Diagnosed With Adulting

You didn’t think Jake would immediately be on your heels as you made your way back to the house. You figured he’d just grab you from behind, whisper in your ear about what a naughty girl you are, then let you be - but you always seem to forget Jake’s number one rule. 

Don’t start what you can’t finish. 

Now, he’s got you sitting up on the bathroom counter after fucking you through one orgasm, lips eagerly pressing kisses to your hot skin, cock sliding in and out of you gloriously, hand kneading one breast that’s fallen out the front of your dress. Your ass teeters on the edge of the cold marble, which soothes the raw skin on your buttcheeks. The two of you are lucky the exhaust fan drowned out the smacks of Jake’s earlier punishment, but there’s no way it’ll cover up your moans once Jake really starts pounding you. 

You’re gasping, biting into your lip so hard it’s sure to draw blood, holding back your whines as best as you can but still letting a few escape. Jake leans his head into your shoulder, positions his ear right next to your mouth, greedily pinches your nipple to pull another breathy moan from your lips. 

“That’s right, such a naughty slut. Think you’re clever, pulling a stunt like that? Thought you could get away with it?” he grunts out, moving his hands down lower to grab your hips harshly and pull you into him so that his thrusts go harder, deeper inside of you. A pool of slick is sure to form at the edge of the counter, and for a fleeting moment, you hope it won’t be too bad to clean up afterwards. 

An especially hard thrust has you keening, distracts you from the mess you're making. “Jake,” you whimper, reaching a hand up to muffle your sounds.

“Oh sweetheart, why don’t I take care of that for you?” Jake pulls his head back, looks at you viciously, brings his hand up to caress your cheek gently. His thumb lands right on your mouth, presses in slightly, and you purse your lips to press a small kiss to it.

At this, his thrusts slow down. Jake smiles, eyes crinkling ever so slightly, but he shakes his head. His thumb presses in harder. "Open," he commands, and you look up at him curiously, parting your lips ever so slightly without giving it a second thought..

His thumb slides into your mouth, warm and firm, hooks downward, presses hard on your tongue. "Close," he says, and you obey, licking the pad of his thumb and sucking lightly. Jake lets out a low moan, closes his eyes and pistons his hips a little harder, more forcefully. He keeps one hand anchored to your waist, keeping you upright, and his other hand remains glued to your cheek.

It does a good job of keeping you quiet - you're moaning around his thumb and sucking hard on it. When the tip of his cock grazes that spot inside of you, it has you bite down on his digit a little harder through a whimper.

"One second, sweetheart," he says, pulls out of your mouth, watches as a string of spit connects from your mouth to his knuckle. He chuckles lowly, appraises your fucked out look before pressing his index and middle fingers back into your mouth, further down so that they barely graze the back of your tongue.

"Here you go. Is that better?" he coos, smirking ever so slightly as you nod, whine a little more for him to go faster. "Think I'm getting close, sweetheart. Should finish up before they come looking for us."

At this, you suck hard on his fingers, let out a particularly loud muffled moan as your eyes roll back. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he grunts out, feeling your cunt clench down on him hard. "Maybe you'd like Rooster to walk in on us, see you sucking on my fingers like the slut you are? Maybe he can join us, eat my cum out of your pussy first before fucking you? Think I like the sound of that."

Jake's punctuating each sentence with an impressive roll of his hips - his pelvis smacks against your clit every time, sends waves of pleasure radiating throughout your body, makes you impossibly wetter. At this point, he starts fucking his fingers into your mouth, letting his knuckles catch before pushing them back inside, groaning out obscenities mixed with your name.

His cock twitching inside of you and the sting of his pelvis on your clit is overwhelming, overpowering. Because you aren't in the sanctuary of your home where you can scream and moan as loudly as you want - you're in Rooster's guest bathroom, the backyard is filled with other pilots, and you have to keep quiet. You have to be good for Jake.

"There's my good girl, so fucking pretty with my fingers in her mouth. Shit, I'm close, I'm gonna cum," he groans out, stuttering his hips before pressing his long cock into your and releasing hot spurts inside you, twitching all the while. As best as you can, you muffle out "Jake," around his fingers, tumble from a high of your own as you feel his warmth fill you up. Your nerves come alive, your back arching so that your head hits the mirror behind you, your heart thumping and your body all too aware of Jake's cock stuffed inside wet pussy and his fingers plugging your mouth. Your orgasm shakes you to your core, leaves you numb and sends vibrations trembling through your limbs.

Jake slides his fingers out of your mouth. “So lucky to have such a pretty girl,” he marvels, pressing a sweet kiss and caressing your cheek with a soft hand.

The two of you catch your breath, chests heaving and foreheads touching and Jake’s cock softening inside you. You look up to meet his heavy gaze, press your lips to his mouth so you can kiss him passionately. Your tongues slip together, and you taste the whiskey and cinnamon on his breath mixed with the tang of your release from earlier. Much earlier. How much time has really passed?

It’s a blur how any of this even happened. 

Maybe it started at the Hard Deck, started with you bending low over pool tables, started with your hand on Bob’s arm, started with your lips against his ear, started with Bradley watching from the bar, started with you marvelling at how Bob blushes the prettiest shade of pink. 

Or maybe it started weeks before that, with a whispered confession into Bradley’s shoulder at the pinnacle of the night, with a burning face and a beating heart. I kinda wanna fuck Bob. 

Or maybe it started with Bradley catching you around the waist, drawing your back against his chest in the middle of that bar, voice low in your ear, hands steady on your back, words not angry, not possessive, only curious, saying, What are we playing at here, baby?

Or maybe it started with the three of you in your bedroom, with your clothes already on the floor and Bob and his pretty pink, pink, rosy blush and his eyes on you like you’re an apparition or a miracle or something awe-inspiring, something blinding. With Bradley sinking into the armchair by your bed, legs spread wide, face expectant, saying, So, you gonna let me watch him fuck you stupid then, baby?

Maybe it doesn’t matter how it started.

What matter is this: You’re nodding, and then you’re whining, face pressed into the sheets in a way that’s going to leave imprints behind. With how you’re bent over, on your elbows and knees, you can’t get any purchase, can’t hold onto anything, go sliding across the mattress at every thrust.

Fingers thread into your hair and tug, a sharp prick of pain that spreads from your scalp and makes you yelp. Then it’s Bradley tutting, saying, “Use your words, sweetheart. You like Bobby fucking you?”

Your own whine is drowned out by Bob’s moan. You can’t see him either, but you can feel him - around you, behind you, above you, inside you. His cock is stretching your walls, his thighs bracketing your own, his hands soft and tentative on your hips, as if he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch you even as he’s literally balls-deep in you.

Bob has always been a bit of an enigma. It’s part of his charm.

“Yes,” you whimper, know lying to Bradley is futile. He knows you so well, knows what you want before you say it, knows you like a poem he’s memorized, like the opening notes of his favorite song, knows you like his own reflection. “I love his cock.”

Bob’s hips stutter, his cock jumps, and he makes a sound like he’s a few seconds from choking. He loses the rhythm he established before - something measured but deep, the head of his cock grazing that spot inside of you that punches stars into your eyes. He fucks different than Bradley, not that that’s much of a surprise. A little more careful, a little more calculated. Bob is all caution where Bradley is confidence.

Caught between them, it’s like a fire that will eat you alive.

Bradley hums, and the fingers in your hair go tender for a moment, soothing against your scalp, before he lifts your head from where you’ve buried it in the sheets. And then it’s Bradley’s familiar face swimming in front of you, distorted by your desire, by your tears, by the heat of it all. He smiles, his mustache lifting, his thumb following the rivulet of drool on its path down your chin, leans in and presses his lips to yours for just a moment.

He draws back, ignores your whine and, without looking away from you, says, “Bobby, you close?”

“Yeah,” Bob answers immediately, voice barely more than a gasp, a breath, a sigh, fingernails digging into your hips, cock thrusting unrelentingly into you. “Can I… can I cum inside her?”

You whimper at the prospect, clutching handfuls of the sheets, eyes going to find Bradley, mouth dropping open, looking at him in a way you hope he understands. Hope he can read what you have no strength to say: Please, Bradley. Please say yes.

And Bradley smiles, because Bradley knows you, better than you know yourself, knows you so well it scares you, smiles and lets the tips of his fingers wander across your cheekbone, pushes his thumb into your mouth and onto your tongue, watches as you suck without being told to.

“Yeah, Bobby,” he says without taking his eyes off you. “Cum inside so I can fuck it back into her.”

She shrugs, but you can see her cheek denting in where she’s biting the inside to keep from smiling. “I’m just saying. Do you know anybody more dramatic than Hangman? He’d eat being your fake boyfriend up.”

You scoff. “Natasha,” you say, “if this is part of your stupid plan to get me to date Hangman…”

“I just think it’s a little pathetic that you still insist you don’t have a crush on him.”

You don’t even know what to say to that, so you clench your teeth so hard your jaw aches with it. 

Two weeks ago, your ex shot you a text to invite you to his engagement party. A fucking text. And there’s just no way, no way in hell you’re showing up there solo, with nothing but a congratulatory Tequila bottle tucked under your arm, basically saying Hey, look at me! Right here at your perfect engagement party to your perfect fiancée with your perfect job and perfect family and perfect life and, yeah, right, by the way, I’m still single, still a loser, still not engaged, still definitely maybe a little bit totally in love with you, and definitely not moved on with my life!

Yeah. No thanks.

Once more you let your eyes wander over the pool of prospective dates for the night. They’re playing volleyball, all of them shirtless and so ripped it’s ridiculous. Like a weirdly sexual Old Spice commercial. Even Bob has taken off his shirt, revealing the pale shoulders spotted with freckles.

You pretend your eyes don’t linger on Jake and the stupid patch of chest hair that always makes you a little dazed.

With a hint of desperation in your voice, you say, “What about Payback or Fanboy, they…”

“You barely know them,” Natasha interrupts. “The party is tomorrow, that’s not enough time to teach them how you take your coffee and what your favorite movie is. It’d never work.”

“You think Hangman knows what my favorite movie is?”

“Clueless,” Jake says, throwing himself down on the towel next to you. He leans across you to steal your water bottle, his leg pressing against yours, still wet from the leap he just took into the ocean. Cold droplets of water drip onto you and you shudder. “Paul Rudd is your celebrity crush to this day.”

You blink at him, and Natasha thrusts a hand forward in the international sign of see, I told you!

“So what are you ladies talking about?” Jake asks, taking a few greedy sips of your water before leaning back on his elbows. You’re definitely not staring at the movement of his throat or the rippling muscles in his abdomen. You are a woman of integrity and class. “Apart from me, of course.”

“Nothing,” you say, the same moment Natasha says, “Our girl here needs a fake date to her ex’s wedding.”

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper, flicking your sunglasses down over your eyes and fighting back the embarrassment that rises up like bile at the back of your throat. “Thanks for having my back.”

You can feel Jake’s eyes on you. “Bad ex?” he asks.

For a second you consider not answering him, but then you sigh, draw your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around them. Shrug. Say, “The worst.”

Jake nods. “Black tie?”

“Semi-formal.”

He clicks his tongue. “I got a suit lying around somewhere, I think.”

Your heart stutters. Slowly, you turn to face him, go criss-cross applesauce, your knee bumping into his hip, blinking down at him through the veil of your tinted glasses. “You’d come with me?”

“Sure thing.” He stretches across your towel, folds his hands behind his head. “I’m the best-looking guy in the county. You wanna make your ex jealous? I say you go best of the best. Cream of the crop. I say… you go Hangman.”

“God,” you mutter, even as your heart gives a tentative little jump. “And here I was thinking you were being selfless for once. This is a real ego boost for you, isn’t it?”

Natasha snorts.

But Jake just laughs and, without looking at you, says, “Sweetheart, I’d jump off a cliff if you were the one asking me. Even though I don’t see how giving this body to the sea would benefit anybody. I should be cast in bronze and put outside of public libraries.”

He sounds so sincere it throws you for a loop for a second. You clear your throat, trace a pattern into the sand and then finally say, “Pick me up at seven tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there.”

It takes you a moment, but finally, you say, “Thanks. You’re really saving my ass here, Hangman. I don’t know how I’ll ever make that up to you.”

Jake’s mouth curls up into a lazy smile. “I can think of a few ways.”