neverinadream

“This is bad. This is bad. This is really, really bad,” Cassie mutters under her breath, catching the whimper in the back of her throat and swallowing it down as you carve a path down her neck, feeling her pulse flutter beneath your lipstick-smudged lips.

“So tell me to stop and I will,” you tell her, the subtle curve of your mouth imprinting onto her neck, before continuing to kiss down the column of her throat when a refusal doesn't come. She whimpers as you lick, suck and brandish her with your mark.

You had her pressed up against the small sink, the faint smell of the whiskey Cassie had been drinking and her floral scented perfume filling your nose. Her camisole had been pulled up to make room for the hand you had pushed down her pants, applying pressure to the damp patch that had formed on her simple grey cotton undies.

God, she would've picked something sexier if she had known she was going to have the babysitter's hand down them tonight.

“I shouldn't want this as much as I do,” she says, forcing herself to look over at the door, a glimpse of the lock in place calming her anxiety of you being caught together, “you're Harrison's babysitter.”

“Good observation, Dr McKay,” you smirk, teasing out a soft gasp as you push harder on the wet spot, pushing it between her folds and feeling her clit through the much-loved but thinning material. Her hips jerk as you do it again. “All of this is perfectly legal, if that's what worries you,” you hum, toying with the waistband with your thumb, running it across from side to side, “I'm twenty-two.”

“Surprisingly, your age isn't the thing that matters here.”

“So what is it, sweetheart?" You tilt your head to the side, swiping your tongue across your lips. Her eyes follow the movement and you smile. “What's gonna stop me from making you come right here?”

“You're Harrison's babysitter,” Cassie repeats, bracing her hand on the edge of the sink, her knees buckling as you run your knuckle over her panties, tracing the line of her slit. “He can't find out about this.”

“Well, luckily, I don't spill all my secrets to your kid,” you chuckle, nudging the strap of her top and kissing the skin underneath. You repeat the same with the other side, Cassie's breath hitching as you remove your hand from the front of her pants, using both hands to push the straps off her shoulders. She has no bra on and you had been looking at the outline of her nipples for the last few minutes of your conversation before pulling her into the cramped toilet. “Tonight I'm not Harrison's babysitter; tonight I'm just some girl in a bar, who was interested in you enough to buy you a drink.”

Cassie closes her eyes and mulls it all over, subtracting and adding in the pros and cons, trying to figure out a solution that doesn't end up extremely messy. You were young - something she had criticised Chad for in the past - and her kid's babysitter, but you were also both adults, capable enough of making your own decisions. Finally, she nods, opening her eyes to find you smiling.

“Good.” You exhale a breath, steadying your hands as you ease down her top, licking your lips as you see her for the first time. Gone were the nights of you touching yourself to the memory of that green swimsuit she wore to Harrison's pool party, now you had the real thing. “I've been dying to get my mouth on these pretty tits.”

A dark blush creeps up Cassie's neck.

You roll your thumb over her left nipple and blow hot air over the other, just enough to tease her.

Her head rolls back as you drop your mouth around her nipple, flicking and dragging your tongue across it, making her whine out into the small bathroom. Thankfully, the music was loud, and only anyone standing right outside the door would have heard her. You suck hard before pulling off and dragging your mouth across to the other, doing the same.

“That's it,” Cassie encourages, holding tight to the back of your neck, “just like that.”

“Quickly changed your tone from a few minutes ago,” you tease, much preferring the praise coming from the older woman's lips. You cup her pussy through her jeans and she jerks her hips. “Want me to touch you?”

She nods her head enthusiastically.

You sink your teeth into her nipple and she yelps. “Say it.”

The blush on her cheeks darkens. “Touch me.”

“Where?” You pepper a kiss across the top of her breasts, her skin soft and faintly smelling of soap. Just touching her makes you dizzy. “Here?” You kiss her left nipple and give the right a pinch, Cassie whimpering at the fleeting sharp pain that fizzles up her spine.

“No,” she whimpers, grinding herself into your hand, “there.”

The corner of your mouth curves in a lopsided smirk Cassie would've wanted to slap off others, but on you, it was incredibly sexy.

Sinking onto your knees, you kiss a path down her chest, pushing up her top so you can get to her tummy, which flutters with every soft touch of affection. You meet her eyes as your hands meet the waistband of her jeans, and she nods, giving you the permission you were looking for, before pulling them down her legs. Her underwear goes with them and you can't help but moan out at the sight of her pussy. You lick your lips, mouth already watering and needing to taste her.

Your thumb brushes over the patch of dark hair, short and trimmed. “She's so pretty,” you mumble, drawing a path with your thumb down her slit. You bring your thumb to your mouth and suck it clean, Cassie whimpering as she watches you. “I'm gonna have so much fun with her,” you say, marking your words out like a promise.

Cassie braces her hands on the edge of the sink. “It's been a while.” She looks almost embarrassed to admit it.

You raise your eyebrows, head tilting to the left. “Since what? Since someone made you come? Or since you've been with a woman?”

She lowers her eyes away from you. “Both.”

“Don't worry, I'll be gentle,” you tell her, parting her pink pussy lips with both thumbs, “the first time.” You add in a wink making her laugh.

Tongue sticking out, you drag it from her hole to her clit, feeling it pulse against you with first contact. Her taste consumes you and the hunger rips from your chest as a hard groan. You do it again, this time wrapping your lips around her clit as you reach the bundle of nerves, sucking slowly and pulling off with an audible pop. Her back arches, lips parting to moan, as you take her back into your mouth, sucking vigorously, and you grin, Cassie needing to rip her hand away from the sink to grab the back of your head.

“Just like that,” she cries, rolling her name around your tongue, moaning it loudly as you continue your assault. You chuckle and it jolts her body like she was being hit with a thousand sparks of electricity. “More,” she begs, licking her lips.

“More what?” You kiss her mound, skirting your hand up her soft thigh and squeezing her hip. “Want my fingers too?” Cassie nods. “Greedy,” you mumble playfully, tapping your full hand against her cunt. It's a soft slap that shocks her at first, but the tingle of pain fizzles quickly to pleasure.

Coating your fingers in her slick, you keep your eyes focused on Cassie, watching her cheeks darken in colour and her eyes roll as her head tips back, as you push them in, keeping your movements deliberately slow for the first few strokes. Her walls are clenching your fingers hard by the time you've latched your mouth back onto her sex, your tongue lapping at her clit with quick flicks.

“You weren't lying, huh?” You tease between drags of your tongue, her taste bursting in your mouth as more of her drips down your fingers. You lick it up off the back of your fingers and moan, shoving them back deeper, all the way to your knuckles. “It really has been a long time since someone treated her properly,” you purr, grinning and flicking your eyes up to find her looking down at you, “good thing I'm here now, isn't it?”

Cassie nods. “Yes.” Her hips jerk, grinding herself onto your mouth. “Shit, that feels so good,” she mewls, holding you tighter, her nails scratching and digging into your head, the ache in her growing rapidly, begging to be released, “gonna come." She barks out a laugh, shaking her head a little in disbelief. "Fuck, you're gonna make me come.”

“Come for me, baby," the words melt into her, "make a pretty mess all over my fingers.” Your name pierces the air, drowned out by the thumping of the music. “I want you dripping down my hand,” you work your fingers faster, curling to meet the spongy spot, her pussy squeezing them numb as she comes, “I want to be able to lick it all off.”

She shakes and shudders, her body folding forwards as she holds your head against her body. That was out of body experience, she was for sure of it.

Drawing out the last of her orgasm, you ease your fingers out, and suck them clean, making a show of licking up and between each finger. She's intoxicating. Addictive. And you were surely hooked.

“You're incredible,” you mumble, pulling her jeans and underwear up for her.

A short burst of laughter escapes her. “Shouldn't I be the one complimenting you?” She fixes her top, sliding the straps up over her shoulders. “Because that was…” Her voice trails off, the heat rushing to her face as she's unable to find the right words. She finally settles on, “amazing.”

You curl your fingers under her chin and open your mouth, but are cut off by three heavy thuds against the toilet door. “Come on!” A deeper voice shouts. “Some of us actually have to take a piss!”

Cassie bites her lip, stopping the laugh that you have no trouble letting out. “Yours?”

You nod, trying not to sound too eager, and grab her hand. “Let's go.”

“‘m sorry,” you slurred, still a little tipsy from the alcohol you had consumed tonight. One cocktail became three, and a few shots turned into seeking out some overpriced blow. The weed stashed back at your friend's dorm would've been fine for you, but their roommate was in the mood for something else, and you let them convince you into going along. But now you wished you hadn't, sitting in the back of Charlie's SUV, the taste of bile creeping up your throat. “I won't do it again,” you added for good measure, looking up at the rear view mirror, catching Charlie's eyes as they stared back, watching you from the front seat.

“You better not,” he grunts, one swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip.

He was your knight in shining armour tonight, called from the backseat of a cruiser, the cuffs tight and digging into your wrists. You had to beg the prick to let you make the call; apparently being the mayor's daughter didn't get you any ‘get out of jail free’ cards like you thought.

Or maybe those only worked for your brother.

“Was Cassie with you tonight?”

You shake your head. “She was with Jake.”

He tuts, flicking his eyes to the road, the wheel gradually turning as he takes you from one street and onto another. Jake was a good boy, a good student, wanted to go to med school one day, but Cassie was Charlie's only daughter - and his only kid - you had heard plenty of arguments through your high school years, muffled words filtering up through floorboards, about how no one was going to be good enough for his little girl.

“Are you going to tell my dad about this?” You ask, running your thumb mindlessly in circles against the seat belt.

He lets out a little laugh, mentally praising you for having the gall to ask such a question. “I probably should.”

The three words sobered you up instantly.

“Mr Reid-”

“Charlie,” he lightly corrects, eyes in the rear-view mirror now back on you.

“Charlie,” you say quietly, "please, don't tell my dad. He'll kill me for this.” His eyebrows perk up at your theatrics. “Not literally, obviously.” You nervously laugh, attempting and failing to play it off as a joke.

Charlie's black SUV comes to a stop and you glance out of the tinted window to see your parents’ townhome. The black iron rails were draped in fake spiderwebs, three pumpkins, all carved by your mother with the help of your nieces, were stacked perfectly by the bottom step, and a Halloween-themed wreath was pinned to the front door. All the windows were black, meaning your parents were most definitely asleep, but your stomach still twists uncomfortably. Who knows what punishment your dad would dish out? Your allowance? Gone, better start looking for a job. That trip you wanted to take during Winter break? Forget about it.

“It wasn't even my idea to buy the coke,” you desperately make your case, the seat belt snapping back as you unclip it, “It was Malia's; she didn't want to smoke any of Jordan's weed.” A heat blazes up your neck to settle on your cheeks. “I-I haven't…” Your voice trails off as you attempt to lie, but he pins you with a hard glare.

“A judge wouldn't have cared if it had been the Pope's idea, kid.”

He unclips his seat belt and turns to face you, his arm stretched out and holding onto the shoulder of the passenger seat. Your focus lingers for a second too long on his large hand, just long enough for Charlie to notice, and he follows your eyes as they slowly lower into your lap. He holds in a breath, your soft thighs poking out from beneath your mini skirt evoking no shame as he stares longer at your legs.

“You were dumb enough to get caught by an undercover cop,” he says a beat later, “even if I don't tell your dad, they still might blab about it to their buddies.”

Your eyes shot up to look at him, mouth parting on a silent gasp. “But you said-”

“I know what I said,” he cuts you off, his grip adjusting on the seat.

You wet your lips and he watched your tongue slip and slide slowly across. The cogs turned, metaphorical equations appeared in front of you, but there isn't a solution you can find to get yourself out of this. Your stomach twisted tighter and you collapsed your head back against the headrest.

“I'm royally fucked,” you whisper to yourself, the SUV's ceiling disappearing as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Charlie chuckles, the edges caressed with darkness. “You can get out of this.” He has your attention in less than a second. He turned his head away, hiding a mock frown. “But I'm not sure-”

“I'll do anything,” you interrupt, leaning forward, closing off some of the space between you. Desperate doesn't even begin to describe how you sound, the whiney breath and hitched noise in the back of your throat stiring his cock. “Please, Charlie, I'll do anything to make sure my dad doesn't find out.”

“Yeah?” A nod subtly jerks your head up and down. “Climb into the front seat,” he orders, adjusting his seat, giving you space to climb through. He tugs at his jeans, adjusting his semi-hard erection. “Clocks ticking,” he grunts, his tone harder, and it snapped you into motion, your skirt riding up as you climbed into the front seat.

You tug the sides of your mini skirt down, covering very little of your thighs. “What now?” You glance across - Charlie wasn't looking at you, just staring ahead, eyes on the street.

“Take my cock out.”

You blink twice, each flutter of your eyelashes deliberately slow. “Sorry?”

Turning, he now looked at you, his features stoic and dimly lit from the street lights. This version of Charlie was darker and one he worked hard to keep hidden over the years. “Take it out,” he repeats slowly, unbuckling his belt, starting you off.

You lean away, clasping your hands together to hide how they slightly trembled.

“You do this, kid, and I'll forget all about your little accident,” he marks it with air quotes, “but if you don't, the mayor's gonna find out his daughter's got a liking for coke.”

“Cassie's my best friend.”

“She is,” he bobs his head, nodding. He gets the implication you're trying to make, but deep down he doesn't care.

“I phoned you because-”

“Because you thought I could be your get out of jail free card,” Charlie snipes, his hand unfastening his jeans, working the zipper down, “but my favours come with a price, and now you either pay up, or you get out of the car.”

You look down at your hands now splayed out across your thighs; your nail polish had chipped at some point in the night.

His thumb touches your cheekbone as he reaches out and cups the side of your face turned away from him. It's gentle, done deliberately to soften you. “It's just one tiny thing, doll,” he murmurs, closing the gap. His lips graze your cheek as you turn further away from him. “What do you want more? For this to go away or for your dad to be disappointed? I know which one I would pick.”

“Cassie can't find out,” you whisper, turning your head a moment later, your eyes trained on his. They're dark and avoid of colour. It startles you, making you gasp. “She'll never talk to me again.”

There's a flash of pain in your eyes, the emotion you choose not to hide, and Charlie covers it with a kiss. Reluctantly, you kiss him back, moving your lips slowly. Your nails are scratching at your skin as your fingers curl, your hands acting on instinct on wanting to grab something, but you're not ready to touch him yet.

“It's okay,” he softly says, covering the back of your head with his hand, pulling you closer, “you don't gotta be shy with me.” Your hand slaps atop the hand creeping to the inner of your thighs. His eyes pour into yours, dark and intense. “I'll be gentle.”

He brings his mouth back down, making it hard for you to breathe as he stakes his claim. A whimper surprises you, filling the darkness of his SUV with a sound other than his hungry kisses, as he nips and grazes his teeth at your lip.

His hand escapes from under yours to force your legs apart, making enough room to slip under your skirt. He blows out a groan, his thumb pushing against the front of your panties and feeling lace.

“I bet she's really pretty,” he mutters, bringing his mouth down against your neck, forming a path of haste kisses until he meets your shoulder. He sucks, nips and marks your flesh, and you clamp your mouth shut, forcing any sound back down. “Pull it up, I wanna see.”

You look around, observing the street. “Here?”

“Yes, here.”

Taking a breath, you lift your skirt, your eyes flicking to his, drawn in by the primal growl he releases, one that causes a small flutter of wings in the pit of your belly. The growl matches the inhumane level of lust in his dark eyes.

Your body jerks away from Charlie's hand, your body rattling like you had been jolted by a thousand sparks of electricity, and your mouth parts, letting out a surprised gasp as he strikes your pussy through the baby pink lace. The sound is caressed with a softness that goes straight to his head.

“Charlie?!”

“That's for waking me up so late,” he scolds, spanking your pussy for a second time. “That's for making me drive across the city.” He does it again and now you bite your lip to silence yourself. “And that's for being dumb enough to nearly get yourself arrested on a drug charge.”

You pout. “That wasn't nice.”

He ignores you, sitting back in his seat, his hand rubbing his thigh. “Pay up, doll.”

You don't have to do this, the voice in your head tries to persuade you. You'll regret it, it sings, think of Cassie, you'll never be able to look her in the eyes again. What would she think if she discovered you blew her dad just to get out of disappointing your parents?

She'll hate you.

You'll hate yourself.

How pathetic are you?

You're moving before the voice finishes berating you, kneeling on the front seat, your skirt still pulled up, the baby pink on show for anyone who might be walking past at this late hour. If your parents were to look out of their bedroom window, they might just catch a glimpse of you reaching across the centre console, Charlie's cock half-hard and held lightly in your hand.

He's bigger than you anticipated, but it wasn't like you had ever wondered about the size of your best friend's dad's cock before tonight.

You adjust your hand around the base and he shudders out a breath.

“Don't have to tell you what to do, do I?” Charlie asks, his voice bringing your eyes up to his face. His stare is intense, enough to trigger your thighs to squeeze together.

“You won't tell my parents what happened?” He shakes his head. “And you won't tell Cassie this happened?”

His thumb touches your chin, brushing softly under your bottom lip. “It'll be our little secret.” His words made you feel dirty, but you shake it off, along with the voice inside still berating you.

Bending low, a glob of spit drips from your mouth, onto his cock, and you work it onto him with slow strokes. Charlie sighs above you, the corners of his mouth twisted with evil intentions, and he guides his hand down your back, making you squirm as he grabs a fistful of your bum, squeezing you like you were some stress toy.

“That's it,” he mutters, his head tipping back, feeling your tongue drag across the tip, “nice and slow. There's no need for us to rush this.”

You drag and circle your tongue around him, your mouth widening and lips stretching, swallowing the tip, sucking slowly as instructed. It's a wet and warm heaven, like slipping into a warm bath after a tiring, long shift, your mouth, and Charlie groans, squeezing your bum as he nods his head. It's caught in the corner of your eye, and spurs you on to keep going.

“God, that's good,” he rasps, feeling you struggle to adjust to his size, his width stuffing your cheeks.

You jerk back, a string of spit slowly dripping from your mouth, feeling his hand push under your panties. There's a flash of panic in your eyes, your chin tipped up to look at him, the spit breaking and dangling from your chin.

“Shush, it's okay,” he mumbles, placing his free hand on the back of your neck, pushing you back down. His cock breeches your mouth, stuffing you silent. “Just want to play with her for a minute.” Again, that evil twisted grin appears. “Don't worry, you'll like it. Be good and I might even let you come.”

There's no working you up to it; two fingers push in to claim your pussy like Charlie had every right to it. Tonight, perhaps he did. You hiss, the sound vibrating around him, and he follows it with a hard grunt.

Soft groans and hard grunts were his way of letting you know he liked it, you had decided, with the occasional snippet of praise forming on his lips. The absence of his voice made room for that voice inside your head again.

Dirty whore.

Slut.

Pathetic.

You squeeze your eyes shut hoping to keep the tears at bay as they brim, but it only sends them trickling down your cheeks.

“Don't stop,” Charlie's voice pushes the voice back, “that's it. I bet you can get a bit more in.” His hand pushes you down, stuffing your mouth with another inch, a grunt following as he feels you widen your mouth to accommodate him. “Feels nice,” he says, but you can't tell if he's complimenting your throat or your cunt, that clenches around his fingers as the praise comes.

You're enjoying this?

You silence the voice for good, forcing it to the back of your head, the sound of you gagging covering it, the last inch of him stuffed between your lips.

Fresh tears feel like tiny shards of glass and spill down your cheeks as you glance up at him with teary eyes.

His head is tipped back, his lips parting as he pants and groans, his chest heaving as his breathing turns harder. No memory comes to mind when he tries to think back to the last time someone had blown him this good.

“Just hold it there,” he grunts, forcing more of his weight onto the back of your neck, fingers pressing down on either side. Spit coats his length as you choke on him. “Good girl,” the praise is growled, “taking it like a fuckin’ pro. Sucked many cocks, have you?”

But he doesn't give you a second to answer, the end of his cock still hitting the back of your throat, his hips lifting from the seat to fuck himself as deep as possible. When he does let off, you're gasping for air, a sheen of drool covering your chin as fresh spit drips and dangles. The lip gloss you had been recoating your lips with all night had all but gone, just baby pink streaks smeared along his length.

To answer his question, you shake your head. No, you hadn't sucked many cocks, as he had put it. There was your high school boyfriend, who had pressured you into it because he had wanted to know if it would feel good. He came pretty quickly, his cheeks ablaze with embarrassment, and you spat out his cum in his bathroom sink, refusing to look up at his mom as you hurriedly left. And there were a few here and there at college, who you foolishly thought might become your boyfriends, but they suddenly lost your number or forgot who you were afterwards.

Charlie sounded shocked, but his face gave you nothing. He withdraws his fingers from your pussy, a desperate whine leaving your lips - surprising you - and lightly smacks your bum as a form of punishment. “You're just a natural then, huh?” He grins, wrapping his clean hand around his base and nudging the tip back between your puffy lips.

He grunts, closing his eyes to let himself be lost in the feeling of you flicking and swirling your tongue over him. He pulsates as your tongue licks up along the vein, finishing with a sharp flick across his tip. His eyes flash open, groaning. You do it again and his fingers grab tight onto your bum.

“Ah, that's it,” he tips his chin, nodding, your hand stroking the base as you swallow him, sucking hungrily, “just like that, doll.”

You keep going, stroking and sucking him faster, your jaw beginning to hurt from the strain.

His hand returns to the back of your head, mirroring the bobbing of your throat, with his fingers back at your hole, lazily teasing it in circles. You whimper each time he pushes his fingertips inside, the soft vibration causing his hips to jerk up, stuffing himself deeper, which causes you to choke and gag, the harsh, slightly painful, sound like music to Charlie's ears.

When his fingers push deeper inside your walls, you force more of him into your throat, hollowing out your cheeks, sucking enthusiastically like it might earn you extra credit.

“That's it, doll, now you're getting into it.” He pats the back of your head. “Feels good, just giving into it, doesn't it?” You moan around him, and he just smiles. “Pretty soaked, down here,” he slips his fingers out, wiping your juices along your slit, coating your swollen clit as he strokes it in slow circles, “this perfect, pretty pussy.” He strikes it with another slap and you moan hard. “I fucking knew you liked it when I was spanking you earlier.” He does it again, the coil in your core twisting tighter as you beg him to do it again. “Dirty girl.”

“Please, Charlie,” you plead, stroking him faster, “please!”

His head tilts, eyebrows perked amusingly, watching you pant hard against his cock. “You want to come, sweetheart?”

You whimper out, “Yes.”

He frees his hand, and you whine softly as he slips his fingers away from your clit. He brings them up to his mouth, sucking each finger, deliberately keeping his eyes locked on yours. Your walls flutter as he draws out a moan, sucking each finger a second time to make sure he's cleaned your juices off.

“No.” He wraps his hand around his base and stuffs himself back into your mouth, silencing your protest. “I said I might make you come, not that I would,” he grumbles, pounding his hips up off the seat.

He comes hard. His jaw slacked, and his head tipped back to not show you his face, hiding the deep red blush that stains his cheeks every time he comes. His grip is relentless, holding you down, his release spilling against the back of your throat; the thick ropes take you by surprise and you gag and splutter on the first few spurts of his release. It spills down your chin, mixing with your spit.

“Christ-!” Charlie's panting as you pull away, using your fingers to wipe your chin, pushing his cum back into your mouth. “That's it, doll, you make sure you get all of it,” he grins, sick and twisted, “what do you say?”

You swallow, forcing down a moan. “Thank you?”

He nods. “Correct.”

He cleans himself as best as he can with napkins thrown carelessly into the glove box earlier that morning, almost sad to see the lip gloss stains go.

“Is that it?” You ask, your voice is barely above a whisper. You look nervously at Charlie, playing with your skirt, pulling it down, trying to hide your skin. “You won't tell my dad, right?” He stays quiet, the silence bringing back that uncomfortable twisting in your stomach. “Charlie?”

“No, I won't,” he answers, finally, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “but let this be a lesson, okay? My favours don't come for free, kid, you wanna be dumb and get yourself caught, remember this is gonna happen every time you call for my help.”

“Believe me, I won't be doing it again.” You scramble to get your heels and back from the back seat.

“I'll be seeing you this weekend, right?” He asks, watching you open the door, stopping you as you try to slip out. Your dad's birthday dinner. “What does he prefer? Bourbon or whiskey?” You glance back at him. How could he just act like what just happened hadn't happened? “I wouldn't want to get him the wrong present.”

“Bourbon,” you mumble, looking away, “he drinks bourbon. Can I go now?”

He flashes you a smile. “Of course, goodnight, kid.”

"That head of yours has gotten far too big for your shoulders to carry," you respond, dragging your nails down the back of his head, stopping at the nape of his neck, "I don't just fly out to another state just for some boy."

He scoffs at you for calling him a boy, mumbling into your neck about how he was a man.

Truth be told, you did have a job opportunity lined up in the city; you were doing a bridal shoot for the daughter of some big businessman. But that didn't mean you couldn't have just a smidgen of fun whilst you were here. And Clayton was just that. Your smidgen of fun.

“You're just the starter before the main course.”

He wraps his hand around your neck, tightening his grip just enough to make the corners of your lips curl upwards into a wicked grin. He takes a deep, staggered breath as he feels you pulsate around him, your pussy clenching him hard. "I'm the starter, the main course and the desert, baby," he grunts, snapping his hips into yours, feeling himself burying deeper into you, "there's no one more delectable than me.”

"Delectable?" You dig your nails into the back of his neck, your grin widening as you listen to the string of curses being spilt under his breath. "That's a big word for you," you tease, moaning as he silences you with a tighter grip.

"Speaking of delectable things," he mumbles, pulling out with a hushed grunt, releasing your neck.

His mouth moves lazily across your chest, leaving a line of his own saliva as he licks between the valley of your breasts. Your back lifting away from the sofa, Clayton pinching your nipple between his finger and thumb, rolling and twisting it until the pain feels pleasurable to you.

"I've missed having my head between these thighs," he nips his teeth at the inside of your thigh, the unshaven bit of scruff grazing and scratching you, "so gorgeous and so soft for me. And this pussy, too. So pretty and dripping wet for me.” He runs his knuckle down your slit, teasing you. “You're making a mess everywhere, baby, on my cock, on my sofa, all over the tops of your thighs.” He smirks. “Has it been that long since someone gave it to you as good as me?”

You don't answer, silenced and ridden of your ability to talk as he collides his tongue against your pussy, licking up and down between your swollen lips, swirling it around your clit, and tasting every bit of you as your wetness pools onto his tongue. His noises were obscene, animalistic even, groaning every time he slipped his tongue inside you while nipping, slurping, and eating every inch of you like he was eating his last meal.

"More," you bite your bottom lip and buck your hips into his mouth, whimpering as he pins your hips, pushing you harder into the sofa to stop you from moving.

"What is it, baby?" He asks, licking his lips as he pulls away. His mouth and chin were glistening under his living room lights, making you moan at the visible evidence of yourself on him. "Tell me what you need," he encourages, placing a soft kiss against your left hip and then the other, "I can't give you what you want, if you don't tell me. Use that pretty mouth.”

"Your fingers," you tell him, lifting his hand to your mouth, sucking his fingers until they are dripping in spit. His cock twitches as he watches your fingers repeatedly disappear into your mouth. "I need to feel them inside me.”

He brings his fingers down to touch your pussy, slowly rubbing them against your clit, chuckling as you squirm below him. "You want me to stuff you with my fingers, baby?" You nod your head with an eagerness he deemed as being far too adorable and a whole lot of desperation. "Fine, I'll give you my fingers if you promise to come in my mouth," he negotiates, teasing your entrance, "you can do that for me, can't you? Be a good girl and do as you're told?”

"Yes," you answer, sitting up on your elbows. He grins, letting you watch as his fingers disappear inside you. "Oh, god," you moan at the pleasure you were feeling as he fucked you slowly with two fingers.

"There's no god in this room, princess, just me," he replies, burying his mouth into your cunt, wrapping his lips around and sucking on your clit. His name comes out like a prayer, burying his fingers deeper inside, curling them to reach the spot he knew would leave you gasping and grasping at the edge of the sofa. "That's it, baby," he encourages, groaning as your taste floods his mouth, "just fucking come on my mouth. Come on, now, be a good girl and do as I fucking tell you to!"

"Fuck, Clay, don't stop!" You cry, fisting one hand into his hair, the other grasping at the cushion underneath your hips. With your thighs trembling and your stomach clenching, you throw your head back, crying out his name again and again. "Shit, I'm gonna come," you warn, squirming your hip, trying to buck them up into his mouth, "shit, shit, sh…”

"That's it! That's my good fucking girl!" He praises, watching as your body trembles, grunting and groaning as he feels you pulsate and tighten around his fingers. "Just a good fucking slut, aren't you?" He places soft kisses against your hips, lazily trailing them up your body as he moves in search of your lips. "Taking my fingers, swallowing them up inside your cunt, and squeezing them like a whore."

You whimper, feeling the emptiness as he removes his fingers and dances them across your bottom lip.

“You know the rules," he whispers, watching you intently and pushing his fingers past your lips, "you make a mess, you clean it up."

Wrapping your hand around his thick wrist, you push his fingers deep into the back of your throat, gagging and spluttering around them, your eyes never leaving his. He groans, biting his bottom lip and pushes them deeper until he starts to feel resistance.

Without warning, he rips his fingers back, a trail of spit still connecting you both together. "My turn," he stands to his feet, running his dry hand through his own hair, fixing the mess you had caused, "get on your knees, baby, I want to see if that throat still feels the same as I remember.”

He's already groaning as you wrap your hand around the base of his shaft, watching you with lust drunk eyes as you just take the tip into your mouth.

"Come on, no teasing," he orders, resting his hand on the back of your head, "let me see you take it all."

Gazing up at him, you give in to him, breathing through your nose and relaxing your jaw as you take as much as you can into your mouth. He grunts, feeling himself already hitting the back of your throat.

"What's the matter, princess?" He chuckles, pushing down onto your head. "Is it too big for my good girl to handle?”

You pull off, shaking your head and pumping him in your hand. "Big?" You goad, swirling your tongue around his tip, running it along the slit, feeling him shiver in your grasp. "Is that what they tell you? That it's the biggest cock they've ever taken?”

"I know it's the biggest cock you've ever taken," he fires back, suppressing a moan as you use your free hand to massage his balls the way you know he likes, "you wouldn't keep coming back to me, if it wasn't.”

"I come back to you?" You laugh, speeding up the way you twisted and jerked your hand over his shaft. He grunts, bucking his hips as you squeeze your hand around his tip. "That's funny, because weren't you the one who came to me last time? And the time before that?" He rolls his eyes, trying not to break his demeanour. "It sounds like you're the one who comes back to me.”

"Well, no one will suck my cock the way you do," he replies, digging his fingers harder into the back of your head, and groaning as you lick your tongue along the underside of his shaft. His head rolls back at the feeling of you taking him back into his mouth, grunting as you start to bob your head at constant, steady pace. "Only sluts suck cock the way you do," he pushes you down, feeling his cock twitching in your mouth every time you gagged around him, "god, baby, keep doing that!”

You catch your breath, feeling him twitching in the palm of your hand. "Gonna paint my throat white, baby?"

"And leave those perfect tits untouched?" He shakes his head, his chest heaving as he swallows a deep breath. His stomach clenches, grunting as his hips snapped forwards to meet each of your strokes. "Keep stroking me like that," he encourages through partial groans and a whole lot of grunts, "that's a good girl! That's a good fucking slut! My good fucking slut!"

Ropes of cum cover your chest and your hand as he finds himself coming for you, moaning your name out between broken grunts. You giggle at the grin he gives you, his cheeks darkening as a partial flicker of softness flashes in his eyes.

Your naked, clammy bodies collapse back onto the sofa, the two of you only laughing as you catch a glimpse of each other out of the corner of your eyes.

"Give me a second and I'll grab you a towel," Clayton tells you, reaching to grab his boxes dangling off the arm. He moves towards you, your thong hanging from his finger, moving them out of your reach as you try to grab them. "Though you do look very pretty painted in my cum," he catches your lips with his own, putting your panties in your hands when he pulls away.

"What time is it?" You ask, looking around his living room for your phone.

"Why?" He replies, kissing along your shoulder, groaning as you move out from underneath him.

"Because I have a check in to make.”

He sits back, lifting his hips as he pulls his boxes on. "I don't know why you just don't stay in my spare room," he throws out, finding your phone hidden under his shirt, "or even my own bed.”

"That's exactly why I don't stay here," you take your phone from him, smiling when you see you still had some time left before you were needed at your hotel.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he chuckles, adding a comment about going to fetch you that warm cloth he had promised, "but we both know you'd like a personal, on the house, stay at Hotel Keller.”

"Unfortunately, I only stay in five star rated hotels," you call after him, giggling like an idiot, "and I've heard Hotel Keller is only rated three. Something about poor service."

He emerges quickly from his kitchen, the warm cloth in his hand. His touch is gentle as he wipes the cloth over your skin, obeying his own rule and cleaning up the mess he had created. "That was definitely not three-star rated sex," he adds to the joke, holding your hip with his free hand. "You get perfect service every single time.”

Following his command, you stare back at yourself in the mirror, a breathy moan spilling from your lips at the sight of you both. He had you sitting on the end of your bed, your jeans and panties removed, discarded in a heap on the floor. You were positioned between his own legs, two strong thighs enduring a small amount of pain as you dug your nails into them. With your legs forced apart, he pumped two fingers in and out of you, spreading your wetness over your pussy each time he pulled them out to tease your clit.

His thumb strokes over your pulse point, feeling its erratic pace, and sniggers in your ear. "You thought you were being smart wearing his, didn't you?" His grip tightens as you look away from the mirror. "Don't look at me! Don't you fucking look at me! Look at the fucking mirror and watch yourself come all over these fingers!”

"Clay-”

"Shut up." He dismisses your protest, groaning in your ear as the squelching of his fingers moving in and out of you fills the silence. His thumb presses harshly onto your clit, stroking it in a way that has you struggling to keep focused on your reflection.

"You better fucking come for me, princess," he says, now watching your reflection, studying the expressions that were twisting and appearing on your face, "you're taking these fingers far too well to come this far and not come all over them.”

His long, thick fingers intensify the throbbing you feel building up in your core and have your hips bucking wildly against his hand. Incoherent moans and phrases of praise slip from your lips.

"That's it," his voice rasps in your ear, "come all over my fingers. Show me what it'll feel like when I've you face down on this bed and my cock buried inside you.”

Every part of your body is physically shaking as your orgasm rips through you. You cry out his name, feeling your pleasure spreading through your body, the sensation showing no signs of stopping as Clayton keeps pumping his fingers. "Clay-" You stutter and splutter his name. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your back arches away from his chest.

"That feels so good, doesn't it?”

You nod your head, feeling like a mess as you slump into him. "Too good," you mumble, a moan tripping off your lips when pulls his fingers out.

He taps his fingers to your chin, mumbling, "open up," as he presses his lips against your temple. Humming, you oblige his request and wait with your mouth wide open to him. "Suck," he tells you, pressing his two wet fingers against your tongue, "clean your mess up." A groan sounds in your ear as you do as you are told, smirking when you feel his head hide in your neck. "I should've fucked that pretty little mouth instead.”

"You still could."

You take his fingers out of your mouth, dragging your tongue on the underside of them, making him groan again as he thinks about your tongue running along his shaft.

Dropping his hand, you sink onto the floor and turn yourself around to face him, resting your bum on your ankles as you tuck your feet underneath. Feeling his hard cock pressing into you was one thing, but now that you were knelt in front of him, you could see just how much he was straining against the confinement of his grey boxers.

You run your hands over his bare thighs, trying not to smile at the indents your nails had left behind. "Can I?" You ask, batting your eyelashes.

"I don't know," he answers, taking himself out. He tightens his fist around the base and pumps it a few times. "Do you deserve it?" You nod your head with enthusiasm. He cocks his eyebrow. "Do you? Have you been good enough to deserve it?”

"Yes.”

He bends down and kisses your forehead, a fleeting moment of softness amongst the rough handling you had experienced since he had shown up at your door. "You're such a fucking liar," he whispers against you, snickering at the gasp that escapes. And just like that, all the softness was gone.

"Put your hands behind your back," he orders, shifting to sit on the very end of the bed. You obliged, bending your arms behind you and locking your fingers together. With one hand, he holds the back of your neck, whilst the other guides his hard cock toward you. "Come on, open up," he instructs, keeping hold of your gaze as you stare up at him, "stick your tongue out for me, baby." You do as you are told, swirling your tongue around the tip, tasting the pre cum that seeped from the head. "That's a good girl," he groans, placing some tension on the back of your neck.

You wrap your lips around him, gently sucking on his head, before taking as much of him as you possibly could into your mouth. But it isn't enough for him. "You can take more than that. I know you can take more than that," he grunts, taking his hand off your neck and burying it into your hair. He drives his hips forward, the tip nudging the back of your throat, making you gag and splutter around him. "Breathe through your nose," he releases his hand from the base of his shaft, bringing it over to join his other in your hair, "that's it. Just like that! Fuck, y/n."

Through watery eyes, you watch his head fall back, deep, satisfied grunts and groans coming from his mouth as it hangs open. "Fuck," he curses, driving himself deeper and nearly coming there and then as he feels you hollowing your cheeks, "shitting fuck, baby girl.”

You moan around him, the vibration running through his hardened length, leaving him choking on an intake of air. "Do that again," he orders, pulling on your hair and then pushing your head down as he flexes his hips. His hand tightens and his body spasms as you moan around him again.

"You're such a fucking slut," he grunts, clearing his throat. His thrusts become hard and sloppy. "Should've done this the second I saw Johnny's name on your back," he says, staring down into your eyes, "should've done it in front of him-" He quickly shakes his head no. "-should've done it front of all the boys, let them know just who this whore belongs to.”

His body spasms, his thighs and the muscles in his stomach tensing as his hips come to an abrupt stop. "Oh, Je-" His words get trapped in the back of his throat, grunting and spilling himself into your mouth. You swallow every bit of him that he has to give you, using your thumb to clean up any spillage, a sight that has him groaning out loud as you suck your thumb clean.

"Did you swallow it all?”

Nodding your head, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out for him to see. "Ever last bit," you reply, grinning up at him.

His fingers hook under your chin, using the leverage to pull you up to your feet. "Good girl," he hums, taking his free hand and guiding your body to stand between his legs, "see, I don't know why you have to act like such a brat when clearly you can be a good girl for me.”

"It's all your fault," you whimper as he sits you down on his thigh.

He tilts his head to the side. "My fault?" You nod your head, rolling your lip between your teeth as you bite down on your bottom lip. Pinning you against his thigh, you give into him and let him grind you against his thigh. "How is this any of my fault?" He questions you, spreading your wetness over his thigh as he drags your hips back and forth over him. "I wasn't the one who started this, remember?" He releases one of your hips, guiding his hand to wrap around your neck, grabbing at it with a tight grip. You gasp as he pulls you towards him, his eyes staring into yours as he whispers, "you did.”

Crashing your lips against his, you bury your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails against his scalp. He hisses and tightens his grip, but you don't release the tension. You pull harder on his hair, only to whimper when he bites at your bottom lip, dragging it with him as he pulls away.

"Answer my question." He flexes his thigh and your body jolts at the added pressure against your clit. "Tell me why this is my fault.”

"Because you never pay me any attention," you stutter, meeting resistance as you try to grind your hips at a speed that doesn't antagonise you.

"I don't pay attention to you?" He snickers, or rather snorts. "If I don't pay attention to you then what is it that I'm doing right now? Huh?" He moves his hand to grip your jaw, pinching it between his fingers. He kisses the base of your neck, pushing your head back to allow him more access to you. "Am I not paying you attention right now? Am I not letting you get off on my thigh? Did I not just let you suck my cock?" You whimper and whine, the sound cut off as he pushes his thumb into your mouth and pulls your head back down to look at him. "Is that not enough for you?”

"No," you answer, mumbling around his thumb that was gagging you.

"No?”

You take his thumb out of your mouth, wiping the bit of spit that lingered away on the back of your hand. "You only pay attention to me when it matters to you," you find the courage to tell him, the recent developments in your arrangement not to your liking at all. It was why you had chosen to wear John's jersey over his own, like you sometimes would. You wanted to show him that you weren't a form of property.

That you weren't his property to use when he felt like it.

Your arrangement had become one-sided. You were the one who was expected to drop everything when he called. You were the one who was expected to go over to his place in the middle of the night because he was rock hard and his hand and five minutes of porn couldn't do the trick. He'd never do the same for you.

He used to.

But not anymore.

"You use me like I'm your personal fucking sex toy," you bite, trying to still your hips. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of coming on his thigh. "I'm not your personal fucking sex toy!”

"But that's what you are, princess," he replies with a coldness that strikes you as being odd to you like he was trying to mask something. His thumb pushes into your cheek, prodding and poking at it. "You're my personal sex toy, my property to use whenever I want," he amuses, smirking to himself, "and you're no better than a common whore for answering every time that I call. I bet you are already dripping when you see that it's me calling you late at night. Thinking about all the things I'm gonna do to you when you get to mine. You love it.”

"Don't call me that!”

"What? A whore?" He rolls his eyes. "Funny. You were begging me to call you one the other night." He gives your ass a harsh squeeze, the tips of his fingers bruising the skin, and drags your hips further up his thigh. "Don't act like you don't like it when I call you a whore," you whimper as he tightens his grip, "don't act like you don't like it when I say that this pussy, or this ass, or these tits are mine, because they are mine and you like it. Say it. Say that you like it when I say all of these things.”

"I don't.”

It was a lie.

"Yes, you do.”

He sighs and pushes you to stand up. "I'm tired of looking at your face," he waves his hand towards the bed, "go on. Hands and knees."

And despite everything that had just been said between the two of you, you do as you're told.

He tugs on your hips until your ass is resting in the air. It's a view that has him licking his lips. "Hold onto the bed," he mumbles, not waiting for you to reach for the bars of your bed frame before he is lining his cock up. Your pillow absorbs the satisfied cry when he slides into you, stretching you slowly. "I'm going to fuck this pussy like it's mine," he grunts, forgetting to wait for your body to adjust, "because, princess, this is my pussy. And you're going to take it like a good girl, aren't you?”

You're stunned to silence, too much pleasure and overstimulation leaving you without the ability to talk back. Pushing your hips back to meet each of his thrusts, your ass bounces off him and lets him go even harder, filling the room with the echo of skin slapping against each other. "Clayton," you finally find your voice again, squeezing the bars until your knuckles were straining against your skin, "gonna-”

"No, you're not!" He cuts you off, grunting as he abruptly pulls out of you. You whine, backing your hips up in seek of a release, but he grips them and pushes them into the mattress. "Take it off!" He's pulling at the jersey and you were surprised that he hadn't just tried to rip it off your body. "You're not coming with his fucking name on your back," jealously rolls so easily off his tongue, "not again.”

Helping him to remove the jersey, you whimper as he tugs it harshly over your head.

"It's a little late to reach for a condom, isn't it?" You ask, turning to watch him reaching for the bedside table. Pulling it open, you feel his cock pressing into your ass as he leans forward, teasing that dull emptiness you were feeling again. "Not to mention, I keep them in the other one. Pretty sure you should know that by now.”

"I'm not reaching for that," Clayton replies, whatever he had taken out was concealed in the palm of his hand. His lips graze against your bare shoulder, biting down against the base of your neck and leaving a fresh hickey as he pulls away. "You've had his name on your back for far too long today," turning your head you see him holding a marker pen in his right hand, "I think it's time to put my name where it's rightfully meant to be.”

"Rightfully?" You raise your eyebrows. "I'm not yours," you goad him, sucking in a sharp breath as he uses his free hand to push the head of his cock against your entrance, "I can wear whatever name I want on my back; maybe I'll ask Logan for his next-”

"Cools has a girlfriend-”

"And so does John," you talk over him, "but he didn't seem to mind giving me his.”

He gasps and groans, relishing in the moment as slips himself back inside, feeling your walls tighten and pulsate around him. "Yes, he does," he remembers his original train of thought, releasing his hand from the base of his shaft and taking hold of your hip. His tight grip prevents you from moving your hips, much to your own displeasure. "And that girlfriend isn't you.”

He bites off the pen's lid, spitting it away from both of you, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. The tip of the marker is cold against your warm, sweat-glistened skin, and it doesn't take long to figure out he was writing KELLER in the space between your shoulders. Your head snaps back to look at him, ignoring the ache between your legs as he stares back at you with dark, lusty eyes and a grin that could rival the Cheshire Cat.

"Watch how you look at me, princess," he warns, twirling the pen around his finger like he was gloating or something, "I might just end up writing my name on other parts of your body. Parts of your body that belong to me.”

"They're not yours," you bite back. He tosses the pen carelessly over his shoulder, not caring where it landed, or if the ink would run into your bedroom carpet. "None of my body parts are yours," you still bite back, despite the whimper that slips off your lips when he grabs your bum fully in both hands, "I don't belong to you.”

He's still grinning and starts to thrust into you in a slow manner that drives you crazy. "She says, despite it being my cum she just swallowed.”

"Was that supposed to be funny?”

"Wasn't a joke, baby girl. Only the truth.”

Your head hangs into your chest, your eyes rolling when you hear his cocky snigger. "I hate you," you mutter under your breath.

He stops thrusting his hips, the tip only nestled inside, teasing a whimper and whine of protest to spill from your lips. "What was that?" He tuts when you don't answer him. "Oi," he gives your bum a pinch. Your head snaps back at the fleeting moment of pain, meeting that cocky grin all over again. "What did you say?”

"Nothing," you lie, wiggling your hips to try and ease the ache. He shakes his head, "no," pulling completely out of you. "Clayton,” you whine, deflating into the mattress.

He wraps his hand around the base of his cock, guiding the tip between your folds, teasing you as it trails from your clit to your hole. The light touch has you squirming, whimpering, and clenching around nothing, and Clayton was loving every second of it.

"Tell me what you said and I'll put my cock back in." He leans forward, kissing along the back of your shoulder and up your neck. "And that's what you really want, huh? You want this fat cock back inside of you, don't you?" He spoke directly into your ear, his lips pressed up against the shell. "Now stop being a dirty fucking brat," he rasps, making you gasp out loud, "and tell me what you said!”

Pushing up onto your elbows, you work with the minimal space available to you and turn over onto your back. You collapse back onto the mattress, your head sinking into the pillow, and look up at Clayton, who props himself up on his biceps, caging you underneath him.

"Well?" He waits for you to speak, raising his eyebrows, which had a small amount of sweat to them, as he keeps hold of your gaze.

"I said, "oh, daddy, that feels so good,"" you decide to lie, internally cringing at calling him daddy. 'Daddy' was one of the few terms that were quickly made off limits during sex. Neither of you felt right about it. "So big and so good," you coo, running your hands down his toned chest. He chokes on the air as you wrap your hand around his shaft, pumping it up and down at a slow pace. "It's just perfect to fill this dirty, needy, fucking whore up." A sharp gasp follows as you slip his cock back inside.

His eyes fall shut and his jaw tenses. "Stop prattling about and tell me what you said," he says, lifting one arm off the bed. Reaching for your wrist, he pins your arm above your head. He grunts as his hips stop moving, the full length of his cock pushed deep inside of you. "Say it," he whispers, his breath touching your lips as his mouth hovers above yours.

You chase his lips, meeting the corner of his mouth as he turns his head away from you. "Fine," you sigh, wriggling your wrist to feel more comfortable, "I said I hate you.”

"No, you don't.”

You nod your head, biting your bottom lip to stop the moan from creeping up your throat as he rolls his hips into you. "I do," you stutter, a whimper now falling from your lips as he pulls back, thrusting his hips forwards as far as he could until he met resistance.

"You don't," he says so confidently, "I know you don't.”

"I do.”

"Well, that's a shame," he drawled, the corners of his lips tugging into a lazy smile. He dips to kiss your neck, humming contently when your head instinctively rolls back to give him extra room to reach. He releases your wrist, bringing his hand down in search of your leg. "Because I like you," he whispers into your skin, grabbing you by the knee and lifting your leg higher around his waist. Your other leg follows it, your ankles locking together and caging him in. His hands cradle your face, lips brushing against your hairline as he whispers, "I like you so fucking much, baby girl.”

It was a lie, you told yourself, just something to feed your delusions and to get you to come for him. But it worked.

It always worked.

He holds his face close to yours, his lips absorbing every little sound you made as your hips moved together with his. Your skin, clammy with sweat, burned with fire, and tingled with pleasure. You cry out his name, throwing your head back into the pillow, when he brings his hand down between you both, touching your clit in a controlled and deliberate manner.

"That's it," he encourages, "give it to me." His head dips into the crook of your neck, kissing and tasting the sweat on your skin. "Give it to me, baby," you arch your body into him, feeling his chest vibrate against yours as he spoke, "fucking give it to me."

Not too long after, with the encouragement of feeling you tightening and pulsating around him, he finishes inside you with a loud groan and his fingers bruising your skin as he grips your body tightly.

Convincing himself to finally pull out, you were glad to see him sitting on the edge of your bed, pulling his boxers back on as he stands. It meant that he would be leaving soon; leaving you to wallow in your regret, only for you to do it all over again the next time he calls.

His head turns back, looking over his shoulder, and watches you climb off the bed. He should've stopped you, told you to stay where you were and that he would get you a warm cloth to clean yourself with, but you were already walking out of the door before he could think of the right words to say.

He finds you in the bathroom, looking at your back in the mirror, trying to clean off his name. "Let me-”

"No," you sigh, failing to reach your back, "I've got it."

He ignores you and you don't protest as he takes the warm cloth from your hand. He takes care not to be too rough as he drags the cloth across your skin, wiping away his own handwriting. He should've realised it sooner, but out of the moment, he now realised how immature and possessive he had been writing his own surname on your back. "I'm sorry," he apologises, bending down to kiss your shoulder.

You shift uncomfortably on the spot. "Don't do that," you mumble, tightening your grip on the bathroom counter. A knot has formed in the back of your throat and you believed if you were to look at him, even for a second, you would burst into tears. Grabbing the old t-shirt you had taken into the bathroom, you pulled it over your head, ignoring Clayton when he told you he hadn't finished. "It'll come off in the shower," you mumble, trying to squeeze past him.

"Please," he reaches out to you, touching at your sides as he runs his hands up and down, "I'm sorry.”

"Whatever," you mutter, looking down at your feet.

He hooks his fingers under your chin, tilting your head back to look at him. His face sinks when he sees the tears brimming in your eyes. "Fuck," he mumbles, this isn't how he wanted any of this to go down. His hand cradles your face and it takes every bit of your strength not to lean into his touch. "Oh, god," he stumbles over his words, trying to apologise to you, "I didn't mean to upset you when I wrote on your back. It was immature, I know that - fuck -"

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you shove his hand away. Tears roll slowly down your cheeks, fresh tears falling from your eyes every time you blinked. "You could've written on my pussy, for all I care," you cut him off, feeling the bathroom counter press into your back as you step away from him, "I don't care about that.”

The crack in your voice makes him want to touch you, wipe away your tears, and hold you, but he doesn't move. It's the harshness in your tone that makes him stay stuck in the same spot.

"I knew this would've never worked," you dismiss yourself, a quiet sob leaving your lips as you wipe away your tears, "we actually thought you might finally crack if you saw me in someone else's jersey. How stupid I was for believing that you might have actually liked me more than just enough to have sex with me." Sniffling, you glance up at him. "But I guess I was wrong.”

He frowns. "You think I only like you enough to just have sex with you?”

"Clearly," you murmur, chewing down on the pad of your thumb.

"That's not tr-”

"Don't tell me it's not the truth, when I know it is the truth, Clay! I meant it when I said you only pay me attention when it matters to you!" His expression hadn't changed and he was still frowning. "What happened? When did your needs become greater than mine? You make up excuses not to see me, but then expect me to drop everything when you call, which I do, every single damn time, and I hate myself for it. I hate you for it! And I know I should tell you it's over, that I can't see you anymore, because every time I let you in, I break a piece of my heart hoping that maybe, just maybe, you'll drop the roughness and tell me you love me like I love you!”

You clamp your hand over your mouth, the last part slipping out without a second thought.

"I-I-I-" You're like a broken record, repeating the same thing over and over again. Never had you said those words before. Ever. They were meant to be said when you were happy, not with a face dampened with tears and pain so heavy in your chest.

"You love me?" He asks, the colour draining from his face.

You take a deep breath, attempting to calm your hammering heart. "I don't know.”

"It's a yes or no answer, Y/N." You let him take a step towards you and you let his hand sit on the back of your neck. His thumb stroking the hairs at the nape and his eyes holding your gaze as you finally look up at him again. "I'll ask you again: do you love me?”

"No.”

"Don't lie to me.”

"Why shouldn't I lie to you?" You ask, tears rolling down your cheeks. The pain in your chest intensifies as you look him in his eyes. Like his smile, they were burned into your mind and they were the things you saw every time you closed your eyes. "If I say yes, you're only going to break my heart. You're always breaking my heart, this time shouldn't be any different.”

He shakes his head. "I never want to break your heart, Y/N.”

"Then let me go.”

"But I can't do that either," he replies, bringing his thumb around to caress your cheek, wiping away your tears, "I don't want to let you go.”

You pull away from him, pushing his hand away. "So I must have my heart broken just so you have someone who you can fuck?" It's not what he meant but you didn't know that. The tears dry up as you scoff at him. "How very mature and toxic of you."

"No-" He sighs, trying to reach for your hand but you pull it away. The rejection stings in his chest and hurts like a punch to a gut. "Listen to me," his hands cradle your face and even as you try to fight him off, “I don't know if I am capable of giving you everything that you want.”

“I'm not asking you to give me the moon,” you sniffle, eyes darting between his face and the floor.

“That's the thing, I would do everything in my power to give you the moon, and that scares me.”

“So tell me that,” you finally touch him, fingers curling against his bare chest, “don't push me away.”

He drops his head, resting his forehead against yours. “I don't know how to do this. Sex is easy. Relationships are complicated and confusing, and they get messy too quickly.”

You reach up for his face, cupping his chin. “I don't think they were ever meant to be simple.” You show him a weak smile. “If they were, relationship counsellors and divorce lawyers would be out of a job, and the world might just be a little happier.”

His lips twitch subtly. “And even after everything, even after tonight, you still want this? You still want me?”

“Call me crazy, but yes.”

His hands creep down to your waist, holding you tightly. “How do we do this?”

“Maybe just start by not introducing me as your friend,” you suggest, your chest feeling lighter as chuckles, like it's the most obvious first step he should've thought of, “but I don't think anyone ever believed we were ever just friends.”