Fae

"We've got a residential fire at 720 River Row," Brett heard the speakers cry out overhead just as he walked onto the open floor of his station. 

Instantly, his body tensed. Residential fires had the potential to spread and grow beyond measure, especially in the middle of dry season. One wrong spark, and half of California would light up brighter than a Christmas tree. 

"Let's get it moving!" he barked, already stepping to his open locker to shuck on the heavy standard fire suspenders and jacket with Ct. Brett Richards patched to the front flap. His helmet went on next, and his hair flattened beneath as he strapped it in place. 

The familiar wail of a fire truck overwhelmed his senses, and he wondered how he hadn't gone deaf yet. Twenty years on the service without significant hearing loss must have been a new record. He was closer to losing the ability to hear due to older age than continually getting his eardrums blasted on a daily basis. 

With a grunt, he pulled himself up into the passenger seat, and his body lurched when the truck screeched out of the station, wheels finding grip and purchase of the concrete road. 

"Show station 42 on route. What's the status?" he spoke into the radio. 

"Caller said the oven caught on fire. She had an extinguisher on hand, but with dry season, it needs to be overlooked." 

"Understood." He set the radio back into the holder and groaned. "It's just some oven fire." 

The driver chuckled. "Probably some old lady that fell asleep baking a casserole or something." 

Brett gave him a quick smirk. "Yeah . . . probably." 

However, when the truck pulled onto the small residential street with cars littering both sides, he couldn't help but note that the house where the fire had been wasn't the usual old-lady type, normally covered in overgrown grass and a scary amount of lawn ornaments. 

Brett fucking hated the gnomes. 

Instead, this house had a more modern look to it with a beautiful forest green front door paired with a porch goose dressed up with a yellow rain jacket. He snorted; rain wasn't coming anytime in the near future, that's for sure. 

With a grunt, he heaved himself out of the truck, knees slightly tingling from the height. The sidewalk was also well kept, he noted. No cracks in the foundation, no weeds. Whoever lived here was obviously well able to keep up with lawn maintenance. 

To his right, a low whistle sounded clearly through the bright day. "I take back the old lady comment, cause hot damn." 

Brett side-eyed him before looking at the police officer talking to the homeowner, and then, his driver's comment made sense because there you were. 

Beautiful is what hit his mind first and followed by young. Too young for him. 

Even from far away, Brett couldn't see a wrinkle in sight. His hazel eyes took you in. Your hair gleamed and perfectly framed your worry-pinched face. You were wearing an oversized, flour-dusted shirt and basketball shorts that hung past your knees. As you stood there in the middle of your walkway, you shifted back and forth, feet probably burning on the hot concrete, and Brett felt the urge to go over there and pick you right up. 

Instead, he continued walking until he stopped a few feet away, and your eyes widened when they caught on him, and your stomach somersaulted down to your toes. 

There he was: the hot firefighter you saw with bulging biceps as he cleaned equipment just in the entrance of his station as you walked by with bags of ingredients since the store was close enough to where you lived. 

You hadn't been able to get him out of your mind and especially your dreams that had you waking with a warm sweat and tingling thighs that led to a hand dipped between them. You tried not to stare and keep your eyes on the police officer while he finished writing down your statement, but every fiber of your being wanted to turn its attention to the silver fox. 

The officer gave you a nod before turning away with a small greeting to the firefighter. Now, it was just him and a few more men from his crew. 

He smiled at you and stuck out his hand. "Heard you had a fire here?" 

"Yeah," you responded, trying not to come off as desperate as you savored the way you hand fit snuggly into his. "Set the oven a little too high and a little too long." 

"Guessing whatever you were making got caught in the . . . cross fire?" 

"My poor brownies were the only casualty," you joked back, insides beaming when he barked out a small laugh. 

Brett conjoined his hands at his front. "Well, seeing as there's no active fire, I just need to take a walk through for protocol during dry season and make sure everything's in order." 

"Perfect," you said before taking small steps in the direction of your house. "Follow me?" 

He nodded in response, and his thick heavy boots clomped the whole way up your small steps. 

"Cute goose," he muttered. "Though, I think he looks a little hot in that jacket." 

The corner of your mouth twitched. "I have a different outfit for him during the summer, but I've been too busy baking." Your wrist twisted to get the front door open. "His name's Richard, but I call him a little dick because after I bought him and put the sand in, he tipped over right on my foot." 

"Oh?" Brett said as he stepped through the threshold and into your house. "What a coincidence that I share a name with your . . . uh . . . dick goose." He tapped a finger against his name patch. "Though my first name fortunately happens to be Brett." 

Your eyes gleamed. "Glad to finally put a name to a handsome face." 

Oh, you were flirting Brett caught on, and deep inside his chest, his heart fluttered a bit. 

He did his best to not look around your house, but his hazel eyes almost felt drawn to all the little bits and pieces of your evident life within the walls. Although a little hazy from the fire, he could feel that this house was home. 

"You have a beautiful house," he mentioned while you walked him deeper towards the kitchen. "Matches the gorgeous owner." 

You didn't turn around, not wanting to show how red your cheeks had gotten. "Thank you," you finally managed to squeak out just as your kitchen came into view. 

Brett stepped around you and tsked as the sight. The extinguisher foam covered your countertops and oven, and he knew that'd be a bitch to clean. He bent at the waist and looked inside at the racks, eyes scanning for anything resembling a left-over ember. 

"Mind if I take a look at your smoke detectors? You'll have to replace them because of the smoke." 

You twirled a piece of hair around your finger. "I was meaning to replace them before this . . ." 

Above his head, you had at least three detectors that he counted on his way in, and when he looked up with a craned neck, his eyes narrowed. 

"You know these have been expired for a year, right?" His low, disappointed tone sent a shiver up your spine. 

You sighed loudly. "Guess I haven't had time for those either. I don't think I even own a ladder anymore after my ex took his." 

Brett tried not to focus on the burning feeling of jealousy that simmered. "Did they even go off when the fire caught?" 

"No. I smelled the smoke from my bedroom. Normally, I bake low and slow, but I needed to get these brownies over to the bake sale asap, so I tried a higher degree but forgot that the time should have decreased to," you rambled from the top of your head even if the bake sale was completely fictional, and you'd been baking brownies since you could walk. 

But a girl had to do what a girl had to do to get the sexy firefighter to her house. Screw your social anxiety, but setting brownies on fire seemed easier than going up to him and asking him out. And the best part? It all worked according to plan. 

Brett crossed his arms when he finally looked back at you. "These need to be replaced as soon as possible." 

"Got it," you said, nodding along. "I'll pick up a ladder and new detectors next time I'm in town." 

"And make sure that your oven is at the right temperature and the timer is set accordingly. I think your bake sale would prefer your safety over you being tardy." 

"Yes, sir. I'll make sure to keep an eye on the oven." 

Brett tried not to show how much the sir sent blood from his head and down lower. 

"Good." He bit back the want to place girl at the end. "Pretty girls like you don't need to go up in a house full of flames when it can be avoided." 

He liked the way you tore your eyes away from his and the flush that rushed into your cheeks. Your chest expanded fully in a deep breath, and Brett swore you weren't wearing a bra. He needed to get out and fast before he popped a boner in his pants like a teenager. 

"Guess that's everything then," he sighed. 

You wanted to pout, wanted to ask him to stay longer, but after seeing the sweat pooling down his cheeks, you knew he probably wanted to leave and get out of his jacket. You silently cursed yourself for not turning the air down any cooler or not even having something for him and his guys to drink. 

You cleared your throat. "Thank you for making sure that everything's fine. I can sleep well knowing Dick and I are safe." 

Brett tipped his head. "That's what we're here for." 

The two of you made your way back to the front, and you stopped at the door. "Um, Mr. Richards—" 

"Please, call me Brett, sweetheart." 

"Brett," you echoed, and Brett never wanted anyone else to say his name but you. "Are people allowed to bring food by the station if possible?" 

"Yeah," he said, running a hand along his stubbled jaw. "Lots of people do it. I know the guys really appreciate it when someone does." 

"Okay." Thoughts about bringing him something to eat made you go a bit fuzzy, but a few rapid blinks kept you straight. "Stay safe and cool out there." 

"Will do. And don't forget those detectors," he warned playfully, "or Dick might become barbecue." He stepped out onto the porch and then down the step just as the door clicked shut behind him. 

Brett sighed loudly into the air as he rejoined his group. “Let’s load up and get back to the station.” He pulled back up into the passenger seat and slumped in his chair. “So much for the old lady. “

What he didn’t know is you did the same to your front door, back pressed against the wood as you formulated what to make to take to the station once you got your kitchen cleaned up. Desperate, you looked through the fridge and pantry, and somehow, you noticed you still had the right amount of everything for brownies. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The tin filled with fresh brownies warmed your palms while you carried it in the direction of the firestation. Beneath your sternum, your heart clenched and fluttered wildly like a swarm of butterflies had gotten stuck on the way down to your stomach. In just a few more steps, you’d get to see Brett again. It had only been a few days since your planned oven fire, and you guessed it’d be appropriate to wait until you showed up unannounced, but you couldn’t wait any longer. 

Your ears perked at the sound of boisterous laughter the closer you got. 

Not knowing which way was the entrance, you slowed your steps until you got to the large opening of the station. Inside, you caught two guys standing in a not-quite-there half circle with their backs toward you. Thankfully, your steps didn’t echo in your approach, and you got to take a deep breath to calm your nerves before speaking. 

“Excuse me?” you asked, and tempted like a sirens song, they whirled around with surprised expressions. 

The one in the middle with Donovan plastered to his shirt spoke first. “How can we help you?” 

You slightly raised the tin. “I don’t know if any of you remembered, but my oven caught on fire a few days ago, and I wanted to bring a small thank you gift for responding so quickly.” 

Their eyes widened, and the one with Crawford on his shirt smiled widely. “You were the one with the duck on your porch.”

You went to correct him, but a new voice beat you to it. 

“Goose, Crawford. That thing didn’t even look like a duck,” Brett answered for you. 

Crawford rolled his eyes. “It’s a bird with a beak, Chief. Goose, duck, they’re all the same.” 

Brett raised his eyebrows in a greeting to you. “How can we help you, sweetheart?” 

If the two firefighters looked toward their chief with weird, confused faces, you didn’t notice, too busy locking your eyes with hazel ones that you wanted to drown in. 

“I brought brownies.” You tilted the tin for him to look through the clear, plastic covering. “As a thank you for making sure my house wouldn’t burn down.” You thrust them out for him to take. 

His lips twitched and spread into a smile that made his crows’ feet appear around his eyes. “We will definitely enjoy these.” He took them from your hand, and you tried not to gasp softly when his fingers brushed yours. 

You thought he’d ask you to leave, but Brett Richards was full of surprises. He handed the tin over to Donovan before saying anything else. 

“Why don’t you two take these into the breakroom? I have a few follow up questions to ask . . .” He trailed off, suddenly realizing he didn’t even know your name. 

However, you happily provided it for him, and somehow he smiled even wider. He jerked his head in the direction over his shoulder. 

“You got a second for me?” he asked, and you nodded faster than you should have. “My office is just this way.” 

You kept still when his hand planted in the small of your back to push you along with his long strides you almost failed to keep up with until he stopped right at the door.

“It’s not as pretty as your house,” he warned. 

“I bet it’s not too bad,” you replied after he splayed a hand against the grain while pushing it open for you to slip by. 

The gap wasn’t big enough to give you space when you walked through, your shoulder brushing against his firm chest as you did, and a small flash of him pressed up against your body zapped through you like lightning. 

In the office, he had a small desk and two small chairs in front. You chose the one on the right and sat down, hands nervously brushing over your pants in hopes you hadn’t gotten flour on them. 

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asked. 

You shook your head. “A bit too bitter for me, unless you have the most sugary creamer known to man.” 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m all out of that, I fear.” He almost seemed disappointed that he didn’t have what you wanted as he sat in the leather chair behind his desk with a small groan. “Just wanted to ask if you’ve gotten your detectors yet? I know you said something about not having a ladder . . .” 

He watched you visibly brighten, and something told him you’d listened to his words. 

“They just arrived this morning with the rest of my Walmart order. And I even got one of those carbon mo-mono—” 

“Monoxide.” 

“Yeah . . . that! One of those detectors too.” 

He tilted his head slightly. “You didn’t have that one to begin with?” 

Your fingernail found a piece of skin to pick at. How you hated disappointing anyone, especially him. “No. I thought I did, but I guess that just got away from me too.” 

“That’s okay, sugar. As long as you have one now, that’s all that matters. Were you able to find a ladder to get them installed?” 

You looked down at your lap. “I guess that’s why I also came here. I did get a ladder, but I’m worried I won’t be able to get them in correctly. Do you think one of your guys would be willing to come by my house at some point and do it for me?” 

Brett gripped the arm wrests and sank his blunt nails into the leather at the thought of sending someone over to your home, someone getting to spend time with you. It sent jealousy raging through his veins. He blinked slowly to rein in his feelings. 

“Why don’t I just come over,” he settled on. 

“But aren’t you busy? One of those guys called you Chief. I wouldn't want to take any of your time away for something as silly as installing smoke detectors,” you nervously chuckled with a wave of your hand even if you wanted to scream yes. 

He sputtered out a breath. “Nonsense. I’m more than happy to do that for you. Besides, the only ones waiting at home for me are my cats. I think they could wait a little longer for dinner.” 

“You have cats?” you asked, voice high-pitched and excited. “Can I see a picture?” 

Brett dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “I have three: two bengals and a tabby that decided my house was its property.” He turned his phone around, thankful that he decided to use a more recent picture as his screen saver. 

You softly took the device and held it to your face. “Brett, they’re so cute!” 

“The bengal on the right is Bagel, then the tabby is Marble, and then the other bengal is Swirl.” He laughed at himself. “Real original, right?” 

Your eyes met his over the top of the phone. “I think they’re absolutely precious. I thought about getting a cat until my friend’s ragdoll had to stay over one time, and he licked frosting right out of the bowl for a wedding cake I was making.” You pouted at the memory. “I had to make a whole other batch and it took forever. So, that’s why it’s just me and Dick.”

“I’m sure Dick is glad that he’s the top bird of the house.” 

“When he’s not falling on my feet that is,” you grumbled before settling into the chair after handing Brett his phone. “Are you sure you’re free to come over? I don’t want to keep you up.” 

Brett leaned forward and clasped his hands on top of his desk. “I wouldn’t have offered to do it if I didn’t mean it. Do you have any plans for tonight? I’d sleep better knowing you’re in a house with proper detectors.” 

You tried to not let that go to your head, along with the idea of Brett possibly sleeping over under those same detectors. So, you did your best to keep calm and smile prettily. “I’m all yours.” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

There was one thing you hadn’t thought through in the grand scheme of things. 

The first time Brett had been in your house just a few days ago, he was hidden beneath a few layers of heavy-duty, fire-resistant clothes that completely drenched his figure and hid him out of sight. But now as you watched him install your detectors in plain clothes, saliva pooled around your tongue, eyes trailing his body while he did one of the most mundane things men could do. 

His shirt wasn’t tight at all, but did it ever stretch over his biceps as he used both hands to twist the detector into the ceiling. His hazel eyes tracked his own movements, and his face tilted slightly at the right angles to see where to screw the thing in. You wondered if he was this tentative with other things, face near inches to the circular object. Your eyes trailed lower to where the swell of his stomach sat against the top of the ladder, and a small pudge pushed over the indent. He had one foot settled on a higher rung where his right knee jutted out and his left stayed straight down, but it was his thighs that kept your attention—his sturdy, thick thighs that you wanted to wear as earmuffs. 

“Hey, sugar? Can you hand me the screwdriver I put on your counter?” he asked, not even taking his eyes off the detector. “I just want it to be secured to the ceiling and not fall off in the night.” 

You stood underneath him with wide eyes, not fully comprehending what he asked you. You were way too busy thinking of his bicep wrapped around your neck than the words coming from his mouth. 

When you didn’t answer, Brett finally looked down and met your slightly ditzy expression. 

“Sweetheart?” he questioned again, and the name seemed to finally pull you out of where your brain went. 

“Oh! The screwdriver.” 

“On the—” 

“Counter,” you finished. “Got it.” 

Turning, your hair swished with the movement, and when you disappeared around the corner, Brett sighed and pinched his eyes shut, head resting against his raised arms. Sure, he might have looked as though he were concentrating on getting the damn thing in the ceiling, but installing detectors was something he could do in his fucking sleep. He didn’t need a damn screwdriver; he just needed you out of the room before his cock swelled to the point you could see the print through his pants. He had already been sporting a half-chub since he walked into your home. The ladder could only do so much to hide it. 

Brett didn’t know how much more he could take of your big eyes and need to do everything he asked with a smile and earnestness in your step. 

Fortunately—more like unfortunately—the one he was working on was the last to install, and he was dragging it out more than he should have. 

“Here you go,” you said, tapping the end of the screwdriver on his hip, and Brett nearly jolted at the surprise. 

When had you come back? 

“Thanks, sugar,” he muttered as he wrapped his big hand around the pink tool he got from your small tool kit. 

You pursed your lips. “I know this is the last one, but would you like to stay for a bit? I have pie from yesterday that hasn’t had a taste tester.” 

“Oh, I shouldn’t be here longer than needed.” 

“B-but, you didn’t even get a brownie that I made for you.” 

He smirked slyly. “Thought those were for the whole station.” 

Your foot twisted into your hardwood flooring. “Yeah they were, but you’re the one who came in and checked. I also have coffee . . .” 

“And the most sugary creamer on earth?” 

“You know it,” you giggled. “Whad’ya say, Chief Richards? Stay for pie?” 

He pretended to think for a moment before nodding his head. “Fine. You’re pulling my arm.” He shoved the detector into the holder and placed two hands on the ladder. “Right on time too, because you are now the owner of a sanctioned working smoke detector-ed home.”  

Your hands clapped together. “Thank you so, so, soooo much again. I still can’t believe they had been expired for a full year.” 

Brett jumped down from the top rung on instinct, not bothering to go down one by one. “Most people remember to look closer at the dates when changing the batteries. I wouldn’t go right to saying it’s a good thing your oven caught fire, but who knows what would have happened if your house went up in flames when you weren’t home.” 

“I think a really hot firefighter would have still come to my rescue,” you said with a wink. 

A beautiful flush filled his cheeks, and he tried to clear his throat, but it came out as more of a half-groan. 

“All right, sweetheart, let’s have your pie before you give this old man a heart attack with your sweetness,” he said and started to usher you towards the kitchen. 

“You’re not that old,” you scoffed. Brett sat in one of the chairs at your dining table while you uncovered the pie. “It’s apple; I hope that’s okay?” 

“More than okay,” he responded. “And I’m at least twenty years your senior, sugar, you don’t have to lie.” 

You hummed, dragging a knife through the crust and filling. “What year were you born?” 

“1975.” He caught the wince on your face. “Oh, don’t give me that. Older than twenty years?” 

“Try twenty three,” you said softly. You used a clean finger to swipe the pie off and onto a plate. 

Brett ran a hand down his face. Fuck. You were younger than his daughter. His hands curled into fists. What kind of sick, pervy old man was he acting like? There was no way he was going to give in to his deep desires now, not when you—

“Brett?” you asked, plate filled with pie outstretched. 

He swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Sorry; distracted.” 

“Oh.” 

Now he’s made you upset. Double fuck. How dare he? He’d done all this for you: flirty, coming over to your house, letting his jealousy run his mind. This wasn’t your fault. 

The fork you’d given him scraped against the ceramic, and he put a bite in his mouth. He moaned around the metal and let his eyes flutter shut as the flavor of rich spice, apple, cinnamon, and buttery-flaky crust exploded on his tongue. 

“Fuck, sugar, that’s—” 

“Good?” He swore your eyes got bigger with anticipation. 

“That’s the best damn pie I’ve ever tasted. Probably the best damn thing to get in my mouth,” he groaned, already going in for another bite. “This is all homemade right?” 

You giggled again at the way he shoveled the pie into his mouth between his sentences. “Yep. Crust first, cause it always takes the longest. Then the filling. It’s just apples, cinnamon, and honey.” 

“Just apples, cinnamon, and honey my ass,” he grumbled. “This—you should open a bakery.” 

“Really?” Your eyes gleamed. 

“Fucking really. And do it right across the station so I can come by every day. I’d be your best customer if I got to eat this all the time. Probably get too fat to fit in my uniform, but it’d be worth every bite.” 

Your thighs clenched together at the idea of being the one to feed him, to see him every day just because he loved what your hands made. You did your best to stifle the whimper that followed, but the small noise squeaked out loud enough that he looked up at you through his eyebrows just as he put the last bite into his mouth. 

He said nothing while your eyes locked. Instead, he dragged a finger across the plate, tip picking up any crumbs or sticky filling leftover, and popped the digit into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. 

“Brett,” you whimpered, tongue peeking out to wet your dry lips. “Can’t do stuff like that.” 

“Like what, sugar? I’m just being the kind guest and finishing the plate you made for me.” He pushed up from the table and stood at full height. “But something’s telling me I haven’t eaten everything yet.” 

In two steps, he towered over you and placed a hand on your chin. His bicep bulged in his sleeve while he applied upward pressure to stand you up, top of your head barely reaching the middle of his throat. His chin dipped. You looked up and noticed how blown his eyes were; pupils almost covering the deepened hazel of his irises. 

His hands rose and cupped your face. You weren’t too sure who moved first, but in the next sharp inhale, his lips met yours, and you melted right into him like butter in a hot pan, hands coming to grip his forearms that you could barely wrap your fingers around. His lips moved against and enveloped yours in hot, heavy lapping motions. 

He bent his knees to get at you with a better angle, and the movement made your hips knock together, drawing moans from both your chests. His hands moved downward, fingers trailing from your neck and tightening around your waist before finding your ass. He squeezed hard, and the feeling had your mouth opening further for more noises to escape. 

Brett found his opening, and his tongue slipped through your teeth. The hot, wet muscle explored your mouth as he took in your taste. If he focused enough, he found a hint of chocolate and coffee. 

“You taste so fucking sweet, sugar,” he moaned out. You took big gasping breaths against his lips. “Need more,” he muttered, more to himself, before taking your lips back against his, tongue diving right back in to swirl and dance against yours. 

You, on the other hand, tasted the remnants of the pie: apple and spice and something completely notable as Brett Richards. You wanted to bottle him, add him to your next dessert. Your hands wandered across his body as he kissed you. Palms flat against his stomach that tensed under your touch. Fingers gripping onto his pecs and feeling the muscle of them under his shirt. 

He pulled back again when oxygen became much too needed, and he rested his forehead against yours. 

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he sighed. “I’m too—” 

“If you say old,” you panted, “I’m going to hit you. Age just makes wine finer, and Brett, you’re the finest man I’ve ever seen.” 

He groaned loudly, the noise echoing in through your open kitchen. His knee buckled slightly, and you stepped up, letting your core slightly brush against the top of his thigh. You whimpered at the pressure, and Brett’s eyes snapped open. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” he tutted before placing his hands back at your waist and turning you around in a fluid motion. You arched into him when the edge of your table dug into your lower back. “What type of guest am I? Making you all needy and not doing anything to help.” 

Without any struggle, he lowered his hands to the plush of your thighs and lifted you onto the table’s surface, legs dangling and spread just enough for him to push between, his thighs barely fitting against yours. The size difference sent a wave of dizziness up to your brain as you noticed how much he swallowed you up. 

His palms rested against your knees, and he bent at the waist to meet your lips again with searing heat and tongue. 

“Brett,” you mumbled against his lips and bucked your hips upward. “Need you.” 

He began to trail open-mouthed kisses along your neck, stopping only to suck and nip at your skin. “I’ll help you, baby.” 

He lowered until his knees hit the small bit of the circular carpet you had under the table legs and his face slotted near your core. He didn’t look away as he hooked his fingers into the waistline of the shorts you were wearing and the hem of your underwear. They both slid down your legs with little resistance, and Brett tossed them to the side. Without the constraints of the fabric, your thighs opened a bit wider on instinct. 

Brett’s throat constricted around an inhale as he stared right at your glistening folds. Almost mesmerized, he ran a shaky finger right down the middle from where your clit peeked through its hood and down to the top of your sopping entrance. Above his head, you keened at the lightest touch, body already begging for more. 

“Easy, sugar. Let me savor this dessert,” he whispered. 

He inhaled deeply, taking in your purest scent, before leaning in. He first dragged his flat tongue along your outer folds, adding to the wetness with his thick saliva. You moaned loudly at the feeling. Your fingers curled around the edge of the table just near his cinnamon sugar curls that you desperately wanted to latch onto as he edged his tongue nearer to where you needed him. 

Stars littered your vision when he finally circled your clit with the stiffened tip of his tongue, your bud rolling with pleasure and heat that had your thighs clenching around his head. Your stomach dipped and tightened, hips softly rocking in small motions to egg him on. 

When you looked down your stomach, his hazel eyes were already looking up at you, the lower half of his face covered by your soft mound as he sucked your clit between his lips. He kissed at her like he kissed you with wanting, languid puckers and tongue. But you needed more of him. 

“Breeetttt,” you breathily moaned. “Please, I need—” 

Your words died in your throat and changed into high-pitched mewls as your walls stretched around the finger he slowly thrusted in. Brett groaned into your pussy at the feeling of your muscles sucking the digit in farther, and the vibrations sent rolling hot pleasure straight to your navel. 

“Ohhh!” you gasped as your thighs tensed. “Feels—fuck!—Feels good!” 

“Yeah?” he asked, pulling back enough to wear his lips gingerly moved against your puffy folds. “Feel how deep I’m inside you? You’re so fucking tight around my finger. I’m going to need to stretch you out with at least three before I can get my cock in you, baby girl.” 

Your hips bucked at his words, and your chest tightened. 

Brett felt the way you clenched down, and in the next thrust, he added his middle finger to the mix. Your whimper that followed due to the filling pressure was music to his ears. He slightly parted the two as he ran his fingertips along your walls, prodding and dragging them to add to your building ecstasy. His wrist twisted so he could start curling them upwards, wanting to find the spot that made you squeal. 

He found it in three tries, and your body tensed and spasmed when he pressed into the spongy spot. 

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” he asked before licking a hot stripe from where his fingers dipped into you and up to your clit. 

You nodded dumbly. “Yes, siiirrr,” you slurred, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Feels good. Shit!” 

With a glance up, Brett smiled widely at your fucked out expression and tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. The sight made his cock somehow swell even more, and he fought the urge to bring a hand down to rut against. If he was going to cum, he wanted it to be deep inside you. 

He withdrew his fingers from your fluttering hole and swirled them around your soaked, spit-slick, throbbing clit, causing more moans and stutters of your hips. 

“One more finger, baby.” 

He dragged all three through your folds as he stood from the kneeling position to take your lips back into a kiss. You leaned back to accommodate the way he still had to lean over you. In one inward motion, he pushed his fingers back into you, and you pulled away from his lips to whine loudly at the intrusion, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. 

Brett thought you looked so pretty with your glossy eyes and flushed cheeks, and without thinking, he licked up the tear trails, the small tang of salt mixing in with the sweet aftertaste of your arousal. He then kissed you deeply. A moan ripped through your throat. 

You could taste yourself on his tongue. Your lips sucked on the muscle, chasing after it when he tried to look down at his fingers and how you clenched around them. You were still tight, and your walls had eased, but Brett knew you’d be like a vise around his cock. 

“You’re going to feel so good around me, sugar,” he groaned, already envisioning the feeling of your tight warmth squeezing his length. “Already feel so good around my fingers.” 

“Yeah?” you panted, head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut as you focused on the in and out and in and out and in and out of his fingers. “You too.” 

“Are words getting hard, baby? Are you close to cumming just from my fingers?” he cooed and pressed small kisses along your jaw. “I can feel you tightening. Sooner you let go, sooner I can fuck you, sweetness.” 

“Brett!” you yelped with a buck of your hips. “Wanna cum!” 

“I know you do.” He curled his fingers and lightly thumbed at your clit. The reaction in your body was almost instant as you tensed, muscles preparing for the pure onslaught of rushing arousal that was about to snap. “And I want you to cum for me.” His fingers pistoned into your walls. “I want to feel your pussy clench around my fingers.

Your shirt was still on, but like he imagined you had the first time he was over, he could tell you weren’t wearing a bra. So, without warning, he leaned in and bit down on your right nipple hard enough to set off your orgasm. 

In a loud moan that dipped and rose into a higher pitch, your walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, holding him deep against the spot that made your thighs tense. Your body shuddered and leaned into Brett’s sturdy chest as you came. 

“Oh, good girl,” Brett muttered after unlatching from your nipple and leaving a wet spot on your shirt around the nub. “Cumming so beautifully for me; looking so pretty like I knew you’d be.” His thumb never stopped swiping at your clit to draw the effects of your high for as long as possible. “Can’t wait to fuck you, baby girl.” 

“Brett,” you whimpered, chest heaving against him, hands gripping at his shoulders. You knew he’d probably have crescent nail marks deep in his skin after you let go. “Bedroom.” 

He scooped you up without even thinking. Your bare core sidled up across the rough, scratchy fabric of his pants, and you jerked slightly in overstimulation. Brett said a non-verbal thank you to whoever built your one-story house. He was about to fuck you three ways till Sunday, but the idea of his knees giving out up a flight of stairs would have buried him in embarrassment. 

Knowing exactly where your bedroom was after installing yet another detector on your wall, he kicked the door in gently, and in three large strides, he tossed you onto the bed. Your body hadn’t even had the chance to bounce against the plushness of your duvet before Brett tugged you towards him by your ankles, spine dragging across your mattress, shirt riding up to give him a sliver of your bare breasts. 

Once you got the idea to hook your ankles around his waist, he wasted no time in yanking your shirt clean up over your head. Now, you lied naked in contrast to him being fully clothed, and a jolt of pleasure had your pussy clenching around nothing and your lips pushing into a pout. 

Brett leaned down and ran a thumb across your bottom lip. “Don’t give me that look, baby.” He tapped the side of your thigh with his palm and jerked his head. “Move up and get on your hands and knees for me, sugar.” 

Your torso twisted as you rolled over and began to crawl up the bed. However, the sound of clothes ruffling caught your attention, and you stopped to look over your shoulder as Brett pulled his shirt off and unbuckled his belt. He tossed the accessory to the ground with a heavy clunk before pushing his pants and boxers down in one go. Your mouth went dry before instantly watering as your eyes tracked the way his cock bobbed slightly under the sheer weight of it. 

He was definitely the thickest you’ve ever seen, head already on the verge of purple and smeared in a glinting wetness. He had one prominent vein running along the side, and you were sure he seemed to get thicker at the base before the rest disappeared into a thatch of greying, wiry hair. He gripped himself slightly, running a thumb into the spot between the head and the shaft, and another dribble of pre cum trickled over his knuckles. 

Brett groaned at the feeling of finally getting some pressure around his cock. When you let out the smallest, neediest whine he’d heard from you yet, he looked up and met your eyes over your bare shoulder. 

“What’d I tell you, huh?” he asked. 

He took one step before kneeling at the edge of the mattress. His eyes caught the small bit of drool pooling at the edge of your lip. If he had more time, he would have let you suck at his tip, but he needed to be inside you now. His cock jostled as he placed his hands on your hips and tilted them upwards, his knees knocking against yours to widen your thighs. He shuffled forward until your ass flushed against his pubic bone. 

“Hands and knees,” you whimpered, head already lolling downward. 

A hum rumbled through his chest. “Good; you can listen.” He gripped himself again, positioning the head to slip along your folds before notching it against your entrance. “Ready, sweetness?” 

You nodded against the pillow, but that wasn’t enough for Brett. 

“Use your words, or are you already too dumb to find them?” he grunted. “Haven’t even gotten my cock in you yet.” 

“Please,” you warbled, “please fuck me.” 

“Okay, baby, deep breath for me,” he muttered before slowly pushing his hips inward. A grunt ripped from deep in his throat when his tip slipped through your first ring of tense muscles, and he tried not to tip forward onto your back at the feeling. 

Below him, you felt as though you were already being split wide open, his fingers did little to actually prepare for his size. Your body tensed, and your walls clenched tightly, pausing his movements. 

“Fucking hell, relax for me, sweetheart,” Brett grit through his grinding teeth. “Gripping me like a fucking vice.”

He reached over and down across your hip and slowly started circling your clit to ease himself deeper. After a few moments of gentle stimulation, he felt your walls begin to relax. “There we go. Loosening up so well for me.” 

His hips made a shallow thrust, feeding his cock to your pussy inch by inch. He groaned loudly, and the noise echoed in your bedroom and danced with the pathetic noises slipping through your lips. 

“Biiiggggg,” you panted, tongue peeking through your lips and wetting the pillow case with a small circle of drool. 

“Yeah?” Brett asked. Sweat already beaded at his brow. His body trembled. “‘M not even all the way in yet. Don’t think I can push through—” 

“You can!” you sobbed. “Want it, want it, want it all. Please.” 

His hands tightened around your hips, wanting to leave perfect bruises in the shapes of his fingerprints. “All right, baby. I’ll give it to you.” 

Your breath shuddered as he bullied his cock the rest of the way in through your fluttering walls. You could feel him in your throat. He was so fucking big, and it almost hurt to breathe. Your arms shook where they held you up, your belly tightening with pure pleasure from just being stuffed to the brim. 

Brett sighed in relief when he fully sheathed himself inside, and you choked on a moan because his cock brushed right against your soft spot as his tip kissed your cervix. He continued rubbing at your clit while starting off with small thrusts. A loud squelch sounded from between his cock and your pussy, and his eyes caught the small ring of creamy white already sticking to the hairs at his navel. 

“Baby girl,” he moaned and thrust back in, pushing all the air from your lungs. “Fuck!” 

Your head dropped again so you could see down your stomach, and your thighs tensed at the small bulge of your stomach. You tried your best to balance on one hand to touch it, to squeeze at his cock through your skin, but every time your hand lifted, your other arm wobbled too much. Brett felt the few attempts and paused. 

“Is everything okay, sugar?” he asked, voice filled with concern. 

You nodded. “Can see you.” 

His brows pinched. “You can see me?” he echoed. 

“Stomach.” 

His expression dropped when it hit him. “Oh.” 

He slowly splayed a hand across your stomach and did a small thrust. Right there, in the middle of his palm, he could feel himself dragging through your walls. The thought of him being big enough that he was visible sent a shiver down his and your spines. 

“Oh.” He seated himself inside and pressed upward with his hand. “Damn, fucking—” He sputtered out as you squealed, your insides tightening around his length. “Can feel myself right here. I’m so deep—shit!” 

You tried your best to say something, but your mind went blank, mouth only capable of spitting out whimpers mewls with each jolt of his hips against your ass. Your cheek dug into the plush of the pillow. 

He started to speed up in wet plap, plap, plaps, thighs hitting the backs of yours where your arousal was spreading downward toward your knees. With one particular hard thrust upward, your arms gave out, and your chest now flushed with the bed. 

“Oh, you sweet baby. Can’t even hold yourself up for long,” Brett cooed through his cock reaching depths you didn’t even know could be reached. “Can’t stay put, can’t speak, can’t fucking make sure your smoke detectors are working.” He pulled out, letting his cock slip from your clenching walls. 

Your whine of confusion barely hit his ears before he pushed your hips down onto a pillow he quickly slipped below. Through the hazy and numb fuzz of your brain, you moaned when his weight rested on top of your back, his stomach slotting into the dip of your spine, thick thighs pinning you down.  

He was deliciously heavy everywhere. 

His hips tilted to the side so he could slip back into your soaking pussy. “Is this better for your dumb brain, sugar? Need me to do everything for you? That’s right. You need me to make you safe, make you feel good. Used me to get your house up to date, used my fingers and tongue to get yourself off.”

He pushed upward, and you wailed beneath him at the angle change. You tried to lift your head, but your neck quivered at the weight. 

“Even now,” Brett tutted, “you can’t even hold your head up. But don’t worry, sweetheart, this old man can do it for you.” His freckled arm curled around your neck until your chin rested on the hump of his bicep. “Is that better?” 

You nodded, mouth wide open to take in lungfuls of air. He could even feel a small sliver of your drool drip from the corner of your lips. He smirked against the side of your head. 

“Droolin’ all over me in every place.” His hips languidly moved against you, his cock hitting deep with every single roll. “Mouth, pussy, just a drooly little baby who can’t do anything.” 

With his free hand, Brett reached between you and the duvet that was probably soaking up all your spilled slick that he pushed out of you. The tips of his fingers brushed against your throbbing clit, and he used his thrusts to grind yourself against his fingers. The added pleasure and stimulation was growing to be too much. His hips stuttered slightly when your walls started to clench and keep him buried. 

“Oh, your pussy loves when I play with your clit. She just wants to cum, sweetheart. So fucking tight around my cock.” His thrusts changed into rhythmic, punchy motions. 

“G-gonna!” you managed to squeak out right as your body tensed once and long as you came around him. 

“Fucking—” Brett cursed. 

He did his best to continue keeping a pace to draw out your high and fluttering walls that sucked him in, but he was no match. He thrust in once, twice before his body seized through his own orgasm, cock spurting his release deep inside to mix with the frothy arousal dripping out of you. Having felt like you sucked the life right out his cock, Brett put all his weight on top of you. 

The feeling had you melting right into the sheets, lungs compressing in a breathy sigh of content. 

In the gooey waves of endorphins, Brett rolled you both to the side, his dick slipping from your hole in the motion. However, he was quick to drag his fingers through the mix of you and him that seeped out and push the wet glob right back in. You whined through the tinges of overstimulation, but he quietly hushed you. 

His arms never left your middle as the two of you came down from the high, and he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck while he lightly dragged his fingers up and down the skin of your arm. You gripped onto the arm that was trapped between your body and the bed. 

“Worth it,” you sleepily muttered. 

At the sound of your voice, Brett propped his head up with a bent arm. “What was that, sugar?” 

“I said,” you grumbled as you fought back the urge to sleep, “worth it. Saw you—” Your jaw popped in a yawn. “Saw you at the station; thought you were hot; wanted to say something but I was scared so—” 

His body jerked in a laugh. “Don’t tell me you set your brownies on fire just to get me in your bed.” 

“Stop, drop, and roll, Captain Richards.” You blindly reached for the duvet that had been pushed down to drape it up over both your bodies. “But it worked. Like I said . . . worth it.” 

Brett shook his head before gently kissing your shoulder. “You’re nothing but trouble. Might have to teach you a lesson after you take a nap.” 

“I can take it, old man,” you muttered before letting yourself dip into sleep. 

“We’ll see, sweetheart. We’ll see.”