Confuzzlement

May 25, 2028

I don’t know where to start. Maybe with the truth. I’m sorry. Not for kissing you. Not for wanting you. But for every time I stayed quiet when you needed me to speak. For every night I pretended friendship was enough. For letting you walk away thinking you weren’t everything to me.

I used to think love was supposed to be easy. But what I felt for you was never easy. Loving you meant that there was the possibility of losing you and at the time I wasn’t brave enough to risk that. Joke’s on me.

I should’ve fought for you. I should have fought for us. I should’ve said, “I love you. Be with me.” But, I didn’t. I watched you walk away. I let you build a life without me.

Now I’m left with scraps. I’m haunted by the distant echo of your laugh in my kitchen. The phantom touch of your palm against my beard. 

The way you looked at me tonight will forever be ingrained in my head.

You’re not mine. Maybe you never were. 

But, I think I’ll love you until there’s nothing left of me and I hate myself for ever letting you think you weren’t enough.

Lucien

November 2026

The group had squeezed into the usual corner booth at the bar, too small for six people, which meant that you and Lucien were pressed thigh-to-thigh with nowhere to go. He was leaning on his hand, elbow on the table, watching you with that lazy half-smile you adored while you idly twirled the straw in his old-fashioned rather than the one in your own drink. One of your mutual friends was in the middle of telling some chaotic story about a disastrous location shoot in Prague, but you were only partially listening, the low hum of laughter and clinking glasses fading into nothing but background noise. 

Your gaze dropped to the patchy stubble along Lucien’s jaw. The salt and pepper was coming in thicker these days, especially around that little heart-shaped patch you’d always found unfairly charming. You didn’t even realize you were moving until your thumb lightly brushed across his dimpled cheek. Your palm followed, cradling the sharp line of his jaw, fingers slipping lazily into the short, coarse hair of his beard as Lucien leaned into your touch. The texture was addictive, soft when you stroked with the grain, rough when you dragged your fingertips back the other way. You moved without thought, back and forth until you couldn’t focus on anything else. 

Lucien turns his head a fraction, not enough to break contact, but enough so that he could glance over at you, allowing you to feel the faint flex in his jaw. “You do that a lot,” he murmurs, voice low enough that it makes your heart do that fluttery, traitorous thing that reminds you that whatever you’re feeling is definitely not platonic. 

“Do what?” you ask, quieter than intended.

He tilts his head, almost imperceptibly, his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile he doesn’t quite want to let escape. The usual playful glint in his eyes has darkened into something deeper – something that makes your stomach tighten and your breath catch in your throat. “That thing. With my face,” he says, his breath ghosting across the inside of your wrist.

The tension between you suddenly feels electric. You still your movements, only to feel the steady thrum of his pulse change pace under your palm, causing a shiver to race down your spine. You’re suddenly painfully aware of how close you are, your bodies angled toward each, knees knocking together under the table. His eyes flick down to your mouth for half a second before returning to yours and the charged space between you feels like it could spark if either of you so much as breathe too deeply. 

Before you can come up with any kind of response, one of your friends, who is tipsy and far too loud, leans across the table with a grin. “How have you two not fucked yet? You’re practically all over each other right now.” 

Heat floods your face and you pull your hand back from Lucien’s jaw quickly as if it had burned you. The moment suddenly feels too exposed under the scrutiny of your friends. The comment lingers in the air, impossible to ignore even though you both try. The table erupts into laughter and someone else chimes in with a sarcastic comment, “Seriously, Lucien, you look like you’re two seconds away from sticking your tongue down her throat.” Lucien lets out a soft chuckle and shakes his head, but you notice the way his ears have gone slightly pink. 

The rest of the night passes in a haze of forced conversation and stolen glances. Every time your knees brush under the table, your stomach flips. Every time he laughs, he checks to see if you are as well. You can still feel the ghost of his beard against your palm just as he can feel the weight of your touch.

When your friends finally start to disperse, you step out into the cool night air and lean against the passenger door of Lucien’s car, arms loosely crossed and heart still hammering as you wait for him to wrap up. He doesn’t unlock the car right away, but instead walks straight up to you, crowding you gently against the door. The heat of his body cuts through the night’s chill. He’s close enough that you can smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the bourbon he’d nursed earlier. “You comin’ to mine?” he asks. 

You stare at him for a second, lost in his chocolate brown eyes. There’s something different in the way he’s looking at you tonight. The streetlight catches the silver in his beard and your heart stutters deep in your chest. You nod, shaking your head with a small, shy movement. Lucien’s mouth curves into that slow, devastating smile that always makes something unfurl low in your belly. He doesn’t say anything else, he doesn’t need to.  He simply unlocks the car and reaches behind you, opening the door while making a dramatic motion for you to get in.

The drive to his place is thick with a different kind of tension from what you’re used to. Lucien keeps one hand on the wheel while the other rests on the gear shifter, dangerously close to where your thigh presses against the center console. Every few seconds his fingers tap restlessly making small, unconscious movements that cause his knuckles to just barely brush against the side of your leg. You don’t dare move. You’re hyper-aware of every inch of space separating you, noting how little there actually is. Lucien’s jaw is tight, his eyes fixed on the road, but you catch the way his throat works when he swallows. You look out the window, the city lights streaking past as you both sit, content with listening only to the low rumble of the engine, as he takes the exit ramp off the 101 leading to his studio in Los Feliz. 

Stepping inside Lucien’s apartment, you silently toe off your shoes by the door and hang your jacket off the doorknob to the coat closet before flopping down onto his sectional. Lucien locks the door behind him, shrugging off his own coat and hangs both up properly. He takes his place seated next to you and gently maneuvers you until your head rests on his thigh. You look up at him, the position intimate and familiar, yet tonight it feels brand new.

For a long beat, neither of you speak. His hand rests lightly on your arm, thumb brushing slow, absent circles against your skin. You reach up without thinking, letting your fingers find his jaw again, just like they had at the bar. You trace the heart-shaped patch of his beard, indulging in the delicious scrape of the coarse hair against your fingertips. “Again with that, huh?”

Your fingers still from embarrassment. “Do you hate it?” Your stomach twists with a sharp spike of worry. The thought of losing him – your constant, your safe place, the one person who makes the world feel steady – makes you sick. What are you doing? 

You start to pull your hand back, heart pounding with sudden panic, but Lucien catches it gently, pressing your palm back against his jaw. His eyes meet yours, dark and unwavering, giving you the confidence to continue your lazy exploration, trailing from his jaw, down his neck, then back up to where his hair curls against his nape. Lucien tips his head down, giving you more space to touch him and lets out a hum. “No,” he admits, his eyes half-lidded, “I don’t hate it.”

The relief that floods through you is dizzying. You stare at your hand pressed to his cheek, noticing the way the salt-and-pepper fades into his sideburns as you continue to stroke through his beard. “How do you not know you're the most attractive man in every room?”

Lucien’s eyes flutter open, his gaze softening as he looks at you with something akin to endearment. The silence is deafening and you wish you could take it back or just laugh it off. His jaw clenches under your touch, his lips parting as he exhales. You feel the way his chest rises and the way his thumb grazes over your knuckles, where he’s still pressed to your hand. 

You don’t make any effort to move, caught up in the way that he looks to be focused solely on you. You whisper his name and his mouth twitches, the corners of his lips fighting a smile. Lucien closes his eyes, leaning further into your touch and lets out a steady exhale. When his eyes open again, his pupils are noticeably darker. “God help me,” he says, “but I want to kiss you.”

You feel the air leave your lungs. All you can do is stare up at him, your hand still trapped against his cheek. You can feel his jaw move as he speaks but you don’t hear what he says, your pulse thundering in your ears. Lucien taps your arm, signaling you to lift up from his lap and he helps you to sit up next to him. He slides closer to you, his hand finding the back of your neck as he leans in, resting his forehead gently against yours. Time stops and everything moves in slow motion. The heat of his breath ghosts over your lips as the world narrows to the tiny sliver of space between the two of you. 

Every nerve in your body is vibrating with an unbearable awareness. You can feel the heat rolling off his skin, the subtle tremor in the hand cradling your neck, and the way his pulse hammers in time with yours. His scent surrounds you, something uniquely Lucien that you’ve always associated with home. The years of careful boundaries – of pretending these touches were innocent, of swallowing down every ache and plea for him to be yours – have all collapsed in on themselves in this singular suspended moment. Terror and longing twist together so fiercely you can barely breathe. You can sense the gravity of him pulling at you, tugging at some invisible thread between your bodies. Every fiber of your being is screaming at you to close the distance that would only take a tilt of your chin. “Lucien,” you whisper.

Lucien’s mouth finds yours, hesitant at first, his lips barely making contact. They’re warm, softer than you ever imagined they would be, and the tentative pressure makes your stomach drop straight through the floor. For a long, suspended beat, neither of you moves. The world holds its breath right along with you. Lucien’s stubble rasps lightly against the edge of your thumb where your hand cups his jaw, and you shiver at the scratch of it, a sharp reminder that this is real. That this is happening. That this is happening with Lucien. Your Lucien.

Your fingers curl against his jaw, urging him closer, and he takes that as a sign to deepen the kiss. His mouth moves against yours with a slow, devastating hunger, as if he’s been starving for this for just as long as you have. It’s warm and wet and messy in the best way. His tongue brushes yours, the taste of him flooding your mouth, causing you to part your lips a little wider in invitation. When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough for his forehead to rest against yours again. His breathing is ragged, matching your own, hot little puffs against your kiss-swollen lips. “Tell me to stop,” he breathes, voice wrecked and barely there.

You do the exact opposite, chasing his lips and grabbing a fistful of his shirt so that he can’t go far. Your other hand finds purchase in his hair, fingers twisting as your mouths meet again in a frantic, dizzying drag. Lucien groans into your mouth, his eyes rolling back into his head despite already being closed. His free hand slides around your waist, palm spanning wide like he wants to pull you right into his lap. Instead, he leans forward, urging you down onto the cushions until he’s over you, braced on one arm, his chest pressed into yours. He continues his assault on your mouth, your tongues colliding until your lips are slick and swollen, your lungs screaming for air. He lets out another groan that’s swallowed between you as his tongue pushes deeper, sweeping slowly before retreating, coaxing you to chase him. 

You expect him to come right back, but his lips begin a trail along the hinge of your jaw, down to the hollow beneath your ear, and finally to the column of your neck. The kisses he leaves are featherlight, a brief press of his mouth against the beat of your pulse. The scrape of Lucien’s stubble burns deliciously against your skin, sending sparks racing down your spine with every shift of his jaw. He groans low, his tongue dragging over the heat of your flesh, making you gasp. The sound seems to snap something inside him and he shifts closer, slotting himself between your thighs. He sucks at the curve of your throat until your skin throbs, leaving a mark in its wake.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against you. Your head falls back, granting him further access which he greedily takes, his mouth nipping over every inch of available skin until you’re trembling beneath him. His mouth drags higher until he’s right against the shell of your ear and he whispers, “You have any idea what you’re doing to me?” His lips close over your pulse again as if to prove his point and you can’t help but arch your back until your hips meet his. He lifts his head, his nose brushing along your cheek, his mouth grazing the corner of your lips. “Tell me you want this,” he pleads.

You answer him with a desperate clash of your mouth against his, another groan tumbling from his lips in surprise. His weight presses you deeper into the couch, bearing down onto you like he’s trying to erase the space between your bodies. His hips shift without thought and you can feel the unmistakable press of him straining against the seam of his pants, nudging against your thigh. Lucien’s mouth doesn’t stray, his tongue slides against yours until you’re dizzy from it. The weight of him keeps you pinned, caged beneath him as every subtle shift of his hips grinds him more firmly into you. He swallows every sound you make, greedily groaning into your mouth as he takes more.

His hand dips to your waist, fingers digging into your side before sliding beneath your shirt. The rough pads of his fingertips skate against the bare skin of your ribs, his thumb stroking circles just beneath the swell of your breast. You breathe out his name and his hips roll before he can stop himself, the pressure making you keen upwards in response. His hand slips higher and he brushes his fingers over your nipple through the fabric of your bra. You claw at his shirt, dragging the material up his back, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin. The feeling of your nails drives his hips forward, the friction so precise that you writhe helplessly underneath him. “Yeah,” he mutters, “just like that.”

A broken moan is ripped from your throat, your fingers digging deeper into Lucien’s back, as he eggs you on. He curses under his breath, the word muffled against your skin, before his mouth finds yours again. The couch creaks as his hips rut harder, abandoning any pretense of restraint. You can feel the growing ache between your thighs every time his cock lines up perfectly with the seam of your jeans. “Fuck–”

Lucien pulls back and leans back on his haunches, taking only a second to yank his shirt fully over his head in one impatient motion. The sight of his bare torso above you makes your breath hitch as you take in his heaving chest, the muscles of his shoulders flexing as he tosses the shirt aside.

Before you can blink, his hands are on you again, shoving your shirt up past your ribs with a rough urgency. He pauses just long enough to search your face, eyes dark in a way you’ve only dreamt about. You lift your arms for him and he strips the shirt off of you in a blur, dragging your bra straps down in the process.  “Jesus,” he mumbles, his gaze dropping to your breasts. He cups them fully, rough palms kneading, thumb flicking over the peaked bud of your nipple in a way that makes your hips buck. The calluses on his fingers send little shocks through you with every pass. His lips blaze a path over the newly revealed skin of your chest until he reaches the swell of your breast. His mouth closes over your nipple, tongue flicking in teasing strokes that have you arching your back. 

You whimper, completely under his spell, lost in the overwhelming feeling of being wanted so desperately.  He squeezes your other breast in his hand, thumb brushing across the tight bud until it pebbles even harder under his touch. Your fingers twist tighter into his hair, holding him exactly where you need him. His teeth graze lightly over the swollen peak – a sharp, delicious scrape that rips a gasp from your throat – and he immediately soothes it with a broad sweep of his tongue. 

He switches to your other breast, pinching the nipple he just abandoned while his mouth devours the new one. His beard burns against your skin, the coarse scratch of it contrasting perfectly with the velvet heat of his tongue. Every time you arch into him, he lets out another broken groan that goes straight between your legs. “Lucien,” you breathe, as his hips grind harder into yours, the hard line of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh. His mouth leaves your nipple and he starts to make his way back up to your lips, leaving a trail up your sternum and over your neck until he’s kissing you again. 

Lucien shifts his weight onto one elbow, his free hand skimming down your stomach, fingers brushing over your ribs, making the muscles in your stomach jump. He fumbles with the waistband of your jeans before the button pops open under his deft fingers. The slow hiss of your zipper lowering cuts through the heavy breathing, sending a fresh wave of heat rushing through you. His hand dips beneath the denim, searing hot as he cups you firmly over your underwear. Your moan is immediate, your hips bucking into his palm like you have no control left. His thumb drags lazily over the damp fabric, circling over your clit with just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble and your toes curl. The soaked cotton clings to you, the friction maddening. “Don’t stop,” you beg, fingers desperately grasping at the couch cushions.

He presses harder, grinding the heel of his hand against you through the thin cotton while his mouth crashes back to yours, swallowing every desperate little sound you make. “You want my fingers?”

You nod frantically, beyond words, your heart hammering so hard it feels like it might crack your chest open. Every inch of your skin is burning, hypersensitive and alive in a way you’ve never experienced before. The weight of Lucien’s hand between your thighs is all too much and not nearly enough at the same time. You need him so badly it hurts. “Please.”

Lucien kisses you again, his hand sliding lower. The elastic of your underwear stretches under his fingers, then gives way as he slips beneath the fabric. His middle finger drags through your slick folds and the sound you make is broken as your entire body jerks against him. “Lucien–” you exclaim, hand grasping at his shoulder as his finger circles your clit. He finds your entrance, pressing the tip of his finger inside and your nails dig in harder into the skin of his back. Lucien pants against your mouth, pushing his finger in deeper and swallowing every sound falling from your lips. 

He withdraws halfway, then slides back in slowly, his thumb brushing over your clit at the same time. “Just like that.” His mouth crashes back to yours, tongues thrusting in time with his hand, kissing you while you moan into him. He adds a second finger, curling them inside you and your eyes flutter shut, gasping as he finds that perfect spot inside you. 

You tremble beneath him, hips rolling to meet every thrust of his fingers, chasing the pleasure that’s building in your core. The familiar heat coils tighter and tighter, your thighs starting to shake as his thumb keeps relentlessly circling over your swollen clit. “Lucien, I–” you start, letting out a small whimper as he continues to pump his fingers inside you. 

“You gonna come for me already?” he asks, holding back a smirk. 

You don’t even have it in you to respond, not even a shake of your head. Your orgasm crashes over you with warning, a broken cry falling from your lips as you arch your back off the couch, your pussy clamping around him. Pleasure floods your body in waves, your entire body seizing as your vision goes white. 

You’ve barely come down when he withdraws his fingers and makes quick work of the rest of your clothes, jeans and underwear shoved down and kicked away. He tugs down the zipper of his own pants and shucks his boxer briefs down past his thighs. The brief glimpse you get of his cock makes your mouth pool with saliva – he’s a little bigger than average, the tip flushed and already welling with a drop of precome. You barely have time to appreciate the sight as he rolls on a condom and settles between your thighs, the blunt head of him nudging against your entrance. 

Lucien looks down at you and presses a singular kiss to your lips, soft and sweet. “You sure?” You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing him back. He pushes in slowly, the stretch of him stealing the air from your lungs. When he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, you both shudder. He remains there, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed against yours as he tries to catch his breath. “You feel…oh fuck–”. 

His movements are slow at first, grinding the length of his cock along every sensitive inch of you as he finds a rhythm that has you whispering his name over and over. Every withdrawal has you aching and empty before he presses back in, filling you completely. The slick, wet sound of him moving inside you is obscene and intimate all at once, echoing softly in the otherwise quiet room. Every roll of his hips grinds his pelvis against your already overstimulated clit. You whimper his name again, your legs looping around his waist as if to pull him closer. Lucien’s mouth latches onto your neck as he starts to suck a second mark right over your pulse point. “Fuck–feel so good,” he groans against your throat. 

The praise makes you clench around him, drawing another broken sound as his rhythm falters, aching for a way to somehow be buried deeper inside you. His hips snap a little harder, the slow grind giving way to something more urgent. Sweat beads along his spine under your hands as you touch him for what feels like the first time. 

You’re drowning in everything Lucien. The slow drag of his cock inside you, the way he fills you so perfectly with every roll of his hips, the scrape of his beard against your skin – it’s all too much. The familiar pleasure coils tight in your belly. “Lucien–please–” You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore, you just need him close in every way possible. He moans your name, hips stuttering as he drives into you deeper, grinding against your clit with every thrust.

“Come on, baby,” he rasps against your mouth. “Let me feel you. Please–fuck, I need to feel you come around me.”

Your orgasm crashes over you hard, ripping a sharp cry from your throat as pleasure explodes through every nerve ending in your body. Your back arches off the couch, thighs shaking violently around his hips as your walls clamp down around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as wave after wave washes over you. You gasp his name, tears finally slipping from the corners of your eyes just from the sheer intensity of it all – the pleasure, the emotion, the years of wanting finally coming to a head. 

Lucien follows you with a guttural moan, burying himself as deep as he can go. His hips jerk against yours as he spills inside you. He shudders hard, breathing ragged and shaky as he rides out his orgasm, holding you through every aftershock.

For a long moment afterwards, the only sounds are your shared breaths and the rapid thud of your heart. There is a definite shift in the air, but neither of you speaks. The weight of what just happened settles over you both and it’s utterly terrifying. 

Lucien finally lifts his head slowly and when his eyes meet yours, you feel a sense of dread sink into your bones. Anxiety, panic, and what you can only interpret as regret is written plain as day on his face. His brow is pulled together tight, his mouth parted like he wants to say something but just can’t find the words. He turns his head, averting his eyes as quickly as he found yours.

You can’t do this. You can practically hear his thoughts in the silence – eight years of friendship only makes everything worse because you know him. He’s spiraling already, convincing himself this was a mistake. The thought of losing him, of going back to a life where he’s not your person anymore, makes your throat close up. 

You can’t breathe. You can’t stay here and watch the regret settle into something permanent. So, you do the only thing you can think of. You push gently at his chest, murmuring something about needing to use the bathroom. Lucien moves back immediately, slipping out of you with a quiet hiss that makes your stomach twist. You don’t trust yourself to look at him as you sit up. 

Your legs feel unsteady as you gather your clothes and your phone and rush to the bathroom where you pull them on with trembling hands. You order yourself an Uber and splash your face with water until you receive a notification the driver is on their way. When you step out, Lucien is sitting on the edge of the couch, watching you, but not stopping you from leaving. He doesn’t say anything. The absence of his voice hurts worse than anything he could have said. You slip out the door without another word, the soft click of it shutting behind you sounding final. 

You don’t talk to Lucien for three days. No texts, no calls, no silly little reels sent on Instagram. It’s pure torture. You’ve never gone this long without hearing from him. Not in all the years you’ve known each other. Time creeps by in slow motion. You find yourself checking your phone obsessively and hating yourself for it when you find nothing. You replay that night on an endless loop – the way he looked at you, the stupid feeling of his beard against your palm, the sound of your name in his mouth as he came, and then the devastating shift in his demeanor afterwards. You wonder if by pulling away he thinks he’s protecting the friendship by pretending that it never happened. The thought makes your chest ache so sharply. 

Your phone wakes you on the fourth day with a notification, just a small get together with friends. You almost don’t go, attempting to muster up a half-decent excuse to explain your absence, but you force yourself to show up, hoping that the smile pasted on your face looks real enough. You didn’t know if Lucien would be there or not as he had mentioned having overlapping plans weeks ago, back when things were still normal. Part of you hoped that he would come. Another bigger part of you was terrified that he wouldn’t.

The moment you spot him across the room, your stomach drops. He looks good – too good. His hair is a little messy, just the way he likes it. He’s wearing a colorful button down with the top two buttons undone, enough that you can see the definition of his chest and the gold chain that hangs from his neck. He’s talking to a girl, a pretty one – no one you’re familiar with – and he laughs at something she says, head tilted back, and the sound hits you like a punch to the gut. 

The night seems to drag on forever. No one notices the way your shoulders tense every time he speaks a little too animatedly, drawing the attention of everyone around him. No one, including yourself, sees the way his eyes keep drifting to your mouth when you sip your drink, lingering a second too long before he forces them away. When your eyes do accidentally meet, the air crackles with tension, widening the chasm between you.

When the group spills outside for air, you both end up on the same end of the rooftop. It’s just the two of you. The others are scattered about, laughing and smoking, leaving you in an uncomfortable silence. Lucien leans with his back against the edge, facing away from you as you peer down at the city lights glittering below. 

“Are you just planning on ignoring me forever?” you ask, voice quiet so nobody can overhear.

Lucien’s shoulders stiffen, his hands gripping the brick edge until his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t look at you, he can’t. Inside he feels like he’s drowning. He fucked up. He knows it. You’re the only thing that has ever made sense in his chaotic life, the one person who keeps him grounded when everything else spins out, and now he’s terrified that he ruined it. One night of giving in, one moment of weakness, and he might lose the one person who has ever truly known him. The thought of going back to a life without the easy way you fit into every part of his world is unbearable.

“I–” he croaks, his throat gone dry all of a sudden. Neither of you knows where to start, and when the host stumbles over and grabs Lucien’s elbow, begging him to tell everyone about his latest film, he lets her.

He’s tall, broad, graying, and stern. His dark brown eyes apprise every counselor in front of him as the group gathers on the camp’s front lawn two weeks before opening day. He goes over the rules and expectations of all staff members. You pay attention even though it’s the same old drill: no fucking around during working hours, make sure the campers are safe at all times, please report injuries and have them sent to the nurses station, et cetera. You could recite the rules by heart.

Only one thing has you concerned.

You raise your hand to speak. Joel glances over at you but continues talking, stressing the importance of keeping away from drugs and alcohol during the next two weeks, especially once the campers come on opening day. You know all that. Still, you wait with your hand raised until Joel sighs, giving you time to speak.

“What happened to Frankie?”

Joel tries really hard not to roll his eyes. “Francisco Morales won’t be here to help us set up. He’ll be here on the camp’s opening day.” He snorts, arms crossed as he eyes you up and down. “What, is he your boyfriend or somethin’?”

“No..” you reply, unable to stop the embarrassment from creeping up your spine. Of course you and Frankie hadn’t set any firm definitions about what you are, but the past two years you’ve spent here have also been spent by fucking him in the woods during early morning hikes, blowing him in the storage shed, and sneaking him into your cabin to have him go down on you all night.

You have his number, but there’s been no answer when you’ve called before driving up to the campsite. You wonder what’s keeping him from being here.

Piper, the girl you’ve hated since you’ve been counselors together these past few years, shoots a smug look your way as the meeting is adjourned, and she walks off with Joel’s arm around her waist. She glances over her shoulder at you, giving you the finger.

She’s just jealous because Frankie chose you over her two years ago. She hasn’t let you alone in peace since.

Joel is a hard task master. At dawn he has the counselors up and jogging through the trail in the woods and chopping firewood before breakfast. Swim safety is in the afternoon when the heat is at its worst, the air humid with the scent of sunblock and stagnant lake water. At the very least you’re given some time to lay out in the sun afterward, drying off on the warm boards of the dock.

Back at the cabins only two people are unaccounted for – Piper and Joel. The other counselors make crude guesses as to where they are and what they’re doing. You’re elected to go and find them before it gets dark. Piper has dinner duty and Maya refuses to do all the cooking alone.

Slipping on your jean shorts, your towel slung over your shoulders to catch the water droplets from your still-damp hair, you set out in search of Joel and Piper.

The sun is just starting to set when you find them in a thick copse of trees near the edge of the forest, Piper pressed against a tree as Joel’s fingering her, his hand down the front of her red bikini bottom as he plunges inside her, head bent close to her ear, muttering dirty things. You stop, half-hidden by the trees as you watch them, your own pussy growing wet just bearing witness. You know you should turn and leave, forget you ever saw this, just tell the others that Piper and Joel are coming back soon.

But you’re frozen to the spot, watching them in the secrecy of the woods, your own hand ghosting over your clothed clit, imagining what Joel’s thick, rough fingers must feel like.

There’s a sharp snap of a twig that echoes in the air, causing Piper and Joel to quickly part. You’re already hurrying down the path, shame and lust heating your cheeks.

Everyone is split up in pairs, the counselor bunks only small enough to house two comfortably, and unfortunately Joel assigns you and Piper together. You tell yourself it’ll just be a couple months and most days will be too busy for you to have to deal with her very much.

Piper grabs the top bunk before you have a chance to claim it. But once you’re settled in the bottom, she makes you switch back after she finds a spiderweb too close to the ceiling.

But even your nights can’t be peaceful. Joel sneaks in after lights out, and you have to endure the soft giggles and moans coming from the bunk below you. The entire bed frame rocks with Joel’s thrusts as he fucks your bunkmate.

Great, just great.

They make no effort to hide whatever’s going on between them. His hand is permanently on her ass, barely clothed in the camp counselor uniform shorts, his entire paw covering her ass cheek. The others don’t notice or don’t care, too caught up in their own romantic entanglements.

It only makes you miss Frankie more. Out here in the woods you have no way of contacting him except through the main office line, but Joel stands right in front of anyone who wants to call home, dials the number on the rotary phone, and waits with arms crossed as the call is made. Nobody does personal calls while he’s in charge.

You try to keep yourself busy with helping get the camp ready. The grass near the cabins is maintained, repairs are made to the buildings themselves (which Joel oversees, and you can’t help but to check him out a little while he’s fixing the sign above the infirmary – he looks too good with a hammer), checking that the generators are working properly, and that the electrical system and water pressure are good.

There’s so much to do that by the time you climb up into your bunk you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

The only thing that could possibly wake you is Joel fucking Piper in the bunk below yours.

Joel’s grunts and groans, paired with Piper’s moaning and gasping, keep you awake. You lose count of how many rounds they go, the entire bed bunk frame shaking with their movements. And at one point you can’t help it as your fingers travel beneath your sleep shorts, finding your wet pussy and tracing your slit. Two fingers fit inside you easily as you lift your legs to get comfortable. Closing your eyes you start fucking yourself on your hand, imagining Joel’s fingers inside of you instead of yours.

You’re trying desperately to keep your whimpering to a minimum but you doubt they’ll hear you over their own sounds. Your fingers match the pace of Joel’s thrusts, though you imagine his cock is a lot bigger than your two fingers combined. And the way he’s been fucking Piper for almost an hour solidifies the fact that his stamina is good.

Your fingers glide over your clit, circling and swiping, your hips arching up as you chase the friction you so desperately need for your release as you listen to Piper’s moans and Joel’s increasing grunts. Eyes squeezed tight you plunge your fingers as deep as you can, timing it just right with Piper’s final, momentous scream. You try to keep as quiet as possible as your release coats your hand, clit throbbing, legs quaking.

Joel corners you after breakfast the next morning, barring you from following the others to the field where a soccer match was planned. Instead he drags you to the boat shed. You hate it there. It’s dusty and cramped and there are cobwebs in the corners.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your heart in your throat as Joel peers down at you, something unreadable in his deep brown eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he mimics you. “You think I don’t know you were gettin’ yourself off to me and Piper last night?”

The blood drains from your face, leaving you cold. “Wh-what?”

“Stop actin’ innocent. You weren’t exactly quiet. Piper was laughin’ at you, sayin’ you’re a lonely little virgin.”

“I’m not a virgin,” you tell him tersely.

“Really?” Joel’s voice is full of derision. “Prove it.”

The blood drains from your face. “H-how?”

“You’re a smart girl. You know how.” But just to be mean he explains it in detail. “How about you bend over–” he slaps the hull of a nearby canoe and puts his hand on your lower back, pressuring you towards it. “--pull those pretty little short-shorts down and let me check for myself.”

“You’re not serious,” you sputter.

“You afraid or somethin’?” he smirks.

You’re not afraid per se. But you’re definitely wet enough so that he’ll tease you if he finds out. “Of course not,” you stand up to him boldly.

He looks amused by this, and the way he cups his bulge in his own shorts shows he’s more than a little turned on. Your eyes drop down to where his thick cock is hardening under the skin-tight fabric.

With determination in your eyes, you’re certain of yourself when you reach up and grab Joel by the nape of his neck, kissing him. His eyes go wide at the initial shock of surprise, but then they close, a deep and satisfied growl in his chest as he kisses you back, his tongue slipping past your lips. Your gasp turns into a soft moan as his large paw on your lower back presses you closer to him, rubbing his hard-on against you.

“I bet this pussy’s already soaked,” he mutters, finally breaking from the kiss to nip at your neck. “But first..” he pulls away, a devilish look in his eye. “Lift up that shirt, honey, and lemme see those pretty titties.”

You scoff despite the fact that you are indeed soaked, but you’re already this far in. You might as well go all the way. You lift up your shirt, your white lacy bra on full display. Joel’s big meaty hands pull down the cups, palming your tits with his rough bare hands, bouncing them in his palms. “Look at these.. you gonna lemme suck ‘em?”

Fuck. This isn’t going how you expected but you can’t complain. You nod and he immediately pulls you close, picking you up and pinning you against the canoe as he takes your nipple in his mouth, groaning, using his free hand to pinch your other nipple. “So sweet,” he groans, releasing off you with a wet pop before sucking on the other.

“Joel!” you gasp, a fresh wave of wetness seeping through your underwear.

“Don’t worry, I’m gettin’ there,” he mumbles, helping you shimmy out of your shorts and pressing you forward against the boat. He lands a quick spank across your ass cheek, chuckling at the way your flesh jiggles and the sound of your yelp. Then he spreads your cheeks wide. “Look at that.. pretty as the mornin’ dew..” He kneels down and laps at your honey, making you moan. Almost too late you catch yourself, muffling your own sounds with your palm.

His large, rough hand trails down your spine, keeping you in place as the thick head of his cock slides through your folds, collecting your wetness and teasing you as he slides between your cheeks. You mewl in protest as he chuckles. “Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not a virgin. Not the way you’re actin’ so greedy for my cock. Well darlin’, take it..”

He eases into you, using shallow thrusts and you can’t help but exhale, the rush of breath leaving you in surprise before he angles you down, sliding in to the hilt. “You’re full of me now,” he grunts out, holding steady to your hips. “God damn, tighter than a nun’s asshole.”

Your walls flutter around him with each stroke, your hands bracing you against the smooth wood of the upturned canoe. You whimper in time with each smooth thrust. Each time Joel bottoms out you feel it deep in your belly, probably deeper than anyone’s ever gone.

“Wish you could see how you’re soakin’ me,” Joel grunts, giving a few quick thrusts to let you hear the sound of your sloppy pussy. “How do you like it, darlin’? You want me to make a mess of you inside, or do you need me to pull out and shove this cock down your throat so you can swallow my load?”

“I-inside,” you pant. “I have an IUD.”

“That’s a relief,” Joel mutters, speeding up, one big hand wrapping around your front to tickle your clit. “C’mon, baby, need you to come on my cock before I bust inside you..”

He slows down just enough for you to work your way up to it, the heat building in your belly and your core, moaning at the way he lifts your hips to meet each thrust, sweat gathering at your temples. “Joel,” you whine, thinking of nothing but the way he’s fucking and filling and stretching your cunt. With an expertly angled thrust home you fall apart, moaning his name as you squeeze around him, and he picks up the pace, slamming into you until he swells inside you, his hot cum painting your walls. His cock is still twitching in the aftershocks when he finally releases his grip on your hips and pulls out of you. You quickly shove your underwear and shorts back on to catch his leavings already starting to leak out.

“Smart girl, bein’ on birth control,” Joel mutters, stuffing himself back into his own shorts. “I wish Piper was responsible like that.”

You school your features into nonchalance after you pull your shirt back down. There’s a little stab of guilt when you realize you’ve just fucked your bunkmate’s boyfriend.. even if she is a bitch. “What do you mean?” you ask innocently.

He reddens, as if he shouldn’t have spoken. “You’re sworn to secrecy, alright? Piper’s pregnant.”

“What?” Joel immediately clamps his hand over your mouth. He still smells like sex.

“Shut. Up,” he warns. “If I find out you told anyone else you’re packin’ your bags and goin’ home. Understand?”

You nod and whisper “Yes,” when he removes his hand. “It’s yours?”

He scoffs. “She says so. Still– not a peep. Got it?”

Piper becomes grumpy when Joel’s visits make an abrupt stop. But she’s no bitchier than usual, likely trying to get back into Joel’s good graces. Little does she know he’s only stopped coming to her because he’s taken up fucking you instead – in the storage shed, in the empty cots in the infirmary, the walk-in pantry in the kitchen. He maintains the position that he doesn’t like you very much while you’re in front of the others, sometimes giving you tasks you have to complete on your own – with the sole purpose of finding you to hook up.

The last night before the campers are due, everyone lets loose. Couples sneak off into the woods with sleeping bags and sinful intentions, some stay on the pier by the lake, drinking and laughing.

You’re the only one who’s made it to your bunk at an appropriate hour, wanting a full night’s rest before the big day. But your sleep is interrupted when Joel and Piper come in, slamming the door behind them, all over each other, kissing and giggling. With a silent groan you put your pillow over your head, already expecting to drown out the noises they’re about to make, which are going to keep you up all night.

They’re in the bottom bunk, a little quieter now that their mouths are busy. But soon there’s that familiar rocking rhythm and the sound of Piper’s moans and squeals, coming to a crescendo. Once again Joel’s stamina is off the charts. You’re in the middle of pleasuring yourself, two fingers shoved as deep as you can go, when everything stops and you hear Joel murmuring. There’s a creak as he gets out of the bunk, and Piper giggles as he positions her facing away. Now Joel’s eye level with your bunk and you gasp as you come face to face with him. He winks at you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you whisper as quietly as you can.

“She caught up with me. I couldn’t shake her,” he explains just as softly. “Don’t leave me hangin’, sweetheart. Bring that pretty pussy to my face.”

Without hesitating you lift up your nightdress, scooting to the edge of the bed, thighs spread around Joel’s face as he fucks into Piper – oblivious to everything going on – in the bottom bunk. He’s got his dick buried in her while he’s eating you out. You’ve never experienced anything hotter.

You hear Piper’s staccato cries as Joel pounds into her from behind, his own moans humming through your flesh, heightening your arousal, your clit standing at attention between Joel’s lips, his mustache tickling your soft skin. You already know you’re going to come when your legs start shaking, toes curling at the waves of pressure building up in your very core.

“Joel!” you try to whisper as softly as possible. “Joel!.. I’m gonna come!”

He only smacks harder into Piper, her own cries louder than yours. “Come for me,” he whispers back, the tip of his tongue giving one teasing swirl around your pearl before he dives back in. Your back arches off the bed, lightning shooting through your veins as your cunt pulses, drenching Joel’s mouth as you come. He groans, licking up every drop, watching you through his lashes. “Good girl,” he whispers, backing off when you become too sensitive, his lips warm on your inner thigh, stubble scratching at your soft skin as he pulls off of Piper, turning her around so she’s sucking him off.

You hear her moaning and sighing, gagging on his cock. Meanwhile Joel lazily fingers you, scissoring his digits inside your sloppy pussy, his eyes black and glossy while Piper deep-throats him. Your fingers card through his hair as you ignore the softening of your heart in seeing him so tame and vulnerable.

Your name is on his lips but he moans Piper just in the nick of time, his breaths growing unsteady as he comes close to the end, getting ready to bust in Piper’s mouth. You take his head in your cupped hands. “Come, Joel.. give her what she wants,” you whisper. He groans, his thrusts getting sloppy as he fucks his girlfriend’s throat, stilling at last, his features tensing then relaxing as Piper gasps softly, swallowing his thick load.

The next day Joel treats you the same as he always has. Everyone’s minds are on the Opening Day festivities ahead, even if some of the counselors look like they’ve only had a couple hours’ sleep. You’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, not just because of last night, but because you’re genuinely excited for summer camp to officially begin.

The campers hurry out of the stuffy buses and onto the rolling green grass, toting duffel bags, wearing the gold and blue camp tees and ball caps, eager for their summer to begin. Everyone is assigned to a counselor, and as soon as your group is ready you start to lead them to their cabin. You have a full day ahead: a quick icebreaker so everyone can become acquainted, a scavenger hunt that will enable the kids to work as a team, then a game of capture the flag, then lunch. You have your day cut out for you, and in the back of your mind you wonder if you’ll cross paths with Joel again..

Your thoughts are interrupted by someone shouting back at the buses. All the counselors turn to look, surprise written on their faces as they find one more latecomer to Camp Happy Trail.

Frankie Morales, adjusting the Standard Oil cap on his head, dark curls already sticking to the sweat on his neck, hurries off the last bus. His royal blue camp tee clings to his torso like sin, accentuating his broad frame. You’re speechless when he reaches you, putting his arms around you and lifting you off the ground before landing a big kiss on your lips. The campers are grossed out, giggling and making faces.

When he pulls away, cupping your face in his hands, you can feel everyone’s eyes on you, just as shocked as you are to see him finally arrive. “I missed you, babe,” he says, planting one more kiss on your forehead. “So what have I missed?”

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Of all the chaotic things you’d mapped out for your wedding reception, being wedged inside a bathroom with your ex-boyfriend buried beneath a mountain of tulle between your legs had definitely missed the tlist.

The exact same ex who had dumped you with those classic original lines about "needing to find himself" and "not being ready for anything serious."

God, you loathed him. He was a coward, plain and simple. Even so, infuriatingly, he remained the only ex still living rent-free in the back of your mind. Just sitting there, buzzing like a mild and irritating tinnitus.

You could never figure out if it was just your pride bleeding from his idiocy, or if —heaven forbid— you had actually been in love with the guy. Or maybe —and this was by far the most humiliating theory—he was simply the best sex you ever had.

Four years together, and the man had a hundred percent success rate in making you see stars. That was Alex’s one stupidly unfair talent. You couldn't even pinpoint what it was about him, it felt like a magic trick.

You’d never experienced anything like it before, and frankly, you haven't since. Never in your life had you hated someone this fiercely, loved someone this deeply, or had your soul temporarily leave your body over a guy using his fingers on you.

So, you brushed it off as a character building phase, merely a step in your life. You’d experienced those euphoric highs at least once, and you figured you should just accept it, telling yourself that if no one else felt like taking ecstasy, maybe true love was simply supposed to feel like a warm cup of tea.

And then along came Elliot.

A knight in shining armor someone would say, or rather, a Prince Charming with a Porsche. The absolute gold standard of a man. He had a real job, maybe way too real, and gave you everything on a silver platter. Your parents adored him, your friends were ready to marry him themselves.

He bought the big house, got you the luxury car, and funded the kind of vacations you’d only ever seen on social media.

Elliot wasn’t some music obsessed tortured artist, desperately trying to dig into humanity’s deepest desires only to find himself following notes on a sheet, like you can't just play your fucking cello like a normal man.

Which, of course, made you wonder if Alex had ever actually grown up. You hadn't seen him since that angry midnight shouting match in your apartment, the exact night where he packed his life away while you stood there in disbelief, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

The universe really has a sick, twisted sense of humor when it comes to making you face your regrets.

Because the second you started walking down the aisle, past the miniature orchestra Elliot’s overly pretentious family insisted on hiring, you saw him.

Alex. In a tuxedo, complete with a perfectly tied bow tie, irritating well styled curls, and that exact annoying smirk that instantly made you want to punch him straight in the jaw.

And as those elegant notes echoed through the air, you walked down the aisle, staring at your groom. The whole thing suddenly felt surreal, you marrying your soon to be husband, all while the most despicable ex-boyfriend of your life watched your every move.

You somehow stood there, forced to smile as your boyfriend recited his vows, before parroting yours right back. A delicate melody drifted through the garden where you and Elliot were legally tying yourselves together, notes floating in the air alongside the sweet scent of freshly cut lilies.

And just like that, you were a married woman. You’d always assumed that the moment you said "I do," you’d be floating on cloud nine, dying with anticipation for your bright future. Instead? Nothing much. You couldn't help but wonder if everyone else secretly faked this bliss, too.

The crowd erupted in applause as you and Elliot turned back, holding hands for the walk back up the aisle while the orchestra soundtracked your march.

Next up, the reception. More importantly, the open bar, which was currently your only hope for an amnesia that would take you out of your mind. The orchestra migrated with the crowd to the main hall, softly playing background music that would later —once the guests were drunk enough — give way to a DJ.

Dinner was served, but between bites, your eyes kept straying back to him. To your absolute horror, you caught him looking back. There he was, hands resting on his cello, fingers moving with effortless precision to match the tempo.

Those hands.

Those same hands. The ones that, after hours of endless practice sessions in your tiny shared apartment, would trace their way over your body — using that exact same rhythm to make you scream his name loud enough to test the neighbors' patience. Alex was nothing if not tireless.

And the longer you sat there watching him play —with your eyes locking every few beats— the more a deeply inconvenient heat began to creep up your neck, flooding you with memories you had strictly forbidden yourself from having.

And it is your fucking wedding…

To make matters worse, Alex clearly knew what he was doing. Sure, he was technically getting paid to be there, but every brief glance in your direction was calculated. Every slow curve of that maddening little smirk on his lips was a direct attack on your sanity.

So, naturally, you did the only rational thing a panicked, newly married woman could do: you slammed back your entire glass of wine faster than humanly possible.

Right on cue, your best friend slid into the seat next to you, leaned in and whispered "Did you see who's in the orchestra?"

"Unfortunately, yes," you gritted out, eyes still glued to your plate.

She let out a quiet laugh "Come on, isn't this hilarious?"

"I don't know," you muttered, swirling the drop of wine left in your glass. "I’m pretty sure I still actively hate his guts."

"Oh, please." She turned her head, blatantly checking him out. "The man is ridiculously hot."

You shot her a glare sharp enough to kill.

"What?" she defended herself, shrugging with zero remorse. "The biggest assholes are always the good looking ones."

You didn't even bother replying. You just grabbed a fresh glass of wine from the passing waiter and downed it in one gulp. You tried to clear your mind by talking to your husband.

When the orchestra finally packed up their instruments to hand the night over to the DJ, you were finally relieved. Of course, that relief was heavily aided by the combination of the three different wines you consumed, which currently had your head spinning just enough to enjoy the company around.

You dragged yourself to the open bar for a much needed glass of water.

Naturally, the universe wasn't done playing with you.

Before you could even signal the bartender, a familiar presence occupied the space next to you.

"Double whiskey." Alex ordered.

His voice.

He leaned against the bar, turning to face you with that shameless charm he’d perfected over years of being an absolute menace. He took a slow sip, his brown eyes locking onto yours with total and absolute zero hesitation.

"So," he drawled, his lips curling into that flirting smile that you detested at this point. "You actually went and got married. Found yourself a real big shot, huh? Heavy pockets."

You snapped your head around to glare at him, your alcohol fueled filter failing completely. "First of all, fuck off. And second — yes, Alex. I got married."

Alex didn't care about the insult, he just took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes tracking the way your pulse fluttered at the base of your throat.

"Good for you," he murmured, his tone dripping with fake sincerity. "Always thought you looked hot in white lace."

Before you could smack the smirk right off his face, he gestured to the bartender. "Another double. The groom pays anyway right?" he laughed.

He turned back to you, leaning in just enough that the heat of his body seemed to melt right through the layers of your wedding dress. The scent of him completely hit you.

"Are you fucking insane?" you murmured to him, "You know, everyone knows me around here."

"So what? Can't I compliment a woman once she is married? " he drawled with an infuriating wink, taking a sip from his fresh glass.

You really wanted — needed — to punch his face. Your body instead, couldn't stop your heart from hammering because of something else.

"Stop doing this. " you hissed, casting a glance around the room. "I’m married now, keep your mouth shut and get out of here."

"Relax," he murmured, his voice dipping lower as he leaned in just a fraction closer. The heat radiating off him made your skin prickle right through the heavy bodice of your gown. "I’m off the clock. Just a paying guest now…well, technically a groom-funded guest, just enjoying the party."

"Alex, I swear to God—"

"You're embarrassed" he observed, his eyes tracing the line of your collarbone before locking back onto yours with predatory amusement. "Is the prince boring?" he chuckled, "Or did you miss me?"

"I don't miss anything about you," you lied, the alcohol doing absolutely nothing to cool down the betraying flush on your cheeks.

"Right," Alex murmured while a smile spread across his lips. "That’s why you haven't taken a single step away from me since I came here next to you."

You didn't answer. You couldn't, honestly…not with your brain firing on about his body so close to you.

Alex didn't push more, simply swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly against the crystal. His eyes were never leaving yours as he sipped. You watched the movement of his throat as he swallowed, a traitorous memory flashing through your mind before you could stop it.

He set the glass down with a sharp tap on the wooden bar, you noticed his lips still glistening slightly from the liquor.

Without a single word, Alex moved, closing the tiny remaining distance between you until his shoulder was grazing yours. Just the magnetic confidence of his presence around you, mixed with the alcohol were doing dangerous things to your ethics.

His eyes dropped down to your lips, holding them there for one beat, two beats, before dragging back up to lock onto yours. A subtle and barely perceptible raise of his brow was his only commentary: Your move, bride.

The heat in your chest spiked dangerously. The room was full of your friends, your family, your brand-new husband — and still, in the silence of those few seconds, it felt like the only thing in the room were you and the electric pull of the idiot standing next to you.

You didn't say a word. Your eyes did all the talking, tracing a slow, agonizing path from the curve of his lips down to the dark fabric clinging to his throat, before finally locking back onto his brown eyes.

Then, with whatever tiny shred of self-preservation you had left, you broke the pull.

You pushed yourself away from the bar, your tulle skirt brushing against his leg as you turned. Without looking back, you began making your way through the crowd of drunken guests, heading straight toward the quiet hallway that led to the bathrooms.

Alex just stood at the bar, his eyes tracking your every step like a predator watching his dinner walk away. He tipped his glass back, letting the last golden drop of whiskey burn down his throat.

He knew. He knew exactly what that glance meant, and what your sudden retreat to the bathrooms implied.

He gave it a few moments, just long enough for your white dress to disappear completely around the corner.

Alex threaded his way through the sea of drunk guests, smoothly dodging an overly chatty uncle here and a stray bridesmaid there. He reached the hallway unnoticed, stepped into the bathroom, and before the door could even click fully shut under his hand, he pulled you into him.

The kiss started like a collision. It was fast, dirty, and desperate, a reckless explosion of four years worth of unfinished business, bitterness and hunger. His hands framed your face, fingers tangling in your hair and tilting your head back to sink deeper into the kiss, he tasted like whiskey.

You didn't even have time to register the insanity of the situation before an electric wave of heat pooled straight in your stomach. Your body was begging for years for this exact moment.

You were pressed against him, breathless with your mind completely ruined, at the mercy of the one guy you were supposed to hate.

"Don't make a mess," you breathed against his lips. "And do not ruin my hair."

Alex let out a low hum against your skin — half a laugh, half a groan— before slipping his lips down to trace the line of your jaw. He started trailing a path of borderline bruising kisses right down to the dip of your neck.

A quiet gasp nearly betrayed you right then and there. God. His tongue on your skin was nothing short of heavenly. Infuriatingly, the man still had a totally precise mental map of your entire body, knowing every single spot that would instantly make you lose your mind.

You were practically aching for him, completely dripping through your underwear, any trace of restraint fucked off the moment he stepped next to you in front of the open bar.

His hands slid down to gather the endless mountain of white tulle and slowly yank it upward. Before you could stop him, Alex dropped to his knees, disappearing beneath the absurdly massive layers of your wedding gown.

"What are you doing down there?" you whispered in a desperate attempt at reason, holding the heavy fabric up with shaking hands. "You’re going to suffocate under all this damn tulle."

"What a way to go." his muffled amused voice echoed from beneath the fabric.

A second later, his hands parted the layers, and his breath hitched as he took in the view. Diamond white silk stockings, held up by lace garters, and a sheer white lace panty that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

"Fuck." he rasped, he moved his head enough so he could look up at you from between your thighs with gleefully vicious eyes. "Is all this innocent white little lace supposed to be for your brand new, perfect husband?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He leaned forward and pressed a warm, lingering kiss right to the inside of your thigh, making your hips involuntarily twitch.

"Alex, please...Don't say this stuff." you choked out, your hands clutching the fabric as your breath hitched.

"Mmh... nah, I don't think so." he muttered against your skin, sliding his lips higher. "This? This is definitely for me."

He started trailing kisses up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, heading straight for the center, until his mouth rested right over the thin fabric of your lace panties, his hot breath making you shiver through the wet and aching silk.

Alex let a satisfied hum against your core, annoyingly glad he made you this wet, and that made everything worse because out of all the things you needed to tell him, the fact that you still craved to fuck him this much was last on the list.

Hooking his fingers into the band of your panties, he then slid them down your legs, Alex put one of your knees over his broad shoulder and pinned against the tiled wall. His thick fingers found your core, sliding suddenly through your slickness, making a needy breath catch in your throat.

"Shh," he rasped. "Keep it down, bride. We wouldn't want someone to hear you."

Then, he leaned in and placed his mouth directly on your core, his tongue finally playing with your clit.

You shoved your hand over your mouth to smother the gasp, your eyes snapping shut as your back hit the tiles.

It was infuriating how good he was. He moved his tongue like he was playing a solo on his cello, like a slow crescendo that built with terrifying precision. He knew every curve, every shift in pressure, you were going breathless. He was treating your body like a piece of sheet music he memorized years ago.

He kept stroking your sensitive spot with his tongue, not just licking, but sucking, feeling you with an hunger that made you think for a moment that he missed your body too. Electricity was running through your spine, jolts of pleasure making it hard to think straight. You could feel the stubble of his jaw scraping gently against your inner thighs, the heat of his breath drenching you.

Every few seconds, he’d pause just long enough to part his wet lips and whisper something filthy right against your swollen skin.

"Look at you," he rasped, "So wet for me in your pretty little wedding dress... Does your husband know how to make you tremble like this?"

His voice was making your hips involuntarily jerk forward into his face. Alex just chuckled against your wetness, his fingers gripping your thigh tighter to pin you still. "Don't move, sweetheart. Let me finish what I started."

And then he sank back in, deepening the pace, his tongue working with a flawless intensity on your nub and you couldn't do anything but gasp into the back of your hand.

You were right on the edge, you were desperately stifling the high and needy sounds threatening to spill into the bathroom.

Alex knew exactly where you were. He could feel the sudden, violent tension in your thighs, the way your body arched off the wall, how hard you were trying to press yourself on his mouth.

He moved just enough to coo a "Come on, baby." and without breaking the licks of his tongue, Alex slid a finger deep inside your folds. The sudden fullness drew a muffled, shattered gasp right into your palm, but before you could even catch your breath, he curved his finger upward, striking the sweet spot inside you he knew so well.

Fuck. It was like hitting the final, explosive chord of a symphony.

The combination was too much. The moment his finger began to hit that perfect spot while his tongue maintained the perfect pressure on your clit, your composure shattered completely.

The orgasm that hit your body was blinding, violent. Your hips bucked helplessly into his face and your legs trembling so violently Alex had to keep you firm above him.

He didn't pull away when you climaxed, but stayed there drinking in every drop of the so awaited honey of your orgasm, easing the pace of his tongue into soothing strokes while you throbbed gently around his finger.

One must think he was done, and that you two had to go back. Because you never know if your husband will start searching for you in the middle of your wedding party.

But Alex slowly pulled his finger free and letting out another hum of satisfaction, he backed out from under the layers of your dress.

"Don't even think about dropping that skirt" he ordered as he stood up to his full height.

You leaned breathless against the tiled wall, your legs still shaking like jelly while your hands dutifully kept the mountain of tulle hoisted up. Looking at him now only reignited the heat pooling between your thighs.

He was a breathtaking mess. His hair was now deliciously rumpled from your dress, a stray dark curl falling over his forehead. His lips were flushed, glistening wet with your own wetness. And beneath his tailored tuxedo trousers, a very prominent bulge made it clear he was far from finished.

You swallowed hard, trying to summon whatever small residue of dignity you had left, throwing him a look that was equal parts sheer resentment and desperate attraction.

"Well, I could just go away and leave you here to take care of this by yourself." you murmured, your breathing still a little heavy.

Alex smirked, "Do it." he teased you.

He closed the distance between you in one stride, taking your mouth again. The taste of your own slickness on his tongue hit you like a fever, and before you could stop yourself, your free hand tangled directly into his messy hair, pulling him closer.

Alex pulled back, breathing hard. "You know, if you changed your mind, angel... I can just stop and walk out right now." he whispered, his eyes dark brown eyes filled with fake innocence. "Leave you to go back to your husband."

"Don't fucking call me angel…" you hissed into his mouth.

He ignored you, dropping his head to bite gently at the crook of your neck while his hands worked at the button of his pants.

"I can't help it," he muttered against your skin, his hot breath making you shiver. "You're wearing all this pearly white — God, I want to tear this fucking dress right off you."

A sharp thrill shot straight to your core at his words. You really wanted to let him tear it off of you. It was insanity.

"You're talking too much Alex" you whispered desperately, your hand gripping his hair tighter. "Just fuck me already."

"Mmh," he rasped, his voice dropping into a dark, rough rumble as he finally freed his hard cock from his trousers.

Alex stepped in close, using his knee to part your legs wider. He grabbed a tight fistful of the bulky white layers, helping you hoist the dress high enough so he could fit himself right between your thighs.

With one arm braced heavily against the tiles beside your head, he leaned his weight into you. You hooked your leg around his waist, pulling him in, and a second later, the blunt head of his cock pressed straight against your wet entrance.

He slid inside you in one smooth push. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body tensing around him. The feeling of being completely filled by him was terrifyingly right, like an old almost forgotten habit your body instantly recognized. It felt... perfect. Exhausting, wrong, but absolute perfection.

Inside you, he seemed to grow even harder, every vein throbbing as your tight walls gripped him tight. Alex let out a really low ragged groan against your ear, his muscles locking up for a second just to ride out the intensity of how good you felt around him.

"Jesus," he whispered, his hot breath fanning across your neck. "You're so tight..."

He pulled back just enough to drive you crazy, before sliding all the way back in with a slow deep pace that made your toes curl.

He reached down, jamming his hands deep under the heavy mountain of tulle until his fingers dug firmly into the flesh of your hips. He then began to lift and guide you, helping him set a rhythm that made every stroke hit deep enough.

A muffled whimper escaped your lips.

"So good," Alex murmured right against your ear, his breath hot and ragged as his hips rolled into yours. "Look at us... we are still so perfect together right?"

"You're an idiot," you panted, your fingers tangling into the back of his shirt, pulling him closer even while you tried to sound annoyed.

"I am?" He let out a breathless laugh, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw as he drove back in. "Who walked away from the bar first? I was just being polite and following you to help."

"I really fucking hate you." you whispered, your hips involuntarily arching to meet his pace.

"Yeah?" Alex cooed with a cocky smile touching his lips against your neck as he picked up the rhythm just enough to make your knees go weak. "Good thing I haven't forgotten a single detail about your body."

He leaned in and captured your mouth again, smothering your breathless gasps into a deep kiss while his hips never stopped moving inside of you.

It was overwhelming. After all those years of distance, silence, and built-up resentment, the sudden reality of him inside you felt like a piece of a puzzle violently snapping back into place. Something deep in your chest finally reconnected, a dangerous electric wire sparking to life.

"See?" he whispered against your swollen lips between short, deep thrusts, his voice was low and raspy. "You missed this..."

He peppered tiny, hot kisses across your mouth, your cheek, the corner of your jaw.

"Tell me you didn't miss this." he murmured right onto your skin, his body rolling into yours with a friction that made your head fall back against the wall. The pleasure was really hitting every cell of your body.

Then Alex tightened his grip on your thigh, hoisting you a little higher against the wall, and began to drive into you with a faster and harder pace. The wet, sharp sound of your bodies colliding echo dangerously in the small room, mixed with the rustle of all that heavy white silk and his ragged breathing.

"Fuck," he rasped, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as his hips snapped forward. "Remind me — why the hell did we ever break up?"

He didn't mean it as a provocation; the words just tumbled out of him because it felt too good, because the sensation of being buried deep inside you was driving him completely out of his mind. It hit a nerve anyway.

"Because you're a fucking bastard," you gasped out, your fingernails digging sharp into his shoulders as his relentless thrusts sent shockwaves straight through your core. "And you... ah — you just had to go fuck every other girl in the city, didn't you?"

Alex groaned, not slowing down for a single second. Instead, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his tongue tasting your heated skin.

"Come on, don't be like that..." he muttered against your collarbone."You know damn well nobody ever came close to this."

"Fuck, fuck..." you whispered furiously, the curses tumbling out of your mouth because it was just too damn good, because every single touch was overwhelming your senses.

Alex let out a ragged, harsh breath against your ear. Before you could catch your breath, he pulled completely out of you. The sudden emptiness made you gasp, but he didn't give you a second to think.

He grabbed you firmly by the hips, spinning you around and bending you over.

You shoved your palms against the wall to steady yourself, arching your back and lifting your knees to help him hoist the endless mountain that was your wedding dress and silk up over your waist. As you braced yourself, a dizzying realization hit you through the haze.

This was why sex with him had always been such a violent and addictive masterpiece. It felt like being dragged straight into Vivaldi's Summer — chaotic, relentless thunderstorm of heat, where every movement was a violin note hitting your body with pleasure. Every single time.

A second later, he lined himself up and shoved back inside you from behind.

It was rougher this time, deeper, dizzying. The angle made your eyes snap shut, the friction driving straight through you with brutal precision.

"Fuck" he muttered, his hips snapping forward with a heavy, sharp rhythm that rattled your teeth. "Taking it like you've been waiting for this all night — for years."

The intensity was too much, it made you lose your control, and a loud, high pitched moan escaped your throat, echoing off the bathroom tiles.

In a flash, Alex reached forward, wrapping one strong arm around your chest to pull you up slightly against him while his other hand slapped firmly over your mouth, smothering your cries into his warm palm while he kept hammering into you without missing a single beat.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. The thought kept screaming through your mind over the roaring pulse in your ears. It was, without a doubt, the single best fucking thing that had happened to you in years.

You reached up, your fingers tangling desperately around his hand where it was pressed firm over your mouth, pulling him closer just to feel the heat of his skin.

Alex kept driving into you, hungry for more. Every thrust was harder, deeper. He was completely buried in you, pulling back just far enough to crash right back into your core, stretching you every single time.

Through the dizzying haze of pleasure, a strange and quiet thought pierced through the lust. What would have happened if he was the one who lost me? If he had been the one watching from the back row while someone else took his place? It was a strange cocktail of bitter history and overwhelming intimacy, realizing that even after all the time and spite, nobody had ever touched you like this. Nobody else could.

Against your body, his breath came in short, jagged gasps, his chest rising and falling violently against your bare spine.

"I bet — that anyone else ever felt like this. There's never been anyone else for me." He tried to contain a groan.

You needed more. You were so close to the edge that your whole body felt like a drawn bowstring, desperate for the release.

Alex had always been like this. It was as if Behemoth himself had taken human form. Never ending appetite, endlessly hungry, endlessly greedy, never satisfied with just a taste when he could devour everything. And the worst part was how easily he had corrupted you, dragging you down into that same wild insatiable greed until you were just as ravenous as he was.

His speed turned ferocious. His breathing was a harsh, heavy rattle against your neck as his hips slammed into you with perfect velocity, driving you wild.

"What do you say —" Alex rasped against your skin, his voice strained while he hit your sweet spot over and over, "...if you just file for divorce tomorrow?"

The ridiculous, dangerous audacity of the question hit you right at the crest of the wave. A muffled moan choked out against his palm and the shock of it snapped the last thread of your control.

You broke completely. Another violent orgasm ripped through you, your internal muscles clenching around him so tightly it stole his breath away.

Right as your walls contracted around his cock, Alex let out a low, wrecked groan. He drove in all the way to the hilt one last time and held himself there, his body locking up as he came heavily inside you, his hot climax spilling inside of you. Fucking finally.

Fuck!

You duck down behind an open trunk of your car in a supermarket parking lot and quickly push your grocery bags inside. Hopefully Joel hasn’t noticed you. He never noticed shit anyway — your bad mood, your worries, your heartbreak. It’s one of the reasons he’s your ex husband now.

Apparently Joel’s ‘go to’ shopping item hasn’t changed, you think and shake your head, seeing him load packs of beer into his car. You’re frozen on the spot, trying not to attract your ex’s attention, but to your dismay the fucker turns around and heads into your direction.

Shit! You curse under your breath, straighten up and watch him stride towards you with his usual ‘I know I’m hot’ attitude, confidence in every step. They call it ‘Big dick energy’. The worst part is that he really IS that hot. And he IS hung. It’s a pity that such a nice cock is attached to a total prick.

There’s no point in hiding now so you slam the trunk shut and greet the approaching man with the fakest smile you could pull.

“Heyyyy,” you sing in a high pitched voice you know he hates. Not taking his sunglasses off, Joel nods at you, his plush lips spread in a lopsided smile. He’s leisurely chewing a gum and your gaze slides along his scruffy jaw which is flexing in such a sexy way you get mesmerized by the sight. It’s doing something unexplainable to you but you quickly remind yourself who you’re dealing with. It’s Joel. It’s your past. The past that hurt you.

Your pussy gives no fucks though and your panties dumpen exponentially the longer you’re looking at your ex. Ugh! A traitor!

“Good to see you, baby,” Joel smirks, stopping in front of you and shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.

Don’t stare at his forearms, you beg the horny goblin inside you but it’s impossible not to take a peek at them with his sleeves rolled up, so you treat yourself before hastily lifting your gaze up to his covered eyes.

“Can’t say the same,” you throw, not smiling anymore.

Joel sneers and when you try to walk past him he steps to the side, not letting you leave, and coos, his arms open to you,

“Talk to me, beautiful. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“We met at Jessy’s party,” you grumble and he nods,

“Yeah but we barely shared a few words.”

“That's how I like it,” you bite, ready to tell him to fuck off but Joel takes his sunglasses off and stares at you with those puppy eyes of his. They used to work on you months ago. Now… not so much.

“Drop the shit, Joel. I bet you have enough babes to talk to.”

You cross your arms in front of your chest and raise your brow, expecting him to act all innocent, to deny the fact that he’s a total slut. But Joel doesn’t do any of it. Instead he gives you a cheeky smile and changes the topic.

“Whatcha doin’ here, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes.

“What d’you think? Grocery shopping.”

Joel slowly nods, still chewing his gum, not tearing his eyes off you even for a second.

“Me, too. Got some stuff for tonight. Havin’ the boys over.”

Yeah, that would explain all the beer, you think.

You squint your eyes and your lips tighten at the mention of his ‘boys’, a group of his fellow pricks who surely call you a bitch every chance they get.

As if reading your mind Joel says, his head titled,

“They miss you by the way.”

You laugh exaggeratedly,

“Yeah, right!”

Joel shifts his jaw and then steps closer to you. He puts his big hand on your waist between your shirt and your jeans, and your heart skips a beat as you feel his hot palm on your exposed skin there.

“Tommy still talks about that night the three of us had. Remember?”

Joel’s eyes darken, he’s watching you closely, and you hate to give him any reaction but your whole body tingles and your chest starts heaving when images from that drunken night pop into your mind — you’re riding Joel, Tommy's fucking your mouth; they both eating you out, taking their turn to lap at your pussy, their spit mixing on your drenched clit and folds.

Trying to shake off the horny fog in your head, you avert your eyes from Joel and stare at a big supermarket sign.

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, feigning nonchalance. “We were drunk.”

“The next morning we weren’t,” Joel reminds you with a playful smile.

You shift on your feet, an ache in your pussy getting harder to ignore. That lazy morning fuck was great. Waking up between your husband and your brother-in-law, with their arms wrapped around you. Both fighting for your attention, for your holes, they made you come hard on their cocks and tongues. That was the last time you let Tommy join Joel and you in your marital bed. Scared of things getting too complicated you stopped it. Who knew that Joel would ruin it all anyway.

Joel watches you intently, surely knowing that you’re wet now. He could always smell it on you like a shark smells blood in the water. Joel gently squeezes your side and muses,

“We used to have lots of fun.. you and I. Were so damn good together.”

His voice is soft, full of nostalgia and…sadness? Suddenly his tone makes your blood boil and you finally look at him, your eyes fiery again.

“We were. Until you fucked everything up.”

You’re glaring at him and Joel drops his head, his hand leaving your side.

“Yeah… I did.”

He takes a deep sigh and you want to punch him. Your cold eyes are set on your ex and your wounded heart craves to see him crushed, miserable, regretful. You want him to beg for your forgiveness for the rest of his life.

But it’s Joel.

He doesn’t wallow in negativity for long, and instead of welling up with tears like you want them to, his eyes start slowly sliding up your body. They linger on your cleavage for a moment before reaching your face.

“You’re fuckin hot, baby.”

After years of knowing the man, you’re still shocked by his head-spinning mood change. A second ago he looked like a kicked puppy and now all he wants is to hump your leg.

You laugh bitterly, dropping your arms at the sides.

“Jesus, Joel, you’re something else.”

He mistakes your reaction for a genuine joy and chuckles,

“Yeah, you ain’t wrong, sweetheart.”

You’re shaking your head and then lift your eyes to the sky, not believing that you let your pussy choose a husband for you years ago, having ignored all the red flags.

Joel doesn’t let it go.

“I’m not fuckin’ with you, hon,” he purrs. “You’re the hottest woman I’ve ever fucked.”

You tilt your head and sigh.

“Joel, stop it. Please.”

“No, listen,” he rises his hands, palms to you, and with his eyes big and dark says,

“No one, I repeat, no one made me as hard as you did.”

“Yay me,” you deadpan.

“It’s the truth,” he says, his expression serious.

“‘K,” you shrug. “I don’t care.”

“Yeah, yeah” Joel nods. “I blew it, I know. But the taste …” he inhales through his teeth and you frown.

“What?”

Joel’s hand snakes behind you and he puts it on your lower back before leaning in and whispering in your ear,

“Your pussy.”

“Oh, fuck off!” You slap his chest, your hand hitting his strong pecs.

“I’m serious. Your taste, baby.. it’s like I had to quit smokin’. I can’t stop thinkin’ about it. Sometimes..,” he moves close and his lips brush your ear as he murmurs, “Sometimes I still feel it on my tongue. Soft, hot… delicious. Your perfect pussy. Ahhhh… Miss it so goddamn much.”

You HATE to admit it but whatever he’s doing is actually working. You’re a mess, getting dangerously horny and needy. Joel could always turn you on from 1 to 100 in seconds and he’s doing it now, months from your divorce.

With his body close to yours, your heartbeat increases and you’re breathing fast, enveloped by his smell, by the heat of his body.

“Joel, stop,” you beg him but he doesn’t.

He tilts his head, his eyes meeting yours and gruffs,

“Would give the world to have it on my tongue again. Wanna drink from your hole.”

You’re feeling light-headed as Joel takes your earlobe in his mouth and sucks on it lightly.

“I hate you…” you breathe out and moan when he presses his strong body to yours, his arms snaking around your torso. It’s hard to think straight when he’s doing this and you pussy purrs, ‘Maybe .. he could … just a little … just to make you come …’

“Let me kiss her… one last time…”

Not waiting for you to answer, Joel takes your hand and heads to his car. You’re following him across the parking lot like a damn dog, head dizzy, mouth salivating, pussy wet.

If someone told you this morning that you were going to let your ex husband eat you out in a supermarket parking lot, you’d laugh in their stupid face.

No way in hell!

But your pussy is full of surprises. It’s also full of Joel’s tongue right now who’s having your half lying in the back of his car, your jeans and panties on the floor, your knees pressed to your chest. Joel’s holding your legs in place with his hands, helping himself to make out with your cunt.

He’s always been a loud eater so the car is filled with lewd slurping noises and your soft moans.

“Look at ‘er cryin’ for me, baby. She missed daddy, huh?” he mumbles, his lips glistening with your slick.

You reply with a needy whimper and he smirks before pushing his tongue between your folds. Joel slowly drags it up, gathering more of your wetness on his tongue, and flicks your puffy clit with his tip. Then his hot wet muscle slides down to your empty hole and thrusts inside. Your eyes flutter close when he starts fucking you with his tongue, his thumb and his index finger holding your folds open.

“Hngggg,” Joel growls with animalistic hunger and the vibrations against your pussy send you into a frenzy. You’re biting your lip, keeping yourself from crying out loud when he starts sucking on your clit.

“Joel…” you mewl and your ex smirks.

“Fuck, missed you moanin’ my name like this. Such a good girl.”

“I hate you,” you repeat weakly and Joel chuckles and then spanks your puffy cunt making you yelp. He kisses it better immediately and begins moving his jaw up and down, while his tongue is rubbing your pussy.

A few seconds of this heavenly sensation are enough for you to unravel. Your ex happily licks off every drop of your wetness that’s flowing out of your clenching hole, humming at the taste, his eyes closed with pleasure. Joel’s tirelessly prolonging your orgasm and for a second you feel grateful.

When his tongue starts hurting you, you push Joel away and drop your legs. You’re sitting there ass naked, panting heavily, eyes shut, heart pounding in your ears.

“My turn,” you barely hear Joel speak. “C’mon, show my cock how much you missed ‘im,”

You flutter your eyes open and see Joel unzipping his jeans and pulling his hard member out. Hello, old friend. It’s reddish and engorged, leaking pre cum down the thick shaft. You still remember his taste, the heaviness of it on your tongue, the way it used to fill you so perfectly. You miss it.

‘Fuck it!’ you think, riding the high of an afterglow, and ask, “Got a condom?”

“Sure, baby!”

With his dick bobing, spilling pre fuck juice everywhere, your ex gets off the seat and reaches for the glove compartment. He rummages there for a few seconds and then plops back on the seat, holding a condom between his teeth.

Not waiting for an invitation you straddle his naked thighs, your eyes darting around the parking lot through the window.

“If we get caught…. swear I’ll kill you,” you grunt while Joel’s sliding the condom on.

As soon as he’s ready you lift your ass and sink on his big cock.

Ahhh! You missed this sensation. Joel opened you up well with his tongue but the stretch still makes you gasp. The pillow of his balls feels so nice against your spit-covered pussy, warming it up perfectly, and you sigh.

“Yeah, welcome home, baby,” Joel moans and drops his head back, his mouth open in pleasure. Squeezing your asscheeks with his big hands he breathes out, “So tight. Best pussy ever.”

Already feeling yourself on the brink of euphoria, just from having him inside, you start riding him.

“You’ve surely done your research,” you half moan half grunt, rolling your hips slowly at first, getting used to his huge dick stuffed inside you but at the back of your mind you hate that he gets to have you again.

‘Come and get the hell out,’ you tell yourself and pick up your pace.

You hate how perfectly he fills you, hate how gorgeous he looks - his dark eyes half lidded, clouded with lust, his plush wet lips are luring you in for a kiss.

You can’t. You shouldn’t. It’ll hurt too much later.

Instead of kissing Joel, you lean down and suck in the skin on his neck. Joel hisses and bucks his hips up into you, sending his cock deep to kiss your cervix.

“Baby likes it rough now, huh?” he gruffs, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You leave his question without an answer and with a content smile watch a hickey bloom on the column of his neck.

Lust for him is burning your lower belly alongside your anger and it’s impossible to tell one from the other. One hand planted on his strong chest, the other flies up to his head and you run your fingers through his silky curls before tugging on them roughly.

“Could’ve had this pussy on your cock every day—,” you mutter through heavy breaths as Joel grunts. “Any time—- any moment — now all you get is a hate fuck in a parking lot..”

Joel’s eyes locked with yours gets serious and for a second you see regret behind them.

“You don’t hate me, do ya, beautiful?” He breathes out quietly. Your furrow your brows at his stupid question, tighten your fist in his hair and order,

“Shut up and make me come.”

Joel’s chest rumbles, his eyes darken, and he gets to work — his thumb finds your clit and he begins swirling it with the perfect pressure and perfect tempo.

He’s a total dick but oh god! he’s always been great at getting you off.

Still bouncing on his cock and not slowing down for a second, you lean back slightly and a moan falls from your lips when his fat crown begins massaging your soft spot.

“Yeahhh, give it to me, baby, I know you’re close. Your little clit twitches like crazy."

Joel’s encouragement makes your pussy clench and you squeeze your eyes shut as a hot wave, rising fast in your lower belly, covers you whole. Your loud cry rings in Joel’s car and you’re shaking on your ex’s lap, coming on his hard cock.

“Hnggg..That’s my g—-,” Joel chokes and stills. His arm muscles tense, his fingers dig into your asscheeks, and he begins filling the condom inside you with warm cum. You feel his dick thump deep in your core, your walls pulsating around it while your pussy is draining his balls.

As soon as you're done you get off Joel’s lap, not caring if you hurt him. Instead you smirk when he hisses and mumbles, ‘Careful, baby.’

You pick up your panties and jeans and start putting on your clothes. Sensing Joel’s eyes on you, you look at him. With his head against the backrest, his eyes sleepy, his lips in a soft smile he purrs,

“This was amazin’. We should do this again some time.”

“No,” you say as lust leaves your belly and your head clears up.

Joel pushes his lower lip out and pouts dramatically.

“Why not?”

“Fuck you that’s why,” you scoff with a smile and get out of the car.

Before leaving you bend down and ask,

“Is Jeff gonna be at yours tonight?”

Joel carefully pulls the cum-filled condom off his softening cock and frowns, gathering his thoughts for a few seconds.

“Yeah, sure. Why?”

“Well, you might ask your best friend about that time he sent me his dick pic a week after our wedding.”

“WHAT?!” Joel exclaims and drops the condom, spilling his load all over the car floor. He curses loudly as you smirk and close the door with a loud bang.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story!

MASTERLIST

chapter masterlist.

part one

part two

part three

drabbles

virtual daydream

more about the fic.

read on a03

listen to the playlist

The smell of burnt coffee and too-sweet donuts evaded Joel’s nostrils as soon as he stepped foot into the office. The usual chaos and chatter was filling the space with phones ringing, printers pushing out important documents, the clicking of keyboards, and sergeants and officers hurriedly zooming back and forth. Joel was tired, and the overstimulation was already getting to him.

“Jesus Christ,” he chided, not looking at anyone in particular as he walked through the sea of desks toward his back office.

Clara looked up, a cheerful smile brightening her face as she greeted him, “Good morning, Detective! I put a new file on your desk, came in last night.”

“What is it?,” Joel asked gruffly, turning his head to look at her as he continued walking past her desk. She wasn’t offended by his unpleasant morning attitude. She’d been Joel’s assistant for the past four years and was greatly attuned to him and his usual morning grumpiness. Or, just his usual grumpiness.

Joel’s assistants typically did not last very long. There were a few different reasons for this. For one, Joel had limited patience for mistakes. He tried to work on this over the years, at least in the beginning, but if he deemed a mistake “careless,” that was usually the end for him. Secondly, he had no interest in forming personal relationships at work. He’d had some assistants over the years that seemed keen on pushing this boundary of his, thinking they were being subtle by prying for personal information, or ingratiating themselves to him a bit too much. He had no tolerance for this. It pissed him off and was usually the first reason he’d fire someone. And lastly, the job was hard. Joel was not an easy person to work for. His standards were high, his patience thin, and his expectations at times bordered on unreasonable. The role required someone with a thick skin, quick brain, and persistent attitude. Clara had so far been his longest-standing assistant for these reasons.

She spoke quickly, so he could get all the information while still making his way to his desk. “Missing person. Seems it was filed late, though. Report came in yesterday saying he’d already been missing for two weeks,” she said the last part tentatively, knowing the reaction Joel was going to have, and that he was likely to pass the case on to a more rookie detective if he didn’t feel it was worth his time.

“Two weeks, huh?” Joel rolled his eyes, turning the knob to his office and swiftly shutting the door behind him.

Joel knew by now just how sensitive the timing is in a missing persons case. And a person already being missing for two weeks before being reported was not a promising start. He plopped down in his office chair, reaching for a pen and his trusty pad of paper as he flipped open the file and started taking notes.

Stanley Morton – 44, m, owns car dealership

Last seen – leaving home for errands

Wife, Jessica Morton, 37, f – made report

The details were few and Joel was already suspicious as to why the report came in so late. He stood up from his desk with a grunt and closed his notebook, securing the pen in the loop on the side of the notebook and slipping it in his back trouser pocket. As Joel left his office, Clara awaited him at the other end of the room, two coffees in hand as she watched him take long strides toward her. He took the coffee from her with a nod and a curt, “Won’t be needing company right now. Just gonna go meet the wife. Could you do some digging into his work? I wanna know how long he’s run the dealership, any prior failed businesses, any glaring financial issues – large loans, bankruptcy. And then get me a list of friends and colleagues, whatever you can find that seems relevant.”

Clara wasn’t offended as she stepped back and nodded while offering a quick, “Yes, Detective. I’ll get right on that.” She carried her coffee back to her desk and Joel could already hear the clicking of her keyboard as he left the station.

Willow Estates was one of the nicer neighborhoods in the area. The homes were fairly spread apart, set on a quarter acre each and allowing for privacy, even in a suburban landscape. Joel knew that these houses ran for at least a million dollars, and because of the built-in security in the neighborhood, he hadn’t had a case here before. It was a low-crime, affluent area and Joel’s suspicions were only increasing as he pulled into the Morton’s driveway and parked his unmarked Ford Crown Victoria.

It was overcast this morning, common for March in Massachusetts. Joel pulled his black jacket around him as he stepped out of the car. He looked up at the house, scanning the property and acquainting himself as he slowly approached the front door. There seemed to be nothing in particular to note about the home. It was a large, fairly standard house. It didn’t stand out amongst the other homes. In fact, as Joel peered around at the surrounding houses, he thought that maybe this house was among the less notable ones.

He knocked on the black wooden door, taking a step back as he waited. Not even a minute passed before a woman opened it up. She didn’t appear tentative at all as she stood fully in the doorway and greeted him, “Hi, can I help you?” Her under-eyes were puffy and the tip of her nose was red. Joel noted the bloodshot whites of her eyes and the way her right hand which was down at her side trembled just slightly.

“Yes, are you Jessica Morton?” Joel’s voice came out confident and even.

She looked hesitant for the first time as she furrowed her brow and her voice quivered, “Y-yes...who are you?”

“Detective Miller, ma’am,” Joel extended his hand toward her as he spoke. “I’m here to investigate your husband’s disappearance. Mind if I come in?”

“Oh!” A mixture of relief and fear flashed across her face as she stepped back, opening the door as wide as it would go and ushering Joel inside. “Please, come in, come in.”

Joel stepped inside, glancing around briefly before looking back at her. “Where would be a good place for us to talk, Mrs. Morton?”

“Jessica, please.” She offered him a forced smile, fighting through her anxiety. “We can talk in kitchen, it’s right through here.”

She walked Joel through the foyer and into the open living room and kitchen. The living room boasted an impressive chandelier with an electric fireplace built into the wall. A couple nice but uncomfortable looking couches sat on either side of a plush rug. Joel redirected his attention to the kitchen island where there was a bowl of fresh fruit along with some papers scattered across the surface. He nodded his head toward the papers.

“What are those?”

His direct question seemed to catch Jessica off guard as she looked at him and her expression dropped. Her voice came out thin, “I’ve been, uh...trying to piece things together myself.” She walked toward the counter, stacking some of the papers back together. “I was looking through our bank statements when I heard your knock at the door.”

Joel nodded, offering her a stoic yet soft expression which was as close to comfort as he could get in the moment. He looked over at the table beside them. “Let’s have a seat and talk.”

Jessica set the papers down and took a seat at the table, watching Joel as he sat across from her. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his notebook and pen. Flipping it open, he looked up at her. He saw the worry etched in her features, and it looked like true worry.

In his years, Joel had witnessed many people feign worry when a loved one goes missing. It’s oftentimes a loud worry, accompanied with fast talking, stammering, and lots of questions. His ability to sense when someone was being dishonest had only grown stronger over time, and he prided himself on being able to pinpoint a liar within minutes.

As he regarded the clearly exhausted woman across from him, Joel had a gut feeling that she was being honest. He drew in a breath, sitting forward at the table and making direct eye contact with her.

“Jessica,” he started, “can you help explain to me why you waited two weeks to report your husband missing?” His eye contact was unwavering as he looked across the table at her.

Jessica, however, looked around nervously. Whether it was nerves or shame, Joel wasn’t sure, but he gleaned fairly quickly that Jessica knew she had made a mistake. She opened her mouth to respond, hesitating and slowly blinking her eyes before looking at him again.

“I don’t really know...I just sort of figured he-” Before Mrs. Morton could finish her sentence, the floor creaked behind Joel and he turned around in his chair, looking behind him to see a woman standing there.

Your eyes were wide, clearly not expecting to see another person in the home. “Oh,” you hesitated, staying in the entryway and looking over at Jessica.

Jessica reassured you quickly, “It’s okay, come in. This is Detective Miller. He’s here about Stan.” She pulled out the chair beside her, hoping you’d sit down and help to settle her nerves. She looked at Joel for his approval. “Is it alright if she joins us? This is my best friend. She’s been here nearly every day since he’s been gone.”

Not only could you see Joel’s gaze on you, but you could feel it. His eyes were assessing, trained on your face and clearly noticing every minute expression. You met his gaze, not wanting to appear avoidant, but also gratefully moving your eyes over to Jessica when she spoke to you. As you sat down in the chair beside her, looking back at Joel and noticing his distinct nose, large brown eyes, and waves of dark hair, you couldn’t help but note the man as attractive.

He stood up partway from his chair, leaning over the table with his hand extended as he introduced himself, “Detective Miller, nice t’meet you. I don’t think I got your name.” He sat back down, picking up his pen and hovering above the pad of paper as he awaited your answer.

It drew some unexpected anxiety from you as you gave it to him willingly, watching him scribble it down and then look back over at Jessica.

“You’re alright talkin’ in front of her? ‘M gonna be askin’ you a fair amount of questions,” he clarified.

Jessica nodded and replied, “Oh yes, she’s been my best friend since we were in college.” She looked over at you with a smile, but you knew her well enough to see the dread behind her eyes, as though she couldn’t believe that this was a situation she was in. You reached over, setting your hand on her knee and smiling back. You looked over at Detective Miller when you heard him speak again.

“Fair enough.” He sat up more in his chair, glancing around toward the kitchen then back to Jessica. “Would it be alright if I bothered you for a cup o’coffee?”

“Oh my gosh!” Jessica stood up from the table immediately. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even offer you anything to drink!” She started walking toward the kitchen, grabbing the glass coffee pot and filling it with water as she carried it back to dump into the water reservoir.

“Thass quite alright, ma’am. Can only imagine how shaken up you’ve been over the past couple weeks.” When he said the words, he watched her reaction carefully. Nothing that ever came out of Joel’s mouth, at least while he was working, was incidental. Even him asking her for coffee had an ulterior motive, despite the fact that he really did want it. He knew that if she seemed hesitant or put out at all, that it was a sign of her not wanting him to stay. You have to brew the coffee, let it cool, then drink it. It is rarely a quick beverage, unlike water or soda. But Jessica’s eagerness to prepare it for Joel, seeming more embarrassed about being a bad hostess than anything else, gave Joel information he was looking for. You always want to rule out the spouse first.

At the same time, Detective Miller still found it quite odd that Mr. Morton’s wife had not reported him missing until he’d already been gone for two weeks. For someone who appeared so distressed, it wasn’t adding up to him.

She came and sat back down at the table while the coffee brewed. She sighed, reflecting on Joel’s statement. “Yes, well,” she answered, “it has been a very tough past couple weeks. But in all honesty, I’d had hope up until yesterday.”

“Hope?” Joel’s eyes narrowed just slightly.

“Well sure, I just kept expecting him to walk back inside the house, kept waiting to hear the garage door opening. But-” Her voice cracked, causing her to put a hand over her mouth and shake her head, real tears starting to come to her eyes. “Yesterday was our anniversary. He wouldn’t have missed that.” She continued shaking her head. “I know he wouldn’t have missed that. Not unless something was really wrong…”

She tried to take in a deep breath, but it only led to another sob. She put her face in her hands then looked up at Joel with wide, wet eyes. “Oh god….what if something’s wrong? What if he’s hurt?!” Her grief-stricken panic started to take over and Joel merely watched as you leaned over in your chair, wrapping your arms around her and shushing her lovingly. He watched how you kissed the side of her head, smoothing down her hair with your hand and murmuring, “It’ll be okay. No matter what, it’ll be okay.”

His interested piqued. He was now watching you more intently than he was watching her. What odd words, he thought to himself. He made a note in his pad and then finally looked back to Jessica, giving her another few seconds to compose herself before he continued.

“Mrs. Morton,” he tried to say gently but his gruff voice still came through, “where did you think your husband might’ve been these past couple weeks, since you’d felt so confident he’d come back?”

She tossed her hands up, “I don’t know. I just…” She took a breath, closing her eyes then opening them again and looking at him. She seemed more composed this time, like she’d switched over to a different part of her brain to help the detective answer his questions. After one more breath, she continued, “I thought maybe at first he was just letting off some steam. We- we’d had a fight...an argument. It was over something stupid and I thought things had cooled down. When he didn’t come home that night, I figured he’d stopped at a bar with some buddies, or something. Then the next morning was his usual golfing day, so it didn’t seem that odd. And then...I’m not sure where I thought he was. But I didn’t think something was wrong, you know? It’s like my brain didn’t even contemplate whether he was in danger...I don’t know how to explain it. I just kept waiting for him to come home. I- I’m still waiting for him to come home. Any other outcome just feels...unfathomable.”

Detective Miller alternated between looking at Jessica and writing in his notebook. This wasn’t the first time that he’d heard a family member of a missing loved one express disbelief that something bad could have happened. And yet, there are also plenty of family members who report someone missing after only a few hours. Two weeks is an exceptionally long time, he thought, even if she was sure he was gone on his own volition.

“Well, any information you have for me is valuable. It could be the smallest thing that ends up leading us to him,” Joel explained as Jessica nodded. “First, it would be helpful if you could give me access to any electronic devices in the home – cell phones, tablets, laptops. I’d like passwords for all of it, including bank accounts, social media accounts, email…” He looked at her, trying to read her expression. “Will any of that be a problem?”

She answered immediately, “No, no. You can have whatever you want. Please, I just...I want my husband back.” Joel believed her. He could hear it in how her voice wavered and the slight crack at the end of her sentence.

“Okay, ma’am. We’re going to do everything we can.” As Joel finished addressing her, he looked over to you. You’d been sitting silently this whole time, just taking in the conversation as you comforted your friend. You braced yourself, ready for him to ask you a question, but he just turned back to Jessica. “You said that the two of you had an argument. Was he upset when he left?”

“No, not really. It had been a couple hours since the fight, and she was coming over for dinner,” Jessica nodded her head toward you then continued talking, “so he said he was going to run out to the store to grab some steaks and that he had another stop he had to make, as well. I didn’t think anything of it.”

When Detective Miller looked at you this time, you knew that you weren’t going to fly under the radar again. There was a focus in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and it almost made you wonder if he knew the answer to his question before he even asked it.

“Did you see Mr. Morton on the day of his disappearance?” As Joel asked the question, Jessica slid out from the table, walking over to the coffee pot and grabbing a mug from the cabinet above it.

“What makes you think that was the day of his disappearance?” The question left your mouth before you could think better of it. It was not intended to be sassy; it was simply something that you’d found to be curious.

Detective Miller, however, furrowed his brow and responded, “Excuse me?”

Jessica had also paused. She was turned toward you now with an empty blue coffee mug in her hand, waiting to see how you were going to respond. She was used to your directness and had even listed it as one of the qualities she admired most about you. Still, she was caught off guard by your lack of compliance to his question.

You stayed relaxed in your chair as you spoke, not feeling as intimidated by the detective as you had initially thought. “I mean, Jessica said that there were other explanations for him being gone, right? So, what if one of those explanations was true, at least for the first day or so, and then he went missing after that?”

Joel paused for only a moment before replying to you, “With all due respect, ma’am, I’d like f’you to leave the investigating up t’me, okay? How ‘bout you just focus on answering my questions?”

Not wanting to push too much, you acquiesced with a nod and said, “Sure. Yes, I saw Stan that evening when I came over. It was about 4 o’clock. I bumped into him in the driveway as he was on his way out.”

Detective Miller seemed hesitantly satisfied that you were finally giving him an answer. “And what was that exchange like?”

“Fine. Normal. I said, ‘hey,’ and he waved at me as he got into his car and then drove away. I went inside and that’s when she told me that he was running to the store and would come back with stuff for dinner. Seemed like any typical day.” You glanced over at Jessica as she finished pouring the coffee and carried it over to Joel, setting it in front of him with a meek smile and returning to her seat beside you.

“And what did you think when he didn’t return home that evening?” It seemed like such a simple follow-up question, yet you immediately noticed your thoughts start to race as you tried to come up with an appropriate response.

“Confused, mostly. Just...wondering where he was and trying to make sure Jess was okay,” you finished your sentence and chewed on your lip for a moment, keeping your eyes on the detective.

Joel offered a small grunt in response, making another note and then glancing up at both of you. “How often are you over here?”

You shrugged your shoulders as you said, “Fairly often. I’d say 5-6 times a week.”

“Hm, that seems like a lot,” Joel said, giving nothing away as he continued watching you.

“I suppose, sure. But that’s how it’s always been for us, even before they were married.” You felt somewhat defensive, but were trying not to show it. The initial attraction you had felt toward him was starting to dissipate and instead irritation was blooming in its place.

“And Stanley doesn’t seem to mind that?,” Joel inquired then sipped his coffee before setting the mug back down.

“Why would he?,” you shot back, probably too quickly.

You swore you saw a twinkle in Joel’s eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it had shown up. “I don’t know, ma’am,” he responded calmly, “That’s why I’m askin’.”

Jessica patted your leg, a quiet signal for you to take a beat, and then responded herself, “Stanley doesn’t care. He works late most nights, and we’re all close. I’m sorry, I don’t see the relevance in any of this…”

“It just helps me to have a better understanding of what life looks like for the two of you. The more I know about Mr. Morton, the easier the investigation will be,” Joel finished speaking and glanced over at you before looking back at Jessica. “I think this is a good start.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a business card and sliding it across the table toward Jessica. You read it in passing, learning his first name and then looking back at him.

“I’ll get outta your hair now, ma’am,” Joel nodded as he stood up, taking another large sip of his coffee and setting the mug down. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be waiting for those devices, feel free to bring them down to the station when you can.”

“Oh okay, thank you, Detective. I appreciate it,” she said as she stood up as well, watching him fold up his notepad and stick in his pocket, along with his phone, then turn to leave.

You instinctively went to reach for your phone, quickly realizing that you’d left it in the car. “Shoot,” you said quietly to Jessica. “I must’ve left my phone in my car. I’ll be right back.”

Joel had already shown himself out and was opening up the door to his car when he saw you step outside. You gave him a curt smile as you walked to the other side of the driveway to your car. The chime of your vehicle unlocking sounded and then shortly after you heard footsteps behind you.

When you turned around, Joel was a few feet away with a stoic but unthreatening look on his face. He held his car keys in his hand and placed his other hand in his front pocket.

“Would you mind comin’ down to the station later?,” he asked. “’m gonna be conducting interviews with friends and family of the Morton’s. I’m sure your statement would be helpful, considering how often you say you visit ‘em.” He shifted his weight to one side, perhaps just in an attempt to put you at ease as he appeared more casual.

“Uh, sure. Like...tonight?” You stood now with your door partway open, your hand holding on to the top of it as you looked at him.

“In the morning,” the detective clarified. “Let’s say around 8?” His eyes were still on you and you realized just how infrequently he blinked.

“Yeah, I can do that.” You bent down, reaching into your car to retrieve your phone then standing up and shutting your car door.

Joel had taken a step back and nodded as he started to walk toward his own car, still looking over his shoulder at you as he said, “Have a good day, miss.”

You nodded in response, turning toward the house as you walked back inside and fought the urge to not look back at him.

What you didn’t say to him was that there was information regarding Stanley that you never planned on sharing with him.

And what Joel didn’t say to you was that he knew there was something you were hiding.

Frankie doesn’t even remember the drive home.

He knows Santi was talking beside him, trying to be gentle, trying to keep him tethered. But it all blurred together—the sound of tires on pavement, muffled crying somewhere two rooms down, the smell of antiseptic still clinging to his skin.

He stares at the apartment door longer than he should.

The key doesn’t turn right away. It never does.

When he steps inside, the silence cracks.

There’s your favorite mug in the sink. The one with the chipped handle you refused to throw away. Your fuzzy socks are still kicked under the couch, the ones with little crescent moons. The jacket you swore you didn’t like when he bought it for you hangs from the back of the chair—worn in all the right places.

It’s your home.

His home.

Yours together.

But now it feels like a stranger’s life.

Frankie makes it as far as the bathroom before the shaking starts. His hands fumble with the buttons on his shirt, pulling it over his head, the fabric damp where your tears soaked into it. He turns on the water and doesn’t wait for it to heat up. Just steps into the cold, hoping it might numb something inside him. He presses his forehead to the tiled wall and finally lets the sob tear out of his chest.

One loud, wounded sound.

Then another.

After that silence again, just the sound of water falling.

His hand slams against the wall once, hard enough to sting. His voice cracks in the mist.

“She doesn’t remember me.”

His eyes squeeze shut as the memories hit like lightning.

The first time you said I love you.

The time you danced in the living room in your pajamas, singing into a wooden spoon.

The way your eyes sparkled when he called you his girl.

The yes you whispered into his mouth when he slipped the ring onto your finger.

The way you looked at him like he was the safest place in the world.

Now you look at him like he’s a stranger.

And the part that hurts the most is that you don’t know you’re breaking his heart. Because how could you, when you don’t even remember him or the love you shared?

He sinks to the floor of the shower, arms wrapped around his knees, water running down his face like it’s trying to drown the ache. He cries until he’s hollow. Until there’s nothing left but steam and the sound of your name echoing inside his chest.

He’ll show up again tomorrow at the hospital, watching the woman he loves drift somewhere between her past and her future.

And the day after that.

And every single day as long as it takes.

Even if he has to make you fall in love with him all over again.

Even when, right now, he’s a stranger wearing the shape of someone you once loved.

You were the warmth in his winter. The light in every version of the dark he had ever found himself in. So whatever happens, Frankie would hold you close to his heart and honor your light while you try to find your way back.

thanks for reading 💌

main masterlist • ko-fi

You dramatically slump yourself over the small table in the diner, “what is wrong with me?!” you groan, lightly banging your forehead against the surface.

“I take it things didn’t go to plan last night?” Angie asks, trying not to laugh at your theatrics.

“Not quite,” you mumble, pushing yourself back up to a seated position.

It’s been 2 months since your first date with Frankie and everything is amazing. Except for one thing. You still haven’t been able to bring yourself to sleep with him. 

Things have progressed from strictly phone sex. Not that you still don’t indulge in that on the regular, especially after he’s worked a long shift and he calls you, exhausted but never too tired to hear about your day. It always inevitably ends up with you knuckle deep in your pussy as he tells you all the dirty thoughts he’s having. 

You’ve sucked his dick more than a few times and watching him come undone because of you is the most intoxicating thing you’ve ever seen. It has left you with somewhat of an oral fixation, and you often find yourself daydreaming about taking him in your mouth and sucking him dry. It doesn’t hurt that he has one of the prettiest dicks you’ve ever seen in your life. Long and girthy and uncut, smooth as velvet, nestled in a bed of dark hair at the base. Hair that you just love to nuzzle and bury your nose in, his unique Frankie smell so concentrated there. You could get high on it. 

And you’ve let him inside you, with his fingers at least. Your panties are often stolen away by him. It happens so often now that you’ve taken to only wearing skirts and dresses around him to facilitate his blatant theft, but skirts and dresses always remain in place as he squeezes his thick fingers inside you and blasts you to ecstasy. 

It’s not that you don’t want to take things to the next level. As good as he fingers you and as much as you love having his cock in your mouth, your pussy drools at the thought of taking him. At how good he will stretch you and how far inside he’ll reach. You’re desperate for it. But also terrified. You know you don’t need to be naked to have sex but Frankie seems to have taken your refusal to shed your clothes as a sign that you’re not ready yet. And he’s insistent that things will go no further until you are. He never pressures you. But you can see the disappointment in his face every time you flinch when he tries to remove an article of clothing. It’s quickly hidden and he moves on but you hate how pathetic you are. But no matter how much you talk yourself up to it beforehand, when the moment arrives the panic sets in. You know that he can see you’re not svelte like all the models you see on social media and tv even with your clothes on, but the fact is you can’t understand what it is he sees in you. A man like Frankie could easily bag himself a woman like that. And him realising he could do better after he’s seen you naked would be a blow to your psyche that you’d never recover from. 

A part of you has wondered once or twice if it’s just the chase that has him on the hook now. That even if he isn’t repulsed by your body, that once he’s had you the thrill will be gone and he’ll move on. Something which prompted Angie to tell you that you needed your head seeing to. She’s been trying her best to help hype you up, trying to bolster your confidence but last night had been another in a long list of failures. 

“Look, you’re just putting too much pressure on it. You need to stop thinking about it so much and let it happen naturally.”

“What if I can’t ever bring myself to though? He’s not going to wait around forever.”

“See that’s what I’m talking about. You need to stop thinking in absolutes. You just need to give your confidence time to catch up with what your brain has already figured out.”

“And what has my brain figured out?”

“That Frankie is not like all those other losers you’ve been with and worships the ground you walk on. You don’t need to rush this.”

And deep down you know she’s right. Frankie has proven to you time and time again that he is kind and caring and trustworthy. It only the critical voices in your head - the ones that sound an awful lot like your mother, would get the memo. Speaking of which…

“Well if confidence is what it’s gona take we can write off this weekend, I’m having brunch with my mom.”

Angie grimaces at you, well aware of your fractious relationship with your family. 

“I can call you and pretend I’m having an emergency?” she offers.

You snort, “you assume that she would care enough about anyone else to consider that a good enough reason for me to bail.”

Angie snickers along with you, her sympathy for your mother non-existent with the number of times she’s seen her tear you down. 

“I still don’t get why you don’t just go no contact.”

“She’s my mom,” you say simply. 

“Yeah and she treats you like garbage.”

“It’s not that bad. And I only see her once a month as it is.”

“Honey, I mean this with the greatest love and affection. But you’re an idiot for letting anyone treat you that way, whether they pushed you out of their body or not.”

“I know, I know. But seeing her once a month is definitely easier than dealing with the fallout of cutting her off. Trust me on this.”

Angie huffs and rolls her eyes, “ok, but try and not let her get into your head. It sounds crowded enough in there already,” she jokes, laughing as you throw a bread roll at her. 

///

That night, after dinner and a trip to the movies, you’re back at your house, Frankie sat on the sofa with you on your knees between his legs. He’s moaning in ecstasy as your tongue rolls around his shaft and your head bobs up and down. 

“Fuck baby, just like that, fuck yes,” he groans, his hand cradling your face as you continue to suck, eyes locked on his. Watching him as he watches you take him, eyes lidded, pupils blown, it has you dripping for him.

“Jesus, your mouth, your sweet fucking mouth,” he moans as his head tips back, another hearty moan escaping him as you take him deeper and start fondling his balls. “Jesus, you’re fucking killing me baby.”

He picks his head back up, finds your eyes again as you pull back, tongue stroking his underside as your lips drag over him. As you reach his head, you gently pull back his foreskin to run your tongue over his rosy, leaking tip before giving it a little kiss and lick, scooping up everything he’s leaking for you before taking him fully back into your mouth and resuming your rhythm. 

“Fucking minx,” he grumbles, “too fucking good at this baby, been dreaming about it all day.”

“Mmmmmm,” you hum around him in agreement, making his hips buck and burying him deeper into your mouth. 

“Fuck, sorry baby, just feels so good,” he apologises, stroking your cheek with his thumb, you hum around him again and take him even further, working him into your throat now, breathing through your nose and pushing, pushing until your nose is buried in that little thatch at his base that you love so much. He sees your eyes roll as you breathe him in and it breaks him, he twitches and spurts down your throat.

“Oh God baby, oh God, so fucking good, drink it down baby, drink it all down.”

You do. Gladly, pulling him just out of your throat so you can feel him pulse into your mouth, so you can taste his spend before swallowing it down. When he’s finished you slowly release him, making sure you clean up any errant cum that’s coating his shaft as you go. 

He’s looking at you in awe and you wish you had your phone handy to take a photo of him right now, so that you can always remember how you made him feel in that moment. 

He leans forward and gently cups your face, pulling you into a kiss. You eagerly accept his tongue, your hands finding his meaty biceps and copping a feel as you do. He’s so beefy and manly and his body drives you crazy. Your pussy is literally pulsing as you kiss and fondle him. And as always when he pulls away, it draws a pathetic whimper from you. He chuckles and rubs his nose against yours to pacify you. 

“C’mon baby, off the floor,” he tells you, helping you to your feet. You’re standing between his legs now, with him still sitting on the sofa. He reaches round and grabs you by the ass and buries his face into your chest. Your very much still clothed chest. And oh, how you want to feel him, his skin against yours. But when his hand sneaks up towards the zip on your dress your brain goes into overdrive. You can’t let this happen now. You’re in your comfy underwear as you’d met straight from work, you haven’t had chance to shower and shave, you can’t let him see you like this. And apart form all that you can hear in your head your mothers voice ringing, “so he dumped you huh? Guess it was only a matter of time.” Having only just told her about him, there’s no way you could face her tomorrow if he broke up with you now. Just once you’d like to get through a family meal without the withering tone of your mother and aunts telling you that you’ll never attract a man until you start to ‘take care of yourself,’ and they eye every morsel you bring to your mouth. 

You reach behind you and grab his arm, redirecting his hand to your breast. He gives it an appreciative squeeze and lifts his head to look at you with a soft smile and you can’t stand it. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

He’s on his feet, in seconds, pulling you into his arms. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he tells you as he cradles you and kisses your forehead. 

“I-” you start to protest and he shushes you with a kiss. 

“Nothing,” he reiterates when he pulls away, “ok?” 

“Ok,” you agree, unable to resist giving him another peck on the lips. 

“Good girl,” he tells you, “now drop those panties for me.”

You groan as your pussy throbs, rushing to obey his command. You shuffle your panties down until they fall at your ankles as he sinks to his knees now. You let him retrieve them himself as has become your ritual. He ever so gently lifts your calf and pulls one foot out of your soaked underwear, before repeating with the other side. He immediately buries his face in them and a wave off heat engulfs your body, the vibrations of his moan rocking you to your core. 

“Always smell so good baby, could wear you like cologne.”

Your body jerks with how hard you clench at the filthy thought of him wandering around smelling of pussy. Smelling of you, marked and claimed. Your legs almost give out beneath you as all the blood rushes to your centre. 

There are no thoughts in your head other than him as he guides you onto your back on the sofa, lying down next you, one arm looped under your shoulders to keep you close to him, the other sneaking under the hem of your dress and up your thigh. He presses his lips against yours and it’s far too wholesome to go along with how filthy and desperate you feel right now, every teasing  brush of his lips against yours drawing insensible little whines out of you that make him smile. That beautiful, lopsided smile that makes his whole face light up and you can’t decide if you want to slap him for his teasing or stuff your tongue down his throat. 

You gasp as his fingers brush over your clit, softly circling your sensitive little button until you think you’re spiralling into madness. You come after a few seconds having worked yourself up so much as you sucked him. Your head tips back as you groan and quiver and he wastes no time at all in latching his mouth to your throat, nibbling gently at the skin there. He keeps rubbing you, prolonging your orgasm until you go limp in his arms and pull his head back by his hair, making him groan, to kiss him on the lips again. With more fire than his sweet little kisses just a minute ago. He lets out an amused sound as he reciprocates, finally pushing his tongue into your mouth, his hand just cupping your pussy while you devour each other. You only break the kiss when you feel his fingers moving against you again, circling your entrance now and it’s your turn to let out a little chuckle, and murmur a little “insatiable,” against his lips. 

“Is this ok baby?” he asks as he dips just the very tip of his finger into you. 

“More than ok, please Frankie,” you beg him, loving how considerate he is and immediately feeling guilty that you can’t give him more. What he deserves. 

But that lopsided grin is back on his face as he pushes two fingers into you and your ability to think about anything other than the feel of him, the stretch, is completely stolen away. 

“There we go, good girl, take my fingers,” he coos at you, biting his lip when he feels your walls bearing down on him as he pushes in and out of you. You clutch at his shirt and moan, pushing your hips into his hand, wanting him deeper, harder. He’s happy to oblige, picking up the pace and fucking you harder with his middle and ring finger and drawing the sloppiest sounds out of your cunt. 

“Yes baby, hear how wet she is for me, this pussy is fucking magic baby, always so fucking ready for me.”

“Ah! Oh! Frankie! Ah, fuck! Fuck, Frankie!” is the only response you can manage as he keeps fucking into you, his face now down at your chest, nuzzling your clothed tits with his nose. 

“Can you take another one for me baby hmm? Can you take 3?”

You wail and nod your head, moments away from something spectacular. You hear him growl before he gives a quick bite to your nipple, “words baby,” he commands. You clench around him hard, that authoritative tone always driving you crazy. 

“Hnnnnn, yes, Frankie, yes,” you half yell as he winds you tighter and tighter. Then you feel it. His thick forefinger pushing its way inside you as well and as he reaches full penetration, you shatter, absolutely losing your mind in the pleasure as your pussy pulses and drools around him. You shriek his name in ecstasy and he keeps fucking you hard, singing your praises until you are once again flopped on the sofa, completely boneless and sated. 

He snuggles into you with a contented sigh, your cunt still wrapped tight around his fingers. You bury your fingers in his hair and gently scratch at his scalp and he practically purrs into your throat where his head is currently nestled. 

It doesn’t take long for the guilt to return. You can’t help but feel that he is too good for you. Part of you wishes he’d be harder on you. He’s making it too easy for you to hold back. And you’re going to lose him because of it. 

“Hmm c’mon baby, lets go to bed before I fall asleep right here,” he murmurs, finally removing his fingers from you. You nod your head in agreement, knowing your voice will give you away, will be thick with all the emotions and frustration that you’re holding it inside. And Frankie’s gentle admonitions and reassurances would only make you feel worse. 

He helps you off the sofa and give you a kiss before heading into the main bathroom as you scurry into the ensuite, grabbing your pjs as you go. You strip in the bathroom, purposely avoiding the mirror so you don’t catch a reminder of how gross you look. You quickly wash your face and brush your teeth before rushing into the bedroom and scrambling under the covers before Frankie comes in. Fact is, you hate wearing pjs to sleep. You’d prefer to sleep naked but that wasn’t going to happen with Frankie here, you were just very careful to make sure he didn’t catch too close a look at you in your sleep shorts. 

He comes in shortly after, stripped down to his boxers and the sight of him makes your mouth water. He’s so broad, his chest is smooth. His torso isn’t hugely defined but he’s not soft either. He’s strong from his intense military training, muscle built for utility rather than aesthetics. And that gorgeous trail of curls down his abdomen disappearing under his boxers. He’s so perfect. Not for the first time you wonder what it is he sees in you. He could have anyone. You try not to dwell on it as he climbs in next to you, pulling you into his arms to give you a goodnight kiss. You settle with him on his back and your head on his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart lull you to sleep. 

///

You’re late pulling up to the restaurant the next day for brunch with your mom, aunts and cousins because you couldn’t resist blowing Frankie again and there was no way he was letting you out of the house without making you come in return. He was dropping you off on his way to pick up his friend Santi from the airport and your plan had been to arrive early so that he would be long gone before any of your family spotted him. You were so not ready to introduce him to them but you were sabotaged by your own libido. Just as you pulled in you spotted your mom, aunt and cousin climbing out of their Uber. Frankie is unbuckled and out of his seat before you can protest, running round to open your door and help you down, unaware of the lurking danger. It’s too late to prevent it now, they’re marching over. 

Your cousin Daisy reaches you first, running over to give you a big hug, excitedly babbling at how excited she is about brunch. Newly 21, this is the first time she’s been allowed to join what always ends up being a boozy few hours. Your mom and aunt following at a more sedate pace, whispering together furiously as Daisy turns and offers her hand to Frankie.

“Frankie, this is my cousin Daisy, Daisy this is Frankie. My boyfriend.”

“It’s very nice to meet you Daisy,” Frankie says shaking her hand. 

“You too. Now I’d like to know what your intentions are with my favourite cousin.”

He laughs as you groan, “just ignore her please, she delights in embarrassing me,” but Frankie wraps his arm around your waist to give you a kiss on the cheek, before finally responding, “my intentions are pure, I promise.”

By now your mom and aunt Helen have arrived. Frankie reaches out a hand to each of them as you introduce them and Daisy mouths “he’s gorgeous,” and gives you a thumbs up behind his back and you roll your eyes at her. Your mom is being almost aggressively polite while her face remains stony. Meanwhile Helen coos over how handsome and strong he is, practically feeling him up as she runs a hand over his biceps. You want the ground to swallow you up. You need a drink. Pronto. 

“Will you be joining us for brunch?” Helen asks hopefully.

“No!” you practically shout, “Frankie is picking up his friend and he’s already late,” you turn to him, giving him an apologetic look, “you should go baby, don’t leave Santi waiting too long.” He smiles at you, leans in to give you a kiss before saying goodbye to everyone and promising to see you later. 

You wave him off before turning and reluctantly following your family into the restaurant, already knowing the next few hours are going to be torture. 

You’re proven right almost immediately, you’ve barely sat down before the older women start dissecting the whole interaction. 

“He’s handsome,” Helen sighs dreamily. 

“Mmm, a little too handsome. What’s the catch?” your mom asks as she unfolds her napkin. 

“What’s the catch with what?” your aunt Denise asks as she walks up to the table, offering cheek kisses to everyone before sitting down, her daughters Gabby and Amber following behind her. 

“Her boyfriend,” Helen fills her in, nodding towards you. 

“You met him? Spill!” Amber demands as she takes her seat.. 

“He’s so dreamy,” Helen gushes.

Your mother rolls her eyes, waving the waiter over to order a round of mimosas. “I’m not sure I trust him,” she announces.

“I’m confused,” Daisy says as she looks over the menu, “he seemed nice to me.”

“He is nice,” you try to defend him, studiously avoiding looking at your mother “better than nice actually, he’s amazing.”

“A man that good looking, still unattached at his age? He must have some serious baggage,” your mother pushes. “Is he employed? Has he asked you for money?”

“Yes he has a job mom, and no he’s never asked me for money. He’s not a grifter,” you snip, already wishing this brunch was over. 

“What does he do?” Gabby asks, trying to steer the conversation in a more positive direction. 

“He’s a helicopter pilot,” you tell her, not even trying to hide how proud you are, “he flies for the air ambulance.”

“Oh wow, thats amazing,” Daisy pipes in, “how did he get into that?”

“He was in the army, special forces,” you tell her. 

“Ah! There it is,” your mother exclaims, “probably has a trail of children in every place he was deployed. These army men are always so promiscuous.”

You take a deep breath, you’re well versed with your mothers nonsense. And normally you let it roll over you. But picking you apart is one thing, attacking Frankie’s character is another. 

“You know most moms would be happy that their kid has found someone who is kind and sweet and makes them happy. Not to mention being handsome and having a good job,” you gripe, holding yourself back from pointing out that for the last decade or so she’s been pushing you to find a man and settle down. Luckily the mimosas arrive and you take a big swig as you try to get your emotions under control 

“But, therein lies the problem,” she tells you as she takes a sip of her own drink, “a man that good looking, good job, no baggage would be snapped up in a heartbeat. Why would he settle?”

The unspoken “for you,” hangs in the air. You own mother thinks you aren’t good enough for him.

“You know, if he was that serious about her, he would have stayed for brunch, shown an interest in getting to know her family…” you mother ponders, almost as if to herself but you know better.

“He didn’t stay because he has to p-”

“Pick up his friend, yes, yes. Thats his story anyway.”

“What does that mean.”

“You know, there’s a girl at work,” your Aunt Denise chimes in, “was dating this guy for a few months, said he had some shift job so he couldn’t see her all the time, avoided meeting her family any time she brought it up, turns out he was married and had a family and was just keeping her on the side.”

“Frankie isn’t like that.”

She gives you a pitying look. “I’m just saying, you wouldn’t be the first woman to be used for sex.”

“Frankie isn’t using me for sex, we haven’t even had sex yet,” you bite back and immediately regret giving them that nugget of information. 

“I thought you’d been together a couple of months.”

“We have, just drop it ok.”

“2 months and he hasn’t slept with you, doesn’t want to spend time with your family. Doesn’t seem like he’s that interested at all. Probably best to end it yourself before he does.”

“Aunty thats cruel,” Daisy admonishes her as your head spins at the 180 the conversation has done from Frankie using you for sex to him not even being interested in you.

“I’m just being practical dear, you know how she gets when she’s heartbroken, all mopey and sullen, and we’ll be the ones dealing with the fall out. Not to mention she can’t really afford the extra weight that always piles on after being dumped.”

It’s the casual way she says it. Like it’s an inevitability. But can you really blame her for thinking these things when you’ve been thinking them yourself? You fight to hold back tears. You can’t even argue with her. She’s right. When Frankie finally comes to his senses, it will break you.

You quietly stand, “I’m gona go,” you tell the table as you pick up your purse, your voice quiet as you try to hold back the emotion. You know she will be unaffected by it. 

“Oh sit down, and stop being dramatic. You’re always so sensitive.”

“Stop it aunty,” Daisy rebukes her as she gets out of her seat to give you a hug. It’s the last thing you want right now. Someone showing you kindness when you’re on the brink of a meltdown is usually what shoves you over the edge. You take a deep breath and hold it as you give her a quick squeeze back before pushing her away. 

“Please don’t go, it’s my first brunch,” she begs, “we can change the subject and talk about anything you want.”

But you know thats not true. Now that they have the bit between their teeth, this will be the only topic of conversation for the whole meal. Your hands are curled into fists, fingernails biting into your palms as you try to hold it together. 

“I’m sorry Daisy, hope you have fun, I’ll see you next month,” you tell her before turning and walking away, refusing to look back. You hear Helen behind you, “do you always have to be so hard on her?” You quicken your steps to avoid having to hear your mothers response. 

You walk a couple of blocks over before finally letting the tears fall, trying to order an Uber as your hands shake. You get a fair few funny looks from the people passing by but thankfully no one stops to see if you’re ok. The kindness of strangers is really not what you need right now. 

You sniffle your way through the journey home but as soon as the door closes behind you, you collapse on to the sofa and let yourself fall apart. The rational, sane part of your brain is telling you that what they said isn't true. That Frankie has shown you time and time again that he is serious about you. That he treats you well and is interested in you as a person, that he’s willing to go the extra mile for you. And that he is willing to go at your own pace. But the twisted voice in your head tells you that if he was really interested in sleeping with you, he’d be pushing you more to do it. And now another ugly thought rears its head. Is the reason he’s not pushing you to sleep with him because he’s getting sex elsewhere? 

You try to bury that voice as soon as it pops up. Frankie isn’t like that. That’s just your mom talking. You know him and you trust him. You’d already had a conversation about exclusivity, about a whole bunch of things that wouldn’t need to be discussed with someone you’re not serious about. You’d both agreed to get tested before advancing your physical relationship, both panels thankfully coming back clean. You’d talked about birth control, and and agreed that you would get an implant, back when you assumed you had the ability to progress this relationship like a normal adult. You’d talked about your goals, your dreams, your hopes for the future. It wasn’t something you’d ever done with a man before. You refused to believe it was all made up. Frankie had never given you any reason to doubt him. So you wouldn’t. You just needed to bite the bullet and get it over with. Get the first time out of the way. 

Not for the first time, you wished Frankie would push harder to get you there. Force you. Show you that he’s desperate for you as well. You feel sick as soon as the thought comes. Frankie would never hurt you like that. He’s the sweetest man you know and his integrity is one of the things you love most about him. He really does deserve better than someone wishing him to be worse instead of improving themself. You don’t deserve him. Maybe your mom is right. Maybe you just need to cut your losses now before he finds out how awful you really are. 

///

By the time Frankie arrives later that evening you’re completely spiralling. You can’t even look at him after the awful thoughts you had earlier. How could you ever want to push this sweet man to that? And Frankie is beside himself trying to figure out what has happened to have you so upset. He’s on his knees as you sit on the sofa, whimpering and sniffling and desperately trying to keep a hold of yourself. You know if you look at him now you’ll see his beautiful face twisted in anguish and it builds the hatred you feel for yourself to new heights. Your brain is firing at 100mph, you don’t know what to do, what to say, how to feel. You just wish you could turn your brain off for 5 minutes. Empty out all of your thoughts and arrange them into neat piles you could sort through and categorise. 

“Baby, please talk to me,” Frankie begs, his hands cupped around yours in your lap. “Please baby, I can’t bear to see you this way, please tell me what happened, did someone hurt you?”

He’s starting to sound frantic and you know you have to say something, anything. Your mouth opens and words start tumbling out.

“I had a fight with my mom. She said the most horrible things About you and about me and she thinks I’m not good enough for you, and she’s right. I’ve been a terrible girlfriend and-”

“What?! No baby, don’t say that, you’re an amazing girlfriend, I’m so lucky to have you.” He cups your face and turns you towards him.

You’re crying now and you’re so ashamed and so embarrassed but the dam has broken and your mouth is forming words before you can even stop yourself, slipping out in a stream of consciousness that your brain is half a step behind in interpreting.

“I’m so sorry Frankie, I want you so badly but every time we even come close there’s just so much noise in my head and I can’t stop it and it tells me that the second you see me, really see me, it’ll all be over and I’ll lose you and if you go anyway because I can’t do it that it’ll hurt less than you not wanting me for how I look, and you’re always so kind and so understanding and I hate it that I can’t be good enough for you, and sometimes I just wish that you’d force me and get it over with and I know you won’t because you’re so good and that’s such an awful thing to do.” 

You finally manage to get your mouth under control and suck in a huge breath to make up for not breathing once through your whole rambled speech. And you take one small glance at Frankie’s face, enough to register his shock, and you break down immediately, mortified at what you’ve just admitted to him. All those awful thoughts that have been bubbling away, drawn to the surface after your awful afternoon, now given voice and unable to be retracted. You’re disgusted with yourself.  

“I’m so sorry Frankie,” you sniffle, completely dejected, “I hope you find someone who deserves you.”

“Wait, you’re breaking up with me?” he blurts, suddenly animated after his stillness in the wake of your confession, pushing to his feet and pacing back and forth in front of you.

“I kind of thought you’d want to break up with me after what I just admitted,” you huff quietly as your heart breaks. 

“No, no, no.” Frankie rushes to you, pulling you up into his arms and crushing you against his chest for a moment before turning with you still in his arms and sitting on the sofa, trying to pull you down with him to straddle his lap. You struggle a little against him. 

“Frankie I’m too heavy,” you protest as he pulls you down, arms locked tight around you. 

“Settle,” he commands in that tone that makes you melt. Which is exactly what happens, your body relaxes but you manage to hold most of your weight on your knees to avoid crushing him under your body. 

He pinches your chin between his finger and thumb and makes you look at him, as his other hand skates down your back to your hip, applying gentle pressure to guide you to sink down onto him fully. 

“Sit baby, it’s ok.”

“Frankie,” you mewl, a final attempt at protest. “I said sit, baby.”

You do. You slump down onto him and he cradles the back of your head, guiding it onto his chest as his other arm holds you close. He kisses you on the forehead and gently rocks you until your cries die down. 

And you love it. Being held by him like this. Being enveloped in him. Even after he’s seen you at your very worst. Another meltdown, a terrible confession, and still, he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. Even though you must be absolutely crushing him. A small spark of hope lights in your chest that you haven’t ruined the best thing thats ever happened to you. It is quickly dashed when Frankie says, “I think we need to have a talk baby.”

You take a deep breath. You really don’t want to talk about it. You want to agree just to forget it ever happened. But you know thats not fair with everything you’ve just dumped on him. 

So you swallow and nod and try to sit up more fully so you can look at him properly but he just holds you tighter and kisses your forehead again to keep you still and instead angles your head a little so he can look you in the eye. 

“I don’t ever want to hear you say that you’re a bad girlfriend again baby, especially not because you haven’t been ready to have sex yet.”

You open your mouth to respond but he shuts you up with a peck on the lips, “let me talk baby,” he commands and you nod and steal another quick kiss for good measure making him smile. The sight of it eases some of the tension in your chest and allows you to take a deep, calming breath. 

“I need you to know I think you have the sexiest body baby, all those beautiful curves, drives me mad.” He punctuates his statement with a gentle squeeze of your butt cheek and another little smirk. “But you’re so much more than your body. You are so kind and sweet and smart. You take the best care of me baby and I love being around you. You make everything feel lighter and brighter. You’re my sunshine baby and you’re the only person I want.” 

You take another breath and address the elephant in the room. “Even after what I said? About wanting you to force me?”

He kisses you again. “You know I would never do that and I don’t think you really want it. I think what you want is to hand over control, let your brain switch off a little, does that sound right?”

You nod, “yes! My head gets so jumbled and I overthink and I panic and I just want you to tell me what to do.” You bury your head in his chest. You feel so raw and vulnerable and you need to not look at him for a moment. 

His hand soothes up and down your spine until you turn to look at him again. 

“Have you ever done anything like this? Giving up control?” he asks and you shake you head. “Ok, well I need you to understand, giving me control isn’t about me making you do something you’re not ready for. It’s about me taking the decisions out of your hands within agreed boundaries and letting your brain go quiet so you can actually sort through your feelings. Does that sound good?”

“Yes Frankie, that sounds amazing.” The thought of having relief from the constant barrage of intrusive thoughts makes you want to cry again. But with joy this time. 

“Good girl. Tomorrow, we’re going to have a proper discussion about boundaries and limits and things you’d be open to trying but for right now I think we need to try and give you a little peace within your own head, how does that sound?”

“Perfect,” you hum, feeling an odd mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. 

“Now, I think I have an idea of how we can do that but it’s a little intense. So before we start, I need you to understand, I have control but you have the power. You want me to stop, we stop, no questions, no repercussions. Do you understand?”

“Yes Frankie.”

“Tell me.”

“I want to stop, we stop.”

“Good girl. Now tell me. Have you ever been spanked?”

///

Javier looked down over the edge of the fire escape, arm hooked around the iron ladder for balance. He could see his wife and daughter staring up at him through his new aviators. A present from Ana for his birthday last week. He’d been grouchy about getting older. Or at least that’s what his beautiful wife had accused him of. It was no secret that he was older now. They hadn’t had their daughter Hels, as everyone affectionally called her, until he was in his forties. But it had felt like just yesterday he was cradling her in his arms as a baby. Up with her in the middle of the night when they both couldn’t sleep.

 Now they were in California for the week getting his little baby settled in her dorm room. She was still only 17, she’d skipped a grade. Javier had always said she’d gotten her mother’s brains. But she had his drive too, and his baby had big plans for her future. She was going to be a doctor. Which made Javier happy, not because he cared about the prestige, but because he figured it should be a safe enough occupation. That and she’d have even less time for moronic frat boys. His baby girl was an old soul in many ways. He still wasn’t quite sure where that had come from. He and her mother had both been much wilder in their youth, back when they both ran the streets of Bogotá.

He smiled down at his girls. “I’m just checking the security, the windows only open from inside. But maybe I should buy a cover just in case someone tries to break the window.”

“Pops! Can you please not look into the girl’s dorm windows my first day of college!” Hels groaned. She’d done pretty well tolerating his antics so far, she’d gotten lucky, her older sister warned there was no small chance that he might buy some university mech at the store, a shirt and start wearing it around. But she’d lucked out, maybe he was exhausted from the Ikea trip the day before for her dorm room furniture. But whatever the reason he’d stayed in his white button up.

“Relax, mi alma, no one’s moved in here yet, the next one up is your dorm, I checked the blueprint before we came.” He called down. Mi alma. My soul, he’d called her that often. Javier Peña in his lowest moment had once believed that he’d sold his soul and wouldn’t be aloud to ask for it back. For a long time he didn’t. Then one day in a San Antonio hospital he figured it had come back to him anyway. In the form of the pretty girl that now stood mortified below him.

“Mama!” Hels pleaded, “He’s ruining any shot I have at fitting in.”

“Javier get down!” Ana called to Javier. “I should have known this would happen when I saw the blueprints in the office.” She told her youngest daughter with an eye roll as Javier climbed down.

“I can look at your window from the inside after we get you settled in."

 Hels groaned. “Just humour him. You moved three states away. I had to talk him out of buying a condo near the campus.” Her mother told her.

“I’m lucky he didn’t try to move into the dorms.” Hels joked.

“I wouldn’t give him any ideas.”

Hels’ focus landed on her father once more fixing him with a scathing teenage glare. “Pops, can you please do up another button? You look like a pirate and people are staring.”

“It’s hot in California,” he grumbled.

“Sure is.” Ana smirked her eyes falling to her husband’s neck at he, unfortunately did up another button.

“Not hotter than Texas.” Hels said ignoring her parents’ flirtation.

Ana smirked, “Come on Fabio, it’s a miracle you didn’t get any rust stains on that shirt up there.” It was the nice white one he’d packed for dinner that night, He and Ana were heading to San Franciso that night for a little vacation before heading back to Texas. They’d moved all the furniture that morning then gone to their hotel in Berkley to check out and change. Technically they should have been going for a grocery shop and putting up posters. Clearly, Javier had a couple more security checks he hadn’t brought up with them.

“That’s why I normally wear colours never had to worry about that when I was running though the comunas.”

Hels sighed, turned on her heel and headed to her dorm, not interested in her parents reliving their glory days in Columbia. Once Hels was settled in her dorm room with the window now secure to Javier’s standards. Ana had to practically drag him down the hall. “Do you think she will be alright?” he asked looking over his shoulder.

********************************************************************************************************************************************************

They sat in the beautiful, trendy, well reviewed restaurant in the Castro district later that night. They’d only just ordered their drinks, but Javier anxiously checked his phone for the fifth time since they’d sat down, just in case Hels had needed anything.

“Baby we are on vacation now. You’ve got to relax a little. She’s all moved in and she knows she can get a hold of us.”

Vacations had always been a hard concept for Javier. His mind was rarely quiet. Relaxing didn’t come naturally either. He’d never taken many when he worked with the DEA and the ones he did take were usually forced on him by a superior who was a little tired of dealing with the dogged agent. The first time he’d ever taken a real vacation had been with Ana and her oldest daughter. Even then he approached the planning and execution of such things in a similar fashion to how he would execute an operation with the DEA.

 The restaurant they were sitting right now had been a meticulously chosen. It wasn’t that he was beyond spontaneity. He’d left that even after diner open, he figured they could walk around the Castro district a little, take in the sights, see where they ended up. His planning now was about wanting the best for his family. Ana had worked hard, she’d been a single mother to her oldest daughter, then she’d gotten her doctorate in psychology when she and Javier got back together in Texas. Now his diligence, the drive that had hunted down drug lords, was all focused on making sure his family had the best he could give them. And making up for lost time. “I’m just worried about her. She’s never been this far from home and she’s so young.”

“Which is why we decided to take our vacation here this week remember? So we could be close enough if she really needed something.”

“I know.”

“She’s going to be fine. She’s worked for this for years and she’s probably excited to be at her first night in college. No more hovering Javi.” She said as the waiter dropped off their drinks. She raised her glass, “To being empty nesters.”

“I don’t want to cheers to that.” He said sullenly. Ana studied him for a moment. It wasn’t right, that a man could looked so handsome even when he was pouting. She knew he’d struggle with this. He’d been fine until she’d announced she was going to take pre-med out of state. Then he’d gone into a quiet tailspin of worry. There were too many variables, things that could go wrong, things he couldn’t fix if he needed to. But she didn’t want to spend their entire holiday with him dwelling on the inevitable. She pivoted, changed her approach. “To your birthday then.”

“That was last week.” His big sad eye snapped up, he knew what she was up to, he decided to play along anyway. “I thought you forgot.” He teased

“I never forget! And I gave you those sunglasses on your birthday.”

“That was a gift for you, you know I was happy with the old ones.” He was just being cheeky and they both knew it. He rarely got to wind her up anymore. He took every occasion where he thought he could.

“You know you needed prescription ones!”

The corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to hide his smirk.  “You did forget once...”

Her nose crinkled with indignant annoyance. Success, he always adored the face she made when she was a tiny bit frustrated with him. “I didn’t forget, I just forgot to bring your gift from the house to the ranch.”

“You look so pretty when you're mad at me.”

“Javi…” She warned but she smiled back at him as she rolled her eyes.

“I still think you forgot...”

“Well, I made it up to you, and the result of that just started college. I haven’t forgotten since, so I’m not buying your sob story Pandejo.” She said as she lifted her glass meeting his big brown eyes that had shifted from sullen to sparkling with humour over the course of their banter.

“Salud Javi.”

“To my beautiful wife.”

“We were cheers-ing to your birthday.”

“Well, it’s been so crazy I’ve forgotten to cheers to you too lately.” She roll her eyes as she put the glass to her lips.

They had their dinner. Chatting and teasing throughout. When the topic of dessert came up Ana pulled something from her purse as she said, “I got you one more thing to celebrate.”Ana held out a cigarette.

“Really?”

“Just one, for your birthday. Unless you don’t want …”

He snatched it from her fingers. Standing up he planted a kiss on her cheek, “Thank-you mi amour, order whatever you want. I’ll be right back.”

Javier Peña had quit smoking in his 40s after he left the DEA. Not for heath reasons, at least not entirely. Javier was a man who like to control, when he felt in control things felt safe things usually were safe. Not for him but the people around him. It was a fact that he wasn’t to this day completely aware of, but he knew on some deep level that when he wasn’t in control bad things happened.

So he hadn’t quit smoking because of any thought of living longer, truth be told when he was a young man he’d have scoffed at the very idea of living this long. That his dark locks would be lightened with strands of grey. He thought it even less likely that he’d be happy to see them. It seemed impossible that he could one day be a content old man. One who wanted as many day on this planet as possible. But he did now. Now that he had a dazzling intelligent beautiful wife and two clever daughters, he wanted every moment he had with them.  So he didn’t smoke anymore, except on very rare occasions.

And he’d be lying if he didn’t miss the burn of his lungs and the taste of tobacco on his lips. Which was why he didn’t ever trust himself to buy a pack. It was in a terrible fight with Ana that she’s first become the warden of the cigarettes, not to nag, him just a small loophole in his iron clad resistance, so now she doled them out sparingly on special occasions. He usually got one on his actual birthday. In the chaos that had surrounded the late summer, moving, looking after the ranch, their eldest with her surgery and splitting time between the Ranch in Laredo and the house and her clinic in San Antonio he’d assumed she’d just forgot. Now he realized she knew he’d want one after the stress of moving their baby three states away for college. So she’d saved it. And she had been right to.

As he stood outside, he realized he’d forgotten one key component to smoke. Fire. He didn’t have a lighter.

“Need a light handsome?” A sultry voice asked coming up beside him. A beautiful tall dark-haired woman about 20 years younger than him asked. She held out a hand and causally flicked on a sliver zippo. Javier hadn’t been expecting that. He nodded cigarette already between his lips.

Javier was a happily married man,  but he was still Javier Peña. So he still knew when he was being checked out. And had no problem playing along with some casual flirting over a cigarette. His dark eyes crinkled as he leaned down towards the flame. He didn’t have to lean far down she was rather tall in her heels

“I’m singing tonight just down the street. At a bar called Bellow the Castro, its all covers of the great old hits, Nicks, Parton, Houston, the holy trinity.  Then there’s Latin band coming on later for more dancing, you look like somebody who can move…”

Javier shot her his most devastating smile, “So do you sweetheart. I’ll see if my wife wants to. She loves to dance, but… well let’s just say we left our club days in Bogotá.”

“You’re not from around here.”

“Texas.”

“You don’t strike me as much of a cowboy.”

“Only when I have to be.”

“Mhmm. Well who’s your favourite? Of the old music queens? Texas. I’ll sing one for you and your wife if you two come see.”

“Dolly then, my wife tells me Islands in the Stream is our song, it was a hit the year we fell in love.”

“1983? In Columbia?” Javier nodded while he ashed his cigarette. “Dios mios, mi abeula was from there, the 80’s in Columbia must have been a hell of a time.”

“It was.”

“Islands in the Stream.” She said committing the song to that night’s playlist. “What are your names?”

“Javier and Ana.” She repeated, committing it to memory. “I’ll sing it for you if I see you.”

Javier gave a non-committal-nod. “Maybe we’ll see you there, thanks for the light.”

“No problem, papi.” She said with a wink of long false eyelashes. Then she pushed away from the wall of the restaurant and sauntered off.

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“I’m pretty sure this is the place.” Javier said looking at the little bar entrance as he pulled out his wallet to pay the man at the door cover.

“I don’t know if this is going to be alright Javi.” Ana warned as he led her down the steps of music club. “I doubt this is going to be like the senior’s salsa night.”

When they were young, they’d danced in the salsa clubs in Bogotá. Ana was an amazing dancer, and she loved to do it. Then after Ana had been attacked in Medellin, she’d hated the clubs, crowded spaces, anywhere where someone might feel entitled to touch her. A touch could send her overboard, a stranger innocently placing their hand on her shoulder made her skin crawl, and sometimes even all these years later sent her body into an immediate response of fear and pain. In a single moment undoing, if temporarily, the work she’s done for years in therapy. Then Javier had reappeared in her life. At 40 they’d gone slower than they had the first time around, in many ways. He’d eventually worked up to her body trusting his again too. Then one Valentine’s Day he’d given her the best gift she could have imagined. He’d given her back dancing.

Javier had found a little bar outside San Antonio that did a senior’s salsa night on Thursdays. They’d been the youngest couple there by 30 years. It had seemed silly, but Javier figured it would be a place to start. A way to go dancing again. Now they almost looked like they belonged to the crowd, they still went once a month nearly 20 years later.

He turned to kiss her, his dark eyes sparkling. “I know, but I’ll be right here. And if you want to go we can go… si mi renia?”

She took a breath. Javier had never once - in their almost 20 years of marriage - put her in a place where she would be uncomfortable or unsafe. He’d made that mistake once in Columbia, one Ana would still argue wasn’t his fault. It was one of his biggest regrets. Since then, Javier had gotten older and wiser. She’d been surprised he’d mentioned going in the first place, he almost never took her any where he hadn’t vetted prior. But he seemed oddly confident about this one.

When they entered the dark bar, it was crowded. People where dancing, but it did indeed look different than the salsa clubs in Bogotá and the senior salsa night they’d been going to for nearly 20 years, long enough they no longer looked so out of place there amongst the other patrons. There where lots of men in close quarters, an issue usually except…

Ana grinned after a quick survey of the stage and the early bar crowd, “Javier did you know this was a drag bar?”

Javier gave her a big grin, crinkled eyes dancing with amusement, “I had an idea when the woman who invited me had an Adams apple and was well over 6 feet tall. So, do you think you’ll be okay here? If not we can go, walk to the harbour or something, get a cocktail that costs way more than it should.”

“No, I think this will be fun, as long as I have you.”

“Always.”

So, they danced, their bodies moving together. And they sang along to some of the old power hits. True to her word Javier’s new friend sang Islands in the Stream with her lead guitar player and pointed to them in the crowd as she introduced the duet. The crowed cheered for them too, at her shout out and Javier gave a little wave, never one to shy away from the right kind of attention.  

Ana laughed as she whispered in his ear her hand around his neck as Javier’s new smoking buddy crooned a wonderfully sultry version of I Want to Dance with Somebody. “In Bogotá, only had to look out for the girls trying to steal your attention, here its both.” She laughed.

“You are rewriting history… it was me who had to worry about you getting stolen away those nights.”

“Well you didn’t really, you were paying then.”

“Not always and there were perros with far deeper pockets than me.”

“But not anymore, hermoso.”

“…or better dancers.”

“No,” She teased as her drew her to the dance floor. “You still dance like a gringo.”

He tugged her in closer, a large hand covering the entire small of her back. Then slipped a denim clad thigh between hers rocked so he knew it rubbed just the right spot. Then step back and spun her before pulling her body back against his. Then in a low voice he told her ear “you always liked my gringo dancing.”

“Si, and you liked when I teased you, you liked feeling like you won me.”

“Not now.”

“Not then either, there was never any competition.  Not really.”

They danced a few more songs. The bar was dark on the dance floor and got more crowded, so Javier kept them to the back close to the door. He kept her in his arms so she wouldn’t panic. And just because he enjoyed having her there. When the salsa band came on, she stopped being so coy with her teasing. Her lips found the spot they both loved at the base of his neck. Then she ran a hand down his half-unbuttoned shirt then kept going low until…

“You keep that up Doc, and I’ll fuck you right here.” He growled, threading a large hand in her dark hair holding it back as he talked to her ear over the music of the band.

She looked up at him innocently despite what she was about to say, “Oh, I would have thought you had it planned out already, how you wanted to fuck me. You usually do…”

That was the last straw as he pulled her to the exit. He had her pressed up against the brick wall kissing her neck then her lips. Breaking briefly to order an uber.

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

They were starting another sort of dance as they fell into their hotel room laughing and kissing. His large hands guided his wife of nearly twenty years, and his lover of many more. They were just enjoying the easy the feel of being together. The gentle practiced love they shared. He marvelled at her as he slipped her dress off. He’d assumed as a young man that the lust the attraction would fade as one aged with their partner. That you would commit to them and even though you remained attracted to the same bodies and faces you had been in your prime. Javier would tell you many times over that he been an idiot in his youth.

Indeed, as he slipped his wife out of her dress, he found her even more intoxicating than he did when she had been in her twenties, when her very look and her job had been to seem alluring to him, to all men. But now, now that she had been his for so long. And he had been hers, his eyes adored the imperfections, the wrinkles they created together from laughing, the sunspots that graced her beautiful skin from their moments shared on sandy shores and as she turned to him her eyes sparkled with confidence, with knowing the power she still had over him. The spell she cast as she reached for the buttons on his shit pulling her with him as she backed up towards the bed and murmured “Come, mi amour, I want to feel you, you’ve been teasing me all night now I want you to deliver.”

“So demanding.” He laughed reaching an arm around her as he guided them both to the mattress. Shirt artfully tossed aside her hand were on his pants now, quickly undone the buttons and freeing him and his length from the denim. When his hands were off he hovered over her caging her in before finding her lips for a deep kiss. A moan escaping from him when her hand wrapped around his thick length. She made no moved to pump, she did nothing more than caress the soft hard weight of it in her palm. “I want you slow tonight. Okay cariño? I need to taste you first.”

“Okay, Javi,” her eyes crinkling in a soft smile, “if you need to.” Her tone was playful as if he’d asked for some grand imposition. The humour left her though, giving way to little gasps as he kissed his way down her body, taking only a small detour to kiss her inner thighs. Then landing in a greedy consuming kiss on her lower lips, his tongue swiping then plunging into her centre, a tease of what would follow. Her hands were gasping his think salt and pepper locked when his mouth came to suck on her clit. True to his world he took it slow, in no rush as he eased her to her first gentle orgasm with his lips.

She was basking of the warm glow of his work when his eyes found hers again. His dark eyes swimming with a cocky pride. “Are you ready? Tell me.”

“Si, I need to feel you baby.” He pushed in slowly. Not to torment, this time but to savour. To savour the feel of him taking him in, and the blown-out look of pleasure in her eyes as she did. “Javi, you feel so good.”

“You’re so beautiful” He said as he set a rhythm sure t bring them to a sensual peak. Her fingers dug into his back as he rocked into her, relentless until finally they both reached their peak together. She felt his chest rumbled with a groan and he came above her. He waited as they caught their breath savouring the last few moments as their bodies surrounded one another. He kissed her forehead as he pulled out and whispering. “I missed you.”

“I haven’t been anywhere but with you Javi.” She told him slightly confused.

“Today, but it’s been a busy summer. Between the ranch and your clinic and our crazy girls.”

“It’s been a busy life.” She laughed settling in her favourite spot on his chest. “But it was your idea to have another kid in our 40s.”

“My idea?” Javier laughed incredulously. “You brought it up!”

“No, I was just saying that I might not be able to have another one at that age.”

“Because you wanted one.”

“For you! I already had one kid.”

“Excuse me, we already had one.” He argued playfully, Javier had long ago laid claim to being the father of their oldest daughter, it didn’t matter they bore no blood relation.  

“You know what I mean, you’d yet to experience the pleasures of sleep deprivation, the terrible twos, potty training, endless recitals, school bake sales…”

“The crooked PTA.” He grumbled.

Ana snorted a laugh. “Christmases, quinceañera, prom…”

“Thank-you, cariño. It was a good idea.”

“Yeah, it was.”

Javier smirked, “Ha, so you admit; your idea.”

She rolled her eyes and slapped his chest lightly. “Using your bullshit interrogation techniques on me?”

“I never got to be good cop.” He whined jokingly.

“You still aren’t, you’re a pandejo cop.”

“I’m not a cop, haven’t been for a long time.”

“Right now you’re…” she paused. She had her clinic, she’d done this before with her oldest daughter, but Javier had been Hels’ primary caregiver. He’d retired from the DEA then turned fatherhood into his new life’s work. She knew he’d quietly been struggling with the change. So she feel back onto an old joke of theirs not wanting to sour the mood. “A stay-at-home sex god.”

“Finally, I can just be a kept man.” He joked playing lightly with her wavy dark hair.

Their conversation died for a moment, but they remained cuddled together. The glass French balcony doors to their beautiful hotel suite allowing the city lights to cast patterns on their skin. She played with the long thin silver chain he sometimes wore around his neck. It had been a gift from their oldest daughter many years ago, at the bottom was a round silver dog tag with the word ‘Honcho’ engraved in it. Finally, she broke the silence with a question Javier had been asking all week. One she’d assured him of relentlessly, one that now that the day was here hard worried the edges of her mind. “She’s going to be okay right Javi? She’s so far from home.”

 “She will, cariño, she's strong and clever like her mama.” He said planting a light kiss on the top of her head. And uttering lightly, “It will be ok. I promise.” They held each other as they fell asleep.

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

The California sun flooded the hotel room the next morning.   She slipped out of bed, Javier wasn’t there, but that didn’t worry her. Yesterday he’s deemed the in-room coffee unacceptable. She was sure he was downstairs getting them coffees from the little café across the street from the hotel. She wondered if she’d be able to see him darting across the intersection from the balcony. She grabbed the first piece of clothing she could find, his white button-up shirt from last night. It covered her like a short dress. She quickly closed a couple button and stepped out onto the balcony, her eyes were searching the street below for his thick salt and pepper locks when she heard the hotel open and door close behind her.

Javier met her on the balcony his eyes raking very slowly over her barley clad figure as he handed her a coffee cup. “Mi Renia. You out here in that… it reminds me of our time in Key West.”’

She smiled at her sweet Javier as she took the cup from him. Biting her lip playfully. “Remind me? What happened, I can’t recall…”

His hand caressed down her back when it found her ass he pulled back, giving it a quick firm slap. “Bad girl, mi amour. That was the top floor of a beach resort not downtown San Francisco.”

“If you squint, I think you can see the ocean that way.” She squeaked in surprise as he took her cup setting it on the little balcony table before picking her up throwing her over his shoulder in one swift motion. He was fireman carrying her back to the bed. “Careful old man, I don’t want you to hurt your back.” She teased.

“You’re asking for it you know?” His voice deep and commanding as he tossed her on the bed.

“No…” she said, tossing her hair back coyly, as if this hadn’t been exactly what she wanted. Then she let out a yelp as his hand found her lightly exposed butt.

Then Javier pushed her over pinning her arms above her head. Then he attacked her with his lip kissing her mouth then her neck and finally to her breast punctuating their playful tussle with a light bite to her nipple. “Careful, then mi amour.”

“Why?” She taunted “What are you going to do, you are retired remember, you can’t even arrest me.” He couldn’t technically in Columbia either but that wasn’t the point.

“Citizen’s arrest. Disturbing the peace.” His eyes glanced at the two untouched coffee cups on the balcony. “Wasting a very nice americano.”

“Oh no.” She said without remorse, her hands already unbuttoning his shirt. Her mouth at the base of his neck again. When her hand found the bulge in his pants smirked up at him. “Maybe there’s something I could do to get off with just a warning?”

He grabbed her wrists pinning her to the bed once more. “We’ll add bribery to that.”

“Is that a no?” He thought for a moment. Usually, he liked to have an idea before they played their kinky games. But his wife had caught him off guard this morning. And he did have actual plans for their day. Ones that involved sightseeing and a great dinner. A show. But Javier Peña was still Javier Peña, which meant he always could make time for a little sex. And if he could turn their entire day into a long game of teasing, secret touches and foreplay well…

He picked up a pillow threw it on the floor beside the bed and pointed to it. “Get on your knees now, take my cock out and we’ll see how well you do. Then we can discuss your punishment for tonight...”

“Si, Javi.” Was the last thing she said before the lips found his cock. He tossed his head back with a groan of pleasure. Javier Peña was finally a man who enjoyed his vacations.

Read their story from the beginning : The Ghosts of Bogotá

Read a drabble about them shopping for dorm furniture at IKEA: Javier Peña Goes to Ikea