alex

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 coated 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 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?”

he's blaming himself, you know it. so you do the first thing you can think of: shut him up with your mouth and hands. is it a little manipulative? sure, maybe, but it works— pope's all over you, groping at your tits, your waist, your ass, as he devours you like a wild animal, licking into your open mouth. you manage to murmur a little "take it out on me," against his tongue, and that's exactly what he does.

soon you're getting fucked stupid by pope, impossibly stretched out by his fat cock. you've never had him fuck you this hard before: not when he'd had that phase of trying to breed you full with his kid, not even when you'd worn his favourite pair of heels for the first time.

pope goes full animal, grunting and groaning as he splits your juicy cunt open on every surface in the room. he's got you bent over bookshelves, pressed up against the windows, on all fours on the floor...

he gets you into doggy down on the ground and wraps his big meaty hands round the sides of your throat, squeezing so deliciously and it makes you clench around his dick. your cunt's making these gross slick noises cause you've got a bunch of his loads in you already, and it's all leaking and stringing out around his cock, but it just makes him fuck you faster.

his hips keep driving into you, his heavy balls tapping at your clit. the air in your room is hot and thick with sweat. you're certain the overstimulation must hurt for him, going round after round, but he doesn't seem to mind. maybe he wants it to hurt

You sigh, admitting defeat. “Yeah, I am.” You grab the cereal Nicky had picked up specifically for moments like these. “Froot Loops instead?”

She nods, her leg hair bouncing around her. “Yummy.” 

You grab a bowl from the cabinets, along with a spoon, clattering across from where she’s now sitting, having moved to a stool. 

“You should ask my uncle Pope for help.” She speaks with a mouthful of cereal. “He likes to clean.” 

The grin falls to your lips easily at the mention of Pope. “You, Lena Blackwell, are a genius.” You press a kiss to her temple, whipping your phone out. You send him a text that reads, ‘NEED HELP ASAP.’ 

He doesn’t rush downstairs, not like you thought he would. His eyes are immediately on Lena, even with his calmed demeanor, making sure she’s not injured. And then, to you. You’re grinning as you lean against the counter, “funny story, handsome,” you hum. “There was a robbery! Wasn’t there, Lena?” 

The little girl nods with a mouth full of cereal, scooping some more in her spoon. 

“That right?” He asks roughly, unamused. 

You nod, “yes. And you know what’s so horrible? They tried to take the expensive stuff but then they changed their path to the kitchen. And then, they tried to make pancakes.” 

“Tried?” He asks as he makes his way to the countertop, lifting a spoon that’s in a puddle of the white sludge. 

“No. They succeeded because they were really smart and knew how to cook.” You watch as he takes the mess in, carefully moving around the countertop, circling you and Lena. “And then, they took the cooked pancakes and told Lena she could only have Froot Loops. It was sick.” 

Lena nods, speaking with a mouthful of food. “It’s true, uncle pope!” 

Pope shakes his head, grabbing a towel from the sink, ready to get to cleaning. “Lena, don’t follow in her footsteps. Lying is bad.” 

You grin, turning to Lena who’s already watching you, waiting to hear what your argument is. You shake your head at her, silently telling her to forget his words. She’s content with that response, going back to her cereal. 

“It’s not lying. It’s story-telling.” You defend playfully, letting him clean the mess you’ve made. “I’m building up her imagination. She’s going to write best-selling novels.” 

He scoffs, “says the liar.” 

“Not a liar.” Both you and Lena speak at the same time. You two fall into fits of giggles. 

“You’re copying me.” You tease her. 

She grins, “no, you’re copying me.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Yuh-huh.” 

“Children.” Pope chastises, both of you turning to look at him as he’s moving the used plates and utensils into the sink. “Lena, go get ready for bed. You,” his glare isn’t tense as usual but it’s directed to you. “Wash the dishes.” 

You groan as Lena runs off with a giggle to her temporary bedroom. “Come on, it’s not my fault. It’s the robbers.” 

“Yes.” He repeats, “it was the robbers fault but they left and you’re here. Wash.” 

Despite the attitude that you have, you do decide to do it as he does the rest. You two clean in silence. It’s not horrifically awkward but silence means you overthink. And overthinking is bad. You have to keep going or it’ll be too much to handle. 

“Pope?” 

He doesn’t speak, a simple hum tells you to keep going. 

You don’t respond immediately, and you can feel the way he turns to face your back, “what?” His voice seems to be naturally harsh so you don’t flinch or stress over the tone. 

You put the plate down, turning to face him, wiping your wet hands with the dry rag beside the sink. 

You’re not nervous around men often. Most don’t hold a candle to you. To how great you know you can be. To how great you know you are. But Pope isn’t just any man. From the second you saw him three years ago at the grocery store, you know this was it. You knew even then, that Andrew Cody is the guy you’re going to end up with. And yet, you still don’t speak. 

The air is charged with tension. No, not tension. Softer. You can’t quite put your finger on it as you two stand there, barely a few scuffles apart, staring at each other. 

Your breath hitches, itching to say these words out loud. “I really like you.” You admit, a little too easily, because of how intensely you mean them. Wholeheartedly. Irrevocably. In any way to describe how truthful you're being. 

He doesn’t hesitate, “you’re lying.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, a scoff bubbling out of you. “Excuse me?” 

He shrugs, swinging a clean rag over his shoulder, arms crossed as he leans against the countertop. “That’s your hobby, right?” 

Now you’re offended, crossing your arms over your chest as well, “is that why you never take me seriously? You think that, because I like to lie, that my feelings for you are a lie, too?” 

“Would I be wrong to think so?” 

It’s your turn to not hesitate, “yes.” Breathily, “I wanted you the second you walked into the store.” 

“What?” His face scrunches in confusion, in that same cute way that makes you smile. 

“Nothing.” 

“No,” he takes a single step forward. “What store?” 

You wanted to hang this over him longer but you can’t. The excitement is burning through you. You need to tell him just how long he’s been invading your thoughts without even knowing his name. You need to tell him how much worse this need for him has intensified since getting to know him. 

“You really don’t remember me?” 

“Of course I remember you.” He sounds offended by whatever accusation you’re throwing at him. “I think about you all the time.” 

You take a step towards him as well. “You do?” 

He rolls his eyes, “don’t let it get to your head.” 

You laugh, “you’re letting it get to yours.” 

“What? It’s not.” 

“Not that one.”  You hum. 

He grabs the towel on his shoulder and covers his crotch as you cackle. “Shut up.” 

You shrug, still grinning. “Helen’s.” You speak the name of the grocery store. It’s a small, family owned grocery store, one where the owners are always over and chitchatting with the customers. A staple in the tight-knit community. 

“That your mother or something?” 

You shake your head, “the grocery store.”

“Okay… you want me to go to Helen’s? What do you need?” 

You groan, eyes shutting momentarily, trying to keep your emotions intact. You open them to his body much closer to yours, closing the distance. His hand is ghosting over your cheek, scared to touch you. “Do it…” your voice is small and desperate. 

It happens so fast. His hands fall to your cheeks, forcing your face up as he pushes you to lean against the sink, knee slotting between your thighs. His nose is nudging against yours, breath heavy against your lips. 

You’ve had his thumb in your mouth and his fingers in you. And not a single kiss. A forehead kiss but you’re not counting that. You need to kiss him. Have to. You’re desperate for it. You try to push your face to his but he holds your face back. “No.” His voice is whiney as he speaks, forehead against yours. “No.” Neither of you pull away. 

The camera linked to the doorway chimes, reading the license plate out loud in its robotic and monotonous voice. A button beeps and a familiar voice is heard as the machine asks to state his name. “Barry Blackwell.” 

He doesn’t fully pull away, not until the front door opens and in comes Baz. 

You clear your throat, fixing your shirt as Pope goes back to cleaning. You smile politely at Baz, “Mr. Blackwell.” You greet. “Welcome.” 

His smile toward you is seen as charming by most. And you don’t hate it, but you don’t care for it. “You can call me Baz.” 

You grimace softly with a laugh, shaking your head. “No… my step-dad tells me to never put my boss at my level.” 

Baz ignores this, turning to his brother, watching him carefully. “You good, bro?” 

Pope nods stiffly, “good.” 

It’s awkward. Pope clearly isn’t good and his brother knows this. You know this. And Baz is about to push, about to ask again, when you jump in. “I’ll show you to your room.” You push off the sink. “It’s right across Lena’s. Come on.” 

Baz nods, grabbing his bags again and following behind you as you lead him out of the kitchen. You don’t turn to look at Pope, scared to see how upset he is. Not for fear, but because the disappointment in his features will make you want to rush back to him in front of their company. 

“This is a really nice place.” Baz chimes as he inspects the walls and furniture around. 

You hum, nodding. “Yeah. Sammy’s parents are really well off.” You tell him. “He’s a stockbroker or something like that, I don’t know, some boring stuff. Mother’s a lawyer.” 

He whistles softly, “fuck. Should’ve picked a different career.” 

You huff a small laugh, opening the door to his bedroom for the next few days. “Property manager isn’t cutting it?” You joke. 

“Not even close.” He drops his bag as she leads him into the sleek and clean room. “They happily married?” 

You smile softly, “very happily.” You answer, unsure of what to say next. “Uhm… it’s late. I’m gonna go put Lena to bed and—“ 

“How is she?” He cuts you off. “Lena? Was she… upset?”

It almost warms you to know that he does care, which gets harder and harder to believe the longer you take care of the little girl. “At first, yeah. But she got over it. She’s having fun here. She picked some fruit with the gardener and Nicky when we got in. We’re thinking of making a pie tomorrow.” 

He lets out a breathy little laugh, nodding as he slumps onto the edge of the bed, taking a much needed seat. You’re slowly sliding back to the door, needing a quick escape. “So, you—“ 

He interrupts you again, “thank you, by the way.” He hums. “Allison’s boyfriend doesn’t want her to watch kids anymore while pregnant. And her mother…” he trails off for a moment. “She doesn’t care for being a mother any longer, clearly. Know you weren’t fond of kids at first, heard J mention it to Nicky. But youre good with her.” 

You take the compliment, “thank you. She’s… she’s a really great girl.” You add, “so, can—“ 

Again. “You are too.” You tense at his words. “You’re a great girl.” 

“Oh… uhm…” you wipe your sweaty palms against your bottoms, drying them as best as you can. “Tha-thank y—“ 

You almost want to yell when you’re interrupted again. But you feel relief wash over you when Lena rushes into the room, “daddy!” She jumps into her fathers arms, cheering happily and rambling away about what she did today.

This gives you the chance to slip out of the room, a heavy breath leaving you once you’re in the clear. “Fuck…” you mutter softly, anxious from the too long moment. 

You push off the wall you were leaning against, eyes falling onto Pope’s as he stands at the stairway, watching you with a cup of warm milk at hand. For Lena, of course. He’s watching you carefully, worried. You send him a small smile and walk to your bedroom, embarrassed. 

authors note . . . hiiii sorry for the lag!! hope you guys like it <3

the ceiling fan hums in the background – the odour of the weed sticking in the air.

“yeah well,” jack starts, flopping his arm on the sheets beneath him before sitting up with a low groan. he turns his face to see yours, his hair unruly as the light catches the silver at his temples. he glances down at your lips as you take another puff of the joint. 

“you make me feel years younger, kiddo.” 

he leans over, his calloused hand falling onto your knee where your shirt meets your thigh. rubbing small, lazy circles onto your kneecap as jack looks up to you through half-lidded eyes. 

“come sit on daddy’s lap,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep and heat. 

you raise an eyebrow, the joint hanging out of your lips. jack settles back on the bed, patting his thigh with a relaxed smile. 

“don’t complain when your back hurts, old man," you giggle, swinging your legs over his lap, straddling his thighs with a slow, practised movement.  

once you're settled, jack reaches up and plucks the blunt off your lip, the pad of his thumb pulling down your lower lip. he takes a puff; the cherry end burns orange when he exhales. a plume of smoke escaping his parted lips.

he looks up, taking you in.   

the shirt has ridden up – the white of his stolen boxer briefs peeking out. your chest falls and rises in short bursts, nipples hard under the thin fabric. your hips grind instinctively against his clothed bulge as he pinches them through the shirt, his index finger and thumb tugging your nipples as you watch jack swallow around a moan. 

his head hits the headboard. “oh, you’re trouble,” jack says, his hand sneaking up the hem of your shirt. his eyes search your bloodshot ones; in a silent agreement, he takes it off in one swoop, fingers deftly unclasping the bra.  

he doesn’t take his eyes off the sight. not even to throw the clothes somewhere on the floor.   

you, half-naked on his lap, wearing his boxers.   

his pretty girl.   

“you going to take those boxers off? or are you going to let jackie do everything?”   

you hum in faux thought, dragging his free hand down to the waistband, leaning back on the heels of your feet. his fingers skim over the logo before slipping in and tugging them down halfway.   

your hands make quick work of his belt, discarding it on the floor whilst he sets the joint on the glass ashtray beside him on the nightstand, hands stumbling when you palm him through his pants again. 

with a moan, jack makes quick work of the rest of his clothes. he pushes the rest of the pants with his boxers off his legs in one frantic motion until his cock springs free and his stomach.   

“look at what you did to me, kiddo,” he says, his voice hoarse and rough. 

he spits in his hand before stroking the length of his cock in long, slow strokes. you bite your lip, beads of blood breaking skin at the intrusion. 

“need you so badly, jackie,” you crawl up to his chest, hovering your cunt above him making work of his cock. you whine, your nails digging crescent shapes into his freckled shoulders. “god, jackie, please, fuck me.”

jack stops the pumps of his hand to dip two fingers in your folds, groaning at your wetness – you don’t even know whether it’s from the pot you’ve been smoking for the past ten minutes or sitting on jack’s lap, bare, laid out for him, but that doesn't matter. 

not when he's fucking you with reckless abandon. not w

the only thing that crossed your mind was him, tunnel vision and the haze of smoke fogging any rational thinking – the world minimising to jack, your jackie, relieving the coil in your stomach. 

“this all for me, kiddo?” he breathes out, bringing his fingers to his mouth. his tongue swirls over the ridges on his fingers, humming lowly under his breath. he smacks his lips, darting his tongue out to catch a stray drop. “god, she’s soaked for me. you want my cock that badly?” 

you nod frantically, pawing at his dick helplessly. jack chuckles, his voice dropping with a hint of condescension. “oh, my girl is needy. but that’s okay. that’s what she has me for, doesn’t she?” 

he rubs his cock slowly through your folds, his hand catching your body as you collapse further into him. 

“jackie, its-” 

“i know, jackie’s here,” jack hushes you, rubbing his thumb in circles against your hip bone. 

he finally pushes into your entrance with a groan; his eyes squeezing shut as he nudges into you inch by inch. you let out a cry as he bottoms out – jack's lips smash against yours, swallowing your moans as he thrusts his hip up languidly. 

you gasp as he moves beneath you, jack using this opportunity to slip his tongue past your mouth; the sticky heat and the faint tangy taste of your pussy on his mouth making your head spin. 

you pull back from his lips for a breath of fresh air, leaning your forehead on his.

“god, you feel so fucking good for me, baby,” jack says, his voice husky from desire. with another roll of your hips, he lets out a low, strangled moan as his fingers leave small indents in the flesh of your hip. 

“jackie, it feels so good,” you mewl, looking at him through glassy eyes; your jaw is slack as drool collects at the corner of your mouth, dripping down your chin. 

“i know, baby, i know.” his calloused hands grab your waist, his grip sure and firm as he stalls your hips, movement coming all down to a halt. 

reaching out blindly, jack’s hands feel out for the discarded blunt. once he’s got it, he sits up properly, his cock shifting inside you, causing you to whimper again. 

“jackie,” you plead, sniffling. “please don’t stop.” 

“shhh,” jack coos, biting your earlobe with a sharp tug; his other hand rubs your back up and down in a soothing motion. “i got you. you trust me don’t you?” 

jack takes a massive toke, his chest heaving in as he stubs out the remaining embers into the glass tray. roughly carding through the hair from the nape of your neck, jack pulls you in to meet your lips, blowing the smoke into your lips as he keeps pressing into you. 

the room quickly fills up again with moans and grunts, sounds of flesh hitting flesh as jack continues his half-hearted thrusts, chasing the pleasure as if it continues to slip out of his grasp repeatedly. 

he lets out another groan at the feeling of your cunt clenching up on him. through the thin veil of smoke, he looks up at your fucked-up gaze, bouncing up and down on your knees as you take pleasure from him.

“baby, i’m going to cum-fuck—" he manages to choke out as you fuck yourself onto him harder. “shit, i’m going to fucking cum in you.” 

you moan at his words, nothing he’s saying even registering in your brain. the only thing, at this moment, worth remembering is the feeling of his cock twitching inside you as he hits your g-spot. 

“jackie, please i fucking want it!” you babble, the unrelenting heat in your lower back pooling. 

“kiddo wants my cum?” 

so unfortunate he didn’t record this one, he could listen to that on loop for hours.

“kiddo wants jackie to cum in her?” jack groans, continuing the bucking up of his hips. “jackie will make her all nice and round with his cum, yeah? and then she’ll have to explain to her father why his best friend got her all barefoot and pregnant?”

“you want that, kiddo?”

“god, jesus, fuck my father. shut up and just fucking cum in me.”

at those words, jack hips stutter as he fucks his load into you, feeling the walls of your pussy tightening on his cock – both of you cumming at the same time. once you ride out your wave, you lean fully into him, his softening dick still inside you as he flutters his eyes shut. 

a moment passes, the room plunging into silence – the only noise coming from the faint zooming of the cars outside and the heavy inhales and exhales coming from both of you, a tangled mess of limbs, on your bed.

“jesus,” you groan, burrowing your face into his neck as jack puts his face into your hair. “you going to move?” 

“well,” he starts, his voice lilted as he takes a large exhale, “you wanted my cum in you so...now we just have to wait until your daddy comes home.”