#19

as if he was able to hear your thoughts, waking up from the sound of them, gator shifted behind you, his voice—still rough with sleep—tickling you in just the right places.

“mornin’ darlin’,” he whispered, teeth grazing the shell of your ear, drawing a little giggle from you. “morning, gates,” you whispered, turning around, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could look down at his beautiful face.

his dark hair—usually gelled back so it was out of his brown eyes—fell messily into his forehead, making him look absolutely divine.

those hazel eyes shimmered in the morning light, waking up the butterflies in your stomach and making them swirl around.

“how did ya sleep?” he asked, voice still scratchy, reaching up and tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

you leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut briefly, then met his gaze again. “mhhh, slept pretty good. but… if i remember correctly, there was something pressed up against my ass in the middle of the night,” you teased, causing him to laugh. and god, if that wasn’t the most beautiful sound on earth.

“yeah? i have no fuckin’ idea what yer talkin’ about,” he replied, sitting up, his hand sliding to the back of your neck so he could pull you down into a soft kiss, all sweet and sloppy.

after a few seconds, he pulled away again, his thumb brushing along your lower lip, smearing away the wet trace of saliva he left behind.

“gotta leave for work,” he murmured, eyes focusing on your lips as he followed the movement of his finger with his gaze.

“can’t wait to see ya later.” gator kissed you once more before slipping out of the cozy warmth of the bed, leaving you behind. the sheets stayed tangled around your legs but he took all of his warmth away with him.

the sun was about to set when gator opened the front door of the small house you lived in together. almost immediately, he was greeted by the smell of grilled chicken and it felt like something close to heaven after this awfully long day of being separated from you.

“darlin’, i’m home!” he called out right after the door fell shut behind him, but there was no answer.

maybe you wore your headphones—as always when you cooked. but when he looked for you in the kitchen, you were nowhere to be found. only the light in the oven gave away that he was right in his guess and that you were already preparing dinner.

“i’m upstairs!”

your angelic voice felt like music to his ears, and he let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. desperate to feel you in his arms, he walked up the stairs—taking two at once—before reaching the first floor.

the faint smell of vanilla hung in the air, telling him that you just took a shower and he moved over to the bedroom. but much to his disappointment, he couldn’t find you in there as well.

right when he thought about calling out for you again, his sweet and soft girl, there was a quiet clearing of a throat behind him. and when he finally turned around, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

there you were, standing in the doorway, looking like pure sin. you wore that old lingerie set—one of his favourites, covered by black lace roses and those tiny little bows in the front, nipples flashing at him through the thin material. the one he’d thought you’d thrown away after he’d asked you multiple times if you could wear it again—only to be ignored instead of blessed with an answer.

a smug smile was on your face, the metal handcuffs he usually kept in the drawer of his nightstand, dangling from your index finger. “look who came home,” you purred, tilting your head, those beautiful locks falling over your shoulders like a silent invitation.

“shit, baby,” gator whispered, his pupils dilating as he took a step closer.

“ah-ah,” you raised your voice, making him stop dead in his tracks, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

“did i give you permission to move?” you tilted your head to the side and the realization of what you were doing went straight to his cock.

“loose the vest, baby.”

the command was soft but explicit, signaling him who was in charge this time. and god, that was exactly what he needed right now. so he didn’t hesitate, the deputy vest coming off in one single motion, hanging it over the chair that stood by your vanity.

“good boy,” you praised, watching how his shoulders tensed, clearly having trouble to control himself. and you haven’t even started yet.

“now, the jacket.”

it fell to the floor with a soft thud, leaving him in that tight black shirt and his camo pants which were doing nothing to hide the affect all of this had on him.

“on the bed. arms over your head,” you instructed, watching every single movement of him until he was splayed out on the bed on his back, obediently placing his strong arms over his head.

only then you did move as well, your smaller frame climbing on top of him, straddling his waist, avoiding contact with the visible bulge that pressed intently against his pants.

you still held the cuffs between your fingers as they slipped under the edge of his shirt, pushing it up slowly. gator groaned when he felt the cool metal brushing against his skin, his hands twitching but he kept them over his head—right where you wanted them to stay.

“just like that…” you muttered, pulling the fabric over his head, throwing it to the side. “such a good boy…”

you leaned over him, your breasts—covered by that fucking seductive lace—hanging right into his face as you cuffed his hands onto the metal headboard of the bed.

he breathed in your scent deeply, those soft and sweet notes of vanilla along with the familiar hint of whiskey. it made him chuckle, already knowing exactly why he got that absolutely perfect treatment.

“christ, baby. if that’s what i’m receivin’, you should get drunk more often,” he hummed, the soft click of the last cuff snapping echoed through the room.

it was your turn to chuckle then, your hands braced on his chest, feeling the soft curls of the dark hair underneath your palms. “good for you, i planned this long before i got drunk,” you murmured, grinding your hips against his groin, eliciting a hiss from his mouth and his hips bucked up against you involuntarily.

you grinned, satisfied with the reaction, the next roll of your hips having his body shaking underneath you as his hands strained against the cuffs.

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” he growled, his chest rising and falling slowly with every heavy breath he took. “you’re evil, baby. fuckin’ evil,” he muttered while you slipped down his body, fingers fiddling with the straps of his thigh holster—the one he always wore when he was out on patrol.

“i know…” one strap came loose, the other followed shortly after. “that’s why you love me.”

the holster along with his gun landed on the floor beside the bed, and you finally had enough space to get rid of the remaining clothes.

it took you seconds to open his pants and pulling them down, his boxers following after, leaving him completely naked in front of you. and sweet lord, it was a sight you’d never get tired of.

his legs long and muscular, leading up to his veiny and thick cock, resting heavily against his stomach. he was hard as a rock, small beads of precum pooling right under his navel, little twitches smearing it on the skin there, leaving a glistening mess.

“fuck, darlin’. you wanna spend the rest of the evening looking at me like that?” he asked, ripping you out of your thoughts and you moved slowly, leaning back over him.

“and even if that was the case… you wouldn’t be able to change something about it as long as you’re cuffed to the bed.” you reached over to the other side of the bed—your side—pulling up the bottle of whiskey you’d placed there, hidden from his gaze.

the second he saw it, his eyes widened. “baby, what are you-“ you didn’t let him come any further. you opened the bottle, tilting it and spilled the expensive liquid all over his chest and stomach. it dropped down his sides, soaking the sheets underneath him but you couldn’t care less.

“oops.”

he tensed at the sensation, a deep groan rumbling through his chest when you put the bottle away and lowered your head to breathe in the scent.

the strong whiskey, mixed with the musky smell of your husband, was the perfect combination. so you didn’t wait any longer and dragged your tongue over his skin, slurping the drops of whiskey off him.

gator let out a strangled moan, his hips bucking up, desperately searching for friction while his cock twitched helplessly against his lower stomach.

“oh, f-fuck…” his voice sounded broken, almost desperate, and you couldn’t help but smile, your mouth still catching the value alcohol.

the journey continued until you reached his lips, hovering right over them with the last remaining liquid in your mouth.

you didn’t have to ask, he understood. his mouth opened, ready to take whatever you were about to give to him.

and right now, you let the whiskey—mixed together with your spit—drop into his mouth, forcing him to swallow.

you lowered your lips onto his, kissing him messily, your tongue pushing against his, both of you moaning into each other.

a string of saliva connected your lips when you pulled away, finally starting to rub your lace-covered pussy against his bare cock.

“tell me what you want, baby,” you murmured, slipping down his body, nails digging into the flesh of his muscular thighs. “you…” he pressed out, his cock twitching again, right in front of your face. “i only want you… ain’t ever wanted anythin’ more.”

and then, finally, you touched him properly. your fingers traced the vein on the underside, right from bottom to top before wrapping your hand around his length. your thumb brushed over the head, smearing the precum around, coating him in it, sending a shudder through his body.

“oh shiiit, baby,” he moaned, thrusting his hips into your grip. he realized what mistake it was as you pulled away, eyebrows raised.

“no moving, or you want me to fix your slutty hips on the bed as well?” you warned, and gator groaned.

“‘m sorry, darlin’. no moving,” he murmured, voice cracking on the words and watched how you lowered your head, pressing a kiss on the tip, the salty taste of his arousal dancing on your lips.

you heard the soft clinking of the handcuffs as he strained against them, trying desperately to get his hands on you.

“speak to me, pretty boy. tell me what you need. wanna hear it.” your hot breath fanned over his wet tip, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“need your mouth. fuck baby, need you to suck me off… need it so bad. please, baby, please…” the words babbled over his lips, and who were you to deny that to him after he begged so beautifully?

your lips closed around the head then, suckling softly before taking him deeper until he hit the back of your throat.

“fucking hell,” gator hissed, his hips instinctively snapping up into the wet heat of your mouth, almost making you choke on him.

your grip on his waist tightened as you pushed his hips down, punishing him with pulling away once more, making him groan in disapproval. he lifted his head to look down on you, pupils dilated and lips swollen from biting down on them.

“baby… what yer doin’?” he panted, his cock completely coated in your spit and another small bead of precum appeared on the slit.

instead of answering, your fingernails dug into his thighs, squeezing the flesh, then pressed soft, wet kisses along his shaft. “stay still, honey.”

the sound he made was absolutely wrecked, broken even, his whole body shuddering underneath you but he nodded, signaling you that he understood.

“good boy,” you praised, leaning down again, taking him between your lips. you continued to suck on the tip, tongue flicking over it teasingly. then you sank further down, even deeper than before, his thickness stretching your throat, forcing you to breathe through your nose.

the constant clinking sound of the handcuffs against the metal headboard filled the air along with the little sounds he made and your heavy breathing.

you stayed like that for a few seconds without moving, feeling him twitch and throb against your tongue. then, you finally swallowed around him.

a deep, guttural sound tore from his lungs, his thighs trembling under your firm grip and you knew he was close already. “don’t cum…” you murmured, your tongue flicking out against his balls. “unless i say so. understand?”

he whimpered, flexing his arms as if he wanted to reach out for you only to be stopped by those goddamn handcuffs.

“gator…” you urged him, lips closing around one sack, suckling softly on it. “answer me.”

“i… i won’t cum. only if you say so,” he echoed your words, followed by a growl like it caused him physical pain.

“such…” suck. “a…” suck. “good boy.” you pulled away with a wet pop, your hand closing around his shaft once more, stroking him rhythmically.

it wasn’t long until you replaced your hand with your mouth, taking him deep just like before, bobbing your head up and down, keeping that steady rhythm.

“baby…” gator moaned, his hips twitching underneath you. “s-stop. i’m gonna cum if you keep goin’ like this.” he sounded completely breathless, his north dakota accent stronger than you’ve ever heard before.

but of course, you didn’t stop. you only went harder, forcing him so deep that you were choking on him, drool dripping down your chin and onto his balls. he began to twitch, his breathing becoming faster and you knew he was on the very edge.

but before he could fall over, you withdrew, pulling away completely, leaving him throbbing and shaking on the mattress.

his arms practically ripped on the cuffs, thighs shaking so hard you swore the mattress was moving underneath you.

“the fuck?” he cried out, lifting his head so he could look at you, poor cock glistening wet and throbbing where it rested against his stomach.

“i told you not to cum, gates,” you pointed out, pouting your lips but still staying out of reach as he shifted his hips, making his cock bob slightly.

“‘m sorry…ain’t gonna happen again. jus’ please, c’me back here,” he begged and you tilted your head to the side, watching him through narrowed eyes.

after a few more seconds of letting him wait, you bowed your head again, swallowing him whole in one movement. and when he was about to cum again, you repeated the same action as before, pulling away, reminding him about your rule.

you edged him like that—triggering is orgasm and pulling away right before it hit—until you decided it was enough, getting rid of the lingerie, stripping naked right in front of his eyes.

his hands stayed cuffed but you could see clearly how bad he wanted to touch you. the hazel brown of his eyes swallowed completely by pure and primal need, mouth slightly hanging open as he watched you with heavy breaths.

“you fuckin’ diabolical bitch,” he cursed, hips pushing up as you crawled back on top of him, alining his cock with your tight hole.

you huffed out a laugh at his words, punishing him by not sinking down on him immediately. you dragged the tip through your folds, coating him in your arousal while the poor man tried to free his hands from where they were still cuffed to the headboard. but the keys were far away, out of his and also your reach, lying on the bedside table.

“loose the cuffs,” he growled, voice deep and primal but all you could do was laugh. without waiting any longer, you sank down on him, your pussy swallowing inch by inch until he was fully seated inside of you.

you leaned forward then, lips brushing against his but not nearly kissing him. “only if you beg for it.” it was a breath, tickling over his still swollen lips and he made a completely new sound, something you never heard before.

he whined.

gator fucking tillman whined because of you. and it made you feel like the most powerful woman on earth.

his hips snapped upwards, the head of his cock hitting your cervix, tearing a moan from your own throat. “loose. the. cuffs,” he repeated, pulling on them a little stronger, the painful screech of the headboard echoing off the walls.

but you didn’t even think about it. you only placed your hands on his soft tummy, fingers brushing through the trail of hair growing there before you sat up, throwing your head back and arching your back, giving him a full view of your tits.

“baby, i swear to fuckin’ god if you—“ he got cut off by the first move of your hips, moaning out loudly as he felt your walls tighten around him.

only seconds later you set a pace that had his head spinning. you moved up and down his cock, circling your hips in between, practically tearing him apart. all that with your fucking perfect tits bouncing in front of his eyes, still too far out of reach.

“baby, please“ he whined, hands straining against the cuffs again. “please, just… loose the fuckin’ cuffs. lemme touch ya.” it was pathetic how he begged but it was exactly how you wanted it. so completely wrecked and drunk on you that you decided it was enough.

you leaned over, grabbing the key before leaning over his head, breasts falling right into his face. the quiet clicks sounded and the first cuff came loose, then the second. the moment he was free, it all happened very fast.

his hands found your hips, turning you around, trapping you underneath him. your breath left your lungs from the sudden movement while his big hands slipped to the back of your knees, pushing your legs up and over his shoulders, folding your smaller form in half, all while he was still buried in you.

the first move had you arching your back off the mattress, changing the angle, causing him to slide even deeper. “fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth, then his payback began.

his pace was relentless, thrusting into you before pulling all the way out before slamming all the way back in, pressing the air out of your lungs in a breathless scream.

he pounded into you over and over again, driven by that raw need, not stopping until he had you right where he wanted you, crying and begging just like him only a few minutes before.

his thumb found your clit, rubbing over it in tight circles, adding just the right pressure. “gator… oh, f-fuck… i’m gonna cum…” you moaned, feeling how the pressure in your stomach built, almost becoming too much.

“funny thing, baby. because you were the one telling me not to cum until ya say so,” he rasped against your lips, and just before the coil snapped, his finger was gone, hips stilling completely.

that fucking asshole did the same thing as you did to him, denying you to reach your peak, a desperate cry tearing from your lips.

“you can cum, gator. just please, please let me—”

he cut you off with a kiss, tongue fucking into your mouth, finally picking up his pace again.

when he pulled away, he lowered his head to look down at where your bodies connected, watching him slipping in and out of you. “fuckin’ hell. like ya were made for me, babygirl,” he praised, his thumb finding your clit again.

“cum with me, would ya? can ya do that f’me?” he asked and you nodded, maybe a little too hard even. but it only spurred him on, hips crashing down against yours, making your tits bounce. and that was enough for both of you.

your orgasm crashed over you, so hard you could swear you passed out. your walls clenching around him, milking him dry, was gator’s undoing and he buried himself deep into your pussy with one last thrust, thick ropes of hot cum spurting out, coating your delicate walls.

you didn’t know how long it took until you stopped shaking. all you could feel was his body collapsing on top of you, bracing himself on his elbows next to your head so he wouldn’t crush you. “have i already mentioned that yer fuckin’ evil,” he breathed out, making you giggle underneath him, your hands coming up to cover your face.

“hey, don’t hide from me now, mrs. tillman,” he murmured, peppering kisses on the back of your hands, pushing them away with his nose. you finally moved them aside, eyes meeting his, the room illuminated by the sunset making them sparkle like liquid amber.

“couldn’t stop myself. and maybe… you can really blame the whiskey,” you smiled softly, your fingers tracing over his strong biceps.

he was about to say something when the beeping noise of the oven echoed through the house, telling you that dinner was ready.

“i have to go,” you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, pushing him off so he rolled over to the free side of the bed. you slipped away, completely ignoring the feeling of his cum and your juices leaking out from between your legs.

you bowed down, grabbed his shirt and pulled it over your head—not even bothering to put panties on—before you disappeared through the door.

gator’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling as he took deep, steady breaths, still processing what the hell just happened. a few minutes later, he followed you down, finding you in the kitchen, placing the delicious smelling food on the plates.

he took two beers out of the fridge, bringing them to the dining table, waiting for you to join him and sat down with you.

he was only a few minutes into eating when he stopped, feeling your gaze on him. he lifted his head, eyes meeting yours, finding you biting your bottom lip.

you stretched out your leg, your foot touching his bare thigh, tracing its path down right between his legs, brushing against his cock, securely tucked away in his boxers.

gator grinned, flashing his teeth at you while he placed his fork back on the table. he reached over, fingers curling under your chair, yanking you closer on it. “you greedy little slut,” he growled, pushing his own chair back as he fell to his knees in front of you—the grilled chicken completely forgotten on his plate as he focused on his actual meal right in front of him.

2026 whispersoflost

“You have to pick which one you want to do more,” you say, threading your fingers through his hair, “sex… or ring…” He lets out a hard breath. He runs his hand up your side, lightly pinching your nipple through your shirt. You give him a small smirk, leaning towards him, fully ready to shed your clothes and get on top of him. He pauses right before your lips touch.

“Ring.” He whispers. Your mouth falls open slightly. 

“You are such a tease,” you say, playfully pushing him back, “you’re lucky I love you so much, a worse woman would change her mind,” you say, turning and walking out of the room towards the front door. He follows you with a little smirk on his face, caging you against the front door, spinning you around by your hips.

“Come on,” he says in a low voice, dropping his hand to the button of your jeans, popping it open, dragging the zipper down slowly, “you know I won’t leave my pretty girl hangin’.” He brings his hand up to his mouth sucking in his fingers covering them in a slick sheen of spit. He slips his hand down into your panties and you gasp as you both watch his hand disappear in your jeans. He runs his fingers over your panties first, a long line dragging over your entrance then catching on your clit.

“You want my fingers, gorgeous?” He rasps, rubbing you over your little thong.

“Yes… please…” you whine, grabbing his wrist. He smirks as he lets you shove his hand beneath the soft fabric of your panties. His fingers find your clit and you pull him into a slow but heated kiss. You moan against his mouth as he rubs teasing circles on you, he smiles into the kiss at the pretty little sounds you're making. You roll your hips down on his hand as you slide your tongue in his mouth, licking against each other as you feel the coil inside you start to tighten. He teases your clit, shaking his hand from left to right, rubbing little ovals on you, making you squirm. 

“Andrew,” you whimper on his lips, he knows you want his fingers inside and he happily obliges. Your pussy is sticky with desire as he slides two fat fingers inside you at an aching pace, curling forward rubbing against your front wall. You rake your fingers through his curls at the back of his neck, whimpering at the sensation of his fingers building your orgasm deep inside you. Restricted by your jeans he presses his palm against your clit rubbing it up and down as he rubs his fingers inside you over and over. You squeak against his mouth.

“You gonna come for me?” He says, licking along your bottom lip as your mouth hangs open in pleasure. You tug on his curls pulling a low groan from the back of his throat.

“Yeah,” you breath, “don’t stop, just like that,” 

He wouldn’t dream of stopping, not with you making those addicting sounds in his ear. He feels your pussy flutter around his fingers and keeps curling them up inside you, grinding your clit on his palm. You pull him tighter against you, bracing your against him as your legs start to shake. He wraps his other arm around your waist, holding you up. 

“Andrew, fuck,” you gasp, “I’m- coming-” he keeps fucking his fingers in and out of you, a smirk on his face as he watches you fall apart, holding you firmly against his body as you try and squirm out of his arms, overwhelmed at the feeling of his fingers filling you through your orgasm. 

As you come down from your high you settle in his arms, resting your hands on his shoulders as you try to compose yourself. He pulls his fingers from inside your pants bringing his hand up to his mouth, sucking your cum off his fingers. Quick, little breaths slip past your lips as you watch him pulling his fingers past his lips, spitting a glob of saliva on his finger tips, dropping his hands back down into your jeans, shoving his fingers back inside you, pressing his spit deep up inside your pussy.

“I want you to feel that dripping out of you when I’m putting a ring on your finger.” He says in a low rasp while his forehead rests on yours. Your lips part at his filthy words and he catches your bottom lip on his thumb, running his rough fingertip over your soft mouth. 

“You ready?” He smiles. You nod as your breathing finally slows. He zips your jeans and buttons them, placing a sweet kiss on your lips. He grabs your coffee from the counter, handing it to you, taking your hand in his.

The first store he takes you to is a vintage ring and diamond dealer. As you walk inside, hand in hand, you look down at the glass cases and immediately feel your heart squeeze. The rings are simple and elegant, gorgeous but not gaudy, not like it was something the two of you ever talked about, but… he nailed it. A small older woman approaches you on the other side of the glass cabinets with a huge smile on her face.

“Hello lovebirds,” she says, “are we looking for an engagement ring today?”

You smile at her enthusiasm, turning to Andrew waiting for him to answer her.

“Uh, yes,” he turns to look at you and smiles seeing you're already staring at him with a light blush on your cheeks, “we are,” he squeezes your hands.

“Well, you certainly found yourself a beautiful bride,” she nods at Andrew.

“I did,” he slips his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. 

“Well, my name is Rita and I would love to help you find the perfect ring today,” she smiles, folding her hands on the glass counter. “What are we thinking about the color of the band?”

“Gold,” Andrew says, “she always wears gold,”

“Handsome and observant,” she says. Andrew blushes but all you can do is giggle. You love how much older women were drawn to him, it was endlessly amusing to you. You press a small kiss to his red cheek. 

“Is there a particular cut of diamond that you have your eye on?” Rita asks.

“Um,” you look down through the glass at the sparkling diamonds, “probably not round or oval… but I don’t know, I’m open to trying anything… this is our first time looking,”

“Isn’t this my lucky day! The first go around is my favorite,” she crinkles her nose in a smile. “And tell me what you’re thinking in terms of price,” she asks Andrew.

“No budget,” he says, looking at you, squeezing your hip, “whatever she wants,”

“Where did you find him?” Rita says, placing a hand on her chest, “I want one,”

“He is one of a kind, I’m afraid,” you smile at him shaking your head. 

Rita suggests you pick out five rings that catch your eye right away. You point through the glass as Andrew stands behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist. Rita sets the five rings out on a long velvet try. 

Andrew insists on putting each ring on your finger. You pick a radiant diamond in a bezel set first, both of your hands vibrate with excitement as he slides it onto your finger.

“Do you like it?” He asks in a low voice.

“It’s so sparkly,” you say, flexing your hand, letting the diamond catch the light. 

“That stone is about two and a half carats and the band is eighteen karat gold,” Rita says, “how does it feel?”

“It feels… big,” you say, “maybe too… flashy?”

 “We’re just getting a feel for what you like right now, there’s no right answer,” Rita smiles. The next ring Andrew slips on your finger is an asscher diamond in an heirloom bezel.

“Now, this is a very unique ring, it’s mixed metal with an eighteen karat yellow-gold band and a platinum head and prongs. The asscher is one of my favorite cuts, it’s not something you see often but it is breathtaking.” Rita says.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, wiggling your fingers letting the diamond catch in the light, “I’m not sure I love the platinum though,”

Andrew puts a lozenge cut diamond on your finger next.

“Another striking shape,” Rita says, “this is a lozenge center stone with a gold grooved halo and shank with a cathedral setting,”

“I love how unique it is…” you say, flicking your eyes up to Andrew who is gnawing on his bottom lip in anticipation, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a diamond this shape before…I think it might be my favorite one so far,”

“Yeah?” Andrew asks, toying with your hand in his fingers. You nod with a small smile.

“A top contender,” Rita claps her hands in excitement. 

You try on what feels like dozens of rings including an east-west cushion signet, a pear and emerald cut toi et moi which you also decide is one of your favorites, an east-west emerald cut half bezel, a five stone cushion cut which you decide is far too big. The lozenge cut ring is still your favorite but when you put it on again you worry that it might not be as timeless as you’d like. You’re starting to think that maybe you should head to the next store when Andrew points to a ring tucked in the back corner of the glass case.

“Good eye,” Rita smiles at him, pulling the ring out and handing it to him, “a true vintage, this is an antique cushion cut solitaire with a reef knot band. The diamond is nineteenth century, unlike contemporary, highly-symmetrical cuts, antique cushions are cut by hand to produce a warm, romantic candlelit glow rather than a modern, disco-ball sparkle. Because they were fashioned by hand, no two antique cuts are identical.”

“Once in a lifetime,” Andrew says, sliding it onto your finger. Both of your hands had gotten steadier the more rings he put on you but now your hands seem to tremble more with this one than the first ring. You take in a shaky, sharp breath as he pushes it flush to your knuckle. He looks up at you and you have tears in your eyes. 

“What do you think?” He asks, but he already knows.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” He says.

“Yeah,” you whisper. He takes your face in his hands and places a sweet kiss on your lips. He holds your cheeks, wiping your tears off with his thumb.

The two of you drive to the Cody compound absolutely giddy. Andrew wants his brothers to be the first ones you tell and you're happy to oblige him. You don’t wear the ring out of the store, Andrew insisting that he does a proper proposal where he gets on one knee and tells you exactly why he wants you to be his forever, and why he wants to be yours just the same. His hand squeezes down on your thigh the entire ride there while you trace your fingers up the thick vein on his bicep. The two of you pull up and there’s a sleek black car in the driveway that you don’t recognize but it’s clear that Andrew does. He tenses a little beneath your hands.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, searching his face.

“I’m not sure,” he says, his eyes locked on the car, “could be nothing.” 

"Well, whose car is that?" You ask, trying not to panic.

"He was Smurf's lawyer," he says in a low voice.

He steps out and you follow, running up beside him taking his hand as you walk through the front door. You can hear the low murmur of voices as you step inside that stop as soon as the door closes.

“Pope?” Deran calls out. Andrew says nothing but walks to the living room where the voices were coming from. You find Deran and Craig sitting on the couch with a man you don’t recognize. He’s sharply dressed in a suit and tie and doesn’t seem like the kind of guy the Cody boys hang out with.

“Neil,” Andrew says.

“Andrew,” Neil says.

“What’s going on?” Andrew asks, looking between the three men, your hand still firmly in his grasp. The three men exchange a look you can’t decipher. Neil takes a deep breath.

“They found Jeanine Cody’s body in Riverside.” Neil says. Your blood goes cold. You feel Andrew freeze beside you.

“The detective, Louise Thompson, she's been tailing Pope.” Deran says with his arms crossed, “a buddy at the police department called me this morning and we called Neil.”

“Unfortunately, that's not the only charge that Andrew's facing right now.” Neil says. Deran's head snaps towards him.

"You didn't say anything about another charge," Deran says, sounding pissed.

“Oceanside PD is gonna be issuing a warrant for Andrew's arrest for assault.” Neil says.

“Assault?” You say, your voice laced with indignation, but you pause, thinking of all the nights Andrew came home cut up and bruised.

“The victim is someone named Taylor Cline. Does that sound familiar?” Neil says.

“No.” Andrew says, but it sounds familiar to you. You turn to Andrew.

“Taylor… the guy from Deran’s bar,” you say quietly, “he- he was talking to me and you broke his nose.”

“Wait, what's that got to do with Smurf?” Craig cuts in.

“Thompson probably doesn't have enough for a homicide charge, so she convinced someone from Oceanside to prop this up.” Neil says, rubbing the back of his neck. ”Now that we're aware of her investigation, she probably assumes that Andrew may run, so we'll need to go down and get you processed. You should be able to get bail, but the previous felony conviction may complicate things.”

“He's just gonna walk down there and turn himself in?” Deran says, baffled. 

“No,” you say, gripping on his arm. 

“It'll look better for us if we go to the station, cooperate,” Neil says, shrugging, “how much can you raise for bail?”

“Enough.” Craig says.

“Half a million?” Neil raises his eyebrows.

“A million?” You say, eyes wide. “For an assault charge?”

“Convicted bank robber.” Neil says flatly.

“We got it. We got it.” Deran says.

“Alright,” Neil says, fiddling with the cuff of his shirt.

“We'll all go with him.” Craig says.

“Only one of you,” Neil says looking between Deran and Craig “both of you will make this a much bigger story,” Neil's eyes fall on you, “she can come. She’ll make you look… sympathetic,” 

Andrew moves his arm in front of you, tucking you behind his body.

“You’re not using her for optics,” Andrew says, voice cutting.

“No, I’m coming,” you say, tightening your hands around his arm.

“You shouldn’t have to-” Andrew says, his voice so much softer towards you that Neil is taken aback. 

“I’m coming with you,” you say firmly. 

“Okay. I'll go too.” Deran says, patting Craig on the shoulder.

You, Andrew, Deran, and Neil walk towards the Oceanside police department and your hand is like a vice on his arm.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You whisper to him so Deran and Neil can’t hear. “I feel like this is a bad idea,”

“Neil… he’s… a friend of the family,” Andrew says. Taking your hand in his, he stops walking and holds your face in his hands. Your expression is a mixture of sadness and fear. He strokes your cheek with his thumb before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“I’ll be coming home before you know it,” he says, resting his forward on yours for a moment, dropping his hand back to yours, lacing your fingers together. You take a deep, shaking breath and nod.

“I'll let them know we're here.” Neil says, as you all walk in the building.

You’re squeezing Andrew’s hand so tight that his skin under your fingertips turns white. Neil walks up to a long counter where a woman in a suit stands talking to a uniformed officer.

“I'm here with Andrew Cody.” He says. The woman you assume is a detective seems taken aback by this, her eyes flicking over Neil’s shoulder and landing on you and Andrew. 

“Mr. Cody. I'm Detective Hutchins,” she says, walking around the desk, her hand already on her cuffs, “you're under arrest for assault.” 

“Wait,” you whisper, grabbing his arm with your other hand.

“It’s ok,” Andrew says, squeezing your hand before reluctantly pulling his arm from your grasp.

“Put your hands behind your head.” Detective Hutchins says. Andrew rests his hands on his head.

“Is that really necessary?” You say, trying to keep your voice from shaking. Detective Hutchins’ eyes flick towards you as she puts the cuffs on his wrists.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.” Detective Hutchins drones.

“He's aware of that,” Deran snaps.

“She has to finish the Miranda,” Neil says, smirking, “she knows I'm watching this entire waste of the taxpayers' money.”

“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand?” Detective Hutchins finishes. You gnaw on the inside of your lip trying not to cry.

“Yeah.” Andrew says. You try to wipe a tear away quickly hoping he doesn’t notice but of course he does. He notices everything about you. The detective takes Andrews arms where you can still see the small indents of your nails where you were just gripping down on him. She leads him down the hallway as he turns his head to get one more look at you. She brings him to a small interrogation room in the back of the building.

“I want my lawyer.” Andrew says as soon as they walk in the door.

“I know,” she says, uncuffing him before sitting down, gesturing for him to sit across from her. “but I suggest you hear me out first before your attorney comes in…”

“I'm not listening,” Andrew cuts in.

“...and there's things you and I won't be able to control.” She finishes, ignoring his objection. She places a folder across the table. She opens it, pushing a picture towards Andrew.

“This is how we found your mother,” she says, he keeps his gaze fixed on his lap. “Go on. Look. Look. That sheet you wrapped her in didn't do much. Animals got to her pretty fast.”

Andrew flicks his eyes up to the table but quickly averts his gaze again.

“Lawyer.” He says.

“I thought you might say that,” Hutchins says, squinting. She slides another grainy photo across the table pushing it right in front of Andrew. It’s of you and him, sitting outside at a restaurant, his hand resting on your thigh while you smile your brilliant smile at him. His throat tightens. That was such a good day, you were both feeling good so you’d decided to go out for dinner, try and be normal again… or at least the new normal. She drops another photo on top of that, it shows you, alone, walking across the street in front of your apartment. You look so beautiful but his fists clench in his lap. They had been following you while you were alone? Andrew squeezes his jaw tighter as the detective drops one more photo on the pile, you and him sitting in his black Jeep, his hand cupping your face, locked in a kiss.

“This has nothing to do with her,” he sneers.

“Oh but it does,” she says. “She’s beautiful, your girlfriend.”

“Fuck you.” Andrew growls leaning forward, Hutchins pulls back slightly.

“It seems unlikely that someone as close to you as she is would know nothing about your little indiscretions.” She says, smoothing down her jacket, composing herself. “We can call her back here, right now even, hope she talks… and if she doesn’t charge her with obstruction. Nothing you could do about it unfortunately, you don’t have spousal privilege.” Hutchins kisses her teeth, “she doesn’t really strike me as a jailbird. It’d be a shame, too, from what we’ve found she’s deeply admired by her students and her peers, no criminal record at all, not even a parking ticket. Not sure how she’d do in a co-ed prison…” 

“What do you want?” Andrew snaps. She leans forward, folding her hands on the table.

“A confession.” She says.

Andrew has been back there for at least an hour and you feel like you are going to crawl out of your skin. Your leg hasn’t stopped bouncing for twenty minutes at least.

“Is it supposed to take this long?” You say to Neil, biting your cuticle.

“She might be trying to get him to talk without me,” Neil says.

“She can't do that,” you say.

“Not technically but I doubt that will stop her,” Neil leans back in his chair.

“But he won’t, right?” You say, looking at him desperately.

“No he knows what to do,” Deran says, arms crossed.

“I’ll go ask the beat cop for any updates,” Neil says, giving you a sympathetic smile. You and Deran sit alone in silence for a moment

“Andrew asked me to marry him,” you say and Deran’s head snaps to you.

“You know that’s crazy right?” Deran says, scanning your face.

“I know,” you say, letting out a shaky breath. “I said yes.”

Before Deran can even respond another young detective pulls both of your attention.

“Deran Cody?” She asks, looking at him.

“Yeah?” Deran says, standing. You stand next to him. Neil is already halfway back to you.

“I'm Detective Louise Thompson. Riverside County.” She rests her hands on her hips.

“So, you're responsible for all this bullshit?” Deran says.

“Bullshit?” She says, raising her eyebrows.

“How long until my client is finished processing?” Neil sighs.

“Oh, Andrew Cody's gonna spend the night with us.” She gives a cruel smile.

“You said they’d let him come home,” you turn to Neil, eyes desperate. 

“On what legal basis?” Neil asks, standing up straighter.

“He confessed to the murder of Jeanine Cody.” Louise says. Your stomach drops.

“What?” You breathe.

“No, he didn't.” Deran scoffs.

“I want to talk to my client.” Neil says.

“No, he didn't.” Deran says louder.

“Because he cooperated,” Louise reaches into her back pocket, pulling out a small velvet box, “he wanted you to have this,” she gives it to you but you can barely bring yourself to take it. You look down at it like she’s just handed you a small dead bird. Your eyes sting with tears that you don’t even try to hold back. She turns and walks away and the three of you just stand there in total silence. Your vision starts to go white around the edges and you hear Deran say your name as if he’s calling out to you from a great distance.

You wake up in the back of Neil’s car as he pulls into Smurf’s driveway.

“What happened?” you say, rubbing your eyes.

“You passed out,” Deran says. “You ok?”

“Andrew-” it’s the only thing you can think to say.

“Yeah,” Deran says in a low voice, getting out of the car before opening your door and holding a hand out to you. You take it and let him wrap his arm around your waist as you walk back in the house.

“What happened?” Craig says as soon as he hears the front door open, rounding the corner to see only you and Deran walking in.

“The cops say Pope confessed,” Deran says, walking you to the couch, sitting you down beside him.

“To the assault?” Craig furrows his eyebrows.

“To the murder.” Deran says, flatly. 

The first week is hell. You struggle to keep food down. You lie awake from sunset to sunrise and sleep the whole day. You sit with the ring box open on your bed staring at the diamond like it’s taunting you. Andrew had managed to slip his silver signet ring in the box as well, not trusting the prison's cataloging system and not willing to lose it. You put his ring on a chain so you can keep it close. The small metal dings when his ring knocked against the sun pendant he got you makes your heart ache. How could the best day of your life turn into the worst one so quickly? 

Andrew has gone radio silent. He hasn’t called you and you can’t call him. You do call Deran everyday to see if he’s heard from his brother. You call the prison to see when you can come visit and they let you know you’re not on his list of approved visitors. When you ask how to get on that list the man on the line tells you that the inmate has to submit a request for your approval. You write a letter to him every day telling him that you still love him and you miss him and to please call you.

On Sunday you get a call from Deran.

“Craig and I are going to see him tomorrow,” he says in a low voice. He knows you haven’t been able to talk to Andrew but this isn’t him rubbing it in, it’s him inviting you to tell him whatever you want to tell Andrew. 

“Ok,” you say, running your fingers through your hair as your leg bounces. “Can you tell him that I love him? And I miss him. And I want him to call me please.” You take in a deep, shaky breath. “And I want to come see him. And whatever convoluted reason he’s come up with as to why that’s a bad idea… tell him it’s stupid.” 

The next day Craig and Deran are sitting in the visitors room waiting for Andrew. He walks in, lined up with the other inmates and shuffles over to the table where his brothers sit. The first thing he asks about is you. 

“She wants you to call her,” Deran says, sympathetically, “and she told me to tell you that she loves you and she misses you. And she wants to come see you,”

“You think I want her to come here? To see me like this?” Andrew says.

“And she says the reasons you think she shouldn’t visit are stupid,” Deran says. This gets a small, half-hearted laugh from Andrew, “you should let her come see you, man, it’ll make you both feel better,”

“Yeah,” Andrew says looking down at the table, “I’ll think about it,”

“If you’re gonna do it… you should do it soon,” Craig says in a low voice. 

“Why?” Andrew furrows his eyebrows. Craig and Deran look at each other.

“They’re gonna transfer you,” Deran says, “but you’re not gonna make it to the other place,”

“The transport bus goes through the desert,” Craig says.

“Alright…” Andrew looks at them skeptically, “and what else is out there?”

“Nothing.” Craig shakes his head. “Just buzzards and dirt.”

“We’ll hit it on the state road.” Deran says, “It’s just 20 miles of nothing.”

“We can use the utility access roads, and then we head out south.” Craig adds. “That's where the motel is. Then we lay low.”

“You should assume that the transport deputies are gonna get a call out.” Andrew says. “Police will respond in force. Helicopters, too, probably.”

“Yeah, so we'll be using dirt bikes and dune buggies.” Deran shrugs. “We'll be out of there fast.”

“They'll assume we're taking the state road, and we'll be out in the open desert,” Craig adds.

“You can definitely get the information on the transport bus? Which one I’m gonna be on and when?” Andrew says.

“Yeah.” Craig slides his hand across the table, patting Andrews, he feels Craig slide something into his palm. “GSM chip. Swallow it the morning they transfer you. We can pinpoint you within about two feet.”

“I have to think about it... but she can’t know. About any of it.” Andrew says firmly, rubbing his hand over his mouth, placing the tracker on his tongue discreetly. “There can be nothing connecting her to this, understand? I need to keep her safe.” 

Craig and Deran nod. 

“We’ll find a way for you to reach her once we’re across the border.” Deran says. 

Andrew rubs his hands over his face, praying his brother is right.

You’re pacing around your apartment waiting for a phone call from Deran. You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel your phone vibrate in your hand answering so fast you hardly notice who’s calling.

“Deran?” You hold the phone up to your ear.

“The is a collect call from the Mira Loma Detention Center,” a metallic voice says in your ear, “to accept this call please say yes or press one,” 

“Yes, yes,” you say frantically, you hear a small click on the line, “Andrew?”

“Hi,” his voice crackles through the phone.

“Oh my god,” you gasp in a breath as tears fall down your face, “Andrew- oh my god- are you ok- I- I miss you-”  

“I’m ok,” he says softly, “it’s all ok. I miss you. I love you.”

“I love you,” you choke out. You feel like you’re about to hyperventilate, you don’t know how he’s so calm right now. You want to reach through the phone and pull him through so he’s back home with you.

“You need to take a deep breath my love,” He says. You try your best, taking in a jagged gulp of air.

“I want you to come home,” you whimper.

“I know,” he says, his voice gentle, “I wanna be there with you,” 

There’s pause. You both just listen to the other breath for a moment.

“Did the detective give you the ring?” He says.

“Yes,” you say in a small voice. “I have your ring too,”

“Good,” he says.

“They wouldn’t… you couldn’t keep it?” You ask, “I just… I just wish you had something to remind you of me,”

“I don’t need anything to remind me of you,” he says, “I’m always thinking about you,”

“I don’t- I don’t understand-” you say, tears rolling down your cheeks slowly, “why did you confess? You were supposed to wait for Neil,”

You hear him take a deep breath in.

“I can’t tell you,” he says, voice low.

“Andrew,” you say in desperation.

“I have good news,” he says, cutting off your spiral, “you’re gonna come see me tomorrow,” 

“Really?” You sniff.

“Deran’s gonna come get you around noon, ok?” He says, slow and measured.

“Ok, ok,” you wipe the tears from your eyes. You’re going to see him. You already feel better. But you know that sitting across from him is nothing close to having him back with you.

“You-” he starts.

“You have one minute remaining,” the automated voice interrupts him. Your stomach drops. This wasn’t enough time.

“You have to do me a favor,” he says and you can hear a bit of reluctance in his voice.

“Anything,” you say.

“You can’t…” he pauses, “dress like normal…”

“Like normal?” You say, slightly confused.

“You just can’t dress all…” he sighs, lowering his voice, “you always look so pretty… but you can’t wear your little skirts or anything like that here,”

“You have 30 seconds left,” the automated voice cuts in again.

“Men can’t tell women how to dress any more, Andrew,” You tease, trying to bring a little levity, a little light to the man you love desperately. He sighs out a small laugh. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow dressed like a twelve year old boy,” you say.

“I can’t wait,” he says, “I love-”

The line goes dead.

“Andrew?” you say, grasping on your phone, aching that you didn’t get to hear those words from him. That you didn’t get to say it back.

That night Andrew is failing to sleep. The itchy wool blanket, the rigid cot… he aches to be with you in your bed, wrapped in your sheets, in your soft hands. He wishes his hands were on your skin, your lips were on his... In the cold of the cell he is desperate for your warmth.

Even if he got out of here somehow, across the border, and was able to reach you... could he really ask you to live a life on the run with him? You have actual dreams and aspirations, could he ask you to give all that up just because his only dream is you? The thing that kills him is he knows you would. But he's not sure he'll be able to ask you to. He loves too much to be so selfish.

“Pope.” Andrew hears a voice in his cell, “Pope, come on.” He turns to see Baz standing in the corner of the room.

“What are you doing here?” Andrew says.

“Me? I should be asking you that question. You're the one who said you were never coming back to prison.” Baz sits next to Andrew on the bed.

“They found Smurf In the desert, where I put her. I told them the truth. I told them what I did,” to protect you, Andrew tells him.

“It wasn't your fault.” Baz says.

“Bullshit. I did it. Nothing ch- changes that. I deserve this.” Andrew says.

“Oh, yeah? Says who?” Baz says, “Huh? Says who?”

“I love her, man.” Andrew whimpers, “I love her more than anything. I- I need to protect her.”

“I know. What you did… It wasn't you, okay? It was Smurf. It was always Smurf” Baz says. “Hey…. Pope… She made you what you are. She knew what she was doing. Smurf got what was coming to her, but you… You never had a chance, did you?”

“I didn't have a chance.” Andrew mumbles.

“No.” Baz says quietly.

“Why are you here?” Andrew turns to his brother.

“I don't know.” Baz says, looking around the room, “It's probably all those meds they're giving you.”

“Yeah,” Andrew sniffs.

“You took all that shit for all of us. All of it. You paid. You don't belong here, Pope. You understand?” Baz says, and Andrew can almost feel his hand on his shoulder, “You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be with her.”

“This is not real.” Andrew says, pressing his palms into his eyes. “Stupid, stupid. Stop. Stop it.”

“This shit again. I'm not gonna do this again.” Baz says, standing.

“You're not real! God, man.” Andrew cries.

“What? You paid!" Baz shouts.

“Stop it! Three, four, five…” Andrew holds his hands over his ears but Baz’s voice is crystal clear.

“You don't belong here.” Baz says.

“Not real. He's not real!” Andrew shouts.

“You don't belong here.” Baz repeats.

“Hey! Phone call.” Andrew bangs on the door of his cell, finally an officer walks to the door, “Phone call.”

“Hello?” Deran’s voice comes through.

“Let’s do it,” Andrew says.

When Deran pulls up to your apartment complex you're sitting on the stairs of the front walkway waiting for him. You’re wearing a grey hoodie, a pair of blue jeans, and your Nikes, as plain and boring as you could be. You slide into the passenger seat as soon as the olive green car slows.

“Hi,” Deran says.

“Hi,” you say, you both just look at each other for a moment before you lean over the console and hug him. You can’t imagine that this has been easy on him either. His hand slowly comes up to your back, resting there. No one had really tried to comfort him through this. You pull back. “Thank you for driving me. I really- I know this must be so hard for you,”

“Yeah,” he says in a quiet voice, “it’s no problem,”

The pair of you drive in silence for a while before you break it.

“Can I ask,” you say, picking at your cuticles, “what- what do I do when I get there? Am I… allowed to touch him- can I hug him?”

You turn to Deran who is looking at you with just a touch of pity in his eyes.

“Yeah you can hug him but only at the beginning probably,” Deran sighs, of course you had never visited someone in prison before. “You’re gonna go, sign in, they’ll check your ID and search you… they’ll be… thorough. It’s like the TSA on steroids, they’re gonna be all up in your shit. You should leave everything in the car with me, phone, keys, everything-”

“Can I bring this?” you hold out a little strip of paper. Deran looks at your hand. His heart aches.

“Yeah,” he says, “you can bring that.” He takes another deep breath.

“A corrections officer is gonna bring you and all the other people to the visitors room, you’ll sit at a table then they’ll bring in the uh… inmates. He’ll find you. I wouldn’t- don’t stand until he comes to you, ok?”

“Ok,” you say, picking your nails again, “how long can I stay with him?” 

“It’s about an hour,” Deran says, pulling into the parking lot.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” You say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Nah,” Deran shrugs, “you should get some time alone with him.”

You reach down to touch his hand, squeezing it once in your own.

“Thank you,” you say.

The beginning goes just like Deran said with little fanfare. You sign in and they check your ID. The search is a little worse than you imagined. You set the metal detector off and are pulled to this side for a pat down. The male office spends a little too much time running his hands under your chest along the under wire of your bra.

“Yeah, I might have to pull you aside to do a more thorough frisk,” he gives you a sleazy smile. You pull your arms through your hoodie sleeves, grateful you’re wearing a tighter tank top underneath, unhook your bra and pull it down the front of your shirt.

“Keep it,” you say, pushing it into his chest as a guard further down waves you towards him. You sit at a metal table and bite at your cuticles. A buzzer sounds and a CO walks through the door a line of inmates behind him. Your leg bounces under the table as you search for Andrew. He’s one of the last ones through the door. You spot each other almost immediately and you bite back tears. He looks so tired.

You try to neutralize your expression, you don’t want to cry here, you don’t want him to try and take care of you because you know he will. You are supposed to be comforting him right now. You do what Deran says, waiting until he’s right in front of you to stand. You throw your arms around his neck and squeeze him hard, his arms go around your waist and he holds onto you just as tightly.

“Hi,” you whisper into his neck. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” he says into your ear. He takes a deep inhale, breathing in your sweetness. You tangle one of your hands in his curls and pull back placing a soft kiss on his lips, running your thumb over his cheek-

“That’s enough,” a prison guard snaps at you, it’s the same guy who patted you down, “this isn’t a conjugal visit.”

You let go of each other reluctantly, both shooting daggers at the guard and sitting down across from each other.

“You look so tired,” you say, turning to him while resting your hands on the table so your fingertips touch. “Are you sleeping at all?”

“Not very much,” he sighs, eyes scanning over your face, “you look beautiful,”

You smile, shaking your head. 

“I thought I nailed the looking not beautiful,” you say, leaning back looking down at your plain outfit.

“You always look beautiful,” he says, taking you hand in his. 

“You’re not wearing your ring,” he runs his fingers over yours. His eyes flick up to you sees your lip quiver as you look away from him, “hey,” he squeezes your hands in his, “it’s ok,”

“I want-” you say, looking down where your hands meet, “I want you to put it on,” 

His heart aches. 

“I-” you pause, putting all your energy into not crying, “why didn’t you tell them the truth?” You lean forward, voice dropping down to a whisper, “it was self-defense. You- you were protecting me-”

“Stop.” He says. He shifts slightly in his seat. “I couldn’t drag you into this. Not more than I already have. They can’t know you were there. They could charge you as an accessory after the fact. And they would.”

“They wouldn’t if they knew she shot you first-” you object quietly. 

Andrew says your name sharp and firm.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, voice still low, “that detective, the one who gave you the ring back… she threatened you… she- she followed you, she had pictures of you outside your apartment, she had pictures of us… that’s why I confessed. I- I had to protect you.”

“Andrew,” you say in utter disbelief, “I-” 

“It’s ok,” he grips down hard on your hands, “I would do it again. Every single time I would choose to protect you.”

Despite your strenuous efforts a tear slips down your cheek.

“I want to protect you too,” you say, voice breaking. 

“Please don’t cry,” he says, squeezing your hands. You pull one of your hands back, wiping the tear off your cheek. You sniff before reaching into your back pocket.

“I brought you this,” you slide the photostrip across the table, it’s from the day the two of you took Lena to the arcade. His heart tugs as he picks it up carefully, looking down at the pictures. The first one shows you in his lap, arm around his shoulder, both of you looking at each other instead of the camera. The second is of you titling your head into him, but his eyes are still to the side, looking at you. The third photo is you holding his jaw in one of your hands forcing his head forward placing a kiss on his cheek. The last photo is the two of you locked in a delicate kiss, his hand cradling your face while your hand rests on his jaw. “I know you said you don’t need anything… but I wanted you to have it,”

Now it’s Andrew who wipes a tear off his cheek. That was one of the happiest days of his life. He wishes he could blink back there. It was all so simple then. He still had Lena, he still had Baz, and as complicated as it was, he still had Smurf. More importantly, he still had you. Really had you, not across a metal table… in front of him, beside him, underneath him.

“Thank you,” he says, taking your hands back in his, “I’ll keep it with me all the time, I- I love you,” “I love you,” you say, tightening your grasp on his hands. All of a sudden another loud buzz interrupts blasts through the room.

“Alright inmates,” a guard calls, resting his hands on his belt, “time’s up,”

You look up in the guards direction and your eyes widen and you grip onto Andrew’s hands tightens.

“Wait,” you say, looking back at him, “that can’t be it,”

“It’s ok,” he says, standing, letting his hands slip out of yours, “I’m gonna see you really soon.”

A guard comes up to him and takes him by the arm.

“Can I keep this?” He holds the photo up to the guard. She takes it in her hand, turning it over once. 

“It’s fine,” she says curtly.

“Thank you,” you say to her, Andrew's heart tightens at your sincerity, “can I hug him?” You ask the guard and he swears he can see the tough facade that all the guards wear on their faces slip for a second at your earnest request. 

“Yeah,” she says in a low voice, taking a step back. You slide your arms around his waist and he wraps his arms around your whole body, tucking your head into his neck. 

“I’m gonna come back as soon as I can ok?” You say, taking in a deep breath, relishing in his warm scent. You sleep in his shirts every night so you can smell him against your body but it’s just not as good as the real thing. “I love you, I love you so much.” You cling to the back of his shirt desperately as he places kisses along your hairline.

“I love you more than anything,” he says into your skin.

“Alright,” the guards voice cuts through the room, “time’s up,” 

You place a quick, frantic kiss on his lips before he steps back.

You place a quick, frantic kiss on his lips before he steps back. The guard takes his arm and leads him out of the room. You can’t even bring yourself to look back at him. You sit down again, holding your head in your hands as a silent sob shakes your body. 

Andrew did look back. He watched you crumple down to the table, trying and failing to hold in a cry. He’s going to get back to you. Whatever it takes.

Three days later Andrew is woken up by a guard early in the morning. “Rise and shine,” the guard says with a flat affect, “it’s moving day. Grab your shit.”

Andrew rubs the sleep from his eyes but even half awake he only has one thing he takes. The photostrip of the two of you taped to his wall. He folds it in half carefully and tucks it in his pocket. He holds his hands behind his head as the guard snaps the cuffs on his wrists. He walks Andrew down the long corridors of the prison to the bus bay, pushing him into the bus. As Andrew sits he takes stock of his surroundings. There’s only two other prisoners on the bus. One guard, one driver, and one cop car escort, two uniforms in the cruiser. 

Andrew takes the photo of you two out of his pocket. Taped to the back is the small GSM tracker his brothers had brought him. He subtly brings it up to his lips, faking a yawn, and swallows it. The bus pulls out slowly and it only takes about twenty minutes before they’re driving along the desert road. He doesn’t know exactly where he is but he knows they’re on the state road. He braces himself, holding onto the bar on the window, waiting for…

That.

The bus flips. Andrew is slammed against the metal bars of the window. His ears are ringing and he feels the warmth of blood dripping down his forehead. He can hear the muffled screams of his brothers outside, interspersed with gunshots. He looks down at his hands, cut from the glass and bloody. His whole body hurts.

“Pope, back up!” He hears Craig yell before a loud crack breaks through the bus. The back door is wrenched open and Andrew sees his brothers decked out in bullet proof vests and goggles. The two cops from the cruiser lay dead on the ground. Deran grabs Andrew by the wrists, uncuffing him and pulling him towards the dirt bikes. Deran and Craig hop onto the bikes and Andrew slides on behind Craig. They punch the throttle and the bikes shoot forward onto the sand. Andrew feels a dull punching sensation on his side as they zip off the road into the desert. They drive hard and fast for about thirty minutes before cutting over to the service road and pulling onto the highway. It only takes five more minutes before they’re peeling off the main road.

They pull into a parking lot of a seedy motel, driving around the back, tucking the dirt bikes behind a dumpster so they’re out of sight. Andrew clutches his side, following his brothers to a room on the first floor. Deran pounds on the door hard. Andrew’s head feels light. Was this part of the plan? Who was meeting them? He couldn’t remember. The door swings open and Deran and Craig push inside and Andrew stumbles in behind them looking around the door to see who let them in.

You.

His heart drops.

“Fuck! Man, I told you to leave her out of this!” Andrew screams at his brothers.

“What happened?” You gasp, looking at the state of him. Andrew blows past you grabbing Craig by his vest but as soon as he moves his hand away from where it was pressed in his side he falters. Craig’s hands reach out to steady him, guiding Andrew to lay down on the bed as he presses his hand down against his stomach again.

“Andrew?” You kneel down next to him. He slowly moves his hand from where he had been pressing against his side, his shirt and fingers covered in blood. Lifting his shirt you gasp. A gaping bullet wound on the left side of his stomach. There’s so much blood. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe out.

Deran and Craig look at each other behind you. This is not something Andrew can survive without a hospital. And the hospital is not an option right now. They can hear sirens in the distance. Craig steps out of the room, moving to start the getaway car that had been left unlocked in the parking lot.

“Hey, hey,” you say trying not to cry, wiping smeared blood off his face, “you’re ok, you’re gonna be ok,”

“You gotta get out of here,” he says, reaching up and cupping your cheek, “I’ll be fine,”

“No,” you whimper, “I’m not leaving you like this,”

“I’ll come find you,” he says, wincing slightly, “I always will,”

“Andrew,” you whisper. Your heart feels like it’s breaking. You both know he’s lying. He groans as he pushes himself up, placing a long, lingering kiss on your lips, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“I love you,” he says, “more than anything.”

“I love you more than anything” you say, voice breaking, tears streaming down your face. 

“I know,” he says, brushing his knuckles over your soft cheek one last time. 

“You have to go. Now.” You don’t move for a moment, running your fingers through his curls, memorizing his face. His gaze flicks past you to Deran.

“Get her out of here,” Andrew groans out. You still don’t move from his side. Deran wraps his arms around you, pulling you up as you struggle against him, fully panicked.

“Wait, wait,” you scream, trying to reach out to Andrew, “no, I need to stay with him, I can’t leave him like this.”

“Andrew!” You scream as Deran lifts you against him. Andrew’s body looks so weak, so crumpled on the bed, a small pool of blood spreading from underneath him. You can see his breathing slow as he gives you one last soft smile. 

You thrash against Deran wailing and screaming as he hauls you out of the room to the car. As you struggle against Deran, Craig tries to help shove you in the backseat but you’re moving so violently, so erratically, so desperate to get back to Andrew that you smash your head against the doorframe. Everything goes black.

EPILOGUE

nearly a whole week has passed by, and you still haven't seen or heard from pope. it wasn't for a lack of trying, though. you texted and called, but each time you received radio silence. after three days, you gave up. you didn't like doing it. in fact, you fucking hated it. but you weren't going to keep reaching out to a man who would never respond.

so you threw yourself back into work. taking pretty much any and every shift that you could so that you would have some extra money to spare. and also so that you wouldn't be stuck in that house. the house that was holding good memories for you, until last sunday. fuck frank that balding asshole.

but now, it's saturday night and you've just finished your shift. you pack your things up, giving tired 'goodbyes' to all the girls as rhey slowly trickle out of the dressing room one by one.

"babe? you okay?" sasha asks, coming from out of nowhere.

"jesus!" you exclaim, nearly dropping your makeup bag. "shit, i thought you were gone."

"i'm sorry," she replies with an embarrassed smile. "i didn't mean to scare you, promise. i just wanted to talk to you once all the girls were gone."

"okay, yeah, is something wrong?"

she moves closer to you, grabbing some of your stuff to help. "no, nothing's wrong. i just noticed that you've been, i don't know, off."

she doesn't know about what frank did to you this past sunday. nor does she know about pope practically ghosting you. so you instead, you make up sone lie. "yeah, yeah, i'm good. i can't remember the last time i took a day off, let alone five in a row. my body has just been adjusting being back at work, i guess." okay, so maybe not a total lie, but still not the full truth.

"that's all? what happened to that guy? the one who would drive you home. pope, right? he hasn't been around."

you shrug, zipping up your bag. "he's just busy. with, uh, with work. he does real estate so sometimes he has travel."

sasha knows you're lying. she's been in your life since you started stripping at 17. but she knows that if she continues pushing, you'll shut down. "okay, whatever you say. listen, my sister took nicky to disneyland for the weekend, so some of the girls and i decided to all go over to bella's place and freshen. maybe hit some bars, bang a few guys. you in?" she asks, lightly bumping her shoulder with yours. she's trying to get you to laugh, and she's able to pull a small chuckle out of you.

"as much as i appreciate the offer, i think i'm just gonna head home for the night," you reply.

she groans dramatically. "are you serious? you haven't been out in like, forever. when was the last time you had even joined in on our girl's night out?" you open your mouth, ready to answer, until you realize that you really don't know. "see, that's exactly what i mean. i'm not asking you to be out all night, but can't you spare an hour? it breaks my heart when you look like a sad puppy, babe."

"i don't have any clothes," you retort, thinking you've one upped sasha, but she has a solution.

"bella's closet is huge as shit. remember when she had that sugar daddy for like all of summer last year? she'll definitely have something for you."

you sigh, hanging your head in defeat. "fine, but only an hour, okay? maybe, and i mean maybe, two hours. happy?"

sasha squeals in delight, clapping her hands before pulling you into a tight hug that gets you smiling. "the happiest girl in the world. now, c'mon, i'll drive us to bella's."

your night out passes by in a blur, and before you know it, nearly four hours have passed and you're ready to go home. sasha offers to drive you home, but you insist on walking. "we're only half a mile away from my house. besides, i think the cold air will sober me up." she whines, not wanting you to leave, but lets you go anyways. "text me when you get home, okay?" she orders, and you nod, hugging and kissing her cheek before exiting the bar.

as soon as you step outside, a cold breeze brushes by making you shiver. thankfully, you still have the leather jacket pope lended to you, and you wrap it closer around yourself. your heels click against the concrete sidewalk, echoing down the empty street. in this moment, you realize how grateful you are for sasha and this night out. it took your mind off of everything, even if just for a few hours. once your house comes into view, you dig through your small purse for your keys.

when you reach the top of the porch, you touch the handle, realizing that it's unlocked. "the fuck...?" you whisper softly. you never left your door unlocked, ever. not in the neighborhood you lived in. you slip your key in between your knuckles, your only form of self defense in this moment. slowly, you push open the door and walk in, searching around the house. it's dark, but nothing looks stolen at first glance. in fact, it looks cleaner than it did before you left. what kind of robber cleans your house and does nothing else?

"where have you been?" a gruff voice asks.

you hadn't even noticed him at first. he was tucked away in the corner of your kitchen, blending in with the darkness. but you recognize the voice right away.

"andy? what are you doing here?"

"you're late," he says, avoiding your question.

"i'm sorry?"

"you get off at one, but get home by one twenty if you walk. it's almost five in the morning. you're late."

"i was out with some of the girls from work. we went to a bar."

"you went to a bar?" he questions, moving closer. you can see his face clearly now. and you hate how much your heart aches when your eyes meet his. "it's late out. it's dangerous. you shouldn't have walked home."

"it's barely even a mile away!" you retort, voice rising.

"that doesn't matter! you could've gotten hurt!" he snaps back. it's the first time he's ever raised his voice at you. but you don't falter. not now. not when you're buzzed from the alcohol and your emotions are high.

"don't do that. you don't get to do that."

"do what?" he asks, genuinely confused.

"pretend like you care! you've ignored every text, every phone call, everything. you haven't been to the club, and neither have any of your brothers. i've done nothing but worry over you and where you were! you leave me to walk home alone from my work for a whole week, but the second i walk barely a mile is when you freak out? that's not fair."

pope drops his head in shame, clenching his jaw. he knows that it's not. that him getting upset right now is completely unfair. "i've been busy."

"busy doing what? jobs for smurf?" he looks up, eyebrows furrowed. "how do you know that?"

"craig told me, andy. on the night that you left, he told me everything about you and your family and what you guys do. can you believe that? i learned more about you from someone who wasn't you."

"are you mad at me?" to others, it might look like he's buzzing with anger. but to you, you can tell he can't stand still because he's full of shame. his body slightly sways side to side like a child who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "no, andy, i'm not mad. i'm dissapointed. but most of all i'm hurt. i'm hurt that you felt like you had to lie to me. that you thought you couldn't trust me. i told you everything about myself. and i had blindly assumed you'd done the same."

"i didn't want you to be scared of me," he admits quietly.

"i'm not scared of you."

"you should be," he replies, and he's much closer than before. you can smell him. a combination of smoke and sweat, with a hint of some pretty expensive cologne that smurf insists he wear. "what did craig tell you?"

"uh, he told me that you guys do robbery and heists. that you use the property you own to launder the money. that the reason you went to jail for those three years was because of a robbery gone wrong and baz left you behind. he also told me more about julia-"

"i mean about catherine. what did he tell you about her?" he cuts in. you take a breath, eyes meeting his hazel ones. even when his face is hardenes, his eyes are gentle when looking at you. "he told me that you really loved her. that you didn't want to kill her and you only did so because smurf ordered you to."

"i would never do that to you," he whispers. "you should be scared of me," he repeats.

"maybe i should be. but i'm not. you could never scare me." by now, the tip of his nose barely brushes yours. his fingers twitch at his sides, just like they always do when he's nervous. his eyes then drop down to your lips and back up again. if you weren't so close you might've missed it. "you can't leave me again. you don't get to do that when things get hard." he nods, hands finding their rightful place on your hips. "it won't happen ever again, i promise."

that's all you need to hear before leaning in and kissing him. kissing pope is just as amazing as you thought it would be. for a man so big and strong, right now he's gentle and soft. your hands come up and cradle the sides of his face, tugging him closer. your lips move in synchronization, like the two of you were made to be together like this. your tongue stips out and brushes against his bottom lip, and he parts his lips, allowing you to slip got tongue between them. a soft groan sings at the back of his throat, making you smile. after a few more seconds, you pull back to catch your breath. but that doesn't stop pope.

he kisses the sides of your mouth, and then on the tip of your nose. he then kisses your cheeks, before trailing his lips down the column of your throat. while doing all this, he whispers soft 'i'm sorry's' over and over again. gently, he pulls your right hand away from his face, kissing up your forearm and to the inside of your palm. just before he kisses your knuckles, he notices the yellow-ish hue to them. "what happened?" he asks darkly.

"after you left, baz said some stupid shit. so i punched him," you state.

"you punched baz? he told me he got into a bar fight and that's why he had a broken nose."

you laugh softly. "of course he would lie. he wouldn't people to know he got his ass kicked by a stripper."

pope smiles, teeth and all. "you did that for me?"

"i'd do anything for you, baby. anything." your voice drops low, right as your hand drops lower, towards the button of his jeans. but he brushes it away with a gentle push of his hand. "not tonight." you pout, jutting out your lips covered in smudged, strawberry flavored gloss. but that's not gonna distract him now. "i can smell the alcohol on your breath. not tonight." that takes you by surprise. most of guys you knew, customers or not, couldn't care less if you were sober or nearly black out drunk. they were always ready fuck, no matter what your previous alochol intake was. but pope wasn't like most guys. so you nod, withdrawing your hand and putting it on his chest. "okay."

he presses a kiss to your temple. "you should go to bed. get some sleep. the sun rises soon." slowly, he begins to pull away, but you grab ahold of his hand. "stay? please?" you ask softly. and pope can only deny you of so many things in one night before giving in. "i'll stay."

he lets you drag him down the hallway to your bedroom, a room he's only seen from the outside. leading him inside, you shut the door behind him and flick on the light. "i'll be back," you murmur, before grabbing a change of clothes and slipping into the bathroom. the second the door clicks shut, he's looking around your room. not snooping, but just observing in that way he always does. this and your bathroom were the only two rooms he hadn't cleaned. for a bedroom, it wasn't as lived in as the living room.

the walls were painted a soft lilac, with band and movie posters cluttering the walls. there was a practice piercing kit open on your desk, with dead flowers beside it. your bed, however, was untouched. blankets and pillows stiff and neat as if you haven't slept in your bed all week. the bathroom door opens wide, hot water steam escaping. you stand in the doorway, hair wet and dressed in nothing but some lace underwear and a oversized shirt.

"you can sit down, you know. you don't have to stand like some stranger," you offer, and he listens. but his posture is tight, back straight and rigid like a soldier. slowly, you lift your blanket high enough for you to slide under it. you haven't slept in your bed since sunday. since frank came around. you rest against the headboard, trying to ignore how itchy the blanket suddenly feels. you begin to feel trapped under it, so you quickly throw it off, making pope look at you. "you okay?" he asks, and you nod with a tight lipped smile. "yeah, i am. come sit up here with me," you say, patting the empty space beside you. he listens, and he's a little more relaxed now that he's closer to you.

you shift your body into a new position, resting your head on his chest. right above his heart. you don't fail to notice the way it quickens in speed when you do this, but you don't mention it. it's dark in your room, minus the fading moonlight as dawn quickly approaches. feeling a sudden wave of confidence, pope rests his hand atop your hip. when you don't push him away, he begins slowly rubbing his palm up and down. the gesture is soothing, his hands gentle despite the scars and calluses that cover them. it begins to lull you to sleep, but just before your eyes shut, pope's voice wakes you.

"where'd you get these bruises?" his voice is gruff and dark. you only hear that tone when guys at the club would get a bit too touchy after hours and pope would have to step in. you follow his gaze to where it's glued. right on your hip. a sign of unwanted and rough events that haunt you at your every waking hour. you thought they were gone. you hadn't even noticed them. but of course pope did.

you swallow down the nerves that begin to rise in the back of your throat. "i bumped my hip on the counter. you know how i am. always clumsy," you lie. you hate how easy it falls from your lips. you hate that you're lying to pope right now, even though just an hour ago you got mad at him for lying to you. you hate that frank holds such a power over you when he's just some shitty guy.

pope doesn't buy it. not one bit. if there was a bruise, maybe two, he would believe it. but five? all on the same side? you were clumsy, but not to that extent. but he doesn't want to push you to the brink of you breaking down and kicking him out. "okay," he whispers, looking down at you with those sad eyes of his. it breaks your heart to see him so sad, but you feel as if you have no other choice. "don't worry about me, baby. i'm okay, promise," you say, leaning up and kissing him on his cheek. you then snuggle against his chest, closing your eyes, and letting sleep wash over.

sleep won't come to pope. not tonight. not while there's hundreds of theories whirling in his head on how you got those bruises. he comes to the decision that he'll ask you in the morning. but for now, he'll just hold you while you sleep, and make a silent vow to punish whoever it was that did this to you.

a/n: once again, i'm so so sorry that this took so long and i hope it wasn't a let down 😔 i plan to make the next chapter longer, and hopefully it will come out soon so that i don't keep u guys waiting too long. i love u all sm and hope u enjoyed !!

You sigh, “sorry.” You press yourself up against the side of the car as Pope plops down next to you. 

“The hell are you doing?” He asks gruffly. 

“What are you doing?” You huff, “sit at the corner.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“I’m telling you to.” 

“Why do I have to listen to you?” 

“Pope, move.” 

He’s childish, you’ve come to realize. Instead of scooching to the other side of the seat, he moves closer to you. “No.” 

“Pope.” You groan loudly. 

“Uncle pope,” Lena calls from her seat. She’s tapping away at her tablet with one hand as Sammy holds the other. “Are you being mean?” 

“Yes.” “No.” 

“They just like each other, mama.” Nicky chimes in, turning in her seat to grin at Lena. “You tease the people you like.” 

“I do not like him.” You hope they believe you, since it’s a complete lie. But your friends know you better than you know yourself. 

Lena laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “They do like each other! So gross!” 

The drive is incredibly long. Your body was aching from the way you were pulling from him and you had to give in. His leg is nudging against yours, pressing harder at turns.

“Move.” You groan, nudging him away. 

“No.” He nudges his knee against yours again. 

“Pope…” you huff, glaring at him. “You’re being annoying.” 

It’s his turn to huff, “you annoy me all the time.” 

“I do not.” 

“Do too.” 

“Kids…” J chimes this time, “settle down.”

“Ain’t a kid.” You toss a napkin at him from the back seat. 

Pope decides to keep going, “sure act like one.” 

“Sure act like one.” You mock, deepening your voice. 

“I don’t sound like that.” 

You mock again, “I don’t sound like that.” 

“Quit it.”

“Quit it.” 

Sammy groans this time, “both of you shut up.” 

Lena is out cold when you all get to Sammy’s family cabin. It’s nice, sleek. It doesn’t look like it belongs in the deep foliage, too modern. Her mother has expensive tastes though, so it’s not a surprise that there’s technology all throughout the place.

J and Pope argued for a minute about taking Lena in but J ultimately won, now heading in with the lolling girl in his arms. Nicky follows suit, already complaining about needing a shower and the bugs all around. Sammy chimes in about the high tech bug zappers her mother has in every room. 

You’re stuck behind with your bags in your hand. “Hello?” You call out to Pope as he starts walking to the cabin. “Where are you going?” 

He turns, his own bags in his hand. “Inside?” 

You wiggle your bag around. “What happened to chivalry?”

He glances at your bags and back at you, bored. “It died.” 

“Pope.” 

“Yeah?” He hums, uninterested. 

“Help me.” 

There’s a grin tugging at his lips, one he’s trying to fight as he turns back to you. “Where are your manners?” 

“Pope!” You sigh, “really? I’m too pretty to do this.” But he’s not budging. “Fine. Please.” 

That’s enough for him because he’s moving over to you, grabbing your bags with a triumphant smile, “good girl.” 

You think about his words long after. You hate that you want him so badly. No matter what’s said or done, nothing pulls you from this aching need.

You wonder if he’s being intentional. From what you’ve gathered, he doesn’t have much female attention. Not because women don’t want him, you see the way eyes trail over him. But he’s awkward. You’re not sure if he even notices the way he’s lusted after. 

He spends so much of his time acting like he doesn’t want you, when he makes a move that he is interested, you find yourself dissecting it for hours. It’s hard not to, especially when his softer acts are rare, in text or person. 

“What are you doing?” The strong voice makes you jump in your spot. 

You pull your hand out of the hot tub, the water dripping down your now cold arm. You turn to him, leaning against the tub. “Letting it warm up.” A pause. “Are you getting in?” 

“No. I hate hot water.” 

You roll your eyes, turning away from him. “Whatever.” 

You don’t hear his feet shuffling away, so you know he’s still here. And you can feel him. Feel the way his eyes are on your backside. 

“Whose shirt is that?” You’re wearing a huge t-shirt, practically a dress as it sits right beneath your knees, and the neck falls off your shoulder, showing off your collarbone. 

The idea is immediate. You bite your lip to stop yourself from cackling and giving yourself away. You dip your hand back into the bubbling water, humming, “why?”

“It doesn’t look like it’s yours.” 

You nod, “it isn’t.” You’re grinning, wanting to turn around and watch him. Watch the way his face twists in confusion. “Absolute truth?” 

He hesitates but agrees. “Yes.” 

The lie is easy as you turn to face him, face back to neutral. He doesn’t know that you’ve been celibate almost three years. He doesn’t need to know that the T-shirt is J’s which you stole from Nicky a while ago.

You shrug, continuing, “an old fling. Met him on Tinder.” You can’t tell what he’s feeling. You hate that you can’t because he always looks serious. Always looks stoic. “We went for drinks and ended up back at my place.” 

“But you live with your parents.” He’s trying to get you to say more, that much you can tell. 

“I’m not gross, Pope. I didn’t let him touch me until they were gone for the night.” 

“Okay.” Is all he speaks. 

You shrug, turning your back to him once more. You’re scolding yourself because of course it didn’t work. He’s not into you. He doesn’t want you. You’re the one who wants him. You’re the one who is chasing him. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

“What did he do to you?” 

His question makes your breath hitch. Slowly, you turn around to face him again. You flinch softly at how close he is to you now, chest practically pressed up to yours. “I don’t think you want to—“ 

He doesn’t let you finish. His harsh tone cuts you off, “Tell me.” 

“He…” you’re scrambling. Nothing is coming to mind because this isn’t remotely close to being true. There’s no other guy and there’s definitely no Tinder. You mumble out the first thing that comes to mind. “He fingered me.” 

His body close to yours tells you a lot more than you’ve ever seen on him. His breathing is labored, chest rising and falling from what you’re assuming is jealousy. His hands are ghosting at your hips, scared to touch you. Now you know what you need to do.  

“Didn’t let him fuck me, Pope.” He backs you up fully against the hot tub, nose trailing down your cheek, to your jaw, and to your neck. He inhales you. Smells the mixture of your faint perfume mixed with the light sheen of sweat from the heat emanating from the hot tub you’ve been hovering over. “Couldn’t let him.” 

This solidifies what he wants— what he needs from you. His hands fall to your hips, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His rough hands slowly move from your hips and to your thighs, letting your t-shirt scrunch up as he desperately searches for your soft skin. 

You can’t take a full breath. His hands are tugging at the bottom of your bathing suit beneath your shirt. You expect him to tug them off of you but that doesn’t come. He pulls it taut to the side of you, letting it sit awkwardly. But you can’t focus on that when a single finger pushes between your lips, letting the tip of him press at your bundle of nerves. 

A soft gasp leaves you as he begins to rub circles at your clit. “Fuck…” you whimper softly, brows furrowing as the little waves of pleasure course through you. 

Your hips grind into his hand, desperate for more from him. He adds another finger, and another. He’s moved his face from your neck, his intense eyes watching your face twist in pleasure. “Pope, I…” you whimper softly, letting your forehead fall to his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey,” his free hand grabs your chin, forcing you to look back up at him. “Don’t look away from me.” 

And that’s all you need to listen to his command. His eyes won’t leave yours. You’re embarrassed. Embarrassed with how vulnerable this feels, having him watch you. 

You almost cry when his fingers stop the motion at your clit, but you’re quickly shut up when his hand slides a little ways down and a single finger pops into you. You try to hide your face against him again but he doesn’t allow you to. The grip on your chin tightens, fingers spreading to your cheeks, lips puckered out, and keeping you still as he pumps the single finger inside of you. 

You can’t speak. You’re a whimpering mess as he adds another finger. And another. You’re riding his hand desperately, completely flushed and flustered by his utmost attention. He’s captivated by you; by the way your face twists and turns in absolute pleasure, the way you’re rutting into him with a desperate need. 

“Are you going to cum?” If this were anything else, you’d cackle at the serious way he speaks those words but you can’t talk. You nod wildly, hips stuttering. He’s smug. You’ve never seen him look so smug before. So damn proud of himself at the way he’s got you. 

You’ve never cum so hard in your life because he refuses to let you look away. Your eyes have to be on him as your orgasm crashes over you, spasming around his fingers as your hips stutter and slow. 

The grip on your face turns soft, thumb caressing your cheek. Your chest is rising and falling, catching your breath. You choke softly when his face moves closer into yours. His nose nudges yours, lips ghosting your softly painted ones. You close your eyes, lifting your chin softly to try and meet his lips. He doesn’t let them, instead, he’s pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. 

You’re sure you could have taken more from him but Sammy’s familiar voice is heard. “I can’t find the shorts I bought!” She calls out your name. She’s getting closer. 

Pope pulls away from you, tugging your shirt back down your legs, hiding your body again. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even look at you as he walks out of the room, rushing past Sammy as she makes her way onto the back patio. She watches him curiously before turning back to you. “The hell is his issue?” 

Your eyes are wide, “oh my god, Sammy. He just fucking fingered me.” 

☆ ☆ ☆ authors note . . . hey… hey… what yall doing… okay deadass honest opinion. tnd and ino is my first “real” smut and it’s not my forte AT ALL so i hope you all love it hehehehe (this is also not edited… bear with me)