Suh

i always woke up before he did. he still slept the same way too–with one arm still loosely wrapped around my waist like he was scared i’d disappear during the night. his blond hair was a mess against my pillows, lips slightly parted as soft breaths fanned across my shoulder.

god, i missed waking up beside him.

i carefully reached up and traced my fingers along his jawline. the stubble scratched lightly against my fingertips. his eyes fluttered open and he gave me a tired soft smile.

it was like i could feel my heart melt. how stupid.

“hi, pretty girl.” his morning voice was rough and raspy in that way that always messed me up.

“hi, calcite.”

calum burst into a grin so wide it changed his whole face before laughing. “fuck,” he groaned, pulling me closer. “you have no idea how much i missed those nicknames.” before i could even react properly, he hooked an arm around my waist and effortlessly lifted me onto his lap. he sat up, head against the headboard.

i squealed in surprise while he laughed against my neck. “jesus christ, you got stronger.”

“touring and emotional devastation,” he grinned. “great for upper body strength.”

i snorted out a laugh. there he was again. my calum. i cupped his face between my hands, still struggling a little to process that he was actually here. “can’t believe you’re here,” i admitted softly.

the teasing faded from his expression. “do you regret it?”

i shook my head before he could even finish worrying himself into a spiral. “i’d never regret you.”

he leaned in to kiss me before i turned my face away with a groan. “cal, wait–morning breath–”

“sorry,” he scoffed against my cheek, already laughing. “since when the fuck have i ever cared about morning breath?”

i rolled my eyes while trying, and failing, to push him away.

“it’s been two years,” he continued dramatically. “i’d kiss you after you ate an entire garlic bulb at this point.” 

i burst into laughter. the sound barely lasted a second before he pulled me back against him again, arms tightening around my waist while he kissed me properly this time. i squealed when he suddenly rolled us over so he was hovering above me, blond hair falling slightly into his eyes.

“hi,” i whispered, biting back a smile as i traced the roughness of his stubble with my fingertips.

“hi,” he whispered back. neither of us moved away. we just stayed there staring at each other like we were trying to relearn each other’s faces. 

i took in every little detail i hadn’t been allowed to see this closely in two years. it seemed like he was doing the same thing to me too, looking almost overwhelmed by finally being this close again.

“we’re idiots, aren’t we?” i giggled softly.

“no. i’m the idiot here, trust me.” his expression slightly shifted to something more serious, “evie—”

i immediately covered his mouth with my hand before he could spiral into another apology. he blinked at me as i shook my head. “i know, cal,” i whispered. “i know.”

i watched as his eyes softened, “i don’t wanna keep living in the past anymore, okay?” saying that didn’t mean it stopped hurting. sometimes my mind still betrayed me with flashes of that night and all that anger and heartbreak would come back. so i didn’t blame him for still carrying guilt either.

but sitting here now, with sunlight pouring across his face while he looked at me like i was still the most important thing in his world… i didn’t want us drowning in pain forever.

“i think after an entire album and everything you said last night,” i teased lightly, “i can probably trust you again.”

calum groaned loudly in embarrassment before burying his face into my neck.

“but i swear to god, calum thomas hood,” i continued, half serious despite my smile, “if you ever pull anything like that again, i will actually kill you.”

he lifted his head immediately and nodded, “yes ma’am.” 

i snorted, “i’m serious!” 

“so am i,” he insisted. 

“i’ll literally write a letter before you kill me telling the police not to arrest you. you can have all my inheritance too.”

i kissed him just to shut him up. he smiled against my lips. “okay, i’m sorry. i mean it, baby,” he murmured afterward, forehead resting against mine. “never again.”

something about the certainty in his voice made my chest ache. 

“i’ll spend the rest of my life making sure i never hurt you like that again.” his thumb brushed softly along my cheek. “i swear on everything, evie.”

i searched his face for something, anything that would warn me. but all i saw was a man determined, he looked like if i didn’t take him back he’d jump out the window right here right now.

i laughed nervously under my breath. “we’re really doing this again, huh?”

calum looked at me like the answer had always been obvious to him. “it’s your call, angel,” he said softly. he leaned down slightly, nose brushing mine, “look, i know we can’t magically fix two years overnight,” he continued carefully. “and i know i have to earn your trust again properly. i will. however long it takes.”

his voice dropped quieter after that. “but if you’ll let me… i wanna come home to you again.”

“i wanna relearn everything about you,” he whispered softly. “i wanna know what tube stop you hate the most, what your favorite pub is, your new favorite band…. i miss your playlists and music recommendations.”

his thumb brushed slowly across my waist.

“i wanna know all the little things i missed while we were apart.” he smiled sadly. “i just really don’t wanna lose you again because those were the worst two years of my entire life.”

my chest tightened and i ran my fingers through his hair, nodding faintly. “i don’t think i ever stopped being yours.”

the look on his face after i said that was a mixture of relief, disbelief. like he was trying not to break down all over again.

“jesus christ,” he laughed shakily, burying his face into my shoulder. “you have no idea what hearing that does to me.”

i smiled weakly and kissed the top of his head. “you’re clingier now.”

“now?” he looked up, offended. “baby, i was always clingy.”

“true.”

“i literally used to follow you into kitchens because i missed you.”

“you followed me into bathrooms too.”

“well yeah.” he shrugged shamelessly. “what if something exciting happened?”

i burst out laughing. how could this feel so normal already? like we somehow skipped over two years of heartbreak and snapped right back into us.

eventually though, reality came crashing back into the room. because unlike whatever bubble we’d built inside my flat overnight, the outside world still existed. and unfortunately for us, so did calum’s very real tour schedule.

his next stop was manchester. tomorrow night’s show. which meant he had to leave london later today to continue the rest of the uk leg.

“come with me.”

i looked over from my closet where i was pulling on clothes. calum sat at the edge of my bed in his boxers watching me.

“cal…”

“please.” his voice cracked. 

“last night was something i’ve been dreaming about for so long,” he admitted. “and even right now—having you here again—it still feels unreal.” hearing the desperation in his voice made me pause.

he stood up before walking toward me. “i can’t leave you again.” his voice cracked slightly. “i don’t want to.” he took both my hands into his. “please come with me, evie.”

and there he was again, emotionally rambling like last night. “we still have the rest of europe after the uk shows,” he continued quickly. “then there’s a month break before we go back on tour again and yeah, okay, logically we could reunite then—” he shook his head. “but i can’t get you back today just to leave you again tomorrow for another month.”

my heart hurt listening to him. 

“we’re taking the tour bus around the remaining cities,” he added.

“it’ll be like the old days again.” a smile tugged onto his face. “squeezing into tiny bunks together. you stealing my hoodies. except there’s babies now but i’m sure that’s nothing compared to ashton’s snoring.”

i laughed as memories immediately flooded my head too. late-night motorway stops, falling asleep on his shoulder while the boys argued over music, tiny backstage dressing rooms and shitty gas station snacks.

“it’s this afternoon, i think,” he continued. “and the team won’t care. the boys definitely won’t care. crystal and sierra would be more than happy. i mean, they like you more than they like me.”

i snorted. 

“they miss you, evie.” his voice softened. “everyone does. i do.”

i tried thinking of reasons to say no. but in reality, i didn’t really have any. most of my work was remote now anyway. any upcoming events could easily be shifted around or covered elsewhere. my entire career practically lived inside my laptop.

and if i was being honest, a small part of me missed that life too. i looked toward the window as bright sunlight spilled across the london skyline in a way that almost never happened. i looked back at calum, and had to hide my laugh from seeing the hope practically glow in his face.

i sighed dramatically. “it’s gonna be one hell of a surprise when i show up again.”

his entire face lit up. “so that’s a yes?”

i laughed despite myself. “yeah.”

before he could fully celebrate, i pointed at him accusingly. “but seriously—why did we have to get back together while you’re on tour? do you know how much harder this makes everything?”

calum grinned so hard his dimples appeared. “sorry, angel. horrible timing.”

then he immediately wrapped his arms around me again and lifted me clean off the floor. i yelped while he laughed into my neck. 

“holy shit,” he whispered breathlessly. “you’re coming with me.”

i realized then that he was wrong before: i was also an idiot in this relationship. 

what sane woman gets back together with her ex and immediately agrees to go on tour with him the next day? 

though calum hood never made me sane once.

10:42 am

after what felt like a million back-and-forth phone calls with management, crew members, logistics teams, and at least three stressed assistants, calum finally confirmed that i could join the rest of the tour.

apparently squeezing one emotionally unstable ex-girlfriend onto a tour bus last minute required a shocking amount of work. i felt a little guilty about the chaos. some poor logistics coordinator was probably staring at spreadsheets right now wondering why one of the band members suddenly needed an extra bunk assignment because he was never able to move on.

i made a mental note to buy the entire team dinner at some point. or alcohol. or probably both.

we had to meet everyone at the hotel by 3:30, meaning we needed to leave before one so calum could go back to his hotel and pack properly.

which also meant i should’ve been packing. 

keyword: should’ve.

instead, i was barefoot in the kitchen making breakfast while calum stood behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist like he physically couldn’t stop touching me now that he had me back. not that i minded.

the bacon crackled softly in the pan while lazy morning sunlight poured through the windows. calum pressed absentminded kisses along my neck and shoulder while i scrambled eggs. every few seconds he’d tighten his grip on me slightly like he was reassuring himself i was still there and not a hallucination like some type of shutter island shit.

“okay,” he suddenly said, voice rough with sleep. “but seriously.”

i hummed.

“did you actually like the album?”

i rolled my eyes. “obviously i liked it, idiot. how could i not? it was beautiful.”

he grinned proudly against my shoulder.

“but,” i continued, pointing the spatula at him, “i could only listen to it once because otherwise i would’ve thrown myself into the thames.”

calum burst out laughing. 

“i’m serious!” i defended. “you’re such an asshole for finally releasing a solo album after we broke up when i spent literal years begging you to make one.”

he hid his laugh into my neck.

“what? my love wasn’t inspiring enough material before?” i said half-jokingly, half-serious.

“no, baby—”

“yes actually, explain yourself.”

he turned me around gently until my back pressed against the counter.

“you were too inspiring,” he corrected softly, hands sliding onto my waist. “i think i was just terrified of writing anything that honest while you were actually still mine.”

i rolled my eyes. what an excuse. his thumbs rubbed absentminded circles into my hips before he smiled. “i’ll make another one.”

i raised an eyebrow. “oh yeah?”

“mhm.” he nodded seriously. “this one’s gonna be different though.”

“how so?”

he leaned down until our noses brushed.

“it’ll be about how the love of my life took me back and stopped me from being suicidal.”

i laughed. “you are so dramatic.”

“i’m an artist, baby.”

“you’re insane.”

“but you still love me.”

i rolled my eyes even as my smile betrayed me.

“stupid.”

“your stupid.”

“yeah, okay, now let me get back to cooking before the food burns and i have to remake everything from scratch which wastes the time we already don’t have. c’mon cal, i still need to pack and get ready.”

he laughed against my shoulder, arms still locked around my waist. “you never changed.”

i pouted. “you’re the one who convinced me to go on tour with you again all of a sudden!”

“convinced?” he gasped dramatically. “baby, you said yes almost instantly.”

i pointed the spatula at him again. “don’t test me.” he grinned.

“oh my god,” i groaned. “i haven’t even told alyssa yet.”

calum winced. “shit. she hates me, doesn’t she?”

“she did threaten to murder you multiple times.”

“fair.” he tightened his hold around me again before mumbling into my neck. “i’m scared of her.”

“you always were.”

“no seriously, evie. your best friend terrifies me.” he lifted his head slightly. “i have to face her again now, don’t i?”

i laughed harder. “yes. she’s my other soulmate, so unfortunately you’ll have to survive the court hearing.”

he groaned loudly.

“honestly if she kills you there’s no promise she’ll spare me as well. she leaves me alone for one night and suddenly i’m right back in your arms.” i turned the stove lower before finally facing him properly again.

he chuckled at me softly. it seemed like he was now incapable of looking at me without any yearn in his eyes. he looked like he still couldn’t fully believe he was standing here in my kitchen. well, it’ll turn into our kitchen again sooner or later.

“you really scared me, you know,” he admitted quietly.

“what?”

“when you sent your location last night.” his hands slid slowly up my back. “i thought maybe you were drunk and angry and wanted closure or something.”

i looked down. “i almost didn’t send it.”

his grip on me tightened. “but you did.”

“yeah.”

a quiet settled between us. heavy in the way only years of history can make silence feel. calum brushed a strand of hair behind my ear before speaking again. “i don’t think you understand how hard it was not contacting you these past two years.”

i swallowed. “cal…”

“no, seriously.” his voice softened. “every city reminded me of you somehow. every song. every stupid little thing.” his lips ghosted across my jaw slowly. “i’d see oasis shirts and think about you.” another kiss. “every time someone ordered extra pickles on a burger i thought about you, ya little weirdo.” another. “every time i heard someone laugh too loud—”

“okay, now you’re flirting.”

“i’m trying to.”

i rolled my eyes even as my stomach flipped. “you’re rusty.”

“oh, am i?” his hands suddenly grabbed my waist tighter before he lifted me onto the counter effortlessly.

i yelped. “calum!”

“what?” he grinned shamelessly, stepping between my knees. “you called me rusty. that hurt my feelings.”

“you don’t have feelings.”

“that’s not what my therapist says.”

i laughed so hard i nearly folded into him. god. i missed this.

the stupid jokes, the way he always knew how to make me laugh before i could overthink too much. his smile softened seeing me laugh. then his eyes dropped to my lips and suddenly the atmosphere shifted again. his thumb brushed slowly against my thigh.

“you have no idea how many times i imagined kissing you again,” he admitted quietly.

my breath caught slightly. “yeah?”

“mhm.” he leaned closer. “and reality’s better.”

his lips met mine slowly this time, not desperate like last night. he lingered like he wanted to memorize me all over again. i tangled my fingers into his blond hair, earning a quiet moan from him that sent a pulsing feeling straight to my core.

we really had learned each other’s bodies too well over the years.

the kiss deepened naturally, years of familiarity slipping right back into place like muscle memory. his hands slid beneath the hem of my shirt while mine tugged lightly at the strings of his hoodie. then suddenly—the smell of bacon burning hit us both. 

“shit!” i pulled away laughing while calum groaned dramatically into my shoulder. 

“you’re a distraction.”

“you were literally making out with me!”

“you started it!”

“i absolutely did not.”

i hopped off the counter to rescue breakfast while he stayed behind me grinning like an idiot. 

“well,” i huffed as our lips finally parted properly again, trying to catch my breath while flipping the bacon, “better get used to a lot more gas station stops than before.”

calum raised an eyebrow knowingly. 

“because seriously, what’s the difference between us being horny teenagers back then and us not seeing each other for two years?”

calum looked genuinely in thought for a second. “better stamina?”

It was a quiet night, for the most part—just you, holed up in your shoebox of a dorm with a phone, a questionable sense of judgment, and way too much free will.

There were definite perks to living alone, despite the prison-cell size of your “room.” Chief among them? Having the privacy to be half-naked, kneeling in front of your mirror, trying to find the perfect angle to show off your tits.

You pushed your hair out of your face and shifted positions—one arm braced against the floor, the other gripping your phone. In the back of your mind, you tried not to think about how much this was starting to feel like playing Twister.

Just… sluttier.

After snapping the photo, you let your shoulders sag. The finished product was fine—not quite what you wanted, but hey, you had all night, right?

Then your phone lit up, a notification dropping down from the top of the screen like the barrel of a loaded gun.

Ashton (lit) at 9:17 p.m.

btw wanted to let u know i finished my last paragraph, we should be all good to submit whenever

You blinked slowly, exhaling through your nose as you tried to swallow the annoyance at the reminder of your still-pending homework. Responsibilities. Reality. Ugh.

You sat up straighter, fingers moving to type.

You at 9:19 p.m.

Yeah sounds good w me. Thanks.

The moment it marked as read, your heart gave a traitorous stutter. No good reason. Just a reflex, obviously.

Ashton was in your literature class—just like forty other strangers you had no interest in knowing. But unlike the rest, who all felt like filler characters buffering their way through college…

Ashton was something else entirely

He was quiet, but not shy—more like disinterested. Detached in a way that felt deliberate. He never spoke unless called on, never joined discussions, never even looked all that engaged. But he was always there, drumming his fingers against the desk like a soundtrack only he could hear. Watching. Absorbing. Half-present. Half-gone.

You sat a few rows behind him, tucked into the back. Just close enough to watch.

He was always focused—or at least pretending to be—scrolling through his phone like the world bored him. And God, he was hot. Stupidly, unfairly hot.

Messy sandy curls. Silver chains resting low on his chest. Hoodies slung over broad shoulders like they were custom-made. Effortless. Dangerous.

Exactly the kind of guy who never had to try.

He knew he was hot—you were sure of it. He didn’t flaunt it, didn’t make a scene, but the signs were there: the way he carried himself like the ground belonged to him, the smirk he gave his phone like it owed him something, the way he texted with that deadly combination of confidence and zero punctuation.

So yeah, when the two of you got paired for the final project of the semester, you were more than a little intrigued. Curious. Maybe even hopeful. You figured you’d test the waters—feel out the vibe, figure out what made him tick. See if that quiet hotness translated into something more.

Unfortunately, it didn’t.

Ashton treated you exactly the way you technically should’ve been treated—like a partner. Nothing more. No flirting. No sparks. Just laser-focused on getting the grade.

Brutal.

It stung, sure—but your attention wasn’t exactly starved.

Jaden was still in the picture. Not someone you’d brag about, but he served his purpose. Convenient. Occasionally charming. Decently attractive in a way that felt manageable.

He was the one you were taking the pictures for.

The pile of homework on your desk sat untouched, the thought of tackling it tonight way too daunting. And you were stressed. Stretched thin. The easiest answer was only a text away.

You angled the phone camera again, lowering your other hand to tease between your thighs—your chest front and center, your fingers just suggestive enough to send Jaden sprinting.

Still, it didn’t land the way you’d intended. It lacked punch. It wasn’t damning enough. The desperation didn’t translate—not the kind you needed him to see. You bit your lip, sighing in frustration as your shoulders sagged and you flopped onto your bed in defeat.

Your phone pinged.

You glanced at the screen, already bracing. Ashton had reacted to your last message with a simple thumbs up. Polite. Kind. Thoroughly uninterested. Conversation over.

You swallowed down the thick wave of disappointment rising in your throat.

The text thread between you and Ashton was… depressing, if you were being honest. A handful of messages a day, max. Just logistics. Study times. Project updates. Nothing else. Nothing personal.

You rolled onto your back, arm thrown across your forehead like it could shield you from the shame curdling in your chest. But your mind—traitorous, insatiable—conjured him anyway.

Ashton in class. Quiet. Composed. Long fingers flying across his keyboard. The subtle flex of his biceps when he leaned forward to rest his chin in his palm. That focus, sharp and consuming—except for those rare, rare moments he smirked at something you said. Barely a twitch of his mouth, but it burned under your skin for hours.

You exhaled, shaky and soft, and reopened the camera app.

Your hand drifted lower, fingertips trailing down your stomach and slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mind fed you more.

Ashton’s scent—warm and musky beneath the soft tang of leather, like he belonged in the front seat of a bike you weren’t supposed to ride. His curls, too long when he forgot to get them trimmed, brushing over his forehead like even they didn’t know how to behave.

Your breath caught.

You slid the fabric aside and took the photo without hesitation this time: your fingers nestled against your clit, chest fully exposed, lips parted and bitten—just the edge of your mouth in frame, painted with intent.

The shot was perfect. Just the right amount of filthy. Focused. The meaning behind the photo would never be misconstrued.

But you barely looked at it before sending.

Your mind was elsewhere—lingering on the dimple that only ever appeared when he laughed too hard. You’d only seen it twice. You remembered both times in excruciating detail, each instance burned into your eyelids like an image left on a computer for too long.

That was what distracted you, Ashton and his stupidly handsome face. It also was what made your fingers move faster than your thoughts.

And that quickly turned out to be a problem.

It wasn’t until after—after the image had sent, after you were already closing your camera roll—that you realized.

The message thread wasn’t full of filthy texts or teasing emojis. There was no risqué flirtation. No artfully taken nudes.

No—what filled the chat was worse. So much worse that your stomach dropped before your brain could fully process it.

Not teasing messages. Not flirty gifs. Not even a single emoji.

What filled this thread were polite updates. Google Drive links. Timestamped bullet points about citation formats. A conversation so sterile it could’ve lived in a university email chain.

And now, sitting right there at the bottom of the screen in your chat with Ashton fucking Irwin—your nudes.

“Oh my fucking god.”

The words tore out of you in a rasped breath, catching in your throat like broken glass. You shot upright, yanking your knees to your chest as panic clawed its way up your spine. You were suddenly, excruciatingly aware of how exposed you were—shirtless, panties skewed to one side, skin still warm and flushed from the fantasy that had gotten you into this mess.

You blinked once, then again, trying— and failing— to will the screen into changing. No matter how much denial you fed yourself, nothing would to undo reality that you were living in.

The ringing in your ears kicked up, muffling the world around you, your heart pounding like it was trying to beat its way out of your ribs, breaking every bone in the process. That probably would have been much less painful.

There was no way you had just sent Ashton Irwin that photo.

Not polite, well-mannered, devastatingly mysterious, quietly brilliant Ashton. Ashton with the messy notes that somehow made sense and the too-long eyelashes and the voice that always stayed just a little too calm, a little too confident despite his almost clinical approach to conversation with you.

Ashton who smelled like leather and eucalyptus and kept his distance no matter how badly you wanted to close it.

And now?

Now he had a full-color, high-definition shot of your fingers on your clit, your chest bare, your body flushed and wrecked by the idea of him. Not that he knew that. At least you hoped he didn’t know that.

Nausea twisted low and sharp in your gut, clawing at your insides. He had seen it. Of course he’d seen it.

The final blow hit like a dagger:

Read 9:40 P.M.

Your spine straightened like a struck match, your breath hitching as horror poured down your spine like ice cold water.

He hadn’t just seen it—he’d been in the chat when it arrived. There wasn’t even a buffer. No moment of confusion. No window to unsend.

You’d dropped that bomb right in his lap in real time.

The cold panic bled into your limbs as your hands flew across the keyboard, desperate for damage control, for anything to claw your dignity back from the gaping hole you’d just dug yourself.

You at 9:40 P.M.

OH MY GOD. That was so not meant for you, I am so fucking sorry. Oh my god. Please delete it.

Your thumbs hovered uselessly after pressing send. Waiting.

There was no typing bubble, no immediate response. It was just silence, long and excruciating in a way nothing else had ever quite matched.

It was just your own reflection in the black mirror of your screen—wide-eyed, mortified, still a little breathless from arousal turned horror.

With shaking hands, you turned your phone off, reaching for your discarded shirt and slipping over your head. Your hands flew to your head, gripping the sides as you slowly laid back down in bed.

There was absolutely no way in hell you’d go to class for the rest of the week. Absolutely not.

You were also most definitely not going to sit and unpack the unfurling disappointment in your chest at the implication of Ashton not even saying anything. It felt like a rejection, one you realistically knew would come, but one you were not prepared to face nonetheless.

—

It had been three days since the unthinkable happened.

Truly, they were the longest, most excruciating three days of your damn life. Ashton hadn’t said a word—no reaction, nothing. It was almost worse than if he had said something. You deleted the text thread from your messages, just so you didn’t have to sit with your humiliation staring back at you.

In those three days since the incident—as you had taken to calling it recently—you had scheduled to show up for class. You tried. Truly, actually tried to show up. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you wrapped up in an impenetrable cocoon of blankets and relived every second of that interaction.

Had Ashton been weirded out? God, hopefully he didn’t take it as some unsolicited advance of the worst kind. Sure, you liked the guy, but sending an unwanted nude? No, thank you.

So, instead of pulling yourself together like a functioning human being, you stayed in bed all day and tortured yourself with every possible scenario of what Ashton Irwin might be thinking about your very naked body.

The only reason you didn’t dissolve into a permanent depression cocoon was because you’d made long-standing plans with Jaden. Which is how you found yourself in the passenger seat of his car, biting back the hundredth eye roll as he laughed—again—about the Ashton situation.

“I still can’t believe you actually sent that to him,” he said, breathless, one hand on the wheel, the other rubbing his forehead like he physically couldn’t handle the secondhand cringe.

You dropped your head back against the headrest with a dramatic sigh. “It’s really not that funny,” you muttered, cheeks burning. “I haven’t even shown up to class since.”

Jaden glanced over with an arched brow, grinning like the menace he was. “You know he might be at the bonfire tonight, right?”

“Please,” you groaned, holding up a hand as if that would be enough to get him to end his reveling in your misery. “Stop reminding me.”

He shrugged as the car rolled to a stop at a red light. “Whatever. He doesn’t want you,” he said casually. “Besides, you’re coming with me. Not him.”

You turned to face the window, letting your gaze drift past the streetlights until they blurred into glowing smears.

Then—an engine. Low and guttural. The kind of sound that doesn’t just interrupt your thoughts, it rattled through your ribs. A motorcycle pulled up beside you, the sudden weight of the presence pressing down on your chest.

The man was hunched over, clad in full riding gear—leather jacket, leather gloves, jeans that were absolutely not road-rash resistant and looked practically spray-painted on, and a glossy red-and-black helmet that obscured his face entirely.

Bikers weren’t exactly a rare sight around here. Hell, a couple of your friends had bikes. But something about this one made your breath snag in your throat.

Somewhere in the background, Jaden kept talking, but his voice faded into static.

Your focus narrowed, locked on the rider. On the stubborn, almost lazy way his shoulders set back as he adjusted his gloves. You watched, hypnotized, as his long fingers worked the straps with practiced precision.

And then—as if he felt the weight of your stare—he turned.

The helmet tilted toward you, slowly, deliberately. You should’ve looked away. Should’ve feigned indifference. But instead, you held your ground, gaze steady, drawn in by the biker’s curious head tilt.

The moment stretched thin. Then, with a single fluid motion, the biker leaned forward, gripped the handlebars—and revved the engine directly at you.

The sound tore through the quiet like a dare.

You bit back a flustered grin, looking down at your lap as you fought back the heat creeping up your neck, just in time for Jaden to notice the not-so-subtle exchange.

“What the hell does that guy want?” he muttered, eyes narrowing.

The engine revved again—louder this time, almost playful—and you couldn’t help it. Your gaze snapped back, locking once more with the mirrored visor of the biker’s helmet.

He raised two fingers in a lazy, mocking salute just as the light turned green. Then, without hesitation, he peeled off into the night, the roar of the engine trailing behind like a war cry.

“Maybe he liked my shirt,” you muttered, not even pretending to offer a reasonable excuse. You barely registered the car moving forward again—your whole body still thrummed from the encounter, nerves crackling like static under your skin.

Jaden, unsurprisingly, did not share your amusement.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he said flatly, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. “I doubt that’s what it was.”

You bit your lip, fighting the smile clawing at your face. “Maybe he’s just a big Affliction fan.”

Jaden’s glare could’ve set the car on fire. Unfortunately for him, it only made you feel more alive.

—

The bass rattled through your bones—so hard you wondered how the speakers hadn’t blown yet. You were nursing a drink, a too-strong spiked lemonade that tasted more like hand sanitizer than you’d ever willingly admit.

It wasn’t that you weren’t having fun. You liked the scene, the people, the energy. It was just… Jaden. He’d gotten clingy. The human equivalent of a gnat. Looming over you like an annoying shadow, barely letting any light through.

Annoyance clawed up your spine like an unwanted shiver. You stood there with your arms crossed, doing your best impression of someone tolerating him. He had this irritating habit of conveniently forgetting the whole “casual” arrangement you’d both agreed on—preferring instead to parade you around like some dumb trophy.

And let’s be honest—his dick wasn’t even that remarkable.

“What do you say we ditch this and go back to your dorm?” Jaden asked, flashing his dimple like a get-out-of-rejection-free card. He was pretty—not Ashton pretty—but dangerous in his own way.

You blinked, schooling your expression as your shoulders dropped into forced calm. “Now why would I waste a perfectly good party for that?” you asked flatly.

Before he could launch into another charming defense of his mediocrity, loud hooting erupted across the field, followed by a burst of laughter.

Both of you turned toward the commotion.

The crowd shifted, parting just enough to reveal a figure—a man pulling off a black and red motorcycle helmet, immediately swarmed by three other guys, all laughing and jostling like old friends.

You straightened instinctively, every nerve in your body snapping to attention.

The flicker of the bonfire caught on the stranger’s hair, gilding it in molten gold.

And then he turned—flashing that unmistakable dimple at his tall, blonde friend, his green eyes crinkling with amusement.

Ashton.

Fucking.

Irwin.

The prickle of anxiety was the only warning before cold sweat broke out across your skin, your feet suddenly glued to the ground as Jaden squinted toward the group of men.

“Well,” he said, frowning. “Guess your tits brought in a crowd after all.”

Your mouth dropped open, disbelief hitting like a slap. The implication was clear. The mere thought that Ashton had shared that photo made your stomach churn. Bile crept up your throat.

And Jaden—Jaden—seemed to find it funny.

“That’s so fucking gross. And a crime,” you snapped, cheeks flushed with heat.

Your eyes locked onto Ashton instantly, tracking his every movement. Your heart stuttered as his gaze met yours—smirk in place, green eyes glinting under the firelight. He raised two fingers again in that same lazy salute, the one that had sent butterflies scattering in your stomach earlier.

There was barely time to breathe before he started toward you.

His stride was slow. Languid. Like he knew exactly what he was doing—drawing out the inevitable and letting you steep in your fear.

You smelled him before you saw him—that familiar mix of leather and eucalyptus you used to try so hard not to get high off of in class.

He stopped a few feet in front of you, hands shoved casually into the pockets of his leather jacket, which hung open—giving you a perfect view of the white wife beater clinging to his chest, the glint of stacked chains brushing against his collarbone.

Grasping for something to do, you took a quick sip of your drink, blinking rapidly to mask the way your face twitched at the taste. He tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on your throat as you forced the alcohol down.

“I didn’t see you in class,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging into a half-smile. “How come?”

The utter normalcy of the question caught you off guard—like the whole photo disaster hadn’t even grazed him. Like you were the only one drowning in humiliation.

Jaden, predictably, didn’t seem amused. He threw an arm around your shoulders like a territorial house cat, leveling Ashton with a flat, unreadable stare.

“I guess I was just feeling sick,” you answered smoothly, despite the way your spine went stiff under Jaden’s touch. “You know. Bad takeout, probably.”

Ashton hummed, eyes flicking between the arm slung around your shoulders and your face, like he was trying to decide whether you were being held at gunpoint or just making deeply questionable choices about the company you kept.

“You know,” he said, casually ignoring Jaden’s looming presence, “I actually think I was kinda bored without you there. Had a couple questions to ask.”

Ah. There it was. The acknowledgment of the most embarrassing moment of your entire existence.

Jaden scoffed, barely hiding his disdain. “Okay, ask your questions now then,” he challenged, puffed-up and pitiful.

Ashton’s gaze finally slid over to him, green eyes sharp, brows lifted in what looked dangerously close to amusement. “Sure,” he said easily. “Was gonna ask if you wanted to come with me to the bonfire, but since you’re already here, why don’t I just settle for getting you a new drink?”

He grinned—wide, unbothered, infuriating—and your mouth dropped open in stunned silence, forming an involuntary “o” at the sheer audacity of it. He noticed, of course.

Jaden sputtered. “Dude, she’s with me, can’t you see?”

“Oh. My bad,” Ashton said, calm as ever. “I don’t remember asking you if you wanted a new drink. But I’m sure you can figure something out—you seem like a smart guy.”

You didn’t even try to stop the laugh that slipped out, and without thinking, you peeled yourself away from Jaden’s grip. You were bored of him anyway. And yeah… you did need a new drink.

“I’d like that,” you smiled, walking over to Ashton, who was smirking triumphantly at Jaden.

He didn’t reach out to touch you—just walked beside you, close. Closer than any acquaintance had the right to.

You didn’t even register whether Jaden had anything to say about your little disappearing act—you were too distracted by the fact that this entire situation felt borderline surreal.

As the crowd thickened, Ashton placed a steady hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the bodies with ease, keeping you close and on course toward his cooler. You caught sight of his friends, but they were too caught up in their own chaos to notice—or care.

Ashton popped open the cooler with no ceremony, grabbing a single drink. Then, turning back to you, he brought the bottle to his lips and yanked the cap off with his teeth before handing it over.

“A bottle opener would’ve sufficed,” you quipped, taking it from him—your fingers brushing his in the exchange.

The firelight danced across his face, lighting up one side while casting the other in shadow, sharpening every edge, every line. He looked carved out of something you shouldn’t touch.

“If I can do it, I’ll do it,” Ashton shrugged, leaning against a tree, arms folding casually across his chest. Your eyes flicked—unbidden—down to the way his biceps flexed under the leather.

You rolled your eyes and took a long pull from the bottle, the drink colder than expected. “So, now that you’ve got me at the bonfire and with a drink in hand,” you said, arching a brow, “somehow I’m not convinced you’re out of questions.”

Ashton ran his tongue across his bottom lip, mouth tugging into a smirk. He reached over, plucked the beer bottle from your hand, and took a swig like it was his.

“You’re damn right I’ve got a few more questions,” he said, smacking his lips at the taste. “Like why the hell you’re hanging around such a loser.”

You shrugged, glancing down at Jaden’s hoodie. “Terminally horny, I guess,” you replied, snatching your drink back. “Not that you’d know anything about that, by the way.”

Laughter—sharp and shrill—cut through the air somewhere behind you, but Ashton didn’t flinch. He just tilted his head in mock innocence, a gesture too familiar, too reminiscent of the helmeted figure from earlier.

“How would you know that?” he challenged, pushing off the tree and closing the space between you. His breath hit your face—mint and beer. Annoyingly pleasant.

“Easy,” you said, trying not to choke on your own pulse as you met his gaze. Bright. Green. Sharp with something you hadn’t dared name. “You haven’t made a move on me all year.”

He blinked. Caught off guard. “What?”

You immediately shook your head, heat blooming up your neck. “Nothing. Never mind,” you mumbled, waving it off. “I’m not trying to give you the impression the picture was some kind of… fucked-up advance, because it wasn’t.”

“If you say I haven’t made a move,” he drawled, his eyes dipping to your mouth, slow and deliberate, “then what the hell do you think the bike fiasco was?”

“I didn’t even know that was you!” you snapped, jabbing a finger at his chest. “How was I supposed to connect stranger revving engine at me with project partner thinks I’m hot? As far as I knew, I sent you an accidental nude and you left me on read. Ghosted me for days.”

“Was waiting for you to show up in person,” he said with a sigh, like you were the dramatic one. “But clearly, you’re pretty avoidant, baby.”

You froze.

That pet name—baby—slipped past his lips like it belonged there, and it hit your nervous system like a bullet made of honey. Wrapped around your brain. Pooled straight between your legs.

Jesus. You had to get a grip.

Ashton—always too attuned to everything about you—caught the way your breath hitched at the endearment.

“That was for him, wasn’t it?” he murmured, stepping in until your back bumped against another tree. His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from your face with frustrating tenderness. “Tell me, Y/N… what did he think about it?”

You lifted your chin, matching his gaze head-on. “Well,” you said evenly, “he didn’t leave me on read for days.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, a flicker of something darker cutting through the smugness. “You said it was an accident,” he said quietly. “Not even a minute after I got the photo, you clarified it wasn’t meant for me. So tell me—what exactly was I supposed to do? Other than ignore it and delete it?”

You tilted your head, voice soft but unrelenting. “Is that really what you did?”

He hesitated. Just for a beat. “No,” he admitted, voice low and raw. “Not entirely. I deleted it, yeah. Ignored it… for about a minute.”

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth.

“Before my hand was down my pants and I was moaning your name into my pillow. But I figured I should probably keep that part to myself.”

You didn’t even bother to hide the gasp that punched out of you at his admission, your heartbeat spiking until it drowned out every other sound.

There was no way Ashton was serious. He had to be messing with you—playing some long game just to laugh about it later with his friends.

“You’re so full of shit,” you scoffed, pressing yourself harder against the tree, desperate for air that wasn’t laced with him.

But Ashton wasn’t done.

His hand curled around your wrist, tugging you forward until you were chest to chest. Then his palm slid up to cradle your jaw, and for one excruciating moment, he hovered—lips inches from yours—only to veer off and ghost his mouth along the shell of your ear.

“You can tell yourself I’m full of shit all you want, babygirl,” he rasped, voice low and lethal. “Go back to Jaden. Pretend you’re into his boring-ass antics. Only see me in class.”

Then—his teeth. A soft, deliberate bite to your earlobe that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“Or…” he continued, darker now, “you can let me fuck you stupid in that loser’s hoodie while I show you how honest I really am.”

He pulled back just enough to flash that devastating grin—dimples and all, like he hadn’t just rearranged your entire existence.

“Your choice.”

There wasn’t even a pause.

“Please,” you breathed.

Without another word, Ashton laced his fingers with yours and pulled you away from the party, deeper into the cover of the trees. Your heart was pounding, your mouth gone dry with anticipation. He walked a step ahead, shoulders squared with purpose, and bit by bit, the sounds of the party faded into nothing.

Crickets chirped where laughter used to be. All that remained was your breathing—ragged and heavy—and Ashton’s, syncing with yours like a rising storm.

You stopped beneath a thick canopy, far enough into the woods that someone would have to really be looking to find you.

“Ashton, I swear, if you don’t do something right now, I might actually—”

Your threat was cut off by his mouth crashing onto yours, a sharp gasp swallowed by the force of his kiss.

“God, that fucking picture,” Ashton groaned into your lips, teeth tugging at your bottom lip just as your back hit the rough bark of a tree.

Your hands flew to his neck, dragging him impossibly closer, fingers threading into his hair and yanking just enough to earn a guttural moan.

“Yeah?” you breathed, dazed and breathless. “What about it?”

His mouth traveled down your jaw, biting gently along the curve of your throat as he moved lower. Your head tipped back, thudding softly against the bark as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen,” he panted against your skin. “Swear to God, I think I started drooling.”

You let out a shaky laugh, still not quite believing this was your life. “You liked it, then?” you asked—your words dissolving into a choked moan as Ashton latched onto a particularly sensitive spot on your neck.

“Liked it?” he echoed, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. He shook his head, a soft laugh rumbling from his chest as he sank to his knees before you.

“Baby,” he said, voice low and reverent, “I loved it.”

His fingers were quick, nimble—undoing the button of your shorts in a flash, making your breath catch. Your gaze locked with his, and for a second, the world around you vanished, reduced to just you and Ashton and the pounding between your legs.

“You sure?” he asked, voice surprisingly gentle, even as heat darkened his eyes.

You swallowed hard, nodding fast. “Please,” you whispered. “I’ve waited all year, Ash. Please.”

That was all he needed.

Without hesitation, Ashton hooked his fingers into your waistband and dragged your shorts down your legs, pressing slow, heated kisses to every inch of skin he exposed. Once they hit your ankles, you kicked them away, not caring where they landed.

He leaned in, lips brushing the soft skin of your inner thigh, his breath warm as he got closer to your center. You could feel the wet patch in your panties grow, your pulse throbbing when his green eyes flicked up to meet yours—dark, gleaming, starving.

One hand ghosted over your clothed clit, and you let out a stuttering moan at the contact.

Ashton tutted softly, smiling like he’d just unlocked some cosmic truth. “Already so wet for me,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Bet that’s why you were dripping in the picture, huh?”

You bit your lip, too overwhelmed to answer. You just nodded.

“So fucking easy for me,” he cooed, fingers hooking into your panties and gently tugging them aside, baring you completely. “Fuck… look at you. So pretty. Soaked just for me.”

Before you could form a reply, Ashton leaned in and dragged his tongue in one long, slow stroke from your entrance to your clit, groaning deep and filthy against you.

Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto evaporated in an instant.

He licked at you like he was starved, relentless, messy, devoted.

“Oh my fuck, Ashton,” you gasped, head slamming back against the tree behind you.

His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking hard until your vision went hazy. The rough scrape of his stubble sent sparks racing up your spine, the perfect contrast to the soft, wet swirl of his tongue. He moaned against you, the vibration making your knees buckle just as he grabbed your thigh and slung it over his shoulder, anchoring you to his mouth like he never planned to come up for air.

One of Ashton’s hands dug into your hip, anchoring you to his mouth, while the other traced soft, deliberate strokes along your trembling thigh. Your legs shook with the effort of staying upright—completely undone by the relentless ministrations of his tongue.

His mouth was lethal, more sinful than you'd ever dared to imagine. He worked with reverence, sucking and licking at your clit with a kind of precision that stole the breath from your lungs.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he slurred against you, drunk on it, voice ragged and wrecked. One hand left your hip, sliding down to gently toy with your entrance, fingers gliding through the mix of your slick and his spit. “Could die here, I swear. You know how long I’ve been thinking about this?”

A gasp tore from your throat as one of his fingers slipped inside you. The stretch was perfect—just enough to throb at the base of your spine. He curled it, then began to pump in slow, steady thrusts as his mouth returned to your clit like he needed it.

His tongue flicked fast, then dragged slow—teasing you, overwhelming you, pulling you apart at the seams.

You arched against the tree, hips grinding mindlessly into his face, chasing more friction, more pressure, more him.

Ashton groaned in response, his fingers working you over with ruthless precision. The soft chorus of crickets had long been drowned out by the obscene sounds echoing through the trees—the wet, filthy slurps of his mouth on you, the slick squelch of his fingers fucking you open.

“Do you hear that, pretty girl?” he murmured, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you from between your legs. “That filthy little sound? That’s all you. That’s how ready you are for me. How loud your body’s begging, telling me how good I’m making you feel.”

Your hand clamped over your mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle the moans tearing out of you, but it barely dulled the noise. Pleasure coiled hot and tight in your belly, warmth flooding your spine in dizzying waves. Every flick of Ashton’s tongue made you jerk, made your knees threaten to give. He built you up perfectly, every stroke driving you higher, until all you could do was writhe against his slick, sinful mouth.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he whispered, voice raspy and reverent, tongue dragging slowly over your clit with devastating pressure. “Be a good fucking girl and come all over my face. Fuck, I need it.”

A third finger pushed inside, stretching you wide, and a sob burst from your lips—half-choked, half-worship.

“Fuck, Ash, I’m gonna come—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t blink. His eyes held yours—green, wild, burning with challenge—and they were the last thing you saw before everything cracked wide open.

The pressure snapped, hard and fast, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cried out, a ragged moan that shattered into Ashton’s name, grinding against his mouth as he held you up through it, steady and unrelenting.

Your body shook with the force of it, his tongue never easing, like he wanted to memorize how you came.

Ashton pulled away, panting just as hard as you were—but there was no reprieve.

His lips crashed onto yours, tongue demanding, coaxing your mouth open until you were overwhelmed with the taste of yourself on him. He kissed you like he was starved for it, like you hadn’t just shattered in his mouth.

Then, without warning, he broke away—spinning you around until your chest pressed against the rough bark of the tree. You barely registered the sound of a zipper being tugged down before his chest was pressed to your back, breath hot on your neck.

“You gonna let me feel how tight you are after you came?” he groaned. “Gonna let me fuck you the way you deserve? Make you come on my cock?”

“Please,” you whimpered. “Please, Ashton—fuck, I’ll be so good. I wanna come on your cock, I need it.”

You felt the shift as he shoved his jeans down just enough to free himself, but before you could twist around to look, his hand flattened against the side of your face, pressing your cheek to the tree.

“Stay right there,” he murmured, voice wrecked.

He nudged your thighs apart with his knee, then dragged the head of his cock through your folds—slick with your release, soaking him in it.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for days,” he growled. “Until you can’t stop dripping with me. Until the second you think of me, you’re sending me another one of those fucking pictures—just so I’ll come ruin you again.”

“You can have me whenever,” you panted, mind spinning. “Real life is better than pictures.”

“Real life,” he muttered darkly, “tastes better than anything I’ve ever fucking known.”

And with that, Ashton slammed into you in one smooth, devastating thrust.

He was big—the stretch toeing the line between pain and bliss as he fully sank into you, inch by devastating inch. A filthy, guttural groan tore from his throat as your body slowly gave way, welcoming the intrusion. He was long and thick enough to make your eyes cross, and the moan that left your lips was loud, unrestrained.

One of Ashton’s hands clamped down on your hip, anchoring you in place, while the other slid beneath Jaden’s hoodie, under your bra, and cupped your breast with greedy familiarity.

“Fuck, such a tight little pussy,” he rasped, his breath ragged, words slurred with pleasure. He pulled back, then slammed forward again, pulling a sharp cry from your throat.

He set a pace that could only be described as devastating—fingers tweaking your nipple while his grip on your hip tightened enough to promise bruises. You clawed at the bark in front of you, searching for something to hold onto as he pistoned into you without mercy.

The sounds—god, the sounds—filled the air around you: wet, rhythmic slaps of skin on skin, your desperate whimpers, and Ashton’s deep, wrecked moans echoing in your ears like sin made audible.

“Gripping me so tight,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “You gonna fuckin’ milk me, babygirl?”

Ashton’s staccato breaths tangled with your moans, each brutal thrust slamming you forward against the tree. His hand left your breast, sliding down to grab your other hip, locking you in place so he could drive in even harder, deeper.

“C’mon, baby,” he panted, voice cracking with urgency. “Say my name. Show me who’s ruining this pussy—who’s making you forget that asshole’s name.”

“Ash,” you sobbed. “Fuck, it’s you. It’s all you—stretching me out, ruining me, making me your good little cockwhore.”

A groan tore out of him, and one hand dropped from your waist, slipping between your thighs. Two fingers found your clit and started rubbing tight, brutal circles, dragging a cry of pleasure straight from your lungs.

“Shh, baby. I know,” Ashton murmured, tone low and patronizing, like he was talking down to someone already undone. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked by someone who actually knows how to make you see stars?”

You sobbed in response, teetering dangerously close to the edge again.

“Come for me again,” he demanded, breath strained, hips snapping faster. “Be a good girl, yeah? Show me how good I make you feel.”

And you did.

Without warning, you shattered—your orgasm ripping through you like a live wire, a broken, high-pitched cry tearing from your throat.

“Fuuuck, that’s it, good fucking girl,” Ashton groaned. “Squeezing me so tight. You like that, baby? Like coming all over my cock?”

You couldn’t speak—could barely breathe. Your legs gave out, but Ashton caught you, his arms locked around your waist, keeping you pinned to him as he kept thrusting.

“Gonna come,” he gasped, voice going ragged. “Gonna come so fucking deep inside you. Gonna watch you drip for days. Mine—you get that? This pussy’s fucking mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you choked out, raw and wrecked.

Ashton’s breath hitched. A broken whimper escaped him as he slammed into you one final time, cock pulsing deep inside you as he moaned through his release, face buried in the crook of your neck.

He gave a few more slow, sloppy thrusts, drawing out every last drop, before stilling completely—his lips pressing a soft, reverent kiss beneath your jaw.

For a few long beats, neither of you moved.

Ashton was still pressed against your back, his breath hot against your neck as you both struggled to come back down to Earth.

Then—slowly, carefully—he pulled out with a hiss. The sudden emptiness left behind was impossible to ignore, and your body still throbbed with the aftershocks of not one, but two orgasms.

You felt the warmth of him dripping down your thigh, and before you could steady yourself, your knees buckled.

“Woah, I got you, baby,” Ashton murmured, catching you easily as you sagged against him. His arms tightened around your waist, guiding both of you down to the ground. You sank against the tree, cheeks flushed, breath shallow and wrecked.

He kneeled beside you, pulling you into his lap and gathering your shorts from where they’d landed. Helping you back into them was a struggle—more laughter than efficiency, considering you were both half-limp and still seated—but eventually, he got you dressed again.

You collapsed against him with a sigh. He was warm. Steady. Comfortable in a way you never expected from the mysterious, brooding guy in your lit class.

“Are you okay?” Ashton asked softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Yeah,” you breathed, lips curling into a lazy, blissed-out grin.

A quiet settled between you. The party had all but faded behind the trees, and the crickets returned to center stage.

“You know,” Ashton started, a smirk tugging at his mouth, “I’m kinda glad you don’t know how to fucking read.”

You snorted. “I do know how to read,” you shot back. “I just… I don’t know. I guess I was thinking about you when I took those pictures. And… yeah.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Did I live up to the expectation?” he asked, almost shy beneath the swagger.

You shifted in his lap, turning to face him. “You’re kidding, right?” you said, brows raised. “Hot biker turns out to be my even hotter project partner who fucked me stupid in the woods while I wore my situationship’s hoodie?”

Ashton’s answering grin could’ve powered the whole damn bonfire.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Guess I did meet expectations.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The air in the bar was thick—saturated with the cloying scent of cheap perfume and lingering cigarette smoke, all underscored by the raucous echoes of drunken laughter. You tapped your carefully manicured nails against the sticky tabletop, eyes flitting nervously from face to face, cataloging each stranger with uneasy precision.

The thrill of the night buzzed beneath your skin—sharp, electric, almost unbearable. Your heart pounded erratically in your chest as your gaze remained fixed on the bar’s entrance, each passing moment stretching thin with anticipation. Maybe it was the taboo of it all—the unspoken danger, the uncharted territory you’d sworn never to touch—but the butterflies in your stomach had taken flight with dizzying urgency.

The bartender made eye contact with you again—for the third time in ten minutes. You offered nothing back, just lazily nursed your drink, tracing the rim of the glass with a fingertip. Condensation clung to the outside, slick and cool, and you found mild amusement in watching a droplet race downward, faster than the others.

“Must be some evenin’ if you’re entertaining yourself with a damn water droplet.” The voice—low, accented, tinged with amusement—slid into your senses just as he took the seat beside you.

Your eyes flicked to him. Sandy stubble framed a sharp jaw and hollow cheeks, his dark hair falling messily across his brow. And then—those eyes. Bright green, catlike, studying you with lazy precision.

The corner of your mouth curled into a smirk, slow and knowing. Your gaze dropped—right to the glint of a wedding band wrapped snug around his ring finger.

Instinctively, you twisted your own wedding band, the familiar pressure grounding you as a wave of anxiety surged—unwelcome, but far from unfamiliar. You straightened in your seat, spine stiffening, willing your features into something resembling calm.

“I find that the simplest things can be the most surprisingly amusing,” you hummed, voice dipping into something sweet and slow, almost syrupy. Then, you met his gaze head-on. “You’d probably know that if you didn’t strut around like you’re God’s gift to the Earth.”

His eyebrow arched, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face as his tongue dragged across his lower lip. He nodded slowly, accepting the barb with practiced ease. “Terrifying,” he murmured, raising a hand to flag down the bartender.

His emerald eyes flicked back to yours with a lazy sort of confidence, and a single dimple appeared as he smiled. “You want a refill? For a water droplet rematch?”

You took a breath, steady and deliberate, refusing to acknowledge the way his gaze swept over you like muscle memory—lazy, familiar, sure. Like he already knew the answer.

“Get me something stronger,” you murmured, stretching languidly in your seat.

His eyes followed the arch of your back with a quiet, hungry reverence—the kind of look that sent heat cascading through your limbs.

His smile could undo a person. “A woman after my own heart,” he mused, a pleased hum curling beneath his words. “I like that.”

You rolled your eyes as he turned toward the bartender, ordering two whiskeys neat. Presumptuous. But, annoyingly, spot-on.

“I’m sure your wife could agree,” you said, voice cool and edged.

His gaze flickered back to you, the smile still etched effortlessly into his features. “Let’s let bygones be bygones, shall we?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes trailing down to your lips—lingering—before dropping to your hand.

“Unless you want to talk about that massive rock you’ve got on your finger, too.”

You didn’t reply.

He pressed on, tone light, teasing. “That really is quite the ring,” he said, amusement never fading. His gaze sharpened just slightly, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “You must be quite special, hmm?”

You narrowed your eyes, shifting in your seat. “I thought you wanted to let bygones be bygones?”

“You’re right,” he said with a nod, not even a flicker of shame. “My bad.”

Then he pivoted fully, turning to face you—his body leaning in like he’d known you forever. Like this wasn’t something dangerous.

“My name’s Ashton.”

You paused. Then, evenly, “Y/N.”

Ashton pursed his lips in thought before letting a slow grin curl across them. “Y/N,” he repeated, rolling the name across his tongue like he was testing its weight. The way he said it—deliberate, slow, far too familiar—sent a flash of heat cascading down your spine. “Pretty name.”

You shrugged, biting your lip as you toyed with your glass, carefully considering your next move. “For a pretty woman,” you purred, casting him a look from beneath your lashes. “It fits.”

“Damn right it does,” Ashton murmured, taking a slow sip of his drink—his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “So, enlighten me, Y/N… what’s a beautiful married woman doing in a hotel bar at—” He glanced at his watch. “One in the morning on a Saturday, wearing lipstick that screams bite me?”

You inhaled slowly, gaze drifting over him with a lazy, deliberate hunger.

“Maybe I’m looking for a victim,” you mused, voice laced with danger and promise. Then you tilted your head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “What about you? What’s a handsome, married man doing alone in a bar… buying drinks for someone else’s wife?”

Ashton raised his hands in mock surrender, though the easy smile on his lips didn’t so much as flicker. “Just being a good Samaritan,” he said with a casual shrug. “You never know what kind of people lurk around at this hour… or the intentions you might encounter.”

“Oh?” you purred, tilting your head as you blinked up at him with feigned innocence. You slowly rested your arm on the table, exposing the delicate inside of your wrist—the soft skin catching in the low light. His eyes tracked the motion instantly, just as you expected. “And what makes your intentions so different from theirs?”

Ashton’s gaze lingered for a beat too long before lifting back to yours, something darker now swimming beneath the surface of his smile.

“Just looking for a way to kill some time,” he said, tone sincere but low. “Something to help with the jet lag, ya know?”

You hummed softly, lifting your glass of whiskey to your lips. “Jet lag,” you echoed, taking a slow, deliberate sip—Ashton’s eyes tracking every movement with the kind of hunger that would put a starved man to shame. A single bead of amber clung to the corner of your mouth. You reached up, wiping it away with the tip of your finger, and let your lips curl just slightly. “And here I thought you were just bored of your wife.”

Ashton let out a quiet, amused laugh—open, easy, a sound that vibrated in your chest. “She does get a little repetitive at times,” he said with a mock sigh, lifting his glass to his lips.

“Excuse you,” you said, feigning offense, narrowing your eyes as you tilted your head. “I’m sure she’s a lovely woman.”

His smirk deepened, eyes flicking once again to your left hand—your very occupied ring finger. “She sure is. Just like I imagine your husband’s quite the catch.”

You rolled your eyes, resting your cheek against your hand. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Another flash of those damn dimples, and your breath caught just slightly. “The funniest, love.”

You let out a quiet chuckle—soft, reserved, almost unsure. Another sip of whiskey gave you something to do, something to hide behind. “You must be a nightmare at any social event.”

Ashton raised a brow, amused, and leaned into your space without apology. The scent of citrus and musk clung to him—rich, clean, and heady. Your eyes fluttered shut for just a moment, involuntarily letting it sink into your senses.

“Only if the conversation’s dull,” he murmured, glancing down at his glass, swirling the amber liquid with lazy ease. “Or if the wives look… particularly restless.”

“Oh, yeah?” you challenged, leaning in just enough to mirror him. “So tell me, Ashton… what is it that you think I’m looking for?”

He moved slowly, deliberately—lifting one arm and dragging the pad of his index finger down the soft skin of your forearm. The touch was featherlight, but it left a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“I think you’re looking for a thrill,” he whispered, voice dipped in heat. His breath brushed your ear. “Something dangerous. Something to remind you you’re not just someone’s well-kept prize.”

Your pulse spiked.

You turned your head toward him—lips dangerously close, eyes locked. There was no hesitation in your expression. You wanted this. You both knew it.

“Mm. That’s a tempting offer,” you murmured. “You are offering, aren’t you?”

Ashton’s grin was slow and wicked, his head tilting like he was insulted by the question. “Darling, I’m not here to talk about your husband’s diamond preferences—though credit where it’s due, the man’s got taste.”

“Hmm.” You let Ashton hang there, suspended in the tension you both had carefully spun, letting the silence tease him just a little longer. The anticipation only sharpened your craving. “Does your wife know you’re out here complimenting diamond cuts?”

Ashton leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and full of intent. “I’d much rather be doing more than admiring a ring on your finger,” he murmured, each word soaked in heat. You could feel the warmth of him, pulsing between you like a live wire.

Then he pulled back, slowly—reluctantly—and stood. He towered over your seated frame, casting you in shadow and possibility. His hand reached out, gentle yet firm, tilting your chin up until your eyes locked.

“You take control a lot in your life?” he asked softly, like he already knew the answer.

Your gaze held his, unwavering. “I’m looking for something that’ll let me give that up,” you replied, voice low, deliberate. “Is that what you’re here to compliment now? My willingness to obey? My need to surrender?”

His eyes darkened, hunger flickering across his features like a spark hitting gasoline. His jaw flexed, tightly restrained, and you could feel the war inside him—between restraint and abandon.

His eyes kept darting to your lips, and his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom one. For the first time, you saw something shift—surprise, almost awe—behind the heat.

“Do you want me to test just how compliant you are?” he rasped. “Or do you think your husb—”

“Let’s go,” you cut him off, the heat between your thighs finally boiling over. The game was over. “Take me.”

The air felt sucked from the room the moment your words left your lips. Ashton’s mouth parted slightly in surprise, but you knew there would be no hesitation. And there wasn’t.

His hand reached for you—delicate, yet firm—as his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The moment his skin touched yours, heat surged through your body, sealing your resolve.

The bar blurred into irrelevance as he led you past tables, past strangers who didn’t matter. His pace was confident, deliberate—like a man who already knew the outcome.

The hallways were quiet, save for the occasional couple stumbling toward their own late-night regrets, not sparing either of you a second glance.

When the elevator arrived, you tugged Ashton inside without a word, blindly slapping the correct floor button as he pushed you back against the mirror.

The door slid shut just as your spine hit the cold glass. He caged you there, body pressed against yours, hands gripping the railing behind you as if to anchor you. His eyes devoured your face—lips parted, breath shallow, pupils blown wide.

And then he kissed you.

No hesitation. No pause. Just heat.

His mouth crashed into yours, fierce and ravenous, like he’d been waiting all night to taste you. His tongue slid past your lips without resistance, drawing a soft gasp from your throat as he explored you—confident, controlled, hungry.

His hands wandered too—down the curve of your waist, to your thigh, lifting it slowly. One hand slipped beneath the hem of your dress, savoring the heat of your skin, rough fingers skimming delicate lace.

A quiet moan escaped as he bit down on your bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth. He groaned in return when your hips rolled against his, chasing friction like oxygen.

One hand came to your neck, strong fingers bracketing your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, feeling your pulse race beneath the skin. It made your head spin.

The elevator dinged.

You pushed him back—breathless, flushed—and grabbed his hand, fingers lacing tightly with his as you dragged him into the hallway.

“Jesus,” Ashton laughed, voice low and wrecked. “Impatient, are we?”

You stopped in front of the door, turned on your heel, and grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking him down to meet your lips again.

“Just open the fucking door,” you murmured into his mouth, already losing yourself to the next kiss

Not surprisingly, one of Ashton’s hands came up to cup the back of your neck, keeping your lips locked with his as his other hand swiped the keycard and swung the door open.

The two of you backed into the room slowly, the door shutting behind you with a soft click that left no room for hesitation.

Ashton pulled away just enough to shed his jacket, letting it fall to the hotel floor. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the city lights seeping through the open blinds—just enough to see by, just enough to want more.

The green of Ashton’s eyes was almost entirely overtaken by the black of his pupils. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as his gaze dragged down your body, sharp and electric. This was different. This was new.

“Strip,” he said, voice eerily calm. Controlled. “And get on your knees.”

You turned, brow raised in a questioning glance. “What?”

“I said strip,” Ashton repeated, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate step forward. There was no trace of the charming, cheeky man from the bar. This was something darker—something raw, unfiltered, and burning.

You bit your lip, fingers moving behind you to find the zipper of your dress. The seconds stretched, molasses-thick, as Ashton stood still—watching, waiting, hungering.

You slid the dress down your arms, letting the fabric whisper to the floor and pool at your feet.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, stepping closer. His eyes roamed your body like he couldn’t quite decide where to settle. “Keep going.”

Biting your lip, you reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, letting the straps fall slowly down your arms until the fabric slipped to the floor, joining your dress. Ashton had begun circling you like a predator stalking its prey, and the weight of his gaze alone made your thighs instinctively press together in a futile search for relief.

With deliberate slowness, you slid your panties down your legs, stepping out of the lace and nudging your discarded clothes aside. Ashton came to a stop in front of you, and wordlessly, you sank to your knees—eyes locked on his the entire time.

He licked his lips, head tilted slightly, savoring the way anticipation coiled tight in your body. His steps toward you were slow, deliberate, like he was drawing out your need on purpose.

His rough hand cupped your face, his pinky settling just under your jaw, tilting your gaze up to meet his.

“You look good like this, Y/N,” he murmured, voice low and gruff with want. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, then pressed between them, slipping into your mouth without resistance.

“Your husband’s lucky,” he added, dark amusement laced in the words. “Let’s see just how lucky, though.”

Your breath hitched as his hand dropped to his belt, undoing it with the kind of practiced ease that made your pulse stutter. The other hand left your face to pop the button, then the zipper, his movements unhurried and confident as he pushed his jeans just low enough.

He was already hard—thick, glistening, beautiful.

Your mouth watered at the sight.

You looked up at him through your lashes, your breathing shallow as he stepped in closer. Slowly, he pressed the tip of his cock to your lips, the salty taste flooding your senses as his eyes met yours in a silent question.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your lips parted, and you took him in—slowly, deliberately—just the tip at first. Ashton let out a low moan, his head tipping back as he eased deeper into your mouth.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he growled, voice rough with pleasure, one hand sliding into your hair to guide you as he hit the back of your throat.

You let your tongue swirl around him, your hand wrapping around the base to take care of what you couldn’t fit. The weight of him on your tongue was addictive, the stretch of your jaw delicious as you began to move—slow, steady, intentional.

“Oh, fuck,” Ashton groaned, his eyes dark and half-lidded as he watched you. “So fucking pretty… just like I knew you’d be.”

His encouragement only spurred you on. You bobbed your head faster, wrist moving in perfect time as your tongue traced the underside of his tip—right where you knew he was most sensitive.

“God, you look like a fuckin’ dream on your knees,” Ashton gasped, his voice coming out rough and breathless. One hand came to brace against the wall behind you, the other still tangled in your hair, keeping you close.

Your lips were stretched around him, swollen and slick. Spit coated your chin, your cheeks flushed with heat. You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the way his hips twitched slightly with every pass of your mouth.

Then you opened your eyes again—wide, glassy, unafraid—and met his with a look that dared him.

Take it. Take me.

Ashton recognized that look instantly. He smirked, a dark and pleased curve of his lips, and then his hips began to move—slow at first, then harder, faster, more demanding.

He fucked into your mouth with purpose, hitting the back of your throat again and again, and you let him. You gave yourself over to him completely.

“Pretty little thing,” he gritted out, breath ragged. “God, your mouth feels so fucking good.”

You moaned around him, and the vibration made him curse under his breath. It only made him go harder, faster, more desperate. Tears sprang to your eyes from the force, slipping down your cheeks without mercy—raw, messy, beautiful.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Ashton growled, fisting your hair tighter, the pace unrelenting. “You look so fucking pretty with my cock down your throat.”

You could imagine exactly what he saw—your body on your knees, mascara streaked like black lightning across your face, lips swollen and glistening, eyes wet and glassy, mouth full of him. Completely ruined, completely his.

And you loved it.

Without warning, Ashton pulled out of your mouth. You gasped, your throat raw, vision blurred as the world rushed back in too fast. The sudden loss made your body ache.

“You’re such a good little whore f’me,” Ashton panted, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes met his. “But I need to come inside you.”

A whimper escaped before you could stop it. “Please, Ash,” you rasped, your voice hoarse and trembling from the effort of holding him so deep for so long.

“You did such a good job,” he murmured, thumb stroking along your jaw. “Such a good girl. And good girls get rewarded.”

You bit down on your lip, swallowing the moan building in your chest. The slick heat between your thighs was unbearable now, every shift of your body sparking friction you couldn’t ignore. You squirmed, desperate for more.

Ashton leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that stole what little breath you had left. His hand fisted in your hair, anchoring you there as your hands clutched at his shoulders. Your mouths moved together with practiced, hungry precision.

With trembling fingers, you began to unbutton his shirt, pushing his jean jacket off in the same motion. His skin burned under your touch, the heat of him making your own skin feel too tight. His hands found your waist, dragging you into him as the two of you collapsed to the floor in a messy tangle of limbs—your body falling on top of him.

His tongue slid into your mouth again, slow and sure, drawing out a moan that vibrated between your lips. One of his hands roamed your back, the other dropping to squeeze your ass, fingers digging in possessively. The press of his cock between your bodies was firm, heavy, demanding.

You shifted your hips to grind against him, seeking friction, and he groaned against your mouth.

“I want you,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to breathe, “to sit on my face.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs.

“Ride my tongue,” he growled, eyes dark with want. “Until you fucking come. That’s your reward.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, but Ashton’s gaze was already locked on yours—wide, dark, and desperate. Your entire body buzzed like a live wire, and God, you’d dreamed of this. Of his mouth. Of that stubble dragging along the sensitive inside of your thighs.

“Fuck,” you breathed, voice trembling as you took in the sight of him sprawled beneath you—an absolute dream of a man, waiting to worship you.

One of his hands fell away from your back as he propped himself up on an elbow, his eyes burning into yours as he waited.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured, voice low, rough, and sweet like sin. “You don’t get to be shy. Not after you choked on my cock like you were fucking made for it.”

You bit your lip as he leaned back against the floor, lifting a hand to gesture toward his face.

“Up here,” he ordered, voice firm. “Bring that pretty pussy to my mouth.”

There was no hesitation. You moved up his body, thighs bracketing his face as you settled above him. The sight of you—wet, glistening, need dripping from every inch—made Ashton groan like he was in pain.

“God,” he rasped, eyes fixed on you. One hand came up, his finger lightly trailing down your slit, making you hiss. “You’re fucking soaked, baby.”

You began to lower yourself slowly, but it wasn’t fast enough for him. Ashton gripped your hips and pulled you down against his mouth in one swift, hungry motion.

The second his tongue touched you, your moan echoed through the room—loud, helpless. He licked a long, deliberate stripe through your folds, savoring the taste, before circling your clit in slow, maddening motions.

“Oh my—fuck,” you gasped, the words dissolving into a strangled cry as your hands scrambled for purchase on the nearby nightstand.

Ashton’s lips wrapped around your clit, sucking gently, then with a little more pressure. Your hips jerked in response, grinding down instinctively, chasing the searing high he was building with every flick of his tongue.

His stubble burned deliciously against the soft skin of your thighs, only heightening the sensation. He alternated between languid, lazy licks and pulling your clit between his lips, suckling it like he had all the time in the world—and every intention of wrecking you slowly.

Your thighs trembled uncontrollably on either side of his head as you rode the delicious flicks of his tongue. When Ashton groaned into you, the deep vibration sent shockwaves straight through your core.

It felt so good—too good. Your free hand tangled in his dark curls, your head tipping back in pure ecstasy as a crescendo of moans spilled from your lips. He encouraged the slow grind of your hips against his mouth, both hands gripping your thighs as you chased your high.

The room was filled with the sound of wet, sinful pleasure—his mouth working you over with no mercy. You chased every swipe of his tongue, every deliberate kiss to your throbbing clit, your hips stuttering with every stroke.

A deep throb coiled low in your belly, tightening fast as your breathing grew uneven and your moans climbed in pitch.

“Oh God, Ash,” you whimpered, voice cracking on his name. “Your mouth feels so fucking good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Ashton hummed in response, the sound rumbling against you as he squeezed your thighs tighter.

“Come for me,” he growled, voice muffled and rough. “Be a good girl and come all over my fucking face.”

That was all it took.

With one last flick of his tongue, your orgasm slammed into you, stealing your breath and darkening your vision. Your entire body shook, thighs quivering as a sob wrenched free from your throat—his name falling from your lips like a broken prayer.

Your spine arched, hips jerking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Ashton didn’t stop—not for a second—his mouth working you through every pulse, every aftershock, until your cries blurred into whimpers of overstimulation.

By the time you came down, your arms gave out and you collapsed forward, catching yourself on trembling hands. Ashton eased you off his mouth gently, and you rolled off him until you were seated back on the floor, chest heaving.

“Fuck, your wife is lucky,” you muttered, pushing damp strands of hair out of your face as Ashton propped himself up on his elbows, wearing a thoroughly smug grin.

“She is,” he said, voice thick with satisfaction as he sat up and got to his feet. “But I’m here with you… and I’m not finished.”

You blinked up at him, still dazed, trying to piece your mind back together.

Fuck. He never came.

Ashton extended a hand, and you took it. With his help, you stood on shaky legs, and he placed a steadying hand at the small of your back.

“You can handle more, can’t you, sweetheart?” he growled into your ear, sending a fresh shiver down your spine.

He guided you toward the balcony, pushing the glass door open. Warm spring air hit your flushed, naked skin, and you gasped at the contrast—the city lights glowing just beyond the railing, the hum of the night surrounding you like a secret.

“Hands on the railing, babygirl,” Ashton instructed, voice firm as he stepped in behind you and bent you forward.

Your hands flew out to grip the railing, knuckles turning white with anticipation.

Ashton let a hand trail slowly down your spine, the light touch making you shiver. He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?” he murmured, voice low and dark. “And I need everyone in this goddamn city to know it. Got it?”

You bit your lip, nodding eagerly, the thrill of his words pulsing between your legs.

He moved your hair gently over your shoulder, exposing the curve of your neck. His lips followed, soft and deliberate, as he kissed the sensitive skin. You exhaled a content sigh, eyelids fluttering as he scraped his teeth along your pulse point.

Then he sucked—slow, deliberate—drawing a deep mark that made your knees nearly buckle.

You could feel the heat of him behind you, the weight of his cock as it was pressed against your ass. Gently, Ashton adjusted his grip on your hips, the warm night air doing nothing for the goosebumps that decorated your skin at every minor touch.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Ashton groaned, voice thick with lust. “You look so fucking good like this—bent over, gripping the railing, dripping for me like the cockwhore I know you are.”

His hands roamed slowly down your back, spreading you open with a deliberate touch that made your breath hitch. You were completely exposed, completely at his mercy—and he reveled in it.

“Keep those hands right where they are, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. His voice softened just enough to make you melt before his fingers teased your entrance.

You let out a stifled moan, your body already throbbing for him. When he pushed one finger inside, your eyes rolled back.

“So fucking tight still,” Ashton hummed, pleased, like he wasn’t already obsessed with how you felt. “Gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

A second finger joined the first, stretching you out, filling you. The sensation was intense, especially with how sensitive you still were—your climax from his mouth barely in the rearview.

You clenched around his fingers, hips shaking, legs trembling from the effort to stay upright. His pace was unhurried, torturous, and you could feel the smirk on his face even without looking.

Then, without warning, he pulled them out, and you whimpered at the loss.

You heard the slick sound before you even saw it—the unmistakable sound of him sucking your arousal off his fingers.

“Taste like fucking candy,” he groaned.

“Ash, please—” you started, only to be cut off by the slow, maddening drag of his cock teasing your entrance. He rubbed against your clit deliberately, and your knees nearly buckled.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried, hips jerking.

He chuckled darkly behind you. “You like that, baby?” he asked, taunting. “Look at you—clenching around nothing. You’re so damn desperate.”

“Ashton, please,” you begged, voice wrecked. Your fingers tightened around the railing, white-knuckled, as your whole body cried out for him. “I need you.”

And finally, finally, he gave in.

The air left your lungs in a gasp as Ashton pushed inside—inch by inch—stretching you open in a way that made your mind go blank.

He bottomed out with a low, guttural moan. “Oh fuck, that pussy’s perfect,” he hissed. “So tight around me, so wet. You feel fucking amazing.”

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises—marks you knew you’d wear proudly tomorrow.

Then he moved.

Without warning, Ashton pulled back and slammed into you, drawing a loud cry from your throat. The sound was lost in the buzz of the city below—but you knew you were only going to get louder.

His hips were relentless, slamming into yours with the kind of force that had your body jolting forward, the railing shaking beneath your grip. Your cries mixed with his breathy groans, the air between you thick with sweat, heat, and need.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Let them hear you. Let this fucking city know who owns this pretty pussy.”

Your head fell forward, resting against your arm as your body trembled with every deep, punishing thrust. The pleasure was blinding—overwhelming—consuming every thought until the only thing you could register was Ashton’s cock driving into you over and over again.

Your legs barely held you up as Ashton continued to pound into you, merciless and relentless. Your skin buzzed with electricity, every nerve ending alive, your moans dissolving into broken, choked-off cries as each thrust hit deeper than the last.

“Right there, Ash,” you gasped, voice echoing into the open night. Anyone could see you—if they stepped onto their balcony or even glanced out a window, they’d be greeted with the filthy, breathtaking sight of Ashton fucking you senseless.

And Ashton wasn’t faring much better. His composure had shattered, his strangled moans mixing with yours, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the night air.

You were gone—completely undone. Your body no longer felt like your own, just a desperate vessel for Ashton to use, to ruin, to worship with every precise snap of his hips. He kept hitting that spot inside you—over and over—that made your vision blur and stars explode behind your eyes.

Your thighs shook violently, every thrust knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, yes—right there,” you cried, the words barely intelligible, your mouth working around them between moans. But he understood. Oh, he understood.

His grip on your hips tightened like a vice. He knew from the way you were trembling, the way you clenched around him like a vice—you were close. So fucking close.

“You gonna come for me?” he growled into your ear, voice a low, filthy rasp. Each word was punctuated by a brutal thrust that had your hands gripping the railing like your life depended on it. “I can feel it. This tight little pussy’s begging for it. Begging for me to fuck it dumb.”

A choked sob ripped from your throat just as Ashton’s hand left your hip and slipped between your thighs. His fingers found your clit instantly, rubbing tight, ruthless circles that made your back arch and a scream claw its way from your chest.

The only sounds were your cries, the wet slap of your bodies, and Ashton’s ragged breathing at your neck.

“You’re gonna milk my cock dry, aren’t you?” he snarled. “Fucking wring every last drop out of me, you dirty little whore.”

You bit your lip, mustering just enough strength to nod—but even that felt impossible. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming every thought, every breath, every nerve in your body. Words were out of the question.

“Come for me,” Ashton snarled, his fingers rubbing ruthless circles on your clit. “Fucking come for me. Make a mess, baby—I wanna feel you soak my cock.”

With one final, devastating snap of his hips, your body seized up and you screamed his name into the night. Hot, blinding, electric pleasure crashed over you like a wave, so intense it shattered every thought. You were reduced to nothing but a gasping, writhing mess—your back arching, toes curling, mouth open in a silent cry.

And then it hit.

Just as your orgasm peaked—when you thought there couldn’t possibly be more—your body let go completely. A powerful gush spilled from between your legs, soaking your thighs and Ashton’s hips, the force of it making you collapse against the railing with a broken moan.

“Holy fuck,” Ashton breathed, voice wrecked, completely stunned. “That’s it, baby—good fucking girl. Squirt all over me. Goddamn.”

But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The sight of you losing control like that only pushed him further. His thrusts turned savage, unrelenting, and your legs gave out beneath you. Ashton didn’t falter—his hands clamped around your hips, holding you upright as your body went limp.

“Look at this pussy,” he panted, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder. “Fucking soaked for me. You’re a mess, Y/N—the hottest, filthiest fucking mess I’ve ever seen. And I’m not stopping till I’ve come so deep it drips out of you for days.”

You whimpered, exhausted and overstimulated, but fuck if his words didn’t light you up all over again.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, chest pressed to your back, one hand gripping the railing while the other snaked around to hold you still. “You drenched me, sweetheart. You’re mine. You hear me? This pussy—this sloppy, dripping, perfect fucking pussy—belongs to me.”

“Only to you,” you managed to breathe, voice raw as another moan tore from your throat. “It’s yours, Ash. No one else’s. Ever.”

He groaned like he was losing his mind, lips dragging across your skin as he chased his own release. “Fuck, you look like sin,” he growled. “Bent over like a perfect little slut, dripping down my cock, soaking my thighs—you love this, don’t you?”

After a particularly brutal thrust, you let out a strangled gasp.

“I fucking love it,” you sobbed. “I love how deep you are. I love how you ruin me.”

That was all he needed.

One hand fisted in your hair, yanking your back flush to his chest as his other hand slid up to grab your tits, fingers rolling your nipples between them as your head fell back against him.

“God, you’re so fucking filthy,” he hissed into your ear. “Still begging for my cock even though you can barely stand. You squirted all over me and you’re still taking it like a good little whore.”

You moaned loud and broken—speech long gone.

“You want it?” he growled, cock throbbing inside you. “You want me to fill up this tight little cunt? Pump you full until you’re leaking down your thighs?”

“Please, Ash,” you begged, vision swimming. “Come inside me. Fill me up—I want to feel it dripping out. I want your cum fucking everywhere.”

He snapped.

With a loud, guttural groan, Ashton slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock twitched deep inside. You could feel the heat of it—thick, hot spurts filling you, spilling into every inch.

“Fuck—fuck, take that,” he gasped, grinding into you through every last pulse. “Take my cum, baby. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full. This pussy was made to be ruined by me.”

You cried out, shaking as the warmth of his release spilled out of you, dripping instantly down your thighs. His hips jerked through the aftershocks, unwilling to let go of the moment.

He stayed there, pressed tight against your back, panting hard, fingers bruising your hips as he came down.

Finally, with a low groan, he pulled out—and the slick sound of his cum dripping out of you made him hiss through his teeth.

Before your legs had the chance to give out, Ashton scooped you up effortlessly, one arm behind your back, the other under your thighs. You sagged into him, boneless and ruined, as he carried you back inside.

He kicked the balcony door shut with his foot, his lips brushing your temple as he carried you through the room. Slowly, he walked you over to the bed and laid you down with care, then padded into the bathroom to grab a towel.

Your mind was still a haze of afterglow and overstimulation, but clarity gradually returned. The trembling in your legs faded, replaced by a deep, warm relaxation that spread through your entire body.

When Ashton returned, he wore a dopey, satisfied smile as he sat beside you. He gently spread your thighs, the towel in his hand already damp with warm water. With careful, tender motions, he began cleaning you up—wiping away the mix of arousal and cum with quiet focus.

You hissed when the fabric brushed over your still-sensitive skin, and Ashton’s head immediately shot up. A stray black curl fell over his eyes as he checked your face for any sign of discomfort.

You slowly sat up, your hand reaching for him. With a soft touch, you brushed the hair from his face. His expression softened as your fingertips skimmed his cheek.

“That was fun,” you murmured, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips.

Ashton grinned, setting the towel aside on the nightstand. “Yeah, it was.” He paused, eyes gleaming with mischief as he added, “Too bad you’re married…”

You arched a brow, already bracing for it.

“To me,” he finished with a shit-eating grin.

You let out a dramatic groan, dropping your head to his shoulder. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

He burst into laughter, clearly pleased with himself. “Oh, baby, come on!” he said, cupping your face with both hands and forcing you to meet his eyes. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t the hottest sex we’ve ever had.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into his touch, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm. “Maybe,” you grumbled. “But did you really have to keep bringing up the wedding band you picked out mid-fuck?”

Ashton grinned, entirely unashamed. “I really outdid myself, what can I say?”

Your glare was unimpressed. “I pity your wife.”

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, his teasing fading into something tender. He tilted his head, studying you with the kind of reverence that could only come from someone completely, hopelessly in love.

“She loves me,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nuzzling deeper into his hand. “I do.”

Ashton smiled, flashing you a dimple. “I love you too, baby.”

As a band, team building is important. When you’re stuck on the road together for months at a time, it can be easy to forget the little things in life. The power of friendship can get lost in translation, especially when it’s your best friends who are the ones working beside you.

Love is power, love is important. Love is the glue that bonds you. Love is music.

Love is also a speech that precedes Luke’s third margarita.

“Mate, what are you even saying?” Michael has had enough.

On the other hand, Ashton begs to differ, “Just let him talk, he’s on a fuckin’ roll.”

It was hour three of the band’s ’team building outing’, and you were just along for the ride. Your best friend Calum had invited you out to join them, at a rooftop bar on a Saturday night. And after mulling over all the better things you could do, which weren’t many, you decided it would be fun if you tagged along.

You shifted comfortably in the corner of the large, L-shaped patio couch, watching dumbfoundedly as the four guys you were here with spoke in boyish tongues and laughed until their stomachs hurt.

This wasn’t the first “band-outing” that you had the pleasure of being a part of. Calum and the band appreciated your presence, as you proved time and time again to be the most level-headed of the friend group.

“If he keeps going he’s gonna start fuckin’ crying, watch. It happened last time—”

Calum grumbles to your left, putting his head in his hand. But you place a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from preventing Luke’s lovesick ramble.

“No, no. Let him finish. I wanna hear what spiritual shit he’s gonna say next.” A smile crawls across your face as you watch Luke stumble his way into a train wreck of words and appreciation. You egg him on with your eyes, listening to the rest of the band let out a collective groan.

To your left was Calum. Who had tried his hand at consoling a very emotional Luke the second the tequila hit his bloodstream. Across the glass table, Michael was attempting to sit Luke back down onto his respective cushion.

And to your right, was Ashton. Who had been nothing but a pain in your ass the whole night so far.

You and Ashton had a— thing. As childish and ‘high school’ as it seemed to put it in that way, it was true. You had a thing for him, he had a thing for you. Therefore, the weird flirtatious, unspoken situation that the two of you shared in sworn secrecy could only be described as a thing.

It started off simple. Flirting here and there when the stage lights went down, and when the show opener was distracting enough for the two of you to make googly eyes at each other from across the wings. But the more he looked at you, the more he liked what he saw. And the more he liked what he saw, the more of an issue it became for the both of you.

Throughout this entire outing, that ‘thing’ was hard to ignore. He was hard to ignore. No matter how many times you got up to grab a drink or use the bathroom, Ashton was always one step behind. You wished he wasn’t so obvious about it all, for the sake of your friendship with Calum, and to spare the awkwardness that would follow him finding out.

“You guys— you don’t get it. I love you all so much it fuckin’ hurts! It pains me, really!”

Luke was back again. After a successful 5 minutes of consolation and a few pats to the back, he picked up right where he left off.

“I know, Luke. We love you too,” Calum sighs, frustrated enough already.

“I’m so glad we’re here. Aren’t you guys glad we’re here?!”

“Yes, Luke. We’re all happy to be here.” Michael had given up on physically restraining Luke. He was just grateful for the fact that he wasn’t standing on the table like he did last time.

You enjoyed the boys and their banter, comfortable with certain inside jokes and feeling ‘in the loop’ when it came to their personal lives. As fun as it was to watch, it was even more fun when something went awry. Hence why you sat in amused silence as Luke derailed once more.

“Luke, sit down, please…” Calum reaches out towards Luke’s belt loop, attempting to pull him down as he progressively gets louder and louder.

“Unhand me! Unhand me, I say!”

You can’t help but giggle, hiding your smirk behind your cocktail.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Ashton’s leg slowly creeping towards yours. Not as if he were moving closer, but more so as a little reminder that he was still sitting right next to you.

Although you appreciated the knee to knee contact, you didn’t need that reminder. For her reminded you of all the things on his mind a little over an hour ago.

“Jump.”

“What?”

“You fuckin’ heard me, Y/N, I said jump.”

You obliged to his simple request, jumping up into his hands as his lips attacked at your jaw and hands tangled in your hair. The bathroom counter was cold against the backs of your bare thighs, denim shorts being the most appropriate item to have worn on a cool summer night.

You wished you’d worn something with a bit easier access, but a button and a fly would have to do. The time crunch was inevitable when it came to you and Ashton; you’d done this dance many times before.

Ashton gets you situated on the counter, slotting himself between your legs as his hands explore every dip and curve he could feel beneath your blouse. You sigh, outward satisfaction towards the bathroom tiles as his lips danced from your neck towards your chest.

“Gotta get this off,” he mumbles into your collarbone.

“No. Don’t— don’t have time.”

“Why not?” he groans, popping his head up and fiddling with the spaghetti strap.

“‘Cause I just said I was going to the bathroom. We’ve already been in here for like fifteen minutes. They’re gonna think I fell in the toilet.”

Your words were broken up by staccato heavy breathing, Ashton’s lips were restless against you and the most you could do was moan and wish it didn’t have to end as quickly as it began.

“Fine. Keep it on. But— you owe me later.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” you giggle quietly, but not long before Ashton shuts you up by pressing his lips onto yours.

Back to reality. Ashton’s knee was touching yours.

“What?” He catches you staring down at the holes in his jeans.

“Nothing.”

“Fine! You win!”

Both you and Ashton’s attention snaps towards Luke, who had just gotten done yelling about how he didn’t want to sit down. He’d given up the fight, slumping back down onto the patio couch and tossing his head over the back of it.

“You guys are so booooringgggggg,” he complains, crossing his arms like a pouting toddler.

“Luke stop, you’re acting like a fuckin’ baby.” Michael whacks his shoulder, which makes him flinch.

“God, I need another drink.” You look over at your best friend, index fingers massaging his temples. He glances over at you, and your cheeks go red when you realize that Ashton’s hand was now resting at the top of your thigh.

For the love of God Cal, please don’t look down.

“I’m with ya’ buddy,” Michael agrees, shifting forwards to stand up as Calum does the same, “You guys alright to stay here and babysit?”

You open your mouth to reply, but Ashton beats you to the punch.

“Oh yeah, we’re chilling. Go take a lap, shake out those shoulders. We’ll handle this shit.”

His headstrong answer makes you cringe internally, his hand having left your thigh the moment Michael and Calum’s attention landed on you. You pass them a meek smile and a thumbs up, sneaking a look over at Luke who was engulfed in his phone and curled up in the corner of the couch.

“We won’t be long. I’ll probably get a round of shots. Any preference?” Calum asks the two of you, lowering his voice to ensure Luke doesn’t get the opportunity to ask for more tequila.

“Green tea?” you suggest, but Ashton snarls.

“Gross.”

Michael rolls his eyes, antsy to get over to the bar and far away from Luke for a moment, “Nevermind, then.”

No other words are exchanged between Ashton and his fellow bandmates as they salute and walk back towards the inside portion of the bar. The silence, although not very silent at all, is tense for a moment. It’s almost as if Ashton is begging to make some snide remark, but is waiting for your eyes to land on his face.

You look straight ahead, watching Calum and Michael pull open the glass double doors and disappear into the bar. Almost as though it were on some sort of cue, Ashton opens his mouth.

So do you.

“Did you—”

“Wanna—”

Oh. You spoke at the same time. How awkward.

“What were you gonna say?” you ask, still avoiding the staredown from his hazy, honey green pupils.

“No no, you go first,” Ashton motions with his hand to you, which you only catch out of your peripheral vision.

“I was gonna say, did you wanna maybe— do something after this?”

Despite your many encounters with Ashton in club bathrooms, venue dressing rooms, tour buses, the works— they never fail to be as nerve wracking as the first time. For you, at least.

As for Ashton, he seemed amused by your blundering charm, the way any mention of something sexual or romance-adjacent makes you flustered enough to want to leave the room. He likes to mess with your head, the same way he would with any of his friends. But you were a bit different. He enjoyed the many shades of ruby that washed over your cheeks, the way your hands would clam up and sweat whenever he got too close. It was all a little game, and Ashton loved to play.

“I was gonna ask you the same question, sugar,” the nickname is haunting, but you can’t seem to ignore the way his arm makes its way to the backside of the couch, “Whenever we get the hell out of here, we’ll make a plan.”

You swallow hard, trying your hand at matching his energy, “Wouldn’t it just be easier to do that now? Y’know, while they’re uh— not here?”

Ashton lets out a chuckle, “With the shit we’ve gotten away with while they have been here, I doubt it’d be an issue if you and I— snuck away for a while.”

There it was again. Ashton’s favorite color, spreading across your face at the mention of the two of you, alone together. You muster up the courage to finally look him in the eye, regretting it almost immediately.

“Y’know, I rather like it when you look at me. Makes me feel like shit when ya’ don’t.”

“Stop it,” you murmur, subtly scooting closer to him, but not enough for him to notice, “You know how I get.”

“Embarrassed? Flustered? Red in the face? I’m a walking thesaurus sugar, tell me when. I could do this all night.”

You chew on your bottom lip as the sound of his voice rumbles around in your head. You truly did want nothing more than to pounce on his lap right then and there, let him have his way with you right here on this rooftop patio. But that would be unethical. At least, for the circumstance.

“Stop talking.” You grumble, bringing Ashton to let out a pitiful laugh as his hand slowly creeps towards your shoulder.

“Did that upset you? Oh come on. You know how fuckin’ cute I think you look when you get all awkward n’ shit? You look like the prettiest little basket of red apples in the world.”

As compliments float off Ashton’s tongue as if they were feathers, you glance over at your drunken friend. Luke, still engrossed in his phone, has yet to even turn around to acknowledge you at all. He could’ve been fast asleep for all you knew.

However, the only thing you truly knew was how badly you wanted to tackle Ashton onto that couch.

“God, I wanna’ kiss you so badly right now.” Ashton reads your mind.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You could feel the bead of condensation rolling down your face, the antsiness building in your legs as they start to bob up and down. But before you could respond, make a face, or even process his words, Ashton’s mouth is millimeters away from the sweet spot on your neck. The one that his lips had claimed not long ago.

“Would we be the worst friends in the world if we just— slipped away?”

His words fan across your cheek, his smile radiating a sinister energy that makes you clutch your imaginary pearls, “I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You don’t know if you want to leave with me? Or you don’t know if we’d be exiled for leaving Luke out here alone?

Your mind spins. You felt as though your heart was racing at a mile per minute. It was hard to be unresponsive when it came to Ashton— for he was just too good with his words. His favorite thing to do was to butter you up, and make you sweat.

“I just don’t know, Ash. Sue me for thinking critically, here.”

Ashton chuckles. He’d finally backed away from you, though he was still close enough to raise some eyebrows. You could still feel his eyes burning holes into your blouse and the weight of a heavy hand on your thigh.

“Let’s rationalize this. Let’s say that Luke is down for the count. Cut off from the bar and completely annexed from the tab. Leaving him here to sober up wouldn’t be the worst thing, in theory, would it?”

“What are you even saying?” you scoff, nervously swatting at your shoulder, “Leaving anyone alone while drunk out of their mind is bad. End of story.”

“You aren’t even willing to be convinced. Have you always been this stubborn?”

“Shut the fuck up—”

Oh God, this was it. You were starting to get angry. And the angrier you were, the hotter the sex was. That cheeky fuck knew you hated to argue, even more so about something as stupid as this.

He was doing this on purpose.

“Look, all I’m saying is there’s a somewhat up-to-code bathroom stall out there with our names on it. Pick your battles, sugar. Pick ‘em wisely.”

As you muster up the courage to speak, you hear a familiar sound. Laughter. Michael and Calum were returning from the bar, gaining on you and Ashton while still stuck in this compromising position.

“Ashton, knock it off,” you warn him through gritted teeth, fiddling mindlessly with the hem of your shorts, “They’re coming back.”

“Don’t be like that.”

His words were simple, yet they clawed at your insides.

“What the fuck?”

And just like that, the dominos fell.

“Cal! Hey— hey, buddy,” you wince at your inability to think of anything smoother to say as you scramble away from Ashton’s grip, “Find the bar okay?”

Your tremored laughter met Calum’s unamused face with dismay, a hard lump forming in your throat the moment the two of you locked eyes. You could see Ashton grinning out of your peripheral, motioning up to Michael with his hands as the world around you started to get dizzy.

Michael hadn’t seen a thing.

“What the fuck was that?” Calum leans down to only you, the sweat from his glass dripping down onto your legs and furthering the pit in your stomach.

“What? What was what?”

“Whatever the fuck just happened on this couch,” Calum raises his eyebrows at you, making you feel almost— stupid.

“I— don’t know what you’re talking about,” you defend, shifting uncomfortably in both your seat and your skin, “We were just sitting here.”

“Ah, see! You just ratted yourself out!” his accusatory whisper bites, “I knew there was something going on with you two!”

“Shhh! Cal, stop it! Seriously!”

You had mentally surpassed any amount of embarrassment you’d ever felt. The hushed conversation taking place right now started to feel like a humiliation ritual, meanwhile Ashton had gotten off scot-free with a tipsy Michael and a borderline-blacked out Luke.

Ashton was acting innocent, seemingly minding his own while sneaking glances at you over his shoulder. Though you were being interrogated by your best friend, it was hard not to let yourself get lost in a sliver of those dumb, green eyes.

“You didn’t even deny it! Oh my God, I can’t even look at you right now,” Calum shudders, floating down to his original spot with a roll of his eyes.

“Holy shit, you’re dramatic.”

“I’m about to go wash my eyes out with bleach,” he pauses, finally catching onto the fact that you were still distracted, despite being reprimanded, “Stop fuckin’ looking at him, weirdo!”

The quiet, sour-mouthed dialogue between you and Calum was heating up. It had resorted to name calling, which wasn’t uncommon, and led to you standing up with a huff.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” You blurt, out loud. The entire group’s eyes were now on you. Even Luke’s.

Calum’s teeth grit, and his eyes bounced immediately towards Ashton. He knew how this night was going to end, but you were sure that he’d hate to admit it.

“Don’t get lost,” your best friend mutters, taking a large gulp of his drink to watch you walk away.

You sped off to the inside of the club with your eyes glued to the ground, absolutely mortified. You knew that eventually, the secret little wall you’d built around you and Ashton’s rendezvous would come crumbling down. But you didn’t expect it to be so soon.

The nightclub was impossibly busy, you were dodging people and bumping shoulders left and right. The bathroom at the end of a dimly lit hallway was the light at the end of your tunnel. You sought refuge against the wall next to the door, huffing to yourself as you scrambled to pull your phone out of your back pocket.

You expected to feel a little nauseous at this point. However, you did not expect to see a text from Ashton lighting up your phone.

Luke’s standing on the couch again.

Sit tight.

A wave of relief crashes over you. It was pathetic to think that words on a screen could have you feeling so flustered to the point where you started to sweat. A hot summer night was no match for the way Ashton made you feel.

You stood against the wall awkwardly, almost as if you were pinned to it by the straps of your tank top. You scrolled your phone, tapping your foot and watching Instagram posts fly by whilst trying to look busy. A few people walked by you, entering and exiting the all gender bathroom but not long before a slender leg was entering your eyeshot and stepping in front of you.

“Miss me, sugar?”

“God, you’re an asshole.”

Soon enough, you were pinned to the wall once again. This time at the hands of Ashton’s chest pressing against you as he pounces into a kiss. His hands snap to your waist, thumbing the loops of your denim shorts to hold you in place.

“They’re insufferable,” Ashton mutters into your lips, completely unaffected by the people passing by, “But I think I’ve bought us time.”

You attempt to breathe, suffocated by the intoxicating smell of his cologne and the sheer weight of his lips on yours.

“How much?”

“How much what?” he asks innocently, slowly pulling your leg up to rest on his hip.

“Time, Ash. How much time?”

“Fuck if I know. Stop talking.”

You’re engulfed in the kiss once again, Ashton’s teeth sink into your bottom lip and pull it away, his hands now trailing beneath your shirt.

It was far from outlandish to see two people making out against the wall of a club. However, the images of Calum’s reaction to your little rendezvous flashed in your mind like a bolt of lightning.

But despite the embarrassment and emotional turmoil that came to admitting to your crimes, you were too busy to care. Your hands were working at the soft curls that sat against the nape of Ashton’s neck, while he took his time dragging the kiss down towards your neck and chest.

You swallowed hard as he worked at you, “Maybe we should take this somewhere else.”

He doesn’t reply. He simply ignores you, and bites at your neck.

“You care too much.”

A gasp leaves your lips as his body flushes fully against yours, leaving nothing beneath his clothes to the imagination. You feel the softness of his stomach contradicting the hardness in his jeans— it was all too much. All logic and reason had suddenly flown out of the window.

Ashton was right. You did care too much. So, to make up for it, you tug at his roots, and the action makes him moan.

“I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” you bite, staring into those buggish hazel eyes that were drowning in lust, “You’re such a bad influence.”

The air was hot and sticking to your skin, which dripped with beads of perspiration that rolled down your temples as you tossed your head back, moaning out Rasmus's name like it was a prayer to the Gods. Your body was electrified by pleasure, every inch of you burning with pure unadulterated desire. A whimper slips out as his large hands manhandle your thighs, pushing them up and opening you wider for him to dip his tongue into your aching hole. He groans, your taste exploding on his tongue, the vibrations making you squirm.

“Stay still, skat,” he grumbles, two piercing blue eyes looking up your body through the dimly lit room. They're dark, swirled with lust and a hunger for you. “Already making such a mess on my face.”

“How does she taste?” Mason's gruff voice carries from across the room, the chair he occupies facing the bed, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, slowly stroking himself. Rasmus mumbles something under his breath, drowned out by Mason's nonchalant laughter. “There's nothing better, right?” His rigid length slaps against his lower belly as he lets go, standing to his feet. “Like fucking honey, aren't you, baby?”

“Don't call me that,” you bite bitterly at him.

He meets it with more laughter, kneeling at the foot of the bed, one hand stroking your face. “Oops,” he grins out of the corner of your left eye, “I forgot that's loverboy's privilege now.” His mouth meets your temple, kissing it with soft, feather-like brushes. “I get a few privileges back tonight,” he whispers, just low enough for you to hear, “like fucking this bratty mouth. Open up.”

Your eyes flick to Rasmus for permission.

He lets your clit go with a pop. “Go on,” he nods at Mason, “open up; take care of our unexpected guest.”

A chuckle bubbles up to the surface. “You too, with all that shit?”

“Mate, you knew you weren't invited,” Rasmus hits back, adjusting your knees over his shoulders. He lines his fingers up, pushing in slowly, lowering his eyes to watch you stretch around them. “Just feel lucky I stopped her from kicking you out into the rain.”

Mason straightens up, his hand stroking over the tip of his cock, eyes lowering to you, your head now hanging off the edge of the bed, pushed up by Rasmus. “Oh, I'm about to feel real lucky.”

He looks larger looming over you, a thigh on either side of your head, his cock gaining all of your attention as it bobs in front of your face. A quiet chuckle breaks the silence, Mason watching you subtly lick your lips as you wait for his move.

“Missed this?” He hums.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Liar,” Rasmus chuckles, his voice muffled, his mouth latched back on your cunt. Mason lifts an eyebrow. “You clenched around my fingers the second your eyes locked with his cock, skat.”

“Did she now?” Mason drags the tip along the seam of your closed lips. “Want this, baby?” He lowers his voice.

The quietest plea unexpectedly leaves your mouth. “Please.”

“Open up then,” he instructs, tapping himself against your cheek. A groan breaks free as he slides the smooth and impressive length of his cock into your mouth - you jumping quickly to obey him. “Fuck-!” His chin tucks in, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuckin’ missed this.” He lifts his head, taking a deep breath, the air coming out steady as he slowly fucks your mouth. “Do you know how fucking lucky you are?”

Rasmus's mouth ticks up on one side, smirking as he turns his head and kisses the inside of your thigh. “I know.” His fingers, still set in a steady rhythm fucking you, scissor, spreading you wider, working you open. “And I don't need you to tell me.”

He flicks his tongue up and down your slick, puffy folds, tasting every inch, and you moan loudly around Mason. The vibrations force his head back, and he groans, pushing his hips forward to drive his cock deeper down your throat. Gagging, fresh saliva splatters and drips out the corner of your mouth, wetting your chin and dripping onto your cheek, creating a mess.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Mason grunts, pulling out and wiping the spit away with his tip. “Just making a mess on both ends.”

He stuffs himself back between your lips, hitting the back of your throat, your neck slightly bulging, with every thrust, and reaches out in front to slap your tit. The sting of pain turns to pleasure and you whimper out, clenching hard around Rasmus's fingers, as Mason does it again.

“Sure she's okay with you doing that?” Rasmus asks, driving his fingers deeper, curling them to meet that spongy spot, your hips jerking up into his face as he repeatedly hits it. Your fingers curl tighter in his hair, but your attempt to push his mouth back down was weak.

“I think I might know a thing or two about what she likes, mate,” Mason tuts, pinching your nipple, before giving it another slap.

“I don't care if you know what she likes.” Rasmus's jaw ticks. Your past was your past, he didn't care if Mason knew you as intimately as he did, but he did care about your comfort and your safety. “You get her permission first or this stops.” He pins him down with a look. “Got it?”

He kneels, his fingers stroking over the back of your head, bending to kiss you. There's nothing sweet or caring about it - he's doing it to claim you - and he pulls hard on your hair, stuffing his tongue down your throat as you gasp against him.

His free hand moves down the front of your chest, thumbing your nipple, feeling it tighten, the subtle reaction making his cock throb against his lower stomach.

You whimper as he bites your lip, pulling at it as he breaks away. “You're okay with what I just did, right?” He looks across at Rasmus.

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly.

“You liked it, right?”

“Yes.”

His hand keeps playing with your nipple. “And you want me to keep doing it, right?”

Biting your lip, you nod. “Please.”

“Good enough for you?”

Rasmus just grunts and shrugs off your knees, sitting back on his heels. “Come here.” He beckons you forward with his fingers and you crawl towards him, leaving Mason at the end of the bed. He runs a thumb over your chin, wiping away the rest of your spit. “God, you really are a mess. What has he done to my baby?”

“Nothing you haven't done before.” The blush that creeps up his neck lasts only for a few seconds, but it's one that brings out a giggle. “You're cute when you blush,” you whisper, looping your arms around his neck. The material of his t-shirt rubs against your nipples in the right way.

“You're pretty cute with a cock stuffed in your mouth,” he mumbles, reaching his hands low and squeezing your bum. He gives it a gentle slap, nothing like the ones Mason had given, and enjoys the noise you make. It's a soft moan, very similar to the sound you make every time you sink yourself onto his cock.

You cock an eyebrow, your head tilting to the right. Nothing stops the grin that tugs on your lips. “You liked seeing another man's cock in my mouth, huh?”

“That's not what I said.”

“Kinda sounds like what you said,” you fire back, before your voice is quickly snuffed out by his mouth.

He kisses you slowly, taking his time, each squeeze and movement of his hands deliberate as they search their way up your back, seeking out familiarity. His tongue strokes into your mouth and you moan quietly, tasting yourself and allowing yourself to sink further into his hold.

“Need you,” you whimper into his mouth, lowering your hands to the front of his jeans.

He doesn't stop you, but helps to remove his clothes, starting with his shirt, tossing it off the side of the bed. The upper half portion of his chest is covered with enough chest hair to make you stop and squeeze your thighs together, a new rush of pleasure trickling down there. You sigh happily as he springs out of his boxers, slapping hard against his stomach. The tip is thick and a deep shade of pink, weeping tears of precum, and you shuffle back on your knees, your ass sticking up in the air, as you bend low to lick it up.

“Now that's something I've missed,” Mason says, taking the time to kick off his jeans and crawl onto the bed. He reaches out and grabs your hip, his cock looking perfect pressing up against the crack of your ass. You look back, eyes straining over your shoulder, to see him drip a large glob of spit into his hand, before wiping it over his tip. “Can I, baby?”

“Don't want a taste first?” You ask, keeping yourself balanced on one elbow. Your hips shimmy, teasing him. “You'll never get the opportunity again.”

He swipes his fingers between your thighs, a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl rattling around deep inside his chest as he feels just how wet you are. “Goddammit girl,” he mutters, breaking your entrance with one finger and then a second. If he had the time, he would work you up to taking a third. You clench hard around him and his cock throbs, desperate to feel it again. “You're fucking soaked,” he says, the squelching of his fingers filling the moments of silence, “did sucking my cock do this?”

Rasmus rolls his eyes. “She was a mess before you even touched her lips.”

“I'm sure she was,” he quips, chuckling as he withdraws to lift his fingers to his mouth. They breach his lips with a hard moan, sucking and licking them clean. “Sweeter than honey, baby.”

“Still using that old line?”

You work your hand slowly up and down Rasmus, thumbing the thick tip. He shudders out a groan, a jolt of electricity rippling up his spine.

“Worked on you more than a few times.”

You lift an eyebrow, winking up at Rasmus, who stifles a laugh. “Did it though?” You look over your shoulder, locking onto his eyes. “I could've been faking it the whole time.”

His hand strikes your bum hard, making you gasp, the corners of your mouth curling up as the stinging turns quickly to pleasure. “You're no actress, sweetheart.”

Rasmus hand smooths over your jaw, gaining your full attention. “Don't have that problem with me, do you, skat?” Rasmus states, smiling all smug-like, running a hand through his hair.

You giggle, shaking your head. “Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ in a cutesy, sing-song voice.

“Wanna know something, Rasmus?” Mason asks, wetting his tip with your arousal. Rasmus barely bothers with a grunt, too focused on the portion of his cock being swallowed into your mouth - the rest of him jerked slowly with your hand. “It's always been a fantasy of Y/N's to be taken by two guys at once.” He notches his cock in line with your entrance, the heat pressing against you tempting your hips to push back. “Isn't that right, baby?”

You pull off Rasmus, breaking the string of spit with a quick lick of your lips. “This is…sort of a taste of it.”

The man's eyes above you widen, his cheeks flushing pink. You and him were nowhere near at a point in your relationship to be exploring those fantasies yet.

“She's a dirty girl,” Mason says, gritting out a groan between his words as he pushes forward, working his full length into you until your bum is resting against his thighs. It's like sinking into a warm bath. His hands grab at your hips, keeping you in place, as he pulls out, admiring the sheen you leave on his cock. “And the longer you're with her, the more open she'll be about all those little, sordid thoughts running around that pretty, little brain of hers.”

Rasmus's erection is hot and heavy in your hand, the tip dripping saliva as you spit a big glob onto it, working it up and down with your fist, almost matching the steady rhythm Mason has set. Your other hand cups his balls, rolling and squeezing them, before taking them into your mouth and sucking.

“Jesus, where the fuck did that come from?” He groans, half-laughing out of disbelief. You sucked him off more than a few times, but never with this much enthusiasm. It's all so dizzying he could topple over, but he doesn't, propping himself up with one hand on the back of your head, as you lick your tongue up and down him.

“That's it,” Mason grunts, his cock throbbing along your fluttering walls, “being such a good girl for us, making us both feel so good.” He grips your hips harder, thrusting with punctual strokes that hit the spot, making you moan around Rasmus. Ecstasy spreads across his features, matching yours and the guy's across from him.

“That's all I want to do,” you mumble incoherently, running your tongue along one side, licking from base to tip, and back down again.

“He's right, baby,” Rasmus bobs his head, nodding, “god, you're so fucking pretty, right now.” He trickles out a chuckle. “Left my phone downstairs, otherwise I'd take a picture just so you could see how pretty you look.”

You smile, biting your bottom lip. “Maybe some other time.”

“Does that invitation extend to me?” Mason asks, smiling devilishly.

Your head snaps to look at him. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Being trapped between your past and your present - and hopefully your future - was hotter than it should've been. Taking Rasmus back into your mouth, he grunts hard, feeling him nudging the back of your throat. You keep going, breathing through your nose, trying to swallow him deeper, fresh spit coating your chin as you choke him down.

“Oh, shit, skat-!” His breathing becomes choppy, a soft squeak breaking free as you grab his ass and pull him deeper. “Fuck, keep it nice and deep, yeah?”

You let out a long moan as the salty taste of his cum hits your throat, your pussy gripping Mason tightly as your orgasm rises and washes over you quickly, triggered by Rasmus's release.

“Get it all,” Mason reaches over and pushes your head lower, making sure you get every last drop, “we want to see you swallow it.”

“Show me before you swallow it,” Rasmus pleads, and you open your mouth, showing him. He pushes your chin up, closing your mouth. “Now, swallow it.”

It goes down with a hearty sigh, the corners of your lips tugging up into a dream-like smile.

“Not finished with you yet,” Mason says, wrapping an arm around you, and pulling you up to his chest. He sits you deeper onto his cock, making you whimper from the new angle. You're boneless as he pounds into you, nonsense spilling from your mouth, a few yeses and ohs, as you scramble to hold onto the arm wrapped across you. “Coming on my cock as he's coming down your throat?” He teases, “fucking dirty, bet you didn't even notice, probably too cock drunk.”

“Talk about cock drunk,” Rasmus snickers, subtly shaking his head. He takes a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look at him. “Does that feel good?” You whimper, biting your lip and nodding. “You gonna come again?”

“Please,” you plead, nodding your head so hard it could snap.

He looks over your shoulder. “Think we should let her come again?”

“Maybe if she begs for it.”

“Please, I need to come again,” you beg, turning your head between them, your vision becoming a blur.

Rasmus pinches your nipple. “Come on, skat, you can do better than that.” His mouth lowers to your ear. “I've heard you do better than that.”

“I've been such a good girl for both of you!” Another orgasm rises quickly, the knot in your stomach twisted tight and uncomfortable. “Please, let me come! Please! I'll do anything!”

Mason breathes a sound out of his nose like he's trying not to laugh at your attempt. “I think that's good enough.” He clenches his jaw, relief washing over him watching Rasmus nod, because there was no way he was holding off any longer.

White hot heat floods your body as your orgasm roars forth, the vice-like grip of his cock between your walls triggering his own, and he grunts out your name, spilling thick, hot ropes into you. Rasmus cradles your face, watching you ride out your orgasm, whispering sweet praises that your ears can barely register.

You're still trembling when Mason pulls out, letting you go to fall against Rasmus, and neither you look over as he steps away from the bed.

“You good?” Rasmus kisses your shoulder, and strokes his hands up and down your back as you gradually catch your breath. “That wasn't too much, was it?”

You shake your head against him, your voice lost for the moment. Everything that had just happened was beginning to catch up with you, temporary panic flaring in your eyes, but unnoticed by him, as it all sinks in. The relationship was fresh and Mason's little stunt might have ruined it.

“Mason?” His head pops up, looking over at the two of you, his jeans hanging loose on his hips as he searches for his top. “You can get the fuck out now,” he instructs, stroking his hand over the back of your head, and nodding to the bedroom door, “I wanna spend the rest of the night with my girlfriend.”

“What just happened?” You ask, after hearing the door click.

“I don't fucking know.” Rasmus breathes out a chuckle, his breath hot, fanning your face as he kisses your forehead. “That was crazy. Let's get you cleaned up, yeah? We'll talk about it later.”

What still burns

The bass from the music thumped through the walls of Luke Shaw's sprawling house, vibrating under your feet as you stepped inside. It had been months since the breakup with Mason Mount—months of radio silence, of scrolling through his Instagram highlights from away games and training sessions, pretending it didn't sting. Luke had invited you, swearing it would be low-key, just friends unwinding after the season. You hadn't expected him to be here.

You wove through the crowd in the living room, nursing a drink, when you felt it—that prickling awareness on the back of your neck. Turning slightly, your eyes locked with his across the room. Mason stood by the kitchen island, beer in hand, surrounded by a few teammates laughing at some inside joke. But his gaze was fixed on you, dark and unreadable, his jaw tightening as he took you in. The fitted black shirt hugged his athletic frame, sleeves rolled up to show the veins in his forearms, a reminder of all the times those arms had pinned you down.

He looked away first, but not before you saw the flicker of something raw in his eyes—hurt, anger, maybe both. You forced yourself to mingle, chatting with a couple of mutual friends, but the air felt thicker now, charged. That's when you noticed him watching again, this time as you laughed at something one of Luke's mates said, the guy leaning in a little too close, his hand brushing your arm. Mason's grip on his bottle whitened his knuckles. He set it down hard enough to draw eyes, then excused himself from his group. You pretended not to notice, but your pulse raced. Jealousy looked good on him, even if it was irrational. He had no claim on you anymore. Or so you told yourself.

The party noise started to grate after an hour—the laughter too loud, the bodies too close. You slipped away upstairs, needing a moment to breathe. The bathroom at the end of the hall was mercifully empty. You locked the door behind you, leaning against the sink, staring at your reflection. Your makeup was still intact, but your eyes betrayed the turmoil. Why did seeing him still twist you up like this?

A sharp knock rattled the door. "Occupied," you called, splashing water on your face. "Open the door. It's me." Your stomach dropped. Mason's voice, low and edged with that familiar authority. You hesitated, fingers hovering over the lock. Against your better judgment, you twisted it open. He pushed in without waiting, the door clicking shut behind him. The space felt tiny with him in it—six feet of coiled tension, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His eyes raked over you, from your tousled hair to the hem of your dress riding up your thighs. "What the hell are you doing here?" he growled, stepping closer until your back hit the sink. "Luke invited me. Same as you, I assume." You crossed your arms, trying to steady your voice, but it came out breathy. "We don't have to do this, Mason." He laughed, bitter and short. "Do what? Pretend like you weren't just letting that prick touch you down there? Laughing like nothing happened?" His hand shot out, not touching you, but caging you in, palm flat against the mirror beside your head. The scent of his cologne—woodsy, intoxicating—flooded your senses, dragging up memories you'd buried. "He's just a friend," you shot back, but the words felt weak. Heat bloomed between you, the air crackling. "You lost the right to care when you walked away."

His face twisted, eyes flashing with regret and fury. "Walked away? You think that's what happened? You shut me out, acting like I was just another notch." He leaned in, breath hot against your ear. "But I see it in your eyes. You still want this. Still mine." Before you could protest, his mouth crashed onto yours—hard, demanding, all the pent-up months pouring out in the kiss. You gasped, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as your mind screamed to push away. He tasted like beer and salt, his tongue invading, claiming every inch. He broke away just enough to spin you around, pressing your front against the cool porcelain sink. His body molded to your back, hips grinding into your ass, the hard length of his cock already straining against his jeans. "Look at yourself," he murmured, voice rough as he forced your chin up to the mirror. "See what you do to me? No one else gets this." Your reflection stared back, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. His free hand slid down your side, bunching your dress up over your hips, fingers digging into your thigh. "Mason... we can't—" "We can," he cut you off, nipping at your neck, teeth grazing skin hard enough to mark. "And we will. Because you belong to me. Always have."

He yanked your panties aside, calloused fingers finding your slick folds. You were soaked already, betraying every denial. He groaned against your shoulder, circling your clit with precise strokes, the kind only he knew drove you wild. "Feel that? Your pussy's weeping for me. Not for him. Me.” You whimpered, hips bucking back, the jealousy in his tone fueling the fire. He plunged two fingers inside you, curling them deep, pumping in a rhythm that made your knees buckle. The wet sounds echoed in the small room, obscene and intimate. "Say it," he demanded, thumb pressing your clit. "Tell me who you belong to." "You," you gasped, the word tearing free as pleasure coiled tight. "Fuck, Mason—yours." He withdrew his fingers abruptly, leaving you aching, and you heard the zipper of his jeans. His cock sprang free, thick and hot, slapping against your ass. He teased your entrance, the head nudging your folds. "That's right," he rasped, one hand gripping your hip, the other tangling in your hair to arch your back. "No one else fucks you like this."