car light. it’s quiet—not the peaceful kind, but the eerie, empty kind that makes you feel like you’ve slipped off the edge of the map.

and it’s hot. hotter than you expected for a british summer night.

you glance over at will. he’s frowning at the steering wheel like he can will the car to work again with sheer frustration. you want to be mad—you are mad, a little—but mostly you’re just tired. the kind of tired that makes everything feel a bit unreal, like maybe you’ll wake up in your bed after all and laugh about the dream where you broke down in the middle of nowhere.

but you don’t. you’re still here.

you both stepped out of the car, gasping for fresh air, hoping that the signal would be better outside — it wasn’t.

he muttered something under his breath—sharp, clipped—barely more than a growl as he jabbed at his phone screen. the glow lit up his face in the dark, highlighting the tight set of his jaw, the way his brows were drawn together in pure frustration.

‘come on, come on,’ he hissed, lifting the phone slightly in the air like an inch of altitude might magically summon a signal. his thumb hovered over the screen, thumbed the redial button again. nothing.

‘fuck’s sake,’ he muttered, voice low but heated, pacing a tight little circle in the gravel just beside the car. ‘absolute bullshit. middle of nowhere, twenty-first century, and there’s still no bloody signal.’

he turned the screen toward you like he needed you to see it—blank, empty bars, not even a flicker of a connection. you didn’t say anything. you just watched from where you were perched on the bonnet, arms folded across your chest, the air flowing through the thin fabric of your dress

he redialed again. held the phone up. squinted. nothing.

‘fucking useless,’ he snapped, slamming the phone down on the roof of the car with more force than necessary. it clattered against the metal, the sound ringing too loud in the still air. he didn’t look at you right away, just dragged a hand down his face and exhaled hard through his nose.

you stayed quiet, the weight of the situation settling heavier with every minute that ticked by. he hated not being able to fix things, hated feeling helpless. you could see it in the way he stood—tense, coiled energy barely held in check, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

‘we’re not even that far from the next town,’ he muttered to himself. ‘ten, maybe fifteen minutes… if we could just—’ he stopped himself, teeth pressing into his bottom lip.

you knew he was trying. trying to keep his cool, trying to figure something out. but every option led to a dead end, and it was eating at him.

finally, he looked at you, eyes still stormy with frustration, but softer around the edges now. like he hated that you were caught in this too.

‘i’m sorry,’ he said again, quieter this time. ‘i’ve ruined it, i’m so sorry’

you offered a small nod, the tiniest of smiles pulling at your lips.

‘i know.’

and still, the road stayed silent. no cars. no lights. just the two of you and the stubborn dark, pressing in from all sides.

he moved away from the bonnet, positioning himself between your legs like he belonged there—because he did. his hands found your hips without hesitation, tugging you gently forward until you were right at the edge of the car, your knees parting instinctively to make room for him. his fingers gripped your waist, not tight, but firm—possessive in that quiet, wordless way that made your breath hitch. he tilted your chin up with a single knuckle, and your eyes met his in the low light.

‘hi,’ you murmured, barely above a whisper. your voice felt fragile in the night air.

he let out that quiet laugh of his—the one that puffed out through his nose more than his mouth, a soft huff laced with something fond. something dangerous.

‘hi, gorgeous,’ he said, and he didn’t say it like it was just a greeting. he said it like it was a claim.

then he kissed you—slow, deep, and grounding. there was no rush, no hesitancy, just the heat of his mouth and the way his hands pressed a little harder into your hips like he was reminding you who you belonged to. it wasn’t just affection—it was apology, promise, and possession all folded into one kiss that curled your toes and made your hands clutch at the front of his hoodie.

when he finally pulled back, his lips were pink and slightly swollen, eyes dark and unreadable.

‘you trying to pass time?’ you asked, voice lighter, teasing.

he smirked, and the grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, pulling you forward so your thighs pressed snugly against him.

‘i mean,’ he said, leaning in until his lips just brushed yours again, ‘why not?’

his hands slid down, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, thumbs hooking into the hem of your dress as it inched slowly upward. your breath caught as cool air hit your thighs, his touch featherlight but deliberate. it was enough to make your skin prickle, nerves lighting up under his fingertips.

‘will,’ you whispered, breath shaky, ‘we can’t… not here. what if someone drives past?’

he chuckled again—low, amused, confident—and nuzzled against your neck, lips trailing kisses that burned despite the cold. his voice vibrated against your skin, slow and smug.

‘we’ve been on this road for an hour, baby,’ he murmured, pausing to nip gently at the spot just below your jaw. ‘no cars. no people. just us. if someone drives past now, i’ll be genuinely impressed.’

his hand slipped further up your thigh, coaxing your legs a little wider, and his other hand came up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face back so you were forced to look at him. his eyes were dark, pupils wide, and there was a glint there that made your stomach twist.

‘c’mon, sweet,’ he said, voice low and coaxing but with an edge that brokered no argument. ‘let’s have a bit of fun. don’t let this week end on a miserable note.’

his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate.

‘i know you want to,’ he added, tone darker now, like a challenge, like he already knew the answer. ‘you gonna let me make it up to you?’

you swallowed hard, your body already leaning into his, heart pounding like it was trying to escape your chest. your brain was screaming logic, but your body? your body was already his.

your hands moved up slowly, fingertips brushing against the back of his neck before sinking into the curls at the base of his skull—soft, familiar. you tugged gently, guiding his face back to yours, your noses brushing for the briefest moment before your lips caught his.

you kissed him deeply, with the kind of urgency that only builds from silence, frustration, and too much time spent waiting. it was an answer—the answer—wordless and certain, your fingers curling tighter into his hair as you pressed your mouth against his.

he exhaled hard through his nose, like he’d been holding his breath this whole time, and kissed you back with a roughness that made your stomach drop. his hand moved instantly, confidently—back to your waist, gripping hard enough to make you gasp.

‘good girl,’ he murmured against your mouth, voice low, laced with heat and satisfaction. his tone shifted—no longer coaxing or playful, but in control now, like a switch had flipped. like now that he had permission, he wasn’t going to take his time.

you were both more than a little touch starved after spending the week at his childhood home—crammed together every night in his too-small single bed, limbs tangled, holding each other close but never daring to cross the line with his family just down the hall. the tension built quietly, simmering under shared glances and late-night whispers. you don’t know exactly when he decided he wanted to fuck you on the hood of his car, but when the engine gave out in the middle of nowhere, no signal, no lights but the stars—well, it felt like the perfect moment. honestly, you both needed the release.

he adjusted his stance, stepping in tighter between your legs, then pushed you back slowly onto the bonnet, one firm hand guiding you down by your waist, the warm metal humming under your back.

his eyes dragged down your body, dark and deliberate. he hiked your skirt up, bunching it around your hips without hesitation, revealing your thin black thong, the lace barely covering anything. he let out a low sound in the back of his throat—half groan, half approval.

‘fuck, look at you,’ he muttered, almost to himself, dragging two fingers along the waistband before tugging it to the side, exposing you completely.

the air hit you cold, but his fingers followed immediately—warm and practiced, tracing over your slit before circling your clit with slow, measured pressure that made your legs twitch.

you whimpered softly, hips shifting instinctively toward his touch, and that made him smile—crooked and dark and just a little cruel. ‘needy already?’ he said, tone mocking but affectionate. ‘we’ve barely started.’

his fingers moved with more intent now, teasing circles around your clit before sliding lower, dipping between your folds, spreading your wetness deliberately. he watched your face as he pushed two fingers inside—slow, but deep—curling them slightly to press against just the right spot.

you moaned, head falling back against the cool windshield behind you, the sound spilling into the still night like a secret.

he leaned over you, free hand braced on the bonnet beside your head, his breath hot against your throat as he began thrusting his fingers steadily, every movement deliberate.

‘keep your eyes on me,’ he said, voice low but firm, thumb brushing over your clit again as his fingers worked inside you. ‘i wanna see you fall apart.’

you did as you were told. because it was will. and because when he looked at you like that—like you were the only thing that mattered—you couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

his eyes never left yours—dark, commanding, fixed on your face like he was memorising every little shift, every flutter of your lashes, every shaky breath you took. his fingers moved with purpose now, curling deep with each thrust, his thumb pressing in tight, perfect circles against your clit, dragging you closer to the edge with no intention of slowing down.

‘that’s it,’ he murmured, voice low and rough, his breath fanning hot across your cheek. ‘so fucking pretty like this. taking it so well for me.’

your hips bucked involuntarily, legs trembling on either side of him. he didn’t let up. if anything, he doubled down—thrusting his fingers harder, pressing his thumb with just a little more pressure, knowing exactly what your body needed without you saying a word.

‘you’re so close, aren’t you?’ he said, his tone dark with satisfaction. ‘feel you tightening around my fingers already. you gonna come for me, sweetheart?’

your only answer was a broken gasp, your head falling back against the bonnet with a thud, mouth parted, eyes fluttering shut despite his earlier order.

he leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear, voice like gravel and silk all at once.

‘eyes on me. now.’

your gaze snapped to his, wide, dazed, desperate—and that earned you a low groan of approval.

‘good girl.’

his pace didn’t falter. slick sounds filled the quiet night, his hand working between your thighs, dragging every twitch, every moan, every helpless whimper from you like it was owed.

‘let go,’ he whispered. he pressed deep, curling his fingers again, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes ‘right on my fucking fingers.’

your body seized, back arching against the bonnet, fingers scrambling for something to hold onto.

‘that’s it—come for me. now.’

and you did.

your orgasm ripped through you like a wave, white-hot and blinding, your mouth falling open around a soundless cry as your body shuddered beneath him. his fingers never stopped, coaxing you through it, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure until you were twitching, breathless, legs shaking around his wrist.

he finally slowed, easing his fingers out gently, his touch soft now, careful. your eyes were glassy, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as you tried to come back to yourself.

he smirked down at you, dragging his fingers through your slick once more, then raising them to his mouth, sucking one clean with a low hum of satisfaction.

‘fuck, you taste good,’ he murmured, then leaned down to kiss you—slow, deep, possessive—like he hadn’t just ruined you against the hood of a broken-down car in the middle of nowhere.

his hands snaked behind your back, strong and unrelenting, gripping your waist as he pulled you upright from the bonnet. your legs were still a little shaky, your breath ragged, but he held you steady. his mouth was right at your ear when he spoke again, voice low and commanding.

‘up now baby, turn around.’

there was no hesitation.

you turned slowly and placed your palms flat against the still-warm surface of the car, bending at the waist. the metal beneath your fingertips vibrated faintly from the cooling engine, grounding you as you settled into position. your back arched instinctively, dress bunched up over your hips, lace thong still pulled aside, your skin completely exposed to the cold night air.

behind you, will let out a dark, appreciative hum.

‘fuck, look at you,’ he muttered, more to himself than to you.

you heard the familiar sound—his belt unfastening, the soft metal clink of it slipping through the loops. the shuffle of fabric as he pushed his jeans down just enough.

you tried to glance over your shoulder, needing to see him, but his hand found the back of your head before you could get a proper look. his fingers slid into your hair, wrapping around the strands near the base of your neck. he didn’t yank, didn’t pull, just guided your head back down, forcing your gaze forward.

‘don’t move,’ he said quietly. ‘eyes forward. you don’t get to watch. you get to feel.’

his grip was firm—controlled, unshakable—the kind of grip that sent a hot pulse straight through your core.

and then you felt him.

the slow press of his tip at your entrance, teasing just barely, dragging across your folds like he had all the time in the world. your body arched further in anticipation, needing him to stop playing, to take.

‘you feel so dirty right now, don’t you?’ he murmured, his tone dark and laced with smug satisfaction. he leaned over you, chest brushing against your back. ‘bent over the bonnet of my car… ass in the air… getting fucked in the middle of nowhere like it’s exactly where you belong.’

you opened your mouth to speak, to protest, to agree—but you didn’t get the chance.

he thrust in hard, burying himself deep in a single, ruthless motion that stole the breath right out of your lungs.

you cried out, the sound caught between a moan and a gasp, echoing into the open air, swallowed by the wind. your hands braced against the bonnet as he pulled back and drove into you again—fast, relentless.

his grip tightened in your hair, keeping you still, keeping you his, and his other hand slid over your hip, holding you in place like you might try to escape—though you never would. not from this. not from him.

‘so fucking tight,’ he growled, each word a punch of air against your ear. ‘like your body knows who it belongs to.’

he set a brutal rhythm, every thrust driving you forward slightly on the metal surface, his hips snapping against you with precision, with intent. and all you could do was take it—every thrust, every word, every ounce of control he held over your body in that moment.

any fear, any flicker of anxiety about being so exposed—bent over a car in the open air, skin bare to the night, moaning into the wind—was long gone, driven out of you with every punishing thrust of his hips.

it didn’t matter anymore. not the road. not the silence. not the risk.

whatever concern you’d had about someone driving past, about being caught like this—blatantly, shamelessly his—was gone. burned away by the way he moved inside you, how he owned every inch of your body without apology.

his grip on your hip tightened, his other hand still buried in your hair, keeping you pinned in place as he thrust into you with relentless, bruising rhythm. the wet slap of skin against skin echoed in the night, shameless and loud, and still—no one came. no cars. no headlights. just the two of you, lost in it.

you could feel it building again—heat curling low in your belly, your legs shaking, your moans coming quicker now, raw and breathless. he knew. of course he knew.

he leaned in over your back, his chest flush against you, his mouth finding your ear again.

‘you gonna come for me again, sweet girl?’ he murmured, voice strained now, rougher, breath catching just slightly on the edges. ‘gonna let me feel you lose it all over my cock?’

you whimpered something between yes and please, your head nodding slightly under his grip.

‘that’s it,’ he growled, pace never faltering, driving you closer and closer to the edge. ‘don’t hold back. i want every bit of it. make a mess on me—just like that.’

his fingers slipped down between your thighs again, finding your clit with practiced ease, rubbing tight, filthy circles as he kept thrusting into you, faster now, his own breathing sharp and uneven.

the pressure inside you snapped—your orgasm crashing through you in waves, your body going rigid beneath him before it trembled uncontrollably. you cried out into the night, your voice broken and raw, every nerve alight, clenching around him so hard it dragged a deep, guttural moan from his chest.

‘fuck—’ he bit out, hips stuttering for the first time. ‘fuck, baby—just like that. god, you feel so—’

he didn’t finish the sentence. didn’t need to.

he spilled into you moments later, his grip bruising on your ass, forehead resting against the back of your neck as he rode out every last pulse of it, both of you breathless, spent, your bodies tangled in sweat and heat and satisfaction.

for a long moment, neither of you moved.

just the sound of your breathing, the creak of cooling metal beneath you, the stillness of the world beyond.

and then will finally let out a low, shaky breath, kissed the side of your shoulder, and murmured against your skin:

‘well… if no one comes to fix this car, at least we found a decent way to kill the time.’ he chuckled, breath hitting your neck.

the air was still heavy, warm with the lingering haze of what had just happened. will rested against your back for another moment, one hand smoothing gently over your hip now, his earlier dominance softened into something quieter, more tender. he pressed a kiss to your shoulder—slow and grounding—before pulling back.

‘you alright?’ he murmured, breath ghosting over your skin.

you nodded, still half-draped over the bonnet, your legs shaky but your body loose, boneless. satisfied.

‘mhm,’ you managed, eyes fluttering shut for a second. ‘i don’t think i’ll ever look at your car the same way again.’

he laughed—low, breathy, real. the kind that warmed your chest.

‘good,’ he said. ‘was hoping to leave an impression.’

he stepped back, tucking himself in, buckling his belt with quick movements, and then reached for you, helping you up with a gentle pull. your legs wobbled slightly when you stood, and he caught you easily, his hands finding your waist like second nature.

‘steady,’ he smirked. ‘might’ve overdone it a little.’

you gave him a tired, teasing glare as you tugged your skirt back down, smoothing it out with half-hearted swipes. your hair was a mess, your lips kiss-swollen, your thighs sticky—but none of it mattered. not right now.

will turned to grab his hoodie from the front seat, offering it to you wordlessly. you took it, pulling it over your head, drowning in the scent of him.

just as he was leaning against the car again, pulling out his phone out of sheer habit, he froze.

‘no fucking way,’ he muttered, staring down at the screen.

you blinked at him. ‘what?’

he turned the phone toward you.

one bar. not much. but it was something.

you both stared at it like it might disappear again, holding your breath.

he quickly hit redial. the phone rang. once, twice—then clicked.

‘yes! hi—yeah, we’ve broken down, no signal until just now. yeah—yeah, we’re fine. just… need someone to come out. soon as possible.’

you smiled to yourself as he gave the details of your whereabouts, voice calm and clipped now, all business. his free hand found yours, fingers lacing together like they always did—easily, naturally.

when he hung up, he looked over at you, brow raised.

‘help’s on the way. about thirty minutes, they said.’

you leaned into his side, your head resting against his shoulder.

‘guess we’ve still got time to kill.’

he smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple.

‘not sure the car can handle round two.’

you, almost unconsciously at first, start listening for the voice, slowly tuning out the recognizable voices of your friends. you’re usually an observer anyways, so your friends pay no mind to you as you keep to yourself instead of participating in whatever conversation you’d already lost track of. your ears perk up every time you hear it, eyes scanning around you for the source, until you finally land on a table only a stone's throw away from yours.

there’s a handful of guys sitting at it, all dark hair, young, and unfortunately for you, attractive. you know it’s impolite to stare, but you have to figure out who the familiar voice belongs to, just to quell your raging curiosity. but you’re pulled from your search by one of your friends, poking your shoulder to get your attention, “want in on another round?”

your glass had sat empty for a while but you had made no move to get up for a refill because of your little preoccupation. finally, you managed a nod and a thank you before your friends left you back to your own devices. you felt a pang of guilt for completely losing track of what this night was for, catching up with your friends. but your eyes quickly fell back to that bloody table as one of the men exclaimed, “george!”

george. george. george clarkey.

but it couldn’t be him, could it? it couldn’t possibly be the george that you listened to on a weekly basis on your silly little audio erotica app. no, it was definitely just some guy named george, right? but, a few more minutes of monitoring their table and eavesdropping makes your stomach twist but the voice is just too spot on. you can even pick out his giggle from across the room and it’s the same one that gives you butterflies when you listen to one of his ramble audios.

“come on, poppet, i know you can do it.” you had found george a few months ago on the app, he was new and typically you didn’t venture away from your usual voice actors, but something about his profile piqued your interest. his profile picture was what looked like a selfie, but just of the lower half of his face. but his smile was bright and kind and his beard was thick and dark. your typical type.

and his voice. god, his voice. the lilt of his accent always sent a tingle down your spine. the way he could be unbelievably sweet one moment and then incredibly dirty the next was what always kept you coming back to him. you held an immense soft spot for any of his friends to lovers audios. they just seemed to fit him and, arguably what you’ve built up to be, his personality. he was attentive and caring and when his voice washed over you- you just felt so fucking good. even just for a few quiet moments by yourself, george made you feel so good.

“don’t you wanna cum for me? don’t you wanna make me proud?”

and maybe it was a little bit pathetic so that’s why you keep that part of yourself locked away until you’re at home by yourself. so - this whole situation - is your worst nightmare. george, sitting only a few metres from you, talking with his big hands and making all of his mates around him laugh, was the worst way this night could have gone.

shame washes over you as you force your eyes away from the group, feeling like some kind of unwelcome voyeur. you turn your attention back to your friends, joining the conversation with perfect timing it would seem as your closest friend tells the rest of the girls her latest work drama. she had called you earlier in the week to tell you all about it so you’re able to sit back and throw in comments when appropriate (“that place would be nothing without you”) and eventually you're enthralled in the conversation again.

but your eyes can’t help but wander when you hear a chair scrape against the floor. george gets up from his table, walking past your’s in the direction of the washroom. he looked even better up close, hair soft and curls tousled, the mullet isn’t what you were expecting but you thought it really suited him. his lips looked soft, you could imagine yourself scritching your nails through the dark hair covering his jaw and his eyes were so blue. once he was finally out of your line of sight, thought, you took a big sip of your cocktail and steeled yourself to focus.

this was supposed to be a fun catch up night with your girls. even though you didn’t mean to find the guy who is now the only thing able to make you cum, it was still useless to give it any more energy. after all, you were just some girl in a pub.

and yet, you allowed yourself one last look his way when he made it back to his table. you gazed wistfully as he settled back into his seat and as he was bringing his pint glass up to his pink lips, his eyes cut directly to yours. oh shit, he caught you staring. you immediately dart your eyes away, instead looking down at your glass, bringing your sugary drink up to your lips to give yourself tsomething o do as you try to quell your growing panic.

you turn back to your friends, jumping into a conversation you barely have the gist of, as a distraction. but turning away from him means you miss the way his lips curl over the edge of his glass, grinning at you. you miss the way his eyes rake over you and when you and your friends get up to leave you miss the way his eyes follow you all the way out the door.

the following days are frustrating to say the least and you end up falling into a cycle of remembering being caught by george, feeling so embarrassed, and then trying to push the whole thing from your mind completely. but, nothing helps. you can’t stop thinking about him. his hands, his lips, his eyes, his voice were all you could think about, it was becoming a problem.

and you were also experiencing another problem, you hadn’t been able to get off since that night. you had banned yourself from listening to any of george’s audios in the following days, but nobody else did it for you anymore, leaving you completely unsatisfied.

but, you always end up aimlessly scrolling through the app anyways, just like tonight. multiple new audios were uploaded to the site earlier that morning, but nothing sounded even remotely interesting to you but then you saw it, his damned smile in his profile picture. you couldn’t help but feel like he was mocking you. but then your stomach drops when you see the title of his audio, “Meet Cute at the Pub”. oh no. then you read the tags he included, [M4F] [Strangers to Lovers] [Banter] [Slow Burn] [First Time] [Gentle] [Praise] [Curve Appreciation]. but what really gets you is the summary, “I caught you looking from across the pub, mind if I join you?”

you’re pressing play before you can even think about what you’re doing. your ears are initially filled with mindless chatter and the clinking of glassware, background noise, before you hear george’s familiar voice, “This seat taken?” followed by the sound of him settling into what you assumed was a bar stool. “I know us locking eyes for 1.5 seconds isn’t exactly an invitation for me to come over and bother you, but I guess I’m pressing my luck tonight.”

he chuckled, he was always able to make himself laugh, something that you would have found prickish in other guys, but always found it charming when it came to him. you scroll through the comments finding the usual gushing praise he always gets. you scroll all the way down to the bottom to find that the first comment is from…george.

“Made eyes with a gorgeous woman across the pub a few days ago and haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since. Tried to get over it by recording this but nah, still thinking about her.”

life somehow always found a way though, because then the weekend rolled around and your friends, who had picked up on your downtrodden mood, organized another night out. when the pub from the other night was named as the designated spot for that night you had to tamp down any bubbling excitement you felt at the slightest possibility of seeing him again and instead thought about how smooth the cocktails had been and how many you were going to have tonight.

you and your friends weren’t able to the exact table you had occupied the weekend prior, but it was relatively close. your eyes trailed over to the table george and his mates had sat and felt a pang of disappointment at seeing another group of gals in their 20’s. it was for the best, you thought bitterly to yourself as you brought your cocktail glass to your lips.

when you got back to your flat, well beyond tipsy, your thoughts about the matter changed. you drunkenly stumble into your bedroom, kicking your shoes off clumsily and getting your hair out of your face with a claw clip. you find your laptop where you had left it on your bed before going out for the night. you had planned to play some music while half assedly taking off your makeup and applying your skincare, but a tab that you had left open caught your eye instead.

while you hadn’t listened to george’s audio all the way through, barely making it through the first full minute, you had kept the tab open. with your inhibitions lowered you scroll through the comments again, landing all the way back down to his. your fingers were pressing the keys, typing out a message you’d been thinking about sending for days. you weren’t that battered, but just battered enough that you could blame all of this on your inebriated state when you wake up in the morning.

“Hi George, you definitely don’t have to believe me, but I think I might be the woman from the pub!", you had workshopped the message in your head many, many times, unsure at first when to include. you didn’t want to to give too much information about yourself and you definitely did not want to reveal too much about george’s true identity. when you had first found george you may have done a social media search on him, just curious if there was anything about him public, but all you found was a carefully curated instagram page where he would post any time a new audio would drop on the website. nothing about the man himself.

the only thing you really knew about him was that he was 24 years old and based in london. you had even pondered for a while that his name may not have been george since he seemed to want to keep his identity private, but that night at the pub proved it really was his name.

after long consideration you finally decide on including the date and around what time you were at the pub. also, adding that you had been sat at a high top table with a group of your girlfriends while he had sat at a low top table with a group of his mates. you finally hit the post button and watch your comment appear on the page, quickly exiting out of the tab. even though you may not feel the same way in the morning, you couldn't help but feel giddy with what you’ve done.

you wake up the next morning groggy with a bit of an upset stomach, but nevertheless you’re in one piece. you treat yourself to some hungover takeaway and spread yourself out on the couch for a few hours, dreading the thought of having to go into work the next morning. you push yourself to stay preoccupied for the rest of the day though, washing up dirty dishes, folding laundry, and cleaning up anything you could until you found yourself back in bed for the night.

your fingers itched for your laptop and you relented, opening it up and quickly going to the audio erotica site again. you feel a mix of anxiety and exhilaration as you navigate to george’s page, going over the possible scenarios in your head. the most obvious outcome of your comment was it being left unanswered. george got dozens of comments on his audios and never responded to them, he most likely didn’t even read them. your comment was most likely sitting untouched and surrounded by the ramblings and praise of other horny women.

but when you click around to george’s newest audio and scroll through the comments your heart leaps in your throat. a reply from george. “Hmm… what were you wearing that night and what was I wearing?” you could scream in excitement, he replied. he actually replied.

you start typing your response with an almost maniacal grin on your face at the unbelievable turn of events. it was crazy and there was a big possibility that this wouldn’t go anywhere, but you weren’t thinking straight in the moment, too busy typing up your response. “…and you were wearing a brown hoodie over a white t shirt and a pair of jean shorts. you pull off jorts surprisingly well.”

"hey, george," you say, trying to break the tension with a casual smile. "smells amazing in here."

he turns away from the stove, wiping his hands on the apron tied around his waist, and returns your smile with one that's a bit too wide. "thanks," he replies, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "i figured i'd whip up something special."

you lean against the doorframe, curiosity piqued. "any specific reason for the gourmet feast?" you ask, trying to keep the conversation light. but as the words leave your mouth, you can feel a knot forming in your stomach. there's a palpable energy in the room that's thick and unsettling.

george stirs the pot, the clanging of the spoon against the metal echoing through the small kitchen. "just felt like it," he says, his tone nonchalant. but his evasive answer doesn't sit well with you. something about his demeanor, the way he's avoiding eye contact, makes you feel like he's hiding something.

finally, he plates two dishes and carries them over to the small dining table in the living room. the tv flickers in the background, the muted images of a reality show flashing in the dim light. he sets down the plates with a deliberate clink, one in front of you and one in front of the chair opposite. you take a seat, your appetite suddenly waning as the tension between you grows.

you both dig into the meal, the air thick with unspoken questions and the scent of the food. every bite feels heavier than the last, the silence stretching out like a tightrope you're both balancing on. after a moment's silence, he shifts his weight, turning to face you fully. "listen," he starts, "i've got a proposition for you." his voice is low, almost a whisper, and you can feel your heart rate tick up a notch.

swallowing hard, you set your fork down. "okay," you manage, your voice a tad shakier than you'd like. "what is it?"

george takes a deep breath, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. "you know my job, right?" he asks, his tone a mix of anticipation and hesitance.

you nod, unable to find your voice. of course you know. how could you not? the faint sound of moans and thumps against the wall had been your unfortunate lullaby on more than one occasion. the occasional glimpse of a girl packing up her gear in the hallway had been your morning coffee.

george's job as a pornstar was something you'd tried to ignore, to pretend didn't exist. it was just too weird to think about. but now, as he sat there, his eyes boring into yours, you couldn't ignore it anymore. you swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "yeah," you murmur, "i know."

his expression doesn't change, but his eyes flicker with something that could be excitement or nerves. "i was wondering," he says, pausing to take a sip of his water, "if you'd ever consider joining me for a shoot."

the words hit you like a ton of bricks, and you sputter, half-choking on your mouthful of food. "wh-what?" you manage, your cheeks burning with shock.

george's expression remains calm, as if he's discussing the weather rather than asking you to participate in an x-rated film. "i thought it might be fun," he says, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "you know, mix things up a bit."

you stare at him, your eyes flicking over his features. there's no denying that george is a good-looking guy. his clean-cut mullet falls in a perfect frame around his face, and his beard is kept neat and trimmed, giving him a rugged yet polished look. those piercing blue eyes of his seem to see right through you, and you can't help but feel a little intimidated by his confidence. his football-playing physique fills out his white t-shirt and boxers in all the right places, showcasing muscles honed from years of playing the sport.

you blink, trying to process what he's just asked. your mind reels with the implications of his question. "you… you want me to… to be in one of your videos?" you repeat, your voice a high-pitched squeak that you hardly recognize as your own.

george nods, his smile growing slightly. "yeah," he says, "i think we'd have good chemistry." he reaches across the table, placing a hand on your arm. his touch is warm and surprisingly gentle, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. "i mean, we're already living together, and it's not like we're strangers."

his rationale does nothing to quell the storm of emotions inside you. your mind is racing, trying to piece together the reality of the situation. you've never done anything like this before. hell, you've never even considered it. but something about his proposal is intriguing, a part of you is curious, a part you've never dared to acknowledge.

george must see the conflict in your eyes, because he starts to backpedal. "i totally understand if it's not your thing," he says quickly, his hand retreating to his own side of the table. "i just thought it might be… interesting, you know? no pressure at all."

you listen to him ramble on about how it's totally fine if you say no, how he's just throwing the idea out there, how you can just forget he ever mentioned it. but as he speaks, the knot in your stomach begins to loosen. you realize that, amidst the shock and confusion, there's a flicker of something else. something that's both terrifying and exhilarating.

you stop him mid-sentence, your voice firm and surprisingly steady. "george," you say, holding his gaze. "sure."

his eyes widen in surprise, and for a second, you think he might have misheard you. "what?"

you nod, taking a deep breath. "i said sure," you repeat, feeling your cheeks burn even hotter. "i'll do it."

george stares at you for a beat, his surprise morphing into a grin that lights up his whole face. "really?" he asks, disbelief lacing his voice.

you nod again, the gravity of your decision weighing heavily on your shoulders. "yes, really," you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

george's grin widens, and he leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest. "okay," he says, his voice a little too casual for the situation. "i'll set it up."

you chew on your bottom lip, your mind racing. "there's just one condition," you blurt out before you can talk yourself out of it.

george raises an eyebrow, his smile faltering slightly. "what's that?"

you take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach. "i don't want my face on camera," you say firmly, meeting his gaze. "i'm okay with… everything else, but i just can't do that."

george nods thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving yours. "understood," he says. "i can make sure of that. we can use angles that only show your body."

you nod, relieved that he's being so understanding. "thank you," you murmur, taking a sip of water to wet your dry throat.

george stands up, his movements fluid and graceful despite his size. "no problem," he says, walking over to the fridge to grab a beer. he pops it open and takes a long swig before turning back to you. "so, when are you free?"

you look up from your plate, your appetite having vanished completely. "i… i don't know," you stutter, trying to process the reality of what you've just agreed to. "when exactly do you usually film?"

"normally, tomorrow's my film day," george says, leaning against the counter, his beer in hand. the casualness of his stance is at odds with the gravity of his words, which hang heavy in the air like a storm cloud.

you nod, trying to keep your cool. "right," you manage, pushing your chair back. "i'll just… uh, clean up here." you quickly gather your dishes, the clinking sound of the silverware against the plates the only noise in the room. as you stand, you feel his gaze on you, watching your every move.

you make your way to the kitchen sink, the warm water running over your trembling hands as you scrub at the remnants of dinner. you're aware of george's eyes on your back, and you can't help but feel a little self-conscious. every little action feels magnified under his scrutiny. but you push through, focusing on the task at hand. you don't want to give him any reason to think you're backing out.

once the dishes are done, you grab your laptop and a glass of water, retreating to the sanctuary of your bedroom. the door clicks shut behind you, the sound a stark finality in the tense silence of the apartment. you sit on the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight. you take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm your racing thoughts. the idea of being in one of george's videos is still so surreal, but the excitement is undeniable. you can't help but wonder what it would be like to be the star of one of those films, to be desired by so many people.

you lay down, the coolness of the sheets a welcome relief against your flushed skin. you tell yourself that you can always change your mind in the morning, but a part of you already knows that you won't. the allure of the unknown, the thrill of the taboo, is too strong. you close your eyes, and images of george, his body moving with practiced skill and confidence, fill your mind. your heart beats faster, and you feel a warmth spread through your body that has nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

the next day, you come home from work, the anticipation heavy in the air. the apartment is unusually quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall. your heart thuds in your chest as you step inside, the weight of what you've agreed to pressing down on you like a physical presence. you toss your bag onto the couch and head straight for the shower, letting the hot water wash away the day's grime and the last vestiges of your doubt.

you take extra care with your shower today, shaving every inch of skin that might end up on camera. your hand shakes slightly as you glide the razor over your legs and underarms, the scent of the coconut-infused shaving cream a stark contrast to the nerves that have settled in your stomach. once you're done, you step out of the shower, the cool air making you shiver. you slather on moisturizer, feeling the smoothness of your skin beneath your fingertips. your reflection in the mirror is flushed, your eyes wide with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

you rummage through your lingerie drawer, searching for the matching set that will make you feel both sexy and comfortable. after what feels like an eternity, you settle on a lacy black bra and panties that accentuate your curves just right. you lay them out on your bed, admiring the way the fabric shimmers in the low light of your room. next, you tackle your hair, which has a mind of its own today. it's a battle, but you manage to tame it into a presentable style.

with trembling hands, you slip into the lingerie, the fabric caressing your skin. you take one last look in the mirror, adjusting the straps and smoothing out any wrinkles. your heart races as you apply a touch of makeup, going for a natural look that highlights your features without screaming "new to this." you bite your bottom lip, wondering if you're making a mistake. but the reflection staring back at you seems to say, "you can do this."

you pull on a loose-fitting dress, something that won't be missed when it hits the floor. the fabric is soft against your skin, a stark contrast to the tightness in your chest. you take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the butterflies that are doing acrobatics in your stomach.

just as you're about to second guess yourself, your phone buzzes with a message from george. "ready when you are," it reads. you take a deep breath, your hand hovering over your bedroom door handle. this is it. no turning back now.

you square your shoulders, channeling an inner confidence that feels foreign yet surprisingly potent. with a quick exhale, you make your way to his bedroom, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet. your heart thuds in your chest with every step, the anticipation making you feel both lightheaded and strangely alive.

you softly knock on his door, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. for a moment, it feels like the entire world is holding its breath. then, with a click, the door swings open. george stands before you, his eyes widening at the sight of you. he's dressed differently today, in a pair of baggy khakis that hang low on his hips, and a white t-shirt that clings to his muscular torso like a second skin.

"hey," he says, his voice a little gruff, a little nervous. "you sure about this?" his eyes search yours, looking for any sign of doubt, any reason to call this off.

you nod, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you like a warm blanket. "yeah," you murmur, your voice a little shakier than you'd like. "i'm sure."

george steps aside, holding the door open for you. "great," he says, his eyes lingering on you for a moment too long. "the camera's already rolling."

you freeze, your hand hovering in midair. "what?" you squeak, your heart jumping into your throat. "already?"

george nods, his smile widening into a grin. "yeah," he says, his voice low and reassuring. "don't worry, you'll get the hang of it."

you step into the room, your knees feeling like jelly. the sight before you is unexpected: the usual mess of his bedroom has been transformed into a makeshift film set, complete with a bed covered in fresh, crisp white sheets and a couple of strategically placed pillows. the camera sits on a tripod in the corner, the red light on the front a silent sentinel to the impending performance.

george closes the door behind you, his hand briefly brushing against your lower back. "just ignore it," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "pretend it's not even there."

his words do little to soothe your racing heart, but before you can protest, his hand moves up to cup your cheek, turning your face towards his. his eyes, those piercing blue eyes, are full of a gentle reassurance that sends a shiver down your spine. and then, without any further warning, his lips are on yours.

his kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if he's testing the waters. but as you respond, your nerves dissipate like mist in the morning sun. your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer. his tongue traces the seam of your lips, coaxing them open. and when he finally delves inside, the kiss deepens, becoming a heady mix of passion and heat that leaves you dizzy.

his hands roam over your body, mapping every inch of you with a confidence that's both thrilling and intimidating. your dress slips to the floor, a pool of fabric around your feet. he steps closer, pressing you against the cool wall, his body a wall of heat and muscle that you can't help but lean into. your breasts brush against his chest, and you feel the beginnings of an ache that you know will only grow stronger.

george's eyes drop to the matching black lace that peeks out from beneath your dress. his pupils dilate, and he lets out a low groan that sends a shiver down your spine. "damn," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "you really went all out, didn't you?"

you swallow hard, the heat from his gaze making you feel exposed and vulnerable. "i just wanted to be… perfect for you," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

george's expression softens, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "you already are," he murmurs, his voice low and earnest. "but if it makes you feel better, we can take it slow, okay?"

you nod, taking a moment to compose yourself. "okay," you whisper, your eyes locking onto his.

george takes a step back, giving you a little space. "let's start with something simple," he says, his voice a low rumble. "just walk over to the bed, okay?"

you nod, your legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. you force yourself to move, one foot in front of the other, until you reach the edge of the bed. you sit down, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight. the fabric of the sheets is cool and smooth against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from george's body.

his eyes never leave yours as he moves closer, his hand reaching out to trace the edge of your bra. you can see the hunger in his gaze, the desire that makes your own pulse quicken. "just relax," he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. "i'll take care of you."

you nod, letting out a shaky breath. george takes a step closer, his thumb brushing against your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine. he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his khakis, and with a swift motion, they fall to the floor, revealing his boxers. your eyes flicker down, taking in the sight of his muscular thighs, the bulge in the fabric hinting at what lies beneath. you can't believe you're about to do this.

his hand moves up to the hem of his shirt, and before you can even blink, it's over his head. the fabric whispers against his skin, and he's standing there in just his boxers, the tension in the room palpable. his chest is a work of art, each muscle defined and sculpted. the tattoos that snake down his arms tell stories of battles won and lost, of a life lived with passion and intensity. you can't help but feel a little overwhelmed.

and then, with surprising gentleness, he's unhooking the clasp of your bra, the fabric falling away to reveal your bare breasts. his eyes widen slightly, a look of appreciation flitting across his face before he leans down to kiss the hollow of your throat. his touch is like a brand, searing your skin with his need.

his hands are everywhere, caressing, exploring. his mouth follows, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. you moan, the sound muffled against his shoulder as his teeth graze your sensitive nipples. you arch your back, pressing into him, the fabric of your panties and his boxers the only barrier between you.

george groans, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. his fingers slip under the waistband of your underwear, tracing the line of your hips before dipping lower. you gasp as he brushes against your clit, the sensation sending bolts of pleasure through your body.

his mouth moves to your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "tell me what you like," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "what makes you feel good?"

you swallow hard, your voice barely above a murmur. "that… that feels good," you admit, your hips rocking against his hand. his touch is firm, but not rough, his movements sure and steady.

george's grin widens, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "good," he says, his voice a low purr. "because i want to make sure you enjoy this."

and then, with surprising gentleness, he's unhooking the clasp of your bra, the fabric falling away to reveal your bare breasts. his eyes widen slightly, a look of appreciation flitting across his face before he leans down to kiss the hollow of your throat. his lips are soft, warm, and when they trail lower, dragging heat along your skin, you gasp softly.

"just like that," he murmurs, his voice like smoke curling in your ear. his hand cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles that make your spine arch. "you’re doing so good for me."

you whimper, nodding, your fingers digging into the sheets behind you. it feels surreal, his mouth trailing down your chest, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses. his stubble grazes your skin just enough to make your toes curl, and when his mouth finally wraps around your nipple, your breath catches in your throat.

george groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. "fuck, you taste good," he mutters, his hand slipping down your stomach, ghosting over the waistband of your panties. "you still good?"

you manage a breathless, "yeah," and that's all he needs.

his fingers dip beneath the lace, brushing over your slick heat with a featherlight touch that makes your hips buck. he smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction, and presses a kiss to your sternum as his fingers begin to circle your clit slowly, methodically.

"god, you're already so wet," he says, his tone part awe, part reverence. "you really want this, don’t you?"

you nod helplessly, your head lolling back as pleasure sparks beneath your skin. he slides one finger inside, then two, curling them just right. the stretch is perfect, and paired with the pressure of his thumb, it’s almost too much.

"george," you gasp, your fingers twisting into the sheets. "please—"

"shh," he soothes, pressing his lips to your temple. "i’ve got you."

and he does. every movement, every touch is calculated, practiced, but never impersonal. you can feel the difference, the subtle way he’s watching your every reaction, adjusting to what makes your breath catch and your thighs tremble.

you don’t even realize how close you are until your legs start to shake, your body arching toward him.

"that’s it," he whispers, voice thick with need. "let go for me."

your orgasm hits like a wave, crashing through you with blinding intensity. you cry out, clinging to him as your body shudders. he doesn’t stop until you're spent, until the tremors subside and your breathing evens out.

when he finally pulls back, his fingers glisten with your arousal. he brings them to his mouth, licking them clean with a satisfied hum. "so fucking good," he mutters.

you don’t even have time to recover before he’s leaning over you, his boxers gone, his cock hard and flushed against his stomach. he presses your legs apart, settling between them, his weight grounding.

"you still with me?" he asks, eyes searching yours one last time for any hesitation.

"yes," you breathe, reaching up to cup his jaw. "please, george."

he lines himself up, and when he pushes in, slow and steady, your breath catches. he fills you completely, stretching you in a way that’s toe-curling and perfect. he groans at the feeling, head dropping to your shoulder.

"fuck," he pants. "you feel… incredible."

you clutch at him, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. the thrusts start slow, deep, his hands gripping your hips like he’s anchoring himself. each drag of his cock inside you has your eyes rolling back, the pressure building all over again.

"look at you," he murmurs, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your lips. "taking me so well. like you were made for this."

your head spins, pleasure cresting higher with every thrust. the camera is forgotten. the world is gone. there’s only george—his body, his voice, the way he fucks you like it’s more than just a scene.

the pace picks up, harder now, and each thrust hits something inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. your nails rake down his back as you moan his name, every sound spilling from your lips drawing a groan from his chest in return.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, his voice low and wrecked. “could do this all night.”

you’re close—so close it hurts—and george knows it. his hand slips between you again, thumb circling your clit with expert pressure, and the heat building inside you snaps. you cry out as you come, your whole body tensing, thighs shaking around him. he follows not long after, stifling a shout as he buries himself deep one last time, his release crashing into him.

he collapses over you, breathing hard, his face pressed into your neck as your bodies tangle together, slick with sweat and satisfaction.

the red light on the camera is still on, but you barely care. not when george presses a kiss to your temple and murmurs, “you were incredible.”

you smile, exhausted and giddy. “guess we do have good chemistry.”

He chuckles, a low sound that rumbles against your chest. “told you so.”