𝜗ৎ

God help him, he's lost, and he shouldn't be using God's name at such a moment.

The way you drip for him in pure desire, how you open yourself up, exposing yourself so he can plunge into the waters of sin, overwhelming him until he has no choice but to drown in the perdition that bears your name, and your taste.

Poor Jud doesn't even remember how it all started. Was it just a simple conversation? Perhaps a confession? Maybe it was the stolen kiss that left him a fool instead?

Up to this point, none of that matters, because the only things he can think about are your scent, your sacred flesh being offered to him. Those strong hands that should be palms pressed together in prayer are now pressing the insides of your thighs down so that your cunt is at his disposal, your own hands gripping your knees in need so that your legs are pressed as close to your chest as possible.

The best position to, metaphorically and obscenely, receive one's daily bread. The friendly priest licks you until he can taste every cell on his taste buds, his tongue penetrating your hole minimally to sample a little of the softest, most sensitive flesh inside, then withdrawing and licking with his tongue flat from your dripping entrance to the tip of your small, swollen clit that throbs for more, reveling in the little pearl he longs to suck.

But his own desire is making him stupid, and it's not just that; guilt is also messing with his head in a way that's not nearly as pleasurable as you are.

Therefore, he can't think straight and doesn't really know what he's doing, which makes him screw it up, but just a little. And while you're enjoying his terrible lack of experience, Jud only knows that if he sucks here and licks there, then you'll feel good, you'll pulse against his glossy lips, you'll get wetter, and you'll be able to leak more of your addictive slick right onto his tongue so he can swallow the elixir.

The only problem is that for that to happen, you have to feel good, not just mentally, and sadly, you can barely feel that way. He continues licking clumsily, sucking with the right pressure on your clit, but not for long enough to make you come, so you can only wait, moaning in frustration.

You're pushing yourself towards your longed-for orgasm, your body glistening with sweat from the effort.

After about two minutes, you start hearing the same broken record that's been playing for a while now.

“This is so—so wrong,” he murmurs, licking his lips and pulling away from your pussy, looking up to catch your gaze, but still keeping his hands on your skin.

“Huh?” you raise an eyebrow, gasping, trying to come back to reality.

“This,” he babbles pathetically, leaning down again to give your clit a loud and raw kiss, stealing your breath. “I-I am going to hell, this is wrong, I'm better than this but somehow I'm here succumbing to desire, to sin, all sin is forgivable but all this is unforgivable, Jesus Christ, you're so young and I should be taking your confession or guiding you to the what's divine and instead I'm here, defiling the pure.”

Rambling after rambling, complain after complain, the worst part is that he keeps leaning in, keeps pushing his tongue into your puffy cunt, swallowing the salt, licking your folds, sucking your sensitive little spot and abusing it with the tip of his tongue so you whimper his name.

Maybe it's the obvious hypocrisy or maybe he's having a mental breakdown.

Despite his current state of collapse, he continues to devour you as if he needs to feed himself so he doesn't have to for the next few weeks, his saliva mingling with the product of your pleasure running between your legs, wetting and making everything sticky, sloppy sounds reaching his ears, causing him to blush furiously with embarrassment. You yourself close your eyes tightly because oh, you're so soaked it's pitiful, so fucked up beneath him and it's not even enough.

So young and excited, fascinated by the attractive and kind priest who captured your attention in such a short time, immediately captivated by the idea of being with him and subjecting him to your charms.

Too young to understand what this will do to you in the future.

Old enough to want it anyway.

“I am going to hell, I should- I should just kill myself...” he whines at the sudden twitch of his untouched cock between his legs at your little sound.

“Father-”

“Wrong, so wrong-”

“Father!”

He exhales shakily. “Please, don't raise your voice at me while I'm actively committing theological crimes.”

“I’m just trying to talk to you.”

“Talking makes this worse,” he mutters.

“Well,” you hesitate, clearly choosing your words, “I don't want to be disrespectful, Father, but… I'm not even feeling completely good, so, so talking doesn't exactly make it worse, I think it could serve as encouragement.”

He freezes. “…I’m sorry?”

“I mean—it’s not bad,” you rush. "It's just a little awkward? Which I get because, you know, celibacy stuff, so it's complicated, and I understand."

Jud swallows, then honest as always, “you're right, don't worry, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing right now.”

You smile warmly, “that's a bit obvious, sorry Father.”

He laughs softly, defeated by your understanding, his gaze lower again, his eyes fixed directly on your most intimate place, making you blush at how he focuses on every detail. Jud moves his hands slightly closer to your womanhood, his thumbs on either side of your glistening cunt, parting your lips to worship in detail, to stare at the vulnerable exposed skin.

Starving.

“Please don’t apologize, I should be apologizing for, for…” He doesn’t finish because he plunges into your pussy again, this time taking your comment to heart and focusing on your little knot of nerves, sucking it with those beautiful lips until you tremble and your legs tense, feeling the urge to stretch them out, but the position forces you to take his mouth by storm.

He loves the taste, and you smell so good, you taste even better, so warm and wet, the musky scent of your cunt driving him wild, forcing him to continue. The warm taste of raw meat against his tongue makes him whine and groan into you, burying his nose in the curls that adorn your mound and sniffing obsessively until you notice he's doing something crazy between your thighs.

After he's satisfied with the state he's left your clit in, he opens his mouth to let his tongue rub all the overheated flesh he can reach, the sticky slick coating it, stimulating you at the same time that pure filth escapes your mouth and your chest rises and falls in costly breaths. He's definitely doing something right now.

The priest is hungry, and only you can satisfy him, therefore he becomes needier, inhaling more of your skin, tasting more of the divine treasure between your trembling legs, folding you further with his hands until you are cramped but enveloped in the arms of forbidden pleasure.

Those pretty eyes flutter every time you gasp, telling him he's in the right place and needs to press harder there, kiss there, suck and lick until those gasps turn into broken sobs, until his cock aches and drips uncomfortably into his underwear even more than it already is.

Desperation grips him, and he ends up thrusting his tongue inside you, fucking that tight, extremely hot place with it and rubbing what little he can reach of your cavity from the inside. And when it happens, you feel his nose gently rubbing against your clit, pressing so good, that nose you have wet dreams about, precisely where you want it now.

It feels right, feels perfect and you feel the familiar sweet tingling in your lower belly, traveling further down, also up, simply taking over until it is so close to be overwhelming.

For someone who's supposed to be clean, he makes it so dirty.

And he knows better—that's the worst part of this grotesque situation, not even the temptation, but the knowledge. Years of scripture etched into his spine, every warning memorized, every consequence mentioned, accepting what he has to stop doing to move towards forgiveness, faith, second chances, putting God above all else.

What kind of priest does this, what servant of the Almighty Lord, kneels like this in want when it should have been in worship, but worship of a different kind.

This is nothing but greed because he keeps wanting more, and more, and more. Knowing you're close to orgasm, he needs more; he needs your flavor to trickle down his chin, past his neck, and stain his clerical collar.

How disgusting can he be?

He thinks of confession and almost laughs with your cunt in his mouth. What penance could possibly weigh the same as this sin? How could a few murmured prayers ever cleanse the knowledge of how you taste, how you tremble, how easily you give yourself over to him as if he's everything?

And when you come in his mouth, when you clench against nothingness and drip more of the taste he's addicted to onto his tongue, when you sob his name and whine that he continues to overstimulate your fevered skin, Jud can only think about what else he could do with you in the future.

After he apologizes about three hundred times with everything he believes.

The sun dawns on a new day, a new environment. This is the first thing you register. Then it's long, thick limbs wrapping around you. Light snores are next, a woodsy cologne shortly following.

You're with Robby. Officially. As of yesterday, he's your new roommate.

A smile pulls at your tired muscles at the thought, the joy far outweighing the trudges of sleep trying to pull you back.

Your arm's alive next, fingers gently scraping the nape of his neck. It seems you're just as wrapped up in him.

A low growl vibrates his chest, a small laugh escaping your lips. He shakes his head against you, not unlike a dog, another huff rocking him.

"Good morning, old man," you tease, pinching the bare skin of his side.

The extra pudge there is kind to you, relaxed and folded over the waistband of his boxers. He's not conscious enough to tense away from you just yet, to hide himself.

You're slightly worried that your fingertips will bring unwanted attention to the area, but the soft scrape of your nails against him is comforting enough that you simply just don't care.

He seems to feel the same, thankfully, his eyes fluttering closed once more, a breathy shudder shaking him. You press your fingertips deeper into his skin at the sound, a cute little squeeze to remind him where he is.

He jumps a little at your pinch, a sweet smile on his sweet face. He snuggles in closer to you, head planted firmly in your neck as you both come back to life.

"When are you going to the store, baby?" You rasp, and he presses a kiss to your neck.

"After I have my coffee," he grumbles. "Store probably doesn't open until 8 anyway."

You hum, glancing over at the alarm clock on Robby's side of the bed, 6:38 a.m.

You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Mornings are not your best time of day.

"So dramatic," Robby teases, stretching his long form around you.

"What else is left for you to get for today?" You poise, and he twists his lips in thought.

"I need to pick up the cake, plus some extra snacks, maybe some more soda…" he lists off, and you smile.

"We have plenty, baby, don't overextend yourself. You're going to be grilling all afternoon," you point out.

He considers this, rocking his head from side to side.

"Is it weird that I'm nervous?" He admits, eyes flitting from yours towards his duvet.

"No, it's not weird, baby," your nails graze his jawline, he still won't look at you. "Your emotions are never weird. Let's talk about it, though.""

"You're sweet, y'know that?" He grumbles, eyes finally finding yours again.

You smile at what greets you, his wide, vulnerable eyes, parted lips and rosy cheeks. The perfect picture of the frazzled doctor you'd fallen in love with. Though you were concussed and freezing, he was pretty from minute one.

"I don't know, I just want today to be perfect. Want you to be happy," he grumbles, raking his fingertips up and down your arm. "

His touch erupts a trail of goosebumps in its wake, his words freeing reckless butterflies in your tummy.

"It'll be amazing," you promise, a small smile on your face. "We'll make it amazing, just by being us."

You place a palm on his belly, jiggling the loose skin there. He chuckles, low and self deprecating. You kiss his neck, soft little pecks that leave him shivering.

"Jack keeps teasing me," he grumbles, "telling me I'm 'down bad'?" The unfamiliar lingo scooping up at the end.

You throw your head back and cackle, squeezing his forearm in your fingertips.

"Well, picture yourself a year ago. Did you ever think you'd be hosting a housewarming barbecue with a girl who just moved into your place?" You poise, and he shakes the question around in his head.

"No," he admits, you both knowing full well where he was a year ago. You're coming up on the Fourth of July, nearly a year since his sabbatical, a year since you'd first met. "I honestly didn't know where I'd end up."

The implication of his words weigh heavy between you, his fingers fiddling with yours. Your fateful E.R. trip happened to fall on the day before Robby's sabbatical started, the start of your relationship blooming in his newfound free time.

"I'm proud of you," you mutter, and this seems to do the trick.

He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. He then releases you from his grip, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

You train your gaze along the expanse of his back, counting all the freckles you've traced along the skin.

His joints crack as he stands, a soft groan falling from him as he stretches his back, chest puffing out.

He turns back to you, face softening at your pout.

"Ooh, what is it, angel?" He coos, and you snuggle deeper into the sheets.

"Missing you," you mutter, and he tsks.

"Dramatic girl," he tuts, maneuvering around your newly shared room, throwing an old shirt over his head. "Want some coffee, baby?"

You nod, your gaze following him around the space. Robby in the mornings is a sight you're gleefully getting used to.

"Vanilla?" He asks, trailing his fingertips along the edge of your bed, waiting for your confirmation.

You grumble a soft 'yes', before your eyes start to drift closed. He taps your butt, a reminder to stay awake, before exiting to the kitchen.

The strong aroma of coffee beans fill your shared space, wafting in from the other room. The soft hint of vanilla is nearly Pavlovian. alerting your senses before any caffeine has actually entered your bloodstream.

It's not long until Robby comes back, a forest green mug in his left hand, a soft pink one in his right. You gratefully accept, sitting up and giving him your prettiest 'thank you' eyes.

He smiles, reaching down to give you another kiss.

It's sweet domesticity for the next hour, sitting between his legs, his free hand in your hair as you aimlessly talk. It's your first morning together as roommates. and you wouldn't be mad if all your mornings got to look like this.

He's true to his word, though, and at 8 o'clock, he promptly slips out of your grasp.

"Mmph!" You groan, flopping back onto the pillows. "Come baack!" You whine.

"Flattery gets you nowhere, love," he calls, teasing from the walk in closet.

"Agree to disagree," you respond, though all your gusto is promptly knocked out of you at the sight of him.

The buttery athletic shorts you got him for his birthday cling and flow around him, and he's pulling an old band tee over his head as he walks out of the closet.

Your jaw drops slightly, not used to seeing him like this. He's scruffy, hair and beard mussy and untouched.

"What…?" He asks, slowing down at the door.

"Just pretty," you respond, snuggling into his pillow. "Love you."

He melts at this, leaning over to press a kiss to your lips.

"Love you too, my angel girl. I'll be back, okay? Rest up," he mutters, and then he's out the door.

You're out of bed before he comes back, denim shorts hugging your hips and thighs, a red tank top to match.

It's his turn to stop when he comes back, balancing a large sheet cake in his big hands. You turn at the waist to see him, arching your back at an angle you know drives him crazy.

The company is hours away from arriving, so why not start your teasing early?

"Hi honey! Have any luck with the extras?" You chirp, walking over to help him set the cake on your kitchen island.

Your heart warms at the red writing that spans across the white icing— "Our First Housewarming."

You smile, looking up at him through now damp lashes.

"You anticipate on having more housewarmings together?" You tease, sipping your third mug of coffee and not really expecting much of an answer.

"Of course," he says. It's nonchalant, like he doesn't have a care in the world. "We're gonna want to get a bigger house when we're ready to have kids, no?"

You choke, the caffeinated liquid sputtering from your lips. Turning away in an attempt to preserve the cake, you bend over and allow your cough to rack your body.

"Woah! You good there, angel?" He asks, rubbing soothing circles over your back. "Don't wanna have kids with me, eh?" He teases, and your heart hurts at his self--deprecation.

"You know that's not it, baby," you quip back, taking deep breaths to settle yourself. "Just surprised me, is all."

"Okay, honey," he mutters, his touch never leaving your body.

You turn to him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a sweet hug. His hands find your waist, greedily running against the skin peeking out between your top and your shorts.

"We'll have kids one day, for sure," you say into his neck. He squeezes your waist at your words, and you smile. "Let's just get through this first housewarming though, okay?"

You pull your head back and he nods, pecking you on the lips.

"Let's get set up baby," he quips, pinching your side before moving around you. "Get your suit on, gonna be a hot one."

You smile at his obvious attempt to see you in your bikini all day. Regardless, you oblige. Flitting to your room, you wiggle on the new red and white polka dot bikini he surprised you with last night.

It's a scorching day, the early July heat relentless. You can tell by the way the sun beats down out the window, illuminating the backyard deck, the pool glimmering a quenching blue.

You do a 360 in the full length mirror, twisting and turning your body for the best angles. You pinch and squeeze at the extra skin of your sides, the pudge of your tummy.

You're unsure, but if Robby thinks you're beautiful, that's all that matters for today.

You grab a matching sarong, sliding it on for a bit more coverage. This helps your feelings of uncertainty, turning to find Robby leaning against the doorframe.

"Oh, gosh!" You squeal in surprise. "How long have you been there?"

He shrugs, walking closer to you.

"Since you pulled the bottoms over your cute ass," he replies, hands immediately finding your ass beneath the thin fabric.

Heat blooms in your stomach as you fall into him, groaning into the great expanse of his chest.

"Don't do this to me right now, the backyard isn't even close to being ready," you mumble, and he gives you a teasing squeeze.

"Go ahead, baby," he starts, the point of his nose pressed against your temple. "I have it all set up for you, just need to put it all out."

A wave of gratitude washes over you, your relief a sigh escaping your chest.

"Thank you, bub," you reply. "Don't know how I got so lucky."

You look back up at him for this, making sure the words really sink in. He just nods, his own little confirmation. You squeeze his hands in yours before you make your way to the yard.

He's right, and you're taken aback. Various pool floats lay there, already blown up in full. Tablecloth packages line the bar, as well as multiple soda, seltzer, and beer packages resting against the drink fridge, the extra coolers he bought 'just in case'.

Half the work you thought you had to do is now slashed in half, thanks to the big teddy bear currently preparing the world's largest charcuterie behind the sliding glass door.

You smile, and get to work.

The pool floats go in first, as this is your favorite part. It's the best thing to see— reds and pinks and white littering the blue water. You stare down to the bottom, at the crystal blue paint lining the bottom.

One day you'll convince Robby to paint it pink. But for now, you decide it's time to set up the patio furniture. Unwrapping the tablecloths, you lay them out, moving to the endless Dollar Tree bags, full of different table toppers and themed plastic cups.

Your heart swells at the thought of Robby, glasses on, brows furrowed, wandering aimlessly through your local dollar store, plopping anything red, white, and blue into the cart.

There's a whole separate bag of pink decorations, too. Something that most definitely can be attributed to his desire to please you.

You smile, eyes nearly tearing up when the glass door slides open. Darting your head up, you give him a sweet smile. He revels in this, maneuvering quietly past you to grab a Dr. Pepper from one of the coolers.

"Ah! Dr. Robinavitch!" You scold, swatting his backside as he's bent over.

He doesn't even react anymore, your affinity for his ass the exact opposite of a secret. He does respond to the title, though, whipping around to face you.

His brows are wild, eyes bugging out.

"I'm sorry…WHO?" He demands, cracking open the can with one hand.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip at this, the reminder of how large his hands are not doing you any favors.

"Is that not your name?" You play into his attitude, swaying your hips as you walk towards the bar.

Popping behind it, you grab a Diet Coke for yourself. You hold it out for him, knowing he'll help you open it. Neither of you want you to break a nail.

He copies his previous motion in the other hand, your tongue now darting out to lick your lips.

"Thanks, Mikey," you murmur, and he eases at that.

"Good girl," he whispers, nose to your temple once more, before going back into the house.

It's scary how well you guys work around each other, the way you seamlessly fit into Robby's life, his space. Your heart pounds as you watch him through the door, the relentless beat of something very real echoing in your ears.

The mid morning flits past, full of you darting around every inch of the yard, stretching streamers over the wooden fence, topping each table with a cute summery centerpiece.

It's jarring how quickly you've felt at home in Robby's place, the little adjusting you've had to do. While this might change over time, you've surprised yourself today, at how perfectly you've blended in with the hosting duties.

They're split pretty evenly between the two of you, you assuming most of the decor, Robby the food. You were worried about throwing such a lavish party the day after your move, but you haven't really had to lift a finger throughout this whole process.

You recall the weeks beforehand, spent curled up next to Robby while he looked over expenses, the best places to find hot dogs and hamburgers in bulk, the cutest decorations. You got to have most of the say there, thankfully.

The one thought that persists. is how badly you want to do this again. How badly you want to merge your friends and his friends, how badly you want to work parallel to each other, to promote this place as your own.

Squinting your eyes, you walk inside, adjusting to the indoor lighting. Your vision focuses on the large man in the kitchen, cutting up watermelon and defrosting the meat.

You walk around him to the cupboards, reaching up to get pitchers for your drinks. Piling the glass with various fruits, you bump hips with him before heading back outside.

You feel his eyes on you as you walk past, blowing him a kiss over your shoulder before sliding the door shut with your foot.

A lot of juicing, blending, and mixing later, you're tucking different concoctions into the outdoor fridge. Colorful mocktails resting alongside the alcoholic beverages, and you only close the door once you're satisfied with your work.

Looking at your phone, your heart drops at the time that appears.

By the time you run through the kitchen, wash your face, and dab it with a little bit of makeup, you hear Robby welcoming in the first guests.

He'd changed in the meantime, a half buttoned linen shirt flowing over swim shorts. You have to bite your lip to hold back the moan, and approach the group that's gathered at the stoop.

It's so easy being on his arm, smiling and welcoming in your loved ones. Hospital people you recognize begin to float in, the first staggered members of the Pitt making their appearance.

A quick hour of introductions and cracked beer cans rolls by, and soon enough, the sun has warmed you inside out, a soft bead of sweat picking at your brow.

The clack of your kitten heels echo around the deck as you flit from guest to guest, refilling drinks and pointing in the direction of the bathroom.

Robby's done a pleasant job at keeping your own glass filled, as well. Over the course of your relationship, he's mastered the art of keeping you perfectly tipsy, without over-serving.

You feel these effects ever so slightly, a pleasant buzz ringing in your ears, as you float around the party.

You're eventually corralled into a break by some of your girlfriends, who have, undoubtedly, linked up with Trinity, Dennis, and Victoria. While this combination can only spell trouble, you're eager to slide off your sandals for just a moment.

You sink into the couch decorating the patio, legs hanging over its arm. The new position allows your shoes to dangle, falling to the concrete with a soft 'thud'.

A certain flick, hiss, fills your ears, and your head turns to find Robby, twisting the knobs of your grill, a pile of raw burgers and hot dogs stacked a mile high.

You pause for a moment to take in the sight. He's in his same outfit from earlier, his tummy on full display, though now it's partially covered with a 'Kiss The Cook' apron— a gag gift from Jack.

Your heart flutters in your chest at the domesticity, the ease with which he mans the open flame, dropping searing meat onto the charred racks. It's so masculine, in that old fashioned way Robby is, heat blooming warm within your belly.

A group of doctors soon fill your line of vision, and you allow yourself a few more minutes of reprieve until you snap back into host mode. You silently analyze the bunch, attributing the sharp cheekbones and defined muscles to…orthopedics, you're pretty sure.

There's one in particular-- a significantly large man with huge arms crossed over his chest, eyeing you like prey. A nervous thread stitches itself in your chest, unraveling the longer he leers.

"Oh, God," you hear Trinity groan, and you turn to look at her, brows knit in confusion.

"What?" You ask, tongue darting out to wrap around your straw, slurping the fruity, slushy drink Robby had made you moments before.

The three Pittlings all exchange a look, and you sit up, heart beating in your chest.

"Park the Shark's got his eye on you," Dennis supplements, and the gears turn in your hazy mind. "He's harmless, but he's most definitely going to try and flirt with you."

From the other side of the couch, your friends sit up at this news, heavily tuned in to this new development. You roll your eyes at them, and they can only shrug, in a way that says, 'can you blame me?'

Unfortunately, you can't.

"That's harmless?" You poise, and they exchange understanding looks. "Does he not know who I am?" Normally, you'd feel embarrassed for asking such a selfish question, but it's your party, dammit.

"It really doesn't matter either way," Victoria mutters, lips twisted in an awkward purse. "He will still try. He's relentless."

"And you look bomb as fuck," Trinity adds, and your cheeks heat up, reveling in the complimentary agreements from the other people there.

"That's true!" your best friend, Susie, chimes in. "Your old man's gonna hate that, though," she adds, nodding to Park.

You twist your lips, his eyes still glued to you. Swinging your legs over the couch, you decide to take the bait. Swinging your hips, you approach the group. Features lighting up, a smooth 'hi!' spills from your lips.

"How are you all?" You're diplomatic, a sweet smile painting your lips, shaking hands and making eye contact. "Do any of you need anything? Everybody have something to drink?"

You look at each of their cups, confirming your question before their pleasantries float around, reassurance in each syllable.

"I mean, I could be better," a smooth, low voice drawls. "You available?" This elicits an eye roll from the rest of the crew, some scoffs echoing out.

"You're digging yourself a deep hole, Park," mutters one of them, who you're pretty sure is Garcia, if the way Trinity was gazing at her was any indication.

You play ignorant, smiling and nodding, though your fingers grip your cup even tighter.

"How could I not?" He smirks to his colleague, lifting a hand up as if to say, 'what else am I expected to do?'

"You know, one day, Park, you're going to make some lucky girl very uncomfortable," you smile, "but it's not me."

He pouts at this, and you can't help but roll your eyes. The others around you begin to disperse, and you very quickly regret your actions. The bravado that got you on your feet moments earlier is dwindling by the second, cowering under his heavy gaze.

"That's not fair," he murmurs, taking a step closer. "You don't even know me."

"I don't know if I want to, given that relationship status is suggestive for you," you cross your arms over your chest, immediately regretting the way it pushes up your boobs.

Park's eyes immediately flit there, and you drop your arms. He pouts again, but still, doesn't tear his gaze away.

"If I was in a relationship with you, I'd never stray, beautiful," he croons, his attempt to be smooth nearly making you gag.

The gazes of your friends burn into your back, and you know they're hanging on to every word. You think you even hear a 'gross!' from Trinity.

"You know, I have to admire how openly you're flirting with the host of this party, who's actively living with your colleague," you remark, and one of them sputters on their drink.

Park cocks a brow at this, and your tummy rumbles with anxiety. The gleam in his eye lodges itself under your skin, making a home there. Robby's never looked at you this way, thank God.

"Well, I'm always open for a challenge," he sidles up closer to you, completely ignoring the others surrounding you. "Never really understood what you were doing with Robinavitch. anyway. Too pretty for that sad sack."

Stomach curdling with disgust, you offer him your best tight lipped, irritated smile.

"I'm not a challenge, I'm a person," you quip. "A person who is never going to sleep with you. Don't hold your breath."

"Hm, i might," he hums, "only if you're into it," he smirks, before walking away.

Your gaze follows him, watching him traipse through the party like he pays rent. Your heart pounds as he makes his way closer to the grill, clapping Robby on the back before leaning in to whisper something.

Robby's eyes find yours, his face falling the more he talks. Confusion and anxiety a perfect storm raging your insides. It feels as if a grater is running through your stomach, shredding until you're nothing left but scraps.

Your fears are confirmed when he finds Jack, handing him the apron and tongs, running inside. Tears sting the back of your eyes, and you dart your gaze back to the group of your friends.

Their faces mirror your emotions almost exactly, wide eyes, raised brows, and slacked jaws. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and you nearly trip over yourself on your way into the house.

It's a sad attempt to maintain your smile as you greet the partygoers floating in and out of the house. There's not many, just people using the bathroom or refilling waters.

You hastily make your way to the other side of the house, the voices of the party-goers fading into the background. Heart pounding in your ears, you find the bedroom door cracked.

Inside you find Robby, tucked away in the en suite bathroom. He's planted in front of the mirror, left hand propped on his hip, right smoothing down his neck.

You instantly recognize this regulation tactic, one you've frequently seen him use in your time with him. Heart breaking, you push the door the rest of the way open.

The creak catches his attention, and his head snaps toward you. He relaxes only slightly when he realizes it's you, but shame soon takes over. Turning to you, he wraps himself in his open shirt.

You don't let him get very far, meeting him where he's at and stopping his arms from moving.

"Hey," you whisper, mouth ghosting his. "You know I wasn't giving into him, right?"

He nods, though he's avoiding eye contact.

"Yeah, 'f course, not that I was worried about," he grumbles, and you tilt your head.

"What are you worried about, then, my love?" You smooth your hands up and down his forearms, reveling in his little shiver.

"Worried that maybe he's right," he responds, face fully parallel to the ground now. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, hands covering his reddening face.

Tucking a finger under his chin, you pull until he's looking at you. Upon seeing his face, you almost regret it.

His eyes are big and shiny, droopy in a way they only get when he's truly heartbroken. He's biting his lip to stop him from trembling, and his cheeks are rosy.

You can't help but cup them, running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Giving him a sweet pout, you ask, "what's wrong, hm? What did he say to you, angel?"

He tries to look down, you only grip him firmer. He lets out a huffy exhale, as if he's annoyed— which, to be fair, he probably is. You simply don't care, his well-being is more important than his intense dislike for talking about his feelings.

"C'mon," you whisper, sinking into him. Looping your arms around his neck, you smile when he grips your waist. "Talk to me, Mikey."

He sighs, and you know the name got him. He has never been able to resist the way you purr the nickname, one he hadn't been called since early childhood. You feel a twinge of guilt for playing so dirty, though you justify it for your cause.

"Said he could tell you were thinking about his offer," he starts, an your blood is instantly on fire. "That I need to satisfy you more. That I must not be doing a good job if his girl is willingly approaching him."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You scoff, rearing your head back. "Baby, I need you to know that when I first approached him, he was in a group. He'd been staring me down for like, ten minutes, and I thought I could polite my way out of it," you roll your eyes at what looks, in hindsight, like a confirmation of his stares.

"I'm so sorry, honey," you kiss his cheek. "I should've ignored him, should've listened to my gut," you kiss his other cheek. "How are you feeling about that?"

This is a newer question for the two of you, as you find it yields better answers from him than 'how are you doing?' Robby proves your point, another sigh accompanying what he says next.

"Ashamed," is the first word, and he's successful in this attempt to avoid your eyes. You pout, but let him continue. "Embarrassed, disgusting," he continues, and you're not sure how much more of this your poor heart can take. "Like you'd maybe be happier with someone like him."

This breaks you, and you pull him into a sweet hug. He clings to you, his head resting on your bicep as he desperately quells the cries that shake his body. Dotting kisses along his head, you scrape your nails down the back of his neck.

He lets out another sob at that, though you can tell it's from the relief you're providing. This eases your heart, but only slightly.

"I love you, Mikey. Yeah?" You're desperate in your search of his confirmation. Enclosing his cheeks once more, your hands pull him back to you, heart clutching as the streaks rolling down his face.

He nods, and you lean down to kiss his lips.

"I don't know why," he whispers, lips ghosting yours. "I don't know what I've done for you to love me, I don't get it."

Your heart clutches, and you plop yourself on his lap. You revel in the newfound closeness, pulling him to you as you straddle him. He backs up on the bed so you can have some more stability, a large hand splaying over the small of your back.

Dysregulation be damned, he waits to continue until you're settled back on him, fully bracketed in his arms. He clings to you for dear life, the point of his nose resting on your temple.

"You protect me," you tell him, "even when your brain is being mean to you." You tap two gentle fingers onto his temple. "You made sure I was nice and safe and cozy, even when I know what you're telling yourself right now."

You don't want to go to deep into that thought spiral, afraid you'll be the one to start crying. Though, you do always have a pretty solid guess of the thoughts swirling around his mind in times like these.

You'd dealt with it yourself, feelings of self hatred so deep it feels like you want to rip your skin apart. It's partially why you connect so well with Robby— buried, past traumas blooming into the bouquet of your relationship.

The first hand understanding of these moments has benefited your relationship multiple times, for both parties. It's not work when it's him, helping him heal his heart has never once felt like work.

"You…open my doors," you plant a kiss on his forehead, eyes trailing over every inch of his pretty face. "Pull out my chairs," kiss to his cheek, "pay for my food," kiss to his other cheek, "you cherish me, baby."

You punctuate this with a sweet kiss to his nose, but, to his everlasting dismay, you're not done.

"You have a good heart," your lips ghost over his, your voice dropping to a whisper. "A good soul," you peck his lips. "I see you, Michael. I know who you are, I know what I've gotten myself into."

Tears are flowing down his cheeks once more, though this time it's a silent stream, not a violent river. He nods, taking in your words. His hands smooth up and down his favorite spot— the small of your back, over the curve of your ass, rest for a moment at the tops of your thighs, rinse, repeat.

"You take care of me," you mutter, giving him another peck, then another. "You make me feel seen, heard, loved," another kiss. "Just by being you, y'hear me?"

He nods.

"Good," you coo.

His lips smash onto yours without another moment's notice.

The two of you positively melt into each other, his teeth nearly gnashing against yours at the intensity. The Robby-induced haze is immediate, going dizzy for his lips, the way they trail down your cheek, your neck.

You give your hips a little rock, arching your back and letting out a little whine.

"I love you, Michael," you whisper, his hand traveling up your body, your waist.

He rests his head on the peak of your chest, looking up at you with wide, desperate eyes. His adjacent hand creeps up to cup you through your bikini top. He gives you a light squeeze, and you squeal in delight.

"I don't think I can say enough times how beautiful you look, honey," he mutters, lips pursing, nearly slotting onto your skin below him. "So fucking insane, you're fucking insane."

He punctuates his compliments with a deep roll of his hips, his hard length evident in his swim shorts. You kiss the apples of his cheeks, the scruff peppering his jaw, dragging your lips over the Adam's apple in his neck.

"I could say the same thing to you," you respond, smoothing your hands over his still exposed tummy. "Love this belly so much, baby, you don't even know."

Tears spring to his eyes once more, the heels of his own hands catching them before they fall this time.

"Fffuucck!" He growls, a sardonic laugh following. "Y'gotta stop making me cry, princess. Can't take it," he wraps an arm around you, flipping you over so your back is on the bed.

"Michael!" You squeal, bouncing a little from the impact. You don't miss the way he pauses to watch your body adjust to the new position. He then crawls between your legs, eyes on you the entire way there.

"Wait, baby, wait," you sit up on your elbows to get a better look at him. "I wanna get you off first, please?"

"Fffuuuccckkk," he exhales, his forehead pressing against the bed. "Never thought I'd say no to your begging, baby," he presses a kiss to your tummy before untying your pretty skirt.

"Guess there's a first time for everything," he ponders, sliding your bikini bottoms down next. "Especially when my other option is to eat this pretty pussy," he presses a kiss to your clit, and you jump. "I love your mouth, but there's nothing I want more right now than to be the one to make you cum, please?"

You can't help but nod, his mouth immediately attaching to you. The kisses and licks he provides are messy, desperate, a strangled noise wrestling from his throat at your taste.

"Always so fucking sweet," he pulls away a tad, a glob of spit falling from his lips.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as it drops on your clit, rolling down your slit, your ass, onto the bed. His gaze follows the journey, jaw going slack, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Your breath hitches, biting back a moan as he gets back to work. The hand that's not holding your legs open slides up your tummy, fingertips tugging on the string tying together your bikini top

With a swift tug, the bow comes undone, the nylon falling to reveal your tits. They bounce slightly at the release, and he whines into his meal. The vibrations make your skin prickle, a whine falling from your lips.

"So perfect, baby," his large hand grabs as much of both tits as he can, his long fingers stretching as far as they'll allow.

He gives them a rough squeeze, letting them go with a loving slap. You whine at that, too.

"Such a whiny girl today," he murmurs into you, and you nod, legs shaking around his shoulders. "Have I not paid enough attention to you baby?" He asks. It's soft, a sweet question that has you keening. You nod, chest heaving with deep breaths.

"'m sorry, honey, that's so mean of me," he's so genuine, it makes your heart ache. "No wonder you went lookin' for Park, this pussy needed some attention, yeah?"

You swallow hard at his words, belly blooming with a bright heat. You wiggle your core against him, catching his nose on your clit.

"But it's only for me, though, right?" He asks, and you nod. "Nuh-uh," he gives your inner thigh a little pinch, a little kiss. "Tell me. Tell me you need me to make you cum, tell me it's only going to be me."

"Fuck!" You squeal, grinding harder onto his face. "It's only you, Michael," you scrape your nails against his scalp, eliciting a whine into your sopping cunt.

"You're the only one I want like this, the only arm I want to be on, the only man I've ever loved," this confession pushes you over the edge, a white hot sensation rolling over you like an electric shock.

"Fuuuccckkk," he groans into you, tongue never leaving your clit. "Love this pussy so much, c'mon, know you got more…"

A fresh wave hits you, your body going tense at the extra stimulation. Pleasure is all around you as you come down, a sudden sharp sensitivity popping the bubble once it all becomes too much.

You push his head out from between your thighs, and he crawls up your body. Resting his forehead on yours, you run a thumb along his glistening bottom lip.

Bringing it to your mouth, you suck it in, down to your knuckle. Letting it go with a 'pop!', you rest the pad of your thumb on your lips, giving your upper lip the perfect pouty push.

He caves at the sight, and you use his vulnerability to maneuver his body, climbing off the bed and sinking down to your knees on the floor. You beckon him, and he sits up, wiggling his hips until his feet are planted around you on the ground.

You smile up at him, at home between his thick, muscly thighs.

"You should know better than to try and deprive me of your dick in my mouth," you purr, wrapping your fingers around his length.

Tongue lolling out of your mouth, you tap his head against it, his pre-cum sticking to the muscle. The salty taste is immediate on your buds, and you swallow it down greedily.

It's not enough, of course it's not enough. Your lips part in a pretty 'o', closing around his mushroom head. He cries out, head falling back onto the pillows.

Hollowing you cheeks, you take him in deeper, and you hear his breath stutter.

"Oh," he starts, sinking his hands into your hair, "my fucking God."

He punctuates his cry with a tug, the ache in your scalp eliciting a whine. He massages the same spot in a sweet sorry, puling you off his length.

A string of spit connects your mouth to his head, and you go dizzy at the sight. You pout, missing the weight of him on your tongue. He smiles, pinching your cheek, giving it a soft pat.

"Sorry, angel," he starts. "I was gonna come, need to be inside you for that."

Your cheeks heat at this, climbing back onto the bed, reminiscent of the position you'd first started in. He scoots the both of you back to the pillows, slipping his red, angry length into your pussy without warning.

Your breath catches as his head breaches your entrance, the initial split taking the air from your lungs. Robby's gasping, barely getting a breath in as he fully sinks in his tip.

Your pussy swallows him up, tight and eager. Sinking down further, you start to create a rhythm, wiggling your hips, bouncing, just a little, to see what feels good.

With a certain swivel, the hook of his cock reaches a specific spot inside that has you lurching into him. He catches you, the sudden movement shoving him further inside you.

"Ffuuucckkk," you whisper, allowing yourself to seat yourself fully. "God, fuck," you throw your head back, pressing your hand into his knee. "You feel so good," you use the leverage to move your hips, circling his cock.

"Motherfucker," he groans, "so good to me, you're so good to me, baby."

Raising up on your knees, you lift slowly off him, to sink all the way back down again. You begin to bounce, your breasts moving in time with your thrusts.

His expression is cartoonish— wide and dazed, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Your thigh muscles work as you bounce, his cock pistoning deep inside you.

"Don't know what I did to deserve you," he mutters, almost lost in thought. His free hand cups your breast, thumb running over your nipple. "So fucking beautiful, so fucking perfect…happily bouncing on 50 year old dick, yeah?"

Your cheeks burn at his words, a shameful nod rocking your head.

"Yeah, 's what I thought," his thumb picks up speed on your nub. "My girl doesn't need someone younger, doesn't need fucking Park," he growls that last part, and you press a quick kiss to his lips. "Needs me, hm?"

You nod, nose brushing against his.

"Yeah," you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Need your cock, honey," your smile is sweet, despite the depravity of your words. The juxtaposition makes him groan. "It's so big, so fucking deep inside me, fuck!"

You pick up speed, bouncing at a rate your thighs will come to regret tomorrow. Robby's head falls back, mouth parted in an 'O'.

"Fuck," he groans, his thumb finding your clit. "Tight little pussy is gonna make me cum, honey," he squeezes his eyes shut, a loose tear rolling down his cheek. "Fuck, thank you for making me feel so good, honey, thank you."

Bending over, you lick up the tear, kissing the dampness that's dotting his crow's feet. It's not long until the coil in your belly tightens once more, his thumb unrelenting on your button.

"Feels so good, gonna cum too, wanna cum together, please," you beg, feeling drunk off the intense thrusting.

Your blood is buzzing as you fall over the edge once again. This one is more overwhelming, more explosive as you tighten, squeeze around Robby in a way that has him finishing, too.

You feel him twitch, the relief of his own orgasm softening his cock. He nestles deep inside as you both come down, his thighs against your ass as you snuggle into each other.

Deep breaths rock the two of you, bodies moving with each heave. Pressing your forehead against his, you take a big gulp of air before you say, "I love you."

You press a kiss to his lips, and keep talking.

"I never want you to compare yourself to anyone, let alone Park," you spit the name out like it tastes bad. "I love you just the way you are, m'kay?"

He rolls his eyes, but you pinch the skin of his bicep.

"Hey! It's cliche, but it's true. Bruno Mars wrote that song for a reason," this gets him to smile, and you pinch his cheek.

"I hate to break it to you, old man, but we do have a party to get back to," you say, and his face falls at the reminder.

"Damn, do you think anyone noticed we were gone?" He asks, finger tips running up and down your arms.

"Probably," you smirk, lifting your hips off of his.

You both whine at the loss of each other, swinging your leg over his lap so you can make your way to the bathroom. He follows, holding your hand while you pee, a tradition born from your post-sex sensitivity.

He lets you finish your business on your own, but makes sure to pat you down with a wet wash cloth before re-tying your bottoms, your skirt. He situates your top for you, too, placing a kiss to the parts of your breasts that peek out of your swimsuit.

You're fixing your hair when you walk back outside, knees fluid, cheeks aflame, a huge smile on your face. Your friends are right where you left them, a knowing smile on each of their faces as they take in your rumpled form.

Susie slides you a fresh glass, a margarita, and you gratefully accept. Hiding your face with the large, plastic cup, you avert your gaze from your friends.

You find Robby, sheepish as he accepts his apron and tongs back from Jack. From across the deck, you hear him say,

you were joels wife and you were super hot headed, you could snap at absolutely any moment without a warning. you loved joel alot but sometimes the shit he does pissed you off which causes you to lash out on the poor guy, Your fists pounded uselessly against his broad chest, each hit weaker than the last. The sound echoed through the room, but he barely budged. Your breathing came in ragged gasps, your throat raw from screaming, tears blurring your vision until all you could make out was the outline of him standing there. Joel didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t flinch or shove you away. His jaw was tight, his brows drawn together as he watched you wear yourself out. There was something almost patient in his expression, like he knew this wasn’t really about the insults you were throwing at him. "Y’done?” he asked quietly, his deep voice cutting through the chaos. You only hit him again in response. That was when he sighed, reached forward, and gently caught both of your wrists before another punch could land. His grip was firm enough to stop you, but careful—never enough to hurt.

“What the fuck are you doing, Joel? Let me go!” you snapped, trying to pull your arms away from his grip. Your anger was still burning hot, your chest rising and falling with every harsh breath. You had so much to say, so many things you wanted him to understand, but the frustration was coming out louder than the words themselves. Joel didn’t yell back. He just stood there, then he wrapped his arms around your waist, watching you with that same steady look he always had. It only made you more irritated.

“Are you even listening to me?” you demanded, your voice cracking slightly. “Do you ever actually listen to what I’m saying, or do you just stand there acting like nothing bothers you?” For a moment, the room went quiet. Joel’s expression softened as he started peppering kisses on your jaw and your neck. "babydoll calm down girl. all tensed up and shit." you looked up at him with frustration and anger. "did you even hear half of what i said you moron!? i hate you so much you dont even listen to-" joel pecked your lips, cutting you off abruptly. "why did you marry me then hm?" your words died in your throat as you let out a little weak grunt. he continued his kissing and pecking