I’m So Thirsty

The water was still beating down on your shoulders when the curtain slid open just enough for Eren’s smirk to appear in the gap.

“You’re taking forever,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Eren” You didn’t even get the chance to protest before he stepped inside, shutting the curtain behind him.

The small stall suddenly felt too small, steam curling between you as his bare chest came into view. “What the hell are you doing?” you hissed, but your eyes couldn’t help flicking down.

He shrugged, completely unbothered, droplets already starting to bead on his skin. “Water’s warm. Thought I’d save some.”

“Save some—this isn’t a public pool, Eren.”

“Could be,” he teased, reaching past you for the shampoo bottle like he belonged there. His arm brushed yours, warm and slick, and you felt the heat rise in your face. “Turn around.”

You froze. “…why?”

“So I can wash your hair.” The grin he gave you was downright sinful. “What? I’m being helpful. Unless you think I’m gonna do something else.”

You knew you should’ve pushed him out right then, but instead, you turned. Slowly. His fingers worked through your wet hair, nails grazing your scalp in a way that had nothing to do with friendship.

“See?” he murmured in your ear over the sound of the water. “Nothing weird. Just me… and you… and no clothes.”

Steam still clung to the walls of the bathroom, the mirror fogged so thick you could barely see your own reflection. You’d wrapped yourself in a towel by the time Eren finally climbed out of the shower behind you, his grin lazy and satisfied, like nothing about what he’d just done was out of line.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, shaking water from his hair. “You’re the one who didn’t kick me out.”

Your glare was weak at best. “You walked in.”

“Yeah. And you didn’t exactly push me out, did you?” His voice had that cocky, matter-of-fact lilt he always used when he knew he had you cornered.

You tightened the towel around yourself, heart racing, but the silence in the room was too loud. Because the truth was, this wasn’t the first time he’d pulled something like this. Maybe not this bold, stepping into the shower with you, but Eren had always been shameless about testing the line between “best friend” and “something else.” Touches that lingered too long, the way his eyes tracked you when he thought you weren’t looking, the casual comments that always sounded like jokes but hit too close to the truth.

This time, though… he’d gone too far. And you hated how much you hadn’t hated it.

“Eren,” you said, trying to steady your voice, “you can’t just—”

He stepped closer, towel slung low on his hips, dripping water across the floor as if he didn’t care. “Can’t what? Be honest?” His hand found the edge of your towel, tugging lightly, just enough to make your pulse spike. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me? You think I’m the only one who’s crossing lines here?”

You froze, caught between indignation and the heat rising in your chest.

Eren leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “You could’ve told me to get out. You didn’t.” His fingers brushed your arm, teasing, deliberate. “So tell me now. Say the word, and I’ll leave.”

He was baiting you — giving you an out but daring you to take it, daring you to admit you wanted him to stay.

And that was the problem. You didn’t want him to leave.

Steam curled in the air, heavy and damp, sticking your hair against your skin. The towel clutched at your chest felt like the only barrier between you and him, and yet it was already slipping loose under the faint tug of Eren’s fingers.

“Eren…” your voice came out weaker than you wanted, almost pleading, almost warning.

But he only smiled, a sharp, crooked thing that was too smug to be innocent. “Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to do something about it.” His eyes flicked down, lingering where the terrycloth gaped.

You could’ve told him to stop. You could’ve stepped back. But your feet stayed planted, your breath catching as his hand finally flattened against your waist, thumb brushing bare skin where the towel had shifted.

He leaned in closer, wet hair dripping down your shoulder as he murmured, “You think I didn’t notice, huh? How you don’t move when I get too close. How you watch me the same way I watch you.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, shame burning through you because he was right. You never told him to stop. You’d never wanted him to.

And he knew it. He always knew it.

Eren tugged once more, slow and deliberate, and the towel slid from your fingers. It pooled uselessly on the tile floor, leaving you exposed in front of him. His breath hitched, eyes dragging down your body with none of the restraint he pretended to have around everyone else.

“Fuck…” His voice dropped, low and hungry, but he didn’t lunge like some idiot. He stayed close, savoring, almost reverent despite how filthy his smirk was. “You’re too much for me, you know that?”

Your heart thudded hard against your ribs as his hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up until you were forced to meet his eyes.

“You really gonna act like you don’t want this?” he asked, tone maddeningly calm, like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to admit it.

And maybe it was the steam, or the way his thumb stroked your skin, or the way you were just so damn tired of pretending you didn’t crave the same thing he did—but your silence gave you away.

Because Eren didn’t wait for words. He kissed you instead.

It wasn’t soft, not at first. It was demanding, shameless, the way he always was with you. His mouth pressed against yours with years of pent-up tension, of teasing and pushing and daring. You gasped against him, hands clutching at his damp shoulders before sliding down, feeling the solid muscle beneath your palms.

The towel on his hips hung low, dangerously low, and when your fingers caught on the edge, he groaned into your mouth like you’d been starving him.

“See?” he muttered against your lips, biting lightly before pulling back just enough to look at you again. His pupils were blown wide, his chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. “Knew it. You’re just as fucked up as me.”

You should’ve shoved him. You should’ve said something sharp to cut through his smugness. But instead, you kissed him back—harder, needier, giving up the last shred of pretense.

And Eren, of course, took it as permission to push further. His hand slipped down your back, pulling you flush against him, skin to skin, nothing left between you but heat and steam and the years of “best friend” boundaries snapping like fragile glass.

When he finally broke away, lips swollen, breathing heavy, he laughed—low, rough, almost disbelieving. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Your heart was still racing, your body trembling, but you couldn’t stop yourself from whispering back, “Yeah, I think I do.”

Eren’s grin returned, sharp and dangerous. “Then stop pretending I’m the only one that wants it”

And when he kissed you again, there was no going back.

The tiles were slick under your feet, steam curling like smoke around the both of you. The towel was gone, forgotten, and Eren’s smirk only grew sharper with the way you didn’t reach for it again.

He dragged his thumb across your hipbone like he was memorizing the shape of you, lingering just long enough to make your pulse stutter. His eyes stayed locked on yours, shameless and steady, daring you to call him out.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice low enough to vibrate against your throat as he leaned in. “Not scared though… are you?”

You swallowed hard, but didn’t pull away. His closeness was suffocating, intoxicating. You hated that he knew exactly what it did to you.

“I should kick you out,” you managed, though it didn’t sound convincing, not when your hands stayed right where they were—clutching the damp fabric at his waist instead of pushing him off.

Eren’s laugh was quiet, breathy, like he found you entertaining. “You won’t. You like this too much.” His hand slid higher, brushing the underside of your ribs. “You like me too much.”

Heat flooded your face, betrayal written in the way your body leaned into his touch before your mind could argue.

He tilted his head, his wet hair brushing over your cheek as he whispered, “C’mon. Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But you didn’t. Couldn’t.

Your silence was the answer he wanted, and he grinned against your skin like the devil himself. “Knew it.”

For a moment, the shower was nothing but sound—the steady drip of water, the rush of your heartbeat, the quiet hum of his satisfaction. His hand traced over your side, teasing but not claiming, touching like he had all the time in the world to play this dangerous game.

And maybe that was worse than anything else—how patient he could be, how much he enjoyed making you realize you were the one letting it happen.

When he finally pulled back enough to meet your gaze, his green eyes were heavy, unguarded in a way that made your chest ache.

“You know I’m not gonna stop wanting you, right?” he said, like it was a promise and a threat all at once.

You bit your lip, breath shallow, and for the first time, you didn’t pretend otherwise.

The steam curled heavy between you, clinging to every inch of exposed skin. You’d told yourself a dozen times you’d shove him out, slam the bathroom door, and call it a mistake—yet you were still standing there, back to the wall of the shower, with Eren crowding into your space.

“Still not saying stop,” he muttered, a crooked grin cutting across his lips as his hand slid down from your ribs to the curve of your waist. His tone was smug, but there was heat behind it, raw and hungry. “You really gonna keep pretending this isn’t what you want?”

You sucked in a shaky breath, trying to find your voice, but his fingers squeezed at your hip and whatever protest you had died in your throat.

“God, look at you,” he whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed the damp line of your jaw. “Blushing like you don’t already know what I’m thinking about doing to you.”

When you didn’t answer, his laugh was low, almost disbelieving, like he couldn’t believe you were really letting him do this. And then—slowly, deliberately—he pressed his body against yours, chest to chest, heat radiating even through the thin barrier of fabric he still wore.

The contact tore a gasp out of you before you could bite it back.

“There it is,” he murmured, his grin widening. “Knew you’d sound pretty when I got close enough.”

His mouth ghosted over yours, not kissing, just hovering, taunting.

Your hand twitched at your side, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer. You hated how natural the latter felt, how much your body betrayed you.

“Say the word,” Eren said, voice husky now, all pretense of casualness gone. “One word and I’ll ruin us right here.”

And you should’ve said no. Should’ve shoved him back and told him to never pull this shit again. But the only thing that came out was a shaky, “Eren…”

That was all the permission he needed.

He crashed his mouth onto yours, hard and hungry, like he’d been waiting for this for years. His wet hair clung to your skin, his hands roaming over you with a possessiveness that made your knees buckle.

The shower blurred into nothing—just heat, steam, the sound of his breath mingling with yours as he kissed you like he’d never let go.

The spray was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You pressed your palms against the slick tile at your back like it might keep you steady, but all it did was make you feel cornered.

Eren leaned in, so close you could see the way the droplets ran down the curve of his cheekbone, catching on his lashes. His grin was lazy, infuriating, and far too self-assured.

“Funny thing,” he said, his voice a low rumble under the hiss of the water. “I’ve walked in on you a dozen times, and every time you tell me to get out.” His hand slid up the wall beside your head, bracing him over you. “But you never make me.”

Your mouth opened, ready to argue, but he tilted his head and let his lips brush the edge of your ear, close enough that you felt the shape of his words.

“You like it, don’t you? Knowing I’m looking.”

Your breath hitched, and that was all the answer he needed. He chuckled, the sound dark and pleased, before he let his free hand skim down the slick line of your arm. He didn’t grab, didn’t push—you could’ve stepped away. But you didn’t.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his lips grazing your temple now. “Not scared, though. Excited.”

“Ren—” His name slipped out, half warning, half plea.

He finally leaned back just enough to meet your eyes, his own green gaze sharp, almost daring you to deny it. The cocky smirk softened into something more dangerous: hungry, intent.

“Say you don’t want me here,” he whispered. “Say it, and I’ll leave right now.”

Your throat worked, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, your silence hung heavy in the mist, binding you both tighter than any confession.

Eren’s smile widened, softer this time but no less shameless. He dragged his thumb over the corner of your mouth, water dripping from his knuckles.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “That’s what I thought.”

The air between you thickened, charged. His hand lingered at your jaw, and though he didn’t close the gap, the weight of the moment was unbearable—like a kiss hanging in the balance, inevitable but stretched taut on a thread of restraint.

Every inch of him screamed temptation, and every nerve in your body screamed to give in.

The water poured down in steady rivulets, pounding against the tiles, soaking your skin until everything felt slick and molten. Eren pressed in behind you, his chest flush to your back, breath hot against the side of your neck despite the cool mist rising from the shower spray.

You felt the deliberate way his hands roamed—first skimming the curve of your waist, then dipping lower, lingering as though he was memorizing every inch of you under his palms. His touch wasn’t hurried; it was languid, almost taunting, the kind of pace that left your body arching instinctively into him.

When he dragged his mouth along the slope of your shoulder, teeth grazing lightly before his lips pressed in, the sound that left you was swallowed by the rush of water. Eren only smirked against your skin, tilting your head back just enough so he could catch your expression—the flush on your cheeks, the parted lips, the way your eyes had gone hazy.

“Can’t even look at me, huh?” he teased lowly, voice cracking with amusement and want all at once. His grip tightened, pulling you even closer so you could feel just how little space remained between you.

Every movement became its own rhythm: the sound of drops of water pounding down, the slick slide of his hands exploring you, the heat of his body anchoring you against the cold tiles. You caught yourself bracing with one hand on the wall, the other curling around his wrist as if to either stop him—or guide him further.

The steam blurred everything around you, but not the way your pulse raced, not the ragged sounds that mixed with his. The shower had become its own little world, where the only things that mattered were the weight of him against you, the wet press of skin on skin, the delicious wrongness of how far this had gone between best friends.

And the worst part? You didn’t want it to stop.

The shower was already running hot when he crowded in behind you, the steam clinging to your skin. Eren’s chest was pressed flush against your back, his hand sliding over your hip like he owned it.

You tried to steady yourself on the slick tile, but he wasn’t making it easy—his mouth dragging down the side of your throat, teeth catching the sensitive skin just enough to make your knees buckle. The water beat down on both of you, drowning the sounds you didn’t mean to let slip.

“Relax,” he muttered against your ear, one palm flattening against your stomach, the other already exploring lower. His touch was unhurried, teasing, like he knew exactly how long he could string you along before you begged.

You tilted your head back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as the steam wrapped around you. The rhythm he set with his hands made your breath catch, your body pushing back into him without even thinking. He chuckled when he felt it—shameless, smug—his voice low enough to send heat rushing through you.

“Best friends don’t do this, huh?” he teased, fingers tightening on your skin. “But here you are, letting me touch you like this in the bathroom.”

The spray was loud, but not loud enough to hide the way your body betrayed you—the way you clutched his wrist, not to stop him, but to drag him closer, deeper.

When you finally turned your head to catch his mouth, the kiss was messy, wet, unrestrained. His grip only grew rougher, anchoring you against the tile, moving against you with a hunger that made it clear he wasn’t going to stop until you gave him everything.

And in that steamy little corner of the world, you didn’t want to resist.

The steam clung thick in the air, drops sliding down your spine, but you couldn’t even tell if the heat was from the water or from him. Eren had you pinned to the slick tile, his body flush against yours, cock already hard and pressing insistently against the curve of your ass.

You felt the drag of his teeth at your shoulder as his hands roamed, greedy, like he’d been waiting for this far too long. One hand shoved your thigh forward to open you up, the other sliding down between your legs, two fingers parting you under the spray. The slick heat of the water mixed with the way he worked you open, slow at first, then with sharp, sure movements that made your knees tremble.

“Fuck—look at you,” he murmured against your ear, voice rough with a laugh, “so wet for your best friend. Bet you’d let me fuck you right here, huh?”

Your only answer was the sharp gasp that slipped out when he curled his fingers inside you. He grinned against your damp skin, his hips grinding forward in a slow rhythm that promised more.

When you turned your face to kiss him, he swallowed your moan like it was his own, lips wet and hungry. He pulled his fingers free, slick with you, and brought them to your mouth, tapping your bottom lip until you let him slide them past your tongue. “Good girl,” he muttered, cock twitching against your ass.

He didn’t wait much longer. He lined himself up with a harsh groan, pressing into you inch by inch, the tight stretch pulling a cry from your throat that echoed against the tile. His grip on your hips tightened, keeping you steady as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, that’s it—” His forehead dropped to the back of your neck as he thrust forward, the slap of skin against skin lost in the roar of the shower. Every movement was filthy, desperate, water cascading down both of you as he drove into you with sharp, relentless strokes.

Your palms flattened against the wall for balance, body rocking forward with every snap of his hips. He kept one hand around your waist, the other sneaking back down to circle your clit, rough and fast, like he needed to drag you over the edge just as badly as he needed to finish inside you.

The combination was too much—the relentless pace of his thrusts, the way he bit at your shoulder, the filthy words he groaned into your ear. You came hard, legs shaking, clenching so tight around him that his rhythm stuttered.

“Shit—fuck—” he gasped, driving in deep and staying there, grinding against you as he spilled hot and heavy inside, his groan vibrating against your skin.

He seems to have a completely different plan in mind however when one of his hands pushes against your stomach as he corners you against the brick wall, his other hand resting near your head as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

Using the hand that isn't on the wall, he hooks one of your legs around his waist. "Shh, trust me darlin'. They didn't see our faces that well and it's dark outside," he mumbles, his mustache tickling your skin as you tense up.

"Just trust me"

His hand on your stomach slides to your waist, adjusting you closer to him, as he hears the men angrily run by. You're chest to chest now and Tangerine's breath is warm on your face, his breathing quickened.

In this position, the only natural thing for him to be doing is kissing your neck—only, he isn't.

He waits a moment until he's completely sure the men have gone and then he pulls away from you.

You let out an involuntary sigh, your leg dropping from his hip as you stare at him in the moonlight. You miss seeing the faint blush on his cheeks as he turns and walks over to recover your gun.

"Couldn't have 'em seeing this thing in your hand—didn't fit the scene," he mutters, chuckling a little. He hands it to you and sniffs, looking away nonchalantly. "Okay, now c'mon, we're in the clear now."

* * *

Once you make it back to the car, Lemon's waiting inside, his hands tight on the wheel. Tangerine opens your door for you and then he jumps into the backseat. You and him haven't spoken since his plan and your mind is racing almost as fast as Lemon hits the peddle.

"Ya got the drive?" Lemon asks.

"Hm," Tangerine nods, his mind obviously elsewhere.

His brother senses whatever tension there is and frowns. "What happened back there?"

"Nothing," you and Tangerine both say in unison, your voices rushed.

When you arrive at the hotel, Lemon is still not convinced nothing had happened considering you and Tangerine usually have to be pried apart so you can sleep in your own room while they share theirs. You can barely look at each other now.

On a normal night Lemon also knows you'd yap his and Tangerine's ears off while his brother listens with interest and uncharacteristic patience—but tonight you're both quiet.

You go into your room with only a small goodnight while the Twins take the one next to yours. You feel warm and fuzzy as your mind reminds you of Tangerine's touch on your thigh and waist, his breath hot against your skin.

It all feels like too much as you lay on the mattress and stare at the ceiling fan.

After a moment, you hear a sharp knock and you jump up and open the door.

"Tangerine," you breathe, looking him over. He's dressed in a white shirt and blue striped pajama bottoms that hang loosely from his hips, displaying a V-line you really wish you couldn't see because the confusing butterflies in your stomach worsen.

"Hi, luv, I wanted to make sure you're okay after what happened. I shouldn' have sprung that on ya. Ya must have been so confused,'' Tangerine sounds much calmer than he clearly is because the way his blue eyes dart around the room, avoiding yours, betrays his true emotions.

You let him in and he walks inside, leaning against the door once it's shut as you stand in front of him. You swear you see him glance at your lacy pajama set for a moment.

"It's okay," you whisper honestly and the after a pause you ask, "I-I just, Tan, what exactly were you doing?"

The question stumps him and he frowns. "Hm?"

You feel your cheeks warm. "I mean–with your hand–and your lips near my neck and—my leg on your hip—what was that all supposed to mean?"

Tangerine is even more confused now and he moves closer, tilting his head. He knows you're younger than him, but still, you should be experienced by now.

He assumed you were.

Tangerine clears his throat. "I was making sure those bastards didn't think it was us—that instead if they saw they'd just see a drunk couple makin' out in an alley."

Your eyes remain round and innocent and Tangerine's heart pounds. He does his best to suppress a smirk.

"Ya do know what I mean when I say "making out" don't ya, sweetheart?" he asks, his tone playfully condescending, and his eyes glimmer as he teases you. "You've made-out with someone surely?"

You don't answer and realization dawns on him. "Kissed someone?" he tries.

"I have," you say quickly, "Like maybe t-three times," you admit and avoid his gaze. Tangerine feels warm inside his chest.

How can he know so little about you when it comes to relationships? You're his best friend.

"Oh," he says and looks to the side, "Well, I'm extra sorry now, luv, I didn't know you'd never had someone touch you like that."

"It's okay," you say, really meaning it.

Tangerine's eyes lock with yours, taking in your innocence and all those familiar thoughts he would feel when he first met you—those filthy, almost primal thoughts—come creeping on him again and he feels ashamed.

How can he stand there and imagine how you'd look sprawled under him, your skin love-bitten and raw?

He snaps himself out of his stupor and asks, "So, you've never been in a relationship?"

You feel embarrassed. You'd avoided this topic for a reason.

"Hey, no need to be embarrassed," Tangerine says and walks further into the room. He takes your hand, sitting you down on the edge of the bed next to him. His mind is racing as he tries to act like how a normal best friend would.

Not one who imagines fucking you deep into this godforsaken mattress.

"You're young. You're still in your twenties, ya?" He asks as if reminding himself.

You nod.

"Mhm, see? You're fine," he dismisses. Awkward silence follows. He stands up and nervously runs a hand in his curls. "Okay, well, um, I should go," he says. Tangerine turns around and he isn't prepared when you grab his wrist to stop him. When he looks at you, the way you're staring at him sends an electricity shock directly to his cock.

"Tan," you pull him closer, "I-I really want to um—have that."

"Have what? A relationship?" he swallows, his commitments issues jumping out like a muzzle around his heart.

You shake your head and gaze at him. "No—making out with someone."

Tangerine's cheeks burn so warm and he's sure they're crimson by now. He feels like he just made that up. "Hmm? Padron?" he hums for conformation and blinks at you.

"Tangerine," your sweet voice turns him into a mess.

Fuck. How could you have no absolutely no clue how much effect you have on him?

You sound very serious now, when you say, "I don't want to beg for you because I think you know what I want, and I think you want it too."

Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck this, Tangerine thinks as leans in, pushing your body so you're laying against the mattress, one hand lying over your head and he captures your lips in his. You respond immediately, your hands finding his cheeks as you subconsciously arch against him. Your kiss is obviously a little inexperienced and clumsy but Tangerine doesn't mind.

He can teach you.

"Let me," he whispers against your lips and moves so he has you under him as he kisses you. His knee presses against the mattress as his arm wraps around you and caresses your hair. "So good, hm? S'good for me, darlin'?" you nod and attempt to kiss him harder.

His fingers interlock with your hair, massaging your scalp, and he pulls away momentarily. "Let me be in control, okay, luv? You just move with me, kay?"

You look flustered. "Is it that bad? I–"

Tangerine shakes his head instantly and kisses your nose in a reassuring manner. "It's not bad, I don't want ya to worry. You're just inexperienced, is all. Relax for me, hm?"

His lips descend to yours again, and this time you let him take control. You move your lips with his, opening your mouth so he can slide his tongue inside. His kiss is passionate but still gentle. All he wants is to make you feel safe in his arms. He wants to make sure you're completely comfortable with him.

His hands find yours as he pins them above your head and his lips move down your jaw, peppering kisses all over your skin.

Shit, if he doesn't stop himself now when will he?

Tangerine pulls away and looks at you from over you. "Darlin', we can't," he whispers, his eyes completely lidded with lust as his chest rises and falls. His voice is husky and hoarse. "I can't do that for you. Not me."

You look up at him, breathless, "Why not?"

Tangerine's chest constricts. "Because it's wrong. Because you deserve better than me."

You blink, not understanding, "Better than you? What do you mean? I want this. I want you," you look up at him with such intensity as you push at his hands, the ones pinning yours to the mattress, breaking free and then grasping onto his shirt, your nails digging into the fabric of his blouse.

"Do you want me to beg, Tangerine?" you ask breathlessly, "Because I will."

His eyes roll back and he feels every restraint he'd had break. He feels like a teenager, only thinking with his dick—but God, he wants you so badly his entire body is vibrating.

He doesn't have much constraint left in him as he mutters, "Are you sure you want this? I wanna make sure you understand what you're asking me for, darlin'." His lips hit your ear and he says, "I'm not a gentle lover."

Tangerine says this but he knows deep down he'll be whatever kind of lover you need. Even if that means not touching you at all.

"I'm sure. I trust you."

Those words cause his heart to leap and his dick to harden even more. You trust him? As your best friend he shouldn't have you like this—he should be better than this—but he can't deny you anything, not when you look so pretty and pliant under him.

It's overwhelming how much he craves being the one to take your virginity. Tangerine's hands slide down your top and he lifts you up, pulling your shirt off and instantly attaching his lips to your nipples. He adores the soft sounds you make, how you shiver from his touch as he trails his fingers down the skin on your waist and hips. How you arch into him with every tentative lick he blesses you with.

"I love the way ya sound," he groans as he lifts up your hips, hooking his thumb in your pajama shorts and your panties, pulling them down so you're naked underneath him. Your skin is as soft as he'd imagined and you look like an angel with your eyes wide and innocent. You're anticipating his touch, your breasts rising and falling.

Tangerine dips his hand lower and rubs your clit gently, sensing your arousal on his fingers. "Shit, s'this all for me, angel?" he teases and you nod, making that whimpering sound he likes so damn much.

He circles your hole and leans in to kiss your forehead. "Can I get ya ready for my cock, pretty girl? Can I use my fingers? My tongue?" he whispers and you nod. This time, the nod isn't enough. "C'mon, use your words for me."

"Yes, please. 'Wanna f-feel you," you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, finding the baby hairs on his nape and pulling him even closer to you. You kiss him again, liking the way his fingers explore around you.

For someone who'd proclaimed to be so rough with the women he dated, he's being incredibly gentle with you and it's making you feel dizzy.

"Good girl," he smiles into your lips and lays you down again, using his hands to spread your thighs as he looks at you. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh. This is about you tonight, not him, so he has no problem ignoring how tight his jeans feel. He sucks on your inner thigh, smiling. "Ya probably taste like honey," he mumbles as his mustache tickles your skin and he moves to press a soft kiss to your clit.

You squirm instantly and Tangerine presses his palm against your thigh, pushing your hips down in a firm manner while he continues to smooth circles around your skin. "Shh, baby, you're okay," he murmurs against your pussy, pressing wet kisses to your slit. He looks up at you, seeing how lidded your eyes have become.

"Hey, my sweet girl, can ya look at me?"

You do your best to focus on him. "Want you to tell me no or stop if it's too much, mhmm. If you're too overwhelmed just say the words, okay? I won't be mad at ya, darlin'. Ya can say them anytime— I don' care if I'm already inside ya or if I've haven't even touched ya, you tell me. You communicate, do ya understand me?"

He's never this insistent with his lovers. Never. In fact, he's usually the opposite. He likes being rough and he just assumes his partners know to tell him if it's too much. But you? You're different. You don't have any experience with this kind of thing and the last thing he wants is you just biting your lip and letting him hurt you.

Tangerine could never live with himself if he hurt you.

You nod.

Tangerine presses a quick kiss to where you're most sensitive. "No, no, your words, luv. Use them."

Your voice is small and breathy. "I understand," you say.

Something inside him snaps and he returns all his attention to you, his hands tightening around your thighs as he eats you out like a starved man. You feel so weak and shaky in the best way possible, your hand gripping anything you can find as you moan and whimper. You've never felt like this and you wouldn't be surprised if this is what heaven feels like.

His mouth works wonders, you lose sense of time and everything around you blurs.

You come with a moan and Tangerine pulls away, satisfied by the self-lubrication you've just provided. He sits up, teasing your hole a little until he stands up and you panic a little. You try and sit up too but your arms feel like jello and Tangerine is back, this time with a condom. He shows it to you with a small smile.

"Makin' sure we're safe, hm?" he promises and kisses your lips again, gently coaxing you to lay back and relax. He spreads your thighs and looks down at your glistening pussy, thinking for a moment. "Still wanna open ya up, luv," he says and brings his hand and slowly inserts one finger, testing the waters.

You take him easily because of the lubrication, with just a little shift of your hips and a moan. However, the second finger isn't as easy and you try to shift away from him this time. "Shh, baby, you're okay. Promise," tangerine reassures as he moves closer and pulls your hips closer to his, your leg resting on his thighs as he works his fingers inside you.

Soon, you're a moaning mess and Tangerine pulls out his fingers, licking them clean, as he smirks and looks at you. "Ya ready?" He sure is, he's so hard it hurts.

"Y-yes," you say, opening your legs. You're aching for him at this point.

You're much too in your head as your eyes shut when he shifts and you hear the rustling of clothes. You hold your breath, feeling him move over you and his dick touches your thigh. You inhale, shivering as the feeling of his hand running against your hairline and your eyes open.

He's hovering over you, your noses almost touching as he keeps himself up by his forearms against the mattress. He lifts himself up with one of his arms, clutching the headboard for a moment as he guides himself to your entrance.

"Tan—" you interrupt him and he looks at you, his blue eyes wide and worried.

"What's wrong?"

"Is it gonna hurt?" you ask honestly, your lip trembling. You want this so bad but you're also scared.

Tangerine's eyes soften. "I don't know, darlin'. It might—it probably will—but if I do things right, it won't be unbearable, I promise. And then, the pain will turn into pleasure," he says with a smile and kisses your forehead.

"And if it doesn't, then you'll tell me and we'll figure something else out, hm. Okay? We can try different angles, like ya bein' on top for example, either way, I'm right here with ya."

You bite your cheek, nodding. He's your best friend. He'd never hurt you.

The first push isn't the worst. It just feels weird up until the burn where you let out a little cry and your hands try and find something to hold onto.

"My back, baby, it's okay, go on," Tangerine encourages with a grunt, being slow and deliberate with his movements. He nips your neck when you wrap your arms around his back and your nails dig into his skin. It feels only fair that if he's hurting you, you should return the favor.

Once the burn disappears and the tip breaches, you relax and it's much easier. You gasp, feeling him rock into you–slowly. "Fuck me, you're so good," he praises, gripping the sheets over your head as he moves a little faster and a little deeper.

Your body is buzzing and your nails dig into his back.

"More," you whimper, "Feels really good," you say, unable to open your eyes as you hold in your moans that threaten to spill because of his thrusts.

He smirks, his chest filling with pride. "Yeah? T'feels good, doesn't it? Ya like havin' me inside ya like this?"

You nod, pulling him in closer as his thrusts become more purposeful. You whine and the more his hips snap into yours and you wrap your legs around him, the deeper you take him. "Tangerine!" you cry, moaning his name as he muffles your sounds with a kiss.

"Quiet now, can't have Lemon hearing how I've turned ya into my good little slut," he groans, his muscles tensing as he continues his pace, holding himself back only a little because you can't take him at his fullest—yet. You'll have time to learn, he promises himself as he fucks you closer and closer to his own release.

You moan at the degradation and it only brings you closer to the edge. "Please, please, please," you whimper pitifully, scratching your nails down his back as the hotel bed creaks underneath you.

"Please what?" Tangerine groans.

You come for the second time. Tangerine captures the broken moan in his mouth as he kisses you, fucking you again and again until you've ridden out your high and he's on the brink.

"Bloody hell," he groans as he comes inside the condom, barely holding himself up from toppling over you and crushing you under him. He peppers kisses all over your face as he praises you. "Good girl, such a good girl for me."

Your breathing harshly, your arms falling to your side as you stare up at the ceiling. Your mind is spinning as you wrap your head around how you'd just lost your virginity to the one man you'd promised yourself you would never fall for—and the one man who it was always inevitably that you would.

Tangerine pulls out gently, discarding the condom in the trash, and then he rolls onto his back and catches his breath. You stay still, not sure how this works. Tangerine looks over at you, hiding a smile as he sends you a soft look.

"Hey, c'mere," he whispers and shifts so you can lay on his chest in his arms.

You do so as he pulls the blanket over your bodies as he presses a quick kiss to your forehead. "Talk to me. How're ya feelin'?" he asks.

You feel a whirlwind of emotions that you can't quite put into words. The warmth of his body against yours is comforting and yet it intensifies the confusion dancing around you and even when you rest your palm on his stomach for more warmth and comfort, your stomach twists nervously.

"I don't know," you finally admit, your voice small. "I liked it and I- I wanted this but now that it's happened, it's so new and I'm scared."

Tangerine's fingers find themselves in your hair, storking gently as he tries to convey his emotions though his touches. "I understand," he murmurs. "I know it's a lot, but I'm here, alright? I'm not going anywhere."

You close your eyes, letting his words sink in. You never thought you would find yourself in this situation, much less with him. You don't know what came over you to even ask for this—but now that you had, a part of you feels like it was the right decision.

"I've never been with anyone and I don't want to lose myself in this," you confess. "In you."

Tangerine's heart is pounding. He doesn't do commitment or relationships—he's never been good at them. He feels like whenever he's tried, he's been a shitty boyfriend.

However, he can't help but feel like there is something about you that makes him want to do better.

He tilts your chin up so you're looking into his eyes. "You won't," he promises, his gaze steady and sincere. "We're in this together and I promise you, I'll do my very best not to mess this up."

He leans in and kisses your lips softly. "I like you too much to mess this up," he whispers against your lips and you can't help but smile. You've never felt safer than in his arms.

* * *