Bri

WWE SmackDown - June 12th, 2026

WWE SmackDown - June 12th, 2026

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pairing: jey uso/black!fem reader, (slight roman reigns/black!fem reader)

word count: 11k+ (i need help.)

warnings: smut!!!!! MDNI. (kids, go color or blow bubbles) infidelity like a mf. homie-hopping or rather…cousin-hopping. period sex (sorry if that’s not your thing!)

description: jey comes to your aide in a time of need, being the only one possessing the knowledge to soothe you properly…

this is PART TWO to the roman-centric fic i posted a week ago. very much advise you to read that first, if you haven’t! 🫡

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Yo, this lil’ attitude of yours needs to be fixed.”

The words spark an inkling of anxiety deep in your gut, eyes flying wide open, caught. Roman stands across from you in the open parking garage of tonight’s arena, thick arms folded over his chest as he stares down at you. He brought you out here to talk but you didn’t think he’d call you out like this.

Warily, you scan the area for any passersby or eavesdroppers, when you find none, only then do you level Roman with a raised brow. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, eyes rolling just a tad. “Baby, you been huffing and puffing all day…and the day before that…and the day before that. Somethin’ you gotta tell me, is there somethin’ wrong?”

His tone is warm and kind, yet somehow the words land poorly with you. There was nothing wrong. Why would something ever be wrong?

Roman senses your agitation immediately, broad shoulders tensing up like he was sizing up Brock Lesnar rather than his loving girlfriend. The relationship is still fresh, and though you’ve known him for so long, it dawns on him that he’s never seen you in a mood before. But as of late, it’s like all you’re ever in is a mood. A stank ass mood. One he’s growing weary of.

This needs to be handled, now.

“What makes you say that, Roman?” It’s your turn to cross your arms over your chest, hip cocked as you narrow your eyes up at him. “Ain’t no huffing and puffing over here, baby.”

But there has been. Everywhere he turns, there you are, face screwed up in frustration. Whether it’s stomping around his expansive house or slamming the car door shut before he even can get to the passenger side and customarily open it for you. And don’t let it be that damned phone.

He wonders just what it is you’re seeing on there that gets you so worked up—the amount of times he’s caught you unlocking it, seeing whatever it is that pissed you off, and then quite literally launching it elsewhere is one time too many for him to continue letting this slide.

He tried to be good about it, wanting to trust you to tell him what’s been grating at you lately but you never confide in him. Just walk around with a black cloud looming over where the usual halo is. His precious girl is not only upset but she’s withholding.

And shit like that just doesn’t sit well with men like Roman.

“Is it me, baby?” He continues to implore, brown eyes wide versus the slits you’re glaring at him through. If it is him, somehow, he’s willing to almost grovel just to get you back to where you’re your usual happy, smiling self. When’s the last time you laughed? What a sobering thought to have, even more to struggle to come up with an answer. “Did I do somethin’—what I do?”

But the kind tone only seems to further aggravate you, wild curls flying to and fro as you shake your head, muttering under your breath while your gaze travels in the distance. There are bags under your eyes, beneath the concealer meant to hide them. He’s clocked the way your frame looks slimmer, too—a result of the pushed away plates and half-eaten snacks he manages to coax you into trying. You’re still beautiful as ever, but you look off.

Something is off.

“Look, Joe,” and this is another warning bell in the back of his head—you rarely call him by his government name; only baby or Roman or Ro or a playful Daddy, even, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? You didn’t do anything. I’m good.”

And, yeah, Roman doesn’t believe he’s the culprit for your poor mood but, still, he feels responsible. You’re his. He’s to be held accountable for anything involving you.

“Okay, so it’s not me—but it is something. Don’t you think I know you enough by now, huh? You’re not good.” And this lands. He sees it in the way you flinch at the word. How your eyes water within a second. “Baby, c’mon,” he pleads further, sounding less of a champion and more like a man who’s pained by his partner’s pain. “I can’t work until I know what’s going on with you.”

A long pause rises and stretches between you two. One that’s filled with the sound of turning wheels and squeaking tires. Absent-mindedly, Roman’s eyes drift over to the entrance of the parking garage to see a tour bus rolling through for the night. And on the side of that bus? None other than the grinning face of his cousin, blown up and displayed like a billboard.

His gaze darts back to your face, how you clocked the bus the same time he did. And then it all starts to make sense, especially with how your face crumples in such a startling show of grief before you quickly school your pretty features back into nothing. Though your eyes are just about to spill over now, the sickly overhead lighting making the unshed tears appear like diamonds rather than anguish.

Roman’s chest feels tight. “Baby, is th—”

“You know what? You’re right, Roman. I’m not good. I’m fuckin’ awful.” And he knows you’re not talking about your feelings but rather yourself, as a person. “I’m going back inside now. I have to work, okay?”

And then you’re off, stomping away back inside the venue in those tall ass Loubotins he bought you just because. He could catch you, walk you down and make you admit to what you’re actually feeling. But he likes to think of himself as a gracious person. He don’t need to force you to say it. Everything you just did already has.

Had he not been so caught up with work, with getting The Bloodline back on top of the mountain, Roman probably would’ve easily caught on. And it makes his fucking stomach turn to know that his girl is worrying herself sick over another man. That she’s not eating, sleeping or even smiling because she’s so torn up about someone that’s not him.

You were mourning him. Jey.

Hard-headed ass Jey who didn’t even have the decency to meet your fucking eyes whenever you two even occupied the same room. Really? You were losing weight over a grown ass man who knew what it was and was hurt for no damn reason. Who took out his crybaby ass feelings on you by ignoring you, blocking you on everything, and acting as if y’all weren’t best friends for a fucking decade.

Roman slowly returns to the tour bus, to that wide smile and simmers.

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Little did Roman know you were also on your damn period and so miserable with the symptoms that the Jey problem only felt that much more burdensome.

In a dark corner backstage, there you are, doubled over at the waist in your pretty dress and high heels. Your cycle was always hell when it came around, only four times a year thanks to birth control, but brutal each quarter it came to visit. The last time you spent it most of it curled up under the covers, not at home but at…Jey’s home.

He knew better than most how badly you suffered and if he was available whenever you were on, it had been his personal mission to watch over you and do whatever he could to ease the pain and take your mind off the discomfort. He was so warm that last time, holding you close to him, bare-chested and strong, while you laid in his bed. It was his heartbeat that lulled you to sleep between the painful waves of cramping.

You didn’t have to lift a finger around him that week. He cooked every meal, cleaned every mess, provided every comfort. Hell, his presumptuous ass even went on to answer work calls for you, excusing your absence as professionally as possible.

You miss that. And you, being selfish and fucking careless, messed that all up.

You had been so angry at first—you couldn’t get in touch with him at all. He even went so far as to tell Trin and Jim and even fucking Solo not to bother telling him how you badly you needed to just talk to him. One thoughtless mistake of leaving your location on resulted in being completely iced out by the one person you never expected such treatment from.

He wasn’t supposed to do this to you. Did you mean nothing to him? Was it all a lie? You being his best girl? That he would always, always be there for you? Where was he now? Did he even care?

“Shit…” you hiss under your breath, hand flying to your lower stomach, crouching down to endure the rolling wave of pain.

Tears rush to your eyes, feeling so pathetic and low. You love being out in the ring but it’s the last thing you want to do tonight. At least the show is in Tampa tonight and you could gratefully just drive home rather than having to fly or get on a bus. Roman might feel put out but you were definitely going to your place after.

But, first, work.

Mustering all the strength you possess you manage to get to your feet. After steeling yourself with a few deep breaths, you stalk out of the shadows and into the usual chaos of a Monday night. Many familiar faces greet you during your walk, you’re stopped by the occasional hugger—Liv, Je’von, Becky—but carry on, eager to just get the work done.

You ponder stopping by Roman’s dressing room but think better of it, considering the earlier frustration. There’s still time to kill before showtime, so you wander towards catering, though you’re not really hungry. Almost instantly, you breathe out a sigh of relief to see Jim occupying a table further back.

No matter how his twin feels about you, Jim still loves you. And this you know by the wide grin that stretches his handsome face when he glances up at your approach. “Heyyy, girl! Come sit and keep me company—ain’t shit goin’ on right now.”

You ease down beside him in the chair he pulls out for you, trying not to wince at the newest cramp. But, perceptive as ever, Jim notices the uneasy pull at your mouth and asks through a mouthful of food, “you alright, sis?”

Not fucking really. “Yeah, I’m cool,” you lie, shooting an unimpressed look at his plate of random pickings before shrugging off the concern in his stare. “Just fuckin’ tired, uce,” you sigh heavily.

“Don’t I know it,” he says sympathetically before pushing his plate over at you. “Try that.”

You frown at the food before giving him a side-eye. “Not interested in your plate of whatever-the-fuck.”

Jim smacks his lips, so reminiscent of his brother that it pulls at your heart. “Man, girl, don’t act like you don’t see that brisket right there. And it’s smackin’ too! I’mma definitely give my compliments to the chef.”

You do love brisket… None are ever as good as your father’s but still. “It ain’t my daddy’s brisket, though.”

“Aye, no lie Pops be puttin’ his foot in it. That one Easter when he came down and threw down? I can still taste them greens...”

Your lips twitch at the memory. Inspired by the fact your family managed to find time to visit you for the holiday, you hosted an Easter get-together some years back. Your dad insisted on cooking some of his famous dishes, not wanting you to do all the work. Jey did a lot of the heavy-lifting that day, too. He and your dad hit off over the grill. Even now, your father always finds a way to mention Jey, holding the younger Uso in high-esteem.

Maybe that’s why you haven’t talked to him lately. Lord knows you’ve been avoiding his calls like the plague.

“Plus, you lookin’ skinny and shit these days,” Jim continues, breezing by your offended gasp. “Don’t wanna lose what your fine ass mama gave ya!”

“First of all, Jonathan,” you point a finger in his face, “stop callin’ my mama fine before I tell Trin on yo’ nasty ass. And, secondly, I am very much still thick, thank you for your concern.”

Jim picks up his fork, stabbing a piece of brisket that does actually look juicy and tender, before holding it out to you. “I don’t care if I gotta damn feed you like a baby. Bite it.”

You level a scathing look at him but Jim only continues to smile, waiting patiently for you to fold. “You so damn irritating, man,” you say after a while, leaning forward to bite off the fork. Admittedly it is good and Jim gives you a see? look as he watches you chew before picking up another piece and holding it out again. “Man, whatever,” you concede after another bite, shoving at his shoulder.

Out of the corner of Jim’s eye, a figure looms at the entrance of catering and he doesn’t even have to look to know who it is. But you’re unaware of this, allowing Jim to actually feed you—anything to take your mind off the nauseating cramps. The voyeur scowls at the sight of you and Jim, too close for their liking before turning around and leaving before you can even catch on.

“You doing good, uce,” Jim continues to encourage, pushing down the possible mess that could occur later on to focus on you. He sees you like a little sister and Roman didn’t even have to confide in him about the recent poor eating habits for him to notice the sort of gaunt look about you. He also knew instantly the cause of it and even if he couldn’t convicne Jey to just hear you out, the least he could do was make sure you didn’t fucking pass out at work. “Tasty, right?”

On your end, it is nice to be cared for in such a gentle manner. If you closed your eyes a little and pretended it was his twin instead, well that’s your business. Once the initial disinterest wears off, Jim gets up and finds more things to pile on the plate before returning and coaxing you to try different things, all the while texting Roman under the table about your progress.

“Okay, okay,” you raise your hands after a while, leaning back from the table in surrender. “I can't be bloated on TV. I’m already on my period, uce.”

Jim nods and throws the fork down, satisfied with how much you consumed. “Feel better, right?”

You take a beat, rubbing a hand over your belly before nodding. You were actually full for once. “Yeah, thanks,” you say, a little sheepish.

Jim waves you off, coming to his feet, sending a quick she did good off to Roman before grabbing the picked over plate. “You good, girl. That’s what us Samoans do—we feed you.”

“Oh, I know,” you snort, pushing away from the table and getting to your feet. “Anyways, gotta prepare for the show. I’ll see you out there, Big Jim!”

Jim lets you go with a hug and good luck, relieved to see how even your walk looks lighter now. Once you’re gone, does he pull out his phone again and continue texting your boyfriend.

told me she was on her period. probs why she been trippin lately idk

damn… i remember josh saying before that her periods are debilitating, that he would have to sometimes pick her up off the damn floor because of her cramps and shit.

yeah that’s right. uce would actually go over and take care of her and shit. cook and everything. you know his ass only really like to grill, so it must be bad for her.

something gotta give, jon. i mean it’s awesome you were able to have her eat but she don’t sleep man. she barely fucking laughs. and he’s just gon keep ignoring her? disrespecting her? that’s weak.

idk man, josh got pride. we all do, and he’s hurt. i know they wasn’t together or whatever but it’s still kinda messy. cmon man you can admit that.

not as messy as only using her for body when times get fucking tough with whichever bitch he’s fucking. it was casual. i would’ve never pushed up on her if it wasn’t. but it’s too late now, she mine and i gotta look out for her.

casual for her, maybe…

well, that’s not her fucking problem. not ever.

ok man. look i love yall both. she loves yall both. let’s just all get it together. we family.

of course, family. see you later in gorilla. make sure josh big headed ass is there on time.

hold up, if he got a big head wtf do i got?

a big ass fucking head 😂

man, alright. 😭

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The show goes off without a hitch. The Bloodline does their thing, Jacob now thrown in the mix and made to acknowledge The Tribal Chief, making the crowd go wild.

As usual, Jey doesn’t acknowledge you. You sit there on the sidelines, in your corner, smiling back whenever Roman, Jim or Jacob manage to catch your eye out of the camera shot. Jey would always seek you out, both of you pulling faces and mouthing to each other. But he only ever turns his back to you, now.

At a loss, you sigh and shuffle out of the way towards backstage once the show starts to wrap up, desperate to just get home. The cramps still come and go but your boobs are sore as fuck and, shamefully, the worst period symptom began to sneak up on you halfway through the show.

Around the second or third day of your cycle you are overcome with none other than arousal. Always. Like clockwork. The most unsexy time of your life and here you are, lowkey wanting to get it on. It’s almost as bad as when you ovulate, perhaps it’s worse because wanting it feels forbidden.

It’s because of this that you consider finding Roman and going back home with him, but here’s the thing: Roman doesn’t know this about you. He’s never been around for your period. He doesn’t know how bad it can get. And, truthfully, you don’t want to scare him off. It’s not that you think he’d call you disgusting and break up with you right then and there, but saying it out loud isn’t easy.

How to tell your boyfriend that even if you are gushing blood, you still want him inside you? You’re better off taking care of this on your own. One day, you’ll make him privy to your heightened arousal during the middle of your cycle but it won’t be today. Especially when you’ve been acting so weird with him as of late.

But you can’t just leave without finding him first and saying goodbye. So, you wait in the parking garage, leaning against your car, thankful you had half a mind to insist that both of you drive to work separately. You’d feel bad riding with Roman tonight, knowing that he’d be dropping you off home before leaving to his place without you.

As you’re still waiting, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, a crushing wave of pain assaults you. Not only just rolling through your lower belly but your lower back, too. You wince a little too loud, phone clattering to the ground as you double over and try to breathe through it. Fuck, the back cramps are the worst.

“Yo!” Someone shouts but you’re too busy moaning and aching to lift your head. Fresh tears rise up and before you can even think to raise a hand and wipe them away, they start to fall. Why does it always have to hurt so bad?

“Girl, what the hell is wrong witchu?” A familiar voice mutters on the approach. “Hell nawl, c’mere,” and then you’re being hauled up on your feet, in the embrace of none other than Jacob. His brows are all bunched up in worry as he looks over you. “Talk to me, what’s happenin’?”

You’re still crying, eyes all blurry but you can still see how scared he looks. “Hurts…” you groan, head rolling back onto his shoulder.

“Aye, uce! Get over here, man!” The urgency in Jacob’s tone has a pair of feet thudding in your direction. Running. For you. “Tell us, what hurts?”

Us. You peer over Jacob’s shoulder at the newcomer, already knowing who it is because of that familiar scent. His favorite cologne. Jey.

His eyes are wide and a little frantic when he sees how pained you are. Immediately, he’s shouldering in and taking Jacob’s place, cradling you close as if no time has passed at all. Of course, you start to sob into his chest like a baby.

“It’s okay,” he shushes you, hand fervently running your back, your arms, whatever he could reach in efforts to soothe you. “Aye, Jake, what’s the date again?”

Jacob, confused, pulls out his phone and reads it off. “June 3rd—why?”

Jey gets quiet and even through your agony you can tell he’s doing the mental math, cursing under his breath once he realizes the problem. It’s then he shifts so he can look you in the eye, the concern so open and deep that it has you crying almost harder. You missed him. “How long you been on, mama?”

“It’s the second day,” you whimper, a little embarrassed to be doing this in front of Jacob’s watchful eyes. His dark eyes dart between you and his big cousin, a silent understanding brewing.

Jey makes a sound of sympathy, pretty brown eyes taking in every inch of your aggrieved face, as if he missed you, too. “Does he know?”

“If he does, I didn’t tell him yet.” Jey makes a certain face at that. “It just didn’t come up,” you explain in the face of his judgment. “I’m waiting for him now.”

Jey shakes his head. “Nah, fuck that. He’s held up with Hunter, anyway. I’m taking you home right now,” he decides before you can protest. He holds you tight as he turns over his shoulder and regards Jacob seriously. “Anybody ask, she with me for tonight, uce. Ion give a fuck what they say either, you can take the bus if you want.”

Jacob looks between you and him for a long moment before raising his hands. “Cool with me. Y'all be careful,” and then he gazes upon you, taking in your crumpled form, how you hold onto Jey like a lifeline, “and you get better, aight? Josh gon’ take care of you.”

“I know,” you sniffle, burrowing your face deeper into Jey’s chest, not catching how it makes the man freeze before squeezing you tighter. “Tell Roman not to worry, please.”

Jacob vows, “I will,” at the same time Jey mutters, “He should be fuckin’ worried.”

The two cousins give each other looks, a silent communication, before Jacob turns and leaves without another word. Once he’s gone, Jey goes into action mode, taking your keys out of your bag and unlocking the car. He’s careful in leading you to the passenger side and even more gentle in helping you settle into your seat. The whole time he’s mumbling soft assurances that you’re gonna be okay and that he’s got you and that you don't have to worry.

You just lean your head on the cool window, eyes fluttering shut as you continue to battle against the aching. Outside the car, Jey finds your phone discarded on the ground and makes quick work of unlocking it with your passcode to set it on Do Not Disturb. After that, he’s popping the trunk and grabbing his and your bags to toss them inside.

You don’t even realize how much time passes by because when you open your eyes again, Jey’s driving, speeding down the highway in effort to get you home. “Jey?”

His eyes slide over to you, a warm hand sliding up from where it was sitting on your knee to your tummy. The warmth of it makes you breathe slowly in small relief. “Yeah, baby?”

“Any word from Roman?”

No. Just one menacing laughing emoji. Jey doesn’t even really fucking care how Roman feels. He only cares about how you feel.

“No,” and he sees the frown on your face, the pull of your bottom lip between your teeth, “but it’s cool, baby, don’t worry about it. I got you now. You can get some more rest. We still got another 40 minutes on this road, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree softly, your hand coming up to hold his. Unable to help it, you admit, “I missed you, and I’m sorry.”

Jey sighs deeply, squeezing your hand. “I know. Missed you, too, okay? We don’t gotta talk about this right now. Rest. I’mma take care of you like I always do.”

And what a fucking relief. Something deep inside you comes to life, fluttering like a baby dove’s wings, as you recall the many times Jey has pushed everything to the side to take care of you during times like this. The things he’s done. It’s selfish of you, especially now, but you never want to go without it.

Your satisfied groan as you lean back into your seat has a smirk rising at the corner of Jey’s mouth. He’ll be just as selfish as you are.

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“Wake up, baby, we here.”

The little nap you took feels like the first step towards the reset you so desperately need. Jey is there, looming above you through the open passenger door, already unbuckling your seatbelt before you can finish yawning. Through bleary eyes you notice that instead of your modest but elegant townhouse, you’re in the driveway of Jey’s house and you’re frowning as he scoops you up into his arms, gently kicking the door closed behind him and locking the car.

“Jey, I thought I was going home,” you mumble, a little whiny even though you feel just as comfortable here as you do your own abode.

The front door is already cracked open and when Jey pushes through, you notice your bags are already inside. “You are home, girl,” he tells you, pushing back against the door to close it, still carrying you all the while as if your feet don’t work. “You gon get the best care here, with me. And it all starts with me taking you upstairs so you can rinse off, don’t that sound nice?”

Yes. You feel gross and Lord knows you need to change this damn tampon. So, you remain quiet as Jey trudges all the way upstairs and to his master bedroom where stalks through the massive space all the way to the conjoining bathroom. It’s there he finally dips down so you can stand, handing off your purse—that you hadn’t even realized was slung over his shoulder the entire time—to you.

“Thank you,” you mumble, suddenly finding it hard to meet his caring gaze.

“You welcome, baby,” he drawls sweetly, secretly eating up the suddenly shy attitude. “I’mma have you all set up by the time you come out, alright? Take your time.”

You nod obediently, at a loss for words at the 180. He didn’t talk to you for weeks. Now he’s back to being his usual, loving self? Your head is going to start spinning soon.

Jey leaves you be, shutting the door behind him. You sigh heavily, digging into your purse for your phone but frowning to discover it not there. You know you didn’t leave it, that Jey wouldn’t let you but it’s imperative that you get in touch with Roman ASAP.

But, first, Jey’s shower is calling to you.

You make quick work of stripping before sitting on the toilet and taking care of your bloody business. Once that’s all handled, you start the shower, setting the temperature to just shy of Hell. Under the stream, your mind goes quiet, only focused on yourself and, well, Jey.

Imma take care of you like I always do…

Words that linger in the forefront of your mind. Words that bring up memories of just how Jey took care of you, then.

Fuck…

I truly am the most selfish bitch alive, you think to yourself snidely before unceremoniously snaking a hand down your front and finding your clit. Just a quick orgasm won’t hurt, right? Right.

Already, you’re so sensitive that you know it won’t be long before you’re coming. You close your eyes and lean into it, the feeling. You try to keep it down, working yourself desperately, needing this. But it’s hard to. You just have to rely on the sounds of the spray and your teeth digging into your bottom lip to muffle your moans and sighs.

Though you had been in a weird, almost despondent period lately, sex with Roman never stopped. In fact, it’s what you fell back on when you’d start awake in the middle of the night and his warm, willing body was next to you. It’s how you got through the days of worrying yourself sick over Jey, whether or not you’d ever be able to be friends again. You’d just fuck the living shit out of your man and try not to think of him, push it all down in favor of Roman’s body.

But it never really did anything other than make you ache for someone out of reach all the more. Belatedly, you realize that kind of behavior is very much like Jey’s past behavior. Sex instead of talking. Fucking instead of facing the music.

You care for Roman, though. You really, really do. So it can’t be the same because you’re not using him, he’s yours.

“You almost done, baby!? Not rushing you, just checking.”

The sound of Jey’s voice through the door has you gasping, snatching your hand away and pushing down the beginnings of a good, much-needed orgasm. You hold back a whine as you shout over the water, “yeah, be out in a minute!”

“Alright, no hurry!”

But now you are in a hurry, because that line of thinking paired with what you were just doing is no good. You have to stop.

Desperate to get away from it, you speed through the rest of your shower, making good on feeling clean and less gross. Only then do you shut off the water and finally step out, grabbing the nearest clean towel to wrap yourself up in.

You hadn’t expected Jey to be there in the bedroom when you walk out but he is, lighting incense at the bedside table. Soft R&B music plays lowly in the background and there’s a pair of wine glasses already filled with red on the nightstand.

Jey catches you over his bare shoulder, nothing but a towel on with raised brows at the scenery, at his grey-sweatpants and lack of a shirt. It’s his turn to appear sheepish now. “My fault,” he offers a lopsided smile, goofy and charming all at once, “I wasn’t supposed to be in here until after you changed.”

You snort, eyes falling on the humongous shirt—his—and pair of boxers—also his—laid out for you. “Uh-huh,” you say dryly, making him chuckle, “nothing you haven’t seen before, Mr. Uso—just turn around real quick.”

Jey lifts his hands, swiveling on his feet. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy,” you murmur, for reasons unknown to you, dropping the towel before heading over to the bed.

“Don’t play with me,” Jey warns you, triggering excitement you have no business feeling.

You giggle, sliding the boxers up your legs and wiggling into the shirt. “What’s with the wine?”

Jey shrugs, still turned away. “You need to relax, ma. I see you—you look…different.” And his voice turns a touch softer. “Twin made you eat today.”

“You saw that?” Shame swirling in your gut. God, how pathetic did you appear to him? “Don’t worry about that, it’s noth—”

“But it is something, baby.” A deep withering sigh. “Can I turn now?”

“Yes…”

When he does, his eyes are full of remorse and anguish. “At first, I’m not gonna lie—you know how I am—seein’ you with twin like that, the first thing I felt was anger. Y’all was too damn close, but then I really looked at you, and baby…I’m sorry.”

“Damn, I look that terrible?” You scoff, the sound deprecating.

Jey breaches the space between you, scooping your hands into his to stare you deep in the eyes. “You don’t ever look terrible, baby, that’s not what I’m saying. It’s just you looked…not yourself. And while I’m over here sulking and pretending I don’t care about you, you’re having a hard time. That shit is weak, on my part. I may not be all the way okay with whatever it is you got goin’ on with uce but you don’t deserve that. Okay?”

You try to control it, you really do, but the last few weeks have been miserable. Jey is a presence in your life you never want to take for granted. You’re starting to think you need him. The gravity of that has your face crumpling and your eyes welling up. Jey is wrapping his arms around you before the first tear can fall.

“Don’t cry, baby—we’ll figure it out,” he assures you with a kiss to your forehead. “No matter what. Nobody can take you from me.”

You clutch him tighter at the sound of that. It’s wrong for you to think it but mine, mine, mine is all that’s going through your brain. He feels just like you do.

“Okay, give me that wine,” you break away with a sniffle, rubbing at your nose. Jey laughs, brushing by you, his hand trailing against your hip as he goes over to the nightstand to retrieve the glasses. “Thank you,” you murmur before the first sip, clinking your glass against his.

Jey nods down at you, sipping. “How many times I gotta say it? I’m taking care of you—tonight you mine, so relax and let me do this.”

You huff into your glass at his cocky tone, getting comfortable on the bed. Jey follows suit, scooting close behind to spoon and cradle you, his warm body giving you that solace you crave. The two of you just sit there for quite some time, sipping and cuddling with the sounds of Majid Jordan in the background, his hand a caress on your belly that does its part in subduing the cramps and aches.

“Feel better, ma?” he asks after a while, both of your glasses drained. You’re nodding as he gets up to refill them, taking a self-serving moment to let your eyes rove over his bare skin, the tattoos that gleam under the dim, ambient lighting. He turns before you can stop the reverie you’re in admiring his hip tattoo, smirking slyly at the caught look on your face. You all but snatch the glass back from him, drinking a little deeper than before, refusing to meet his gaze as he returns to his spot behind you.

The hand that was at your belly resumes its caressing but adds the curve of your hip, the fleshiness of your upper thigh to its route. All the while, Jey simply stays quiet and admires you. The wild natural curls framing your face, your hair not blown out for once. The pillowy pink of your lips that he knows the feel of like the back of his hand. Your cute button nose, the beauty mark on the left side of your bridge. Hell, Jey loves your skin. Milky brown and so smooth under his touch.

You look so fucking good and you’re not even doing anything—just existing. “Baby,” he murmurs, finally breaking the quiet. And it’s the tone. How deep his voice is, how it rumbles at your ear that makes you squirm just a fraction.

“Hm?” The less you speak, the better.

“It’s your second day, right?” You nod, licking a drop of wine off your upper lip. Jey tracks the motion greedily, still rubbing your body. “How you feelin’ then, huh? How bad is the discomfort?”

And, fuck, you know he knows. He always did. Jey never judged you for expressing baser desires while you bled. Didn’t even blink the first time you relayed what you tend to experience with every cycle. All he ever did was just apply the knowledge into his care for you.

“Um…” you struggle, feeling like you were standing on the precipice of yet another impulsive decision. “W-What do you mean, Jey?”

Jey has two options, the way he sees it. He could play it safe, be delicate about this sort of thing and wait it out. Let you come to him. But with someone else in the picture, that was risky. You’re a good girl, at least you try to be. Perhaps you’ll shove all this down and ignore it, wanting so badly to do the right thing.

His other option is that he can’t fucking chance it. Closed mouths don’t get fed. He knows you. Can see the way your chest rises and falls quicker and quicker with every rub of his hand. How your pretty eyes flutter as he talks to you. The bite of your bottom lip. How you rely on the glass in your hand in fear of having your hands do things they shouldn’t.

You need this. And just like every time before, Jey is going to give it to you.

“Tell me what you’re feeling…other than the pain. Look at me and tell me how to make it better, baby.” He’s like the fucking devil on your shoulder. His voice deep and alluring, transfixing your mind and compelling you to forgo caution. You shouldn’t do this.

You really, really shouldn’t.

But…

Over your shoulder, you shy a glance towards him, and the look in his eyes is so wild that you can’t help but melt into it. Into him.

“Jey…” you whimper, peering up into the dark pools that scream trouble.

“Say it, baby—what do you need?” He won’t act until you do. So long as you refrain from voicing what you required from him, he wouldn’t do it. No matter how bad he wanted to give it to you. “Be a big girl,” his voice is a little rough now, that signature mean streak shining through as he reaches up and cups your jaw, “and say that shit.”

At this point, you really do need it. The best way to get it with someone like Jey is to be upfront and bold. Don’t be a fucking pussy, you bitch.

“I played with myself in the shower and I was so close until you interrupted me,” you pout up at him, uncaring at how needy you sound, how desperate you’re being. “Please, baby, I don’t even need no foreplay or nothin’—just fuck me.”

Jey stares down at you, nostrils flaring as he surveys your face, needing to be absolutely sure that you’re sure. Whatever he finds must be good enough for him because he nods, more so to himself, before rearing back to finish off his glass, which you follow suit in doing.

Your eyes follow him desperately as he breaks away to roll off the bed, trailing back into the bathroom. When he returns it’s with two towels in hand, making your heart race. He doesn’t even have to say a word, you’re already climbing off the bed to make way so he can lay them down and spread them out on the comforter to his liking.

Once he’s done, he gives you a once over, eyes keying in on how you cross one leg over the other, squirming where you stand, looking at him with those wide, innocent eyes. How can you look like that when you were such a little freak? He’ll never know—only that it turns him on to no end.

“C’mon, baby, get naked,” he coaxes, already pulling at the waistband of both his sweats and boxer briefs. “Lemme see sum…”

How many times have you done this with him? And, still, he makes you blush. You follow his lead, cheeks hot under the rapt attention once your round breasts are out and free. Jey studies the brown peaks of your hard nipples with a hungry swipe of his tongue at his lip before nodding at the boxers. “Them too. It’s just me,” he reminds you, catching your hesitation as you realize that you didn’t even put a tampon in after your shower. Not only are you wet, you’re sure it’s a fucking mess down there. “Don’t be scared. This ain’t our first rodeo, sweetheart.”

Which, no, it’s not. You sigh, feeling silly at being shy around him before pushing the boxers down your legs, completely baring yourself to him for the first time in nearly three months. Jey makes a sound akin to relief, needing this for too long.

“You so perfect, mama,” he groans, all but ripping his briefs down his toned thighs. Immediately, your eyes fall and you nearly moan at the sight of him, hanging there all for you. “Get on the bed, baby.”

You raise a knee up to the bed, Jey close behind, already feeling you up and furthering your excitement. But then, you’re turning around and pushing him back with a hand to his chest, his confusion clear in the way his brows bunch in the middle.

“Before we start, I need it in my mouth real quick,” you tell him before he can even ask, dropping down to your knees and blinking up at him. His dark eyes shine down on you lustfully, awed by how bold you are. It’s the wine, you know it, and how much you fucking missed him. How you want to show him how sorry you are, how much you need to make it clear that you appreciate him. “It’s been so long, hasn’t it? Lemme taste it a little bit…”

Your hand grips him at the base, the little slut fairy inside you doing a happy dance at the familiar weight in your hand. Heavy and thick and perfectly long. God, you missed this dick. The way it twitches and jumps as you pull back to admire it in its entirety before stroking it. Jey moans above you as you work it only like you can, your tongue slithering out to lavish wet licks on the tip, at that slit that’s already threatening to drool with precum.

You groan happily as you wrap your mouth around him, his dick filling your mouth in a way that makes your eyes roll back for a second. He’s so big that sucking him feels like a challenge, one you’ve always loved taking up. Jey leans his head back, eyes toward the ceiling as a deep, satisfied sigh leaves his body, your warm mouth feeling like paradise. He’s quick to weave his fingers through your hair, not pulling or pushing just yet, simply holding.

It’s obscene how quickly you’re able to fully take him into your throat, your eyes rolling up into your skull with the sensation of his groin rubbing against your nose and his scent. A nasty, long string of spit trails between you and his dick as you pull back for more breath. Your eyes are so pretty and glazed over as you study his hard cock, how wet he is from your throat before diving back in to stuff the entirety of him back in your mouth. All you can do is think Jey, Jey, Jey and nothing else.

On your knees like this, has to be one of his favorite sights. You’re so good for him—waylaying your own need to give him that throat. You’re right—it’s been too long. That’s why he was so fucking salty while you were traipsing around with his cousin. How could any man ever act right after experiencing such pleasure only to have it ripped away from them? You make it hard to think straight, to be a good brother.

He wants you all for himself, but if this is all can have at the moment—just pieces that you’re willing to share—then he’s going to take it. Others be damned.

It’s when you’re dipping down to lovingly kiss and lick his balls while reaching up to stroke him, paying special attention to the drooling head, that Jey has to tighten his fingers in your hair and pull you off, both of your chests heaving.

“You tryna make me nut already, damn.” It’s so fucking sexy how you immediately lean back in for more, as if on instinct, before remembering yourself and blinking up at him in a half daze. “Get up there and lay down, pretty. It’s time you get what you need.”

Excited, you get to your feet, wiping away the remnants of saliva off your mouth and where it’s dripped down to your chest, climbing onto the bed. Jey lingers behind you, stroking his hard dick, simmering gaze locked on the way your ass jiggles with every moment.

You artfully place yourself among the protective layer of towels, already feeling the telltale trickle between your legs. Jey is on you quickly, large hands on either knee, spreading you open as you bite your lip and take in the awe on his face. Like there’s not a fucking murder scene between your legs.

Any self doubt is given no room to grow and fester at the feel of dick massaging your wet cunt, collecting moisture and teasing your clit. His pretty eyes glimmer with mischief at the surprised gasp you let out under the weight of his dick tapping your swollen nub heavily before sliding the length back and forth against it. He keeps doing this—holding you down as you reflexively try to back away from it—until your pussy begins to gush with each heavy hit, making him snicker in approval.

“That pussy so damn wet,” he rasps, eyes transfixed on the soaked flesh. “It don’t even make no sense…”

You can’t take it anymore, head pushing back into the covers as you whine, “Jey….”

“Yeah, I hear you, baby, I know,” he frowns in mock sympathy, glancing up to see tears dotting your lashes already. “You know I got you. Gon’ make this pussy feel real good, I promise,” and it’s with that vow that he finally catches onto your slippery entrance and slowly starts to push in. “Should fuckin’ punish yo’ bad ass for not giving me this pussy for so long,” he grunts above you at the tug and squeeze of your spasming walls making way for his dick. “All this good shit you got and you expect me to act fuckin’ normal.”

You’re already on edge, keyed up from not only the wine and sucking him off but the earlier orgasm you didn’t get to have. The skin of his shoulders dip underneath nails that dig for some sort of reprieve. “Ouuu fuck, Jey, it’s so big!”

“Yeah, and you gon’ get all this big dick deep in you tonight.” He’s still pushing in, still got more to give. Going slow not only for your benefit but for your torture. “I’mma give you this shit until you can’t take no more, is that what you want?”

“Yes, yes, yessss!” You cry out like a bitch in heat, holding him close, legs snaking around his waist to pull him deeper until he’s finally seated all the way in, kissing your cervix.

Your head tips back, baring the long line of your throat. Jey can’t pass the chance up—he kisses and sucks and bites the tender skin there, making you cry out as your hand comes up to cradle the back of his head. While he’s marking your neck, Jey begins moving which incites you to moan out in the air like a whore. He just feels so good, you can’t help it. Like he’s in your stomach, punching the breath out of your lungs.

“Oh, my fuckin’ god, baby…”

Jey pulls up from your throat to bore his mesmerizing eyes into your heavily-lidded ones, now swinging his hips with fervor to pummel your sopping cunt. “Uh-huh, don’t gotta worry ‘bout nothin’, just me and you. Just Daddy fuckin’ his tight little pussy the way he wants. Shit, bae, you feel so good.”

“So do you, Daddy,” you mewl up at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, needing him everywhere. “It’s so fuckin’ gooood.”

“Don’t even need no foreplay, huh?” he taunts you with your earlier words, how you begged for him. “Didn’t even wanna let Daddy lick you.”

You shake your head, nose scrunching up at the thought. “No, I’m messy, baby—you c-can’t.”

“Ion give a fuck,” he snarls harshly, gaze wild and feral, “I’ll eat you anytime. This my pussy.”

His nasty words steal the breath from your lungs just as much as his wicked thrusts are. “Oh, my g-god, Joshua…” you whisper, more turned on by that than you had any right to be. He’s such a fucking freak.

“Yeahhh, who else gon’ do you like that, huh?”

Nobody. The thought is instant and mortifying. If Jey wasn’t literally pounding you into the mattress, you’d try to feel more shame. To tell yourself get a fucking grip.

“Nah, don’t hold back—say that shit,” he demands gruffly over the wet, vicious smacks of the two of you joining together, over and over. “Who else gon’ do what I do to you?”

You try to shake your head, not wanting to admit it so blatantly, but Jey isn’t having it. He digs deep and stays deep, swirling his hips in a way that has you wailing and gripping him for dear life. Your eyes fly open once the tip of his dick finds that certain spot and he catches on right away, grinning cockily as he begins to bully that spongy patch that makes you go crazy.

“There it go,” he growls above you, meeting your eyes and nodding along with you as you try to silently communicate that that’s it, right there. To make matters more intense, his right hand comes up to claim your throat, squeezing carefully to control your airflow. “Now before you come, you gon’ say it or I’ll fuckin’ stop. I’m not playin’ with you.”

Him stopping would honestly feel like the end of world to you. You never want him to stop. “No, no, no! I’m sorry, Daddy—please!”

“And you so close, too…” he teases, grinding even filtiher inside. Your walls seize and clench around all his drenched girth, the orgasm just there. “Don’t you wanna be my good girl and tell me the truth?”

Helpless to it, you nod feverishly, crying out through gritted teeth as you try to think clearly through your fuzzy head. “Y-Yes!”

And here he starts to pull out and before shoving himself back in over and over again, steadily building a dangerous toe-curling pace that makes you screech and cry. The strokes have your pussy squelching loudly, the proof of your arousal ringing throughout the room. “Say it, then. Who else fuck you like I do?”

He’s bullying that spot, not letting up once he’s found it. Really giving you no choice. It tears out of you the absolute second your orgasm does. “Nobody!”

A shameful admission given your situation, making you sob and come so hard it feels like something in you breaks open. “Hell yeah, baby. Squeeze my dick just like that,” he goads through a gasp before leaning down to bestow a breathless, startlingly tender kiss on your parted mouth.

As sweet as the kiss is, Jey doesn’t let you come down slowly. If anything, he just keeps laying that dick into you, feeding you every glorious inch with precision that surely has you creaming all over him. You crack your eyes open to see him staring down at you, a hypnotic pool of emotion spilling into you. Your heart can’t beat any faster but it sure does skip under the passion he’s pouring into you, how his lip part in pleasure and every so often his eyes try to slide up into his skull.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss under the pleasure-pain of him drilling into you, groaning under the force of his thrusts that send your breasts bouncing up and down on your chest.

“Givin’ my shit away to other people,” Jey scowls above you, his disdain for sharing apparent. “Knowing this pussy belongs to me. Knowing she only like to cry for me,” and as if to prove his point his next thrust triggers a gush that wets up his pelvis. “Mhm, just like that, baby. You so pretty when you squirt for Daddy. All over Daddy’s big, fat dick.”

His mouth is so filthy but all that shit-talking only turns you on even more. Especially since Jey always could back it up and then some. You moan at the sex talk, arms releasing their hold on his shoulders in favor of your fingers coming up to toy with your achy nipples. Jey pulls back and grunts, gaze locked on the chocolate peaks, how your fingers skillfully pull and twist at them.

“Play with them titties for me, baby, that’s right.” The encouragement makes your blood run hotter. “Shit got you grippin’ me tight as hell—what you gon’ do? Nut again?”

Yes. You would say that, if you could speak but you’re too busy showing him the whites of your eyes, hands still cupping your tits as another wave rushes through you, choking you up with its intensity. The euphoric feeling has you contracting rhythmically around his girthy shaft. Jey groans loudly, the hard clenching of your pussy bordering on too much, strangling his wet dick.

“You be comin’ hard as fuck, girl. Damn,” Jey informs you with an appreciative glance along your shaking body. “That pussy missed me, didn’t it?” He rears back onto his knees to part your trembling legs for a better view. “You gotta take care of her, baby. Give her what she needs. And she be needing her Daddy, don’t she?”

Coming to again, you whimper pathetically, “yes, Daddy. She does.” You need your Daddy. “So muuuchhh…”

Jey slyly smiles to himself, no matter what happened after tonight, you could never deny how good this felt. He’s putting it down so good that he’s definitely gonna leave a mark.

“Jey…”

The sexy sound of your breathy whisper calling his name brings him back to the present, your eyes glazed over with lust but sharper than before, determined. “Yeah, baby?”

“Roll us over so I can ride that dick.”

And you absolutely don’t have to tell him twice.

Carefully, Jey maneuvers your bodies, mindful of the damp towels underneath and your wary gaze trailing lower to ensure that it wasn’t so bad. Which, it could be worse but there’s definitely something of a mess where your bodies meet.

“Don’t worry about that shit, mama. Do what you said you was gon’ do,” he orders with a stinging slap on your ass, staring up at your pretty face and downright unfair body. “Ride this dick, baby.”

With a final chew to your bottom lip, you obey his commands and run your hands up his arms to rest upon his strong shoulders for balance, simultaneously rolling your hips and urging him, deep rooted and thick, to brush against your g-spot. The sensation and your pussy pulling and rippling around his length has got both of you moaning wantonly.

Jey loves when you’re on top, how the control shifted into your hands as you worked him, looking like a fucking goddess above his willing body. “That’s it, pretty, ride my fuckin’ dick,” his encouragement breaking off into a wheeze as you lean forward and use your grasp on him for leverage, slamming your pussy down on his throbbing cock. Fat ass ricocheting and slapping loudly on his thighs as your aggression increases. “Aw, shit…”

It’s insane for you to already be on the verge of another peak but you’re so turned on to even care, to wonder at the heights your body is reaching. Jey can feel it, though, his massive hands palming your busy hips, forcing you to go even harder.

“Give me that cum, baby. Your pussy tight as fuck right now.” His next words have you rearing your head back, curls flying wildly while you groan ferally at the feel of him bucking his hips up into you. Unable to tame his thirst for control over your pleasure. “You can’t hide it from me—I can feel that shit. Tell Daddy you comin’, c’mon, sexy—you comin’ for me?”

Your eyes fall to gaze at him in shock, all of it being too much. “Yes, yes, yesss! Oh, fuck, Daddy, I’m comin’ again!” Your control slips through your fingers as you freeze under his harsh grip, his dick drilling up into you and forcing you to take it. “Joshua, baby, shit!”

“Yeah, say my name, baby,” he growls under you, male pride on ten, studying the way your eyes roll back, delighting in how more moisture spills over his length. “Look so beautiful when you gettin’ yours…”

The praise combined with the sharp-shooter ramming of his fleshy tip against your g-spot has you howling into yet another orgasm. It tears through you, leaving you trembling and clenching so hard that Jey lands a satisfied smack on the swell of your ass. Through your shakes and tremors, you lean down to claim his lips in a passionate kiss, his surprised moan rumbling against your mouth. He holds you close for the moment, hips stilling to indulge your greedy mouth with a hunger of his own. Rather than the nasty smacks of skin on skin, soft sighs and content moans fill the air.

Jey is such a good kisser, you think for not the first time. Loving every time his lips finds yours. Your bare chest presses into his as his hands smooth over the dip in your back, the shape of your soft ass and thighs. You feel him up, too, taking pleasure in his sweet-damp muscles, his body in such nice shape.

You pull away first, your lips hovering close still as you gaze deep into his eyes. “You so sexy, Daddy,” you purr appreciatively, making him pulse inside you. “Take such good care of me…”

“Thank you, beautiful,” he presses a kiss on the tip of your nose, smiling at the sound of your precious giggle. “That’s what I’m supposed to do, baby,” he says smoothly, truly believing his words, languishing in the silent claim he has over you and you over him. “I’m always gon’ look out for my best girl.”

“You promise?” you poke further, even through the pleasure a small spark of fear as you recall the former silence.

“I don’t tend to say shit I don’t mean.” Which you know but he also said he was done with you that night. As if reading your thoughts, Jey sighs heavily and regards your anxious gaze with tender eyes, the back of his hand brushing over your cheekbone. “Only when I’m being hot-headed and hurt. Don’t mean that shit is true, though. Especially when it comes to you. I could never not have you in my life, baby girl.”

You dip down into the skin of his chest, nosing sweetly into his pecs, too overcome to speak but so grateful. Clutching him tighter, you start to wind your hips again, needing to do something. Jey breathes out deep before placing his hands on your ass, murmuring softly, “let me move you on your back, okay?”

You nod, a lump still in your throat as you allow him to reposition you to his liking. His big body looms over you, strong arms digging underneath to hug you to him. His forehead presses into yours, giving no choice but to give up the shy act and force you to face him under his full body weight.

“Wanna see you up close as you come for me again, aight?” Speechless still, you bob your head up and down, thick legs wrapping around his ribcage again.

Jey proceeds to grind into the depths of you in an agonizing way that makes your toes curl at the sheer size of him. He makes sure you feel all of him as he pulls back until only the tip of his dick is swallowed by your hole before rolling his hips forward, digging every inch right back inside to the hilt. Each time you grow louder, tears of pure joy pool in your eyes at how he takes his time and luxuriates in the feel of your pussy.

“Baby, you mine. Look at you, takin’ this dick. Allowing me to have this pussy at a time like this, trusting me with it.” He doesn’t take it for granted. He would understand if you never wanted to be touched as you endured your menstrual. But you craved it, craved him. Knowing only he can provide you with the comfort you need. Nobody else. Just Jey.

“Go ‘head, baby, look.”

You gasp in understanding, fingers flexing around his shoulders as you blink up at him in surprise. Jey merely nods in encouragement, one hand worming its way from under you to cradle the back of your head, coaxing your gaze from his down to where your bodies unite. Something lights up deep in your belly, the spark traveling up to your chest as you stare down at the mess you’ve made. The russet-tinged slick coating Jey’s dick and the insides of your thighs.

“Yeah, that’s us right there,” he brags shamelessly, joining you to watch him push in and out, all of you shining over his skin. “It’s natural, ain’t it? Feel good, don’t it? And it all belongs to me, huh?”

Facing the pure filth between your bodies only serves to make it that much hotter for you. You didn’t think Jey could turn you on any further, but he’s a fucking demon, it seems—one hellbent on dragging you under with him.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper up into his mouth, returning your sights on his handsome, determined face. His thrusts pick up again, wet pussy loud as ever as he begins to nail you to the mattress.

“You belong to me, don’t you?” he asks through a huff of breath.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” you repeat faithfully, completely overcome by him, how he’s turning your world upside down. “I belong to you, Jey—fuck!”

Jey hums, taking in the spaced-out look that slackens your face. “Yeah, I know that shit,” he tells you, less cocky and more self-assured. This night letting him know exactly where he stands with you. “You only let me in this sweet pussy when you get like this.”

His control was faintly slipping through his fingers with every gushy pump into the tight grip of your cunt, and you could see it. His eyes glaze over, his sounds become more desperate and he holds you close like his life depends on it. Not to mention how he ruts into you with heightened urgency.

Knowing he’s close, you snake your hands down to grip his plump ass that you always drool over in private moments, squeezing and digging your nails into the flesh, a breathy noise spilling out his parted lips under the contact. “Only for you, Daddy,” you coo sweetly, “this pussy is yours. I want you to stuff me full of that nut, please. It feels so good, don’t it? Please, give it to me, baby.”

The sweetness of your face clashes with the nasty words in a dizzying manner that has Jey beginning to shudder above you, but he’s still stubbornly refraining, bottom lip tucked under his teeth.

You decide to turn it up a notch, lifting your hips to meet each pump, grasping his face in your hands. “I’mma flood that dick with my cum, baby, only you make me come so fucking hard. I want you to come, too. You been so strong for me, making me feel good, now it’s your turn to feel it with me.”

“Aw, fuck…” he groans into you, breath mixing with yours. “Tell me you love me,” he blurts from out of left field, making your chest alternate weirdly between dropping and bursting at the seams. A tremor crawls over your body at the emotion not only in his voice but in his heady glare. “Tell me you love me, baby.”

Should you? His orgasm is so close, just on the edge. You would be wrong to deny him when he was so needy.

“Jey, I…fuck—” He’s dropping that dick into you, holding you down so you can’t go anywhere. He stares, hard and unwavering, waiting. Like he knows already. That it’s okay to let go. “Oh, my go—fuck,” you breathe out harshly, spurting on his dick with every sloppy thrust, “yes, okay! I love you, Joshua, fuuuuck!”

“Oh shit, baby, I’m ‘bout to nut,” he hisses into your throat, possessing half a mind to carefully bite down on the delicate skin there, making you cry out at the slight pain. “All up in my fuckin’ pussy…”

In a miraculous fashion, your orgasms hit at the same time. Undeniably romantic. He drives the deepest he can to do as you asked of him and pump rope after rope of his warm, sticky cum inside the greedy center of your willing body. Meanwhile, you’re under him arching painfully beneath the mass of his heavy weight squeezing the damn breath out of you. But that’s okay, you return the favor by seizing so tight on his erection that it nearly hurts. The orgasm is your strongest yet, its intensity driven by the feeling of him deep inside and being milked for every drop you could get.

Jey ruts into you, hips swiveling desperately as he chases and rides out the rest of his high. “Unnhh, fuck,” he moans helplessly, eyes shut in pure ecstasy. You stare up at him, weak and satiated, blood rushing through your veins like you’re on drugs.

With a tender kiss on your temple, Jey finally pulls out of you. You wince at the sudden rush of indecipherable fluids leaking out of you and down the crack of your ass. Jey moans at the greedy pull that stubbornly latched and sucked him back into your body, but he was adamant on pulling away to study the wet spread that was all you and all him.

You blush weakly at the affectionate kiss he drops down on your lower belly, a silent thank you. It’s when Jey rears back and rolls off the bed to wander into the bathroom that you catch more evidence of your cycle on his pelvis, his upper thighs, his swinging dick and it makes you groan into your palms.

Fuck, was that soul-tie shit everyone spoke about real? you wonder quietly, a hand coming up to rest upon your thudding chest. You told him you loved him—you haven’t even said that to Roman yet.

Before the shame of your actions can rise and drown you, cheapening the incredible moment, Jey is back on the bed, kneeling over you with a damp wash rag and dry towel. You notice his clean skin and flush even more to imagine him wiping your blood off his body.

He’s makes quick work of wiping you down, claiming that you’ll both shower after catching your breaths, before snaking the ruined towels out from under you and replacing them with the new one, rolling your bare body back in place over the protective layer.

“You did so good, baby,” he coos over his shoulder, tossing the dirty laundry into a hamper by the bedroom door before returning, just as naked, to scoop your soft body into a comfortable embrace as you lay back and stare up the ceiling. “Any pain still?”

You sigh softly at the feel of his hand roving over your tummy before shaking your head. “You fixed me right up.”

“Good,” he murmurs proudly, big arms wrapped possessively around your supple form, shifting you so he can find your lips again, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths and languishing in the hazy atmosphere of your lovemaking. When you part, Jey keeps you close, peering down into the very depths of you. “And you know I love you too, right? It wasn’t just the sex talkin’.”

The admission makes you squirm under his watchful eye. He sounds so at ease saying it. As if he always…

You chuckle nervously, eyes shifting in search for something else to focus on that wasn’t so…Jey. “I know you do, Josh.” Because you’ve known each other too long and too closely to not care for each other in a deeper way. “You don't say shit you don’t mean, remember?”

Jey nods, picking up on your discomfort. He wants to be selfish with you, keep you here with him forever and have you surrender to the clear chemistry you two share. But because he loves you, forcing you is the last thing he wants to do. You’re already struggling with all this, caught between a rock and a hard place.

“C’mon, baby,” he drops another smooch on your pouty lips, pulling with you him to nestle deeper into the pillows. “Let’s get some sleep, hm? And then when you wake up in the morning, I’mma continue to make sure my girl feels good,” he says suggestively, wagging his tongue. “Starting off by eating that pussy in the shower.”

A scandalized noise tumbles from your lips and Jey laughs at you shoving him. “Joshua, behave.”

“What? It’s your fault for havin’ that sweet lil’ pussy between them legs, Miss Juicebox…”

Your cry out in further indignation at how nasty he can be, pushing him some more before huffing and turning on your side, feigning sleep at the sound of his goofy giggles in your ear. “Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight, baby,” the humor still apparent in his voice.

Not before long, you drift off into a much needed peaceful sleep that’s evaded you for weeks. Jey makes to join you but not before reaching an arm behind him towards his nightstand, careful not to disturb you as he slides the drawer out and retrieves your phone.

A sick sort of satisfaction pulls at the corners of his mouth as he unlocks the phone to discover the few untouched notifications—missed calls and texts from none other than Roman.

He doesn’t even bother opening them—too content with you in his arms to care—and just locks the phone back before reaching over to slide it under your pillow. That can be tomorrow’s problem.

But in the quiet dark of the night, before Jey allows his eyes to slide shut, he has to wonder snidely, knowing his cousin is somewhere out there feeling murderous: Don’t feel too good, now does it?

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

a/n: i’m genuinely going to hell, man. 😭 literally woke up in the middle of night with this idea and couldn’t stop writing until it was finished. last time, idk, i just feel like i played my jeybae, so i guess i went ham to make up for it LMFAO. and, so, the cycle continues….. we still love you big daddy ro! please, feel free to comment and leave feedback, i loveeee knowing your thoughts—it’s like a battery in my back!

TAGLIST!!!!! (you can always ask to be tagged in you like)

Girlllll I got it on my inspo list don’t worry 👀

Sir… in what way?

Sweet baby 🥰

He's never done anything wrong in his life. 💙

Confession time: I’m working on three fics at the same time and they’re all about halfway done … and yes they all have smut 🫣

1. Boy Toy (chapter seven)

2. Guard Dogs (part six)

3. I’m adding another chapter to my most recent ao3 exclusive fic 😬

you were sitting in the chair, your legs parted just enough to let him settle between them, his body relaxed on the floor as his wrist rested against your thigh while your tongue peeked out in concentration. you slowly, carefully dragged the head of the comb from the tip of his nose through his scalp. the teeth gliding softly against his hair as you worked, parting it with a gentleness that didn’t match the slight tremble in your hands.

you smacked your lips, leaning forward a little, squinting at the line you’d made. it wasn’t straight…not even close.

“ugh! i thought it was straight!”

“what’s wrong, baby?” he says, starting to turn his head, but you immediately guide him back into place with a soft hand.

“don’t move,” you huff, nudging him forward again before sighing. “your part is crooked and it looks ugly!”

“it’s okay, mama.”

“it is?” you ask, still frowning, your eyes hyper fixated on the part as he nods.

“don’t worry abt that, babygirl. you good.”

your fingers brush over the part again, tracing the soft zigzag of it, “but… what if it looks weird? like… what if the part is… curvy and it’s just…”

“this dick got a curve,” he says casually, like he’s talking about the weather. “would that bother you?”

you’re not sure if he’s serious or playing so your head tilts, like a puppy trying to make sense of a sound. “huh?”

“you upset over the part being crooked… but if i was inside of you, would that be an issue too?” you get what he’s trying to say, but it’s still a terrible comparison.

your fingers tap lightly against his shoulder as you think, “hmm, well…it depends…”

he turns, watching you now.

“…does it curve to the left or the right?”

a slow grin tugs at his lips, “you wanna find out?”

pairing ⁀➷ bully! cameron cade x plus-size! black reader.

synopsis ⁀➷ cameron has teased you for years on end, but suddenly wants your help with schoolwork. you oblige, but soon find out his hatred for you is not as it seems.

song of chapter ⁀➷ ‘wish you well’ by brent faiyaz (unreleased)

word count + warnings ⁀➷ 3.9k || 18+, nsfw content, no minors! bully!cam, nerd reader, jealous! cam, teasing, nitpicking, mentions of masturbation, one-sided crush, soft fem domme reader, body appreciation, slapping (cameron likes it🤭), jerking off.

‘darling, i don’t wish you well. when you ain’t with me, i want you crying.’

ᥫ᭡

bully! cameron, who seemed to despise your entire existence.

you couldn’t quite figure it out, but each shoulder check, mocking laugh and condescending comment, let you know he for sure hated your guts. you only shared one class with the highly esteemed quarterback, but ran into him on a constant basis in the college hallways.

it was like cameron’s unpaid job was to put you down. pointing out any little mistake you might make—from tripping on your on two feet to dropping your books on the school's floor, cameron is there to let you know how pathetic you really were.

can’t see where you’re going? you’d think with glasses that fucking thick, you’d be able to see miles away.

you ignored him each time, continuing on with homework assignments for your next class without a word. this thing between you two had gone on since your days of high school—you couldn’t understand it. you would’ve thought after years of teasing, he’d grow tired and find someone else to pick with, but cameron’s attention remained lasered on you.

it’s your bully cameron who asks for a request from you. you’re face deep in a cell biology book when he approaches you in the reserved study room. you often found yourself in the library long after school hours, catching up on school work and spending spare time here instead of parties or social functions. you only had one best friend and didn’t do well in large gatherings. school, family, and home were your main priorities.

when cameron sits across from you at the table, you immediately note the expression on his face. he looks serious. more serious than you’ve ever seen him before. he usually held this demeanor during practice or before a big game. while part of you is annoyed, the other half is intrigued. what did he want?

cameron is the one to ask if you could tutor him throughout the week. he’d heard from classmates about the essays and homework you contributed to. you were a fucking genius and able to help almost everyone get their grades up to at least a ‘c’ average. he desperately needed to get his grades together, or he would risk being kicked off the schools football team.

you’re unsure. this was the same guy who made fun of your glasses at any chance, picked on your height and joked about your smarts. he now wanted your help?

“absolutely not.” you’re firm on your stance.

that is until—

“i’ll pay you good. whatever price you want.”

a day turned into weeks and your sessions with cameron continued. the two of you worked on a multitude of subjects. anything cameron needed help with, you were willing to provide. he made sure to pay on time before each session, and you made sure to help him receive the best grades possible. you couldn’t quite put your finger on cameron cade. he was interesting, but he remained quiet—a complete difference from the way he behaved when his friends were around. he worked, listened to what you asked of him and went back to home as usual.

at least that’s what you believed.

unbeknownst to you, cameron cade didn’t always go directly home after every study session.

it didn’t start like this initially.

cameron truly found you annoying.

your perfect hair, starched clothing and positive energy pissed him off. why were you so chipper at 9 in the goddamn morning? why did you know the answer to every question the professor asked? why did seeing your face make him so fucking angry?

he couldn’t understand it.

the one thing cameron was able to manage was his actions towards you. berating and calling out everything you did to was easier than sitting with his true feelings.

the feelings that hit cameron late at night when it was only him and his thoughts in the comfort of his bedroom. not a sound or soul around—just the whir of a nearby fan blowing throughout the room and the ache of his dick trapped behind boxer briefs.

those same thoughts made his vision blur as he imagined your frame underneath the stockings and pleated skirts you wore. he’d think of how you’d look on top of him. would you take your time and ride him slow—or be just as desperate as he’d been and ride him as wildly as you could?

it was the same thoughts that made cameron growl into the air as he came hotly—sticky white substance dripping over his chest and hand, before he washed up to imagine it all over again. maybe a different fantasy this time—one of you, and he crammed in the back seat of his car. he wouldn’t mind, cameron would find a way to make space for you.

cameron’s maladaptive daydream is interrupted as there’s a sound right outside his bedroom window. cameron lived at home with his parents as it was easier to attend school and save money at the same time. he remained in his childhood bedroom and often gazed out the window to look down on the neighbors and their current shenanigans, but it’s during this that he notices a familiar face and shape.

it’s you…

it’s you and cameron’s next door neighbor.

his neighbor lived at home with his parents, just like cameron. he also played football for the school’s rival team, so cameron has no clue as to why you’re meeting with him. he’s obviously an enemy, but you’re downstairs being best friends with him.

cameron watches as the young man hugs you goodbye and proceeds to walk to your car. you smile stupidly in his face before starting your car to drive off into the night, leaving cameron as confused as ever.

“what the fuck?”

cameron lets the time pass. he writes the interaction with you and his neighbor off as a tutoring session, believing that you wouldn’t be in any kind of relationship with someone like him. it helped put his mind at ease for just a bit.

that is, until he encounters the two of you once again.

you both were exiting a local restaurant just as cameron was crossing the street. it’s late at night and cameron is supposed to be walking the family dog, but finds himself eavesdropping on the conversation you two hold. back pressed to the brick wall of a nearby building, cameron listens carefully as you bust into genuine laughter at his neighbor’s joke.

“no, but seriously, y/n, you’re fucking amazing and i really appreciate you.”

“oh, it’s nothing,” he hears you giggle and you never giggled while you were with him. the sound of your beautiful laugh makes his chest tighten. he wished he’d been the reason for your joy. “i can’t wait to see you again. have a good night, babe.”

babe?

the pet name enrages cameron. he holds enough irritation to knock down this entire brick wall, race over, snatch you up and knock that loser the fuck out.

but cameron does nothing.

you weren’t his. he had no rights to you, no rights to behave this way towards you.

days later, cameron’s phone vibrates in his pants pocket.

it’s a text message from you.

hey, i’m sorry to cancel on you, but i won’t be able to make it today. maybe we can meetup sometime next week?

cameron’s eyes lowered as he read over the message once again. he took a deep inhale and clicked on the power button to his phone.

you and he met in the city’s library for tutoring lessons every wednesday and friday without fail. for weeks, cameron spritzed cologne over his neck and wrists, applied oil to his short hair and made sure to keep a tube of mint scented chapstick in his bookbag for…educational purposes. he absolutely looked forward to sessions with you. whether they be one-sided with only your voice speaking throughout the library or silent altogether—wednesday’s and friday’s were his favorite days of the week.

yet, you cancelled.

cameron couldn’t understand it.

are you sure? we can probably meet sometime later tonight, i really don’t to fail this upcoming exam.

cameron paces his room as he awaits a response from you, hoping his excuse doesn’t sound too desperate.

you won’t fail. we can meet up next week.

you wouldn’t budge, and cameron can’t come up with another reason.

“fuck,” he huffs, tossing his phone onto the bed. cameron takes only a second to collect his thoughts before racing to change out of his current outfit and into looser attire.

he needed to blow off some steam.

a two-hour workout session helped to clear cameron’s mind just a little, but not nearly enough. a few bench presses, a jog on the treadmill and a boxing session with a punching bag—yet he kept thinking of you and the message you’d sent earlier. part of him wanted to let you know how he felt—to tell you the resentment he held towards you was misplaced and that he didn’t know how to regulate emotions regarding you. the other half wished you could read his mind and know exactly what he wanted.

cameron passes the school’s library as he leaves the gym. had it been any other day, cameron would’ve went home as usual, but the cancellation of today’s session was getting to him. he couldn’t fucking think straight. he stopped inside and decided to take a seat at the table you and he usually sat in. cameron sorted through his bookbag and fetched textbooks for tomorrows exam, eyes darting over the words as he tried to comprehend the reading material.

you would’ve helped him to understand it.

your calm voice reading over the text before asking what did he think about it. you would’ve cracked open a notebook and wrote down important information with your black ball point pen. you would’ve taken your time and used real-world situations to compare with the homework, helping him learn everything he can before a big test.

you’re all cameron can think about.

so much so that he swears he can hear you.

it’s the same laugh he’d heard for the first time the other day, and cameron is positive he’s completely lost his mind until he sees you and his neighbor emerge from a study room. cameron hides behind the large textbook to avoid his cover being blown. he listens closely and peers from behind the spine of the book as you hug and peck the cheek of his neighbor.

cameron can only sit for so long—waiting until his neighbor has left the library to follow behind as you slip into the basement area of the building.

you don’t hear or see him—cameron makes sure to keep quiet as he tiptoes behind you, searching for words to perfectly convey his thoughts.

“what the fuck are you doing, y/n?”

there’s aggravation in his tone, and the sound of his tenor causes you to flinch—not jump, but simply raise your shoulders in surprise. you turn on the toes of your leather loafers, eyes widened in surprise at cameron cade’s presence.

“are you following me?”

cameron ignores your question. “answer me, y/n.”

“i’m minding my business, cameron, that’s what i’m doing. now answer my question, are you following me?”

cameron pushes past you to walk further into the dusty basement, brushing towards a nearby book case before he speaks. “why are you dragging this nigga all over town? smiling in his fucking face, hugging him and shit.”

“because i can, cameron. why does any of this matter to you? why are you watching my every fucking move.”

“you and that stupid motherfucker are flaunting around town, i can’t help but to see it.”

he expects you to make a run for it—for you to angrily march up the stairs and never talk to him again, but you instead hold a conversation with pinched brows on your gorgeous face. he can’t help the way his stomach whirls when he’s able to see you fully. the basement of this dusty library is dimly lit, just a flicking light bulb that sways back and forth in the corner of the room, but it helps cameron to see you.

you looked beautiful as usual, but a bit more laid back tonight. boho braids flowing around your shoulders—free from the tight bun you often wore, a small hue of blush upon your round cheeks and no glasses on your pretty face.

you weren’t wearing your glasses.

he only takes a second. brief and steady as he glances over you. “where are your glasses?”

“huh?” you squint and it’s not because you weren’t wearing said glasses. usual black frames are not on your face because you were looking for a change in appearance, at least for tonight.

“you heard me. where are your glasses, y/n?”

you’re surprised cameron picked up on it, but cameron forgot absolutely nothing when it came to you. he’s like a wolf hunting prey. he can’t miss the curls strewn through your hair, the neat pressing of your outfit or the heady scent of the perfume you’re wearing.

“and you’re wearing fucking perfume…you-you put that on for him, didn’t you?”

“who?”

“who? you tell me, y/n, who is the nigga to you?”

you’d never seen him like this. so hostile and on edge over you, but it’s at this moment that reality sets and you remember who you’re dealing with. you don’t owe him anything. not an explanation or even an excuse. you push forward and wiggle out of cameron’s intimidating stance.

“it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t matter what i do, or who i do it with, cameron. you aren’t my boyfriend, so it’s none of your business, and i think it’s best that you leave.”

you walk towards the entrance and hold the heavy door open, waiting for cameron cade to exit onto the other side of it, but he just stands in place. icy eyes peer back at you and they’re unforgiving. the only thing that diverts cameron’s attention is the sound of a notification of your phone as it pings from your book bag.

shit.

it’s a short race between you and cameron as you both rush over to grab the device. you should’ve knew better. a 6-foot behemoth was easily going to overpower you. the most athletic thing you conquered was a brisk walk up a flight of stairs to enter your favorite coffee shop.

“give me my phone, cameron!” he holds a hand outward to block the catty hits you give in attempt to get your phone back.

cameron forgets his place.

the idea of someone else having access to you made him go crazy. cameron could almost handle the thought of him not being with you, but someone else getting the pleasure of being near you was enough to drive him through a wall.

“i don’t recall this being any of your fucking business, cameron. why does it matter what i’m doing?!”

“because you’re fucking hugging and kissing him after canceling a tutoring lesson with me.”

“i was helping him study cameron—there! does that make you feel any fucking better?”

“fuck no! you’re getting fucking dressed up for him, but bailing out on me, i’m fucking pissed.” you can sense the genuine anger surging through cameron as he speaks. his usually light irises darken as they pierce into you.

“i’m sorry, cameron.”

but it’s not enough.

“nah, i need to talk to that motherfucka, i need to know something.”

“you’re going to talk to him for what, cameron? i’m confused as to how this is any of your concern. you hate me, so why are you so worried?”

you and cameron begin to tussle. he’s attempting to push past you, searching all throughout your book bag for the vibrating cell phone. you’re holding him by the arm to stay in place, but cameron’s strong—tall, big—any of the words you could think of, so you have little to no fight at this moment, being easily brushed to the side as he moves about.

it’s a last-minute effort, but the heavy smack you send to his left cheek stops him in his tracks. the inside of your palm rings, while a stinging red mark forms on the side of cameron’s face. you’re about to say something—an apology of sorts when cameron forces you to pause. he releases the tiniest surprised moan—low and trapped in the back of his throat, as you watch his dick twitch behind the confines of his shorts.

cameron is silent. pleading eyes wandering over you as he tries to understand why do you turn him on like this? your book bag and the contents inside fall to the ground once cameron drops it.

“you like that? y-you like me smacking you around?” you’re taken aback by his reaction.

cameron remains quiet, but his dick answers whatever questions you have. you can practically feel the heat radiating from it, as he grows harder, continuing to flinch around underneath his clothes.

“answer me, cameron.”

it’s like chewing glass, and cameron can’t swallow the broken pieces down fast enough to speak. he’d kept these feelings locked away for years. years of longing, aching and needing to be near you vanished into thin air from a harsh slap you’d given him. cameron can’t believe the magic you hold.

“answer me, cam,” you’re on the tips of your leather shoes, lush lips skimming across his neck as you speak. you await an answer, but only draw out another shaky moan from him. “tell me, cameron and i can help you feel better. i gotta hear you say it.”

he gulps sharply, forcing his eyelids closed as he tries to regulate. “f—fuck, fuck, yes, yes.”

you began to soften up some. smugness to your voice when you question him, finding delight in the sorrowful position you have him in.

“can i see it, cameron?”

“w-what?” he stutters. “you—you want to see me?”

cameron’s been convinced you were disgusted with his entire presence, hearing your words makes his dick stiffen more. cameron can’t think clearly, but he knows he wants this, knows he wants you to want it as well.

“let me see you, baby.”

you’ve switched—and so quickly at that. cameron’s not sure if you’ve always been like this, but starting as a timid nerd and turning into a sweet voiced domme, shakes him to his core. cameron’s willing, though. he’s happy you were into it like he was.

so cameron obeys.

untying the string to his shorts, cameron starts to fumble with the clothing items until they fall to the ends of his ankles. and the expression on your face cannot be contained—a mix of surprise and satisfaction. you expected a handsome boy like him to have a nice dick—well groomed and beautiful in color, but his length? cameron was a fairly decent size. you would rather not give him too much credit, but his umber tinted dick truly took your breath away.

“you’re big, cameron.”

“yeah?” he’s breathless as he responds.

nodding your head as you continue. “yes and you’re so pretty, you look so good, baby.”

cameron could die happily with the way you’re talking to him, his dick bobs in appreciation from the complimentary words you utter.

“show me what you can do.”

and cameron’s on it immediately, willing to do whatever he can to please you. his large hard drags over his hard dick in a fast motion, jerking along the tightened shaft without regard or concern. his eyes flick back and forth—from you and down to his piece in hand, while you watch.

“you’re rough.”

you giggle a bit as you cross over the room, taking a few steps to get closer to him, as cameron continues to jerk his dick raggedly. he’s too excited—too anxious to reach his nut, that he can hardly contain himself.

“what’s the rush? we got all the time in the world.”

cameron’s looking to you for relief, awaiting whatever you can give him to get off completely. you step beside him and attempt to reach his height from the short distance you stand, clothed breasts brushing the outside of his strong arms as you linger.

the pad of your soft thumb traces over the end of his chiseled jaw, slowly finding your way to

his bottom lip as you grin softly. “open your mouth, cam.”

you only have to ask once because cameron trusts you. he doesn’t know why, but a major part of him knows you’d get him there without a hassle. cameron’s tongue wraps around your thumb without hesitation, moaning in satisfaction at the faint smell of perfume along your skin. his eyes fall closed in satisfaction of the contact.

“drool on that dick, baby, i want you to get it wet for me.”

you pull your hand away from his lips and cameron follows the instructions, opening his mouth wide enough that an elongated string of spit hits the base of his dick without pause. it’s fucking sexy when he does it, hand holding onto a nearby bookshelf as you watch intensely. you try not to moan and only enjoy the show, but it’s almost impossible with a star football player falling apart the simple commands you give.

“do you want me to touch it, cam? want me to make you feel good?”

and it’s more than anything he’s ever wanted in his life. cameron’s skull could rattle with how fast his head shakes. you only give him a little, gentle fingertips twisting at the head of his dick while he shivers in response.

“yes—yeah, please, y/n, please.”

then you think. “but, do you deserve it? have you been good, cameron?”

cameron knows the truth—he’d been acting a fucking fool as of late, but he was here now and he was willing to try, willing to try and be good just for you.

“i can—i can be better, y/n. i can be calmer, nicer—fuck, just touch me please.”

“promise me cameron. promise you’ll be good from here on out. promise you’ll listen to me.”

he nods furiously, “yes, yes, i’ll be good, i’ll be good and i’ll do whatever you want.”

with the lubrication of his spit, you’re easily able to tug on cameron’s big dick, opposite hand finding purchase around his wide neck. you choke him softly, just enough that it takes his breath way and makes him moan at the same time.

“lift your shirt up, i wanna see you, baby, i gotta see you.”

with hardly any focus, cameron scrambles to unzip his jacket and raise his plain t-shirt like you commanded him to. your soft hand grazes the rippled skin of his abs in admiration. his skin is damp from a previous workout and the anxiety of being in your hold and you can smell it on him. the scent of his natural sweaty aroma combined with a woodsy cologne makes your pussy clench around nothing.

you wanted him.