Jenna PUSSY BOND WALDORF SERESIN

The ride back from the bar had been silent, except for the hum of the tires on asphalt and the faint clink of the keys Jake kept rolling between his fingers. You’d kept your gaze fixed out the passenger window, the streetlights flashing over your face as the tires rolled on the asphalt.

By the time you got to his place, the quiet had turned heavy. You dropped your bag by the couch without a word and kicked off your shoes. He locked the door behind you, tossed his keys onto the counter with a little more force than necessary.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” he asked, voice too even to be casual.

You didn’t look at him. “You really don’t know?”

His brows drew together. “I made a joke–”

“You embarrassed me,” you cut in, sharper than you meant. “In front of the entire squad.”

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t meant like that.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it landed like that,” you shot back, folding your arms.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “So what, you’re gonna stay mad all night over nothing?”

You exhaled. You were too exhausted to have this fight right now. “Let’s just go to bed.”

Jake stayed where he was, leaning a shoulder against the wall. His hand flexed on the doorframe like he was holding himself in place. You could feel him watching you from across the room.

He finally spoke, quieter this time. “I’m not going to leave it like this.”

Jake pushes off the wall, his boots slow against the hardwood as he crosses toward you.

“Alright,” he says, the word drawn out. “I’m sorry.”

It’s too quick. Too easy. Like tossing a bandaid over a bullet wound. You lift your head, meet his eyes, and see nothing but stubbornness in the set of his jaw.

“No, you’re not,” you say flatly.

His brows knit. “I just said–”

“You’re not apologizing because you’re sorry,” you cut in. “You’re doing it because you think it’ll fix it. Because you think I’ll just…drop it.”

His lips part like he’s about to argue, then close again. He exhales through his nose, trying to keep his temper in check. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Too late,” you mutter, turning toward the hall. “You know what, just forget it. I’ll call an Uber, go back to my place.”

You barely make it two steps before his hand finds you. His fingers curl enough to keep you in place but gently enough to not cause you pain.

“Hey.” His voice isn’t sharp this time. It’s lower. Calmer. Stripped of the bite from before. “Will you just stay? Please. I don’t want you to leave. I want you here.”

You keep your arms crossed, chin tilted just enough to make it clear you’re not folding easily. “And why’s that?”

“Because I don’t like being away from you. I just…want to make it right.”

You turn your back on him, arms crossed, the words spilling out before you can think better of it.

“You can’t make it right, Jake. You don’t even think you did anything wrong. That’s why you won’t apologize. You can’t put your stupid ego aside for five fucking minutes to see that you hurt me.”

For a beat, he doesn’t move. Then you feel the shift in the air behind you, the quiet weight of him stepping closer. His arms come around you from behind, slow but sure, locking you against him.

You push at his forearms, not hard, but enough to test if he’ll let go. He doesn’t. His hold just tightens, his chin brushing the top of your head.

“Don’t walk away from me like this,” he says, voice low, rough in a way that has nothing to do with anger.

“Then let go.”

“No.” His chest rises against your back as he exhales. “I’m sorry.”

You still at the words. They’re softer this time, stripped of the throwaway tone from before.

“I’m sorry for what I said, and for making you feel like it didn’t matter,” he goes on, his breath warm near your ear. “It did. You do. And I was an ass for brushing it off.”

Something in you loosens, just a little. You don’t turn to face him, but you stop fighting his arms around you.

He takes the opening, pressing a kiss into the curve of your neck. It’s hesitant, like he’s asking permission without saying it.

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmurs against your skin, and before you can answer, his mouth moves again, finding that spot he knows will melt you no matter how hard you try to hold on.

His breath is warm, his stubble scraping lightly with each kiss as he works down the side of your neck. His hands flatten over your stomach, holding you still when you shift like you might escape.

“Not fair,” you manage, though your voice has already softened.

“I wasn’t going for fair,” he says, his lips trailing lower, lingering at the base of your throat. “Just effective.”

You feel your defenses slipping with every unhurried kiss, every squeeze of his hands like he’s reminding you he’s there, and not letting go until you let him in.

When you finally turn your head to tell him to stop, his mouth catches yours instead. The kiss is warm and deep, all the leftover fight burning away under the heat of it.

You break the kiss, breath sharp. “You can’t just fuck your way out of this, Jake.”

The flicker in his eyes is part challenge, part something deeper. “Wanna bet?”

Before you can roll your eyes, he spins you, the wall cool against your back. Your breath stutters when his thigh slides between yours, solid and deliberate. The friction is immediate, dangerous.

Your palms press to his chest, but it’s not quite a shove. Not quite surrender, either. “Jake–”

His hands slide to your hips, thumbs pressing in just enough to make you aware of how close he is. He leans in, mouth grazing the line of your jaw before you can say more. 

“Don’t talk,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just let me make you feel good, baby. Then you can be mad at me later.”

You swallow, but the protest dies when his lips find that spot just under your ear. The scrape of stubble from his five day old beard, the heat of his breath…it all frays your resolve.

“Jake…” It’s meant to be a warning, but it comes out more like a gasp.

He smiles against your neck. “Yeah, keep saying my name like that.”

Your grip on his shirt tightens. You give in. The shift is instant, his mouth slants over yours again, hungrier now, and your hands are sliding under the cotton at his back, nails dragging lightly over skin.

He groans into the kiss, and it sounds like a victory. “God, you’re so hot when you’re all worked up,” he mutters between breaths, like he can’t stop himself from saying it.

Clothes start to vanish without either of you thinking about it. His shirt is pulled over his head, and yours is tugged free in return. He nips at your lower lip, hands firm on your hips, drawing you against him until there’s no space left.

You barely notice when he bends and catches you under the thighs, lifting you with ease. Instinct has your legs wrapping around his waist, your arms looping over his shoulders. He carries you through the short hall, mouth never leaving yours for more than a breath.

The bed catches you both, his weight settling over you. It isn’t dominance. It’s immersion. Every inch of him is committed to every inch of you in this moment. His hands frame your face as he kisses you again.

When he finally slides into you, the air leaves your lungs in a rush. His forehead presses to yours, his eyes locked on yours as his hips find a slow, steady rhythm. The earlier edge between you dissolves into something more fragile, more necessary.

Your breath hitches with each movement, his name slipping from your lips without thought.

“Please don’t ever stop loving me,” he murmurs, the words raw, almost a plea.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your chest aching for reasons that have nothing to do with the way he’s moving inside you. 

“I’m not leaving,” you whisper, and his eyes close like that’s the only thing holding him together.

The pace builds, not rushed, but insistent. He kisses you like he’s chasing that promise, like every movement is part of sealing it. You feel it when the line starts to blur. Between anger, forgiveness, and need…until there’s nothing left but the two of you, moving together until you can’t think past the heat and the sound of his voice in your ear.

When release finally hits, it’s all encompassing, and he’s right there with you, catching your mouth in a kiss that’s more relief than hunger.

He stays close, his body still braced over yours, one hand brushing damp hair from your face. 

“Don’t leave me,” he says again, quiet enough that it’s more hope than demand. “I”m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. But please don’t leave me, baby.”

You press your lips to his chest. “I’m not leaving. Not tonight. Not ever.”

His arms tighten around you, the motion instinctive, pulling you flush against his chest. You go willingly, settling into the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The sweat cooling on your skin makes you shiver, but his body heat is enough to keep you warm.

You let your fingertips wander lazily over him, tracing idle patterns along the hard lines of his chest and shoulder. He doesn’t move, just lets you draw on him like you’re mapping something only you can see.

A smirk tugs at his mouth, though his eyes stay closed. “Still mad at me?”

You huff a quiet laugh, tilting your head to rest it in the crook of his neck. “Ask me in the morning.”

He hums, the sound low and satisfied, and pulls the blanket higher over you both. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you here ‘til then.”

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