compulsion

It had been a stupid idea you’d seen in a TV show—a couple at a bar, pretending to be strangers and “meeting” for the first time, proceeding to hook up under the guise of having an affair. Steve had been the one to insist you wear your ring, actually, because he was convinced if you showed up alone to the bar you’d scouted, there was no way he wouldn’t have to fight through a crowd of men all clamoring for your attention.

You didn’t think that would be the case, but you still appreciated the way Steve made you feel desirable long after most other married men stopped trying (your friends told you, frequently and vehemently, how jealous they were that you managed to snag The Steve Harrington).

“We’ll get a motel room,” Steve had said, already barreling full steam ahead as soon as you’d broached the idea. “Really make a cheap sleazy night of it.”

Which was how you’d ended up seated in a dive bar, nursing a lukewarm bottle of Corona, complete with a lime slice, waiting for your husband to walk up, pretending to be a stranger.

You had kept your ring on, as per his request, but despite wearing it, a handful of men still sauntered up to you in various states of drunkenness, mostly taking it on the chin when you turned them down. One who had to be at least halfway to unconscious continued to eye you even after he’d returned to his friends near the dartboard, and you surreptitiously checked your phone to see Steve’s location. Thankfully, he was right outside the bar, a few doors down by the looks of it, so you locked your phone, picked up your beer, took a long swig, and just about finished it.

The door opened, allowing a gust of warm evening air to blow in, and then there was Steve, hair perfectly coiffed, the vintage Member’s Only jacket he’d scored from Goodwill a little tight around his middle, because he wasn’t the same slender athlete he’d been in high school and you were thankful it showed.

He didn’t make a beeline for you—he actually stopped at the far end of the bar, his eyes barely brushing over you as he ordered a Bud from the tap. The bartender filled the glass for him, leaving too much head at the top. You saw Steve’s eyebrow twitch, knowing he’d want to complain about it to you, knowing he couldn’t because for right now, you weren’t his wife.

You could see as he picked up the glass, frown pronounced, that he’d chosen to leave his ring at home. You clicked your tongue. Men.

You spun yourself on the stool, leaning back against the bar with your mostly empty beer in your hand. The sad lime wedge clung to the interior of the bottle, and you crossed your legs at the knee, mostly to show off the miniskirt you’d chosen for the occasion. Steve had left earlier in the evening to go check into the motel, to “take care of the room,” whatever that meant, leaving you an empty house in which to get ready. Which was nice, actually, the quiet calm of the bathroom as you languored in the tub, not hearing Steve blundering around like you normally did, not wanting to bother your self care time but also really needing to know where you’d put his [insert literally anything here]. You picked out your clothes in silence, applied your makeup without distraction, and even had a nice, easy dinner (macaroni and cheese with a side of carrot sticks) because Steve wasn’t there to get on your case about a square meal. And you were going to let him dick you down later. This having an affair with your husband thing was working out pretty well in your favor.

“Need a top-up?” you heard Steve ask, and you glanced up at him. He was pointing at your empty beer.

“Sure,” you said, a small smile on your lips, though you were trying to play distant. “Another Corona’s good.”

You watched as Steve caught the attention of the bartender, lifting one finger and pointing to your bottle, before turning back to you. “I’m Steve.”

You smiled. “Hi Steve.”

The bartender plunked your second beer down behind you, taking the empty as you handed it over.

“And you are?” Steve asked, sipping his beer.

“Guess,” you replied, squeezing the lime down through the neck of your beer.

“Robin,” he said, and you chuckled at the name of his best friend, who he'd chosen to be one of his groomspersons at your wedding.

“No…”

“Hm,” he feigned thinking. “Maxine?”

You sipped your beer, amused—one of his surrogate kiddos from high school. “No.”

“Nancy,” he said, smirking as your eyes flashed a little, the name of his high school sweetheart still sounding just as saccharine on his lips now as it had back then.

“Is that what you want my name to be?” you asked, lips quirking up as you held back your snicker.

“No,” he said, stepping a little closer. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“No?” you asked. “Then what does? Last guess, Steve. You already have three strikes.”

He leaned in to your ear, strands of your hair catching his nose and his lips as he whispered your name to you, drawing back with a smug smirk, because that was smooth as hell—at the exact same moment the guy who’d been staring at you from the dartboard grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him backward.

Steve’s beer glass hit the ground and shattered, glass and beer spraying in every direction; Steve hit the ground too, and you watched, too stunned to move, as the man bent over your husband on the ground, drawing back a fist.

“She’s married, fuckface,” he slurred, and you slid off your stool, looking at the bartender for help, because a place like this didn’t have security—it didn’t even have a bouncer checking IDs outside. “You don’t see the ring she got on her finger?” the man asked, and you actually screamed a little as his fist came down against Steve’s face, leaving a huge red mark behind.

“Stop!” you shouted, stepping closer as the man hit Steve again, saying something else about respecting boundaries and how you were just too nice to reject a pretty boy like him off rip so he was doing it for you.

You arrived at their side at the same moment as the bartender, who was thankfully big enough to contend with the man currently straddling your husband, trying to get in a third punch while Steve fought like hell to get out from underneath the guy, but it was like a lightweight boxer going up against a gorilla—hopeless.

“All right, buddy, you’re done,” the bartender was saying, as the man’s friends came over to help as well, pulling their drunk pal off of Steve who hurriedly got to his feet, lip bleeding and cheek bruised. “You’re outta here,” the bartender said to the group. “Go somewhere else. Better yet, take him the hell home.”

He stood as though guarding you, watching as the quartet of drunk neckbeards left the bar, then turned back to you, where you stood with one hand on Steve's shoulder. Steve was bent at the waist, resting his hands on his knees, breathing deeply and shaking his head.

“He wasn't bothering you, right, ma'am?” the bartender asked, meeting your eyes over Steve's bowed back, nodding toward Steve where he was currently just trying to regain some dignity.

“No,” you said, rubbing his shoulder. “No, he was who I was waiting for.”

The bartender's eyes flicked to your left hand on Steve's back, the ring circling your finger, the absence of a ring on his, but then he just shook his head, not giving enough of a fuck to bother thinking about it, and went back behind the bar to grab a mop to clean up the spill.

“You need some ice, buddy?” the bartender asked, but Steve only straightened up and shook his head.

“Maybe a—clean rag, if you have one,” he said, prodding at the cut in his lip with his tongue.

“You don't want ice?” you asked, tucking yourself against Steve, his arm draping over your lower back, hand resting on your hip. “You'll swell up.”

“It's fine,” he said. “I'm trying really hard to impress this lady I met at the bar.”

You laughed a little, exasperated. “Steve, please. It was a bit, remember?”

“Geez, did that guy clock you too? We just met like fifteen minutes ago.” He hugged you tighter into his side, reaching out to take the clean yet dingy rag from the man behind the bar and dabbing it to his lip. When he pulled it away, you saw a small streak of blood on it. “Stings.”

“We should go,” you murmured, rubbing your hand over the small of Steve's back. “Let's just go home.”

“No!” he said, flinching when his exuberance pulled at his lip, splitting it again. He pressed the rag against it, muffling himself as he spoke next. “No, the motel is all set. We're going.”

You heaved a sigh—you'd known that he would insist, and he wouldn't stop insisting until you were there. “Ok, fine. Let me just settle the tab.”

“Use my card,” Steve said, trying to reach for the wallet in his back pocket, but given that you were currently pressed to his left side, that wasn't all too easy for him.

“It's the same account,” you said, but he gave you a small whine in response.

“It's the principle of the thing,” he said, his voice pitching just a little. “I'm supposed to be seducing you.”

“I don't think it's a seduction thing,” you said, “I think it's supposed to be like, thrilling because you're hooking up with a stranger.”

“Really?” Steve asked, looking at you while did as he wanted and took his wallet out of his pocket for him. “I thought I was supposed to be so alluring that you'd cheat on me... with me.”

“No, it's supposed to be like, sex with someone you don't know. But if it makes you feel better you're the only person I'd cheat on you with.”

“That does help, thank you,” Steve said, moving with you to lean on the stool you'd previously occupied while you handed the bartender his card to pay for your three beers—only for him to wave it away.

“Nah, on the house,” he said. “Your, uh... guy earned it.” He gave Steve a sidelong look.

“Oh, um. Thanks,” you said, looking over at Steve, who gave you a thumbs up, the rag still against his lip, and stood to follow you out of the bar.

“Did you drive here?” you asked, once you were outside.

“Nah,” Steve said, dodging a group of young men heading inside, stepping around them. “Motel's only a few minutes that way.” He pointed down the street.

“Well, my car is here,” you said, pointing to the lot beside the bar.

“It's a nice night,” Steve said, his tone just touching on singsong. “Much more romantic to walk.”

“You can stop trying to seduce me,” you said, curling your arm through his. “I'm so turned on it's unbelievable.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked. “Seeing me take a couple to the face does it for you?”

You giggled, but held yourself a little closer to him. “I mean... not that, but...” You trailed off.

“What?” he pushed you, turning to look at you as you walked.

You held out your hand, shrugging your shoulder a little too. “I mean—you look kinda hot a little... beat up,” you said. “You know, roughed up a little.” You tapped your own lip in the same spot that he had the split in his. “It's a good look.”

“My face hurts,” he said, pouting.

“And it's killing me,” you quipped, squeezing his arm. “But like, in a good way.”

“I can't believe you like this kind of...rough and tumble stuff,” he said. “I really fucked up the surprise.”

“What surprise?” you asked, and Steve pursed his lips, giving you a look.

“If I tell you it isn't a surprise,” he said, rolling his eyes. “This way.”

You'd arrived at the parking lot of the motel, spotting Steve's car a little ways away, and you both ambled over until he stopped you right before the sidewalk in front of your door.

“Ok, you have to wait outside,” he said, and you tilted your head to the side. You opened your mouth and he gave you a stern look.

“The surprise?” you asked, and he just nodded, giving you a small smile.

“Just give me three minutes. Count them,” he said.

You rolled your eyes but shooed him toward the door; he unlocked it and stepped inside. You counted to 180 as fast as you possibly could, then opened the door, way sooner than 3 minute had passed. He was absolutely not ready, that much you could tell—but he'd placed candles all around the room, and only about half were lit. The light in the bathroom was still on, ruining the ambiance that he was trying to create, and the path of rose petals led from the door up to the bed, but stopped there, a zip-top bag filled with the remainder of them was perched on the edge of the mattress.

“Steve,” you said, shutting the door behind you. “Oh my god.”

He poked his head out of the bathroom, shirtless and frowning. “It has not been three minutes.”

“I was getting cold.”

“It is like 70 degrees outside,” Steve said. “It is not cold.”

“You're not in the shortest skirt you own,” you said, gesturing to your legs.

“Ok, fair. But—I didn't finish setting everything up.”

“You didn't have to do this,” you said, but it was very sweet of him. “It was supposed to be fake cheating.”

“I thought it was a seduction thing!” he said, letting his head thunk against the doorjamb of the bathroom. “Anyway, just—give me a second.” He disappeared back into the bathroom.

You hesitated, and then kicked off your shoes, padding over to the door and peeking in at him. He was leaning over the sink, almost right up against the mirror, licking his tongue over the cut in his lip and then patting at it with a balled up tissue. You saw, with a small smile, he'd put his ring back on.

“Is it still bleeding?” you asked, and Steve made a small noise of assent, his tongue pressing on it again. “Stop, give me that,” you said, stepping into the bathroom. “Sit down.” You took hold of his shoulders and turned him around. “Sit.” He hopped up onto the edge of the sink and you stood on your tiptoes, cupping his chin gently in your hand and putting a little pressure on his cheeks so he parted his lips for you. Frowning, you examined his lip, dabbing it with the tissue. It wasn't bleeding, but it looked tender, raw.

“I guess no kissing for tonight,” you said, only to get a rise out of him, because as you said it, he looked stricken.

“What?” he asked, distraught. “No way. That’s not happening.” He pouted, the expression tugging at the cut, you could tell he was in a little pain. “Babe, please, I can’t not k—”

“Oh my god, Steve,” you said, laughing. “It was just a joke. I was kidding.” You leaned up to kiss him, stretching yourself up onto the very tip of your toes, hands bracing on his thighs as you pushed yourself up to be able to reach him. You felt him smile a little against your mouth as his arms came to rest around you, holding you up a bit easier as you sucked at his lower lip, maybe focusing on the split intentionally… though you’d never admit it.

Steve whined softly against your mouth as you did, pulling back and looking at you with new eyes. “So you really meant it?”

“Meant what?” you asked, even though you knew. You wanted to hear him say it.

“You like seeing me… like this,” he said, gesturing to his face. You lifted a hand to cup his face, first letting your fingertips brush the bruise on his cheek before letting them trail over his lip.

“Kinda, yeah,” you said. “Makes you look, I don’t know. Rugged or something. Like you’d fight for me.”

“I would,” Steve said. “I kind of did.”

“You definitely did,” you echoed, kissing him again, eyes slipping closed. You could taste the copper on his tongue, his kiss just as hungry but a touch tentative, his body wanting you and wanting to take it slow out of self-preservation at the same time. “And I definitely liked it.”

He slid down off the sink so he was standing directly against you, his hands coming to rest at your waist as he leaned down again, kissing you, giving you a soft little whimper as you bit at his split lip, your own tongue swiping over it. Steve laughed quietly, pulling away from you. “I'm gonna start picking fights all the time if it gets you this worked up.”

You lifted your hands to rest at the fronts of his shoulders, looking up at him with a smirk playing at your lips. “Are you gonna keep losing them, though?” you asked, and his eyes widened in offense, mouth opening to refute you, but it only pulled at his torn lip and he winced. “I remember high school, wasn't a good time for you.”

Steve huffed. “I'm glad you're in the mood, but this isn't really doing it for me.”

You leaned up to kiss him again, and he let you; you'd known he could only bluff for so long. “Let me show you how much I like it then.”

Tilting his head to the side, Steve feigned considering it. “I mean, ok. I guess, yeah.”

“Oh, 'you guess, yeah,'” you said, stepping back from him, his hands still draped over his shoulders; he walked with you so his front wouldn't be too far from yours. “Now who's killing the mood?”

“Still you,” Steve said, taking control once you were out of the bathroom, flicking the lightswitch off and leading you backwards to the bed. “You didn't let me finish with the candles, the rose petals aren't on the bed, I'm still fully clothed...”

“Were you planning to not be?” you asked.

“Duh,” Steve said, pulling a face. “You think I'd go to all this trouble making the room a perfect little love den and still have my jeans on when you walked in? It's like you never knew me. We really are strangers.” He poked your side. “Hey, babe, the bit worked out in the end.”

“Hurrah,” you deadpanned, and Steve stole another kiss from you before he stepped away, turning down the bed.

“Can you just cover your eyes while I do the petals?”

“Steve, oh my god,” you said, laughing but turning your back to him, letting him do what he had to do. You heard the rustle of fabric and the shuffle of his footsteps over the carpeted floor of the motel room, the plastic bag opening as he stuck his hand in repeatedly. You imagined him tossing the petals around and had to bite your lip, because it was just the most adorable kind of misunderstanding and that, in addition to the little bit of damage to his features, was really turning you on big time, actually. The mindfulness, the kindness, the way he would do anything for you, even if it wasn't what you'd expected or intended.

“You can turn around now,” he said, and you did. He was standing beside the bed, arms outstretched toward it, grinning at you.

“You still have your jeans on,” you observed, and he pouted.

“That's what you noticed?” He extended his arms toward the bed, emphasizing it.

With the bathroom light off and the candles lit, flickering and illuminating the room in a warm glow, the rose petals strewn about on the sheets giving the air a subtle, floral tinge, you had to admit—this was extremely sweet.

“All right,” you said, stepping around the corner of the bed toward him. “This is very romantic. Not exactly how I pictured things going, but if I was going to cheat on my husband, this is a pretty great place to do it.”

Steve beamed. “Thank you.”

You returned his smile, then lowered your gaze. “Jeans?”

“Right,” he said, unzipping his jacket and tossing it onto the dresser, then untucking his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans.

Laughing, you put your hands on his wrists to stop him. “Lie down. Let me.”

You watched as he worried his lip a little between his teeth, then sat on the edge of the bed, not lying down like you'd told him but pulling you in between his knees. He nuzzled his face into your front before pushing your blouse up, high enough that you just stripped it off, revealing the black lace bra you'd chosen for the evening. He blatantly looked at your chest, barely shrouded in the see-through lingerie, and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you and burying his face in your stomach as he pressed soft kisses there, giving you little love bites every other time he moved to mouth at a new spot, and you giggled a little, ticklish, as he let his tongue flit over your skin just beneath the cup of your bra.

“This is almost like taking your jeans off,” you mused.

“This is better, actually,” he said, and slid his hands up your back to unclasp your bra, pulling the undergarment away from you and letting it fall to the side on the bed. Touch featherlight, he skimmed his palms up your sides and cupped your breasts in his hands, sighing softly as your nipples perked up beneath his thumbs.

You ran your hands through his hair, knowing you were mussing it but not caring, and tipped his head back just enough that he could look up at you even while he was still cupping your tits. Brushing your thumb over the bruise forming on his cheek, you curled your hand in his hair, pulling his head back to lean over him, licking into his mouth with a need that you usually didn't cater to, but seeing him like that was doing something to you.

“Steve,” you whispered against his lips. “Can we try something new tonight?”

He was going to say yes—he knew that already, but he still asked. “You don't wanna beat me up, right?”

You laughed, kissing his forehead. “No, no. I mean... maybe a little rougher than usual?” you asked, suddenly timid, because he could refuse and even with as kind as you knew he would be, you'd feel a little silly. Before he could say anything, you continued. “And, um... something to really make it seem like we were actually strangers.”

“Like what?” Steve asked.

You shifted your weight to the opposite leg. “I could ride you,” you said. “But... facing the other way.”

Steve moved his hands to rest on your hips, looking up at him. “Rougher than usual and you riding me...” He pressed his lips into a line, tilting his head to the side. “Gee, that sounds awful. Thank god this is a one night stand.”

You laughed again, hitting into his shoulder with the heel of your hand. He covered the spot where you'd connected with his hand, and made a short, pained noise, like you'd actually hurt him.

“Ok, you know what?” you said. “You're not funny.”

“I'm so funny,” Steve said, standing up so he was flush against you, pulling off his shirt as well. “I make you laugh an average of 16 times a day. I counted.”

You bit your lip to keep from proving him right. “That's weird.”

He pointed at you trying not to smile, gleeful. “We're eking up to 17.”

With no way to refute him, you did the only thing you could think of—pressed your lips to his again, swiping your tongue over the sensitive slit and making him shudder. “Lie down,” you whispered, teeth nipping at his lower lip before you backed away.

Steve obeyed, pushing himself back onto the bed, the rose petals crushed beneath him or swept out of the way by his hands as he slid over the sheets, and he watched as you unzipped your skirt, stepping out of it to reveal the matching panties, equally lacy, equally see-through. He sighed, taking in the sight of your barely-hidden pussy, covered in sheer fabric. As you watched, he lifted his gaze to your face, his features softening. “You're so beautiful.”

Smirking, you moved to kneel on the bed, climbing over him so your knees were on either side of his hips, and leaned down over him. He pushed himself up on his elbows to try to kiss you, but you planted your hands firmly on his shoulders and pushed him back down—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough that he would know that was what you'd meant by a little rougher than usual. He looked up at you with wide eyes, hazel turning deep gold in the candlelight, and you leaned down to kiss him, all tongue and a little teeth, as opposed to your usual softness, lips melding together before parting gradually, letting the other in.

No—not this time. You ground your hips down against his, the seam of his jeans rubbing against your slit through your panties, licking into his mouth to practically fuck your tongue against his and he melted beneath you, moving his hands to cup your ass and squeeze it before he turned his face away from yours, taking a breath and speaking quietly.

“You said, uh, rougher, right?”

“Right...”

He rubbed your ass with both hands, before pinching the hem of one side of your underwear and pulling it up from your skin, letting it go so it snapped back against your ass, making you startle a little. “Me too?”

Your inquisitive look changed to mischievous, and you rolled your hips down into him. “You too.”

Your breath came as a sudden gasp as he dug his fingertips into your ass, pulling you open despite your underwear, the lace swallowed up in your folds as he hooked his thumb into the back of them—he tugged them up, drawing them tight against your slit and you whined as the crotch of your panties was swallowed up by your pussy lips, the stiff line of fabric pulling at your clit, the slight scratch of the lace giving you just enough friction over your wet slit that you groaned deep in your chest, bowing your back as he held your panties taut against your core. You were content to grind down against him, the fabric rubbing at you in all the right places—and then you felt his hand come down on your ass, palm stinging as he gave you a sharp, quick slap, and your eyes met his, crinkling at the corners, glinting in the candlelight, as your lips curved up into a devilish smile.

“Oh, ok,” you said, a little breathless with anticipation and the stimulation to your clit, the way Steve was still yanking your underwear up against you, your folds clinging to it, around it.

“Come on,” Steve said, his voice low, a little shy, like he was testing something out. “Want you to—to come like this, come all over me, just—” he gave your ass another little smack, not as hard as the first one. You nodded, encouraging him, and he tried again, harder this time, and you closed your eyes, sighing, your skin buzzing. “Wanna come like this?” he asked, letting go of the panties for the briefest second, just to let his fingertips dip beneath them, sliding from your asshole down to your pussy.

“Yeah,” you sighed, and he pulled his hands away from your body, undoing his jeans properly now; together, you both got them off of him, leaving you both topless and only in your underwear, though once he was situated beneath you again, the hard line of his cock visible through his boxer briefs, he'd hooked his hand back into the makeshift thong he'd given you and was tugging at them again, pulling the lace against your clit.

“Jesus,” you groaned, looking down your body at him as he slipped his free hand into his underwear, tugging his dick up from where it had been chubbing up along his leg, to rest straight up against his stomach, still confined by the tight cotton of his briefs, the head poking out of the waistband. You licked your lips at the sight of it, but he shook his head.

“Wanna come inside you,” he murmured, like you wouldn't hear. “Wanna—wanna feel you around me.”

Sighing, you fought against his hold on your panties as you lowered your hips toward his, letting your cunt move over the hard line of his cock, legs flexing as you rolled your hips back and forth over him. There were too many layers between you, but neither of you cared—your wet heat moving along his length, even with cloth separating you, was making him even harder; and for you, the pressure of his cock against you, pushing your own underwear harder against your clit as he tugged at them, was making the rhythm you'd fallen into stutter.

“Come on my cock,” Steve said, and you shuddered—he'd found the tone that worked for this, the gravelly way he spoke that had a direct line to your core, turning you on like nothing else, making your pussy clench up, your clit throb, and you reached a hand down to his stomach. Not to brace yourself, not to touch yourself—he'd said he wanted you to come with your panties the only thing giving you anything to work against—no. You let your fingertips move across the head of his cock, the leaking slit, the pad of your index finger teasing him there lightly, gingerly, dipping against it and smearing his precome all along him, circling his leaking tip.

Behind you, he kept a hold on your panties, his thumb crooking them up against you even harder, even tighter, the fingers of his other hand digging divots into your ass, clinging to your thigh, his own hips lifting up into your touch, cock rigid beneath you and he could feel your lips fluttering around him as you stilled on top of him, your eyes rapidly blinking before shutting entirely, lips falling open to moan sweetly for him, your first orgasm of the night taking you, soaking through your panties and wetting the front of his briefs, your arousal hot against his cock, staining his underwear as you came against him.

“Fuck,” Steve breathed, voice low, shaky. He let you work your hips against him for another moment before stopping you, letting go of the bundle of fabric he'd hooked his thumb around, smoothing his hand down over your ass instead. “That was—wow.”

You laughed quietly, absently, still feeling your pussy spasming a little with aftershocks, your legs weak. “It was,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss him, your lips meeting his, feeling them curve into a smile against you. “But we're not finished yet, stranger.”

He huffed a short laugh in response, then pushed himself up the bed a little, watching as you moved off of him, pulling the black lace out from between your labia and pushing them down your thighs, working them off while he did the same, his cock springing free from his briefs; you reached down and removed them for him, letting both of the bunches of fabric, damp with your arousal, fall to the floor beside the bed.

Steve watched as you stood on your knees before him, hands skimming up from your hips to your breasts, tweaking your nipples briefly before you lifted one hand to your mouth, blowing him a kiss—then, you turned around, facing away from him, backing up enough that your dripping pussy was above his hips, his cock hard and glistening at the tip, waiting for you to take it. Facing away from him, especially in the dark of the room, you could be anyone—could be, but weren't, and that was kind of doing it for him.

You leaned forward, your back arching, ass all he could focus on, but you turned at the last moment to look over your shoulder at him. You spoke with a voice that was a little darker than normal, the same as he'd done. “Does your wife let you fuck her without a condom?” you asked, and Steve could only stare for a long moment, because no, you didn't, and right now, it seemed like you might.

“N-no,” he stammered. He wondered vaguely if you were going to ask him to get one, or if you would go get one yourself. He'd been in charge of the room; you said you'd prepare everything else.

But you only laughed, high and sweet, a venomous little simper, unlike your normal one. “Your lucky night, then,” you said, sidling back enough that you could bend down and hold his cock upright with one hand, notch it against your slit, and slide down onto him raw, taking him in fully, no latex separating your bodies from each other this time. He felt you shudder as you sat on top of him, facing away, your hands moving to grip his legs as you settled down.

Steve stared at your figure from behind, the way you were seated atop him, legs astride his hips, his cock buried deep in your pussy, and licked his lips at the gorgeous visual.

“Feel so good,” you murmured, arching yourself, tossing your head back, then rolling your hips over him just to start. He reached out for you, his hands landing on your hips, smoothing over your lower back before he bit his lip, feeling the twinge of pain as his teeth closed on the split, and he remembered the entire point of this. Letting his hand rub softly over you, he pulled it away and brought it back down, a harsh smack echoing in the room, pulling his name from your lips as a loud gasp.

“Come on, cowgirl,” Steve said, bucking his hips up into you. “Ride.”

You would have laughed at the terrible line, but he punctuated the last word with another smack to your ass, and so, skin stinging, you leaned forward, grabbing onto his legs to support yourself as you lifted off of him, hoping he at least had a good view as you lowered yourself down, fucking yourself on his cock as he laid back, hands still on you, spreading your ass cheeks apart so he could watch himself disappear into your slit each time you moved back onto him. Occasionally, he fucked up into you, when your pace faltered or you needed a minute to let your legs recuperate—he would take over, digging his heels into the bed and snapping his hips up, his cock delving deep into your tight heat, stretching your cunt every time he moved back in; you felt him, so agonizingly thick inside of you, that you were already almost spent before you'd even come a second time.

“Steve,” you whined, letting yourself rest atop him, no longer moving, your toes curled and your fingers tight around his calves.

“C'mere,” he said, pushing himself up to sit so you were on his lap. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight, and helped you to bounce on his cock, lifting you with strong arms. He kissed your back, smiling a little as you leaned against him, sighing heavily as you tried to move with him again, worn out but needy, tired but so close.

“Wanna come on your cock,” you said, turning as best you could toward him, reaching down to take hold of one of his hands where he was pressing his palm against your front.

“Whatever you want, gorgeous,” Steve said, lips against your skin. “Wanna feel you first and then I'll—”

You cut him off, knowing he was going to say he could finish in your mouth or on your back—and that wasn't what you wanted at all.

“No,” you whimpered, and he paused almost altogether, until you continued. “Come inside,” you mumbled, something you'd never allowed before, something you'd never... wanted before. “Wanna feel all of you. All of you ev-everywhere.”

Steve's breath hitched, and he pressed his face against your back, needing a moment to compose himself. He'd never pushed you for this, but you knew how much he wanted it. “Yeah,” he said, finally, “yeah. Yes. For you, gorgeous, wherever you want. It's all yours.”

You squeezed down on his cock, finding yourself with renewed vigor, his cock so deliciously hard within you, pressing against you just so inside; he was close to grazing your g-spot each time, and you adjusted the angle of your hips enough that each time you pulled off and slid back on, the head of his cock nudged it, making your breath stutter, your hands shake.

“Fuck me,” you groaned, begging him for it now. “Please, fuck, fuck me—fuck me—”

He pressed his lips to your neck, holding you as he ground up against you, keeping your ass tight against him, bucking up into you as best he could from beneath. You tipped your head back to rest on his shoulder, lips sighing sweetly into his ear, and slowly, he lowered his hand down from your stomach to between your legs, spread on either side of him still, your palm still resting atop the back of his hand.

“Together?” he whispered, and you sighed, turning your face toward his, your lips brushing his neck.

“Yeah,” you replied, voice just as soft, just as quiet, as you guided his hand down, your fingers lacing between his, thumb curling around his palm to stroke over it as he touched you, circling your slick, swollen clit with small, smooth movements. “Steve...” you breathed out, and he turned his head, catching your lips with his. Yours closed down on his lower lip, sucking at the tender cut he had, worrying it with your tongue, and he pushed up into you at the same time he pulled you down against him, the grip of his hand on your hip enough to leave his fingerprints as bruises.

“Steve,” you squealed, not quite meaning to, but he only sighed your name in response, pressing harder against your clit, moving faster, rougher, before nipping at the underside of your jaw and pulling his hand out from under yours.

“Tell me if this is too much,” he said, and you had no idea where he was going with it until you felt his hand slap against your cunt, the sharp feeling of pleasure mixing with pain as your clit throbbed with it, and you moaned, shaking your head, begging for more.

“No, fuck, no it's—not too much,” you half-sobbed, flexing your hips on top of him, wanting more, needing more.

Steve exhaled against your neck, lifting his hand to do it again, and you widened your legs even further, as much as you could; his hand came back down on your pussy, the sound of it nearly completely covered as you cried out, half a scream and half a moan, breath stuttering.

“I'm so—so—Steve—” you stammered, and he resumed rubbing your clit with his other hand, groping at your thigh.

“Think you can give me one more?” he asked, and you nodded, not sure if he meant another slap to your clit, another orgasm, or what. “Let's see.”

His voice had taken on that dark tone again, the one that rubbed over your psyche like velvet. He continued teasing your clit with just one fingertip, and then both his hands were off of you for a moment, one coming up to cup your breast, and barely a moment later, the other came down on your clit again, shocking you just enough that it pushed you over the edge, especially since he didn't pull away after, he just rubbed his fingers flat over your clit, coaxing you through your orgasm. Your body tensing up, twisting in his hold, edging away and then back, your back flattening against his front and then bowing forward and away, your walls fluttering around him as you heard him make a tight little noise in his throat, and then for the first time—felt his come flood your cunt, sticky heat and wet pressure inside you, Steve's arms wrapping around you as you gave a full body shudder. His chest pressed against your back as you leaned into him, his front curling against you as he clung to you, face hiding against your spine as he stilled, holding you close. His breath was warm on your skin, his lips tickling you, and you exhaled first, then let your hands drift down between your legs where he was still joined with you.

“Pretty good,” you mumbled, letting your index finger trail over your pussy, feeling where you were stretched around him, making you both twitch a little. “Almost better than my husband.”

Behind you, Steve huffed a laugh, squeezing you a little tighter. “Don't tell my wife,” he said, “but I think I'm falling in love with you.”

“So much for a one night stand,” you joked.

“Oh, yeah, forget that,” Steve said, tucking his chin over your shoulder, his hand coming to rest on your stomach. “Might've just locked you down. You got me for life.”

You turned your head to face him, leaning in, tongue flitting over the sliver missing from his lip one more time. “Guess I can deal with that,” you said, kissing him properly this time, hands moving to your front, covering his where it held you.

and he thinks this time is gonna be different, he's gonna show some fucking self-restraint (cause what is he, some pathetic, pussy-whipped little puke pile?), but then while he's in the break room sipping his coffee from a paper cup, you stride in with your dad's lunch in a container in your hands.

"hey gator," you throw noncommittally over your shoulder, opening the fridge to stick the meal inside.

maybe you realize, maybe you don't, but either way when you bend over to rearrange some of the other lunch kits and food items on the shelves, your skirt rides up and gator gets a full view of the lower half of your ass. he nearly chokes to death on his coffee, spitting and sputtering over the sink.

"aw jeez, you alright?!" you ask, worried. he just waves you off and storms off to the bathroom. you assume it's too clean up.

really he's hunched over in the bathroom stall, hastily working his camo pants and palming his achingly hard cock over his briefs with a shudder.

"fuckin' tease." he grumbles under his breath, eyes squeezing shut as he rhythmically strokes himself and imagines how he would've liked that break room encounter to end...

how he would've liked to have set his coffee cup down on the counter, calmly walk over to the door and twist the small lock; to see the look in your big, pretty eyes when you realized what was going to happen -- hungry, hazy with lust and want.

"fuckin' finally, tillman." you sit up on the countertop, spreading your legs wide in that useless little scrap of fabric you call a skirt and baring yourself to him completely. you start circling your clit with two fingers, licking your lips with a grin. "thought you'd never notice me, i've been trying to get your attention."

gator strides over with a smirk, dropping to his knees in front of you and licks a stripe up your drenched slit with no hesitation. he grips your plush thighs to hold them open while he tongues inside of you, the tip of his nose nuzzling your clit perfectly.

"oh shit, gator -- god, yes. you eat my pussy so good." you croak.

your back arches, one hand tangling in his hair and one palming and pinching your tit through your thin cotton shirt. he can feel you beginning to clench around his tongue, pussy fluttering as you cum all over his face. he laps up every drop before standing and grabbing the hair at the back of your head, pulling you back to kiss you deeply, sloppily, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

"please can i have your cock, gator? i bet it's so fuckin' big, i want you to fuck me stupid with it."

"fuck yeah, baby. i'm gonna split you wide open." gator says to you (and actually whimpers to himself in the real world, where he's desperately jerking himself off and biting his forearm to stifle his grunts).

he spears you with the blunt head of his dick, pushing into you smoothly from how wet and worked up you already are. your nails dig into his shoulder as you cry out, begging for him to fuck you hard and fast. he obliges, eyes rolling back at how tightly you're squeezing him.

"gator, fuck! oh yes, yes!" you squeal in his ear, far too loud to keep this little secret rendezvous between you both. he clamps a thick, rough hand over your mouth, feeling your hot breath and the gentle press of your tongue laving against his palm as every thought other than the heavy drag of his cock against your inner walls leaves your mind; you're seeing stars.

gator feels the coil in his own belly snap just before hot, thick ropes of cum paint your insides the bathroom wall. he whimpers your name, and as his eyes flutter open he sneers at the mess he now has to haphazardly clean up with the one-ply toilet paper in the stall.

he tears open the bathroom door, kicking himself for giving in and annoyed that he feels a little sticky now. his shoulder slams into someone, and just as he turns to bitch them out, he sees it's you and stops.

"oh, hell. sorry gator. i just can't stay out of your way today, can i?" you smile shyly, tucking a stand of hair behind your ear and tilting your head at him in concern. "y'okay tillman? you look flushed."

"nah. m'fine. see ya around."

he brushes by you, rolling his eyes at his stupid response. you bite your lip and watch his tight ass as he storms out of the station. god, if he would just give you one sign that he was interested in you...