bunny

Trust Craig and Deran to act like two teenagers and throw a party when Smurf was away on one of her trips. There were people everywhere, in the pool, on the patio, even on the other side of the couch. While everyone else seemed to actively seek out the chaos, you were more than content with being glued to Pope's side. Hiding in plain sight inside your own bubble was more exciting than playing stupid drinking games in front of everyone. His attention was the only one that mattered.

“Do you want another drink?” You asked as you sat with your legs nonchalantly across Pope's lap.

Pope tapped your leg, his way of asking you to move. “I’ll get them.” You shook your head as you pushed Pope back down and stood beside him. You ran your hand through his hair, tightening your grip as you made your way towards the nape of his neck. You pulled on his hair, forcing his head backwards and a growl to sound in his throat. “I’ll be right back, pretty boy.”

You placed your lips within touching distance of his, but kept enough space between you that the only contact was a fleeting brush as you walked away. He groaned in disappointment, always desperate for your affection.

He was extra clingy lately, and you couldn’t figure out why. Nothing had gone wrong with a job, at least not with your knowledge. Everything seemed perfect. The only thing that sprang to mind was the approaching one year anniversary of his release from prison.

The whole time Pope was locked up, you never missed a visit. Every time the phone rang, you jumped to answer it just in case he somehow earned extra phone privileges. The postman knew you by name due to the infinite letters you sent back and forth. He even somehow managed to send you origami flowers for special occasions like birthdays and anniversaries. He never forgot a single one. You kept everything. Every letter, every flower, every card.

For one visit, you decided to make it special by buying an expensive perfume you thought he would like. You made sure to spray it all over you, but one look at him and you knew something was wrong. He appreciated the gesture, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings, especially when you did it all for him, but it wasn’t the same. He missed the smell of your old perfume. He missed the smell of you and the way it lingered on his skin after your visits. It was the same smell you made sure to spray all his letters with, the one that reminded him of home and what was waiting for him when he got out.  

When he was released, he became extra possessive, if that was even possible. In his mind, he was trying to make up for lost time, the time that was stolen from both of you. Neither one of you could keep your hands off the other. Whoever said the honeymoon phase didn’t last was a liar. Here you were, many years later and still insanely in love.

The search for more drinks had you gone for less than 30 seconds, and you already missed him. You tried to get back to him as fast as possible, dodging drunk couples dry humping in the kitchen to whatever music was playing from a speaker.

When you returned, the sight in front of you stopped you in your tracks. Pope had tensed up, his shoulders square and ridged. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk to the girl in front of him, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. It was the way she placed her claw like hand on his knee. She had her back to you, so she couldn’t see your slow approach, like a lion hunting prey.

Pope was intrigued to see what you would do. The anticipation of your next actions excited him, causing his jeans to grow tighter. The way you didn’t take lightly to someone else flirting with him, or showing him any romantic interest, always led to you being jealous.

Knowing your natural instinct to be territorial over him was one of the things he loved most about you. You always need to be within touching distance, and the way your hands ran all over him in search of bare skin set his body on fire. He played into your primal need for his attention and your obsession with reminding everyone he was yours. You wouldn’t let anyone, and especially not Pope, forget who he went home to every night.

“You're in my seat.” The tone in your voice was blunt and impolite. You didn’t want to leave any room for misinterpretation. She was in your way, and you made light work of letting her know.

The girl barely turned her head as she looked you up and down with a scowl etched on her face. “Excuse me?”

“You're excused.” When she still didn’t move, to either stand up or remove he hand from touching up on your man, whatever restraint you had left exited your body. “Move.”

The only moment she made was to shift closer towards Pope. The sickly sarcastic smirk on her face was giving you another reason to smack her and put her back in her place, but the lustful look on Pope's face stopped you. The fucker was enjoying this. You knew he loved you when you would stake your claim on him, but you really weren’t in the mood. This bitch was pissing you off beyond any desire to kiss Pope desperate and silly in front of everyone.

The grip you had on the two glass beer bottles was dangerous. Any harder and you were sure they would shatter. You placed both bottles down on the coffee table, but your eyes never left where her hand lingered. It was either that or you would smash one over this girls head. “I’d move if I were you. This is not a fight you will win.”

Before the girl could reply, Craig appeared. He could sense the tension from the far side of the pool, and being the good friend he is, he knew you were one more second from jumping on her and pushing her into the pool. That, and the fact he didn’t want anyone to call the cops. “Just a warning, she doesn't play about her man.”

The girl wrapped her fingers further around Pope's knee and pushed herself up from the couch. When she reached her full height, she made sure she was way too close to you. To Craig's credit, he got it spot on. You didn’t mess around when it came to Pope, and you didn’t take lightly to some random bitch trying to glare you down.

With a tilt of your head, you dared her to make a move. You knew she wouldn’t actually do anything, but you half hoped she was more stupid than she looked. Just as you thought, she backed off. She scoffed and mumbled something under her breath about you being a psycho. You blew a kiss at her to send her on her way as she walked towards the patio.

When he was certain you weren’t going to follow her, Pope pulled you back down to sit beside him by the wrist. “You need to relax, sweetheart. I'm all yours.” Once he was content with you snuggled back into his side, he kissed the palm of your hand in an attempt to calm you down. The reassuring gesture wasn’t meant to be sexual, but you would be lying if it didn’t turn you on.

You pouted at him. “I mean, I can't really blame her. You're so handsome.”

Pope shrugged his shoulders at your comment as if he thought you were lying. He looked away from you, suddenly finding something over your shoulder very interesting. You had to force him to look at you, taking his chin in between your fingers, demanding his full attention. You knew he had issues with his self-worth and made a point to remind him of how much he meant to you. “I'm serious, Andrew. You're beautiful.”

He wasn’t expecting you to straddle him, a thigh on either side of him. You trapped him beneath you as your hands returned to his hair. He stared at the delicate chain that lay against your dainty neck. The ‘A’ you so proudly wore every day, marking you as his. It let everyone who dared to look know that you were taken. It let them know that you were owned by someone else. They couldn’t have you.

You were Popes girl. Your heart, mind, body, and soul belonged to him. Every time he looked at it, it made him feel warm. You were willingly his. The person he loved willingly loved him back. You had given every inch of yourself to him. He had never been loved this good before, and certainly not unconditionally. No matter what he did or what he had done, there were no strings attached. Your devotion to him was something he never thought he would find, much less deserve.

Pope was just as equally devoted to you, if not more so. He worshipped the ground you walked on. In his eyes, you were a goddess, someone who deserved to be taken care of and adored beyond all human comprehension. Popes world didn’t just revolve around you, you were it. Your being was his reason for living. You were the reason he kept breathing.

If he anticipated that something would be an issue, it was sorted before it even popped into your pretty little head. He believed it was his mission to keep you safe and happy.

He tucked his pointer finger beneath the chain and tugged you closer to him. The sound of your voice catching in your throat sent sparks straight to his dick. He loved that he could coax sweet sounds from you. “You're the pretty one, angel.”

Once he said that name, you knew it was game on. Every time he called you that, it always ended the same way, with you on all fours and begging. He would do the dirtiest of things to you and have you say the most depraved things ever whispered, but to him, you always looked so innocent and sweet.

You crashed your mouth onto his while you grinded into him. Your hunger was evident in the way the tip of your tongue flicked at his top lip, demanding he open up. He gave you what you wanted, allowing your tongue to slide over his.

You might have orchestrated this, but Pope controlled it. Every one of your movements was sanctioned by him. Even when you thought something was your idea, it originated from Pope. He was always three steps ahead. He knew everything about you and your body. He knew how you would react if he touched you a certain way. He knew how to rile you up, how to push your buttons. The worst part was that he knew you knew. You were a puppet on a string, and he was the most masterful puppeteer to ever exist.

“Maybe you should remind me whose name I scream every night.” His hands controlled your movement in his lap, only allowing you to move the way he wanted. You fought back. You gripped the front of his shirt, attempting to pull him even closer to you.

Your words woke something within him. The reminder that he was needed, and that he was the only one who could give you what you wanted always twisted something inside him. It made him feel important, desired even. And if there was one thing you were sure of in this life, it was that you desired Pope above everything and anything else.

If you were being honest with yourself, your favourite part was when you caught him off guard. The groan he held in his throat or the breath that caught in his lungs were the most delicious of sounds. Yes, you followed the script he gave you, but you loved throwing in a plot twist every now and again. You couldn’t let him have all the fun all the time.

He slid his hands over your ass to the back of your thighs and stood up from the couch. You automatically wrapped your legs around his waist and giggled at the feeling of his hands squeezing at your soft skin. You giggled into his neck, nipping at the exposed skin just above the collar of his shirt.

He walked towards his room, taking the floor in long strides. He wanted to get there as quick as possible. Once inside, Pope took full advantage of the privacy the room provided and released his grip on your thighs to place you on the ground. It took a second for you to remind your brain how to stand and support yourself. You used Pope as something solid to ground yourself on, and once the memory returned, you could feel his rough hands tearing your clothes off.

He left you in your underwear before removing his hands. You knew he had a thing about seeing you like that. Not undressed in the sense you still had something covering you, but also not leaving much to the imagination.

As he took one step forward, you took one back. His eyes raked over your body, taking it all in as you increased the distance between you. You continued stepping back until you felt the bed behind you. There was nowhere for you to go, and Pope stood there on the other side of the room, just watching.

You slowly reached around your back to unclasp your bra, dragging the straps down your shoulders with the opposite hand. He groaned at all your teasing, palming himself through his jeans. When you finally removed your bra, freeing your tits, the sight made him want to wrap his mouth around each nipple and suck.

You next went to take off your panties, but before you could, he grabbed you by the throat. The quick movement of his hand caused whatever noise you had wanted to let out to get trapped and die in place. Pope loved being the one to take your panties off, and the idea of anyone else doing it, even you, killed him.

Pope pulled you towards him more gently and slowly than you had ever experienced. You were helpless as he controlled your every breath. He could end you right there and then if he wanted to, but you knew he wouldn’t. The way you gave him full authority over your entire being made Pope feel vulnerable. You were the only person on the planet who wasn’t afraid of him, not even when he held you with such roughness.

He squeezed the sides of your neck, restricting your ability to breathe. The mixture of possession and obsession displayed on his face as he stood over you at the foot of the bed should have scared you, but his actions had the opposite effect. You were turned on beyond comprehension. You squeezed your thighs together, noting the wetness pooled between them. You were almost sure Pope could hear the squelching sound they made as you desperately looked for friction to release the ache between your legs.

Your hands automatically went to his waist. The neediness in your trembling hands was something you couldn’t deny. You thought that if you undressed him quickly, he would stop teasing you and give you what you desired. You had only managed to pop the button of his jeans open before Pope turned you around, crashing your back to his chest so he could kiss the side of your cheek.

“Need something, Angel?” He didn’t expect an answer, he didn’t need one.

With his free hand, he pushed the flimsy fabric of your panties over your hips and down your legs agonisingly slow. You stepped out of them and, with one last squeeze, he released your neck, pushing you onto the bed face first.

Pope crawled over your limp body, trapping you beneath him on the mattress with his full weight. He used your positions to his advantage, pushing his ever growing bulge into your ass as he grinded against you. The roughness of his jeans against the back of the soft skin of your legs contrasted beautifully with the clean sheets under you.

Pope weaved his hand through the stands of your hair and tugged, forcing your head to fall back against his shoulder. The angle gave him full access to kiss up the side of your neck, grazing his teeth against your jaw. “On your knees.”

There was no pet name, nothing to suggest it was a suggestion. No, it was a raw demand. He was telling you, not asking. The speed at which you complied should have been embarrassing, but you knew what was waiting for you. If you weren’t so desperate for him to fuck you sore, you would have fought back. Any idea of teasing him and drawing this out wasn’t on the table.

You heard Pope make light work of undressing himself. The buttons of his shirt hitting the floor excited you. You needed him now. You needed him inside you.

The sound of him undoing his zipper made your hips buck against nothing but air. He noticed, of course he did. Pope knew every micromovement you made, and he was especially aware when it came to sex. He was always eager to pleasure you, even if he teased you first. “Look at you, begging to be filled.”

An audible sigh left your lips as you felt the bed dip under Pope's weight. He was right there, but so far away at the same time. You wished he would hurry up, but you knew this would all happen when he was right and ready to give it to you.

The feeling of his hands running over the back of your thighs and up your back made you shiver. Pope let his hand rest against your shoulder as he ran the head of his swollen dick through your folds, gathering your wetness. Once he was satisfied with how wet you were, making sure he would slide in with ease, he lined himself up with you.

You were more than enthusiastic, desperately pushing back against him, wanting to hurry him up. Pope pulled back and used his free hand to slap the full cheek of your ass. The sound of your scream echoed against all four walls of the room.

“Behave, sweet girl.” He tutted at you as he ran his rough hand over the hot mark he just made. Your skin felt tender, but the sweet sting made you wetter than you wanted to ever admit out loud. He had marked you, and the reminder would stay with you for days on end.

He stayed still, only moving his hand in soothing circles against the forming welt. His hips were hauntingly still. It took everything in you not to repeat your mistake and push yourself closer to him.

You were unsure what he wanted. You didn’t want to give him cause to drag out his teasing, but you didn’t know how to get him to hurry up either. Settling on seeking forgiveness as a way to placate him, you muttered an apology. “I'm sorry, Andrew.”

Your plan seemed to work. You turned your head back to look at him over your shoulder to find him already looking at you. The image of him touching you delicately contrasted beautifully with the primal look in his eye. He held you there in his stare, listening to your breathy whines. “Eyes on me.”

You nodded weakly, trying your hardest to keep your eyes open and focused on him. He gathered saliva in his mouth and spat it on you. It wasn’t like he needed the extra wetness; you had never been wetter in your life. He did it just because he could, because he knew you would take it and thank him for it later. He did it as a warning that you and your pussy were his. The feeling of it dripping down your ass and across your lips to where you wanted him was a symbol of possession.

He lined up again, and this time you didn’t dare move. You didn’t want to think about what he would do if you misbehaved again. He pushed just the tip in and stilled his hips. “Who is the one who screams my name?’

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you didn’t answer. You were too focused on the feeling of his wedging his cock into you. He pulled out slightly, a form of punishment you loved to hate. You were now further away from having him fully inside you, but it also meant you got to feel him push back in.

“I, fuck, I do.” You stuttered.

Happy with your breathless reply, he fully bottomed out inside you. You weren’t expecting him to push in all in one go, he normally went slow and gentle. This was something new for both of you. Pope grunted as the wide o expression on your face let the mewl you held escape you easily.

He didn’t still his hips for too long, but he still gave you a brief second to adjust to him. No matter how many times he fucked you, you always needed a moment to stretch yourself out on him. Before you fully realised he had moved, Pope pulled out of you and thrusted himself back in just as quick.

The rapid thrust of Pope's hips against yours was something you wished you would never have to go without again. That feeling alone was enough to satiate you for the rest of your life. Nothing could ever compare.

Pope knew you were lost in the feeling, and as much as he loved the fact you were cock drunk on him, you were enjoying it a little too much for his liking. He wanted your complete attention. He slapped your ass again, this time on the other cheek, causing you to moan his name.

“Who owns me?” The grin on his face was one that didn’t come naturally to him, but the image of you desperate to take his thick cock stirred something within him. He always knew you were the only one for him, but seeing you like this, bent over in front of him at his mercy, ready to give him everything, made him want to give you his whole being in return. “Who do I belong to?”

Normally, he would be asking you who you belonged to, but seeing you get jealous over some girl made him want to remind you that he was yours. He needed to remind you that you were the only one who could take him like this, that you were the only one who could give him everything he needed.

“Me.” Your voice was weak, not that he could hear you, even if your head wasn’t buried into a pillow.

He pulled on your hair again, making you let go of the pillow. He wanted to hear you, loud and clear. He hated it when you tried to hide yourself from him. Every sound you made belonged to him. He earned every single one of them, and he was determined to make sure you gave them to him. The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your pornographic moans was his favourite thing in the world. “Sorry, I can't hear you, Angel.”

“You- you're m-mine.” You muttered in between thrusts, voice drawn out and scratching at the air for breath.

“That’s right. I'm yours.” Another tug to your hair caused you to arch your back. The new angle gave him more room to ruin you, if that was even possible. You could feel him deep in your lower abdomen. “And you will never forget it, will you?”

You hummed a response. Even if you wanted to, you never could, nor would, forget that Pope was wholly and completely yours. The feeling of him pulling fully out only to snap his hip back against you was hypnotising. How he hasn’t broken you in half, you will never know.

You reached a hand around to rub your clit. The lazy and rough circles you made, mixed with the feeling of his swollen tip opening you up each and every time, were slowly bringing you to the edge. Just as you were getting lost in the unavoidable wave of your impending orgasm, the sound of Pope howling a question in your ear brought you back to reality.

“You gonna let me cum in you? Give you my baby so I can never leave?”

Your knuckles were white under the grip you had on the sheets beneath you. You hadn’t expected him to say that. Pope wasn’t the most verbal in bed. He normally communicated through grunts and harsh whispers when you were being good for him or did something he liked. And yet, here he was asking to have his baby.

You had talked about it briefly, on and off, over the years, and you thought the right time would present itself whenever the universe thought it was right. Other things kept getting in the way. The jobs, his family, everything, but in that moment, there was only one answer you could give him. You weren’t even sure you had let him finish his question before you screamed your answer back at him. “Yes, Andrew. Fuck, cum in me, please.”

“You sure, Angel? There's no going back once I make you full with my kid.” In between filling you with his dick and giving you some of the best sex you have ever had, he was still giving you an out. He didn’t want to force you into something you weren’t fully committed to. If anything, it made you even more sure in your decision.

You wanted to scream out yes. Yes, yes, yes. The words wouldn’t come, caught in the bottom of your lungs. The idea of Pope being your baby daddy was the sexiest thing you could imagine.

“Better hurry up and decide, shit - ” His rhythm faltered slightly, as if he was holding himself back. He was close, so close that you knew it was now or never. You had to make sure he knew how serious you were. “I'm so close, sweetheart”

“Please, Andrew. Let me make you a daddy, please.”

That was all he needed to hear. The sound of your fucked out voice begging him to get you pregnant, to permanently tether your lives together, caused him to roll his eyes back with pleasure. Pope let the little restraint he had left go, and with whatever energy he had left, he went all out.

You had never been fucked so hard or so fast before. If it wasn’t for the grip of his hands on your hips, you were sure you would have fallen flat against the bed. You had no confidence in your legs or arms to hold you up.

The feeling of him rutting into you as he came was something you would never forget as long as you lived. His hot cum spurted into you, painting you white as he spasmed like a man possessed. His hands clawed at you with a bruising grip as he tried to keep you in place, making sure you took everything he had.

Pope opened his tightly shut eyes and released his grip on you, gently placing you down onto the bed, all while keeping himself inside you. He didn’t want to waste a single drop. You were caged beneath his warm body as you felt him soften inside you.

Pope rolled off of you with care, aware of how sensitive both of you were after what had just happened. He hissed, feeling your walls trapping him, not wanting him to pull out. The feeling of his cum dripping out of you made you giggle. Your legs trembled with pleasure. In that moment, you had fully accepted that there was no possibility of you leaving your bed anytime soon. You bit your lip, turning to look at him lying beside you, staring at the ceiling. He was still trying to regain a normal breathing rhythm as his heart audibly thumped against his chest.

Once he snapped back to reality and his breathing began to slow, he shifted onto his side. He was so proud of himself. Never did he think he would be able to make someone as happy as he made you. His hazel stared back at you with all the love he couldn’t verbally say to you out loud. And in that single look, there was no doubt for either of you. You had just been knocked up.

As Pope brushed his fingers against your smiling face, the ‘A’ of your necklace caught his attention. He brought his fingers down towards it, wiping the sweat of your neck away in the process. He placed the delicate letter in between his fingers, running his thumb over it.

It had stopped occuring to you that it might be a bad idea the first time around precisely two minutes before he sank to his knees and buried his face between your thighs.

A one time thing, he'd said after. A one time thing, you had stubbornly agreed, even if he had made you cum so hard you'd almost forgotten your own name. Not his, though. No, you'd had no trouble at all remembering his name as you'd moaned it into his ear.

Yes, you were both adults, but it broke half a dozen rules. There was the morality issue besides the hierarchy that was in place for a reason.

And sure, you'd originally planned to agree to that.

Except now, you're sitting in his lap in the back seat of his truck, sucking on his tongue and moaning into his mouth as his hands grab the plush curves of your ass, pulling you back and forth against the sizeable bulge in his cargo pants.

Your own shorts are somewhere in the footwell of the truck, along with your bamboo cotton underwear.

The upside of that is that you're pretty sure you're leaving a wet patch of your slick over his navy blue cargo pants.

That, and you can feel everything. Can feel his cock - which you know firsthand is thick and just the right length and perfect - throbbing against you.

"Please-" you beg, hands sliding down his chest, over the slight softness to his abdomen that covers muscle; you know that, remembered that, from the one and only time you were close to him without his shirt on.

You remember vividly how his muscles feel under your hands, soft and worshipful, because Brett Richards may be your Battalion Chief, but he's also a work of fucking art.

"I thought you said it was a one time thing?" Brett hums, which you think is pretty fucking funny coming from him, considering he's planting wet, open mouthed kisses down your throat, helping you get his belt undone.

"Mm, you actually said that first, Chief," you counter, and he groans softly against your skin.

You file that reaction away for later; it's not necessarily a surprise that he's into it, the little reminder of the power imbalance between you.

The gentle clink of his belt buckle coming undone, the zip of his pants hastily being tugged down, prevents any further commentary.

He wraps his hand around his thick, pulsing cock, frees it from the almost painful constraints of his pants and underwear.

God, he has such a pretty cock; you tell him as much as he rests his free hand on your hip, guides you closer so he can line the fat head of his cock up with your drooling cunt.

He notches just the tip, just enough to tease you, to make you both inhale sharply, lets you ultimately decide when and how you sink down onto him.

You choose immediately, impaling your tight walls with his thick length, head tilted back and moaning shamelessly at the feeling of him.

Brett drags the pad of his thumb across your kissed plump lips, eyes slightly glazed over as your pussy constricts around him, adjusting to his size.

"Another one time thing?" You query, deliberately cheeky, teasing.

He has the air of a brat tamer, and you'll be damned if you don't test that theory.

"Mm," he responds, doesn't take your bait, instead smoothly rolls his hips up, getting deep inside you and making you mewl.

You're so wet that your slick drips down the length of his shaft, over his balls. Brett doesn't remember the last time anyone got this wet for him.

He's been with people since his wife passed, and they've always been enthusiastic and consenting participants, but you... You're something else.

You cling to him as you grind against him, the coarse greying curls at the base of his cock stimulating your clit and only adding to your slick.

He's just enjoying that when you tug his shirt up over his head, gently rake your nails up and down his chest, making him purr.

You remembered that he liked that; that surprises him a little, but the surprise doesn't stop him from rutting up into you, feeding your greedy, sopping cunt every single inch of his cock until you're mewling, the windows of his truck all fogged up from the desperate, heavy breaths leaving both of you.

"Oh fuck, yes, oh my god, fuck me, please!"

You moan and plead and there's a small part of him that feels like he's doing something perverted; he's higher in the chain of command than you, he's older than you, even if it isn't by much; he shouldn't be entertaining even the thought of this, let alone acting on it.

But the fact is, you feel too good wrapped around his cock, held in his arms, running your fingers through his soft, messy curls and whimpering as he fucks you.

He isn't rough; you ride him and he rolls his hips up to meet you, steady, deep, controlled.

You feel safe with him, safe enough to just let go. To just focus on the sensations and the pleasure as you bounce on his cock.

So maybe it's a bad idea, given the circumstances, but it's the furthest thing from your mind as he works you up to your release. His thrusts are becoming erratic, and you know, instinctively, that the moment you let go, he will too.

"Mmnn, o-ohhhh, oh~"

The moans fall from your parted lips, uncontrolled, breathy and high pitched as he gets you right to the edge, has you tumbling over it with a series of heavy thrusts and thick groans into your ear.

His warm, strong arms wrap around you, holding you close as he fucks you through it, grunting softly on each impact of his hips against your ass as your cunt tightens around him, milking his cock and sending him over the edge, too.

You whimper, still in the throes of your own release, as you feel the hot stickiness of his spend fill you, grind down against him and whine as your clit gets rubbed deliciously, prolonging your orgasm.

Slowly, slowly, you both come down, his arms around you and yours looped around his neck.

Breathing heavily, panting, sighing, before finally laughing softly, looking at each other in vague amusement.

"A one time thing, huh?" You laugh, look at his mess of just-fucked curls where you've run your fingers through them, the slight flush to his freckled cheeks.

You're so fucked, and not just literally.

Brett must be thinking the same thing, because he cups your face in one hand, drags his thumb gently across your cheek.

"Come home with me instead?" He suggests, and you smile, lean in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Mm, that sounds nice."

Sleeping with your interim Battalion Chief? Maybe not the best idea.

But starting something real together? Yeah. That might work.

🩷

Sammy was officially in hell.

You were sat on the sofa, chatting and laughing with Tammi, excitedly telling her a story about college. You used your hands as you spoke, your smile infectious, despite telling her how you were just kicked out of college.

He could never see anyone struggle, and it was just a few weeks. Of course he'd offered for you to crash there. You were family... and another pair of hands to wrestle Richter in line.

Sammy had such a huge heart. You were crashing on the couch, your bags spread around you. You were wearing vans sneakers, a tiny pair of shorts and a crop top due to the LA heat. Sunglasses perched on your head, perfume wafting over as you laughed.

Sammy watched you both intently. He hadn't seen you since their wedding, you were a bridesmaid and, despite only being 5 years younger than Tammi, had looked considerably younger then. Pre-college. Excited to be an adult. But now...

But if he was such a good guy, he thought guiltily, then why did he feel his cock twitching when you moved beneath your crop top? He tried not to notice how you clearly weren't wearing a bra, how your nipples were starting to stand to attention as they brushed against the material.

His gaze flicked to Tammi, who clearly hadn't noticed. Sammy bit his lip and looked at the ceiling. What the fuck, he thought. That's your sister in law.

Just a few more weeks...

-- 🩷 --

Sammy had gotten up to use the toilet. Already, your things were spread along the shelf, and the steam in the bathroom smelled like your shampoo. Sammy tried not to take a deep breath or think about you in the shower. He tiptoed through into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

There you were. You had the lightest sheet they had covering you due to the heat. Your damp hair surrounded your head like a halo. Richter lay loyally at your side along the floor, whose eyes tracked his movements but didn't lift his head up. Sammy had tried to stay quiet but now he was frozen to the spot.

You made a soft noise in your sleep, something between a little moan and a contented sigh. Sammy wondered what you were dreaming about, as a big smile spread across your face, then realised he was staring. He turned and ran the tap as quietly as he could.

'Tammi?'' Your little voice, thick with sleep, called out.

'Um, no, sweetheart,' Sammy turned slowly, 'just me. Sorry to wake you.' A slow, guilty heat rushed to his face, even though he knew you were completely unaware of his gawking.

'Oh, sorry,' you smile, yawning and stretching your arms together above your head. Jesus christ.

'Did you, er- d'ya need something?' Sammy asked, clearing his throat.

'Oh no, I'm perfect,' you smiled. Yes you are, Sammy thought.

'Good. You, um... know where I am if you ne-need me.'

You nodded and lay back down on your side. 'Night, Sammy.' The sheet was half falling off your side, the oversized tee barely covering your thigh. If he was to move just slightly to the right, he would be able to see up it.

Before he could follow through with that thought, he quickly left the room. Climbing into bed next to Tammi, she pulled Sammy's arm around her waist and up to touch her chest.

'Unfhhh, you're half-hard for me already,' she whispered. 'I've been taking my prenatal vitamins.' Tammi tugged on his arm to pull Sammy up and on top of her. He bit his lip as she started touching him, trying desperately not to think of you two rooms away.

-- 🩷 --

You were making pancakes for everyone, a first day thank you for letting you stay. Sammy could hear yours and Tammi's voices, laughing in the kitchen as he wrestled with his tie. He hadn't heard Tammi so giddy in months. Richter flopped down in the bedroom, grumbling, pulling a flash of red between his paws. Sammy dived down to take whatever it was off him before he could chew it to bits. Richter whined as it left his grasp. Sammy looked at his fist and realised what it was. Your silky underwear, some sort of lacey see-through French knicker. He looked down in confusion at the panties which were not his wife's. It was crumpled, and Sammy realised Richter had stolen it from the bathroom after you'd showered last night. Your used panties. Jesus Christ.

As he stared at the scrap of fabric in his hand, he heard footsteps outside the bedroom. Panicking, he stuffed it into his suit pants pocket and began walking out of the room. Sammy almost collided with you. 'Morning!' Your smile was wide and genuine. 'I made pancakes!'

'Thank you,' Sammy replied, throat suddenly thick like molasses. You didn't seem to notice, your eyes dropping to his throat. 'Oh, let me!' Before he could protest, you were reaching up on your tiptoes and easing the tie from his grasp. Sammy felt your fingers brush against his, and he pulled them away as fast as possible. Your face was close to his, and he could smell your perfume and the shampoo in your hair. Sammy tried not to look at you as you worked his tie. Every time you touched his neck, it felt electric; burning hot lightning brushing against his skin. You were concentrating and seemed completely oblivious to the effect you were having on him.

Sammy curled his toes within his suit shoes as he desperately fought to keep his face neutral. Sammy's neck was sensitive, so sensitive, and it was like you knew. He felt his cock twitch against his leg, all flustered. Sammy tried to think of boring things, gruesome crime scenes. 'There,' you smiled, 'come on.' Your red underwear burned a hole in his pocket, just a thin strip of fabric separating your panties from his boxers.

-- 🩷 --

'Quickie before work?' Nate asked, grinning smugly.

'No thanks, I'm not that hard done by,' Sammy replied, as he jumped into the passenger seat.

'One - I'm way out of your league,' Nate raised his eyebrows, 'and two, I meant these.' Nate held up the red slip of fabric between his fingers, which had slipped out of Sammy's pocket into the footwell as he jumped in. 'Jesus Christ,' Sammy's face flushed bright red.

'Still trying then?' Nate asked, pulling down the street. 'What?' Sammy replied. 'With Tammi?' Nate shook his head, amused. 'Yeah, I mean, yeah... still trying.' As Nate drove further down the street, Sammy wound down his window and threw the panties out into the street. 'Well, that was normal.' Nate snorted.

-- 🩷 --

As Sammy unlocked the door and walked into the living room, he came in to see you sat on the sofa, straddling a man. Your back was too him, those tiny shorts riding up so he had a full view of your ass. Large hands were splayed round your waist as you kissed your visitor, who was pulling you slowly against his pelvis. He heard you moan.

Sammy coughed loudly and you jumped a mile into the air. 'Sammy, you're home,' you blustered, smoothing down your hair. 'This is my boyfriend, Josh.'

Josh looked like the sporty frat type, younger than Sammy with defined muscles and messy blonde hair. It was hard not to notice his bulge beneath gray sweatpants. Josh grinned at Sammy smugly, tipping his head back in acknowledgement. ''Sup.'

'Yeah, 'sup,' Sammy shook his head for half a second before moving into the kitchen. You followed him. 'Sammy, I'm so sorry, that was really disrespectful.'

Sammy carried on walking, trying not to picture what he'd just seen. ''sfine,' Sammy mumbled, a light sheen of sweat glistening over his face. 'No, it's not!' You insisted, pushing in front of him and placing your hand on his forearm.

The proximity of your body as you looked up earnestly into his eyes was almost worse than seeing you dry humping on his couch. 'Seriously, s'fine.' Sammy's rough voice was low and he avoided eye contact. He looked into your eyes for a second before removing his arm gently from your reach. ''m having a shower, s'ya in a bit.'

Sammy desperately tried to ignore your guilty eyes following him as he left the room.

-- 🩷 --

The hot water pounded over Sammy's shoulders as he closed his eyes. Tammi wasn't home yet and he was very aware he was naked, a room over from where you were probably kissing your boyfriend again. Sammy let himself picture you were kissing him for a second. His cock pulsed against his thigh. Sammy's intake of breath was ragged, the sound covered by the water. Sammy knew he should put the shower on cold, think about something else, think about his wife. But yet.... in his mind, he was sat flush on the couch, your body pressed up against him. He could smell your shampoo from the shelf. Sammy bit back a moan and closed his eyes. In his mind, you were wearing those little shorts, and he was just in his boxers. You were straddling his hips, and his hands were on your soft waist. Sammy whimpered, his cock throbbing as it grew harder. He knew he should stop this train of thought but he was too far gone, and Sammy's meaty hand was guided to his cock. As he slowly began pumping it, he imagined using your hips to guide your body, your hot core already wet with anticipation. It would leave a smear along his boxers, because you wanted him, needed to use him. Sammy's eyes closed as he tipped his head back, pumping a little faster. He replayed the small moan you'd made as you rode Josh. The head of his chubby cock would find the seam over your clit. It would be sensitive and you'd moan as he pressed against it, using the tip to grind against the little bud of nerves, against the spot you really needed. There, Sammy, you'd moan in his ear. Oh fuck... right there.

Sammy groaned, imagining how much you'd want it, how much you'd beg him for it. Sammy, please. How you'd tell him to shut the fuck up so he didn't wake Tammi, swallowing his whines with your mouth.

'Oh God,' Sammy found himself whispering. 'Yeaaahh.' He began fucking up into his fist, wet with pre-cum and the shower, one hand pressed against the wall to steady him. He was getting close. Sammy tried to shut out any feelings of guilt. He wasn't acting on it, doing anything with you, he was just thinking... Sammy imagined your tongue against his neck, sucking and licking. He groaned again, his stomach beginning to tingle, his muscles stiffening. You'd use your teeth, scraping behind his ear as you rubbed yourself on his cock. You wouldn't be gentle. No, you'd use him to take what you needed, to lift yourself higher and higher and higher. Sammy couldn't even imagine how it would feel for you to grind down hard on him, growing more and more desperate, crying out that you were gonna cum.

'Ahhh.. ahh.... mmmmf,' Sammy tried to keep quiet but it was too late. His stomach tightened and he began to see stars. 'Hi Sammy, I'm home!' Tammi poked her head around in the door. Sammy jumped in surprise, dropping his cock, the orgasm keeping him suspended on the edge receded. 'Uhh, hi,' he panted. 'Won't be a sec.' Fuck.

-- 🩷 --

Sammy was convinced you were trying to kill him. You were padding around in a little onesie. The buttons were open dangerously low, and the shorts were barely shorts, high-rise on your perfect thighs. Sammy was trying to focus on his paperwork, but his gaze kept dropping to your mouth, parted in concentration.

'All done!' You announced, pushing a plate in front of him. Homemade pasta and meatballs, covered in a spicy tomato sauce. You were bending over the counter, oblivious to the view of your tits you were flashing him down your onesie. Sammy quickly lifted his gaze to your eyes, hoping you wouldn't notice. He looked between each of your eyes, feeling a flush creep across his face. Had you held the eye contact a second too long? He looked uncomfortable and was squirming in his seat.

''smells amazing!' Tammi announced, sitting next to Sammy and squeezing his thigh in greeting. Sammy smiled at her and shifted sideways slightly so she couldn't feel the bulge straining against his jeans.

'Oh God, it tastes amazing,' you squealed, licking then sucking sauce from your index finger. Sammy made a squeak and tried to cover it with a cough as his eyes followed your wet tongue. 'It does,' he agreed, fighting to keep his rough voice low and even. 'Are you sure?' Your face fell, looking in concern at him. 'You don't seem to like it?' 'No, no, I like it,' Sammy rushed, aware he was flushing even more. A slight sheen of sweat reached his forehead. 'It tastes amazing.' He agreed in a whisper.

-- 🩷 --

You were driving him crazy but he was in heaven. The three of you were watching a movie, Tammi and you curled up on the sofa, underneath a blanket, and Sammy on the recliner. His eyes were on you more than the movie. Sammy couldn't tell if you were doing it on purpose, or if you were even aware, but you were sucking your thumb.

Each movement of your mouth on your thumb, deep inside your mouth, made your wet lips tighten around it, moving slowly up and down. Your eyes stayed forwards, intently watching the screen, but you had to be doing it on purpose.

Sammy gratefully reached for the cushion behind him, and tried to cover his hips with it, as surreptiously as possible. His cock pulsed, and his wedding ring bit into his finger.

You laughed at the film, your beautiful face lighting up, a slip of tongue revealed through your parted wet lips. This was better than watching porn. His cock throbbed insistently against his thigh, straining against his jeans. It twitched against the cushion, and Sammy breathed out in relief. No way. There was no way he was dry humping a pillow in the sitting room watching his sister-in-law, in front of his wife. And yet...

Sammy's grip on the cushion was a vice, fighting to keep it completely steady as he slowly rolled his hips against it. His cock pulsed as it brushed the rough fabric, desperate for relief. Sammy held his breath, eyes fixed on you. He felt like a creep, but he couldn't help it. There was no way he could survive a few weeks without doing something about it. Sammy was a really good guy but... maybe he wasn't that good. Tammi hardly paid him attention anymore, he was surprised she had initiated sex the previous night. She was usually mean and spaced out on weed. Sammy had guiltily pictured you making that little moan again as he fucked into Tammi, and he had finished so early Tammi didn't have chance to cum.

The friction started to build as Sammy guided his cock against the cushion. Rolling his tongue over his lower lip and biting down hard on it, he looked to the ceiling and tried to keep quiet. But his gaze soon found you again, so beautiful, your mouth working on your thumb. Sammy imagined it was his cock your lips were tight around, sucking in a light vacuum, whilst your tongue made circles around his head. Sammy was close. You laughed again at the movie and resettled on the sofa. Why did you never wear bras? He could see your nipples through your onesie, pert and waiting for him. Sammy wondered if you were wearing another pair of French knickers under there. If you had a lacy, see-through black pair, or if you had a baby-pink thong on. Fuck, he was right on the edge.

He was gonna cum in his boxers like a teenager. Spill into them with his warm load and sit in the pool, before walking out with them plastered to his cock.

He gripped the pillow even tighter. Would those panties be pushed to the side? Were they damp against your skin right this minute? Were you getting wet sitting there, smearing them with your arousal? Were you even wearing any?

'Sammy!' Tammi interrupted his train of thought, with the tone of someone who had said his name more than once. 'Hmmmf?' Sammy asked, immediately stopping his movements against the cushion, guilt filling him. 'Ice cream? Freezer? Can you get it?' 'Mmm'kay... just need to give me a minute.'

-- 🩷 --

It was Saturday. Tammi was out taking photographs in the park. It was burning hot and you were in a deck chair in the garden. Sammy walked out to join you, bringing a beer for both of you. He stuttered when he saw you, wearing what was probably sold as a bikini but in reality was a torture device. Sammy couldn't believe his luck.

Your bikini bottoms were obscene, the sides reaching way up over your hips with a tiny V heading towards your core. The top was all spaghetti straps, with little triangles of black fabric which barely covered your tits. They strained against it, giving a view of side boob and under boob, all pert and pressed together. Was this heaven or hell?

'Thanks,' you smiled, gratefully taking the beer. 'Are you not boiling?' You nodded at Sammy's tee. 'Um...' Sammy squirmed a little, sitting down on his chair. You could tell he was flustered by something, his meaty hand dragging down his face. 'No, I'm good.' His low, rough voice managed. 'Oh, come on!' You playfully tugged at his sleeve. 'It's only me!'

Sammy swallowed thickly. Only you was the whole problem. He decided to be honest. 'I've er- I've put on a little weight. 'rather not.' You lifted your sunglasses up onto your head. Fuck, you were so beautiful. 'Don't be silly,' you chided gently, looking at him with wide eyes. 'Besides... dad bods are in. Come on,' you tugged at his sleeve again.

Sammy realised he wasn't going to win this one and slowly removed his shirt. Your eyes took on his arm pits, full of thick auburn curls, and smelling faintly of body wash and deodorant. The freckles dusted across his chest matched his face. Sammy sat, embarrassed, his squishy tummy overhanging his swim shorts. You tried not to stare, or at his thick, meaty arms, or the pale, chubby hand gripping his beer tight.

Sammy squirmed under your gaze, flustered, heat blazing across his face. A slight sheen of sweat dampened his curls. 'S'stop looking,' Sammy mumbled, and you flipped your sunglasses back down over your face. 'Why? You're hot,' you shrugged and went back to your book. Sammy shifted in his seat and tried to think about his taxes.

--🩷--

You were both a few beers in and slightly buzzed. Sammy felt more confident in stealing quick glances at you. You sat up and moaned, stretching your arms out, pushing your tits forwards. The view of your breast made it impossible to ignore and Sammy's mouth dropped open a little. He wondered how else he could pull that moan from your mouth... preferably made into his mouth.

'Please put some cream on me, Sammy?' 'What?' Sammy stared at you, guilty. Had his face given away his thoughts so easily. 'Sun cream?' You shook the bottle at him, a smirk on your face. 'Oh, right... yeah.' Sammy cleared his throat and sat sideways on his chair as you turned your back to him. 'My neck and back always burn.' 'Uh huh.'

Sammy took the bottle from you and squirted some lotion onto his hands, warming it between his fingers. He took a deep breath and bit his lip, starting along your spine and your lower back. As his hands rubbed up and down your sides, he tried to break the silence with the first thing he could think of... your body, your rolling hips, your moan...

'How're things with Josh?' Sammy tried to keep his voice even. Your skin was so smooth and soft under his thick fingers. They slipped under the string around your ribs. 'Oh, that's over,' you replied breezily, holding your hair up and out of the way of your shoulders. Sammy leant forwards, breathing in your smell, then feeling very guilty. 'That's too bad,' he murmured, trying not to feel pleased. Smug prick. 'Nah, he was a cheating loser,' you replied.

Sammy couldn't believe that anyone would cheat on you. On you. 'He must be insane,' Sammy muttered before he could stop himself, moving up to your shoulders. You snorted, 'yeah, well... he wasn't that great anyway. I had to keep faking it in the end.' Sammy nearly choked. 'Sorry,' you grinned, looking back at him. 'TMI.'

Sammy couldn't help but imagine you prone on the bed, that fucking prick above you. You look bored and sad, receiving no pleasure as Josh just used your body. It made Sammy seethe.

'No, sweetheart, you deserve better than having to do that.' Sammy's chubby thumbs pressed lightly against your neck, rubbing into the tight muscles. You moaned softly and leant back into his hands. The sound went straight to Sammy's cock, twitching in his shorts. It was just biology, he told himself. It didn't mean anything. It's just... his body doesn't know that. It's like it's a separate entity, ignoring his instructions and responding to your voice. He couldn't help it. 'Mmmm, feels so good,' you hum as you leant back harder into his thumbs. Sammy was fucked.

Sammy rubbed up your neck and back down. Nearly finished, nearly finished, nearly finished... 'Thanks!' You turn around with a bounce, smiling at him gratefully. 'Your turn!'

'W-what?' Sammy stuttered, putting on his own sunglasses to hide some of his panic. 'You don't have any on,' you explained slowly, gesturing to his chest and tummy. 'Oh er... 'sfine, I'll do it in a minute.' 'Don't be silly,' you laughed, taking the bottle from his hands, and pulling your seat closer. 'I can reach it all myself,' Sammy squeaked, gesturing to his front. 'Oh, shut uuuup,' you teased, rolling your eyes.

Sammy breathed a sigh of relief that his shorts were dark and baggy, hoping you wouldn't notice how ridiculously hard he was. His hand clenched tight around his beer bottle.

You warmed the lotion in your hands as Sammy had done, and then started along his chest. Sammy didn't dare breathe. You leant forwards and Sammy could see all of you escaping your bikini top now. Your round tits were pressed together, nipples hard and scraping across the glossy material. Sammy swallowed and had to look away.

Your hands pressed gently into his chest as you rubbed the lotion in, running your fingers through his chest hair, and Sammy had to press his mouth shut so he didn't whimper. He had dreamed of you touching him like this and, now that you were, he didn't know where to look or what to do with his hands.

You reached his tummy and Sammy bent away. 'Please don't,' he whispered. You pushed your sunglasses up off your face again and looked at him, even though he was still wearing his. 'I told you,' you repeated, softly and gently. 'Dad bods are in.' The wine was giving you a pleasant buzz and made you feel brave. 'Besides,' you said, rubbing your fingers into his squishy tummy, 'it's kinda really hot.' finally admitting to yourself that you wanted it pressed against your back, with his big, solid body wrapped around you.

Sammy dared not breathe. He must have misheard you. 'Mmmm, don't think so..' Sammy shook his head, desperate for the conversation to be over. Your hands reach beneath his belly button, then were rubbing the underside of his tummy. Sammy was frozen on the spot. The air between you shifted somehow, grew thicker. It sat heavy and charged. Your fingertips were inches, inches, away from the waistband of his shorts. You could slip them under without even moving your wrist. 'Sammy-,' you whispered, but were interrupted by a door banging shut.

You and Sammy immediately sprang away from each other, and Sammy found himself panting. His want and his frustration were warring for first place. 'You would not believe this awful... oh jesus christ, put some clothes on. Your sister doesn't wanna see that... and Sammy sure as hell doesn't.' Sammy could have burst into tears. His jaw clenched and his cheeks twitched. You glanced at him, an apology and a guilty look in one, and then stood. As you turned, Sammy got a view of your plush ass, right at eye level. 'Whatever, Tams,' you groaned, rolling your eyes. You poke her in the ribs as you walk past and she just sighs impatiently. 'Besides,' your voice floats away, 'anyone would be lucky to have this.'

--🩷--

Sammy's cock was weeping as he took a shower, the water pounding over his shoulders. It found his hand again, his meaty fingers struggling to wrap around the chubby length. He thrust his hips and fucked roughly into his fist, desperate and impatient. The tension in the air, the way you had looked at him, your fingers inches from tugging at his waistband, touching the top of his auburn pubic hair, scratching your nails down, down, down... Sammy bit his lip and tried to quieten his grunts as he pulled on his cock, imagining you taking him out of his shorts... Sammy stifled a wounded groan, he was gonna cum, he was gonna cum... 'Ah, ahhhh, aaaahhhh, mmmf,' Sammy turned his head into his bicep, biting down so hard to muffled his grunting he could taste blood. Fuck, here it comes. He was right on the edge, his balls tightened up, his stomach coiling, his toes clenching... A knock at the door. 'Sammy! Hurry up! We have takeout.' Sammy cried out in frustration. '.... you okay?' Tammi asked. For fuck's sake. 'Yeah! Fine!' Sammy hung his head and pressed it against the cold shower tiles. He couldn't remember a time he had ever been as frustrated as this.

--🩷--

Sammy barely spoke during the movie. He didn't know what to do with himself. You were back in tiny sleep shorts and a crop cami, relaxing into the sofa and laughing along. He couldn't help but take you all in. You were glowing from an afternoon outside in the sun. You were starting to get sleepy, your face all soft and relaxed, your thumb grazing your mouth. Every so often your eyes would flick to his and then quickly away, leaving Sammy insanely flustered. He had never been so desperate to fuck someone in his life.

The way you walked around in skimpy clothes, the amazing homecooked meals you made as if you had to earn your place (you didn't), the big smiles you gave him every time he came home. But then there were your nipples, always in his vision. Your peachy butt he wanted to bite down on until it bruised. Your gorgeous legs he wanted wrapped around his ears. Sammy was desperate for you with a carnal intensity, like a dog in heat.

It was heaven watching you float around his home, and hell that he hasn't had you yet. It was too much. He was going to have to do something about it.

Sammy was aching for you, so much so that it hurt. He was constantly half-hard just watching you, and his balls were so heavy; full and uncomfortable. His cock was sore for you. He hadn't even been able to jerk himself off to you, spraying the shower tiles with his cum like he wanted to, because Tammi always interrupted and ruined it. There was no relief for him. He had to fuck you. He had to.

Tammi went to bed early with a headache. For about half an hour, you didn't speak, sat in comfortable silence as mindless nonsense played on the TV. Sammy moved onto the couch and joined you under the blanket, after pushing Richter gently off. You were his favourite person, and Sammy could see why.

You turned to look at him and found him already looking over your face. You took a sharp breath, and Sammy's eyes dropped to your mouth, just for a second, and then back into your eyes.

'Sammy,' you breathed. 'I know,' Sammy's voice wavered at the end, deep and rough. He looked between your eyes with a blazing heat. 'I want to,' you whispered, searching his eyes for reciprocation. 'Fuck, I want you,' Sammy's voice was low but he was shaking slightly. 'You know we can't, though,' but you moved closer, so much so you could see the dusting of freckles over his forehead and cheeks. His hazel eyes burned into yours, darkened with want and blown pupils. 'No, we definitely can't,' Sammy agreed, moving closer still, lips inches from yours; closer than your fingers were to the waistband of his shorts. 'So we just go to sleep, then,' you whisper against his lips.

Sammy couldn't take it any more. The anticipation, the want, he had to have you. He had to fuck you. Sammy had to act upon it. 'Nuh-huh,' he disagreed, closing the space and pressing his soft lips against yours.

You made a soft moaning sound, which made Sammy groan into your mouth. As you kissed, he gently held your jaw, before pushing his thick fingers into your hair and curling them round a handful. He didn't pull hard, just enough to let you know that he could. The kiss was soft, gentle, tender. 'This okay?' Sammy whispered against your lips. You just nodded and made a soft sigh against his mouth, as if finally finding relief.

Sammy ran his tongue gently across your bottom lip, which you opened, and the kiss became more intense; full of the frustrations and anticipation of this moment, which you both knew deep down was coming. 'D'ya wanna stop?' Sammy panted, knowing how wrong this was. His wedding ring cut into his finger like barbed wire, but he didn't feel guilty. Not in this moment. Not with how Tammi treated him, and the way you were looking at him right now. 'Fuck no,' you whispered, pulling him closer to you and kissing him again. Sammy made a sound, a low whimper, and you put your arms around his neck, fingers toying with his auburn curls.

Sammy pressed his body closer to you, his solid frame soft against yoir body, large but plush at the same time. Another moan escaper your into his mouth, and he greedily swallowed it. '... 'hope that's not fake,' Sammy murmured, his hands running down your waist, finding your shorts and pulling you closer. You almost laughed. You were half-straddling him, his heat radiating onto you. He smelled so good, he felt so good. 'Somehow I don't think I'll need to fake it,' you whispered back.

Sammy growled in response, pushing you down onto your back on the couch, legs still intertwined. 'We're gonna have to be quiet,' you whispered, the door to the sitting room still open. Tammi could walk in at any time, and you felt a flush of wetness at the thought. Sammy was painfully hard, pressing against his jeans, which were damp from your wetness. He pushed his body weight down onto you and you thought you might cum there and then. 'Real quiet,' Sammy agreed as you unbuckled his belt. 'Don't want anyone to walk in 'ncatch us,' he murmured between kisses. 'Definifely not your wife,' you whispered, pushing his jeans down and pulling him close. Sammy groaned at your words, and then again at your hot cunt, as he slipped his cock against the thin fabric of your sleep shorts. 'And defnitely not my sister,' you agreed.

Sammy let out a loud, pained whine, and you covered his mouth with your palm. 'Gotta be quiet, baby,' you shook your head. 'Can't get caught before you cum inside me.'

Sammy made a pathetic, wounded sound. Pre-cum soaked the front of his boxers, smearing against the material as he slowly moved against you. The thick, mushroom head of his chubby cock rubbed against your clit, making you gasped. Your head went dizzy as the thick head made lazy circles against your bud, before roughlt flicking back and forth against it. You felt your pussy clench around nothing.

'Oh fuck,' Sammy panted. 'Ah.. uhhhh, please take me out. Please.'

When you placed a hand inside his boxers and felt the size of his cock, you inhaled sharply. This was gonna stretch you out. 'Wha..?' Sammy asked, kissing your face, your ear, your neck, your jaw. ''something wrong?' 'Nope,' you smiled, pulling him out of his boxers and shrugging them down past his knees. His cock waved against his stomach. 'Pulll these aside for me, baby,' Sammy begged, tugging your sleep shorts.

When he had access, he ran his fingers through your wetness. 'Fuuuuuck,' he breathed. 'Is this just for me?' 'All for you, Sammy.' You gently sucked along his jaw. 'Your pussy's so pretty, baby,' Sammy moaned as he circled your clit lazily, before flicking it sideways, up and down, circles, up and down, sideways... He was bringing you to the edge and letting you teeter there.

'Please le-let me touch youuu,' Sammy whimpered. You nodded against his lips, pulling him tighter to you. Sammy slid a thick finger inside you, swiftly followed by a second.

You gasped, feeling the enormous stretch as Sammy's fingers scissored inside you. The pressure and tickle felt almost too much to bear. Sammy began sliding his fingers in and out, and the obscene squelching noises filled the silent room. You pressed your head against Sammy's bicep, embarrassed. 'Hey, look at me, baby.' Sammy lowered his head to be back on your level. ''love you makin' a mess for me.'

You moaned in response, glad that it seemed to turn him on more. You felt his cock press insistently against your hip, twitching as Sammy added a third finger. You gasped. 'Sammy, I can't-' 'Oh you can, princess,' Sammy moaned, getting close to cumming from just this. 'Fuck, yeah, you can.'

He shifted slightly so he had more access to your cunt and curled his fingers, gently rubbing against your squishy spot. Your legs shook underneath him. 'There?' Sammy asked, looking up at you. 'Oh fuck,' you panted, 'there.'

Sammy continued massaging you, pulling his fingers in and out, the base of them covered in your cream. You felt yourself leaking out around his fingers, running down your ass and onto the couch. You were too far gone to care.

Sammy nudged your legs further apart with his knee when you tried to tighten them together. Sammy was fucking into the couch, humping against it, hips rolling up and down. His thrusting into the fabric became rougher as his fingers deep inside you began to speed up. His thumb circled your clit, palm pressing on your mound. 'There it is,' Sammy moaned. 'Cum for me.' Your orgasm hit you like a train. Your back arched as you saw stars, heat radiating through all of your muscles. 'Good girl,' Sammy whispered into your mouth, swallowing your moans. 'Theeere you go... you're doing so good.'

Sammy slowed his fingers down but didn't stop touching you until you had fully come down from your high. 'Fuck,' Sammy breathed. 'You're so beautiful.'

'That was amazing.' You fought to catch your breath. Your cum glistened all over his fingers from gushing into his hand. The couch was soaked from when you surprised yourself and squirted. Sammy dragged his finger down his tongue, sucking your wetness with his eyes closed. Then he leaned in and kissed you, so you could taste yourself on his tongue. ''made such a mess f'me,'

'Can I fuck you now?' Sammy's voice was cracked and hoarse. 'Please yes... fuck yes,' you replied, wriggling out of your shorts. ''m not gonna last long,' Sammy warned. 'Good,' you ran your fingernails up and down his neck, making his eyes roll back. 'It's so sexy that you can't stop yourself from cumming over me.'

You pushed his cock along your cunt, through your lips and covering it with your glistening wetness. 'Uhhh... uh. St-stop that,' Sammy stuttered. His face was completely red and screwed up, and he shuddered as you moved him. You loved seeing him, a big police detective, so flustered and falling apart for you like this. 'Why?' you asked innocently. ''cos I'm gonna cum,' Sammy let out a long groan, his eyes rolling back, and biting down on his lower lip. ''n-o, seriously... stop... 'wanna fuck you so good.'

You ran your fingernails up and down his biceps, and along his soft chest. Sammy groaned again, a guttural, pained sound, squirming as you clapped your hand over his mouth. 'Baby, you gotta shut the fuck up if you want fuck me.'

Sammy nodded desperately, obediently, too lost in the need for you to let him. He lined himself up with you and slowly pushed halfway in to you. 'You're so tight,' Sammy moaned, his head thrown back. 'Fuck, you feel so good.' 'Keep going,' you whispered, hands on his hips and pulling him closer, making him move further into you.

Sammy let out a series of broken sounds until he bottomed out; he was coming undone already.

You rolled your hips in slow figure 8s, dragging his cock along every part of your wet, warm walls, stretching you out. As his thick head bumped against your spot, your pussy helplessly clenched around his cock. 'Don't- don't do that,' Sammy begged, trying desperately not to just blow his load inside you straightaway.

'Sammy,' you pleaded, rolling your hips against his pelvis. 'C'mon... fuck me. This is what you want. This is what you needed. Come get it.'

Sammy nearly came. There was nothing gentle or romantic about the way he fucked you. He pushed you deep into the mattress, thrusting down on you. His heavy weight pressed against you, and you could feel his big belly squishing hard into yours.

Sammy grunted in your ear like an animal every time he bottomed out. He fucked you with the aggressive energy of a dog in heat, mindlessly mating with its partner. Sammy's sweat dropped onto you, his face all red and screwed up. 'Uhhh... uh... huh... uhhhh,' Sammy grunted every time he buried himself in your warm, soaking cunt. You pulled on his hair and he moaned, which turned into a whine. ''m gonna cum,' Sammy's voice was broken, his eyes glassy. One was half-rolled back into his head and his mouth hung open as he buried himself deep within you.

'Cum for me, Sammy,' you whispered, one hand raking his back down hard with your fingernails, the other one reaching under him and gently holding his balls. 'Mmmmmf,' Sammy was getting louder. 'Oh I'm gonna... hnnnfgh.. I'm go-gonna...'

His hips moved rougher and sloppier, slamming into your cervix with uncoordinated precision. ''gon' fi-fill... oh fuck, 'm cumming.' You felt the load pumping into you immediately, warming you from the inside and sluicing around his cock because there was just so much cum.

Sammy let out high-pitched squeals, like a hurt dog, as he buried his face in your hair. He gave one, then two more thrusts before he stayed bottomed out, deep inside your cunt, as throb after throb of his cum spilled into you. Your insides were thoroughly hosed down, dripping out of you and onto your thighs.

Sammy lay on top of you, heavy weight pressed into you, sweaty and flushed red. You smoothed his auburn curls. 'Feel better now?' You asked. You could feel his cock softening inside you, but Sammy made no attempt fo move. 'Yeah,' Sammy's voice was shaky. 'Just for the record,' you whispered, 'none of that was fake.'

No curtains, no shades. There's not even a half-effort of an old sheet hung up over the glass pane. And at night? When he can't sleep, and the moths circle the flickering porch lights, and you've got those blue or red or purple LED lights on…well.

Pope can see right into your apartment.

Can see you, watching TV on the couch or cooking boxed macaroni in nothing but a loose tank top and a pair of lace underwear.

He thinks you might be the only good thing about the apartment that Smurf forced him into only three days after he was released from prison.

It's been a long time since he's looked at a woman, you know. Longer since he's seen one as pretty as you.

He's not lacking self awareness or anything. Pope knows your open windows and ever changing LEDs aren't an invitation to stare, but…sometimes it feels like one.

You fall asleep on the couch most nights. Which is good for him, because Pope can't see into your bedroom.

Some things, he begins to realize, are a sort of chaotic routine.

You tend to fall asleep with your phone in your hand and scramble to find it each morning (it's always under the couch, beneath the hot pink throw pillow you kick off in your sleep).

You don't eat breakfast because you don't wake up early enough to (don't you know it's the most important meal of the day?). Most mornings, you wake up with just enough time to doll yourself up in the bathroom, prioritizing glittery eyeshadow and shimmering lip gloss rather than the sustenance of a bowl of cereal.

He doesn't know what you do for work, but it's something with an inconsistent schedule. You sleep until noon on your days off, which could be any day of the week, Pope learns.

Work doesn't stop you from going out, though. Saturday nights are reserved for those miniskirts and stiletto heels and all your giggling girlfriends who get ready on your living room floor with a hand mirror. You share perfume and makeup and clothes with them before you all climb into a shared uber.

A few times, Andrew finds himself tempted to follow you. He tells himself it's not like he'd be doing it for his own satisfaction. He'd just be doing it to keep an eye on you, that's all. You're a young girl (too young for someone his age). Don't you know there are predators out there?

But he never does. Because that would be weird, right? You don't even know him. But…he certainly starts to feel like he knows you.

You and your friends always stumble back to your apartment, sometimes falling up the concrete steps to the second floor. One of them will make pizza rolls or messy peanut butter sandwiches and you'll pass around cold bottles of water and spill electrolyte drink mixes on the kitchen counter.

You'll share your things with them even after the club, selfless girl. Passing out hair ties and makeup removing wipes and big t-shirts for them to sleep in. On one particular night, when most of them are passed out on the couch, legs and arms tangled together, Pope even watches you you share a kiss with one of them under pink LEDs.

That night, Andrew has to force his attention away. It feels way too close to the beginning of that porno Craig left open on the family computer years ago.

But this doesn't feel erotic. Watching your mouth move against someone else's doesn't elicit any warmth beneath the fabric of his jeans.

No, it makes Andrew...upset. Angry, even.

It makes him jealous.

He tries not to think about it again. Tries even harder (and fails, repeatedly) to give you some privacy on Saturday nights.

But Sundays…Sundays are sacred.

Both for you and for him.

So much so that he pulls out on a job when his brothers plan it for a Sunday. Tells them he has to check in with his parole officer that day. Lies to their faces, because he doesn't want to miss out on you.

Because every Sunday, without fail, Andrew gets to see you naked.

You start by cleaning your apartment. Wiping down the counters and vacuuming the carpet and dusting the top of the cabinets. Then you light the candle on the coffee table (pink champagne, he's pretty sure, after looking endlessly online to match up the glass container. Twenty six dollars. Four day shipping. Currently sitting unlit on his nightstand).

And when you're ready, you strip off all your clothes and discard them in the bathroom.

You put oil in your hair and nineties R&B on your bluetooth speaker. You paint your toes (usually white or black, occasionally an electric blue) and glue artificial nails with sparkling gems onto your fingers.

Sunday showers are the longest, Pope knows. Sometimes thirty minutes. And when you emerge from the bathroom, steam rolls out from the open door and you've got your hair wrapped up in a towel. You balance yourself with a foot on the edge of the couch and massage lotion into your skin first.

From top to bottom, moisturizing your entire body. And then you repeat the motion with an oil, and it's during this particular step that Andrew starts feeling a little lightheaded.

He'd bet you feel all smooth and soft and smell so fucking good. Maybe like vanilla or cherry or coconut. And, god. He wants to touch you. He wants to touch himself.

But he resists.

The first three times, anyway.

By the fourth Sunday, though…well. His cock gets so fucking hard in his jeans that it's leaking. Making a big fucking mess in his boxers. It hurts, you know?

And it's not like you'll know he's doing it. He's had a little over a month to perfect his setup—lights off, chair angled perfectly so if anyone glanced into his apartment they'd have to really look in order to see him.

So, he takes his cock in his hand and imagines it's your delicate fingers wrapped around him instead. Imagines it's his hands rubbing oil into your shoulders, over the swell of your breasts, pressing into your hips, squeezing at the supple flesh of your thighs.

He'd make sure to do it just how you like. And Pope wouldn't need to be told how to, either. Because he's spent so much time watching you now that he would just know.

He wonders if your head would fall back, wet hair clinging to your slick skin. He wonders if he pressed just right into that tender spot at the small of your back that you're always so gentle with if you'd moan or whine or whimper. Maybe even say his name.

Andrew cums at the thought alone, grunting low, lips parted, his release spilling over his hand and down the hard length of his cock.

The shame doesn't take hold of him for a while.

Not until later that night, when your hair is blow dried and you're dressed in a pretty silk pajama set. You've got some trashy reality show on the TV, and you're eating the pizza you had delivered right out of the box.

Andrew takes the moment to clean himself up. To change out of his clothes and into something more comfortable. He brushes his teeth and climbs in bed, but lays with his head propped up by an extra pillow so he can still see clearly out of his window.

He knows it's weird. He knows he shouldn't be staring at a naked girl who's probably half his age and doesn't know there's some fucking creep across the courtyard who watches her every fucking day. He knows he shouldn't be fucking his fist watching you put lotion on your skin. He knows he shouldn't be changing his plans with family or friends around your schedule, just so he can watch you a little longer.

He knows he should stop.

The problem, however, lies in the wanting.

Andrew's never had much. Not when it comes to women. But you…god. You're so beautiful, and so pure and so different from anything he's ever seen. You don't belong to anyone but yourself, and once he sees you, he finds it impossible to look away.

Things change late one Friday night.

Andrew gets sloppy. He gets comfortable, here in this routine he's created around you.

There's music coming from your apartment, some electronic pop ballad that's at a volume so loud he can hear it from across the courtyard (there will be complaints to the office manager tomorrow morning, he knows. But you don't have to worry. Pope will take care of it for you, baby. He'll make sure you can keep having your fun).

You're wearing just a lacy bra and a pair of linen sleep shorts. There's a seltzer in your hand, and you're singing and dancing like you've somehow summoned all the energy from the club right there in your apartment.

It's a beautiful sight, truly. You're so happy and carefree. The warmest ray of sunshine that he wants to find himself basking under.

Andrew gets comfortable, posture relaxing in the chair that now lives permanently in front of his window. He watches you dance around your apartment, the easy smile on your face reflected back on his own.

He thinks he could really take care of you. Keep you safe. Protect all that girlish whimsy that lives in your heart. He'd make you real happy, Andrew thinks. Would watch you dance with your friends at the club, leaning against the bar. He'd take you shopping and add more of those short dresses into your closet. He'd make you breakfast in the mornings before work and Christ—he'd buy you a set of fucking curtains.

Pope is so lost in the fantasy of it that he doesn't register in time that your dancing has slowed. And you've put your seltzer down on the coffee table.

And you're staring right back at him.

His heart kicks up, pounding against his chest. He knows he should move out of sight, shut his blinds, pass this off as a mistake, maybe even pretend he hadn't seen you.

But he doesn't do any of that.

He's frozen in time, terrified and exhilarated all at once by simply being perceived by you.

Pope just…stares.

It seems to be the only fucking thing he's capable of these days.

He expects you to flip him off or maybe come barreling out of the door and across the courtyard to confront him. Or maybe you'll scurry away into your room. Maybe you'll order a set of curtains online.

But you don't do any of that.

You just stare right back.

Andrew tilts his head curiously. It's an involuntary movement.

In the end, you're the first to look away. You pick up your seltzer, dump it down the drain in the kitchen, and then disappear into the bathroom to brush your teeth.

Your routine remains the exact same. You find your phone beneath the throw blanket on the couch and turn off the TV. You turn the kitchen light off and turn on the light above the stove instead. You grab a water bottle from the fridge, and then go to bed in your room.

It's not rushed, and you don't seem nervous or fearful that there's someone watching you.

And Andrew thinks to himself, see. This is why you need him. This is why you need someone looking out for you. Don't you know how dangerous he could be?

He would never hurt you, Andrew knows. But you don't know that.

He doesn't sleep that night. He doesn't sleep often as it is, but his mind is running too fast. Cataloguing all the potential scenarios in which you cut off all access he has to you, severing the comfort he finds in his new favorite, voyeuristic hobby.

And Andrew wouldn't—couldn't—blame you for it. He thinks that's what you should do.

You don't.

The following morning, your routine changes.

On the nights you fall asleep in your bed, you're usually dressed in a pair of jeans with gems decorating the pockets and a low-cut top by the time you emerge from your room.

But not this time.

No, this time you're still wearing the same clothes you'd fallen asleep in. A lacy bra and cotton shorts.

Andrew watches, freshly emerged from the quickest shower of his life, hair still wet, as you stand in front of the fridge to find the fizzy energy drink you'd brought home with you last night.

He watches you struggle for a moment to crack the seal open (Those pretty nails of yours. He could help you with that, you know). You take a slow sip, put the aluminum can down on the counter, and turn your head just enough to let Pope know you see him.

You know he's there, in the window. You know he's watching.

And then, painfully slow, you drag your shorts down your thighs. The fabric pools at your feet, and Pope loses all train of thought.

Because this is no accident. You want this. You want him to watch you.

Your bra is next. You reach around to unclasp it and soon after the lace joins the linen fabric on the linoleum floor.

Warmth blooms beneath his skin as he watches you press your hands to your abdomen, feeling your skin, running your hands up your chest and over the swell of your breasts.

You try and play it off like a stretch, lifting your arms above your head and arching your back.

Andrew knows it's not.

You get ready the rest of the morning like normal. And Andrew…God. He doesn't know what to think.

He knows he should stop this before it goes too far. He thinks it already has.

It's…it's weird, right?

Everything about it is wrong.

He doesn't want to stop, but he knows he should.

He tries, though. For what little it's worth.

Tries to busy himself building a fountain at Smurf's. Tries to find small jobs he can do himself to pass the time. He still thinks about you all hours of the day, though. Like a thorn stuck beneath his skin, aching when he moves just the wrong way.

He overhears Nicky explaining to Deran what an 'everything shower' is and thinks about your Sunday ritual. He walks into a hungover Craig making boxed macaroni in his boxers and thinks of you. Smurf lights a candle called pink cashmere and even though it's not pink champagne, it still makes him think of you.

The pretty little girl in the apartment across from his, who he finds himself certifiably, insanely, obsessed with.

One Thursday afternoon, Andrew returns home earlier than he'd planned. He tells himself he just wants to get a little glance.

Just one look. You know, to soothe the ache the thought of you brings. To see if maybe he imagined the weight of your stare.

What he finds, though, is somehow more concerning.

You're pacing your living room, cell phone pressed to your ear, still wearing jeans and your sneakers. There's tension in your shoulders and even though he can't hear the conversation you're having with the person on the other end of the phone, he can see that you're shouting.

It drags on for the better half of an hour. The pacing, the frustrated hand waving, the pinching of the bridge of your nose. Whatever it is, Andrew bets he could help with it.

He hates seeing you stressed. Thinks you should be living your fun, carefree life like normal. You shouldn't be burdened with…whatever it is that's got you so upset.

But it's not like he can go over and just ask.

So, he chooses a different path instead.

Gets the key to the office of the apartment complex from Smurf. Rummages through the paper files until he finds the lease contract linked to your apartment number.

Andrew thinks he should've done this weeks ago. He learns an awful lot about you this way. Like your name, which he begins to recite like a mantra in his head. He learns your birthday and, regretfully, your age.

But, most importantly, he discovers (and memorizes) your phone number.

And that same day, he returns to Smurf's with a torn piece of paper with the digits scribbled on it. He hands it to his nephew and says, "Need you to get a few phone call records. Can you do that for me?"

J furrows his brows in confusion. "Who's number?"

Pope shrugs. "No one," he lies. "Can you get the records or not?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, probably. Anything specific you're looking for?"

"I wanna know about a call that happened today. Around two or so. Lasted almost an hour. Just get me the number of whoever was on the other line."

J hesitates for a single moment, and then nods slowly. "Alright. I'll get back to you on it."

In the meantime, Andrew spirals.

The thought of you having a boyfriend never really crossed his mind until now. You don't really have men over. Just your girl friends.

But there are some Saturday nights you don't come home, stumbling in early Sunday morning instead with sunglasses on and your hair a mess. So, Pope thinks you very well could have a boyfriend and he never would've known it.

Pope tells himself if it is a boyfriend, he won't…he won't do anything. It's not his place to make decisions for you, right?

Still. You shouldn't let a man stress you out so much. Whoever it is, they're not worth it. You deserve better. You deserve more.

You deserve someone who knows you.

Less than two hours later, Pope gets a phone call from J, who explains that the person on the other end of that phone call wasn't a person at all.

It was your phone company.

Your stupid fucking service provider who just so happened to put an extra two hundred dollar fee on your bill this month, claiming data overages.

All that stress wasn't over a boyfriend. It was over money.

And money is something Andrew can provide.

He waits until you leave for work, locking up tight behind you. But that doesn't matter, not now. Andrew has a key to the office, which means he has access to the spare key to your apartment.

He is fully aware that he shouldn't be doing this, but ten minutes after you leave he unlocks the door and steps inside anyway.

Your apartment smells sweet. Like sugar and citrus. He wonders if you smell the same way, and the thought alone makes Andrew's mouth water.

He moves slowly into your space, fingers tracing over the TV stand, feeling the wood beneath his calloused fingertips. He straightens the crooked throw pillow on the couch and puts the lighter for your candle back into the tray on the coffee table.

Andrew knows he should just…leave the cash and go. He shouldn't be snooping around, invading your privacy.

But you left a knife point-side up in the strainer in the sink. And you could get hurt doing something like that.

And once he's already in the kitchen, turning the knife over so the sharp edge is down, well…what will it hurt if he opens a couple of drawers?

None of your silverware matches. Andrew finds this little fact sort of endearing. Messy and chaotic in the same way you are, but that's okay. Maybe he can fix that for you one day, too.

Your bathroom is cluttered. There's makeup products littering the porcelain sink and the cabinet mirror is left wide open. Andrew picks up a few different products to read the labels and finds lip liners and leave-in conditioners and powdered blush with pilled pigment on the counter.

He finds that lotion you're always using on Sundays and opens the lid. Andrew brings the container to his nose, inhales deeply, and feels suddenly too hot.

The scent of it is sweet, like you. There's notes of syrupy amber and warm florals and it has the muscles in his abdomen squeezing tight as he thinks about how potent the scent would be if he were between your legs, freshly oiled, calves resting on his shoulders as he licks and sucks at your clit.

His cock has been half hard since the moment he stepped foot in your apartment, but by the time he makes it to your bedroom?

Pope is aching.

Your clothes are strewn all over. There's t-shirts on the floor and jeans inside out near the hamper and a dress you'd worn two weekends ago lying on the edge of your unmade bed.

It smells like you in here, too. Even more so. There's less perfume, but Andrew swears he can smell the scent of your skin. Sweet and intoxicating, sending sparks of arousal straight to his groin.

Your bedside table has a lamp on it and three half-empty bottles of water. There's one drawer, and he pries it open and gives a slow exhale to see all the silk and lace inside.

Going through your underwear drawer is, quite literally, the very last thing someone like Andrew Cody should be doing.

He does it anyway.

Rummages around until he finds that little black pair you like to sleep in. He runs his fingers over the lace band, feeling the softness beneath the rough pad of his thumb. His cock is throbbing, even before he brings the fabric to his nose and inhales the scent of laundry detergent and faint mahogany from the nightstand and—there. The scent of you.

As close as he can get.

As close as he'll probably ever get.

He needs to leave. Andrew is painfully aware that this is crossing a line of a whole new degree. Levels above simply watching.

This is obsession. This is addiction. Sick and twisted and perverted.

Andrew does not leave.

He climbs into your bed instead. Kicks off his boots and discards his hoodie until he's in nothing but his jeans. He slips beneath your sheets—satin, and pink, and filled with the scent of your shampoo and your skin and—fuck.

His cock is leaking by the time he undoes his belt. Andrew reaches beneath your blankets and shoves his jeans down just enough to free himself.

And it's almost enough to blow his load right fucking there, when the underside of his heavy length brushes against the fabric of your sheets. It's almost too much, being in your room, in your bed, breathing in your scent.

But he resists. Grits his teeth and takes his cock in one hand and uses the other to wrap the soft fabric of your underwear around his aching length.

This time, there's nothing slow about the way he strokes himself to the thought of you. He's desperate for it. Release already clouds the edges of his mind and he needs the relief it'll provide.

His brain feels hazy and his vision blurs, just thinking about you, lying here, hand between your legs. He wonders how you touch yourself, if you just play with your clit or if you fuck yourself on your fingers.

The thought crosses his mind that you might be using more than just your hand, and Pope finds himself sitting up. He leans over the edge of your bed and sticks his hand back into your panty drawer, reaching to the very bottom, feeling around until the tips of his fingers brush over silicone.

His heart is beating fast.

It's a small thing. Pink, of course. With only a small, almost hidden power button.

Pope leans back in your pillows and turns the little vibrator on. It buzzes to life in his hand, and when he pushes the button again, the intensity ratchets even higher.

There's only three settings. He turns it to the highest one and imagines holding it against your swollen clit. He imagines you lying under him, thighs around his waist, hips bucking wildly, chasing the vibration that he gives and gives and then takes away.

He turns so he's lying face down in your sheets now, nose pressed into your pillow. Pope puts the vibrator between his cock and the soft expanse of his abdomen, and he feels the sensation everywhere.

He's still got your underwear wrapped around his cock, and he gives a tentative roll of his hips against the mattress.

The groan he lets out is guttural. With his eyes closed, he can imagine its not your panties he's fucking but you. The tight, wet cunt between your legs. He can imagine it's the curve of your throat he's got his nose buried in and not your pillow. He can imagine that sweet, intense vibration is reverberating through your pelvic bone, little toy pressed hard against your clit.

Pope tells himself he'd make it so fucking good for you. He'd bury his cock so deep you'd never forget the weight of it inside you. He'd whisper how beautiful you are in your ear and make you look him in the eyes while he watches you cum over and over and over.

His release is…embarrassingly fast.

A few rolls of his hips against your mattress and he's cumming into the lace fabric of your panties, the vibration of the toy milking him until he's so overstimulated it almost hurts.

Pope rolls over, turns the toy off, and buries it back in the bottom of your drawer. He gives himself a few more moments to gather himself. To catch his breath, to wipe himself clean (never mind the couple of drops that now stain your satin sheets. That could be from anything, right?).

He tucks himself back into his jeans, pulls on his boots and his hoodie, and tosses your underwear in the pile of clothes next to the laundry bin.

There's a pair of your jeans in the middle of the floor, away from the rest. One leg of the denim is inside out. Pope takes the cash from his wallet and tucks it into the pocket, leaving out just enough that he knows you'll notice it.

He leaves.

Locks the door behind him with the spare key.

Makes it halfway across the courtyard before he doubles back, lets himself back into your apartment and into the bathroom where he pockets one of the many different chapsticks on the sink.

It isn't until he's home, tucked safe back in his own apartment, that he realizes it's strawberries and cream flavored.

Andrew puts it on, swiping the transparent petroleum over his lips. He tells himself it's almost like kissing.

Later that day, Craig calls a family meeting. But you've just gotten home, and he knows you'll find the cash within a few minutes when you go to change out of your clothes.

So Andrew waits at the bottom of the stairs on his side of the courtyard. He can't see into your apartment from here, though. And he decides he'll only wait for thirty minutes.

He responds to text messages and opens his blank, photo-less Instagram (that he definitely didn't make only to look at your profile. The one filled with selfies under neon lights and bikini photos on the beach and mirror pictures in the dressing room at that one boutique in the mall).

Twenty nine minutes later, he hears an apartment door slam shut and looks up to see you.

You've got your bag over one shoulder and a grin on your face and the cash in your hand. Enough to cover the additional charges and a little extra, too.

You notice him at the bottom of the cement stairs and freeze, but you don't look…scared, like he expects. Maybe a little startled at first, but the tension bleeds from your face the moment you recognize him.

He should say something. Talk to you. Apologize, maybe, for staring at you.

But Andrew isn't sorry.

And he's never really been good at talking, anyway.

You tilt your head and give him the sweetest fucking smile he's ever seen. It's somehow innocent and knowing at the same time, and Andrew feels the corners of his mouth lifting in response.

Something passes silently between you. An understanding, maybe. You know he watches you, and he knows you know, but…you don't stop him. You just let it happen.

You smile at him from fifteen feet away.

And then you turn to leave, no doubt making your way to pay off that stupid bill that caused you so much unrest.

Pope watches you go, like always.

But this time, you glance back at him over your shoulder with…something lingering in your pretty eyes. Excitement, maybe. He can't be sure.

He needs to get closer.

During the family meeting, he isn't very present. His mind is so far away, stuck on you, that he just blindly agrees to whatever job they're doing next and trusts that it'll all work out.

When he returns to his apartment, there's a note stuck to his door.

A pink sticky note with nothing but a phone number and a heart with an arrow through it scribbled on the paper.

Your phone number, Pope knows.

He knows he shouldn't text you.

It's stupid and dangerous and god, you really shouldn't be giving your number to random men. He could be a creep. He could be a stalker or something.

His message just says,

Hello.

Your response is immediate, with no capitalization which seems quite…fitting for you. He finds it strangely endearing.

hey

are u the guy from apt 212 ???

Pope can feel that this is a bad idea already. But he's already here, and there's no going back now, is there? He doesn't want to hurt your feelings. He doesn't want to leave you on read and make you think he's not interested when the problem is the exact opposite.

Yes.

The typing bubble pops up, disappears, and appears again three different times before you send another message.

im gonna be home in like an hr

will u be watching ???

Always, he wants to say. Fucking always. He can't take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tries. No matter how shameful it feels.

Andrew's hands shake as he types out a response.

Do you want me to be?

No hesitation this time. Your message comes through a second later.

uhmmm tbh yeah <3

He exhales a long breath. It doesn't feel real. Like he's imagining the entire thing. How could he not be? Why on earth would the sweetest, prettiest little thing want someone to watch her?

But the weight of his cell phone in his hand is real.

And the text message is real.

And this…this is real.

Then yes. I will be.

You don't reply, and Andrew's heart flutters in his chest as he takes his practiced position in the chair in front of his window and waits.

True to your word, you're skipping up the steps fifty three minutes after the last message is sent. You turn on those LEDs and and move about your apartment like normal, kicking off your sneakers and dropping your bag by the door. You change out of your clothes and put on a worn in t-shirt that's two sizes too big for you, but underneath…

Pope can see the sheer thigh highs you wear and the black, lace edge of them. He can see those strappy garters attached to them, but nothing else. The straps disappear beneath your shirt, leaving him wanting for more.

You're teasing him, Pope realizes.

He watches with bated breath as you lay on the couch, getting comfortable with the throw pillow against the arm.

And then, for the first time, Andrew watches you touch yourself.

You start slowly, hands roaming over your body, on top of the fabric, massaging gently at the inside of your thighs.

His cock's always hard watching you, truth be told. But this…

His skin feels hot. His lungs feel tight.

Your fingers curl around the edge of your t-shirt, and you pull it over your head to discard it on the floor.

Andrew hasn't seen you wear this set before, not even on those sacred Sundays.

It's pretty. Matching black lace. The bra is low cut and pushes your breasts up your chest, the soft flesh swelling over the top. The waistband of the matching panties is decorated in shining silver gems, laying so perfectly against your hips that he feels dizzy just looking at it.

The prettiest package, just begging to be unraveled by his big, mean hands.

You dressed up for him.

You dressed up for him.

Your hands start to move again, palming your breasts, pulling the lace down until they spill out of the top. Your nipples are so pretty that his mouth waters. He wants to kiss them, to feel the shape of them under his tongue. He wants to kneel over top of you and jerk himself off until they're covered in his sticky white release.

You squeeze your breasts until your nipples form pretty little peaks, and then your hands slide lower. Over your abdomen, and your hips, and then your thighs. You bring them slowly back up, only to slide them over the lace fabric of your panties, right down the center of your cunt.

Andrew thinks he could die.

He could fucking die, just looking at you.

Carefully, you unbuckle the chrome latch of your garter. The left side first, and then the right quickly follows. You leave the lace belt on, but hook your thumbs around the bedazzled lace of your panties and pull them down your thighs painfully slowly.

Your knees fall apart.

Pope swallows hard.

He can see everything from here. The seam of your thighs that he's dreamt about. The pretty shape of your pussy. The wetness that's gathered between your folds, slick and shiny with arousal. With want.

For him. It's for him.

His cock throbs so hard it hurts.

Pope doesn't touch himself. He can't. Can he? All you asked of him was that he watched.

That's what you wanted.

But wouldn't it be better if he was there? Wouldn't it be better if he could touch you, if he could taste you, if he could fuck you?

All you'd have to do is let him in.

Your fingers stroke gently over your clit in small circles, and he watches in awe as your lips part and your spine bends.

He can't hear your moans but god does he wish he could. Thinks about putting a little microphone in your lampshade the next time he sneaks into your apartment.

Your fingers drift lower, over your center, and slowly press inside.

Pope wants it to be him so fucking bad.

If not his cock inside you then his fingers. They're bigger. Longer. Thicker. They'd please you more. Reach places your fingers can't.

Maybe his tongue. He'd drink you right from the fucking source and cum in his jeans, probably. But he'd make sure to find that sweet, velvety spot inside you first and he'd spell his full fucking name over it with a pointed tongue.

Silly girl. Don't you know what he could do for you? Don't you know what he could do to you?

Pope squeezes the bulge in his jeans to try and alleviate the pain of his lust.

You fuck yourself with your fingers, stuffing in one and then two and then three, stretching yourself on them, slick dripping down the seam of your cunt. Your back arches when your free hand finds your clit, and he knows you're close.

He knows he shouldn't, but he searches frantically for his phone anyway and sends another text message.

I want to hear you.

You pause only long enough to grab your phone off the coffee table, read the text, and lay your phone on the arm of the couch behind you.

Pope's phone buzzes in his hand.

You're calling him.

He answers on the first ring, and the sounds that greet him are so erotic it steals the breath from his lungs.

You sound so pretty. So sweet and feminine, everything he's imagined yet somehow so, so much more. He's sure you can hear his heavy breaths on the other end of the phone, but Pope can't find it in himself to care. Can't think of much else besides the way you whimper and the sight of your fingers stuffed inside you.

"Oh, god—"

His inhale is shaky.

"I'm gonna cum," you choke out, words hazy with your moans. "I'm so close, I'm so fucking—hmm. Yes. What's your name?"

He almost doesn't hear you, so lost in the sight before him. Immersed in the euphoria of it. But then he says, voice a low, uncertain whisper, "Andrew."

Your spine bends and the fingers on your clit slow. "Oh my god. Fuck, Andrew—I'm cumming, I'm—yes, yes—god."

His cock twitches and when he tries to soothe it with another tight squeeze, he sends himself careening off the precipice of release instead. His head falls back and his once heavy breaths get stuck in his lungs. Pope rubs himself over his jeans, making a sticky, hot mess in his boxers, generating what little friction he can.

He watches you come down in real time. Not his dreams, not his imagination. He watches it happen. Watches that fucked-out, hazy look cross your face. Watches the tension in your muscles melt away, wishing he could kiss the junction of your throat.

Pope wishes he could worship you. Wishes he could clean you up and put on that trashy reality show you like and hold you against his chest, comforting you while your brain comes back to earth.

Instead, you lean up. Grab your phone and press it to your ear, staring right at him through his wide open window.

He doesn't know what he expects you to say, but it's certainly not, "Have you been inside my apartment, Andrew?"

For a second, he thinks about lying. Because there's no way you know, right? Not for sure. It's not like you have cameras or anything (he knows, because he checked).

But he doesn't want to lie. Not to you.

"I…might have been. Once, yes."

"Did you steal my chapstick?"

"You have ten of them."

He hears your laugh for the first time, and the sound is like sunlight in his chest. "You took the best flavor."

"I'm…I'm sorry. I'll return it."

"Keep it. I already got a new one," you say. "Cost me five hundred dollars, though."

So, you know it was him who left the cash, too.

Smart, pretty girl.

He doesn't say anything, too afraid he'll say something stupid or awkward the way he usually does. He doesn't want to ruin this moment. This absolutely perfect moment.

You smile at him, kiss your palm, and blow it towards your window. "Goodnight, Andrew."

He feels his face heat. "Goodnight."

Pope rides the high of it for days.

Can't shake the sight of you open and bare for him. Can't stop thinking about the sound of your moans or the way you'd said his name in the peak of euphoria. He fucks his first to the thought of it more times than he can count.

And Andrew's never been a really sexual person. Not unless it's with someone he loves.

But is that what this is? Love?

You've never met. Not really, not properly. How could it be something so intense? You don't know him. You don't know who he is or what he does. You don't know how he's hurt and maimed and killed.

Would you be afraid, finding out? Would you run to the police if you knew? Would you recoil away from him with terror in your eyes?

All things left unsaid. All things that may, very well, never be said.

Pope feels so uncertain with all of this that he finds himself resorting to fucking google, even. Search history littered with questions and Reddit threads that never provide any real clarity.

Define love.

Define obsession.

How to know if you're in love?

How to ask a girl out?

How to get over a girl.

Define voyeur.

Define fetish.

How big of an age gap is too big?

Apartments for sale on the east coast.

Pink champagne candle.

Strawberries and cream chapstick bulk pack.

You text him a week again after your exhibitionistic display.

do u wanna like go out sometime?? been thinking about u a lot

He's at Smurf's when he reads the message.

Pope doesn't even realize he's smiling until Deran slides a beer across the counter at him and asks, "What's got you all happy today?"

And Pope just shakes his head. Schools his features back into neutrality and says, "Nothing. Just won a bet."

He can tell his brother doesn't believe him, not even for a second. But thankfully, Deran doesn't push any further. He lets the subject go, but the question stays stuck in Andrew's head for hours.

It takes him a while to decide on a response. It's honest, and…mostly true.

We shouldn't. I'm a lot older than you.

Your response is a single, painful letter.

k

He doesn't respond to try his hand at damage control, even though he wants to. It's probably better this way, he thinks. Better that there's some distance between you. Better than you hate him and see him as the creepy neighbor he is.

But that Saturday night, when you return home, it's not with your friends.

Pope watches from his window as you guide a man up the stairs and into your apartment.

He's tall. Dark haired, with bright eyes and white teeth and a good smile. Closer to your age. Handsome like a man allowed into your space should be.

You're fumbling a little with your apartment key and Pope watches as the man stands behind you and slides his hands down the back of your thighs.

Thighs he should be touching. Thighs he's watched for months. Thighs that spread for him, long before this fucking loser ever laid his eyes on you.

He tells himself he won't interfere.

You're your own woman. You deserve to feel good, even if it's with…someone else.

And Pope knows he's just going to have to get the fuck over it.

He did it to himself, really.

He should look away.

But he watches instead.

Watches the two of you fall onto the couch. Watches another man kiss down the column of your throat and squeeze the supple curve of your ass over your sequined dress.

Your eyes find his from across the courtyard, and Pope's jaw clenches.

Putting on another show for him. Filthy, filthy girl.

And you're just going to give it to some random man? Someone who doesn't know you like Pope does? Someone who doesn't know how you like to be touched?

He needs to look away. Close his own fucking blinds for once.

But he feels frozen. Knowing this time, you're watching him. Looking for him. Goading for a reaction.

Pope watches the slow ascent of the man's hand. Promises himself he won't interfere. He'll just watch to make sure you're safe, that's all.

But the moment that greedy hand disappears beneath your dress, Andrew's moving. Throwing open his door and slamming it closed behind him. He crosses the courtyard and takes the steps two at a time.

His fist against your apartment door is incessant. He doesn't stop, even when he hears the uttered, male voice ask, "Who is that?"

When the door opens, it's you who stands in front of him, chin tilted up as you stare at him, pupils flared wide.

The man you'd brought home with you hovers over your shoulder.

Pope doesn't even look at him. He stares only at you as he says, a little snarl in his voice, "Tell him to leave."

"Dude, what the fuck? Who is this guy?"

Your lips curl at the corners. A devilish little smile. "Okay," you say, nodding, your voice soft and pliant. You turn your head to look at the man who stands behind you. "Sorry, but you've gotta go."

"You're joking," he responds flatly. "You said I could—!"

Andrew reaches past you and takes him by the collar, pulling him out of your apartment and slamming him up against the paneled siding. "I ever see you in this apartment again, I'll fucking kill you. You understand me?"

"Jesus fucking—yeah, okay. Alright. Sorry."

Pope isn't joking. Doesn't say it to scare him off but rather as a warning.

He lets him go and watches him scramble down the stairs. He doesn't turn back to face you until the little tool you used for attention gets in his car and drives away.

And when he does finally turn back to you…Christ. Your eyes are half lidded and full of lust. Pope's close enough this time that there's no mistaking it.

He should be a gentleman. Should take you out first. Bring you home and kiss you on your doorstep and leave you untouched.

He knows he should.

What he does instead is curl his hand around the back of your neck and pull you to him. He leans down, mouth hovering over yours, breathing in your panicky exhales. "This what you want?"

Your grin is immediate and undeniable. You nod and breathe out the word, "Please."

Andrew kisses you hard, crowding you back into your apartment. He kicks the door closed behind him and slides his tongue into your mouth, tasting you and groaning at the sweetness. There's mint and strawberry and you, his favorite flavor.

He feels drunk on it. On the taste of your tongue, the glide of your wet lips over his, the way your hands scramble and tug desperately at his belt.

"Fuck," he sighs, pulling back just enough to see you. "Open your mouth, baby. Wide. And stick out your tongue."

The way you immediately obey has his cock twitching. Good girl. So fucking good for him when he gives you exactly what you need.

Andrew licks the flat of your tongue once, delighting in the way you whimper in response, before bringing his hand to your mouth. He slides two fingers behind your teeth and orders, "Suck."

You do, lips closing tight around the digits, wet tongue swirling over his thick knuckles. He pushes them further down your throat, your eyes locked on his as he makes you choke on them.

"So fucking pretty," he tells you. "You always look so pretty."

Andrew pulls the straps of your mini dress over your shoulders, roughly tugging the fabric over your chest down to expose your breasts.

You're wearing the same lace bra you'd worn when you dressed up for him, he realizes. He can see the peaks of your nipples through the semi-sheer fabric, and leans down to lock his lips around the left one over the lace.

The fabric is rough beneath his tongue, a stark contrast to the softness of your skin. He sucks hard, spreading the wetness of his saliva over the lace. You push your dress further down your waist and over your hips.

Andrew slides his fingers out of your mouth, sticky and dripping with your spit. He brings them to his own lips instead and sucks them clean, watching your breath hitch and your eyes grow impossibly more hazy.

He lowers himself to his knees before you and his slick fingers work quickly at the straps of your heels, unbuckling them to free your pretty, white-painted toes.

Your hands find his shoulders for balance. "I like that you watch me," you tell him. "I think about it sometimes and it makes me so…god, Andrew. It gets me so wet."

He looks up at you from his knees, big brown eyes glassy and full of adoration. "Good," he says. "'Cause I'm gonna watch you a little closer tonight."

That pretty smile finds its way to your face again.

Andrew presses a sweet, chaste kiss to the apex of your thighs. Over your panties, right where he knows your clit lies beneath. He then stands to his feet, towering over you now without the added height of your heels, and presses you forward.

You take a careful step back, nearly losing your balance.

Andrew grins, taking another step, crowding you back towards your bedroom. He doesn't stop until the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress.

You stumble backwards, falling into the plush sheets that he's all too familiar with. Lying on your back, propped up by your elbows, you stare up at him with wide eyes and he's reminded of a timid little animal caught in the trap of a predator.

Don't you know how dangerous he could be?

You don't look afraid. You actually look…eager.

Pope stands tall at the edge of your mattress. "Take off your clothes."

You do. Unclasping your bra first, tossing the fabric into the already existing mess on the floor. And then your panties follow, thumbs hooking around the fabric to drag it down your legs.

Andrew reaches around and fists the collar of his shirt, tugging it over his head. He feels warm all over, watching you greedily drink up the sight of him. He thinks he'd feel a little nervous, in any other setting. If it were anyone but you.

His sweet, filthy girl.

Andrew reaches into the half-open drawer of your nightstand, searching until he finds your vibrator again.

Your brows furrow as you watch him find it with practiced ease. "You went through my underwear drawer, too?"

"Did more than that," he admits.

You inhale like you're going to speak again, but the words melt to nothing when he tosses the small toy onto the bed beside you.

"Use it," Pope orders.

"What?"

He crawls onto the mattress between your legs, spreading them wide, laying your calves on either side of his hips. "Let me watch you."

There's a moment of hesitation, but you don't look nervous. Only…curious.

You pick up the vibrator and slide the pink silicone through your folds, spreading your arousal before you press the power button. You circle your clit with the tip of it a few times, teasing yourself.

When you turn the toy on, he can feel the vibration against his hands that grip your thighs. You let out a syrupy moan and turn the intensity higher, drawing tight circles around your pretty clit.

He watches you, eyes locked on the pink silicone between your legs. He watches your entrance flutter, tightening around nothing, begging to be filled. "Your pussy is so pretty," he mutters. "Do you know that?"

Your only response is a breathy whimper. You click the intensity up again, putting it on the highest setting, and Pope sighs when your legs begin to shake around him.

He wants to watch you make yourself cum. Wants another scene to fuck his fist to in the shower or in his bed or in his truck.

But he's here. Finally, finally here, in your bed, with you, and he can't help himself.

Pope grips your hips hard and pulls you closer, tilting your hips up into his lap. The vibrator falls from your hand at the sudden movement, but he's quick to return it to you. "Keep going."

You press the silicone back to your clit, and Andrew spreads you open with gentle thumbs. He gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip from his lips and onto the seam of your cunt.

And then he's sliding his middle finger inside of your entrance, curling it upwards, searching for that sweet spot that makes you writhe.

It doesn't take long. He's watched you. He knows just what you like and what angle to hit. And the second the tip of his finger presses hard against it, you fist your free hand in the sheets and curses fall from your sweet mouth.

Pope slides another thick finger inside, watching the way you squirm, feeling the walls of your cunt flutter around the swell of his knuckles.

"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna—oh, fuck. Feels so good, feels so fucking—"

A long, throaty moan leaves your mouth, and he feels the warmth of your release pool in his palm. You're so slick that each wet thrust of his fingers echoes against the walls of your room.

He doesn't stop until you're twitching. Until you click the vibrator off and shove it away from you. And even then, he still gives a few, slow curls of his fingers inside of you. Not touching with intent, just…feeling. Memorizing.

Once you catch your breath, you lean up enough to find his eyes again. You say timidly, shyly, "I want…I want to feel you, Andrew. I want you inside me. Do you…do you want to fuck me?"

It's the most asinine question he's ever been asked in his fucking life. Does he want to fuck you?

He's thought of nothing else for months. Every night when he fights for sleep, it's the thought of you under him that puts him to bed.

It's such an impractical concern from his point of view that he laughs. Actually laughs, for the first time in years. "Oh, baby."

Pope takes your hands in his. He presses one to his chest, right over his heart, and the other against the hardness in his jeans.

"I have never wanted another woman as bad as I want you," he says truthfully. "But I…you…you deserve better than this. Better than me. You understand that, don't you?"

You shake your head. "You don't know me, Andrew. Not really. You don't know if—"

"No, no. I do. I know you're the kind of friend who would give the shirt off their back. The kind of girl who'd let her phone get cut off before asking for help. The kind of girl who gets up every morning and just…tries. Every day. And you fucking…you smile about it. You're good. You're so fucking good and I…"

He stops.

Remembers the last time he'd loved someone like this and how he'd made a stupid confession he should've taken to his grave and how it'd fucked him completely.

"You're what, Andrew?"

Pope swallows. "I'm...I'm a bad man. I've hurt people. I will…hurt people, I—" His voice cracks. He lowers his eyes, trying to turn away, unable to find the strength to face you.

But you take his jaw in your gentle hands and force him to look at you. Sweet, angel of a girl that you are. And then you say without a waver to be found in your voice, "I like who you are. Do you think I gave the man who watches me through my window my phone number because I want some guy I could match with on Tinder?"

He tries to slow the rapid pounding of his heart. He wonders if love is supposed to be like this. To feel like this. All consuming and terrifying and devastatingly hopeful above all.

You shake your head and tuck your legs beneath you, sitting up on your knees. He sits stone still as you lean forward and kiss his cheek, whispering against his ear, "I've been watching you, too, Andrew Cody."

Something shifts inside of him as you say it. Uttering his last name that he'd never given you, that isn't even on his lease because this is a fake apartment under a fake name to launder the money they steal.

Oh—sweet, smart girl. Smarter than he thought.

How silly of him to ever doubt you.

There's a newfound wildness in your eyes when they meet his again. An unveiling. Like he's seeing you for who you truly are for the first time.

And you're…god. So fucking beautiful.

And, yeah. Pope thinks he's been right this whole fucking time.

He's weird and wrong and sickly obsessed.

But you are, too.

Andrew takes you by the back of the neck and kisses you hard, desperate to taste you, to close what little physical space remains between your body and his. He pushes you back against the mattress and follows you down.

Your hands find his belt buckle before he does, and he stares down at you as your deft fingers pry the leather open and unbutton his jeans. He helps you push the denim down his legs until his cock springs free, heavy and leaking. Wanting for you, twitching as you take it carefully in your hand.

A groan reverberates at the back of his mouth. Your hands are so soft. Perfect and pliant. One day, he swears he'll show you how he likes to be touched. He'll let you sit in his lap and watch him stroke his cock for you.

But for now, he lets you touch him slowly. Experimental. Feeling the heavy weight of him in your palm. You spit on your fingertips and spread your saliva over his sensitive tip, flushed red and pulsing beneath your touch.

You lean back and guide him between your thighs, sliding the head of his cock through your syrupy folds and over your clit.

The moment you line him up at your entrance, Pope eases inside and you let out the sweetest fucking sigh he's ever heard in his entire life. Sweet and soft and so, so satisfied.

It's so beautiful. You're so beautiful. And you feel warm and heavenly and wet around him. He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then drives his cock back into your cunt.

You squeal and those sharp, acrylic nails dig into his spine. But your legs circle his hips, and so Pope does it again.

He fucks you hard. Claiming that spot at the back of your cunt, pressed right up against your cervix. He rolls his hips and presses his mouth to yours, swallowing up those desperate, carnal sounds he pulls out of our chest.

Sweet girl. Sweet fucking girl. He reaches between you and circles your clit. "My girl now," he says, words spoken against your lips. "You'll never need anyone else, baby. No one but me."

You nod, the velvety walls of your pussy squeezing around the hard length of his cock.

Andrew puts his whole weight on top of you, grinding himself between your thighs, giving you everything he has. Everything he is.

"I'm yours," you choke out. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm—"

It becomes a mantra. One that feeds his desire, in perfect sync with the rhythm of his thrusts. He watches your arousal begin to crest, nearing the summit, the muscles in your thighs twitching. "Look at me, baby," he says. "Tell me you love me when I make you cum."

You're so lost in it, head all spacey, that your eyes remain closed until he takes your jaw in a firm grip.

There are pretty tears in your eyes when you open them, but that smile on your face is present, too. He feels you pulse around him and your breath gets all shallow and then—

"I love you, Andrew, I fucking—oh my god please, please—I love you."

The words are music to his ears, tingling down his spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He thought the sound of his name in your mouth was beautiful but this…fuck. He could die.

Pope thinks he would. For you, he would.

He fucks you through it. Tastes your moans and says, "Yeah, that's it. Give it to me. Look so pretty when you cum for me."

He doesn't let his pace falter until your muscles loosen, until your nails stroke gently over his spin instead of leaving marks.

You pepper sweet kisses over his jaw, tongue sliding up the shell of his ear. "I want you to cum inside me," you tell him.

He's been fighting it the whole time, trying desperately not to blow his load before he'd at least gotten you there first.

But when you say that?

When you say, "Please, Andrew. Want you to give it to me. Want you to fill me up with your cum. Please. I need it."

He thinks about telling you that you don't have to beg. Not him, not for anything (especially this). But you just sound so pretty, begging for his cum, that he can't bring himself to do it.

So, he gives you what you want instead. Fucks his cum into you, groaning low in your ear, cock pulsing inside you. You feel so good wrapped around him it's euphoric. Otherworldly.

Your pussy grips tight, milking him dry, taking every last drop (he knows you're on birth control. Don't you know the women's clinic downtown keeps a spare key beneath the plant in front of their door?).

Andrew is careful when he slides out of you. And he wastes no time before kicking his jeans the rest of the way off and pulling you against his chest.

He pulls the blanket up around your shoulders and presses a kiss to your hairline. His voice wavers a little as he says, "Sorry if I…if I was a little rough."

You shake your head, pressing your nose to the divot between his pectorals. "It was perfect," you murmur against his skin.

Silence settles between you. Comfortable and easy, the sound of your breathing in perfect synchronization.

After some time you say, "I meant it, you know. Wouldn't have said it if I didn't. I really think I might be in love with you, Andrew. Is that…crazy?"

Yes, he wants to say.

But he feels it, too.

So instead he says, "You know, I don't…I don't have much experience with that sorta thing. Don't really know how to…to navigate it, I guess. But, uhm…yeah. Me, too."

He feels that smile of yours against his chest.

Andrew knows that this dynamic the two of you have created is weird.

He knows that.

But at least, now, he's not alone in it.

he made sure you came on his face at least three times. until your legs were jelly, brain mush, voice hoarse from begging him to stop. ‘i-i can’t’ you had whined, ‘ ‘s too much andy!’. he did it to get you into that floaty head space where you’re babbling mindlessly and lax for him.

and you’re exactly that as pope crawls up your body and settles where he belongs, above you and inbetween your legs. still, you breathlessly slur the question that he despises. “condom?”

he feigns frustration even though this is exactly what he planned. “shit— i left my wallet in craig’s car… i don’t have one.”

your response is a needy whine that morphs into a gasp when he rests his cock against your drenched folds and slowly slides back and forth. “can i just have you like this sweetheart?” pope rubs his thick length upwards, angry pink tip catching your clit with every pressing glide. you whimper through your desperate nods, nails clawing at his shoulders, fusing your knees to his ribs to stay spread for him. such a good girl, he thinks to himself.

he keeps his ruttings short. almost playfully light in order to not get you anywhere besides out of your mind from teasing. just how he wants it. when you start to wriggle beneath him, whimpering a few mindless “please please please”s, he looks down at your aching pussy to see her clench around nothing. poor baby, she needs me so bad, he tells himself.

his dick is so drenched in your slick releases that pope ‘accidentally’ notches at your opening. staying in motion, he pushes in ever so slightly. your eyes shoot open in surprise “ohh- andy!” you squeal. frustration bubbles in his chest, but he doesn’t give up. because your panic simmers to pleasure and your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you moan at just his bare tip breaching your wet heat.

he buries his face into your neck to hide his satisfied grin, licking and suckling the skin how he knows you like. “jus the tip sweetheart? please?” he emphasizes his wimpy whines with an inching forward of his hips. your nails tear at the flesh on his back as you shudder. “p-promise?” you croak out in hazy compliance. his reply is strained. “ ‘course honey.”

popes promise — to him at least— goes up in flames when he slips a tiny bit further inside and is met with warm, silky tightness. fuckkk. he groans, muscles tensing and you cry out, eyes rolling back. his thrusts are shallow and unsatisfactory. after a only a few, he’s twitching in need, pathetically trying to inch deeper.

you notice, starting to whine and pant. “you cant andy! i’m n-not on the pill!” the words almost make pope start to piston in and out of you. the thought of coming in you until you’re swollen with his baby infiltrating his mind. that you’ll be tied to him forever and— oh yeah. that’s happening, he decides.

pope leans down to kiss you languidly. trying to tongue fuck you into submission. your pussy is rapidly fluttering around the first inch of his cock, telling him that you want this just as bad as he does. he uses his words. “you just feel so good sweetheart. need you so bad. need all of you.” a breathy moan slips from you at his praise as you return his kiss greedily.

you pull back and blink up at him with your glossy eyes and kiss bitten lips. when your legs start to wrap around him, crossing tightly at his back, he knows he’s almost home free. “okay... i- i need you too andy.”

you barely get the words out before he hastily pushes all the way inside of you. guttural noises of pleasure are ripped from you both as you clench around him so prettily and he stretches you out so perfectly. it’s searing, intimate and raw. so fucking raw.

as pope starts to thrust in and out of you eagerly, obscene slapping sounds echo throughout the room. he whimpers loudly at the warm, wet feeling of you and the noises your body makes for him.

when you shakily tell him between moans “you h-have to pull out.. okay?”

Titus takes a drag from his cigar and bellows out the smoke. He hums, looking down at your head, moving up and down his length.

The air in the room is tense. It's clear the men don't know how to feel. A beautiful young woman is currently pleasuring the man that it blackmailing them. They're fearful yet...aroused. One of Titus' favorite cocktails.

Titus reaches down and cups your cheek. You pull his cock from your mouth with a gasp and smile up at him, you lips coated in a mix of your saliva and his pre-cum.

"Have I been good, daddy?"

He smirks down at you, "You've been very good for daddy, princess. Been so nice and quiet during daddy's meeting."

He grabs your hand, raising it. You stand on your feet to reveal you wearing a black lace corset with matching underwear.

You wait patiently like the good girl that you are. Titus takes another drag from his cigar. When he exhales, he blows it up your body. He sees your nipples harden at the act and he smirks.

"So sensitive to everything I do to you, hm?" he reaches out and rubs two fingers in-between your legs, feeling the garment already soaked with your desire.

Titus hums, "How about I give you reward now, princess? Show these men how I treat people who listen to me." He sees the hesitation in your eyes. You're still not used to being in front of this many people like this.

He sets his cigar in the ashtray on the table. He stands and whispers in your ear, "It's okay. They can look, but they'll never be able to touch what's mine."

"Okay," you murmur your consent and he closes the miniscule distance, pressing his lips to yours, claiming stake on you.

When he pulls away, he doesn't give you a moment before he's turning you around to face the men at the table. He bends you over and you press your body against the cool surface.

Titus practically rips the black lace thong off you and lines himself up to your entrance, "Now, gentlemen," he addresses the men. They all turn their heads to him, careful not to let their eyes wander on you for too long.

When Titus slides his length into you, you let out a loud moan that that reverberates off the wooden table. Titus does nothing to hide his cocky grin. He looks down at you, "Princess, please."

"Sorry, daddy," you murmur.

Titus continues, "As I was saying," he begins to thrust into you, acting as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Well, for Titus, it was, "You've seen what my team and I have collected on you. So now I ask you, what are you willing to do to make sure all of this doesn't get out, hm?"

He ignores the murmurs that break out among the men. He can already tell they're trying to find some sort of loophole out of their situation. But Titus' team is very thorough. There is no way out of this and the thrill of knowing that just gets Titus riled up even more.

He spanks your ass hard, the sound echoing in the room, followed by your moans.

"So good, daddy! Thank you, daddy!" you cry out as he fucks you. He picks up his cigar again and inhales it. He blows the smoke into your face and you happily breathe it in.

"What about you, Danforth?" one man speaks up, causing Titus to scowl in annoyance.

"And what about me?" he thrusts into you hard, causing you to yelp.

"We could just report you to the FBI or CIA for all the shit you and your family have done! Right?" you look towards the man at the far end of the table. His sweat as seeped through his light grey suit, making him even more disgusting look.

You can't help but laugh at him and it makes Titus chuckle as well, "See? Even my princess can see what an absolute fucking idiot you are, Ackers. Tell him why he's an idiot, princess," his arm wraps around your waist and pulls you up.

You smile sweetly at Ackers, "The Danforths have a majority of the FBI and CIA in their pocket, Mister Ackers."

Titus kisses your cheek, "Good girl. Princess, would you like to tell these men their only option?" he slaps your ass again and you moan out, "Submit."

"And if we don't?"

"Princess?"

"You die."

"THIS IS BULLSHIT! YOU CAN'T DO THIS! YOU CAN'T GET AWAY WITH THIS!"

Titus rolls his eyes, ignoring the incessant protests and ramblings of Ackers. Instead, he focuses on you, on how well you take him. Your body is practically humming. You feel so good under him, against him. It's like your body was molded just for him.

He takes another drag from his cigar and sets it back on the ashtray. Titus' arm wraps around your neck, putting you in a headlock. The sensation heightens your pleasure. He isn't the only one that likes the mix of fear and pleasure.

Your grip his arm that's wrapped around your neck as he pounds into you, "Fuck, daddy! So fucking good!"

He chuckles, murmuring in your ear, "Look at them, princess, watching you. Look at them watch me take what's mine. You're so good for me, princess. My good girl."

"'M close, daddy," you gasp out, "Please, can I cum?"

"Not yet, baby. Gotta decide what I should do with our friend over there," he releases you and you gasp for air, bracing yourself against the table.

"Hand me my gun, sweetheart," you slide your hand underneath the table and unlatch Titus' rifle. You struggle to bring it up, so Titus helps you. He brandishes it in one arm.

The men at the table immediately push back in their chairs, ducking out of view. Ackers immediately puts his hands up, "Danforth-"

"My girl wasn't joking when she said submit or die, Ackers. So, what will it be?"

Ackers stands there shaking. A wet stain starts forming in his crotch. He's pissed himself in fear, "O-Okay. We have a d-deal."

Titus grimaces in disgust and disappointment, "Fucking pathetic wet wipe of a man." he sets the rifle down. He pulls you down with him as he sits back in his seat.

You do the work this time as you bounce on his cock, holding yourself up by the arm rests of his chair. Titus motions to one of the servants. They nod at him and proceed to start placing contacts in front of each of the men.

"Fuck, right there, baby," he groans, hands gripping at your waist.

You moan, "Can I cum now, daddy? Please?"

"Yeah, princess, you can cum for me," Titus grunts as your body shakes against his, "Ah shit. Good girl, fuck!" he can't help but chuckle as he cums with you.

You moan, feeling him fill you up, "Thank you, daddy," you grind your hips down onto his and he hisses, "Easy, sweetheart." He holds you still until his orgasm subsides.

He slowly lifts you and you rise enough for him to slip out of you. He taps your hip, "Clean me up."

You go back to your knees and lick up the mix of your cum and his from his cock. He watches you swallow and he licks his lips, "Good girl." You tuck him back in his pants and you move to sit on his lap. You rest your head on his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you to hold you there.

Titus lets out a deep sigh, "Now, gentlemen, if you're all done signing your life away, get the fuck out!" the men are quick to finish scribbling their initials and signatures, grabbing their things, and rushing out the large double doors.

"I'd say that went well," he mumbles before grabbing at his cigar again, taking a long drag.

He blows smoke into the air, the only thing left now is you, him, and new people he now owns.

“I need a favor.”

Jack was used to you asking him for help, had been for the two years since you moved into the apartment directly across from his.

He didn’t mind offering you a lending hand when he saw you struggling to carry your boxes from your small run down car, it wasn’t an inconvenience to collect your mail if you ever had to leave town for a few days, and he really couldn’t complain about having to remind you to get your laundry from the unit down below because it held him accountable too.

It was such a common occurrence, you asking him for a favor, that he wasn’t too surprised to find you at his door. He only gave a soft sigh as you pushed past him to enter his apartment, offering you a lot more patience than he did the newbies at the hospital.

You were always sweet, maybe a little bossy at times, but it gave him some amusement in his otherwise strict routine.

Plus it was admittedly nice to feel needed.

You came to him when your apartment had a leak or your air conditioning went out, knocked on his door whenever it was raining and you’d forgotten an umbrella after locking yourself out, and you even sometimes popped over just to get his opinion on what you should wear out on a random night.

Everybody was always telling Jack he needed a hobby that didn’t involve putting his life on the line, so he rarely told you no and tried his best to brush off Robby whenever he asked what was keeping him so busy lately.

It would be hard enough to explain the dynamic he had with his much younger neighbor but even more so considering you were now standing in the middle of his apartment with a frustrated look on your face, hands on your hips as you tapped your bunny slipper covered foot.

“What is it now?” His voice was gruff and disinterested but you knew well enough that he would do whatever you asked and he was well aware of that too. Still, it helped him just a little to pretend to contemplate it for a second or two first.

“I need you to have sex with me.”

You said it like it was as simple as asking him to come over and check your water pressure, falling out of your mouth casually and landing heavily in the quiet room.

There was no need to pretend this time as he fell into a bewildered silence, raising an eyebrow in your direction and letting his eyes track you as you dramatically sighed and went to flop down on his couch. You’d demanded about a year ago that he got some pillows for it, along with a few other interior design suggestions.

He’d picked up four after his shift that night.

“Please say something.” You were turned around on the couch so you could face him over the back of it, arms crossed as you rested your chin ontop of them.

“I have nothing to say to that.” He shook his head immediately, that stern expression he used on an unruly patient or Robby when he got a little too pushy.

This just made you sigh again, loud and exaggerated as you turned back around to fully lay flat on his couch.

“Why are you even asking me that?” He didn’t want to pry because he knew you well enough by now to know you’d just be encouraged by that but his curiosity got the best of him, circling around to sit across from you on one of the living room chairs.

You didn’t sit up but you turned your head to the side to look at him, a slight frown on your face that he didn’t think was particularly genuine. Your personality was always something Jack admired, not getting a lot of time in his own life to be so bold with his emotions and carefree in the way he spoke and behaved.

He was serious and guarded where you were a walking billboard for spontaneity, coming to him crying about random problems after only half a week of living in the building.

It was mostly endearing but there was the more critical part of him that wondered how lonely you must be to be making friends and finding comfort with some random guy across the hallway, a much older one at that.

Jack knew he had a bit of a hero complex but it typically manifested in a more extreme way, quite literally jumping into battle to save lives or operating on them in their lowest moments. This dynamic with you was a new form of care taking and there’d been a handful of times he’d doubted his own motives.

“Because I have a date next week and I am a complete lost cause when it comes to all things intimacy.” You still had a theatrical flare to your voice, not facing him anymore and instead rambling straight up to his ceiling with your hands gesturing wildly.

He tensed up for two reasons now, one being the mention of a date and the other was your implication you didn’t have any experience.

“But you’ve had sex before.” It came out slowly and half like a question, half like an assumption.

There wasn’t any real reason for him to think that other than his own social expectations. You were gorgeous, one of the prettiest women he’d seen in a very long time, and had a naturally magnetic energy to you that even he couldn’t resist most of the time, platonically but also selfishly deep down, a little more than that.

He’d seen you go on a handful of dates in the last year or two, all guys your age that didn’t seem to know how to pick up a check let alone please you properly.

That’s where Jack’s problem stemmed from.

There had been almost no ulterior motive the first year he had known you, genuinely trying to be helpful and to be a good neighbor. He would get upset when his coworkers would call him anti social or make digs at how unfriendly he was because he hadn’t always been like that and he figured helping out the girl next door was a good first step to getting that part of himself back.

You’d told him after a few months that you had no family on this side of the country, completely starting fresh at a new company you’d applied to on a whim.

It was completely innocent.

Yes, you were undoubtedly beautiful in a way that made his head spin for a second when he first saw you. You had been standing near your car and fighting with a box, both by tugging at it and saying less than kind words in its direction like it could understand you.

Jack had hesitated for a handful of seconds before making his way over and offering to help, feeling this weird pull in his chest when you blinked up at him in surprise and eagerly thanked him.

Once you were in his life, you never left. And he made space for you effortlessly because, quite frankly, he had plenty of it to offer up.

About seven months ago was the first time he had ever seen you with a guy.

He’d been coming home from a long and rare day shift (covering for Robby so he could attend Jake’s graduation), dragging his leg behind him and praying nobody stopped him on the way to his apartment so he could crawl into bed for a few short hours before he had to do it all over again for his own shift.

The only distraction he would have allowed was you but you were clearly busy, standing in the hallway as he got off the elevator and touching the rather small bicep of a guy your age.

Jack hesitated, considered getting right back on the elevator before it could close on him, and then slowly walked to his door.

He had hoped you wouldn’t acknowledge him because his throat was already weirdly tight as he eyed you and the way you stared up at the man (boy, if Jack had to really label it) with that soft and curious expression you always had.

“Jack.” Your voice was full of excitement and he faltered, his key left in his doors lock as he turned to give you an attempt at a polite smile. “Covering somebody again?”

If this had been any other day then Jack would have invited you into his apartment to talk instead of lingering in the hallway. He would have ignored his exhaustion to pair his black coffee with the hot chocolate flavor you liked that he kept in his bottom drawer, complained to you about being tired and listened to you scold him for working too much when he didn’t need to.

But you were in a pretty dress that was clearly on its way to dinner and your date was giving Jack that possessive stare that guys fresh out of college thought was intimidating.

So instead he simply nodded his head and continued to unlock his door.

“This is Asher.” You continued abruptly as he turned his door handled, leaving it cracked as he stopped to look at you again.

He gave you a once over to make sure everything was okay, wondering why you were still insisting on talking to him when you were so clearly meant to be going somewhere else. You didn’t look too uncomfortable but you were watching him back just as intensely so he mentally stored the name and face of the guy anyways, just in case something happened.

“Ashton.” Your date finally spoke and his voice was annoyed and laced with immature bitterness, although slightly valid considering you had forgotten his name.

Your eyes widened, still boring into Jacks, and he smiled a little before giving you a small wave and heading inside.

Jack realized quickly after that encounter that his intentions were a lot less innocent than he had initially thought they were. He’d closed his door before immediately pressing his back against it, listening to the sound of your small heels leaving the hallway as you apologized to your date with a clenched jaw and a pain in his stomach.

The next few dates after that just confirmed what he had already realized from the first one.

He was attracted to you.

Maybe even liked you.

You talked to Jack about almost everything going on in your life, even things he definitely would not have cared about if it came from anybody else, but you never once brought up the dates. At first he had worried you had somehow noticed his weird demeanor that day in the hallway but Jack wasn’t very expressive in general so he figured you must keep that part of your life private for other reasons.

The attraction part was easy to accept mostly, he was only a man and you were clearly gorgeous. Although the age gap was something Jack couldn’t get himself to look past.

You were barely in your early twenties, over half his age younger and overly obviously so. You radiated youth, from your appearance and the way you spoke down to your hobbies and interests.

You were clearly a very young girl and he had felt like a pervert from the moment he saw you outside of that car for the way his body warmed. Jack hadn’t felt much attraction to anybody at all since his wife died, at first out of a lingering loyalty to her that barely faded and then just due to his busyness and his own mental blocks.

That was not a problem when it came to you and he had to give a genuine effort when he was around you to act normal.

You’d come over in tiny sleep shorts or a tight tank top that showed your hardened nipples through the thin fabric, join him for morning yoga in downright sinful leggings and he even was attracted to the stupid bunny slippers you wore.

But you were a young girl and he was a disciplined old man so he barely looked twice in your direction when you were bending over to get mail and he never once touched you, setting boundaries for himself and keeping them.

Which was why it was so hard for him when you slowly shook your head to his question about having sex before.

“What about those guys?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you and you sighed like you were embarrassed, a rare emotion to see from you.

“We barely kissed.” You shrugged and finally sat up from your dramatic position on the couch. “Please Jack, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.” He said immediately, slightly offended you were seemingly only asking him because you had no other options.

You looked completely dejected now but Jack knew there was no way he could possibly accept this request, for too many reasons but especially because of his own moral code. He also didn’t want to ruin what you’d had going on, enjoying your company on his hard nights and finding himself finally letting somebody in after so many years alone.

“Okay so no sex.” You say softly and you stand up when he does, following him as he walks into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to watch him set the coffee machine settings. “But can’t you show me little things.”

He sends you a sharp look that you return with a gentle pleading smile, bouncing in place a little like you think your cuteness is the answer to everything.

And it just might be because Jack sighs softly and turns his full attention back to you.

“Like what?” He knows him asking for specifics will give you hope and he can see it immediately on your face, brightening and taking a step closer to him that makes him tense.

“Maybe just telling me what guys like?” You suggest softly and the words coming from your mouth make him almost groan, keeping his face flat and emotionless as you speak. “And some kissing lessons.”

“You know how to kiss.” He shook his head at you and went to turn back to his coffee but your hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him, successfully keeping his attention on you. He realized that it might be the first time you’d ever actually touched him, skin against skin. “I’ve seen it.”

His posture tightens as he reminds himself of that fact, easily recalling the vivid memory of leaving his apartment to head to work and finding you coming home from a date and making out with a guy against your door.

You hadn’t noticed him at first but he had slammed his door harder than normal, shamefully intentional.

There’d been a pang of guilt when you jumped in surprise and separated from the guy who looked the douchiest out of all of them but it was hard to feel it when you have him a slightly grateful look on his way to the elevator.

You were blinking at him now, almost like you were realizing something, and he looked away in favor of glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Not a kiss that feels good.” Your voice was more serious now, sounding genuinely disheartened by the conversation and the slow unveiling of your inexperience.

He sighed again, just trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest, before shaking his head firmly and fully turning away from you to fill up his coffee mug.

“I’m not doing it.”

—

Jack thought about your offer for the next two weeks. Obsessively.

He waited to hear you bringing somebody else over, someone who had jumped on the golden opportunity to touch you for the first time when he hesitated. You didn’t seem to go on any dates but he supposed you wouldn’t have told him anyways.

The thought of you experiencing sex with some asshole you met off a dating app, nervous and unsure on what to do without guidance, was eating away at him.

Jack was a fixer, he liked to help you, and he had already accepted the fact that he was extremely attracted to you. It wasn’t like he didn’t recognize the jealously in his stomach everytime he saw you with somebody else, a type of anger he hadn’t felt since he was preparing to go into a real life war.

Subdued by age and a calmer reality now but it was still fresh hot anger that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried.

You came to him with this problem, not just for pointers and tips but you had actually asked him to be the one to take your virginity.

Virginity.

Jack couldn’t get the concept out of his head and while he hadn’t necessarily considered himself somebody who would care about that type of thing, especially not as he entered his fifties, it did bring a wave of heat over him whenever he thought about it.

You’d never been touched before outside of a few unsatisfactory make out sessions. You, the pretty girl with downright sinful choices of pajamas that consumed his day to day life so easily after he spent such a long time alone.

He thought about it endlessly until it led to him knocking on your door, a rare switch of the usual dynamic that left him feeling a little awkward before you answered.

The sensation went away when you looked up at him, eyes a little wide with confusion as you silently stepped back to let him inside. It was rare for you to be so quiet but maybe you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face, maybe you were thinking about the same exact thing.

“I’ll help you.” His voice was gruff and flat, waiting until your door closed behind him before he spoke. Your face immediately lit up but he silenced anything you were going to say with a raised hand, your parted lips closing as you waited for him to finish. “But I’m not sleeping with you.”

You pouted a little at the condition but stepped forward after a few seconds, far too close to him for his sanity but he figured you’d be getting a lot closer soon so he forced his breathing to stay level.

Jack used to consider himself quite smooth, still a natural flirt when he joked around with older patients or teased Robby.

But he was completely thrown off of any existing game when it came to you. He didn’t even know he could still feel this way about somebody, the yearning and lustful feeling having been dormant for a long time before you moved in.

“I’ll take whatever you give me.” Your voice was soft now and he’d never heard you like that, maybe a bit of a whine when you impatiently asked him to help you with something, but never so pleading.

You’d shifted even closer as you spoke and he couldn’t help himself now that he practically had permission, his large and rough hand sliding over your waist to rest on the small of your back.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling and he was suddenly aware of how much fun this was going to be if you were that sensitive.

“Not tonight okay?” He replied and his low tone made your eyes soften, nodding eagerly and hesitantly letting your hands land on his chest in balled up fist. “We can talk about it more later and work out some conditions.”

“You’re giving me rules?” You’d collected yourself enough to finally give him some of that familiar attitude, smiling slightly as you stared up at him. He rolled his eyes but let his hand tighten against your back, moving you forward and just trying to test your reaction to the touch.

You lost your smile immediately, shuffling closer until you were pressed against him as your eyes darted all around his face with surprise. It was clear you didn’t expect him to accept at all let alone this easily, despite his two weeks of contemplation, he wasn’t at all hesitate now.

“You need them.” He retorted and his free hand brushed some of your hair behind your ear, the first time you were ever really touching each other being this intimate was sending another wave of affection through him.

A few years ago, Jack couldn’t even get himself to look at another woman, let alone hold one so gently. Even with the slightly out of the ordinary circumstances, he cared for you and you trusted him and that was all that really mattered in his eyes.

“You’re mean.” You’re whispering it and his head tilts at the sound it, overly fond and curious how you can affect him so much just by changing the tone of your voice. “Kiss me atleast.”

It comes out a demand and his eyebrows naturally furrow at the sound of it, knowing immediately that will have to be one of the rules he gives you when you talk them over.

Manners.

He doesn’t respond for a second but you seem to understand before he even needs to scold you, lips parting in realization before they form a small pout and you unclench your fist so your palm is flat on his chest now instead.

“Please give me a kiss Jack.” You sound sweeter now and he would think it was an act, making fun of him for his sudden silent sternness, if it wasn’t for the genuinely pleading look on your face.

The knowledge that you listen so easily, even when he doesn’t actually say it, overrides his senses so much that he actually does bend down to kiss you.

It’s soft at first which you don’t seem to understand, immediately trying to eagerly make out with him like that’s all you really know. He moves one of his hands from your side to hold under your jaw, applying a little bit of pressure near your throat to indicate he wants you to slow down.

You melt against him at the touch but do as he silently communicates and relax a little bit, still moving your mouth a bit sloppily against his but learning to adapt to his slow and easy pace.

Eventually you get the rhythm down perfectly, lips moving together without anything extra added. You asked Jack to teach you so he was going to do exactly that, starting from the basics.

Your face was completely dazed when he pulled back, instinctively shifting forward to try and kiss him again and making a small disappointment noise when his hold near your throat tightened in warning.

“You asked for a kiss.” He said in a low voice, still close to your face so he could perfectly see the way your widened eyes shifted around his features.

He was a bit mesmerized by the way you looked now, so unlike yourself on any other day. It both made his guilt over being perverse grow and also solidified that he didn’t care how wrong it was as long as you kept looking at him like that.

“Get some sleep.” He waited a few seconds before taking the necessary steps away from you, taking a sharp breath as he turned and left your apartment.

His own door had barely closed behind him before there was insistent knocks on it, his head immediately hanging since he knew exactly who it was.

Your eyebrows were furrowed when he pulled the handle to reveal you in the hallway, standing stiffly and glaring up at him but not making any move to come inside. You shifted in place and let out a huff of annoyance as you seemed to search for the right words to convey what you wanted.

“Can you kiss me one more time?” You eventually settled on the blunt question, shifting closer so you were both halfway in his doorway.

While he had a foot inside his apartment still, you had one in the hallway. It left you standing too close for his sanity, feeling it slip almost entirely again when your small hand landed on his forearm and rubbed softly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, sensing your frustration but not knowing where it was stemming from.

He cupped your face with one of his hands, letting the other rest back on your side. You stared up at him as he took a few slow steps forward, backing you up with each one until your back hit the doorframe and took a soft near gasp from your lips.

“Nothing I just…” You trail off as you pout, scanning over his face and then down his chest until you can’t bend your head anymore to look. “I want one more. Please.”

You added it as an afterthought but it was enough for him, pressing his mouth back against yours.

This time, apparently a very quick learner, you were able to meet his pace right away and your mouths moved softly together. Your arms went around his neck so you could fully cling to him as you kissed deeply, heads tilting and quiet pleased noises rumbling in your throat.

You only got louder when his tongue pressed lightly into your mouth, mostly just to test your reaction but unable to stop himself when you were eagerly matching the actions.

It was sloppy and a little too wet, sounds of your tongues tangling together filling the silent hallway and sending a sharp heat down to his gut. He liked how clumsy you were, growing addicted to the way you seemed to have no idea what you were doing but too desperate to stop yourself and ask him for his help.

Jack knew he liked feeling needed but this was a whole different beast, one that came paired with some light shame.

You weren’t innocent and you knew exactly what you needed to about sex but your body was inexperienced and it was getting clearer by the second, your little gasp when he kissed you deeper and the way you tightened your hold on him everytime he went to pull back and attempt to slow down.

You’re red in the face by the time he manages to get you to stop eagerly kissing him, still instinctively shifting closer when he moves back. He gives you a lighthearted sigh, occupied by the softest smile he can manage so he doesn’t actually hurt your feelings when he presses you back against the doorway with the hand that’s still on your hip.

“Time for bed.” He tries to keep his tone light but it comes out more authoritative than he had meant for it to, most likely driven by the way you automatically started to frown as soon as he held you away from him. “We can talk tomorrow.”

You clearly weren’t happy about that but you surprisingly gave him a soft nod, shifting your body until you were out of his entrance and closer to your own.

He watched you and your dazed face, slightly wobbly on your feet, as you disappeared behind your apartment door with a small wave.

-

Jack had started off his day rough the following morning, barely able to sleep after what had happened.

It was a completely split mixture of wanting you so bad it was driving him to literal insanity and feeling disgustingly guilty for even looking in your direction.

He almost considered calling Robby about it but he really didn’t need to hear the lecture that would undoubtedly come his way about the situation. Plus he figured that whatever Robby knew, Dana knew, and if Dana knew then it was only a matter of time before the entire emergency department was gossiping about Jack Abbot and his young neighbor.

The dilemma was so strong that he had almost completely forgotten about the fact he had told you that you’d talk today, although almost intentional.

He was halfway avoiding having to actually sit down and make this arrangement a reality, still having a hard time believing what had happened last night was even real.

He had just started to get changed for work when the knocking on his door started and he knew it was you immediately, standing still and hanging his head for a few seconds like he figured he could just wait you out.

It didn’t take long for his senses to kick back in and he was pulling on a plain black shirt before making his way over to the door, raising his eyebrows at you when he saw how irritated you looked.

You brushed past him immediately and he lingered with his hand on the door knob for a moment before closing it and preparing himself to face whatever wrath you were about to send his direction.

“You didn’t come over.” You immediately accused, finger pointing in his direction as you stood in the middle of his living room with an angry expression. “You didn’t even text me.”

He was already walking closer to you as you spoke and your defenses naturally crumbled at the proximity, especially when his hands were sliding over your ribs to both hold you steady and let him feel your breathing as subtly as possible.

“You can’t just kiss me like that and then ignore me.” You continue on but your tone is a lot softer now that he’s touching you, already getting that dazed edge to it he had heard last night.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He shakes his head and frees a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, your features have completely softened now at the movement.

Jack wonders for the first time if you might have feelings for him beyond trust and attraction.

For some reason, he hadn’t really considered the possibility before. You were practically his polar opposite and he had nothing in common with any of the boys you went on dates with.

But now, with you blinking up at him like you were hanging on to his every word, he let himself think it might just be likely.

“I figured you changed your mind.” Your words are a little slurred from the insistent pout you have on your face and he sighs again, gently leading you over to sit on his couch.

Your knees brush together as you scoot closer to him the second he’s settled on top of the cushion, your hand wrapping around three of his fingers and squeezing lightly as you wait for him to respond to your fear of being rejected.

“I didn’t but I want to make sure you understand what you’re asking.” His voice is low and nearing stern, the same tone he uses on the new med students who seem a little more cocky than they are willing to learn. He knows that’s not the case with you, knows you’re desperate for any expertise he can offer you, but he still wants you to pay attention and properly understand him. “There’s other ways for you to do this.”

“What, like other guys?” Your eyebrows furrow like the thought confuses you.

His stomach tightens immediately, sick at the thought of it, but he stiffly nods his head.

You’re shifting even closer immediately and he lets out a breath when you’re leaning over his knee nearly, closer to his face than before and scanning over it again.

“I don’t want another guy Jack. I just want it to be you.” You’re whispering now and he can’t stop himself from pressing a light kiss to your mouth, brief but necessary when his brain processes the lack of distance between you. That makes you smile finally and he suddenly feels very stupid for ever questioning you when you’re making a request like this.

“Tell me why.” He mumbles, easily sliding his hands around your middle so he can tug you over more and into his lap. You kiss him again once you’re settled in his lap, still quick like you’re both using it as punctuation during your conversation. “Why me?”

He wants to hear you give a legitimate reason, to undo the hesitance you gave him when you said it was only because you didn’t have anybody else to ask. That’d been weighing on him more than anything else, the thought that you had just settled for your older lonely neighbor who was clearly willing to help you with anything in spite of himself.

Your next kiss was much longer, deeper as you fully sink down in his lap and move your mouth against his desperately. He’d accept that alone as an answer, big palms rubbing over your back and sides so he can keep pulling you impossibly closer.

Your nose is rubbing against his when you pull back, the sounds of your breathing being heavier now making his head spin with the necessary impulsivity to keep making terrible decisions with you.

“You’d make me feel good.” The answer you’d landed on was much more devastating than he was prepared for, his eyes darkening at how confident you sounded in that fact. “I know you would.”

His hands tightened around your soft skin for a second, needing to take a deep breath to ground himself.

It takes a second for him to reply, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling sharply. You smell as sweet as you always do but it’s intoxicating to have it this close after so long, skin soft under his lips as he kisses you softly.

Your breathing gets shaky, arms looping around his neck so you’re practically hugging him. You’re warm on top of him and making the sweetest noises when he moves along your jaw, shifting in his lap to try and get his attention back on your conversation.

“You’ll do it right?” You ask softly, running your hand through his hair and tugging just enough to make him finally look back at your face. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he stares at your pretty features. “Jack?”

“Yeah honey.” He says back after another long silence, voice deeper than he’d ever heard it as he leans in to kiss you again.

You kiss for a long time, wiggling around in his lap when your tongues tangle together and you get to taste him properly again. It’s addicting for both of you, both of your hands running all over the other’s body like you’re trying to learn every part of it you can reach.

Eventually you’re fully rocking against him from your neediness and it takes a second for him to process it, snapped back to focus when he hears the way your whines are getting higher pitched. A near growl leaves his throat as he grabs your hips firmly, thumbs pressing into the bone so he can stop you from moving on top of him like that.

“Jackie.” You whine desperately, kissing him again and successfully distracting him long enough that you can start humping again.

“Stop baby I have work soon.” He scolds in between the sloppy kisses, lips and chin slightly wet from how uncoordinated you still are.

You make another soft noise and he’s confused for half a second before he realizes it’s because of the pet name, smiling softly from his fondness for you as you hide down in his neck for a second.

“You’re hard now, I can feel it.” You’re whispering right against his skin and a shiver runs over him at the lewd words falling from such a pretty mouth, high pitched and almost innocent voice making the sentence sound so much dirtier than it needed to be.

At first Jack doesn’t think you’re right, knowing himself and his body enough to expect he’s not stirring down there even if he wants you so bad it makes him feel insane.

He’s had issues with it for years now, a deadly combination of his age, his traumas, and the carousel of medications he has to be on for a variety of things he wouldn’t disclose to you out of his own pride. That was the reason Jack had stopped trying to hook up with people years ago, giving up on porn entirely when he’d have to spend an hour trying to get hard before he could even attempt to actually get himself off.

It was in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to help you with this but he figured this was about your pleasure, he wouldn’t need to be hard to get you off especially if he stuck to his guns about not actually having sex with you.

He was sucking in a deep breath to explain this to you in less detail, make sure you understood that he wasn’t hard but it had nothing to do with you or his attraction to you, when you gave a particularly deep and slow roll of your hips.

And the effect was completely undeniable.

A shudder ran over him, eyes dropping to his lap that you were still rocking on top of. Your tiny little shorts were so clearly pressing against the tent in his scrub pants, catching on it whenever you lost the energy to move properly as you let out another needy whine and hid back in his neck.

You were completely unaware of his current mental situation, baffled at how easily you’d gotten him to this state from just some sloppy kissing.

You must’ve thought he was ignoring you because you picked up your head to glare at him, a pout on your swollen lips.

“Sorry sweetheart.” He sighed and kissed you gently, rubbing your sides up to your ribs and coming back down right when he felt the swell of your breast against his fingertips. “I really have to go.”

“Let me suck you off.” You requested easily and his breath caught, nearly choking at how simple you made it sound. “I wanna learn and you’re so hard right now Jackie. Please let me do it.”

“That’s not the point of this.” He shook his head immediately and moved you by your hips so you were sat next to him and no longer settled in his lap, clearly upsetting you as you scrambled up on your knees and gripped his bicep so he couldn’t get off the couch yet.

“The point is to teach me things about sex and I’ll need to know this.” You counter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at why he’s rejecting you.

He finds it a little amusing that you’re so used to him accepting your requests for things that you’re genuinely lost when he doesn’t immediately fold for you. It’s a bratty habit he should have corrected months ago but he can’t find himself caring too much, liking how dependent you’d become on him.

Jack has to contemplate this because he knows you’re right, stomach turning a little at the reminder that you’re going to use whatever he shows you on somebody else down the line.

That selfishly makes him want to cancel this whole thing and leave you completely clueless, hopefully to the point you decide to swear off sex with other men entirely. But he knows how stubborn you are and how stuck you get on something once it catches your attention, figuring you’d get on a dating app and find some idiot in finance to take your virginity as soon as he put an end to this arrangement.

So he lets you slip to your knees off the couch, taking his hesitance to decline again as a positive sign.

“Wait.” He interjects and you freeze, sighing in annoyance as you prepare for him to give another reason you can’t do it. Instead he pulls one of the pillows off the couch and slides in near his feet, your eyes softening as you shift so you’re kneeling on the plush cushion instead of the floor.

“How do I start?” You ask softly, eyeing the bunched up fabric in front of you with interest. He has to stare at the ceiling for a second, slightly losing it at the sight of you kneeling on his floor between his legs. “Do I have to get you ready?”

“No.” He says it gruffly and you tense again, his tone way sharper than he’d meant for it to be. “It’s… I’m ready baby trust me. Just give me a second.”

That calms you down immediately, enough that you rest your head on his knee as you try your best to be patient. His eyes go back to you at the touch and he watches the way you squirm against the pillow, clearly still riled up from the kissing and maybe even the thought of taking him in your mouth.

“Has it been awhile Jack?” Your voice is ridiculous now, clearly teasing him and developing this soft purr that almost irritates him.

His hand goes into your hair at the sound of it, tightening enough that you lift your cheek off his knee and stare up at him with wide eyes.

“Watch it.” He says lowly, using his free hand to untie his scrub pants as you eye the movement with fascination. Your lips part as you stare at his hand and the way his fingers twist the strings, he has half the thought to make you choke on the digits before you try and take anything bigger but your attitude has left him feeling just as impatient. “We’ve got to work on your manners if you want me to teach you.”

That makes you snap back into focus, frowning at his words and shaking your head as you straighten up on your knees.

“I have manners Jack.” You’re clearly trying to convince him, small hands smoothing over his thighs.

He starts to deny it but he’s cut off when you lean forward to nuzzle against him, face pressing right where he’s currently aching under two layers of fabric. His breath catches in his throat and he instinctively tightens the hand that’s in your hair, mumbling out an apology when you make a pained noise but barely loosening it after.

He feels like he needs to keep it there to have any sort of control in this situation, especially given the way you’re almost desperately rubbing your face on his lap.

“Should’ve told me you were this needy.” He half scolds as he shifts his waistband down lower, waiting for you to notice and pick yourself up just long enough to get his pants down.

You don’t give him long at all before you’re back to obsessing over the sight in front of you, eyes fully dazed now that it’s just his boxers separating you from putting your mouth on his hard length.

You’re clearly trying to be patient in an attempt to prove you have any sort of manners, a little pride rippling through him similar to the feeling he got when you had corrected yourself the other night to politely ask him for a kiss.

“You wouldn’t have done anything about it.” You say softly, not accusatory but confident in it like you know it’s true. You lean forward and kiss against the covered bulge, a groan leaving him. “You’re too good of a guy.”

“Clearly not.” He rasped just as you start to lose that faux patience you’re trying so hard to pretend you have, tugging at the waistband of his underwear and smiling softly when he lifts his hips off the couch without arguing. “And you know I never tell you no sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You’re still trying to talk to him but now you’re completely lost in the sight of him half naked and sitting there with his legs spread in front of you, too desperate to even be intimidated by the size of him. “You would’ve let me do this months ago Jackie?”

He sighs and tightens his hold in your hair again, bringing you forward until he can feel your breath where he’s most sensitive.

Your eyes flicker up to him and the sight is devastating for how deprived he’s been, a pretty young girl like you sitting so nicely on your knees for the first time ever. He can barely even feel that guilt and slightly sick sensation, knowing how perverted it is that he could probably get off just looking at your face and thinking about the way he’s about to corrupt you.

“Stop talking.” He instructs gruffly and you nod eagerly, eyes back on his length and only now looking a little nervous as you swallow before your lips part in anticipation. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Want it so bad.” You don’t hesitate to answer and your voice is a little whinier, swaying forward like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

Jack lets you move until you’re right there, eyes locked on your face as you give him a nervous look and try to take him in your mouth.

It’s awkward and you’re tense, expression full of hesitation like you’re waiting for him to tell you how to do it properly but he lets himself bask in this for a few seconds.

He knows it’s sick but he finds you the most beautiful like this, confused and desperate to please him without knowing how to. You go between sucking and licking at the tip of his length and while it feels good, no doubt about that especially after how long it’s been, it’s nothing compared to how clearly inexperienced you are.

Finally, he snaps out of his sick fantasies of watching you embarrass yourself trying to please him, and he decides to actually do what you’d asked and teach you something.

“Relax your jaw baby. Just take what you can okay?” His voice is low and gentle, hand loose in your hair but clenching into a tight fist whenever you brush against his sensitive skin with your teeth on accident or try to overachieve and take him deeper.

You do seem to calm down a little now that he’s finally speaking, shoulders slumping and your eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the feeling of him on your tongue.

You’ve barely taken him at all but he’s transfixed by the sight, perfectly content to sit here and cock warm your mouth until you were ready to move him down your throat.

He watches you closely as you pull back to take a few deep breaths, pouting a little at his length and hesitating before you’re touching him with your hand. It’s all experimental, tugging and feeling the skin against your palm while he grunts above you and tries to control himself.

It’s barely sexual on your end considering how fascinated you are by the new experience but he’s halfway losing his mind knowing this is the first time you’re touching somebody like this.

“I gotta go soon sweetheart.” He says and your eyes finally snap back up to him, turning a little red considering you’d been caught just staring at his length as you touched him. “You can play with me all you want after my shift.”

Now you’re full on blushing but you nod your head obediently and lean back in to take him in your mouth again, a little more confident now as you lick around the head and repeat movements whenever it draws a sound out from him.

Jack can barely stand it and he has to put both hands in your hair to keep himself from fucking up into your warm mouth, groaning from the effort it’s taking and considering telling you to get back on the couch before he goes too far with you too early.

You’re clearly just as impatient because you try to take more of him finally and immediately gag at the sensation, pulling back and frowning up at him.

“Help Jackie.” Your voice is whiny and has a little rasp to it now and he kisses his teeth at the sound, petting your hair back out of your face.

“I can’t help with that baby, you’ve just got to practice.” He tries his best to soothe you but you’re clearly frustrated.

“Can’t you just force my head down?” You’re rubbing his thighs as you speak in that ridiculously bratty voice, wiggling around on the pillow like the thought alone is exciting you.

He wants to say no, wants to tell you why it’s such a terrible idea for him to forcefully fuck your throat right before he has to go to work. There’s a million reasons he should be rejecting you right now but that sick voice in the back of his head is struggling to get the words out, especially when you go back to softly kitten licking at his length to keep him hard.

“Fuck you’re nasty.” He gruffs out and your eyes light up at the words, nodding your head and taking him back in your mouth as you keep trying your best to fit him deeper. “You want me in your throat that bad?”

You can’t talk now but your desires are obvious.

He eyes the way you’re shifting on the cushion below you, adjusting his foot the best he can so it’s between your thighs as you kneel. That seems to make you even more desperate, rubbing against him almost feverishly now as you try to focus on having him in your mouth.

There’s no option to do so when he brings his hands back to your hair, silently showing you he accepts your request when he moves his hips off the couch and keeps your face firmly in place so he can push deeper down your throat.

He feels you gag slightly around him but your eyes roll to the back of your head at the same time and you hump against his foot even faster so he can’t find it in himself to stop, thrusting slowly to make sure you don’t end up getting sick or feeling too sore by the time he’s finished.

Jack knows this is far beyond teaching, he’s not even speaking anymore and instead just using your throat to get himself off but you’re even more eager for it than him and he’d never deny you anything you asked for.

“This tiny little throat.” His voice is nearing a growl as he helps move your head up and down his length, reveling in the way you gag and drool around him. “You’re doing so good baby.”

The praise seems to do it for you more than anything else, rubbing your core against his foot so eagerly that you can barely focus on sucking him off. You’re getting too messy to control yourself, mouth slipping off every few thrust before you whine at the loss and immediately take him back in your throat.

Jack takes pity on both of you, both for his own sanity and because he can’t stop thinking about the fact he’ll need to leave as soon as this is done.

You’re clearly upset when he pulls you off, making a loud noise of disagreement that barely sounds like an actual word and frowning at him when he sends you a stern look and wraps his hand around himself instead.

You seem to forget your anger pretty quickly as you watch him touch himself, hips slowed down to a slow rock against his foot as you stare at his length and the way he’s making himself feel good above you.

Jack has to look away when he comes because he feels pretty close to forcing your head back down and making you swallow it, although half positive you’d actually enjoy that more than him judging by how eager you are to try things.

You’re laying your head back on his thigh while he grunts and curses, tightening his fist and going back to staring at your face just for a brief moment so he has a clearer picture to think about.

It’s quiet in the living room afterwards and he feels an odd sense of embarrassment, a rare vulnerability considering you’re still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor. He fixes one of those problems by effortlessly pulling you up by your arms, settling you back against the cushions.

He stands and pulls his pants up while he does so, knowing he’ll have to shower off before he can go to work and get a new pair of scrubs anyways.

There’s a second of hesitation before he goes to get you some water, leaning over your dazed frame and kissing you softly.

“Was it good?” You ask quietly against his mouth, hand tangling in his hair like you don’t want him to go anywhere without answering you first. “You stopped me.”

“You were perfect.” He answers simply and he means it, would probably feel the same if you had accidentally bit him though.

“I wanted to taste you.” You’re pouting again and every time he thinks he gets used to you, you prove him beyond wrong. He sighs and leans further against you on the couch so you’re fully sinking into the cushion below you.

“Next time.”

It comes out before he can stop it and he fully plans to backtrack but your eyes light up at the idea of him letting you do that again so he doesn’t, letting it linger for a few seconds.

“Not when I have to leave you right after. You won’t like it and I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s talking in the stern and no nonsense way he does at work, trying to make sure you understand even though you’re slowly starting to smile as he speaks and he realizes you’re probably not paying any attention.

“You won’t hurt me Jack.” You whisper and it’s so sweet he almost considers calling in so he can stay with you a little longer. “Not in a way I won’t like.”

That makes him scoff out a laugh, a rare sound from him and you look even more pleased at the noise.

“You don’t even know what you like sweetheart.” He says softly and brushes your hair out of your face, letting both his fingertips and eyes trail down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. “But I’ll show you.”

“You’ll show me?” You’re teasing him now, biting your bottom lip to try and hide your smile to no avail.

“Yeah I will.” He smiles too and kisses you again, a little too soft considering what you actually are to each other.

He eventually manages to get off of you long enough to get you some water, watching carefully as you take a few sips and rubbing your knee when you wince at first. He wants to feel guilty for making your throat sore but he can’t, sick enough to admit he just feels the urge to make you take him deeper next time to see if you’ll really let him.

You’re still laying on his couch when he gets out of his brief shower, having changed his pants and taken a few deep breaths while staring in the mirror to try and get ahold of himself. He needs to switch back to reality for atleast a few hours, become the weathered doctor who doesn’t lose his mind over a pretty girl asking for favors.

You set your phone down on your chest, giving him your full attention as he moves towards the door to tug his shoes on.

There’s no indication you plan to leave before he does but he can’t find it in himself to mind the intrusion, going back over to the couch to give you a kiss on the forehead.

“Staying here?” He says in a low voice and you nod eagerly, eyes locked on his.

He lets himself think about his entire way to work, the image of you being there when he gets home from a hard shift. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to and having you across the hall was already a gift within itself.

Now you’d crossed a line and if he let himself forget the terms and conditions, the fact you were loosely using him just to end up with somebody else as the actual end goal, then he could pretend for a moment that you were the person he got to crawl into bed with when work was tough.

Despite how much he thought about you during his shift, every moment he wasn’t being bombarded with questions or saving somebody’s life on autopilot, you weren’t actually there when he came back.

He knew it before he even opened the door, confirmed by how neatly the pillows on the couch were placed again and the fact your glass of water was rinsed and put away in the dishwasher.

You’d made it look like you were never even there and he knew you still enjoyed his company, maybe enjoyed the newly added sexual dynamic even more, but that didn’t mean you wanted to comfort him after he lost a patient or help soothe him when his leg was bothering him from standing all day.

Jack had to remind himself of the part he was playing in your life currently and try his best to not be disappointed.

It’s two days until he sees you again and he thinks it’s one of the longest spans you’ve gone without talking in almost a year.

He’s just about to start really acting out of character by banging at your front door and asking if you’re avoiding him when he runs into you downstairs, freezing as soon as he enters the lowly lit laundry room to find you leaning against one of the washers and looking extremely bored.

You’re as beautiful as always, casually dressed in nothing but an old band shirt that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of shorts so small he’s pretty sure it’s just boxy underwear.

You don’t look up when he comes in until his leg slightly catches on the step, accustomed enough to the sound of the light dragging he sometimes can’t stop from happening when he’s extra tired.

It’s a relief to find that you don’t have any awkwardness on your face, no sign of being uncomfortable or upset with him.

Then he figures that might just be worse.

He would just about die if he had done anything that made you want to avoid him but the alternative seems to be that you just didn’t want to speak to him and that makes his chest sting.

There’s nothing but silence and the rattling of the old washer as it rocks back and forth on the cement floor, both of you seemingly having decided to not speak to each other first.

(sorry for the brief awkward spacing tumblr says this is too long)

It’s another five minutes of the now awkward stretch of quiet before you clear your throat, turning to face him where he’s fidgeting with his laundry baskets broken handle just to have something to focus on.

“So I went on a date last night.” You say softly, eyebrows raised like you’re genuinely interested in his reaction.

His stomach turns but it’s a relief to have you looking at him again so he takes it, swallowing hard and racking his brain for a response that’s appropriate.

“How’d it go?” He’s asking out of politeness but he’s silently praying you suddenly decide you don’t want to tell him about it. It wouldn’t even make him feel better to hear it had ended terribly, not wanting you to feel any type of negative emotions even if it technically was in his benefit.

He definitely can’t take any sort of mention of you being with another guy physically. He knows it’s coming eventually, it’s the sole purpose behind why he even gets to touch you, but he’s not ready just yet.

You’re quiet again and he really looks at you now, takes in the silent contemplation on your face and the way you tap your fingers on the metal of the washer for a second before pushing off of it entirely.

Then you’re in his space again and it’s like an instinctive move to cup your face, hand on your waist so he can lightly push you back against the machine he’d been in front of. You touch his chest, lightly rubbing in soft circles, and he wants to sigh in relief if that wouldn’t be so painfully obvious.

“Wasn’t a great time.” You whisper and your eyes are on his lips as you speak.

His eyebrows raise and his hand on your body tightens slightly at the same time he uses his thumb to press under your chin and make you tilt your jaw back.

“Why not?” He hates the thought of getting details but he needs to know some idiot from a dating app hadn’t done anything to hurt you.

You don’t answer right away, just standing there and letting your eyes scan over his features on rotation. You finally let out a small breath like you’re about to speak but it never comes, small hands moving to grip his biceps.

“Did he touch you?” He can’t stop himself from asking even though the question makes his voice come out low enough that your eyes flash with surprise for a second, snapping away from his mouth to meet his stare again like you’re looking for something in it.

You shake your head immediately, squeezing his arms and shifting against the vibrating machine.

He’s kissing you then and he tells himself it’s out of relief, the knowledge that you’re still untouched by anybody except for him instantly making this conversation easier.

You’re returning it right away and he’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you caught on to the type of kissing he likes, his personal preference. He figures he should eventually tell you that not ever guy was going to like your constant licking into his mouth but for now he lets it be, wants you to be trying to please him specifically and not whoever you’d use these lessons with.

It’s ridiculously cute how desperate you get, only needing a few seconds of your tongue inside his mouth before you’re arching off the machine and making soft noises against his lips.

His hands are all over you as soon as he notices the state of you, sliding down to cup your ass with both palms and tug you tighter to his frame.

That makes you out rightly whimper, clumsily trying to hitch a leg around his waist and sighing in relief when he holds your thigh to keep it there. The wet sounds of your mouths fill the small room, body slightly shaking both from need and from the way the washer is vibrating against your back.

“Missed you.” You whimper it out when he pulls back to let you breathe, kissing down your jaw and tightening his grip on the soft curve hidden under your underwear. “Didn’t call me.”

“Were you waiting for me to call baby?” He asks softly, despite how much it had been bothering him, he would never want to make you feel guilty for not reaching out to him after what you’d done.

You don’t answer so he pulls his head out of your neck to look at your face, seeing the soft frown and the hesitation in your eyes.

“Hey.” He breaths out and pushes your hair back to get your attention fully on him, your body softening and completely leaning against his to the point you’d definitely fall if he took a step backwards. “I wanted to give you space. Let you decide when you wanted to continue this, if you did.”

“I don’t want space.” You counter and it’s a little past bratty but he’s so beyond fond of you that he can’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn up at the sound of it. “You’re supposed to take care of me.”

He’s not sure when your dynamic became this way but he feels it as much as you apparently do, knows it’s his duty to make sure you’re always fine and not needing anything he can’t fix. Now there’s the added element of making you feel good, touching you in ways you’re not used to and showing you what pleasure can be like, and he’s not taking it lightly.

“Then I’ll call.” He say softly and your eyes lock on his as you nod in agreement, his hand cupping your cheek so he can keep you still enough to kiss you briefly. “You want me to chase you and I’ll chase you.”

“Right now I just want you to kiss me.” You whisper and he doesn’t need to hear anything else.

You’re back to kissing and it’s feverish now, more tongue than anything and your hands groping each other anywhere you can touch.

He’s lifting you up off the ground just so he can press himself between your legs and swallow the soft needy noises you let out at the feeling, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist so he can’t pull away at all. You’re pressed back against the metal with his hands under your shirt and wrapped around your frame to make sure you don’t fall, thick fingers splayed out against your ribs.

It’s getting hotter in the room and it’s mostly due to the way you’re whining and trying to roll your hips into him, unsuccessful considering how hard he’s got you pinned back to the washer.

“Jack please.” You pant and pull away from his mouth, tucking into his neck and rubbing your soft cheek against his stubble like a needy cat. “Please touch me. Do anything.”

He’s grunting at the request and gently setting you back down on your feet so he can free up a hand, using it to push your shirt up to your neck. He’s not too surprised to find that you’re not wearing anything underneath and your surprised gasp swallows the sound of his low groan.

You’re whining lewdly when he leans down to press kisses against your skin, middle of your breast first to avoid putting his mouth where you really want it. You’re panting, chest rising and falling under his mouth, and tangling a hand in his ash colored curls to try and steer him where you need him.

He wants to smack your hand away and warn you to be patient but he wants you too bad to try and discipline you right now, letting his mouth latch onto to one of your hard nipples so he can hear whatever noise that brings out of you.

It’s loud and intoxicating, his head spinning a little as he keeps sucking and licking your skin, letting your shirt rest on the top of his head so he can use his other hand to roughly grope your other breast and make sure you’re getting equal attention.

“Oh fuck Jack.” You’re whimpering and trying to hump against nothing, back arching as you whine and hold him to your body like he has any plans of getting away from you. “T-that feels so good.”

“Come upstairs.” His voice is so rough it surprises himself, picking his head off your chest and letting your shirt drop so he can kiss you swiftly.

You frown at the loss of contact, rubbing your nose against his and still lightly petting his hair.

“Why not here?” You ask softly and he gives you a disapproving look that makes you sigh and rest your forehead down against his shoulder for a few seconds while you catch your breath. “It’s too far.”

He thinks for a moment before he’s adjusting his stance to pick you up off the ground, abandoning your laundry and his that both likely need to be switched out soon. He’d gladly let it sit and wash it again later if it means getting you up to his apartment as fast as possible.

You make a small surprised noise and cling to him, arms behind his neck and legs wrapped around his middle and he makes his way up the few stairs towards the elevators.

“Jack your leg.” The sight of the steps seems to remind you of his disability and he’d be more irritated by your worry if it didn’t sound so genuine.

You clearly don’t ever think too much about his leg restricting him, never shying away from asking him to lift heavy things or walk with you down to the store. You don’t treat him like he’s fragile or any less of a man for having limitations and he’s always liked that about you, same way he somehow likes your gentle concern even though it would have bothered him if it was anybody else.

“Think I can’t throw you around because of my leg?” He mumbles and you tense in his hold as he walks like you think he might be serious before you’re breathing out a laugh and hiding in his neck.

Jack finally gets back to his apartment, going crazy from the way you’d started to kiss his jaw and whine impatiently in the elevator. Your hands run up and down his arms like you’re marveling at the strength it takes to carry you for as long as he was, making soft needy noises and squirming around.

He can’t even care about the possibility somebody could see him with you, one of the neighbor he’d lived next to for years watching as Jack Abbot carries the much younger girl next door through his entry way as she whines for him to touch her more.

“Calm down baby.” His voice is soft once he gets to his room, setting you down on his bed and taking a few seconds to stare at you as you lay there and pout up at him.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and his gut twists a little at the observation, a mixture of desperate unfamiliar need and the same guilt from before accompanied by a new layer of it.

He thinks of his wife for the first time in a while. He used to spend every waking second with her on his mind but she had naturally started to fade from his mind once he met you, something he hadn’t even noticed until you’d already been living across the hall for a few months.

You’d came over for the first time and asked him to borrow some ingredients, strolling around his living room and eyeballing the photos on his walls while he poured some sugar into a small tupperware bowl for you to take back to your place. You had turned to him with a curious face and asked him where his wife was, obviously confused considering you’d never heard of her before despite how frequently you and him small talked.

That was the first time Jack noticed how little he’d been thinking of her lately, not just in the painful mourning way he’d been suffering through since she passed but in general too.

Now he was waking up in the morning and anticipating the next time you’d knock on his door, focusing on his health again so he could occupy you on your walks and not picking up too many extra shifts at work just incase you needed something and he wasn’t there.

Jack was thinking about her again now as you laid on his bed but only because he couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something this bad, trying to compare the feeling of you to how he felt in his marriage and still thinking it fell short.

He had loved his wife, undoubtedly, but he craved you in a way that almost felt inhumane.

“You’re being mean to me.” You say softly to break him out of his trance, having zoned out just staring down at you and the way your chest was rising and falling with every deep breath.

“I’m never mean to you honey.” He whispers back and finally moves to lay down with you, hovering over your frame and running a hand from your waist to your ribs as he kisses you softly. “I take good care of you, don’t I?”

It’s a bit mean to throw your words from earlier back in your face, especially as he lets his mouth trail down your neck. You make a whiny noise and grip his shoulders, nodding your head and shifting under him so your legs are spread further.

“Yes Jack yes, you take care of me.” You’re practically whimpering and he feels almost drunk from how easily you get this needy, pausing his soft kisses to shift up on his knees and tug your shirt over your head.

You’re the prettiest sight he’s ever seen and he can’t help himself from bringing his mouth right back to your chest, drinking in the way you gasp and moan while he’s licking and sucking on your nipples. His other hand is softly groping whichever breast he doesn’t have his mouth on at the moment and your backs arching off his bed, scratching his shoulders through his shirt.

“Please touch me.” You’re begging after only a few minutes of the slow torture and he lets out a sharp breath, shifting so he’s more to the side of you than on top.

You’re quiet when he rubs his hand down your chest and over your stomach, rubbing at the waistband of your underwear for a few seconds just to hear the way you pant before he’s smoothing over your thighs.

Your back is basically against his chest as he hooks your leg over his to make sure yours are nice and spread for him, kissing your neck softly when he rubs your hips above your underwear.

You bare your neck for him easily and he’s selfish in the way he marks you, sucking any part of your warm skin he can reach so you’re left purple and red all over. He wants anybody you see for the next week or two to know you’ve been with somebody else, to see the claim he laid to your body even if he doesn’t let things go as far as you want him to take it.

Jack doesn’t need to be asked twice to touch you, big hand leaving your hip so he can fully palm your core.

Your reaction is just the way he had hoped it would be, sharp gasp leaving your lips as you instantly buck up against his touch. You whine desperately when he goes back to rubbing your thigh instead, giving you a second to work yourself up to the point he wants you to be at.

“Jack.” You don’t even sound like yourself now and it’s intoxicating, so pleading and broken. “Please.”

“Please what?” He’s practically whispering, perfectly calm and the direct opposite of how broken you sound just from him lightly touching you.

He moves you so you’re fully between his legs, back against his chest as he cages himself around you to keep you from moving.

You’re practically shaking, whimpering and moving your hips against nothing with the hopes he’ll cave and end up touching you again. You’re distracting to look at, body bare except for the pathetic excuse of underwear shorts you’d been wearing under your shirt, like you’d just been hoping he would be the one to find you in the laundry mat.

He has half the thought to make fun of you for that, make you tell him exactly what you were thinking when you left your apartment wearing so little, but he doesn’t think you could handle him saying much at all right now especially not something so demeaning.

“I’m going to touch you.” He says gently instead and kisses the side of your head, letting his hand go back to groping your chest just to make sure you stay worked up.

Even though he doubts at this point he even needs to touch you for that to happen.

“Yeah yeah.” You’re nodding in agreement, seemingly pleased at his decision as you relax back against him and let him touch you freely.

His other hands back between your legs now, letting you get used to the feeling of somebody touching you where you’re most sensitive. He’s just rubbing back and forth, listening to the way you pant and pulling back whenever you start to try and shift against his hand on your own.

“You’re wet just from that?” His voice is a little mean now but you don’t seem to mind, trying to clamp your thighs around his hand but being stopped by the sharp swat he sends to your skin. You wince but move your foot back to the other side of his leg so yours stay open, pouting softly at the silent punishment. “Answer me when I ask you something.”

“I’m always wet around you.” You admit with an embarrassed tone lacing your words, squirming like you wish you could hide yourself from the way he’s staring down at your body. “Want you so bad.”

“I want you too.” He kisses the side of your head, still rubbing you with just enough pressure to make you feel the friction but not to actually get off. “Gonna make you feel so good, you’ve just got to be patient.”

“Stop being scared to hurt me.” Your voice is shaky but as firm as possible, trying to show him you’re a big girl and can handle a little bit of the roughness he’s so clearly holding back.

It’s obvious in the way he was grabbing your throat your first kiss, moving your body around easily whenever he needed to, and scolding you just enough for you to be able to catch the mean tone seeping in accidentally.

Jack clearly has a darker side to him that he’s not letting you see and it’s obviously frustrating you, wanting to be taken seriously.

“I’ll hurt you if that’s what you want sweetheart but not for your first time.” His words don’t leave any room for argument so you don’t even try, sinking back against his firm chest and letting out a deep breath when he shifts behind you and presses himself forward.

It’s not long before you’re not able to wait anymore and he lets you scramble to tug down your underwear, keeping his fingers lightly rubbing between your folds and watching as you struggle to get the fabric past his insistent hand.

Eventually he lets you pull them off and then he’s right back to touching you, bare this time. You both suck in a breath at the contact and you’re practically laying down from how far you’d slid down his chest, spreading your legs as wide as they can go and whimpering while he touches you.

“Do you touch yourself like this baby?” He can’t help the curiosity, the image of you in your bed trying to get yourself off stuck in his mind now.

You shake your head and frown, trying to twist your neck to look at him but being stopped when he uses his free hand to roughly grip your chin and make you keep your eyes on the way he’s touching you, thumb on your sensitive clit now while you roll your hips the best you can.

“No I…” You can barely think let alone speak, clearly struggling as you make a pained and desperate noise. “I get nervous.”

Jack sighs and collects some of your wetness on his middle finger before finally pressing it against the tightness of your hole, not pushing in just yet but teasing it with light pressure and letting you get used to the feeling.

“When you’re with somebody, they should always be this gentle with you at first.” He’s saying softly, remembering that he’s supposed to be actually teaching you something and not just getting you off because he desperately wants to.

You frown deeply as he starts to talk and he doesn’t really understand why, thinks maybe you’re still being pouty that he won’t get rougher with you.

He tries to distract you by finally pressing a finger inside of you and it seems to work for a second, another gasp leaving you as you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He groans, his length throbbing against your back at the thought of being fully inside you instead of just a finger.

“Fuck you’re tight.” He rasps and buries his face in your hair for a few seconds to try and collect himself enough to keep teaching you something, anything at all so he doesn’t keep letting himself think this is something it isn’t. “They’ll have to really get you stretched before anything okay? You need to remember that baby.”

It bothers him so much he can barely focus, the thought of somebody not taking their time with you. He doesn’t want to picture you with another man in general but especially not in a way that hurts you, leaves you too sore the next morning with nobody to take care of you.

He’s so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice your face stiffening at first, body a little tenser against him even though you’re still softly squirming to try and get him to put his finger deeper inside you.

“Jack stop.”

He does so immediately and goes to pull out of you before you’re making a panicked noise and closing your thighs around his hand. He lets you this time, pauses all movements just to wait for whatever it is that you need.

“N-no don’t stop that, god please don’t stop that.” Your voice is breathier now like the thought of him taking his hand away from you makes your chest tighten. “Just… stop talking about anyone else.”

It takes him a few seconds to register that and then his hands moving again, enough for you to relax and spread your legs back open.

You’re both quiet now as he adds another finger, lingering in the weight of your request and what it could mean if anything. He’s half sure you only asked because it was pulling you out of the moment, maybe making you nervous to think about doing this again with actual stakes, but the way you desperately tried to stop him from pulling away lets him pretend it was for another reason.

He’s selfish in the way he touches you now, thick fingers moving in and out of you while you cry and whine, gripping at his forearm whenever it feels like too much. He likes the way your nails dig into his arm when you think you might be close, thighs clenching and shifting when his thumb gently circles your swollen clit and how your lips part in breathy cries of his name.

He especially likes that.

You come with moans of his name filling the room and nobody else’s after you’d specifically asked him to stop mentioning other guys. Jack knows it’s selfish, even a little sick and perverted, but he could probably finish just from hearing that.

He’s throbbing against your back and he’s sure you’d be able to feel it if you were able to focus on anything after coming, body shaking a little as you pant endlessly and fall limb in his hold.

There’s a lot of softness that comes after, kissing the side of your head and being gentle in the way he cleans you up. It’s torture to be between your legs and getting to fully appreciate the sight of you for the first time without be able to touch you more but he doesn’t want to overstimulate you so early on.

He does let himself think about that vividly though, kissing against your thighs and picturing when he’s going to be able to put his mouth on you.

You’re quiet above him, eyes a little tired but still overly soft as you run your fingers through his hair and watch him wipe you down.

Then he’s back ontop of you and kissing you softly, shifting your back so you’re laying back against the pillows and not sitting up. It’s soft and bordering on romantic which makes his chest tighten, hoping you have no plans to leave his bed anytime soon.

“You okay?” He asks quietly against your mouth and he can feel you smiling, still touching his hair with one hand and letting the other drift down to the back of his neck.

“Felt so good.” You whisper back and your voice is a little hoarse from all the whining you’d been doing, nose bumping against his and then rubbing on his stubble for a few seconds. “Can I take a nap here?”

“You can do anything you want.” He says immediately, no hesitation as he gets up to get you one of his shirts and help you get comfortable, jumping at the opportunity to keep you with him just like he wanted.

Jack typically has a hard time sleeping through the night in general so he definitely never naps, needing to be truly past the brink of exhaustion to ever rest.

Yet he finds it to be the most simple thing in the world to crawl into his bed with you after taking off his leg, kissing you for a few more minutes before he’s wrapping you in his arms and tugging you back against his chest. He’s rubbing your stomach softly, hand under the shirt he’s given you, listening intently until he hears your breathing even out and then drifting to sleep right after you.

—

It’s one of the highlights of his decade to get to wake up with you still there, warm and making soft tired noises when you feel him start to stir.

His room is dark now other than the slight illumination coming from the moon outside of his window, casting just enough light for him to be able to watch your eyes flutter open.

You give him a soft sleepy smile and instinctively lean in to give him a kiss.

It’s easy to pretend that you are more than whatever this is when you act like this, mouths moving together sensually as if you have nowhere else you’d want to be.

Jack groans softly when your tongue pushes into his mouth, meeting it eagerly with his own and moving so hes hovering over you. Your hands are on his back, spreading your legs below him to let him slot between them.

He feels like a teenager again from how quickly he gets hard, your soft body under his putting him under some sort of spell. His hips shift and you let out a needy whine, scratching his shoulders lightly like you’re trying to encourage him.

You’re still making out slowly when he starts to thrust down against you, slow rolls of his hips to give you just enough friction to start to get desperate.

You’re tugging at his shirt fabric and he takes only a second to sit up and pull it over his head, back on you immediately and kissing you even more frantically. He’s moving your own shirt up towards your ribs but neither one of you wants to stop long enough to take it off, only able to when you need a quick second to take a breath.

It’s the first time you’ve both been nearly undressed together and he feels the effects of it instantly, your chest pressing against his when he lays back over you. Your skin is soft and hot to the touch, those now familiar soft whines leaving you when he lets his hand knead at your chest again.

“Jack please.” You’re whimpering and he finally stops kissing you in favor of sucking at your neck, bringing those marks from earlier back to the surface. “Can’t you just fuck me?”

He groans at the words and has to tuck his face in your shoulder, still rocking his hips against you even though they stuttered when you said that in that whiny voice of yours.

“Trust me, I want to fuck you so bad I can’t even think.” It leaves his mouth before he can stop it, not wanting to reject you again without making sure you know how badly he wants you.

“Then do it.” You’re begging now and he picks his head up to look at you, eyes wide and a little frustrated like you know he’s going to say no. You gasp when he thrusts down even harder, biting your lip as you stare at each other desperately. “Please Jack? Want you inside me.”

“I can’t baby.” He growls and kisses you to give himself a second to think without you arguing.

You’re quick to forget you were trying to convince him of something because you’re kissing him back deeply, angling your head so his tongue can get further and further inside your mouth.

He has that sick and perverted thought again that he’s coincidentally training you to be the perfect girl for him, kissing in a way he likes and not knowing how else to do it. Jack is selfish and wants everything you do to be for him, wants your body to instinctively move and react how he taught you regardless of who gets you next.

The thought of somebody else makes him want to forget his morals and fuck you like you’re begging him, be the one to take your virginity and fill you up for the first time.

He starts to reason with himself that it would actually be a good thing because Jack would never let himself hurt you in a way you didn’t like, he’d make sure you felt good around him and came so hard you weren’t able to see straight.

There’s nobody else who could fuck you like he could so he’s almost convinced himself that it’s a good idea when your phone rings on the nightstand.

You both stop, you’re completely tense under him and he sighs as he kisses you one more time and rolls off of you.

He lays there on his back as you sit up to grab your phone, screen a little too bright in the dark room and causing you to wince. He stares at your pretty face under the light as you open it up and answer it, not thinking much about the interruption despite the small disappointment he feels.

His hand is on your bare knee and rubbing your skin is soft circles, soothing both you and himself by keeping the contact.

“Hello?” Your voice is as soft and sweet as always, a little confused sounding which makes his eyebrows raise. “Oh Carter.”

Jack tenses up at the sound of a males name leaving your lips, his hand freezing and falling still on your knee. You’re avoiding looking at him as you listen to whoever it is speak on the other line, a deep voice bleeding through the speakers just enough for him to hear but not enough to make out the words.

“Tonight?” Your eyes go to the small digital clock on Jacks side of the bed, having to glance over his body in the process. You meet his eyes just for a second before they’re darting away again and it makes the pit in his stomach grow in understanding. “Of course I didn’t forget. I’ll be ready by nine.”

You’re hanging up after a quiet goodbye and now it’s suffocatingly silent in the room.

You’re still sitting up with your legs crossed under you, avoiding looking at him like you’re not still wearing his shirt and covered in marks he’d given to you. He waits for a minute before he’s sitting up and running a hand over his face, on the opposite side of the bed from you and facing the wall so you can’t see his expression when he finally gets himself to speak.

“You’ve got a date tonight?” He rasps out, trying his best to sound unaffected even though it comes out low and tight.

“I forgot.” You whisper back and you sound further away now, a glance over his shoulder confirms that you’d stood up off the bed and are searching for the shirt you’d shown up in so you can swap out of his. “He’s taking me to some art show downtown.”

Jack stares at you as you move around the room, eyes scanning over your body when you pull his shirt over your head and neatly fold it before putting it on his dresser. It feels really final to watch you change back into your own clothes, turning to meet his eyes and letting out a soft sigh when you see he’s already watching you closely.

He hopes it doesn’t show on his face, doesn’t want to be too obvious that he’s probably about two seconds away from throwing up.

“Carter.” He says simply and now you really stiffen.

You stand there for a few seconds like you’re waiting for something, eyes a little expectant and then full on disappointed when he scoffs and moves to put his leg back on so he can stand up and get out of the room that’s suddenly suffocating.

You leave his apartment and all the warmth goes with you.

He stands in his dark kitchen with regret sitting heavy on his chest, wishing he had stopped you and asked you to stay with him instead.

He isn’t sure if it’s the fear of rejection or his own guilt that stopped him but he knew he couldn’t ask you to do that. You deserved better than him and his baggage, his late hours at work and his dangerous hobbies that he needed to keep himself busy with to not think about the things that sent him spiraling.

He couldn’t imagine forcing you into a life where you had to explain him to your friends and family, ignore the curious and judging looks from his own when they realized just how young you were.

Jack knew you were lonely, it was obvious considering how much time you willingly spent with him and it was bad enough he’d taken advantage of your desperation for connection and nearly slept with you.

He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he stopped you from enjoying your youth, having a fun late night in the city surrounded by artsy people your age and not stuck on his couch watching old reruns because he’s too tired after work to properly take you out.

Jack hates himself for thinking all this and then still obsessively wanting you.

So much so that he purposely lingers near his truck right around the time you’d told your date you’d be ready. In his defense, he did actually need a few things from the corner store, so he sat in the parking lot and waited until he saw you come down.

Your date met you at the entrance of the lobby but didn’t take your purse from you or the jacket you were holding, smiled at you politely but couldn’t be bothered to open the door of his car or even wait for you to get in before he did.

It made Jack sick to his stomach all over again, jaw clenched as he sat in the dark interior of his truck and watched you drive off with some asshole only an hour after he’d had you sleeping next to him, panting under him and begging him to fuck you.

Jack decides right then that it all needs to stop, not just the sex lessons but helping you in general. He can’t be that person for you without wanting more, he’s selfish and possessive over somebody that was never supposed to be his and he knows it’s not fair to you.

So he doesn’t answer any of your texts that night, stays quiet in his living room whenever you knock on his door and waits until he hears you leave for work before he goes to check the mail.

He feels terrible for avoiding you but keeps trying to convince himself it’s in your best interest.

Jack is half asleep when the silent treatment finally breaks.

He’d fallen asleep on his couch accidentally, a beer can too many on the table in front of him and the same movie he’d been watching beforehand starting to roll credits. He should have been in bed sleeping after pulling a double at work but he couldn’t stand being in there lately, tossing and turning and trying to catch the faint scent of you lingering on his pillows.

There was a second of confusion, not sure why he had waken up in the first place, until the sharp knocks on his door made him flinch.

He was standing up on autopilot to open it, wincing at how stiff and sore his leg felt from falling asleep with it still on.

Any thought of his pain was gone the second he opened his door and saw your face, tears on your cheeks and your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“I need to talk to you.” You said immediately and he ushered you into his apartment, not necessarily wanting to be in an enclosed space with you but recognizing your tearful voice was far too loud to have a conversation in the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” He said softly and takes a few steps towards you on instinct, cradling your cheek and staring down at you when you nuzzle against his touch. “Why are you crying?”

“Because you’re an asshole.” You seem to remember that you’re mad at him because you step away from his touch, pushing his arm back down to his side and storming further into his apartment.

He stands there completely frozen as you toss your purse onto the chair near the couch, your eyes scanning over the beer cans and the obvious indent of where he’d been sleeping.

Then you’re back to looking at him and he knows what he probably looks like to you. The exhaustion is obvious on his face, clothes a little baggier than normal from a lack of taking care of himself and a constant awkward shifting on his leg to keep pressure off of it.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Your voice cracks a little and he deflates, taking a few steps closer again even though he doesn’t think you want him to touch you. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” His face faces in disbelief at the idea you could ever do anything wrong in general, especially to him. “Of course you didn’t sweetheart.”

“Then why?” Your words are louder now and they linger in the tense air, face pained as you wait for him to answer.

He sighs and runs a hand over his stubble that desperately needs some maintenance, wishes he had the time to plan out everything he wanted to say to you so he doesn’t accidentally fuck it up more than he already had.

“I just… I can’t do it anymore.” He lets his hands fall to his sides with a loud defeated clap and shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t watch you go out with these idiots knowing they can’t take care of you.”

He hopes what he’s trying to say is an obvious to you as it is to him, not able to bring himself to actually voice the fact that he has feelings for you beyond helping out a neighbor.

“You didn’t stop me.” You sound devastated, head shaking like you don’t believe anything he’s saying to you.

You’re not crying anymore thankfully but you look so hurt and disappointed that it makes him physically ache, moving to grab your arm softly and guide you to sit down on the couch with him.

“I waited for you to stop me and you didn’t.” You continue once you’re sitting beside him, legs pressed together in a small amount of addicting content. “Isn’t it obvious by now that I only want to be with you?”

The words hit him so hard that he doesn’t even have time to process them, eyebrows furrowing as the need for more information pushes him to speak.

“Why would that be obvious? The entire point of this was for you to be ready for other people.”

You look a little embarrassed at his sound logic, staring down at your lap where your hands are fiddling with your fingers. He sighs and takes one of them in his, squeezing it softly until you let your gaze drift back up to his.

“I don’t want other people.” You whisper, staring at him with a small amount of hope in your eyes like you’re just waiting for him to understand. “And I don’t want you to be with anyone else either. I just figured… you wouldn’t cross that line without a good reason.”

Jack thinks it’s a little juvenile of a plan but he also knows you’re not wrong. He would have never touched you without the feeling of helping you out with something, no matter how much he had wanted you since the second you moved in.

That little lie was all he needed to get himself through the shame and guilt, the ability to pretend it was for a greater cause and not because he was sick and desperate for a girl half his age.

“Jack.” You sigh when he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, turning so you can face him better and press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. “Stop thinking.”

“That’s a big ask.” He mumbles back but he gladly turns to give you a real kiss, holding your face in his hand and keeping your mouth against his.

You kiss until you run out of breath, pulling back from him but rubbing your nose against his and letting your small hands grip his forearm desperately.

“Then just be with me for tonight.” You try to reason with him in any way you can, rubbing his arm softly and blinking at him with those big pretty eyes that drive him so crazy.

He stares at you for a moment before he’s standing up off the couch and tugging you along with him, ignoring the little surprised noise you make in favor of lifting you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. You gasp and then giggle softly once he’s got you in the air, arms behind his neck and legs around his middle as he starts to walk you to his room.

“You’re crazy if you think you’re going anywhere after tonight.” He tells you once he gets you settled on his bed, kissing the smile off your face as he climbs over you.

It’s a direct mirror of the other night as you get each other undressed fully this time, kissing the entire time and tasting his tongue deep in your mouth when it starts to get more heated.

“You’re going to be mine.” He says firmly once he’s got you in nothing but your panties, making sure your eyes are locked on his when you hear it. His free hand is all over your body, rubbing from your smooth thigh up to your chest and cupping around your neck for a brief moment while he waits for you to respond. “If I fuck you then you’re mine.”

“I’ve been yours.” You whisper easily, like you didn’t have to put any thought into it.

He falters, hand tightening around your throat on instinct and then releasing the pressure when he sees the way your eyes light up with interest.

“Don’t be nasty baby.” He’s teasing, kissing the corner of your mouth and bringing your leg up so it’s around his waist and he can press himself against you. “Gonna be gentle with you for your first time. You deserve it.”

“I want you to fuck me.” You’re pouting and gripping at him impatiently, running your hand between your bodies to touch his stomach and fidget with the waistband of his boxers. “That’s what I want Jackie.”

“Didn’t ask what you wanted.” He grumbles back, not caring that it comes off a little mean because you whine at the sound of how rough his voice had gotten and he knows you like it.

He’s back to kissing you and it’s filthier than normal, more tongue and spit than anything else.

You’re as vocal as always, whining and begging impatiently when he gets your underwear off and starts to touch you again.

Jack can barely think straight when he’s back inside of you, fingers pushing in easier this time now that you’ve felt the intrusion before and know what to expect. You’re gasping and crying out immediately, unintelligible words that he blocks out in favor of focusing on how you feel when he’s stretches you out.

“Want it so bad.” Your near sob gets through to him and he hisses through clenched teeth at how wrecked you sound already, shushing you softly and kissing your cheeks to try and calm you down.

“I know baby I know.” He’s whispering but you don’t seem to be hearing him, spreading your legs further to try and make space for him to slot back between them instead of using his fingers.

Jack is just as impatient as you but he’s terrified of hurting you too early, although throbbing so hard in his boxers that it’s painful to shift around.

It’s not long before it’s too much prep for both of you and you’re watching him with your chest heaving as he gets himself undressed the rest of the way, leg going on the floor right alongside your underwear that he had slowly pulled down your body before climbing back over you.

Your eyes go down between your bodies where his leg is and he tenses for a second despite knowing you mean well with the concern you have on your face.

“Let me ride you.” You say softly and his chest tightens with that old familiar shame he was still actively working on ridding himself of.

“I can fuck you.” He says gruffly and your eyes flash with regret, pouting a little like you’re worried you’ve hurt his feelings with your thoughtful suggestion. He kisses the expression off your face, a long deep one followed by a few quick pecks to try and ease your mind. “Next time baby.”

He says it both because he knows realistically he has limitations, there will be plenty of nights he’s not able to rail you into his mattress like he wants to, but also because he knows he would die a happy man the second he got to see you bouncing on top of him and desperately trying to get yourself off.

You look like you want to argue but you’re stopped when he’s pushing your legs apart and moving between them, sharp gasp leaving you when you feel his hard length pressing against you finally.

“Fuck Jack.” Your voice is sharp and already a little pained just from the dull sensation of him lining up with your hole, a growl leaving him at the sound of your distress.

“Just relax baby.” He says as softly as he can even though his throat feels tight and raw, kissing you gently to try and get you to calm down enough for him to push in. “You’re too tight sweetheart.”

“I… I can’t.” You let out another sharp cry when he shifts forward, nails digging into his shoulders so deep it makes him wince and lower his head down on your shoulder.

Jack has to use every ounce of self control he can muster to not just fully push himself into you and feel that tight heat he’s getting a taste of, that same sick and selfish part of him that wants you in the first place begging him to just take you already.

Instead he takes a few deep breaths before he’s kissing you with more focus, going back and forth between softly rubbing your side and massaging your inner thigh to try and urge your body to relax and accommodate him.

It’s a torturous ten minutes, especially due to your soft whimpers and the way you cry his name whenever he accidentally moves himself deeper.

Then you’re finally calm enough, bare chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he’d instructed you to take.

“Want you inside Jack.” You’re whining in his ear, clinging to him tightly and almost suffocating him when he immediately takes your queue and pushes in. You tense up again at the brief surge of pain and then let out a satisfied cry when you feel how full you are, clenching around him so ridiculously that he almost needs to pull out to give himself a break despite barely starting.

You’re both too overwhelmed to speak much more once he starts to actually fuck you, deep thrust accompanied by filthy kisses to keep you from waking up the neighbors with how desperately you’re whining for him to keep giving you more.

It’s pure need on both ends, your hips eagerly rocking upwards to try and meet his thrust sloppily while he uses his free hand to roughly push down on your stomach and keep you in place.

“Jackie.” It’s nearly a sob from you now and he can tell you’re close from how much tighter you’d gotten, almost an impossible squeeze for him to keep fucking you through.

He’s grateful you’re so inexperienced because he doesn’t think he’d last long either, not with the way you look as you stare up at him with teary and trusting eyes.

“I know baby you’re doing so good for me.” It’s more of a growl than anything else but he can barely think let alone speak enough to keep encouraging you. “Taking me so well sweetheart.”

“I’m so full Jack.” You whimper and cling to him tighter, nearly pulling him fully down on top of you and knocking him off his balance. “Feels so good.”

You’re stuttering through your sentences and slurring each word, eyes a little dazed in a way that makes him need to squeeze his shut to avoid coming inside you just from that fucked out look you have.

It’s more sweet than heated when you actually do finally reach your peak, holding onto him still and kissing the side of his jaw softly with your face buried in his neck as you squirm and shake your way through your orgasm.

He stays inside of you for as long as he can so you’re not shocked from the sudden feeling of emptiness but you’re squeezing him too tight and he has to pull out as soon as you’re starting to relax. You whimper immediately at the lose and pick your head up to pout at him, eyes panicked like you’re genuinely distressed he didn’t finish inside you.

He shushes you gently and kisses your face over and over, rubbing your side as he lets you fully come back to reality before attempting to clean either of you up or get you dressed.

“Jack.” You’ve got the needy and frustrated tone he loves so much and he knows you’re not dropping it, meeting your eyes with a fond sigh as you glance down at where he’d came instead of inside you.

“Next time.” He promises again and he means it, fully intending to have that conversation with you ahead of time now that he’s got you like this.

Jack isn’t too opposed to the idea of getting you pregnant, not even sure he’s able to with the amount of pills he takes, but he has to push down that thought along with the rest of the sick ones he gets when he looks at your needy eyes.

You smile a little at the loose promise and tuck yourself back into his shoulder, soothing any concern he has about what just happened or how you’re supposed to operate going forward.

He’s undoubtedly the luckiest guy in the world to have you wanting him like this, feeling safe in his arms and desperate for him in the way he’d been for you since the second he laid eyes on you.

You procrastinated buying Christmas gifts up until now, but your boyfriend didn’t complain about your shopping trip because he’s happy to be near you always.

The two of you are currently walking down the long stretch of walkway on the second floor, you’re ranting about work gossip as Andrew intently listens quietly, like always.

“…and then Karen told me that Liliana is pregnant with Jonathan’s baby?! Isn’t that insane??” You swing your head to get the reaction from Pope that should be a gasp or a ‘no way!’, but he is nowhere to be seen.

You were so caught up in your rant you didn’t even realize his pace had slowed to a stop.

You turn to see his frame is almost completely still a few feet behind you, breathing a bit uneven underneath his dark maroon hoodie. His auburn curls that are slightly grown out, look uncharacteristically light due to the malls white walls and floor.

His eyes aren’t on you, which is unusual, they’re staring across the promenade. He’s in dark blue jeans that sit atop his black boots that have also completely pivoted direction, matching his stare.

As you walk back towards him, you follow his intense gaze and land on…. a lingerie store?

Interesting.

“Andrew?” Your voice cuts through whatever daze he’s in and he finally looks to you again.

There is a slight blush that stains his freckle dusted cheeks, as his eyes rove over your outfit that consists of a sweater and jeans.

You put two and two together pretty quickly, or so you think. Your boyfriend saw the sexy display mannequins dressed in lace and sheer sets and is currently comparing them to you in your 'December in California' winter attire.

Pushing down the flitting feeling of insecurity, you decide to keep it playful instead. Pope doesn’t need to hide his attraction for something that is outwardly sexual. It’s normal.

“Do you… like the mannequins, honey?” You ask lightly, chewing your cheek and tilting your chin up at him

His hazel eyes basically bulge out of his head as he shakes it rapidly. It should be sincere, but it comes off guilty as hell.

“It’s okay if you do” you run a hand down his arm as you reassure him sweetly. You know that he’s been shamed for a lot of things throughout his life, you’d never want to be apart of that demographic. “That one does have the perfect body.” You gesture to the mannequin with the super model esque shape with a free hand.

Both your hands are free actually, since Pope is carrying all the bags filled with gifts and the few clothing items you bought for yourself. Well, the items he bought for yourself.

His gaze grow impossibly wider with alarm, the red that splotches his pale skin creeps all the way to the tips of ears, “What? No. No— I —”

Popes fingers twitch at his sides as he sputters, clearly having a hard time getting his intended message across.

He manages to regain his composure with a heavy sigh, voice dropping to a whisper, “I was thinking about you in… in those outfits.”

Your brows shoot upwards in shock before your surge of confidence hits you. Andrew’s face morphs into a wince, as if he said something wrong, but before he can backtrack, you cut him off.

“Oh yeah?” You practically purr at him, eye lids drooping slightly with your suggestive tone.

His shoulders sag when you don’t judge him, and he swallows audibly, nodding once.

You chew at your lip, eyes ping ponging between the store and Pope. An idea pops into your mind that sends a rush of anticipation through your bloodstream.

“Want to go in?” You bat your eyelashes at him and coat your words in sultry sweetness.

His pink lips part, showing off his crooked teeth that you love so much, and his dark brows raise half an inch, to say ‘really?’

You grab his hand that has three bags looped onto the muscular wrist and start to pull him towards the store.

“Cmon,” you giggle. “It’ll be fun.”

Like he always does, Andrew follows you with no hesitation.

Over the course of your relationship, you’ve worn lacey underwear on a date night or when you want to feel extra sexy, but never anything as intense as the corset and sheer sets hanging on racks and decorating the walls inside the store.

You’ve always wanted to get one to see how your boyfriend would react, but he never really spends much time looking at your undergarments, because he’s always so desperate to get them off of you.

In all honesty, you didn’t think this would be something he was into. But now, as his eyes bounce from rack to rack with excitement swirling in them, you realize you were wrong.

You and Pope walk around the store side by side in silence. He stays so close to you that he’s practically embedded in your skin. You don’t mind at all though.

He’s only this close to you because he’s been glaring at all the surrounding men who are alone, until he realizes they’re here with their own girlfriend or wife, then he moves to scowl at his next victim.

It helps that he’s this close actually, because every time you deliberately run your hands over a black lace nightgown or a pink and white corset, you look at his face to see which one affects him the most.

You watch for a hitch of breath, a deep blush on his cheeks, or a clench of his strong jaw.

Every time you grab one and ask, ‘What about this one?’, he gives you the same nod accompanied by the heated gaze he always gives you— you've gotten used to him not being very good with words, especially when it's about trying something new.

A nod is not enough. You want to find one that makes him have a heart attack. Not literally, obviously, because you’d die without him.

You’ve been taking the mission very seriously up until you spot an isle labeled ‘festive goodies’. Not being able to help yourself, you go down to laugh at what you know will be a hilarious selection of outfits.

Pope stays close behind you as you pass through the Halloween, Valentine’s Day and St Patrick’s Day skimpy sets.

At the end of the isle is the Christmas section, filled with reds and greens. Your eyes catch onto a ridiculous outfit that has you laugh to yourself.

Sitting on a hanger that has a ribbon on the hook, is a completely sheer red nightie, lined with white fuzz on every hem, adorned with two tiny santa hats sticking out from where your nipples would go. A matching pair of sheer panties sit beneath it with words in white fuzz on the back that you can’t read yet.

Taking it off the rack, you hold the set up against your body as you giggle at its ridiculousness.

“Oh my god! Look at this, Andrew!”

You expect to hear your boyfriend scoff or laugh with you, but all that sounds is a hitch of breath instead.

Glancing back to his handsome face, you see that Popes breathing has stopped altogether as he stares at the sheer fabric laid atop your frame.

His jaw flexes, his blush reaches his ears and his pupils blow wide.

Bingo.

You don’t know if he has a Christmas kink or if he just likes it because it’s entirely see through— which is most likely— but you don’t even care at this point because his reaction has arousal course through your veins.

“Want me to try it on?”

His eyes flick to yours with surprise, “You can do that? Here?”

You bite your lip to hold back your giggle at his naiveness. Grabbing his hand after you find your size, you pull him towards the signs you see that point to the dressing room.

He simply nods, breathing a bit uneven, when you tell him to ‘wait here’ as you slip into a changing room and slide the curtain shut behind you— leaving him cutely awkwardly fiddling with the bags in his hands, eyes darting away from other women that walk in and out.

Once you change into the set, you can't help but feel very sexy.

Sure, there are literal santa hats sticking out of your nipples, but you somehow still find the nightie very tasteful because the see through fabric allows your pretty silhouette to be shown off. The swell of your breasts and the curve of your waist are highlighted perfectly.

You spin around in the mirror and see how the red fabric of the top falls just above where your ass meets your thighs, leaving the bottom half of your cheeks exposed.

You finally read the white fuzzy words on the sheer matching thong and giggle out loud.

"Wanna see it Andrew?" You call through the curtain, body buzzing with excitement.

When he doesn't answer, you assume he's out there nodding, like how he always does when he’s turned on and has a hard time speaking.

"Come on in, honey," you coo.

You hear shuffling— must be him putting down your bags— and you bite your bottom lip in barely restrained thrill.

The fabric opens the tiniest bit and Pope slides inside, molding himself to the curtain so there is no space between him and outside, leaving no room for someone to see you.

When he's fully in and facing you, he inhales sharply. His hazel eyes go molten with lust as they trace every inch of your body, slowwwwly over the skin that's exposed and the parts that are barely covered, as if he's memorizing the sight.

"Cute right?," you say sweetly.

His auburn curls shake as he nods so rapidly, and it makes your smile go megawatt and your thighs clench together at the fact that he likes it this much. In fact, his chest is so still with refrained breath that you think he might pass out.

You move to him and press your hands to his chest over his hoodie, you guide him backwards until he’s in the stool in corner of the fitting room. He plops down onto it, sitting straight backed with his hands balled into fists at his side, eyes wide and transfixed on your figure.

You stand between his spread knees and rub your hands over on his shoulders as he looks up at you. "Do you like it?"

His chin moves to nod and you catch it with your hand, making your voice slightly stern, "Use your words, Andy."

A small groan sounds from him at the nickname you only use when you're in bed together.

"Yes," he says gruffly. "You're so pretty."

You hum happily, then you leisurely turn around and bend over, lifting up the white fuzzy hemmed bottom of your nightie, to expose the words that read 'naughty girl' on the tiny triangle of your thong.

You hear him pathetically whimper from behind you. God, you don't think you've ever heard or seen him this turned on before.

You twist back to face him and you think you see a bit of drool on his parted lips.

A filthy idea flits through you and your panties— which you've already decided to buy— dampen.

Taking the red ribbon off the hanger, you look to your boyfriend with a suggestive expression, "Can I try something, honey?"

"Yes please," his words are so desperate that your core throbs.

You plant a kiss to the tip of his arrow shaped nose in thanks, before moving behind him, dragging his strong hands with you in order to tie them together at his back.

His breathing quickens once they're secured and you're back in front of him. You gingerly climb onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and seating yourself onto the bulge in his jeans, causing you both to make a breathy sound.

"So pretty," He mumbles through a twitching jaw, eyes locked onto your outfit.

"You're so sweet to me, Andy," you say as you rock your hips against him, your faces inches apart.

His eyes close for a split second like he's gaining composure, and then they instantly pry back open to not miss a second of this, darting to your tits behind the red fabric, licking his lips.

As you plant a soft kiss to his wet lips, the ridge of his zipper catches on your clit, your mouth parts into a soft moan and Pope takes the opportunity to stick his tongue in your mouth.

You pull back before he can fully kiss you, wanting to talk to him. Your core throbs at the feeling of his massive erection, but you definitely can't fuck in this public dressing room, so you settle for some dry humping.

"You feel so good," you whisper as you keep your lips inches apart and grind your hips in a downward circle onto him.

You start to plant soft kisses to his neck while keeping your movements relentless and precise overtop of him. You're so wet from simply rutting on him that you are positive you have effectively ruined this establishments thong.

Andrew groans loudly and you clamp a palm over his mouth. His dark eyes grow wide at the movement he's only ever done to you.

"Need you to be quiet, Andy. Don't want anyone to hear how much you like me like this." your voice sounds so sultry you barely recognize it. "Can you do that for me?"

As expected, he nods. Heat tingles at the base of your spine, sending a surge of fuzzy arousal through your body.

"Such a good boy for me," you say absentmindedly into his skin, feeling the fabric beneath you rub your sensitive clit in a way that makes your hips stutter.

He tenses, then whimpers beneath your palm, when you pull back to look at him, his eyes have glazed over at the nickname you used without thinking.

"You like that hmm? Being my good boy?"

A loud whine sounds beneath your hand and he starts bucking his hips upwards. You bite your lip to stifle your moan at the sudden rough contact, feeling hot and dizzy all over.

Both of you glance down at your body grinding against him. You clench around nothing when you see the wet spot you've made on his jeans.

Your very public fitting room quickly starts to be filled with a flurry of stifled moans and frantic movements.

“You like being a good boy and letting me ride you in a dressing room, Andy?” you whisper into his ear and you feel his sharp exhale of breath through his nose on your fingers, his shoulders shake from trying to free his hands and touch you.

You lean back to look at him and you can tell he's close from the way his eyes squeeze shut, muscles of his freckled face strain tightly and his arms pull at the ribbon behind him.

"Look at me."— he does, gaze half lidded and eyes barely focused — "I'm so bad for this. I'm your naughty girl, aren't I?," it comes out breathlessly due to the chasing of your own release.

A muffled, 'yes yes yes' vibrates onto your palm, his thighs twitch under yours. Your forehead falls against his as you pick up your movements, desperately grinding your weepy core onto him as pleasure starts to spark behind your eyes.

"You're my good boy and I'm your naughty girl, Andy," you try to keep your words quiet but you cant quite manage as you whimper loudly through them.

Pope's eyes roll into the back of his head and he wildly jackrabbits upwards, bouncing you harder onto his lap, causing you to tighten your grip on his face. You choke back your scream as your thighs start to shake, and the molten sensation in you is pulled taught.

You hear him whine into your skin, 'Pleasepleasepleaseplease'.

You start to pant and throw your head back, "Oh god— i'm gonna—"

Pope bites your palm and the white hot feeling explodes inside you, you bury your face into his neck as you cry out. He grunts harshly and licks repeatedly against your skin as he comes in his jeans beneath you, moving his hips as much as he can to milk every last drop of pleasure.

When you're both done riding out your orgasms, you collapse against him, hand falling off his face and dropping to his chest.

His heavy breaths fan your ear, and you feel the dampness of both of you releases seeping between your legs, causing a satisfied hum to sound from you.

You pull back and see his fucked out expression, auburn curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, cheeks red from the grip your hand had on his face. The sight is so cute that you lean forward and plant a soft kiss to his lips.

"Merry Christmas Andy."

Either way, you're proud that the local establishment is now held in such high regard; particularly since you know the accomplishment means so much to so many.

You swing back around and continue on to the wooden door that'll lead you to the kitchen where your roommate should currently be.

Grant glances up from the assortment of ingredients he's currently considering for a taste test if he can combine them just so, when the kitchen door unexpectedly swings open and a strange young woman practically welcomes herself inside the private space.

He finds himself taken aback for a moment—someone barging into his kitchen with seemingly no hesitation is a first—before he springs into action. Tossing down the sharpened gourmet knife he holds with a clatter, he advances on you. "Excuse me! What the hell do you think you're doing back here?"

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off short before you can start pleading for a handout.

"The sign out front clearly stated closed. You're trespassing in a private establishment. You're lucky I don't call the police."

Grabbing you roughly by the forearm, he ushers you back out to the dining area.

You sputter all the while in an attempt to try and provide explanation. "I was just—my friend. She works here. My roommate. Andrea wanted me to—"

He turns you back around to him. "Andrea? My commis chef?"

You nod fervently and blink back the tears that're brimming in your eyes from fear. "She asked me to meet her so we could walk home together. I'm so sorry." You stumble back a step. "I'll—I'll go wait outside. Please don't be mad."

Just as you swivel on your heel to flee, Grant takes you firmly by the hand. "No, I am."

You still, then hesitate before finally turning around again.

"Sorry," he continues. "I should've given you a second to explain. It's just..." he shakes his head with a sigh. "Been a long day," he finishes while running long fingers through salt and pepper curls.

"I'm Grant. Reilly. Head Chef," he states with an extended hand, now that he's finally released your own.

You wait a moment then shake it—ignoring how yours still trembles.

It sends a wave of regret through him that he made you fearful in the first place.

"Y/N," you supply quietly. "I can just," you point a thumb over your shoulder, "Go wait on the bench outside."

He shakes his head, then wraps a steady arm around your shoulders and leads you over to a corner booth. "I'd rather you did so here. Safer for you than on the street."

Once you've plopped down in a plush seat, you tuck your bag away and consider a menu off to the side to give yourself something to do. Your phone is an option, but he's standing right there. Perusing their selection of wines will at least make you come off as interested in his flourishing business.

"Are you thirsty?" Grant asks with a far more gentle tone than the one he had a moment ago. "I could bring you a glass of water."

You shake your head, then pull a bottle from your bag and hold it up for inspection. "I've got it covered, but thank you."

Considering for a moment, Grant surveys your glittering eyes and soft lips. "Make yourself comfortable. We're prepping for tomorrow, so it may still be awhile yet."

You wave a hand dismissively, then toss a paperback novel from your shoulder bag onto the table. "I'll keep myself occupied," you remark with a reassuring nod.

He turns and leaves you to your reading material.

Once he's securely hidden away behind a solid stainless steel door, Grant rests calloused hands upon a gleaming metal countertop in an attempt to steady his heart. With his head hung heavily between his shoulders, he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.

You're here. For the first time, you're here.

And he nearly blew it.

You've never met—don't know one another from Adam, truthfully—but he's seen photos of you before on Andrea's lockscreen during the times she's pulled her cell out to check for notifications during her fleeting breaks. That, and in photos she's uploaded to her Instagram.

It was the only reason he followed her back to begin with: to be able to appreciate the sight of you, even from a distance.

He's not some infatuated stalker, though. No, just an admirer. The first time he ever saw you—ever heard your soft-spoken voice—had been in a short video she uploaded to her... What is the feature called again? Story? Reel?

They're always changing things.

Andrea had hidden behind the camera while she snuck into your room and filmed you hunched over a tiny desk. You'd been wholly oblivious not only to her presence, but the rest of the world it seemed as you typed furiously away on a laptop.

He'd assumed you were a college student, until she announced your name with gusto, followed up by "the next New York Times bestselling author!" You had tried desperately to hide your face from the camera in adorable mortification, but failed miserably when she tugged one of your hands away, revealing your warm smile beneath.

He's watched that video at least a dozen times. Has observed your towering bookshelf that was clearly organized with thoughtful care, and the trinkets you have arranged on small floating shelves above your workspace.

How did he fail to recognize you in person?

So much for first impressions...

Grant felt how your delicate hand trembled in his. As such, he needs to make this right.

"What's your friend's favorite food?" Grant demands with crossed arms while peering at Andrea from over the bridge of his nose.

Removing her attentions from a stack of carrots she's working her way through with a slicer, she blinks up at him. "What? Wait. She's here? Shit," she curses while making to tug her apron off.

He clicks his tongue. "I still need you to finish prepping. I want to make something for her, so give me a dish. Any dish. Now."

Her brows wrinkle together. "From the menu, or—"

"What does she eat a lot of at home?" he inquires.

She snorts quietly. "You're not gonna like the answer."

"Well, unless it's moldy bread—"

"Easy Mac," she retorts. "Rice-a-Roni, Ramen, frozen pizzas..."

He raises an incredulous brow. "She lives with you and that's the kind of..." He shouldn't judge. He's had them all himself. And he'd be lying if he claimed to hate every bite. Depending on the brand and flavor, they're not half bad. "That's what you let her eat?'

She rolls her eyes and returns to slicing carrots into thin strips. "I don't let her do anything. She's a grown woman. And I eat 'em, too. Makes for an easy meal sometimes, y'know?"

He rolls his eyes. "So, she likes macaroni."

"She should take stock in Kraft," she mumbles. "I've told her a hundred times to just get the damn boxes because she'd be buying more for less, but she likes having the little cups so that she doesn't have to wash a pot or bowl afterward."

Like a little kid, he muses with a smirk.

Fine. Dad will just have make you something filling to eat, then.

Turning a burner onto medium-high heat, Grant gets to work on preparing you the best damn macaroni you've ever had in your young life.

He boils a large pot of water first, then gets to work on whipping a bowl of cream cheese into smooth perfection. He follows it up with hand-grating three separate cheese blocks while the water heats. Once bubbles start popping on the surface, he pours a container of elbow pasta in and stirs until the noodles are al dente.

Once Grant has strained them, he pours the cream cheese into a pan, followed by noodles and more cream cheese and a couple cups of shredded cheese, along with a few odd spices for taste. He tops it off with a final thick layer of shredded cheese on top, then slips the dish into the oven with a tin foil cover to bake.

A very basic dish, yes, but one that will still hopefully serve to impress and endear you to him.

As the macaroni sits in the oven, he peers through the glass window at the top of the kitchen door and watches you flip through your novel.

Perhaps he should be embarrassed by his behavior. And not just that which he has and is currently exhibiting tonight, but the fact that he's already mildly infatuated with you.

He doesn't know why, really. He's never been able to place his finger on it.

Love at first sight?

But does that really count when it comes to curated social media?

Maybe he's just lonely in his latter years and has projected onto you. It's not that he has some great expectation in mind of who you are or what you're really like. He's just...enchanted by what little he's already seen.

But it's easy to fall for a mysterious stranger just by their looks.

A timer rings, and he returns to the oven to pull out a dish of golden-brown perfection.

You wrench your book back when a ceramic deep dish full of what appears to be baked macaroni is slid in front of you.

With your book clutched to your chest, you gaze up at Grant. "Oh. Hello again."

The corner of his lip twitches; wanting to verge into a smile on your account. "My way of apologizing," he explains with a nod toward the steaming dinner he's presenting you with. "For being an ass," he mutters as he takes the booth across from where you sit.

"No," you chirp, setting your book back in your bag. "It's okay. Really. I should've never barged in like that. It was inappropriate."

He purses his lips and shakes his head. "You did nothing wrong. My reaction was way out of line. So dinner's on me."

You study the melted golden-brown cheese on top. It's so incredibly kind that he took time out of his already late night to do this. "Well... It's your kitchen. Would be like someone barging into your home. Would you give them time to explain their motives before you jumped into action?"

He glances toward the ceiling in faux contemplation while bobbing his head back and forth, like he's silently debating with himself. "No," he replies while looking at you once more. "I'd probably grab my gun."

Your brows shoot up. "You have a gun?"

He chuckles while handing you a small plate. "I was in the Army some twenty-odd-years ago. So I have a few."

You take it from him and your cheeks warm when your fingertips brush against Grant's. "What did you do when you served?"

He glances to the steaming macaroni, then to you again in answer.

"You were a cook then, too?"

Grant nods. "Was where I got my start, in terms of making it into a career."

"Did you always know it's what you wanted to do?"

Pulling a silver fork out of a cloth napkin, he taps the end of it against the table. "Yes and no. I've always enjoyed cooking and baking. But it took me finally doing it for others—a lot of others—for me to realize that it was my true calling."

He stabs the fork into the mac and cheese, then lifts it toward you. "Blow," he instructs.

You do until steam disappears.

When you open, he eases the tines into your mouth, the sets the fork on your plate. "D'you like it?"

You take your time chewing and tasting before swallowing.

When you lick your lips, he feels a stirring below his belt.

"It's really good," you say with a grand smile that he can't help but return.

He's made you happy. And that fact makes him so very glad.

"Yeah?" he asks with a laugh.

"It's delicious," you say while scooping a heaping portion onto your plate. "What did you put in it?"

"Besides sugar, spice, and everything nice?" he asks sarcastically, which earns him a bubbly giggle. "Cream cheese, three different cheeses which I shredded by hand, and a few dashes of various spices."

He took care when making this for you.

"You did all this to say sorry?" you ask quietly.

He rests his shoe next to yours beneath the table. "I did."

Grant pulls out another fork. "So, am I forgiven?"

How odd for a stranger to care in the least what you think or feel. It's a welcome change, though, even if it's only temporary. Taking his fork from him, you return the gesture from earlier and feed him a bite as well.

Grant barely manages to keep his mouth closed long enough to chew because he's smiling so much.

"You are."

"Hey," Grant says, catching you and Andrea at the door before you head out for home.

He rests an easy palm against your back and you turn to meet his searching eyes.

"Come back and see me again some time," he encourages. Dropping his hand, he instead squeezes your fingers. "Next meal is on the house, just like tonight."

You smile, and nearly kiss him on the cheek for his kindness. "Thank you," you reply with a nod. "Have a good night, Grant."

His breath catches in his throat at you having finally said his name, and he watches you go—only turning back to the interior once you've disappeared.

What started as a hectic, nightmarish day has ended in perfection.

It's been almost two weeks and he's not seen hide or hair of you. Was the meal he prepared for you not as good as you let on? Was it him? Did he do too much, or not enough?

The two of you had only just met, so there's always a chance that he came on too strong; made you uncomfortable.

Living with the not knowing, however—his stomach squeezing painfully each time the restaurant door opens, only for him to fill with disappointment a moment later because it isn't the face he wants to see—is pure fucking torture.

He wants his girl back... Just one more time.

"Any reason she never took me up on my offer?" Grant questions with a low, gravely tone.

Andrea finishes tugging on her jacket before grabbing her purse and turning to look at her superior. "Huh? What?"

"Your roommate," he explains. He feels, for whatever reason, that using your name would make this seem too personal—would give him away too easily. As if pouting over your lack of presence doesn't already. "I offered her a free meal and—"

"Ah," she replies with a nod. "She's been busy. Picking up extra shifts at the library on the weekend."

And downing Easy Mac on the go, he presumes.

You deserve better than a microwavable snack.

He takes a step back while tossing a dishtowel over his strong shoulder. You're being an adult; working more for a bit of extra cash. And here he is, pining after you like a lovesick teen.

He's learned something new about you, at least: your occupation. Makes perfect sense with your passion for reading and apparent storytelling.

Suits you, Grant thinks.

Swiping up a ripe tomato to return to its rightful place across the kitchen, he nods. "Got it."

"Hey, so, you need to go back to the restaurant at some point," Andrea remarks from your apartment's dimly lit entryway.

Leaning back against the couch behind you, you pause your typing on a Bluetooth keyboard. Crappy makeshift computer set up—it, coupled with the small glass screen of your phone, that is—but you don't have much of another option right now with your laptop being away for diagnosis. And given it can be saved, subsequent treatment.

"What?" you ask while turning to face her with crossed legs.

"Grant," she explains while hanging up her jacket, then purse. "He asked about you tonight and why you haven't been by to take him up on his offer for free food or whatever."

Oh.

You'd nearly forgotten about that, you've been so preoccupied with other things.

So he was serious? You'd thought he was, of course, but the question being just how much? Had it just been meant as a passing comment in kind, or was it a genuine invitation he intended on you fulfilling your end of?

"Does he..." you begin hesitantly. "Feed a lot of girls for free?"

She plops down on the couch behind you. "Not that I'm aware of. I spend a lot of time staying late to help clean up and prep and this is the first I've ever seen of such behavior."

You glance back to the cheap LED keyboard.

"Was surprised he made you mac and cheese that night, tell you the truth. He's a great chef and a good boss—even if he can be a hard-ass—but he's never gone out of his way like that before."

She playfully taps your shoulder with her toes. "Must really like you. Probably wants you back there and bent over every surface he can find while you cry yes, Chef! yes, Chef! all the while," she thinks aloud with a snigger.

You quickly turn around to hide your embarrassment. "He's a little old for me."

She snorts while rising and padding toward her bedroom for a change of clothes before she showers. "That's what makes it all the hot-ter," she finishes with a sing-song voice. "Oh, turn up the heat, daddy!" Andrea cries from an open doorway.

You bury your face in your hands.

Once you're within the safe confines of an empty North & Vine again, you stand awkwardly near the door. You don't want to ambush Grant again by waltzing into the kitchen unexpectedly, so you finally opt to seat yourself at the same booth as last time instead.

You're sure he'll emerge eventually and catch sight of you.

Just when Grant pushes past the kitchen's heavy swinging door, he halts in his tracks.

You came back again.

Andrea must've said something.

He hopes you didn't feel pressured to return; to humor his boyish fancy. Letting things go might've been better for everyone, but he can't seem to get you off his mind no matter how hard he tries.

Coming nearer with slow, steady strides, he frowns at the sight of you so unhappy while you stare down at your cellphone. He never did ask if you were single. But if that's the cause for your displeasure tonight—some young asshole who doesn't know how to treat you—then he'll do all he can to set things right until you're content again.

"Everything okay?" Grant asks quietly. "Seem distracted tonight."

Quickly locking your phone, you glance up to him with a forced smile and a nod. "Oh. Yeah. It's not a big deal."

Grant considers for a moment while chewing the inside of his cheek. "Boyfriend problems?"

You snort. "Stopped bothering with those a long time ago."

Which is either very lucky, or very unlucky for him.

Taking the seat across from you like last time, he folds his hands together. "Anything I can help with?"

You shake your head. "No. It's just my laptop. Got a quote back from a repair shop for how much it'd cost to get it working again." Your eyes flit to his. "Might as well just buy a new computer," you grumble.

He wants to ask about your writing project, but then you'll wonder as to how he even knows about it in the first place. "Do you use it for work?"

"Not really," you reply while toying with a sea salt shaker. "Writing, mostly."

"You didn't lose anything—"

"No, thank God. I keep everything backed up on a cloud drive." You sigh and return the condiment to its rightful home at the back of the table. "I've been using a Bluetooth keyboard so I can write using my cell, but I hate having to use a smaller screen. And because the keyboard is, too, I keep making tons of typos."

You grow quiet for a moment.

He wants to offer to run out and get you a new one right now—whichever you'd like—but fears that such a gesture would make him come off way too strong.

He'll figure out another method to help his girl.

"Anyway," you say, now wanting to change the subject from your technical woes. "Andrea said you asked about me?"

He actually fucking flushes. Only because he's made his damn crush that apparent. "Just wanted to see you again," he replies with a casual shrug and a smile. Pulling a menu from a wooden holder, he drops it in front of you. "Choose whatever you like and I'll make it."

You blink a couple times in surprise. You knew it's what you were coming here for, but you still have yet to understand it. His wanting to cater to you must stem from an attraction, but it doesn't make this any less unconventional.

Should you consider this a date? Does he? What precisely are the two of you doing here?

Flipping the laminated menu open, you begin to peruse various hard-to-pronounce dishes. "Why, um... Why did you want me to—"

"Maybe I just like watching you eat," he interrupts with a smirk.

Shyly, you peer at him from over the top of the menu you hold before hiding behind it again.

He chuckles quietly at your adorable antics.

A cheeseburger.

You're a simple girl, he'll give you that much, but he was hoping for something that would require a bit more effort on his part than a seared patty and brioche bun. But as long as you leave here with a full belly and a thankful smile, he's content.

He did invite you back into the kitchen so that you could observe him in his element, though. All rolled-up sleeves, an apron which clings to his muscled chest, and sharp knives which slice through tomatoes as easy as a guillotine are the attractions he provides for your viewing pleasure.

"So," he begins while adjusting the gas burner on the stove with pinched fingertips. "Andrea tells me you work at a library around here."

"I do," you reply simply. "At the Boston Public Library. It's really nice there."

He hums in interest while patting ground beef into a plump, round patty. "But you want to be a writer," he states.

You shift on your feet from where you stand behind him. "If I ever manage to finish the book I'm working on." You shrug while toying with a loose string hanging from the hem of your top. "It gives me something to do in my spare time, at least."

He hates how defeated you sound—like you've resigned yourself to never accomplishing your dream. Is it because you're losing interest in the project, or because you don't think you're good enough and have what it takes?

"I'd love to read it," Grant says while placing the patty in a lightly oiled non-stick pan before stepping over to the sink to wash his hands. "Whenever it's finished."

You shrug. "You don't even know what it's about."

He turns back to you while drying his hands. "Do I need to? It's something you're passionate about. That's enough for me."

Your eyes flit between his until he turns back to the stove.

You watch as his shoulder blades shift beneath his thin white t-shirt as he flips the burger over.

"This is just something for you to keep in mind, but being in the culinary business, I know journalists—people in publishing. So if you're ever looking to get your foot in the door, I can help with that."

You're surprised by how selfless he seems. Thoughtful.

You understand then why Andrea has stuck around so long, despite the stressors of being in hospitality.

He's a good man.

"Thank you," you whisper.

Placing the medium-rare patty on a crispy bun, he lays a slice of cheddar cheese on top to begin melting, a tomato, pickles, and a bit of garnish, followed by the top bun. "Anytime."

He watches with utter satisfaction as you chow down. Had Grant had a bit more time to prepare, he would've made you up a plate of hand-cut seasoned fries as well, but given the size of the burger, he hopes it'll be enough to satiate your appetite.

"Good?" he asks while dragging a finger along the edge of your plate to gather a drop of mustard before popping it in his mouth.

You nod fervently while chewing.

"Have to give me an actual challenge next time. Comfort food is your favorite type of cuisine, though, isn't it?"

Another nod.

Could whip up some fried chicken next time. Not necessarily difficult to make, but rather to perfect. Just the right amount of crisp on the outside with a balance of seasoned sumptuousness on the in can be a difficult combo to achieve.

Honestly? Grants wants to make you everything on the whole damn menu.

Would certainly keep you coming back to him time and again if he did.

It's a tempting thought: feeding you every night when you come home from work. Especially from his own hand. He's replayed you taking a bite of macaroni from the fork he held the first time you met repeatedly.

He briefly considers how he could get you to suck melted chocolate off his fingers.

"What's yours?" you ask while dabbing at your lips with a freshly laundered napkin.

Grant leans back. Resting his tanned forearms atop the table, he thinks. "If you can believe it, I don't have one. When it comes to food, I make an effort to keep my options open. There's always something new to try. To make or taste. Guess I worry that if I develop a 'favorite' I'll start to limit myself by getting too comfortable with one particular food or handful of meals."

Makes sense to you. Hence your appreciation for cheap microwavable or oven-ready boxed food.

"Favorite thing to make, then?"

He grins. "Sort of the same answer. Convoluted dishes give me a challenge, but I still have an appreciation for the simple things in life," he states with a nod toward your slowly emptying plate.

"Seems like you enjoy keeping an open mind."

He leans in close while studying your lips with a smile. "I definitely do."

You're reticent to ask what tonight was. Why Grant seems to so enjoy watching you eat.

It's flattering, at least. A welcome change from past dates from long ago where you always wanted to order a salad, or turn away altogether so you couldn't be watched with a scrutinizing gaze as you ate.

Rocking onto the balls of your feet, you look up at Grant with a smile. "Thank you again."

He runs a rough palm down your arm. "Here to serve," he replies with a lopsided smile.

"Well... Goodnight," you chirp with a quick nod.

Leaning down, he brushes his lips over your soft cheek. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Sooo," Andrea drawls from the doorway of your bedroom. "Have you checked your email today?"

You pause Netflix and turn to her with furrowed brows. "This morning like I always do. Why?"

"Might wanna check it again," she states. "Grant asked me for your email today. Didn't say why, though," your roommate relays.

"Maybe it's just a recipe," you ponder. Grabbing your phone from the middle of the bed, you navigate to your email, find one from not quite two hours ago from the man in question, and when you open it, your jaw drops.

"Oooh, what is it? Dirty pictures involving whip cream and stacked donuts?"

You slam a palm against your forehead. "Oh God. He can't just—"

She pads around the side of your bed and takes the device from you before barking a ridiculous laugh. "A fucking grand?!" she cries.

You take the phone back from her. "It's for a local tech store." Your eyes scan the attached gift message. "For your time & your new computer. Remember that I get to read it first. — Grant"

Andrea folds her arms and frowns. "Does he mean your novel? Promised that privilege to me..." she pouts.

You stare at her. "You—Yes, you still can. But I—I have to send this back." Tossing off a throw blanket, you stand and begin to pace.

"Man, he wants that cookie bad."

You level her with a glare.

"Alright," she relents with raised palms of surrender. "No more food puns."

"Do you think it works like a check? Like, unless I use it the money stays in his account?" you ask while looking at her.

She shrugs. "Maybe. Sure wish he'd give me a damn thousand dollar bonus. What'd you do the last time you went a week ago?"

"I told you!" you shout hysterically. "He made me a cheeseburger. I ate it, then came back here. That's it."

"I eat in front of the old man every day. He's never wanted to reward me for it." She pinches her stomach, then shrugs. "Probably a good thing or you'd be rolling me out of here before long."

"I have to make him take it back or undo it," you say while heading in the direction of your closet so you can get changed. "This is too much."

"So he wants to be your sugar daddy—"

You narrow your eyes and jerk your head back in her direction.

"Not intended to be another pun. That's just the name for it," she mumbles. "As I was saying: I fail to see how it's a bad thing."

"I've been saving up. I don't—" You toss a loose ankle-length dress onto the bed. Something simple. You don't need to dress up. No, you need to get going before he locks up for the night. "That isn't me."

"Grant?" you shout into the empty restaurant. "Are you here?"

A smile curls lips lined by silver stubble and laugh lines bracket his mouth. Hanging his apron on a hook, Grant emerges from behind the kitchen door. Greeted by the sight of you in a simple, soft black dress that almost looks more like a comfortable nightgown, he grins. "Got your attention, huh?"

"You... You have to take it back. Cancel it or something," you plead.

Crossing the room to reach you, he reaches forward and brushes the pad of his thumb along your cheek. "No can do," he replies with a shake of his head.

"But—"

"You don't need to feel guilty," Grant tells you. "Guess just feeding you dinner wasn't enough for me." He shrugs. "Wanted to help take care of you another way."

Before this moment, you've only been around each other twice before. Two times. You absolutely refuse to believe that you made enough of an impression to justify him gifting you one thousand dollars!

You open your mouth to continue insisting, until he rests his palms heavily atop your shoulders. "You wanna repay me?"

You waver. "Yes..."

"Then let me teach you."

He begins tugging you along behind him toward the kitchen, and you gulp nervously.

Time for you to set the damn place on fire, apparently.

"Slow, sweetheart, slow," Grant mutters quietly against your ear. "Don't want to get it all over yourself or you'll be soaked."

After leading you back into the kitchen, Grant gathered all the ingredients required to teach you how to make an excellent traditional southern fried chicken recipe, which he said the pair of you could eat together.

At current, you're whisking together milk and lemon juice to prep your own homemade buttermilk.

With Grant pressed against your back, and his hands leading your own while he croons encouragement and instructions in your ear, you fear that this cooking lesson may soon end in disaster if you don't get yourself under control. And soon.

"Good," he coos. "Nice and smooth. Good girl."

You nearly whimper when you feel a fluttering start up between your legs.

"Alright, set that to the side, then grab the chicken next and we'll dip each section until it's dripping and coat them in flour."

You swallow thickly, nod, then slide the bowl across the counter to keep it far from you, lest you knock it over and make a mess. Grabbing a sheet of raw chicken, you pick up piece after piece and dip them in the liquid mixture, followed by dropping them into a thick paper bag and shaking until Grant tells you to stop. You then place each prepped piece of poultry onto a new sheet until you've completed the current step.

"Alright, wash your hands and I'll guide you on what to do next."

Without the heat of his body stationed behind you, you're made very aware of how a thin sheet of sweat has coated the back of your neck. As such, you take your time washing your hands. Enjoying the cold water, you don't stop scrubbing until your palms and fingers are sudsy and clean.

Grant motions for you to rejoin him once you've shut the faucet off.

Assuming your previous position, he stands impossibly closer. "Here," he whispers before pulling an apron on over your head. "Should've done this before we started. Sorry."

You stay silent as his hands trail just beneath your breasts to grab the ties at the front of the acorn-brown apron to circle them around your waist.

"There," Grant says while pressing a soft kiss to the back of your head. "I've got you covered."

"Now," he says while adjusting the burner. "Fill your skillet with vegetable oil. About a third of the way. I'll tell you when to stop."

Grabbing a glass bottle, you start to pour, but slowly. The oil spreads across the cast iron skillet, and after a beat, Grant speak again. "Alright, that's good. Plenty slick enough to cook with."

You draw in a deep breath, then eye the chicken. "How long do we—"

"Awhile," he interrupts while sliding his hands from your shoulders to your upper arms. "It needs to get hot." He turns his head. "Very hot," he rumbles against your ear. "Once the pieces are browned, we'll turn down the heat and let them simmer for awhile. About half an hour," he explains.

"What'll we do while we wait?" you ask breathlessly.

He chuckles. "Anything you like."

"Oh."

"I like this," Grant says while pulling the chicken closer for when the skillet is finally ready to be filled. "Teaching you. You're a good student."

Testing the waters, you lean back against his sturdy chest, and he doesn't move an inch. "I've got you, sweetheart. I'm right here."

Your eyes flutter closed for a moment. The silence is deafening—interrupted only the sound of his steady breathing, yours which has turned ragged, and quietly popping oil on the stovetop.

"Something I can do to help you while you work, besides leading you?" he asks.

Touch me, you think while rubbing your thighs together from beneath your dress.

"Hm?" he hums with a kiss at your temple.

"I dunno," you whimper.

"Grab your tongs and start arranging the chicken around the edges until the whole skillet is full," he directs.

The sheet of raw chicken is half empty when Grant finally brushes his thumb along the side of your clothed breast.

He notes how you forewent wearing a bra tonight.

"Your apron too tight?" he asks while tugging curiously against the front.

"M-Maybe," you stutter.

Moment of truth.

Cautiously, he slips his hands between your dress and apron and cups both your breasts in his large palms. You gasp sharply and nearly drop the utensil you're holding.

"Keep going," he orders. "You're almost there."

Yes, Chef, you muse.

Circling your nipples with his fingertips, he doesn't stop until they're pebbled. Grant begins to gently tug against their hardened peaks. "Good girl," he purrs. "You did perfect. Now, go ahead and flip the pieces over."

With vigilant determination, you turn the poultry from one side to the other.

After only three pieces, Grant maneuvers a hand past the neckline of your dress and grabs your naked breast with his bare hand.

"Oh God," you whine and your hips buck back against him.

"Just a few more and then we'll cover it and let it cook. Go on, sweetheart. Do what chef tells you to."

Unable to help yourself, you do as Grant says. But you sigh and whimper all the while as his callouses scratch pleasantly against and between your breasts.

Settling a lid atop the pan, you reach for a timer. "H-how long?" you pant.

"Half an hour. Should be enough time for us to finish."

Winding the dial, you point the arrow at 30, then set it down.

"Do you like this?" he rasps while shoving a second hand beneath the neck of your dress. "Does it feel good?"

You nod slowly. "Yes."

"Do you want more?"

"Please," you moan.

You almost sob when his hands retract. Until he gently spins you around to face him.

"How much more?" he asks while cupping your cheek comfortingly.

Your lips slightly part, but the thought of saying it... You don't always know how to be forward about your own desires.

"Because I want to taste you," Grant utters. "I have from the first."

Guiding you by the hips back to a sprawling, empty surface, he grabs you by the waist and hoists you up. "Is this okay?" he questions while trailing a palm from your calf to your knee.

"Yes," you whisper.

He goes higher, only stopping once his fingertips are prodding against the thin, slick material of your panties that're now sticking to your pussy. "Fuck," he curses. "You're so wet for me."

Rolling your dress up past your thighs, Grant hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties. Kneeling on the floor, he stares up at you with reverence. "Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head, then wiggle your hips. "More."

Leaning forward, he presses a firm kiss to your damp panties, drags his speared tongue along the soaked material, then tugs them down in one swift motion. Tucking them into his pocket, he encourages your thighs over his shoulders and swipes his tongue through your slick folds.

God, he's in Heaven. Here, with you now, he's exactly where he's supposed to be.

You suck in a sharp breath, then tangle your fingers in his silver hair to keep him close.

When you begin to rock your hips, he swirls his tongue over your swollen clit while easing two fingers between your warm, fluttering walls.

You taste better than he could've ever imagined. Are softer, wetter, and more needy than he anticipated you would be.

"You're so perfect," he mutters while kissing your inner thighs before returning to your fluttering cunt. "Better than I thought," he grates.

And he has one hell of a palate.

Planting a sweaty palm atop the cool countertop, you lean back and prop a foot atop it. You're sure the two of you are committing at least a dozen health-code violations right now, but you couldn't care less.

"O-oh my God," you stammer.

"Come for me," he demands while craning his head back. "Come on my tongue. Now."

Shoving his head back between your thighs, you squeal quietly when he returns to teasing your clit. When your walls begin to clench around his thick digits, he refuses to come up for air. You're so close and he needs to be the man to give you this.

Sucking your labia and fingering you with rapid abandon, your pussy squelches and leaves his palm and your ass both covered in arousal. Not even the finest fucking wine could compare to you. If he could bottle and drink you, he would.

Swear to God he would...

You bite your lip, tug against his sweaty curls, then shudder violently as your orgasm wracks through your body. "Oh my God, Grant," you cry while your mind circles and your arousal crashes through you.

He whimpers against your slick, swollen opening while palming himself over his black slacks.

Grant moans while kissing your pussy in thanks for what it's just given him in return.

Once you finally calm, you slide your leg back over the edge of the counter and go loose—your limbs now feeling weakened; like jelly.

Grabbing your face, Grant crushes his lips to yours. He makes wet smacking sounds while he fucks your mouth with his tongue—his saliva and your own slick pooling beneath your tongue. "You should know how good you taste," he pants.

Trailing kisses down your neck, you clutch helplessly at his chest as his coarse stubble scratches your sensitive skin.

"I wanna be inside of you," he rumbles while nudging your thighs further apart. Tilting your chin back, he stares into your eyes with feverish hunger. "Please let me have you."

Your jaw falls open and you grasp for words to explain. "I... I don't just—"

It's as if he can read your mind before you've even completed a thought. "After this, you're mine. I'm too old for playing games with the woman I want and have been waiting so long for."

"We'd be—"

"Together. Unless you ordered me away," Grant explains. "Fuck, Y/N, please. I'm begging you."

Reaching up, you tug the top of your dress down and let it pool around your waist, exposing your breasts to him.

And Grant drinks you in greedily.

Dipping his head, he sucks a taut nipple into his mouth, then laps at the opposite with his warm, wet tongue.

Grasping at his belt, you suddenly still.

Grant lifts his head and cups your cheek cautiously. "Do you wanna stop?"

"I'm not...on anything anymore. And I'm—" you gulp. "I'm ovulating right now."

He chuckles. "I might've guessed."

You raise a brow, questioning whether you should be offended by whatever he's implying.

"How wet you got for me," he continues. "I loved it. It was perfect."

You smile.

"I don't exactly keep condoms here in the kitchen," he says with a knowing look.

"I could... Wind up—"

"I know," he whispers while cupping the back of your head in one hand and wrapping the other securely around your naked waist. "And if that did happen, I'd take care of you. I—I want to anyway. I've been... I've been too married to my work. I don't regret it, but there are things I've missed out on." He kisses you tenderly. "Now here you are. Finally."

He pops a tine on his belt loose. "Do you want us to keep going?"

You nod slowly.

Grant unbuckles his belt, pops the button at the top of his pants, then unzips them. "Do you want me inside of you?" he questions while running a certain hand down your side.

"Yes," you sigh.

"If I do this, I can't pull out. It... It's you. I just can't, Y/N. I need you to understand what I'm telling you."

Wrapping an arm around his neck and another around his side, you cling to him. "I understand."

Shoving his pants and briefs down to his ankles, Grant takes himself in hand and pumps his cock a few times, runs the pad of his thumb over the leaking tip, then eases its girthy length between your slick, accommodating walls.

Once Grants has bottomed out against your perfect cunt, his hips stutter and he whimpers close to your ear while holding you suffocatingly close. "Fuck, sweetheart, I don't know how long I'm gonna last like this," he mutters while slowly rocking his hips.

Burying your face against his neck, your shake your head. "Do what you need to. I want you to finish."

Besides, you already have.

Pumping his thick, veiny cock between your stretchy walls, a whine crawls up Grant's throat, and halts there, until he gasps for air, and the breath his releases sounds more like a quiet cry.

Cradling the backs of each other's heads, his arm circles your waist while your hand claws at his covered back. Grant's naked skin slaps against yours while your legs gyrate on either side of his hips where they dangle over the edge of the counter. "O-Oh fuck," he moans. "I'm already close."

You kiss his neck. "Please, Grant," you whisper.

His cock twitches. "Feel's good?" he asks while thrusting his hips.

"So good," you mewl.

His testicles begin to tighten.

"Almost there," he rasps. "You're doing so well for me. But, baby, I'm—fuck, it's gonna be deep."

You nod. "It's okay. It's okay, you can cum inside me."

He sniffles quietly. "Thank you for finding me," he mutters.

Planting a palm against his naked ass, you encourage him to keep rocking his hips.

Rolling them to get impossibly deeper inside you, his thrusts become hard and fast. So fast that a metallic pounding begins from where his thighs are knocking against the steel countertop. A bowl clatters to the floor, but Grant holds firm when you jolt. "Don't," he barks. "Stay still." He shudders. "Good girl. That's my good little girl. Almost—almost—"

A container of utensils falls over next, but it doesn't even phase him.

Meanwhile, you keep him close. His arms have tightened like coils now. You're surrounded by his muscled limbs.

"Fuck!" he shouts suddenly. "I'm gonna—I'm gonna cum. Fuck, I'm gonna cum so deep inside you, baby girl."

"Please, Grant," you plead. Your clit is so overstiumlated that with only a few more thrusts—

"Oh God," he groans. "Oh God, sweetheart."

Pressing his lips to the curve of your shoulder, his cock spasms between your walls and his balls twitch as he empties a load of built-up semen inside of you. Scooting closer, he angles his hips upwards toward your cervix while thick, hot ropes of cum spurt and coat your fleshy walls.

You twitch repeatedly in his arms while your cunt contracts tightly around his member. Your orgasm is silent, and less eventful, but feels just as good as it washes over you.

Once it's all over, you continue holding one another. "Did you cum again?" Grant asks quietly, while massaging the base of your scalp with trembling fingers.

"I did," you murmur before yawning.

"Good," he says with quiet relief. "Such a good girl."

He stays inside of you, but leans back just enough to capture you in a slow, passionate kiss. "Tell me you belong to me," Grant demands between brushes of his lips over yours.

"I'm yours," you assure him. "I'm yours, Grant."

He swipes a thumb over your sensitive clit—just above where he still has you stretched open. "Yes, you are."

Dinner is mostly silent. Grant sits close to your side as the two of you steadily snack on a mountainous plate of delicious fried chicken. Between your thighs, you can still feel his cum leaking out of you.

Lying your sleepy head atop his shoulder, Grant kisses the crown of it. "I've wanted you since the first time I saw you," he states after taking a sip of ice water. "And heard your voice."

You snuggle against his side. "Really?"