Pool party - Billy Butcher x you
WARNING: smut, cursing, 18+ mdni, age gap relationship, obsessive thoughts / fixation, cheating, english isnât my first language, used a bit of AI help for wording đ
You were back at your parentsâ house for the annual pool party. Your boyfriend, Mark, was already by the grill, laughing with your dad like he belonged there. He was good. Stable. Loving. Everything you were supposed to want.
And you did want him⌠until your mom mentioned the pool party.
âBillyâs coming, of course. He asked about you. Itâs been ages since heâs seen you. You used to be so clingy with him, remember?â she chuckled
Just like that, something in your chest tightened. And all those old feelings you thought youâd buried came right back up.
Because he wasnât him.
Billy fucking Butcher.
Heâd been around forever, your dadâs friend for as long as you could remember. Always there at barbecues, Christmas dinners, just part of the background of your life. Until you turned eighteen. Something shifted then. Slowly at first, so subtly you didnât even notice it happening. He stopped being just your dadâs friend and became something else entirely in your head. A man. You started noticing him differently. The rough edge of his accent when he spoke. That lazy, knowing smirk that made it feel like he could see straight through you if he wanted to.
And somewhere along the way, you started wanting him to.
He was the one on your mind when you started thinking about being seen differently. When you wore shorter things for reasons that werenât just about summer or comfort anymore. When you tried a push-up bra for the first time, or put on lipstick and caught yourself lingering a little too long in the mirror.
Like you were waiting for someone to notice. For him to notice.
It started small. Almost innocent.
unsets at your parentsâ beach house with your legs stretched out in the foreground, blurry dinner snapshots of you and your mom laughing too hard at something your dad said. Little moments that didnât mean much on their own. Just casual âthinking of youâ kind of messages. Except they were never completely innocent.
You always made sure there was something extra in frame. Your reflection caught in a mirror behind you. Bare skin just visible at the edge of the photo. Small, deliberate details you could pretend werenât deliberate at all.
He always saw them but never replied.
Not once.
You told yourself it was just some stupid teenage crush youâd never properly grown out of, that it had all been one-sided and you were being ridiculous.
As one last attempt to get him out of your system, you packed the smallest bikini you ownedâelectric blue, barely there, more suggestion than actual swimwear.
Mark raised an eyebrow the second you stepped outside.
âBabe⌠you sure thatâs pool-appropriate?â
âItâs fine, itâs just family,â you said, forcing it to sound casual as you glanced across the yard. âDonât you like it?â
Mark laughed anyway, like you were joking, and pulled you into a side hug. Warm. Easy. Safe. And then, over his shoulder, you saw him. Billy. Leaning against the patio door like heâd been there the whole time. Beer in hand, aviators glasses hiding his eyes, expression unreadable. Except for the smallest movement when he noticed you. A tilt of his head. Slow. Measured. Like he was taking his time. He raised his bottle in a lazy toast.
You felt it all the way down your spine.
The afternoon slipped into noise after that. Splashes from the pool, bursts of laughter, the constant clink of ice in plastic cups. You stayed close to Mark, played your part well enoughâsmiling, answering, existing exactly where you were supposed to.
But you always felt Billy in the background.
Not watching, not really.
Just⌠there.
Always positioned just slightly too close to wherever you were going to be next. A coincidence that stopped feeling like one after a while. The brush of his arm when he reached past you at the cooler. Your dad found something new to talk about at the grill. Mark got pulled into a conversation about sports with one of his cousins. Your mom was taking care of hosting.
You slipped into the kitchen for more ice.
The second the door swung shut, a solid body pressed you against the counter. A hand large, rough, warm clamped over your mouth before you could gasp.
âShh, love,â Billyâs voice rumbled in your ear. âDonât wanna give the party a show, do we?â
You shook your head, heart hammering. His other hand slid down your hip, over the damp fabric of your bikini bottom, and squeezed. Hard. A possessive, aching grip that made your knees buckle.
âBeen a naughty little girl, sending me them photos,â he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. âThought I didnât notice, did ya? Thought I wasnât watchinâ?â
He groped you like he owned you, his fingers digging into the soft curve of your ass. You whimpered against his palm.
âBut I noticed everything,â he continued, his voice low and dark. âThat little bikini you put on just for me. The way you keep lookinâ at me like Iâm a piece of meat.â He chuckled, a rough sound. âYou want trouble, donât you, love?â
You nodded frantically. He pulled back, but his hand lingered, a final squeeze before he let go. Stepped away. Picked up a beer from the fridge like nothing happened.
âThen be patient,â he said, not looking at you. âGood things come to those who wait.â
You were shaking when you walked back outside, ice forgotten. Mark asked if you were okay. You said it was just the heat.
The house had finally gone quiet around one in the morning. Mark had left half an hour earlier, kissing your forehead and promising to text when he got to Simonâs place. Your parents were asleep upstairs. That night, in your childhood bedroom, you snapped a photo. Lingerie this time. A hint of everything. You hit send on the temporary message. Then the blue check marks appeared. Read. Your phone buzzed. One notification. It was him. A gif of an eggplant. You laughed, a breathless, giddy sound, and typed back: Itâs my last day tomorrow. Leaving in the morning.
You sent it and didnât wait for a reply. You just lay there, the phone warm in your hand, knowing the game was far from over.
You told yourself you only came downstairs for water.
The television cast flickering blue light across the living room. Billy was stretched across the couch, boots on the coffee table, one arm thrown behind his head. Some old war movie played at low volume. He looked up the second you entered. Your heart stopped thinking about the picture you just sent.Â
âThought good girls were supposed to be asleep by now.â
Your stomach tightened instantly.
 âYou staying here?â
âYour mum threatened me with bodily harm if I drove.â
You laughed softly despite yourself. Silence stretched again. Heavy. Dangerous.His eyes dragged over the satin pyjama set youâd changed into. Bare legs. He noticed. Of course he noticed. You moved toward the sink, filling a glass mostly to avoid looking at him.âYou should be in bed,â he said finally.
âCouldnât sleep.â
âMm.â
âMark gone already?â he asked casually.
âYeah.â
âConvenient.â
You turned your head toward him. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
Nothing immediate. Just that lazy, irritating half-smirk.
He didnât look away when he said it. And you didnât move right away either. The space between you stayed charged. Eventually, you turned toward the stairs. But not before you felt his eyes follow you all the way up. And neither of you pretended that night was over.
Just 15 long minutes. No knock, the door opened. Billy stepped inside like he already knew youâd still be awake.Â
"Couldn't leave without a proper goodbye, could I?" His voice was low, rough, the kind of voice that promised trouble.
You were under the covers, trying to look casual. "You never answered my texts."
"Didn't know what to do with ya," he said, slowly walking to your bed. "Then you send me that picture. Pretty little thing like you, all done up in lace like you werenât tryinâ to start somethinâ."
Heat crawled down between your legs instantly.
He sat on the border of your bed, close enough that you could smell the smoke and the faint musk of his cologne. âYou know how hard it was sittinâ downstairs actinâ normal after that?â he muttered, glancing at you from under his lashes. You tried to laugh, but it came out quieter than you meant it to.
His attention dropped briefly to the thin strap slipping off your shoulder.
âChrist,â he said softly, almost to himself.
His fingers brushed against the strap of your pyjama, pushing it down your shoulder, slow and deliberate, giving you plenty of time to stop him. You didnât. "Been thinkin' about this since you started your little attention game" he murmured, stepping closer. "Every time you sent those innocent family photos, I knew what you were really saying. 'Look at me, Billy. See me.'"
He hooked a finger under the strap on the other side, pulling it down too. The shirt sagged, barely held up by your nipples, hard and visible through the thin satin.
"I see you now," he said, voice dropping to a growl. "Question is, what are you gonna let me do about it?"
Your breath hitched. Mark or your parents could arrive and see you standing half-naked in the dark with the man who'd been your secret fantasy for years. But that was the point, wasn't it? The thrill of being caught, the danger, the way it made your cunt ache.
"Whatever you want," you whispered. "Just⌠make it count. Mark could come back.
"Mark." He said the name like it tasted bad. "That the boyfriend you keep paradin' around? The one who don't know how to make you moan?"
You opened your mouth to defend Mark, but Billy stepped forward, crowding you against the bed. His hands found your hips, fingers digging into the thin fabric of your robe. "Don't bother lyin', love. I can see it in your eyes. You've been starvin' for it. For me."
You didn't deny it. Couldn't. You just looked up at him, your breath hitching, your body trembling with anticipation. He caressed your ribs. A low, appreciative sound rumbled in his chest. "Fuckin' hell. You're even better than in photo."
His hand slid down your stomach, over your shorts, cupping your mound through the damp fabric. "Wet already," he noted, pressing a finger against your clit. "Been thinkin' about this all day, haven't you?"
"Billyâ"
"Shh." He silenced you with a kiss, hard, demanding, his tongue pushing past your lips. He tasted of smoke and whiskey, and you moaned into his mouth, your hands fisting in his shirt. His fingers found the edge of your shorts no panties, pushing them aside, and then he was touching you directly, his calloused thumb circling your clit while a thick finger slid inside you.
"Fuck," he muttered against your lips. "Tight. So fuckin' tight."
You bucked against his hand, your knees buckling. He held you closer, his arm around your waist, his fingers pumping into you with a steady, rough rhythm. "That's it. Take it. You wanted this, didn't you? Wanted me to fuck you with my fingers like the little slut you are."
"Yes," you gasped. "Yes, Billy, pleaseâ"
"Please what?" He added a second finger, stretching you, his thumb pressing hard on your clit. "Use your words."
"Please fuck me."
He pulled his fingers out, and you whimpered at the loss. But then he was unzipping his jeans, his cock springing free, thick, hard, the tip glistening in the moonlight. ". Hands up."Â
You obeyed, resting them against the rough wood of the headboard behind you. He yanked your shorts down to your knees, then spread your legs with his hand. "Fuckin' beautiful," he growled. "Look at that cunt, drippin' for me."
He didn't tease. He lined himself up and pushed in, a single, brutal thrust that filled you completely. You cried out, a sharp, muffled sound, and he clamped a hand over your mouth.
"Quiet," he hissed, his breath hot in your ear. "Unless you want your boyfriend and your parents to hear exactly how much of a slut their little girl is."
You nodded, tears pricking at your eyes from the pleasure and the stretch. He started to move, long, deep strokes that hit that spot inside you with every thrust. "That's it," he grunted, his grip on your hips bruising. "Take my cock. Take it all. You're gonna cum for me, love. Right now."
His hand snaked around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles while he fucked you. The combination was too muchâthe rough pace, the risk, the raw power of him claiming you. You came with a muffled scream, your pussy clenching around his cock, your legs shaking.
He didn't stop. He fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own, his breathing ragged. "Fuckin' hell," he growled, and then he was cumming, flooding your insides, his body shuddering against yours. He pulled out slowly, and you felt his cum trickling down your thigh. He tucked himself back into his jeans.
"That's a good girl," he said smirking at you. "Now go to sleep before anyone notices."
You turned to face him, your legs weak. "Will I see you again?"
He half turned around and gave a smirk he always does. "When you come back next summer, love. Or sooner, if you're clever about it." He gave you that lazy, knowing smirk. "Now go."
He gave you a kiss on the forehead, fixed your shirt, and left. Mark You lay in the dark, feeling Billy's cum inside you, knowing you'd be thinking about this for the rest of the yearâand knowing, with absolute certainty, that you'd do it again the first chance you got.
