𝜗𝜚 𝖌𝖆𝖇 𝜗𝜚

It had been bred into him, the mentality that everything in life was a series of transactions. Family, friendships, marriage, children, work. All of it. Emotions were an unnecessary human trait, 'a flaw in design' as his father had always told him every time he'd let his carefully crafted mask slip in front of him. 

And love? Well that didn't exist. 

He'd never seen any proof of it being real. His parents sure as hell didn't love each other, their marriage set in stone from birth. The same ideology that had been, literally, beat into him had been done so to them. A long line of family tradition. 

He too was forced into an arranged marriage with a girl from one of the Native families on the island. A way to 'keep the peace', which was horseshit if you asked him. No love had blossomed from that union, Clayton Emerson too much like his father at that point. 

Though not so much like his father that he laid a hand on his wife or the child they eventually had. No, he swore from the age of ten that he'd never stoop that low. But he would be lying if he said he didn't lash out verbally sometimes. 

Clayton had also done something his father never would've done. He was loyal to his family. Never strayed, never seeked release with another party. He was too busy building up a career in politics and gathering funding for family housing that sex was rarely on the forefront of his mind. 

They'd done it exactly four times in the twelve years they'd spent together. Once on their wedding night, another grossly outdated tradition, and three times trying for their son Kainalu. They never touched each other after that, it wasn't necessary once the 'Emerson Heir' had made his arrival. 

As their son grew older and developed a rebellious streak, Clayton grew harsher. He hated not being in control of a situation, a trait he'd inherited from his father. He resorted to threats and using money and power to gain what he wanted. He knew how to work people like clay in his palms. 

The fights between him and his wife also intensified until the explosion that resulted in her filing for divorce and moving in with her sister, Kainalu in toe. 

He'd never admit it, but he felt relieved. Glad to be freed from the shackles of a marriage neither of them wanted. It felt like he could breath for the first time in his life. Glad that both his parents had passed, his mother from breast cancer and his father in a car accident a year later, and couldn't nag him about fucking things up. 

His only regret was that him and his son's relationship turned completely sour. He'd tried to make amends, taking him out to do fun things during the weekends he was allotted. Let him stay up late playing video games, stocked the kitchen with all his favorites, even the stuff his ex never let him have usually. 

Tried not to be so much like his parents but fuck was it hard when that was all he really knew. 

Then one day, it was like something shifted within his son. Gone, almost anyway, was that rebellious streak and in came a young man wanting to take hold of his future. Kainalu had told him he wanted to be a life guard, to train with the North Shore Rescue unit. Apparently one of his friend's brother's had gone up and done the program and had been gushing about it on his visit back home. 

Clayton wasn't so sure, the risk that would be. He'd always hoped his son would follow in his footsteps, continue the family line. But he knew that wasn't really his voice in his head but his father's. 

A long conversation was had between him and his ex wife. But they'd agreed that Clayton would go with him, work on getting to know the community up there and maybe gain some votes for his mayoral election while Kainalu entered the program.

It was handy that Clayton's family owned a house and plot of land up there already. No need to look for housing for themselves for the duration of their stay. One less thing to worry about.

They'd set off, their journey up had been one of his favorite memories he'd ever had with his son. They seemed to have let go of any animosity between them and really let loose. 

They belted out old 90s rock songs, ate junk food from gas stations along the way and took time to appreciate the scenery of the island. It was the most fun Clayton had ever had. 

They'd settled into the house pretty quickly and things just fell into place. He found he liked the quietness of the north shore, still bustling but turned down compared to Honolulu. 

He'd quickly won over the people in town and secured his mayoral position with ease and things were even going well with Kainalu's training. All was as he hoped it would be.

What he wasn't prepared for, was you. 

The first sighting was when he'd come along to introduce himself to Kainalu's new unit. He selfishly had secured him a place on the squad despite his son not technically qualifying for the position. But he was a man who could pull strings and he would do anything to make sure his son was happy and settled. 

You stood at the back but he'd seen you right away. You were sun-kissed and a little wet from having been in and out of the water all day. You'd had on cropped tank top, your breasts peaking out over the top, and pair of little shorts on that probably made your ass looks like heaven. He felt a stirring deep within him and it made him pause, eyes boring into yours. 

And you had stared back, eyebrow lifting and a soft smile played on your lips. He could've sworn you had come to the same conclusion. This was the beginning of something. He wasn't sure what but the anticipation gnawed at him for weeks until your next encounter. 

It was at a fundraising event the community was putting on to raise money for different charities throughout the town. Everyone was in attendance, the town square a bustling hub of people and chatter. 

There was food trucks, business stalls, performances and a DJ. The weather had even behaved for them. It was an over all successful event. 

Clayton found himself at one of the beer tents after things started to slow down. He'd been tugged left and right by various people and organizations, receiving several dozen congratulations and offers to work together in the future. He shot them all 'thank yous' and firm smiles and suggested they get in contact with his office so they could work something out. 

What he needed now was a fucking drink. 

He'd been sitting in comfortable silence for the first time all night, nursing a glass of bourbon, when suddenly you were there. Sitting two seats down and looking like a goddess among men. 

He was totally staring, he knew he was. You knew he was. And just like you had that first time, you stared back. Curiosity and wonder clear as day on your face. 

"Long day, Mayor Emerson?" The sound of your voice sent a bolt of lightening through him. The alto of your tone was low and soothing, like he could enter a state of deep zen just listening to you talk. 

"That obvious?" He replied after collecting himself, taking a swig of his drink. 

"You're staring off into the void and the choice of drink is very telling." You shot him a warm smile and his heart began thumping in his chest. 

"I was hoping no one would notice." 

"You're easy to notice." There was a double meaning there, he knew by the sparkle in your eyes. 

Eventually you moved down so you sat next to him, the scent of ocean and vanilla consuming him as you entered his orbit. 

The two of you talked for hours, heavy banter and perhaps even some light flirting. It felt good talking to you. He didn't think he had ever talked to anyone this much but you had a way of pulling things out of people. A safe place to settle into. 

And from there it had felt like every encounter you had, you gravitated towards each other. It was innocent at first, anyone looking couldn't possibly mistake it for anything but two people sharing in a friendly, cordial conversation. 

Clayton felt anything but friendly towards you though, being in your presence had grown more difficult the more it happened. He was starting to feel things foreign to him. He couldn't place what it was and it concerned him deeply. 

He figured it was just lust, he'd gone so long without experiencing it or even engaging in sexual activity and having a pretty girl like you even looking at him with those warm, sparkling eyes was bound to mess with his head. 

He had accepted that things would not leave the comfort of his head. He was used to bottling things up and putting on a mask. He could live with just imagining what he'd do to you, stroking himself to madness in the dark of his bedroom at night. He convinced himself that was enough for him. 

It was a random Tuesday in June that you asked him if he wanted to have sex. You'd said it like you were commenting on the weather. So casual and like it wasn't a huge deal at all. 

"Listen, it doesn't have to be like anything serious. Just sex. We're both single. I think you're attractive and I think you think I am too. I feel this tension between us and it's kind of eating me alive and maybe if it's also eating you alive then we should do something about it. No one has to even know." You rambled, your face growing redder with each word. 

You were avoiding his eyes, something you rarely did unless you were nervous. His heart clenched, a small smile tugged at his mouth. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen into your face as you animatedly spoke behind your ear, his finger tips trailing down the skin of your neck. 

It had been so fucking easy to say yes to you. He would face the consequences later, battle with the idea that this was so fucking wrong another time. Right now, he just wanted to be lost in you. 

It became an addiction, one time turned into two and then into a dozen. Each time he lost a part of himself to you. No matter how hard he tried to grasp at the pieces, to keep things emotionless and transactional, it was no use. 

He couldn't get enough of the shape of your breasts, the feeling of your hard and sensitive nipples in his mouth and the way in made you squirm. The taste of your pussy lingered on his tongue long after he'd finished lapping and sucking at your swollen clit. The euphoric sensation of your hot, wet heat clenching around his cock as he fucked into you firm and deep. The way you lost yourself in a state of pleasure when you'd ride him, dragging him over the edge with you. He didn't know how he could ever go back after experiencing you. 

He knew he was well and truly fucked when he almost let it slip that he loved you during sex a few months into things. It hit him like a truck, rattling him to his core. He'd tried to keep his cool but the second you had departed for the night he let the feeling consume him. 

It had gone too far. He had let things go beyond what he should have. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reeling back in the revelation. Folded it up and locked it away in a deep part of his brain. 

He didn't love you. Love didn't exist, especially not for someone like Clayton Emerson. You deserved more, better than he could ever give you. Plus you were young, you had a whole world of experiences still to have. Goals to achieve and people to meet. He had no real place in your life like that. 

He couldn't even fathom the image of you ever returning the feelings. There was nothing there for you to love, to see the good in. He barely let down his walls with you anyway. It wasn't a possibility worth entertaining. 

He had been such an ass to you at the appreciation dinner he hosted at his home the following evening. 

The look of hurt that had played out on your face had nearly killed him. And the way you were clearly trying to avoid him at all costs even before you two had exchanged a single word made him feel like the world's biggest prick.

And fuck you had looked like a dream in that little black dress. The way it hugged all your curves so flawlessly. The open back made him want to trail kisses down the length of your spine. The plunge of the neck line showcasing your breasts just enough to make him almost start drooling in the middle of that room. You were every dream he'd ever had, right there and he couldn't do anything about it. 

And then you had just…..disappeared. He'd nonchalantly wondered around the party trying to seek you out, to apologize for being such an ass and maybe try and get you to understand why. Maybe not the full story but enough of it. 

He had started to text you but there was no response. You didn't pick up his calls either. That's when the panic started to set in, like a fire blazing through his body from his head down to his toes. 

He'd waited for you to show up at the hotel you usually met at, he had a room permanently booked at a place a few towns over. But you never showed, never reached out. Just complete and utter silence and it had been the most excruciating thing he'd ever endured. 

He didn't sleep that night, tossed and turned at the haunting feeling that he'd fucked up. That you'd grown tired of his bullshit and were ridding yourself of him for real this time. Every other time the two of you had tried to end things it never really felt like either of you meant it, like it was an empty promise. This felt different. 

He should let you go, he knew it was the right thing to do. Being connected to him hadn't ever been a good idea but he was selfish enough to let himself get caught up in things, in you. Now was the perfect opportunity. 

He couldn't remember how he'd gotten to your place of work. His hair a mess, his clothes from the night before wrinkled and out of place. He knew he probably looked absolutely insane, he could tell by the concerned looks on everyone's faces but he didn't care. 

All he cared about was you. You were still avoiding him, standing at the back and looking somewhere behind him and pretending to listen to what he was saying. He didn't even really know what words were coming out of his mouth, anyway.

He'd cornered you in the parking lot as you were loading up the car for the day. And he'd done something he'd never done before, not with anyone. He'd let you in, just a tiny fraction. Admitting that he did feel emotions and cared for you. Maybe not in so many words but he hoped you caught on. 

You had forgiven him quicker than he would've anticipated and definitely faster than he deserved but he was willing to take it if it meant you'd still want to be around him. 

He made love to you that night, he could never bring himself to say the words but he used his body to get the point across. And you gave it right back to him. 

Every slow, strong thrust into you was a silent confession, his eyes boring into yours begging you to realize how much you meant to him. He kissed every inch of skin he could get his mouth on, sucking and licking and marking your body so you'd remember who was there. 

You were a goddess and he worshiped you until you were both tired and shaking and physically couldn't continue. That was the first night the two of you had fallen asleep together and woke in each other's arms the next morning. 

That was how things had been for you since. 

Clayton had thought that was the biggest storm you two would weather but he was so God damn wrong. He could look back at that time and laugh at how dramatic and absurd he'd been compared to now. 

"I love you." It clanged through him even now. Days after he'd told you to leave and you'd stormed out like a tornado. 

He swore the look of devastation and humiliation on your face would follow him around like a specter to his grave. He didn't linger too long on the fact that you'd looked at him with total abhorrence when you spat that you never wanted to see him and again and that you would ruin him. 

Little did you know you already had. Long before that night. And he didn't care if you told the whole town, didn't care if you marched him naked through the streets screaming 'shame' at him. He would have deserved every minute of it. 

Life had adopted a feeling of dullness. Once where there was light and a kernel of hope, there was now a void so dark and depth-less that Clayton wasn't sure there was a way out. 

He wrestled with the option of going to your house, despite your threat and desire to never see him again, and beg on his knees for you to please hear him out. Or to respect your space and let you go. 

In the end he decided you were better off without him. 

Three months passed before he saw you again. And he wished more than anything that he had decide to go home that night after work. 

He'd had a long day at the office. Stacks of paperwork, left to collect dust, needed to be addressed. Back to back meetings and no room to breathe or eat. He was running off of caffeine and shear determination to work himself into the ground. 

He decided to stop by one of the local bars for a drink and a change of scenery. He knew people would be too drunk or preoccupied to take notice of him. He'd been cooped up in the house when he wasn't working, trying to avoid the possibility of running into you. 

It figures that you would show up at the one place he chose on the one night he decided to be bold. 

You were there with some friends, a few he recognized from the North Shore unit. You had on a flowy sundress, the print so reminiscent of his Hawaiian shirt that it made his heart pinch and crack. 

His mind wandered back to that night, before hell had frozen over. How breathtaking you looked while he pumped into you, his shirt hanging off your shoulders. He swore he could spend forever with you just like that. Too bad he'd completely lost any chance of that becoming his reality. 

He froze when he noticed his son sitting next to you, sitting close and whispering something in your ear. His arm was draped over the back of your chair and Clayton's eardrums started to ring at the way you laughed at whatever he had said. 

It was when you shifted your head to whisper your response back in Kainalu's ear, your breasts pressing forward toward him, that Clayton's vision had gone red. There was a sudden sharp sting in the palm of his hand and he looked down and saw shattered glass and a river of red streaming down his forearm. 

"Shit. Shit. Shit." He cursed, stumbling out of his chair, which had fallen back and clattered on the ground in a loud thud. He looked around for anything he could use to stop the flow of blood. 

"Dad? You alright?" Clayton closed his eyes, took a deep breath before he turned to look at his son. He almost whimpered when he saw you there over Kainalu's shoulder, eyes wide with concern. 

"I'm fine. Just a little accident." He said through gritted teeth, silently begging for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

"That doesn't look like a little accident, your look like you're gonna bleed out." 

"Don't be dramatic, I'm fine. Go back to your friends." He snapped, he hadn't meant to be so harsh but given the situation he found himself in, he felt it was a valid reaction. 

There was a sudden sound of something tearing and then there you were. In his space, gently taking his hand in yours. His heart thudded violently against his chest as he watched you inspect the wound. There didn't seem to be any glass embedded in the cut thankfully, so you made quick work binding the wound. 

He realized you had torn a strip from your dress and his heart fluttered. You stayed silent during the entire interaction, eyes never lifting to meet his again. You were a woman with a mission. 

But he couldn't look away from you, his eyes almost rolling to the back of his head as the familiar scent of ocean and vanilla and something boozy wafted over him. In another life, in a more secluded place, he would've dipped his head down and pressed a kiss against the bare skin of your shoulder. Then he would've made a trail up the length of your neck, up to your cheeks and finally your lips. 

He didn't mean to lean in closer, the image in his brain clouding his better judgment. He pulled back the second your body tensed up and it felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head. 

You finished your work and before he could utter a weak 'thank you', you had turned on your heels and walked away back to your table. He knew he probably looked like a kicked puppy the way he was staring after you, his mouth set in a deep frown. It took him too long to notice his son was still standing there with a look of curiosity and concern on his face. 

"I take it you're good then?" Kainalu said after a beat, clearing his throat and shifting awkwardly on his feet. 

"Yeah, son, all good." It couldn't be farther from the truth but he forced a stiff smile anyway. 

The last thing he saw on his way out of the bar, after cleaning himself up as best he could and leaving a hefty tip as an apology for the mess and disruption, was Kainalu's hand on your lower back. Once again whispering something in your ear that drew out a fit of giggles. 

Clayton had half a hope he didn't wake up the next morning. 

But he had woken up and did every morning after that, the scene from the bar playing over and over again and sending him into total agony. He tried to make sense of it all, why of all people you could choose would it be his son? 

It wasn't that Kainalu was a bad choice. If it was any other girl he'd be thrilled. But there was too much history between the two of you, too much to come to light and make for a catastrophic end for all parties involved. Plus, you made it clear you never wanted to see him again. Being with Kainalu would guarantee interacting with each other from time to time. 

But the way you had come up to him, handled him with so much care despite not uttering a word, when you didn't have to left him in an even deeper pit of confusion. Those hadn't been the actions of someone who wished to pretend he didn't exist. His heart skipped a beat at the hope that slipped it's way in. He shut it down immediately. 

Knock. Knock. 

His head whipped up to see his son standing on the other side of the the kitchen island, his brow raised. "You're alive." 

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

"I tried calling you to tell you I was stopping by like four times and you didn't respond." Clayton looked around for his phone, patting down the pockets but came up empty. 

"Must've misplaced it. Sorry." The uneasy look on Kainalu's face grew more severe. "Everything okay?" 

What Clayton wasn't prepared for was his son to flat out ask what the deal between you and him was. 

"Excuse me?" Acting defensive had been his first instinct but he feared that might've made him look more guilty. 

"There just felt like some weird tension between you two at the bar the other night and any time I'd ask about it, she would get all weird and dismissive. I figured it really was nothing but then I started thinking about it." 

"Thinking about what, exactly?" He felt like his stomach was going to fall out of his ass due to the anticipation of where this conversation was about to go. 

"You two always seemed so friendly before. I'd catch you off talking for hours it seemed. Like I'd leave for awhile and come back and you two would still be at it. Then I started to notice you both would leave around the same time and the next time I'd see either of you, you acted like you'd won the lottery," 

"Then there was that random day you showed up at my job and I'd never seen you look like that in my entire life. You've always been the most put together person, aside from Grandma and Grandpa obviously. But it looked like someone jumped you before you'd even walked in. And you couldn't keep your eyes off of her for more than a few seconds at a time. But then the next day everything seemed back to normal, better even." 

Clayton wasn't sure if he was breathing the entire time his son spoke, laying out all these moment he was sure had gone unnoticed or could've been written off for something else entirely. His ability to form words had been ripped from him, all he could do was stare off into a void somewhere past his son's shoulder. 

"She's been different lately. Like she's been on autopilot. She rarely comes out anymore, that night we ran into you had been her first outing in months. And you? You've regressed back into your old self, maybe even worse than before. So I'll ask again, what's the deal with you two?" 

He found himself at a crossroads, to tell him the truth or to brush it off like he had read things wrong. That his bad mood and the way things had affected you weren't in cahoots. And fuck just hearing any tidbit about how you were doing pulled at his heart strings. 

"Dad?" The sound of Kainalu's pleading tone brought him back to reality. 

"I-I….." He tried, his voice like gravel. "W-we were, yes. We were seeing each other." 

It was like a weight off of his chest, though one he wasn't sure if he was quite ready to be relieved of. The thought that the truth had been spoken into the universe for the first time was terrifying, unease gnawed at him not knowing what his son would do with the information now in his palms. 

"What happened?" He was calm as he spoke, his eyes boring into his father's and Clayton couldn't stop the words now that he'd started. 

"She told me she loved me and I-I told her to leave. I regretted it immediately b-but there was no stopping her once I'd r-rejected her." His heart clenched as the memory flashed across his mind.

"Did you reach out to her after that? Tell her you regretted it?" Kainalu cocked a brow, his face now fighting off a look of judgment. 

"Trust me, she never wants to speak to me again. She made that very clear." 

His son sighed, shoulders dipping. He came around the counter so he stood only a foot away, his hands coming up to grip Clayton's shoulders. He gave him a small jostle, dipping his head so he could look his father in the eyes as he said his parting words. 

"Dad, I know you don't have much good experience with women, especially ones from my generation, but usually when they say 'don't chase me' that usually means they want you to chase them." 

Clayton stewed over those words for days after, not quite sure what he should do with them. Wasn't it too late now? It had been months since that night, surely if he went to her now she would close the door on him. Reject him the way he had rejected her. Perhaps truly keep her word and ruin him. 

But he couldn't help wonder if maybe you'd already chosen to forgive him and were just waiting for him to realize. To stand in front of her and not hold back, to let her in completely and not hide who he was. Allow himself to be loved despite his flaws and the darkness of his past. 

All of that dwelling and pondering was put to the side with the Tsunami warning that had sounded at 5AM one Thursday morning. Clayton had just managed to fall asleep a few hours before when his phone blew up with the notification. He stumbled out of bed in a daze, typing out a text to his assistant to gather everyone and get them to the office, including the North Shore rescue unit. 

Within the next hour chaos had fully descended. Computers were tracking position of the storm, units were being sent out to make sure no early risers had decided they wanted to get some quiet beach time in. Alerts were sent out to evacuate on foot and head to higher ground, phones were ringing off the hook and Clayton felt like a rope being used in a game of tug of war. 

He'd only managed to get a quick glimpse of you before you were sent out on patrol, his heart racing at the thought of you out there and so close to danger. He knew you could handle yourself, you were smart and good at what you did. But he couldn't seem to shake the feeling of dread that now weighed down on him. 

Hours passed now with no sign of the tsunami veering off course. It still seemed to be heading towards them but they were making good time in getting people to safety and for that Clayton was glad. 

That feeling didn't last long before his son came stumbling in an hour later, out of breath and a look of horror on his face. 

"Kai, what's wrong?" He was there, grabbing onto his son's shoulder's to steady him. It took a moment for Kainalu to catch his breath enough to find the words. 

"I-It all happened s-so fast." The feeling of dread slowly started creeping up on him again as his son continued. "There were people in the water, we tried telling them to get out but they wouldn't listen." 

That's when Clayton remembered Kainalu and you had been put on patrol together. He looked past his son to the door way, praying to whatever powers may be that you'd be standing there. Except you weren't, the door way remained empty. His eyes found his son's again, a look of sorrow and terror stared back at him and Clayton swore he'd never get out of his head. 

"She went in after them and they managed to get out. But neither of us noticed the cross sea in the water."  No. No. No. 

"Where is she?" His voice was so weak, the sound just above a whisper and trembling. 

"The w-waves swept her under. She didn't come b-back up." 

Clayton fell to his knees, fingers laced through his curls. Violent sobs wracked through him, all the words he'd likely never get to say to you flashed through his mind. He could barely make out the string of apologies coming from his son, or the feeling of Kainalu's body coming over him to shield him from prying eyes. 

It was Friday afternoon and you were desperately, achingly horny. 

You’d tried your old faithful vibrator, which was doing the job fine, but you were desperate for some human connection. Your mind drifted through the mental rolodex of who you could call up for some casual fun. It was a short list, your demanding schedule not lending itself to a particularly vibrant social life. You’d only been on a handful of dates in the past year, most of which ended in disaster. 

Alex was out of the running because of his unfortunate odor problem. 

Sam was out due to a creepy doll collection he failed to disclose until you made your way to his apartment. 

And Daniel was out because, frankly, he was terrible at sex, which is kind of a sticking point for you right now. 

That left James, a guy you met on one of the apps and who was decent enough with his mouth that you’d seen him a handful of times. You didn’t hook up with him often, mostly because he was particular about your pubic hair. He preferred for it to be cleanly shaven, or at least heavily trimmed before he would consider going down on you. 

So despite the fact that he wasn’t much good at fucking, you tended to go back to him when you needed a release. Yes, your standards were abysmally low, but the truth of the matter was that residency didn’t really give you any time to get out and meet new, better hook-ups. So James it was. 

It had been a couple months since you’d hooked up, mostly due to this preference of his. Unfortunately, taking the time to take an ‘everything shower’ just to get your pussy eaten was a luxury that you were not often afforded due your residency schedule. 

But today you’d had the time, energy, and desire to get devoured, so you hopped in the shower to take care of everything. By the time you emerged your hair was double cleansed, you’d applied a hair mask, exfoliated, shaved your legs, applied moisturizer and body oil, and–most importantly–your pussy was cleanly shaven. 

You had a renewed pep in your step as you made your way over to your bed, ready to entice James. You maneuvered onto the bed and experimented with a few poses before landing on one that showed off your assets the best. You propped up your phone–timer set for 10 seconds–and you scrambled into position, perching back on your haunches and settling back on your feet, back arched a little uncomfortably. 

You heard the shutter of the camera going off and quickly extricated yourself from the uncomfortable position. Looking over the image, you were very impressed. 

The photo pictured your nude body from the chest down, beginning with the barest hint of the underside of your breasts showing, then the expanse of your stomach and curve of your hips. Lower, your fingers were on your pussy, parting your lips just enough to tease. It was a damn good nude, if you did say so yourself. James was lucky to receive it. 

It had been so long since you texted him that instead of scrolling through endless scam messages and bill reminders, you just typed in the first few letters of his name to pull up his contact. As soon as you typed ‘ja’ it popped up, and you quickly began composing your message. 

Gnawing at your thumbnail, you went back and forth on a few messages, trying to sound sexy, but playful. After five minutes of deliberation, you decided to just go with what you had. Honestly, it’s not like James was going to give it more than a second thought–if he wanted to fuck he wasn’t going to care about how sultry (or not) the message you sent him was.

You settled on: 

you: shaved just for you. want something sweet to eat? ;) 

You looked it over for a minute, nodding to yourself and hitting send before you could psych yourself out. 

What a mistake. 

Jack sat at the work station, mouth open and slackjawed, still staring at his phone screen. 

Not at the photo anymore–no, that had been quickly swiped away–but the image was still burned into his retinas, the after image projecting onto the back of his eyelids when he closed them. 

Why? 

Because three minutes ago he received a text message from one of the day shift residents. He was concerned, initially, because there was little reason for day shift residents to contact him as opposed to Robby. Which is why Jack opened the message as soon as he saw it come in, thinking it might be an emergency, especially because it was you. 

Instead, he was greeted with a sight he thought he’d never have the pleasure of seeing. 

You, stretched back on your heels, breasts barely visible, pussy on full display for him. Your fingers held you open, your folds glistening in the late summer light that was streaming in, your pretty little clit in the center, just begging to be sucked. It was, quite possibly, the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of the photo for a good 30 seconds, before the logical side of his brain kicked in and he remembered oh yeah, I’m at work and can’t be caught looking at my resident’s cunt. 

He wasn’t unfamiliar with you, even though you’d only worked a handful of shifts together. But he saw you every morning at handoff, and you two shared warm smiles and easy jokes, your sardonic wit matching his bar for bar. He knew you were smart, able to hold your own in a trauma, and compassionate and empathetic underneath it all. And he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were gorgeous either. 

And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of you in this sort of light before, either. Jack Abbot was not a proud man–he could admit that on more than one occasion, he’d stood in his shower fisting his cock to the image of you on your knees for him. 

It was especially bad when you did something impressive at work. Like the time you went toe-to-toe with a surgeon about whether a patient really needed surgery when you insisted that all they needed was a pericardiocentesis, and to prove your theory, you stuck the needle into the pericardium and extracted the fluid despite surgery’s objections. A ballsy move, one that would have been deeply problematic if you were wrong, but paid off. He’d had to rub one out in the bathroom that day. He apparently has a thing for competency. 

“You’re gonna catch flies, Abbot,” Ellis said, walking out of an exam room, IPad tucked under her arm and smirk wide on her face. Jack shook himself out of his reverie, trying desperately not to think of your photo (but failing miserably). 

He cleared his throat, “Sorry, what’ve you got for me?” he asked, still a bit dazed. Ellis looked at him skeptically–there wasn’t much that threw Dr. Jack Abbot–but proceeded to present her case anyway. 

Once he approved her plan of treatment, Jack returned to his phone. He sat there for a long moment, contemplating what to do. You hadn’t said anything else, no frantic “I’m so sorry, that obviously wasn’t meant for you,” texts that explained the situation. Jack was positive it wasn’t intended for him, and he didn’t want to embarrass you more than you were sure to be. 

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, dancing nervously as he typed out his reply.

You started getting ready after sending the text, anticipating that James would want to meet up tonight. You did your hair, applied a bit of light make up, and threw on a cute little sundress. 

It was about an hour later when you went to check your phone again, fully expecting to see a cheeky message from James inviting you over for some fun. 

What you saw made your stomach drop instead. You felt dizzy, nausea washing over you in roiling waves. The text thread you were looking at was addressed to Jack Abbot, not James. And staring back at you was your nude body, followed by a response from Dr. Abbot. 

Jack Abbot: I don’t think I’m the intended recipient for that photo. 

Jack Abbot: But for what it's worth, a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. Would prefer it, actually. 

Jack Abbot: Sorry, that was inappropriate. I’ve deleted this text thread, along with the photo. We can pretend this never happened. 

There’s no fucking way. Absolutely not. There is no possible way that you accidentally sent a nude photo of yourself to your fucking attending. Not just any attending either, but the one you'd had a big fat stupid crush on for the better part of a year. The one you’d spent endless nights fantasizing about with your fingers plunged deep into your cunt, whose visage you’d pictured hovering over you, fucking you hard and deep; the name you accidentally moaned when James was eating you out the last time you hooked up. 

Your mind refused to accept that this was reality, hoping against hope that this was some twisted fucking nightmare. 

Shame welled up inside you, your cheeks hot from embarrassment and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, mortification settling in earnest now. In addition to being humiliating, you also felt like a fucking creep. From his perspective, you just sent him a completely unsolicited nude photo. 

Even more so, you hated that this probably killed any chance you had with him, even if that chance had been slim to none to begin with. 

You paced your bedroom, thumbnail chewed raw as you tried to do damage control. What does one even say after they accidentally send a nude to their boss? After far too much deliberation, you decided to keep it simple, apologize, and crawl into your bed for the remainder of your two days off. 

You: Dr. Abbot, I am so sorry about that!! I obviously didn’t mean to send that to you. 

You: I meant to send it to a James and must not have looked closely enough before I sent it. 

You: Thank you for deleting the photo, and I’m so sorry once again that you were subjected to seeing that. 

You threw your phone as far away from you as possible, recklessly disregarding its safety despite the fact that you most certainly could not afford to repair said phone if it was damaged, and flopped onto the bed, screaming into a pillow. Your throat was raw by the time you surfaced for air, your body limp and exhausted, mind shuffling through worst case scenarios. 

In the midst of your spiral, your brain drifted to the other part of his message: a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. That was, admittedly, inappropriate, but no more so than sending a nude to your superior, so you figured you were even. He probably just meant it to be supportive; to try and diffuse the awkward situation. 

But another part of you wondered if he meant something else. If he was signalling to you that he would eat it, bush or not. The thought was indulgent, if not utterly preposterous. He was an attending; you were a resident. There was no way he’d meant anything by it. But you couldn’t help thinking…  

Did he like the photo? Was he picturing you with a bush? Did he think about tasting you, about swirling his tongue around your clit or plunging it deep into you? 

A notification dinged, shaking you out of your daydream, and you contemplated whether or not you actually wanted to see what he said, if anything at all. Curiosity eventually won out, hands grappling for your phone and swiping open the notification. 

Jack Abbot: No worries. 👍 

It was a completely normal response, which almost made it worse. Part of you wished he would lash out, call you disgusting or a whore, at least you’d know what to do with that. Shame or disgust were easier to digest than nonchalance. 

You didn’t bother to send the photo to the correct person, your lust dampened, the fire doused with cold water, remnants pulverized to ash. Groaning, you burrowed into your bed with no intention of leaving for the next two days. 

You had no idea how you were going to face him Monday.

You woke up two days later and ran through your options. 

Flee the country and never return to Pittsburgh ever again (unrealistic, you’d devoted too much time to becoming a doctor, you weren’t giving up because of some catastrophically stupid mistake)

Arrive to work 20 minutes late, hopefully avoiding Jack Abbot by all costs (unlikely, the man worked more overtime than anyone except Robby. He was sure to still be there, and all you’d get was attendance point for your trouble) 

Be a mature adult, apologize, and forget this ever happened, like he suggested (undoubtedly the best choice, but could you really ever forget that your attending has seen your pussy? And, a far sicker thought, did you want him to forget?) 

Indecision weighed on you as you got ready, ultimately deciding on lucky number option 3. Your only saving grace was the fact that you were on day shift, and Abbot rarely worked days. The only interaction would be at handoff, and maybe if you could busied yourself enough getting a jump on patients, you could avoid him for as long as possible. 

That was your plan of action as you walked into chairs, head down as you scanned into the ED and approached the nurses station. You didn’t hear his voice, which was a good sign; typically, you could hear it as soon as you entered, steady barking out orders over the hum of the department. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself and thinking for the first time since you sent that photo that things might be okay. 

You spot Ellis at a work station, and beeline to her to get the handover started. 

“Hey Ellis, how’d the night go? Any weird and wild cases?” you ask, 

“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, “foreign body extractions, a couple MIs, an insomniac who overdosed on benadryl and swore that the hat man was after him for money,” she laughed, shaking her head.

“To be fair, the hat man could be after him for money,” you said solemnly, face straight for a second before you burst out laughing. 

Handover continued smoothly, Ellis updating you on which patients needed labs or imaging and which needed to be discharged. You almost made it through unscathed, your body turning to make your way to North 5 when you heard his voice calling to Ellis. 

Your shoulders tensed–body betraying you by freezing in place–and he was next to you before you could scuttle away. Resting his forearms on the counter next to you, he continued talking to Ellis–about what, you couldn’t say, static filling your ears as you remembered what you’d done. 

“Morning, Doc,” he said, startling you out of your daze.  

“G-good morning, Dr. Abbot,” you stuttered, eyes glancing briefly at him before settling on his chin, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second. 

He looked annoyingly normal, showing no sign that anything unseemly had occurred between you. You chanced another look at his eyes, the hazel orbs showing no hint of amusement or belittlement. But there was a look of acknowledgement, a steady one that should have reassured you that everything was okay, that you weren’t a laughingstock. The same look he’d give you in a trauma when things went sideways through no fault of your own. 

And In any other situation, it would be reassuring. But right now, all it did was remind you that he’d seen your most sensitive parts, that he’d commented on the state of your pubic hair (or lack thereof). Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and your breath caught in your throat, eyes unable to breakaway from his gaze. 

When you did manage to look away, it was, traitorously, to look down at his lips. They looked so soft, and for a split second you imagined yourself leaning in, capturing his lips with yours and kissing him into oblivion. You snapped back to reality half a second too late, seeing the edge of Abbot’s mouth turn up in the barest hint of a smile. 

Clearing your throat, you quickly excused yourself to see a patient, all but running to the exam room. You managed to slow your breathing and compose yourself before you entered the room, squaring your shoulders and getting back to work. 

This was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated.

Jack was being honest when he told you he deleted the text thread with that photo in it, a fact he was coming to regret as he laid in bed post-shift, body tired but too wired to relax and fall asleep. He’d committed the photo to memory, though, losing himself in it as he dragged his hand up and down his cock, thinking about how soft you’d be, how sweet you’d taste, the sounds he’d pull from you as he fucked you with his tongue. He’d fallen into this routine an embarrassing amount of times since he received that photo, feeling like a pervy, dirty old man all the while, but doing nothing to stop himself either. 

His hand glided over his shaft once more, imagining that it was your warm, wet walls wrapped around him instead, and he was coming hard, painting his stomach with streaks of warm, wet goo. He sat there, breathing heavy, as a twitch of shame rolled over him. He shouldn’t be jerking it to the remembered image of a resident’s pussy, a woman at least 15 years younger than him, if not more. 

But it was harder than he’d thought it would be to put that photo behind him. It was all he could think about as soon as he saw you that first morning, the image looping in an endless projection in his mind. It was completely unprofessional, and frankly dishonest. He’d told you that you could both pretend it had never happened, but he wasn’t so sure that was possible anymore. 

And it was clear you hadn’t forgotten either. You were jumpy around him, the easy quips you used swap in the morning abandoned for stuttered greetings and awkward silences. He’d also caught you looking at his lips on more than one occasion and stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t sure if it was true attraction, or just some morbid curiosity that was sparked by the unusual situation you two found yourselves in, but Jack wasn’t about to get his hopes up for the former. 

As difficult as it was to keep his head on straight after seeing that photo, the more troubling part was that he’d lost the 10 to 15 minutes he spent every morning talking to you, a small ritual he looked forward to every shift. He hadn’t realized how much those moments meant to him until they were gone. Even the worst nights were magically better when he was able to make you laugh at handoff, your smile making his chest swell with pride and head fuzzy with feelings he had no business feeling. 

Jack knew he had to do something to ease the tension, to get things back to normal. Or maybe a new normal, if he had anything to do with it.

The days passed in a similar fashion to that first day. Jack would greet you politely and attempt your typical banter, and you would awkwardly stutter out an adequate reply before making your escape as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure why you weren’t able to be a fucking adult and put it behind you, but you just couldn’t. Every time you thought you had the courage to revert back to your typical routine with Abbot, you chickened out almost immediately, bumbling your wall through some moronic excuse. 

To make matters worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was worse than it ever had been before; what used to be an errant thought that would arise only in the throes of pleasure were now occurring during the most mundane tasks. You thought about what his full, silver curls would look like buried between your thighs while you were doing laundry; what his mouth would feel like on your breasts, teeth pulling at the pebbled skin of your nipples while you cooked dinner; how he would fuck you–would it be soft and slow, or hard and punishing?–while you cleaned the bathroom. 

Your luck ran out about a month after the incident, as you were calling it. For the most part, you were able to keep your interactions with Abbot brief, albeit awkward. But today he was scheduled on day shift, covering for Al-Hashimi while she was home sick with her son. You’d only found out when you walked in, seeing his name on the board despite the fact that he was off last night. 

You felt a wave of nausea wash over you; how were you supposed to go a whole day avoiding him? You managed pretty well for the first half of your shift, presenting exclusively to Robby, which wasn’t all that different from your normal routine. You avoided the traumas Abbot was running, hiding in exam rooms under the guise of checking vitals or reviewing scans. It was working fairly well until midday, when you were unfortunately in the vicinity of the ambulance bay when paramedics burst through. 

“Santos, Mohan,” Abbot paused, eyes flitting over to where you stood before calling your name as well, “with me!” he said, already moving into the trauma room and gowning up. You reluctantly followed, slipping on your own trauma gown. He was behind you before you could secure your gown, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck as he tied the strings for you. It shouldn’t have sent a thrill down your spine, but it did. You stuttered out a thank you as you moved to assess the patient. 

The paramedic was halfway through the bullet when you arrived at the bedside, hands moving to transfer them from the stretcher to the bed. “– multiple lacerations, bruises to the face, chest, and abdomen. Possible tib-fib and facial fracture.” You looked down at the patient, a teenage boy who couldn’t have been older than 15. 

“BP’s low, 70 palp; pulse ox is 85,” Princess called out.  

You slid the chestpiece of your stethoscope over the patient's chest, listening to the lungs. Unfortunately, your brain went blank when Abbot sidled up next to you, arm pressed tight against yours in the cramped trauma room. 

“What do you think, Doc?” he asked, listening with his own stethoscope now. 

You blinked, brain lagging as you tried to compose yourself; to try and save this boy’s life. 

“Uh-um good breath sounds?” you said, a question more than an answer, though you were certain about the breath sounds. “Airway is patent, no tracheal deviation, no blood in the canal,” you finished, regaining a bit of confidence as you averted your gaze from his. 

“Good,” he said, hand grasping your elbow and moving you down to the end of the bed. “What do we need to order?”

Santos, blessedly, answered before you could embarrass yourself further, “C-spine, chest and head CT.” 

“BP is down to 60!” 

“Alright people! What are we dealing with?” Abbot called out, eyebrow quirked at you.

Every differential evaporated from your mind. “He’s bleeding from somewhere,” was all you could come up with, though that was obvious. Instead of dwelling on that, you turned your attention to the boy, your eyes examining his body, searching for the source of bleeding. With Samira’s help you flipped the boy over, desperate to find a stab wound or gash, but coming up empty. 

“Must be the belly,” Santos said.

“Alright, lavage kit please!” Abbot said, turning to you, “you ever done one of these?” 

You shook your head. 

“Well, today’s your lucky day, then,” he said, handing you an 11-blade.

Despite your best efforts, your hand shook as you pressed the blade against the skin. 

“I-I can’t,” you whispered, low enough that only he could hear. 

“You can,” he said, stepping behind you to steady your hand, guiding as you made the incision. He handed you the tubing next. “Make sure you’re into the peritoneum,” he whispered, lips right next to your ear. His hand was still on top of yours as you slid the tubing in, “I’m in, hook up the saline and extension tubing,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief.  

Your relief was short-lived. The results of the lavage came back–negative. “Shit, nothing. It’s not the belly,” you said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“What the fuck? Where the hell is this kid bleeding from?” Abbot cursed, pacing around the bed to see if anything was forgotten. “You check his back?” he asked. 

“Yes, nothing there. Maybe it’s a faulty blood pressure cuff?” you said, grasping at straws, but moving to flip the boy over and recheck his back again anyway. 

Abbot was next to you, eyes raking over systematically to find the source when suddenly Mohan pointed out a tiny mark on the boy’s lower right side, “What is that?” she asked. 

“That is a very small puncture wound. Probably an ice pick, if I had to guess,” Abbot answered.

Fuck. You should have caught that. You were standing right there, staring at the lower quadrant of the boy's back. You’d even seen the small mark, but dismissed it as a mole. You felt sick to your stomach, fear and shame welling up in you. You had never had a reaction like this in a trauma, not even on your first day as a med student. 

Garcia burst through the door just as Abbot was getting the patient ready to head up to the O.R. “Puncture wound, probably hit the kidney or renal artery,” he said, passing off the patient. She nodded, taking over from there. 

“Good pickup,” you congratulated Mohan weakly as you walked out of the trauma bay, hoping you could make it to the bathroom and wallow in self-pity for a few moments.

You heard him call your name shortly after you exited the trauma bay. Heart sinking, you turned to face him. “Yes, Dr. Abbot?” you asked, fidgeting with the hem of your scrub top. You weren’t sure you could handle being yelled at by him today. You’d never been one for tears at being reprimanded, but you could already feel the tell-tale prickling behind your eyes, and you were almost positive that the dam would burst at a harsh word from Abbot. 

“A word, please?” he asked, gesturing you to the stairwell, the only place with a semblance of privacy in the ED. You sullenly followed after him, bracing yourself for impact. 

You leaned back against the wall, fully expecting him to start yelling as soon as you were situated under the staircase, hidden well enough from passersby, but all you felt was a warm, heavy weight on your shoulder. 

“You have to settle down, okay?” he said, one hand planted firmly on your shoulder and the other grasping your chin between his fingers to direct your gaze to his. “Look, I know what you sent me was embarrassing, and we probably should’ve talked about it, but you can’t get this worked up over it when I’m on shift as your attending. It can’t affect your work, you're too good of a doctor to let something like this throw you,” he said earnestly, eyes sincere when you looked into them. 

You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Your mind still hadn’t fully caught up. “I… you didn’t bring me out here to yell at me?” you asked, voice coming out weaker than you intended it to. 

He shook his head, confused, “What? No, of course not. I barely noticed that puncture wound myself,” he said, alleviating your anxiety somewhat. 

“What I’m concerned about is how wound tight you are around me. I’m not saying you have to like me or anything, but you have to be comfortable working with me. You didn’t make an error in this trauma, but you could have. And I know it would eat you up if something like that happened,” he said, thumb gently sweeping over your chin. 

“I can’t let you jeopardize your education because you’re embarrassed about mistakenly sending me a revealing photo. It would kill me if you didn’t reach your full potential because of something like that, if I had any part of it,” he shook his head, a pained look on his face. 

Oh. You couldn’t breathe, your cheeks surely inflamed at this point. You were suddenly very aware of how close he’d gotten–and of his hand on your face. His fingers were warm against your face, skin rough, providing delicious friction as his hand repositioned, thumb stroking along your jaw as he subtly tilted your head back. He smelled like clean laundry and coffee, with a slight tang of antiseptic.

Your lips parted, ragged breaths falling from your lips. 

“Dr. Abbot–”

“Jack. Call me Jack,” he murmured, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. If you tipped your head up just a fraction, it would close the distance between you; would bring your lips flush together. Your eyes fluttered shut at the thought. 

“Jack, I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about that picture,” you admitted quietly. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I can’t stop thinking about it, either.” 

“Really?” you looked up at him from under your eyelashes. 

He nodded, moving impossibly closer, lips ghosting against yours. He hesitated briefly, a look of doubt flashing across his face before his gaze steadied–a decision made; a line ready to be crossed. His grip tightened against your jaw, “I can’t stop thinking about you spreading that pretty little pussy open, or about the prick who wanted you to shave before he’d think about going down on you,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. 

“You know how many times I fucked my fist to the memory of that photo? How much I’ve thought about how you taste, what sounds you’d make when you cum?” he asked. 

A strangled moan escaped your lips at his words. You’d never seen this side of Jack Abbot before, and it was intoxicating. “I-i think about you when I touch myself too,” you whimpered, your admission seeming tame compared to his vulgar words, but you wanted him to know you were also going crazy over him; that this wasn’t one-sided.  

“Yeah, pretty girl? You think about me when you stuff that little cunt with your fingers? Wish it was my cock instead?” he asked, his other hand snaking down to your hip, fingers inching their way under your scrub top to caress the skin there. 

You nodded, the proximity and dirty talk stealing your breath and leaving you unable to form an intelligible sentence. 

“Did he eat your pussy, sugar? You got all dolled up for him, did he at least treat you right?” he asked, breath fanning over your lips, stubble just barely grazing your sensitive skin. 

You shook your head, dazed. “I didn’t send it to him,” you said, a little bashful, “was too embarrassed after I sent it to you.” 

He groaned, forehead falling against yours, “poor baby, put in all that effort and didn’t even get to cum, did you?” he asked, just the slightest bit condescending. 

You let out a pathetic whine, shaking your head ‘no’ at his question. Heat pooled deep in your belly and you felt your panties quickly dampening.  

He tsked, “we’ll have to rectify that,” he said, “You shave again? Or you let her grow back natural?” he asked.

You bit your lip, still a bit shy despite all the filthy words that he’d spoken in the last 5 minutes. “I’m au naturelle,” you whispered, a slight smirk tugging at your lips. 

“Good fucking girl,” he growled before his mouth was on yours. His lips moved against yours with a ferocity you’d never experienced before. There was nothing uncertain about the kiss, his lips firm as he devoured you, tongue licking into your mouth and sliding against yours deliciously. One of your hands slid up the side of his neck to play with the curls at his nape while the other fisted in the fabric of his scrub top. 

His spit tasted like the stale breakroom coffee and the spearmint of his gum, and you couldn’t get enough. You suckled at his tongue, trying to keep up with his relentless pace, but eventually let him take the reins and kiss you silly. 

You were both panting when you pulled away, a string of spit drawn taut between your lips before snapping. Jack held your head between his hands, thumbs brushing softly over the apples of your cheeks. 

“Talk with me. Tonight. Come have dinner or a drink with me, and we can talk about it all,” he said, a borderline pleading look on his face. 

You nodded, still a little dumb from the kiss. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay,” you said, slowly extricating your hand from his scrub top. 

He let you go with a final squeeze to your jaw, moving to re-enter the ED before you. 

You stood there a moment longer, wiping your lips to get rid of your combined saliva and to lessen the kiss bitten look you were sure you were sporting before getting back to work.

The rest of the shift was painfully slow, the hours passing by like molasses. You couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, the way his lips molded against yours like it was their rightful place. You did make a concentrated effort not to let it impact your work, though. Jack was right about that; nothing could come between you and finishing your residency. 

It was just after 7:30 when you exited the hospital, and you immediately spotted Jack leaning against his truck waiting for you. You smiled as you approached him, nervous butterflies erupting in your stomach. Despite that breathtaking kiss, you still didn’t know where you stood. Was he just satisfying a sexual curiosity? Or was it possible that he also had feelings for you? 

He cleared his throat, “So I was thinking we could order something to my place and talk there. Unless you want to go somewhere else, to a restaurant or your place,” he rambled, nerves undercutting his typically confident energy. 

“Your place sounds good,” you nod, still a bit shy.

His hand was warm on the small of your back as he guided you to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you step up into the cab. The ride to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Some 90s alternative rock playlist hummed quietly in the background while you ordered pizza for the two of you–on his phone, with his card, he insisted. His hand rested lightly on your knee, the heat of his palm burning through the fabric of your scrubs.  

You arrived at a beautifully manicured house in a suburb far enough from the city to be peacefully quiet. It’s different from what you pictured, you realize as you walk in. You assumed that a man who worked as much as he did wouldn’t have the time or energy to put into making a house a home; you pictured a sterile kitchen and minimalist fixtures, white walls with abstract art. 

But it was homey. The walls were painted, photos scattered across them. The couch looked comfy, something picked out with intention, not the first option plucked from a furniture catalog. There were plants, beautiful, well taken care of ferns and pothos littered about. Warm light filtered through the kitchen, the island topped with butcher block and bracketed by two upholstered stools. 

“Do you want anything to drink? Water, wine, beer?” he asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer for himself. 

You focused your attention back on him, abandoning your pseudo-psychoanalysis of his house and drifting over to perch on a stool. “Wine would be nice,” you said, grateful for something to occupy your hands. He nods, pours you a modest glass of red–something French that probably costs ten times the amount of your shitty grocery store wine. 

The pizza arrives soon thereafter, and you sit down at the island to eat. Conversation is easy, and you feel more at ease with him now than you ever had before, a drastic 180 from this morning. You talk about your day, life, post-residency plans; he lets loose a few embarrassing stories from his own residency days, one featuring a very unfortunate Robby being pantsed by a 6 year old in the middle of the ED. Eventually, though, plates are cleared and glasses are downed, a natural lull falling over the conversation. 

“So,” he starts, head resting against his palm, arm propped up on the counter, “that photo…” He’s got that sly smirk on his face now, comfortable now to tease you about it. 

You groan, burying your head in your arms. He laughed, “you don’t have to explain yourself, but I am curious what series of events led to me receiving that photo,” he said… “a series of events for which I am very thankful for, by the way.”  

You turned, resting your head sideways on your arms, and started explaining all about James and his preferences, how he was your only real option for some skin-to-skin contact. Jack, for his part, listened quietly, offering little commentary until you finished your great tale. 

“So you’re telling me that this kid can’t even fuck you right, yet he demands you shave before he’ll go down on you?” he asks, a horrified look on his face. 

“Welcome to the joys of modern dating,” you joke, shooting him a halfhearted smile. 

He shook his head, “unacceptable,” he said before hooking his leg around your stool and pulling you closer. You gasp, steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh as you fight not to topple onto him completely. He was close now, one hand coming up to rest on the hollow of your neck while the other slid up your top, thumb strumming over your ribs. 

Jack didn’t hesitate this time. This kiss was different–no less searing, but a little more leisurely–like he wasn’t worried about scarcity anymore, confident that he had the time to take you apart and put you back together again before the night was over. His mouth was molten against yours, tongue delving deep in your mouth and swallowing up the steady stream of desperate whines escaping you. 

The hand on your neck coasted upward, tangling in your hair and angling your head back to deepen the kiss. Your hands slid under his shirt, groaning as they came to rest on his tummy. He was warm, the muscle firm under your hands as you lightly scraped your nails over his flesh. His chest rumbled under your touch, the hand in your hair tightening, the twinge of pain a welcome contrast to the overwhelming pleasure of his lips against yours. 

He barely broke the kiss to whisper into your mouth, “let me show you what its like to have a real man fuck you. Please, sugar,” he pulled away finally, resting his forehead against yours.

“Please fuck me, Jack,” you said, eyes hooded with lust. A moment later you were being scooped up from the stool and carried toward his bedroom. While Jack focused on not running into anything, you trailed open-mouthed kisses along the length of his neck, sucking the skin between your teeth before soothing it over with your tongue. You nipped gently at his adam’s apple, smiling when he yelped at the contact. 

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he chuckled before dropping you down onto his bed, your body bouncing slightly before settling. He stood between your legs, face cradled between his meaty hands. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” he asked, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “I want to do so many filthy, obscene things to you tonight; want to fuck you into oblivion as many times as you’ll let me, but I want you to know that if you want to stop, at any point, you just say the word and we’re done. No questions asked. Understand?” 

You nodded once more, but that was insufficient for Jack. “need you to use your big girl words, okay, pretty? Tell me you understand,” he said. 

“I understand, Jack. If I want to stop, I’ll tell you,” you replied seriously, even though you knew there was no chance you’d want to stop. 

“Good. Now, I want you to take off your scrubs, scoot up to the headboard, and get comfortable while I take care of my leg, okay?” 

You did as he bade you, left only in a pair of pink cotton panties and bra. You hadn’t planned on being in this situation, but you were glad they were a matching set at the very least. Settling against his pillows, you watched as he shucked his pants off, the sleek metal of his prosthesis glinting in the low lamplight. 

He sat down at the edge of the bed, fingers undoing the mechanism with practiced motions, twisting the appendage off and setting it to the side. The skin looked a little chapped, but not raw, which was a good sign. 

“Is there anything I could do to make things more comfortable for you?” you asked. You wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t put off by his leg, wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like he had to overcompensate because of it. 

“No, thank you, sugar. You’re doin’ plenty already,” he assured, turning around to face you. His eyes darkened as he took you in, his gaze hungrily raking over your newly exposed skin. He moved to hover over you, forearms braced next to your head as kisses you again, this time a sweet press of his lips against yours before he began trailing his mouth along your jaw and down your neck, laving hot kisses all across your neck and collarbone. 

A gasp punches out of you when he sucks harshly at the spot just below the ear, the spot that turns your insides to putty. He grins against you, focusing his attention there until you’re a writhing, moaning mess under him. A hand reaches behind you to make quick work of your bra clasp, the flimsy material soon thrown across the room, forgotten immediately. His hands are on you in a flash, thumbs teasing along the underside of your tits. 

Whining, you claw at his shirt, desperately wanting to feel his bare chest against your nipples, and he obliges, one-handedly throwing the thing off. The fine silver hair on his chest scrapes against you, your nails digging into his back as you pull him flush to you. Jack groans, hips involuntarily rutting against you, his hard cock a delicious pressure against your aching cunt. Your hips cant up, chasing the friction and grinding yourself against him. 

“Careful, you keep doin’ that and this’ll be over before it even starts,” Jack warns, nipping at your bottom lip before continuing his maddening descent, mouth exploring your breasts–conveniently ignoring your painfully hard nipples. “Jaaaack,” you whine, thrusting your chest upward. He takes the hint, lips suctioning against a nipple and using his tongue to flick the pebbled flesh. Your hand fists in his curls, holding him there as his hand moves to tug at your other nipple. When he decides he’s given enough attention to one nipple, he switches sides, giving the other the same treatment. By the time he moves on, your tits are sure to be sore and red tomorrow, but you could not care less about that right now. 

He kissed down your stomach, lips lingering at your navel before pulling back, eyes travelling down between your legs. “Fuck sweetheart, is all this just from me playin’ with your pretty tits?” he asked, eyes fixated on the wet spot on your panties. You whimper in response, mind too fuzzy to form words. His fingers skate over your waistband, your tummy contracting in anticipation. Ever so slowly, he drags your panties down your legs, discarding them over his shoulder as he settles between your legs.

His pupils were blown wide, utterly entranced by your pussy. The attention made you want to shrink in on yourself, your legs subconsciously moving to close, but his wide shoulders and firm grip on your thighs stopped you. “Fuck, sugar, this is what she looks like with some curls on ‘er? And you let some boy convince you she needed to be bald?” He shook his head, a genuinely pained look on his face. 

He moved to spread you open for him, thumbs stroking up and down your lips as he took you in. Without warning, he surged forward, pressing a chase kiss against your clit before sitting back and continuing to admire your pussy. You squealed, hips twitching forward in search of more friction, the brief contact making you dizzy with need. It was slightly embarrassing, being watched like this, but you were growing impossibly wetter anyway. 

Jack’s hands moved back to your thighs as you squirmed, grip tightening, fingers sinking into your soft flesh just enough to ache, and spread you further open. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl,” he said, pressing hot kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, stopping right at the crease between your pussy and thigh, breath fanning over your puffy folds. Your clit was throbbing, your hips subtly shifting against nothing. 

“‘m gonna show you just how pretty this pussy is, not gonna stop until you feel it,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, “you okay with that?” 

No sooner had you nodded than he was on you. He didn’t waste any time, swiping the flat of his tongue through your folds from entrance to clit in one long stroke. His tongue was hot against your cunt, the muscle firm as it lapped hungrily at your folds, exploring every inch of you. He groaned, nuzzling his face deeper into your pussy. “Fuck, you taste better than I could have ever imagined,” he moaned, tongue dipping into your hole to collect the slick gathering there. 

He didn’t surface for air, mouth working against you relentlessly; like he’d been deprived of something vital that had been restored to him, and he wasn’t about to let it go again. It was primal, almost animalistic the way he licked, sucked, and nipped at your cunt. Your back arched almost painfully off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets and moans slipping from your lips unbidden. 

He alternated between circling your clit in tight little circles with the tip of his tongue, and suckling on it, lips wrapped snug around the bundle of nerves. Your body was hot, your legs trembling as the coil in your core wound tighter. One hand moved to grip his curls, the hair soft between your fingers as you tugged at it. He moaned into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you right to the edge.  

“Fuck, right there, Jack,” you gasped, “I’m so close, so–”

“Cum for me, sugar, let me taste you,” he said quickly, head bowing back down to suck your clit harshly, teeth grazing it just the littlest bit.  

And you did, white hot pleasure coursing through you, body contorting, legs squeezing his head between your thighs as you rode out your orgasm. You felt like a live wire, your nerves firing on all cylinders while Jack kept gentle pressure on your clit, drawing out your release as long as possible. Jack lapped up all your spend, not letting a drop go to waste. Boneless, you weakly pushed his head away, the overstimulation too much. 

He sat back a fraction, face dripping with your juices and his saliva. There was a gleam in his eye as his thumb replaced his mouth, rubbing soft circles against your clit. A high-pitched whine escaped you, your sensitive nub begging for reprieve. 

“You can give me another one, can’t you pretty girl?” he asked, voice brooking no argument. 

“I d-don’t–fuck–I don’t know,” you blabbered, the painful overstimulation quickly giving way to pleasure, your hips canting forward against his thumb. 

“I think you can,” he murmured, swiping a thick finger through your folds before sinking it in and curling lazily against that sweet spot on your front wall. “Fuck, Jack, feels so good,” you moaned, moving you hips in time with his finger.  Before you knew it he was adding another finger, a slight sting accompanying the stretch. All you could do was whimper, his fingers switching between slow and deep, and fast and hard strokes. 

Your second orgasm hit you without warning, pleasure reverberating through your body from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, your toes curling as you came harder than you ever had in your life. Jack’s fingers kept moving, wringing every last after shock from your body. You were panting now, trying to catch your breath but failing miserably. 

And yet, Jack’s fingers were still moving, scissoring you open now. It was too much, the sensations bordered more on pain than pleasure. “I can’t–can’t do a-another one like this,” you stuttered out.

Jack looked at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Tell me you have the prettiest pussy,” he said, fingers slowing a fraction as he waited for you to answer, gaze leveled directly at you.  

You whined, face heating at the order, “J-Jack, please, just wanna cum on your cock,” you said, hoping it would break his resolve. 

“I’ll fuck you as soon as you say it, sugar. Say you have the prettiest pussy.” 

You squirmed, cheeks hot as you whimpered, “I can’t–I’m not–” was all you managed to get out before a sharp slap landed on your pussy. You gasped, the pain shocking but not unwelcome. 

“If you want to cum on my cock, you have to be a good girl,” he said, face severe as he continued curling his fingers against your sweet spot. “and good girls do what they’re told. So, I want you to say, ‘Jack, I have the prettiest, sweetest pussy’ okay? Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” he asked, thumb circling your clit. 

You huffed, trying to catch your breath. “Ja-aack, fuck, I-I have, hng, I have the p-prettiest, sweet–ah–sweetest pussy,” you stammered out. 

“Knew you could do it for me,” he praised, fingers leaving your cunt to pull off his boxers. His cock sprang out, curving slightly and resting against his abdomen. It stole the breath from your lungs–It was obnoxiously thick and decently lengthy, tip flushed red and leaking precum steadily. Your hand reached out to feel him, maybe jerk him off a little before he fucked you, but Jack stopped you, pinning  your wrist down on the bed. You whined, lip jutting out in a not-so-faux pout. 

“I’m trying not to cum in 5 seconds like a teenager, sugar, and if you put your soft hands on me right now I’m not gonna be able to last,” he said, reaching over to his bedside table to grab a condom. He stroked his cock a few times before rolling the condom on and lining himself up with your entrance, neither one of you interested in teasing anymore. 

He eased the tip in, your walls fluttering around him to accommodate his girth. Your legs spread open wider for him as he settled between your hips, pushing the rest of his length in slowly until he was flush against your hips, his pelvic bone rubbing your clit just right. The stretch was intense, your walls fluttering and clenching harshly at the intrusion. Your hips wiggled slightly, trying to get used to the twinge of pain from the sheer size of him. 

Jack hovered over you, one arm resting next to your head while the other gripped your hip tight. His face was twisted, almost painful looking. “You gotta relax for me, sugar, you’re gripping me like a fuckin’ vise,” he grit out, head falling into the crook of your neck, placing chaste kisses there, trying to loosen you up. You tried, willing your muscles to relax around him.  

A few moments passed before Jack was able to move, pulling out to the tip before thrusting back in harshly, setting a brutal pace. You moaned, Jack’s hips snapping hard against you, cock dragging through your walls exquisitely. You tried to keep up with his pace, your hips meeting each thrust, cunt greedily sucking him back in each time. 

Your back was arched, hair splayed out across the pillow as you took what Jack gave you. 

“So pretty for me, sweetheart,” he said, sitting back on his haunches, “my perfect little pussy.” He grabbed at your thighs, pushing them up toward your chest, knees nearly at your ears. The new angle forced him deeper than before, his thrusts fucking you into the mattress. You were entranced by the view of him fucking you, curls dripping and chest glistening with sweat as he pounded into your pussy. 

The room sounded obscene between the slapping skin, your combined moans, and your squelching cunt. Moans were falling from your lips at a near constant rate, and Jack was louder than you’d expected, throaty groans and grunts reverberating like music to your ears.

You’re honestly not sure you’ve ever come more than twice in a night, but it didn’t take as long as you thought for your third orgasm to build, the waves cresting fast. The only thing you could think about was Jack’s cock hammering into your pussy. 

“I think I’m gonna, gonna cum again,” you breathed, “don’t stop, Jack, pleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeease,” you keened.  

Jack’s hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss him sloppily, “cum for me, baby, let me feel you milk my cock,” he said, thrusts growing more uncoordinated as he neared his orgasm. 

It only took a few more deep, punishing trusts before you were coming undone around his cock. You held eye contact with Jack as your orgasm washed over you, your mouth parted wide, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You felt so full, your walls pulsing mercilessly around him. 

Jack gripped your hips in both hands, his trusts faster and harder than before as he chased his release. “wanna feel you cum in me Jack,” you croaked, throat raw, hands reaching out to paw at any skin you could. 

Jack groaned, hips stuttering a few more times before thrusting deep into you once last time and cumming. He ground his hips into yours, milking every last drop from his cock. You felt the warmth of his cum through the condom, your cunt clenching again at the feeling, your mind already flashing forward to imagine him fucking you raw–you let about another garbled moan at the thought. 

Spent, Jack collapsed into you, cock softening inside your still pulsing cunt. His weight on top of you was comforting, grounding you back to earth. You were content to lay there, coming down and catching your breath. 

Eventually Jack rolled off of you, disposing of the condom and grabbing a few wet wipes from his nightstand to clean you both up. 

He pulled you against his side, big hand petting your hair, “You okay, sugar? Was that too much?” he asked, voice hoarse. 

“no, was so good, Jackie,” you mumbled, feeling floaty and sated. 

“Good,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses onto your hairline.  

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, head resting on his bare chest, his heartbeat a comforting thrum in your ear. One large hand ran up and down the smooth expanse of your back while the other held your hand against his chest, fingers intertwined together. 

“I hope you know this isn’t just a one time thing,” he said suddenly, his arm tightening its hold around you. 

“No?” you asked, trying to keep the hopeful edge out of your voice. 

“Uh-uh, you’re mine,” he says possessively, hand snaking down to cup your sensitive mound, “this is my pussy now.” 

You want to be offended, want to point out that you’re more than your cunt. But you know Jack knows that, and more than anything your head grows warm and fuzzy at the thought of being someone’s. Of being Jack’s. 

“Yeah, ‘s all yours, Jackie,” you mumble, falling asleep against the gentle rise and fall of his chest, happier than you’ve been in a long time.

----------------------------------------------------------------

You didn't know exactly what you were expecting to come out of Clayton Emerson's mouth as the two of you were laid up in a tangle of limbs and bare flesh in your bed but it definitely wasn't "Will you house sit for me while I'm in Hilo?" 

Never once in the two years since you started whatever this thing was between you, had he ever personally invited you into his home. 

It was always hotel rooms outside of town or in the back of his Jeep in some remote location out in the forest where no one would walk by and see the Mayor of Honolulu fucking someone over twenty years younger than he was and definitely shouldn't be with in that regard. 

You had even started having him at your place when your roommate went on her monthly "work trips" with her boss. It made you feel guilty to keep her in the dark given that she and her boss were having a full blown affair and probably wouldn't judge you in the slightest. 

But you just couldn't bring yourself to tell her that you let the man who runs this town come inside you several times a week. And that maybe you were starting to develop feelings you shouldn't be.

You found out quickly that you loved him there, in your bedroom, best. Under the dull glow of your fairy lights, amongst the things that showcased who you were to your core. 

He'd taken his time his first visit studying all the photos scattered in various surfaces of your room. The life you lived outside of your little bubble, family photos from a childhood that felt so far away now. Posters from bands you no longer listened to but still kept up for nostalgia mingled with ones of artists that now frequented your music apps and of movies you loved. 

You watched him make his way through the museum of your life, his face softening on a picture of you as a child with your siblings, your front teeth missing but that hadn't stopped you from smiling so hard your face might split. 

Clayton had always been attractive to you. It drove you mad most days. You knew from the moment you saw him that you had to have him in some way. Any way he was willing to give himself. But he'd never been more mesmerizing than here in this room. 

It wasn't lost on you how out of place he was amongst your things. Realistically he shouldn't be there at all, the definition of taboo and crossing lines, but you couldn't help the warm feeling that came over you. Especially when he looked at you with so much adoration and heat.

You'd rode him to madness that night, letting whatever animal dwelled inside you free. You couldn't get enough, each wave of pleasure he'd pounded into your body making you crave more. 

And he always matched your energy, always knew what your body needed before you even knew yourself. The two of you just fit so perfectly and you figured it was why you could never really put an end to things. 

You both had tried on a few occasions, knowing deep down things could never really work long term but it only took a couple weeks of being away from each other for one of you to cave and end up back here. 

But never had he extended things to his personal home. Not even his office in town. It was a line he had drawn firmly when you two started seeing each other. At the time you had no problem with it, perfectly content to be his dirty little secret and meeting up at whatever address he'd text you to be at. 

This was doomed from the start. But you never once hesitated when he called and definitely never let yourself believe that just because he had grown softer in the last two years that it changed anything.

You'd been in his home exactly one time, a few months into your rendezvous, for an appreciation dinner he hosted for the North Shore rescue unit. It had been an eventful but over all successful summer. The death count that year had been the lowest it had been in the last fifteen years and the Mayor thought it was worth the recognition. 

You thought about not going, remembering the hard boundary he had made a few months prior. Technically you were invited, the whole unit had been and it might raise more questions if you bailed on an event hosted by the most important man in town. Deciding to just go in the end, you tried your best to keep scarce and out of his way, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself. 

He had been cold with you that night, his usually softened demeanor around you was replaced with a stoic and guarded one, eyes like ice and face like stone. Only directed at you and you couldn't help the pinch in your chest being on the receiving end of it. 

When he wasn't shooting daggers at you, he was pretending that you didn't exist. Like the two of you didn't know each other's bodies inside and out by then. You reminded yourself that you knew what this was from the beginning, that he wasn't the gentle, romantic relationship type. That the two of you were merely using each other as a way to find release. 

It was all you'd ever be to each other and you had half a thought that this was him reminding you of that fact. 

You had cut out early, having made your appearance and just wanted to get out of those clothes and hunker down in the comfort of your home. Your shower was extra long that night, taking your time to scrub away the day so you could start anew, refreshed and clean. 

What you weren't expecting was the five texts and three missed phone calls from Clayton Emerson when you got out. 

C.E.: Did you leave already? 

C.E.: You didn't even say goodbye. 

C.E.: Are you ignoring me now? 

C.E.: If you're upset I would much rather you tell me instead of whatever this silent treatment is. 

C.E.: Listen, I'm sorry. Please come over and let me make it up to you. I'm at our usual spot. Please don't keep me waiting. 

You did in fact, keep him waiting. Not having the mental strength to face him. Exhaustion was gnawing at your bones and you decided that you'd face him when you were better rested and prepared for whatever he would throw your way. 

Plus, you couldn't really have that much of an affect on him, could you? He was the fucking mayor, a good looking one at that. He probably had a line of willing potential partners he could fill his time with. Your stomach turned to acid at the thought and you banished it as quickly as it came. 

You learned the next day how wrong you were when he had shown up at your work under the guise of checking in and making sure any comments or concerns could be addressed. 

He couldn't keep his eyes off you, ones that you noticed were a little wild and out of control. His usually perfectly kept hair was disheveled, like he'd tossed and turned all night and hadn't bothered to tame it before he left the house. Even his navy blue Hawaiian shirt was wrinkled and the buttons weren't perfectly lined up. 

Something was wrong and you cursed whatever it was for pulling at your heart strings. 

You were loading up your car to head out for the day when suddenly he was there, standing so close you could make out every color that was encased in his eyes. Butterflies started doing laps in your stomach and just being this close to him always made heat pool deep within you. 

"You never showed up. Never answered my texts or calls." His voice was shaking, like he was trying with all his power not to completely lose it. 

"I was tired and didn't feel like talking. Sorry." You shrugged, stowing away a pair of life jackets in the back seat. 

"Then be tired and quiet where I can at least see you." You paused at the words, not used to the man being vulnerable. His eyes took on that puppy dog look and you felt your walls slowly chipping away. 

"You getting soft on me, Emerson?" Your heart clenched at the idea of him caring more about you than he'd always led on. 

"I just…..don't like the idea of you being upset. Especially not with me. I know I'm an asshole, my son tells me any chance he can. His mother too. And I know I was coming on strong last night but…." He stopped, his features twisting in a battle of emotions. 

This was hard for him, being so exposed emotionally. You wondered how many people got to see this side of him. 

"But what?" You prodded, looking at him with encouragement. 

"But I have a hard time controlling myself when you're around. You looked so beautiful and all I wanted to do was throw you over my shoulder, take you to my room and fuck you until the sun came up. Not sit around and talk about the same old issues I hear about twenty times a day. Or about the weather or sports or any of that mundane nonsense. And having you there, looking like absolute sin and not being able to do anything about it made me wanna rip my hair out." 

You were embarrassed by how quickly you'd caved. Telling him to come over later that night so you could really talk it out. Except there was nothing to talk about, you'd already decided to forgive him. 

The sex that night had been unreal. Something had shifted with his confession. His body moved differently, the aching sweetness of his aftercare and the way he held onto you like you might disappear as you slept. And that had been the norm for you from then on. 

"You want me to house sit?" You repeated, shifting your head so you could look him in the eyes. 

"Yes." He stated simply, like this wasn't a huge deal. 

"You want me in your house?" You had a hard time convincing yourself you'd indeed heard him correctly.

"You've been in my house before." He frowned, running his fingertips up and down your spine. 

"Once. And you weren't exactly warm and welcoming then." His frown deepened, his hand pausing for a moment before continuing. 

"A fact that I feel I've more than made up for." He had, he really fucking had. 

"Don't you have people already who can watch your house while you're gone?" 

"I do, but I've been meaning to give them some time off. And I already asked Kainalu and that was a flat out no. You're the only other person I trust." 

"My plan to steal all your belongings and sell them on Facebook Marketplace and Criagslist is all coming together." You rubbed your palms together and let out mock maniacal laughter. He chuckled in return, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. 

"Take it all, my ex wife picked out most of that stuff anyway." You kept your body from reacting. The subject of his ex had been a sore one, something he didn't really like getting into but had let slip from time to time. 

You respected that, honestly not in any mood to hear about the woman he'd once promised forever to, had a child with. It made your chest ache in ways you had never experienced before for reasons you'd likely never admit to him. 

"You really trust me with this?" You peered up at him and he peered back at you for a moment before a soft smile stretched on his face.

"I do." 

And that's where you now found yourself, alone in that big house of his. He'd shown you around briefly, giving you a set of rules and expectations and numbers to the front gate where his security would be. He'd had the fridge and pantry fully stocked for you to use, every streaming service under the sun at your disposal. All he asked was that you water the plants and keep things tidy. 

The seriousness of his face and the professional air of his tone was deeply amusing to you. You found yourself swallowing back laughter and grinning as soon as his back was turned. 

You couldn't shake the look of tenderness on his face or the intensity of the way he'd kissed you goodbye before he'd left. Or the way he said he'd selfishly wanted you here so he knew where you'd be and he didn't have to worry so much while he was miles away and couldn't reach you as easily. You thought it was silly since you risked your life daily for a living but you let him have it. 

It wasn't the first time he'd shown that side of himself to you but it always caught you off guard. Made you believe that maybe he did have feelings for you, wanted something more than just sex. You never let yourself fall too deeply into that train of thought. You knew better than to actually think that would be true. 

When you weren't out on the beach pulling people out of near death experiences, patching up wounds and filling out paperwork, you were basking in the comfortable silence of Clayton's home. 

You had to travel about two miles through his farm land to reach the house, nestled away near the tree line of the forest. The closest neighbor was about four miles away and with the temporary dismissal of his staff, aside from a few security guards, you were completely alone. 

You utilized the massive kitchen, one you'd dreamed of having one day when you saved up enough money to set down roots somewhere. You loved to cook and bake just as much as you loved being out in those waters and helping people. It was in your blood, a perfect mix of both of your parents. 

Your father was a chef, owned his own restaurant on the other side of the island and taught you his craft from the time you could hold a spatula firmly in your little hand. Your mother had been a Life Guard, spent time up here in her youth doing the same line of work before heading down south to settle down and raise a family. She had been your inspiration to follow the same path. 

You'd been meaning to try out a few recipes you'd seen online but didn't have the patience or time to do in your little apartment kitchen. But with all this space, you figured why not? You quickly wondered why you'd deprived yourself of this joy. It made you miss your father and you made a mental note to give him a call the following day. 

When you were done, you'd nuzzle up on the couch and watched movies you'd been meaning to watch but again, never found the time to settle in. 

I could get used to this. The thought was there before you could stop it, your chest tightening and your face heating. You shook your head in hopes it would magically make the thought disappear. Stupid, there's nothing to get used to. He'll be rushing you out of here the second he gets back. 

You were careful not to get too comfortable after that. 

You had opted for the guest bedroom, even though he said you could take his bed. You didn't want to be amongst his things, his scent surely lingering on those sheets. It would make you miss him more than you already did, a feeling you should not be having. Best to keep some level of separation. 

Clayton would check in twice a day. Once in the morning before you headed out to work, you wondered how he knew to time it so perfectly, and once after dinner. 

The conversations never lasted long and he didn't bother with small talk. Just wanted to know if there was any concerns or things he should know about before wishing you a good day or night and hanging up. You tried not to let it affect you, you were used to his frigidness by now. 

About two weeks into your house sitting gig, you'd had a particularly bad day. It started with a stubbed toe on your way out the door, after you were late getting up and it had spiraled out of control from there. 

The waves were violent that day. People were stupid enough to think they could handle them when in reality, they couldn't. You and your team had pulled out a dozen people that day, one of them hadn't made it. 

You took a bath that night. Bubbles, Epsom salt, the works. The water so hot even the Devil would be concerned. You stayed in there so long your body was practically a raisin, scrubbed red and raw. 

When you got out, you decided to do something you hadn't dared to once during your time here. But the events of the day had worn down your mental walls and you just wanted to be close to him. 

You slowly opened his bedroom door, peaking your head around to peer into the dark space, like you were expecting him to be there and catch you in the act. It was empty, obviously, the bed made up and untouched. The glow of the moon bathed the room in silver, coming in through the row of windows above his bed. 

You didn't let your eyes linger on it for too long, you had a mission. 

Opening the door all the way and flicking on the light, you slowly entered. Your eyes landed on a set of double doors and you made your way over to them, opening them to see your intuition had been correct. 

There hung a neat row of Hawaiian shirts, all the same color pallette of blue but each with their own unique patterns. Your heart melted at the sight of them, you hadn't realized how much you had missed them. You picked a random one from the middle, unbuttoning it and slipping it on. 

You didn't bother buttoning it up again nor did you put anything else on. You brought the fabric up to your nose, inhaling deeply and you swore you could weep as his scent hit you. 

You quietly exited, not wanting to linger any longer in the room and padded down the hall to the living room. The air against your practically bare flesh felt good after your bath, your nipples starting to harden beneath the fabric of Clayton's shirt. 

Without even thinking, you found yourself in front of his shelves full of records. Your fingers ran along the spines, eyes moving slowly along with them until you found something that piqued your interest. 

It was on the third shelf that you found exactly what would do the trick. You carefully pulled it out of its spot, not wanting anything to damage it. Slipping it out of its casing, you placed it into the record player, adjusted the needle to where you wanted it and turned it on. 

The intro beats to Hall & Oat's Out of Touch began to sound through the speakers and it was like the music possessed you. It started in your hips, swinging and circling back and fourth to the sound. Then your body began to roll, arms stretched up into the air. You spun around the room, letting the music move through you. 

You threw your head back and began to belt out the words, moving into the kitchen to make yourself a before bed treat. You began taking out the necessary ingredients and setting off to work. 

You were so in your element, on a whole other planet, that you didn't hear the sound of tires coming up the drive, the slam of a driver's side door nor the opening and closing of the front entrance. Not even the stomping of boots coming down the corridor. 

What broke your spell had been the feeling on the back of your neck that you were being watched. Not necessarily in a concerning way but you knew that you weren't alone. 

You looked around, your eyes catching on a figure lounging with a shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed and a smirk on it's face. It took you a moment to register what, or rather who, you were looking at. 

You stopped abruptly, your breath hitching and heart began to thump against your ribcage. 

You had forgotten in the last several days exactly what he had looked like. It was like the image in your mind didn't perfectly describe the different shades of gray that made up that head of thick curls, how deep the lines on his face were or the exact pattern of freckles that splattered across his skin. 

Devastatingly handsome and here. There was no stopping the storm of butterflies raging through your stomach or the fact that being so exposed and perceived had made you wet in an instant. 

"You're home. I thought you'd be gone for another week at least." You barely made out, not able to take your eyes off of the man. 

"Luckily we got what we needed and were able to wrap things up early." He replied, pushing off the doorframe and coming closer, eyes like a predator that had locked in on it's prey. 

"That's g-good!" You stammered, busying yourself with cleaning up the mess you'd made of the kitchen, trying to settle your heart as he stepped closer and closer. "I'll just tidy up and be out of your hair. I'm sure you're exhausted and want some quiet." 

You yelped when you felt a set of rough palms against the flesh of your hips. Suddenly pressed firmly against his front, his breath so close you could smell the saltiness of the ocean, mint and a hint of bourbon. It made your head swim and you found yourself once again locked by his gaze. 

"Surely you're not trying to leave. Not after that show you just put on." His octave had lowered into something sensual and raspy and his eyes had gone completely black. His right hand had moved from your hip, fingers running over the material of his shirt that didn't do a very good job at covering your body. "This looks good on you." 

"It's very comfortable. I get why you own a million of them." Clayton chucked, both hands now moving their way up your torso, past your stomach and ribcage, parting the fabric more so your nipples were exposed to him. Involuntarily your chest pressed forward, a silent plea for him to wrap those pretty lips around the sensitive flesh. 

His smile widened at the action, his eyes flicking up to yours for a brief moment before dipping back down to your breasts. But his lips didn't go where you so badly wanted them to, instead you jolted in shock when his mouth was suddenly against yours. His tongue caressed your bottom lip and you didn't hesitate to part them to let him in. 

He groaned like a man starved, hands coming around to smooth down the column of your back until they gripped firmly on your ass. Your answering moan set him to action and suddenly you were airborne, legs wrapped around his waist as he moved in a direction you couldn't be bothered to figure out. 

You heard the opening of a door and then your back against something soft and padded. He broke the kiss then to admire you laid out on what you now realized was his bed. He studied you for a moment, eyes roaming over every inch. 

"You drive me insane, you know that?" He said after a beat of silence. 

"Is that so?" You blushed, not bothering to fight the grin on your face. 

"You know you do. I can't get you out of my head. Took everything in me not to race back here every time I heard your voice on the damn phone." He had his palms on your feet now, massaging all the way up to your calves. 

"That explains the formality of those calls then." You rested the bottoms of your feet against his chest as he worked the knots out of your muscles. 

"If I'd let myself stay on the phone longer than that, I never would've gotten anything done." He'd continued his journey north, reaching the spot where your knees bent and slowly spreading your legs. That wild look in his eyes he'd get when he had you like this was present, though there was a hint of something else there that you couldn't pin point. 

"Do I really affect you that much?" It took everything in you to keep your voice level while he dropped to his knees before you, hands gripping under your hips and sliding your ass to the edge of the bed. Your core clenched at the anticipation and the way he starting planting lazy kisses on the insides of your thighs. 

He didn't answer, too lost in his mission now. He slowly drew closer to that spot between your thighs that now ached with need. You tried to suppress your huffs of impatience, your hips tilting up in hopes it would speed things along. 

It did the opposite, he took even longer. Switching to your other thigh and repeating the action seemingly even slower this time. His eyes were on you, a small tug at the corner of his mouth told you he was thoroughly enjoying torturing you. 

"Did you miss me?" He drawled between kisses, sucking on your skin in a way that you knew would leave behind a trail of marks. 

"Not at all." Your voice was thick, weak with lust. 

"Fucking. Liar." He growled, biting down lightly on your flesh but hard enough to make you squeak with surprise. "Let's try that again. Did. You. Miss. Me?" 

His movements paused just over your slick center, you could feel the hotness of his breath there as he exhaled. He rose a brow in challenge, daring you to lie again. In no mood to be a brat tonight, you nodded your head. 

"Uh, uh. I need to hear you say it, sweetheart." 

"I missed you." The words had barely left your lips when he descended on you. Tongue sweeping out to lick from your asshole, up your folds to your clit and back down. He repeated the action a few times, warming you up. 

You threw your head back when he took your clit into his mouth and started sucking, a palm spread out over the expanse of your stomach holding you in place. His other hand gripped onto your thigh and keeping you from trying to close your legs. 

You let out a guttural whine, his thumb replacing his tongue so it could plunge itself inside you and lap at your entrance like it was water and he'd walked through a desert to find it. You laced your fingers through his silver curls, massaging your finger tips against his scalp. You felt his groan of approval vibrate through you. 

Soon his thick fingers took place of his tongue, pushing into you and hooking one at a time. He stroked slowly at that spot inside of you, his lips once again sucking at your clit, before gradually increasing in pace. 

It took no time at all to draw out your first orgasm and you didn't brother keeping quiet. You'd still been coming down from your high and hadn't processed that he'd moved away and started his ascent upwards. You whimpered as his mouth found the hard peaks of your breasts, finally giving them the attention they'd been craving. 

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, digging into the fabric there and it dawned on you then that he was still fully dressed, shoes and all. This simply won't do. 

"Clayton." You practically whispered, your voice already starting to grow horse. All he'd responded with was a hmm? against your nipple. 

"I'm feeling a bit over dressed right now." He lifted his head to look at you, confusion on his face until it dawn on him too. He pulled away from you, getting up off the bed with a grumble. Old man, you chuckled in your head. 

He started pealing out of his layers in that same leisurely manner he'd been using all night. You propped up on your elbows, your legs still spread and ready to welcome back, and enjoyed the view. 

You bit your lip once the solid plains of his chest came into view and the path of thick muscle leading in an arrow down to the band of his dress pants. He dropped down in a squat, started untying his laces and tugging of his shoes, never once breaking eye contact. 

Your cheeks began to heat at the way he watched you, drifting back and fourth between your face and cunt, still so fucking wet and ready for him. You clenched around air, that ache pounding like a heartbeat at your core. 

His grin grew, he'd seen it happened and was totally storing it wherever his ego was kept. He started to make work of his pants, still not in any hurry. He loved watching you squirm. Growing annoyed and desperate and ready to beg for him. 

He stepped out of his pants, leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight navy boxer briefs. You could see the hard line of his length, already swollen and leaking. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic but didn't move to tug them off. 

Your awaiting gaze lifted and you found him staring at you, eyes impossibly darker. You began fidgeting under his heated stare, breathing heavily. You knew what he wanted and you were so god damn prepared to give it to him. 

"Please give me your cock, Sir." You pouted, legs parting wider for him. 

"Good girl." He drew his boxers down, exposing the patch of trimmed salt and pepper hair there, your mouth beginning to water. You let out a soft gasp as his cock sprang free, your walls squeezing together like your pussy was greeting him like an old friend. 

He threw the fabric somewhere out of your line of vision, and prowled back to where you laid on the bed. Then he was over you, his head coming down to claim your lips again, your tongues twisting in tandem. He pressed his body against yours and the friction against your nipples made your eyes roll. 

You felt the hot weight of his length laying on your stomach, slowly sliding down as he began to shift his hips. You lifted yours slightly, positioning your core so it was in the direct path of his tip. He slid up the length of you, nudging against your clit. You whimpered as he repeated the action until you had to reiterate your earlier request. 

"Please give me your cock, Sir." You panted into his mouth, palms gliding down the expanse of his back. 

"I haven't forgotten, sweetheart." And there he was, pressing his tip against your entrance but not moving forward. He lifted his head away from your kiss, watching your face intently. You watched him back, reveling in the way the moonlight brightened the color of his hazel eyes. He was breathtaking and devastating all at once and- 

Your train of though was cut short by the cry of pleasure that ripped out of your chest as he fully sheathed himself inside of you. His slow tempo gone with the wind, he pulled back and rolled his hips forward and he was off. 

The only sound in the room was the wetness of his cock plunging in and out of you, the smack of bare skin on bare skin and heavy breathing. 

You weren't entirely sure where to put your hands, gripping onto anything you could as that familiar wave of pleasure crashed over you. You'd missed this, swore you could spend a life time getting lost in it. 

He threw your legs over his shoulders, pulling back so he could watch your face screwed up in euphoria as he fucked you deeper. "That good, baby? You like that?" 

"Fuck yes." You weren't even sure if you were speaking clearly but you knew he was hitting that spot inside of you dead on and it wouldn't be long before you were clenching around his girth. 

"Oh yes, baby. There it is." He didn't stop pounding into you as you came undone. He dipped his head to plant chaste kisses on your cheeks, nose and lastly your lips. "Such a good girl, aren't you?" 

You nodded your head in a drunken daze, his voice sounded distant but you knew he was right there with you, ready to catch you if you fell into madness. He slowed his pace, kissing his way down your throat to your collarbones and back again. 

"I want to ride you. Please let me ride you." You begged, kissing his shoulder. You squeaked as he flipped the two of you over, his cock staying buried inside you. You adjusted yourself on top of him and his hands were firmly back on your ass, slowly massaging his finger tips into the skin there. 

Once you felt you'd gotten yourself into a comfortable position, you steadied your hands on his chest and slowly rolled your hips forward, then off to the left, down, right and back forward again. 

Clayton's hands slid up to rest on your hips, helping to guide yourself against his cock. "C'mon, baby. I know you can do better than that." 

You looked down at him with a shit eating grin. "I don't know. You should probably take it easy, Old Man. I think I noticed a new wrinkle on your face and your hair is looking more white than gray these days." 

He bucked his hips up in a solid swift motion, his thighs smacking hard against your ass. The sound reverberated through the room followed by your surprised gasp. You grumbled, pressing down on his chest and shooting him a glare. 

"I think you're forgetting this isn't exactly our first rodeo." He shot back, his hips thrusting again, gentler this time. 

"Hmmm, I don't think I can recall. But if you're sure you can handle me," You shrugged, positioning yourself forward and lifted yourself off of him until all that was left inside you was the tip of his cock. "So be it." 

You slammed down on his length hard and fast, lifting your self back up and doing it again. You'd messed around with different speeds until you found one you could keep up with. 

Clayton's hold on you was so strong you wouldn't be surprised if his hand prints were visible there in the morning. You came at the sound of him whimpering uncontrollably, unable to form words. You threw your head back, grind yourself down on him as you came back down. 

"Turn around. Get on your hands and knees." It was an order and you could feel your heart beat in your ears. He was about the thoroughly ruin you. 

You wasted no time getting into position, your spine curving inward so your ass was perked up perfectly for him. You could feel him shifting behind you, positioning himself back at your entrance. 

He spread his hand out at the small of your back, the other coming around to draw slow circles against your clit. You hummed contently, nudging your ass back a fraction. There was a sharp slap against your ass cheek that made your pussy clench at the sting. 

"So fucking impatient." He said it so tenderly, like it was a praise instead of the scold you knew it was.

You kept yourself still despite wanting nothing more than to press back and onto his cock. He didn't make you wait long before he bent over you, planting soft kisses down your spine and slowly pressed himself between your folds. 

You both let out a sigh in unison as he sank back into your wet heat. He rested his forehead against your shoulder, cursing and mumbling as he fucked you into near delirium. 

He used his knee to spread your legs father apart and forced your head down into the mattress. The position and the speed in which he was pounding into you made his balls swing and slap perfectly against your clit. 

Another orgasm ripped out of you but you barely had enough time to stew in it before he had you on your back again. 

You could tell he was close, his thrusts growing sloppy and less calculated. He was also getting louder, your name like a prayer or an answer so some unknown question on his lips. 

Watching him come undone like this was your favorite sight in the whole world. You could get drunk off if it, spend the rest of your days just like this. You didn't want anything, anyone more than you wanted him. 

It scared you, overwhelmed you so deeply that you could feel tears pool at your eyes and slide down your cheeks. He leaned forward, licking your tears away before resting his forehead against yours. 

The eye contact. The thoughts racing through your head. The death you'd encountered earlier that day making you realize just how short life was. The fact that he was finally taking you in the one place he swore he never would. The wave of another orgasm. The feeling of him spilling inside of you. It all became too much. 

You couldn't stop the words that shot out of you if you tried. 

"I love you." 

It was like someone hit pause on the world, this moment. Everything stilled and quieted and you swore the violent beat of your heart could be heard through the entire island. 

You dared a look at his face and froze. A mask void of emotion, glacial and removed and looking somewhere past you. 

"C-Clayton?" Your voice shook, the rest of your body following suit and it had nothing to do with your climax. 

His eyes slowly focused on you again, but there was no change in his face. He slowly pealed himself off of you, the loss of him leaving you raw and empty. 

He put distance between himself and the bed where you laid still as a rock. "You need to leave." 

"Clayton." You whispered, sitting up and trying to cover yourself with his shirt that was now hanging off your shoulders. 

"Now." You realized then you'd never actually seen him be cold and distant. All those other times you could still feel some sort of ardency underneath the surface. 

But this, it was like he'd completely switched himself off. 

"Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I just got caught up in the moment." You tried to plead but it fell on deaf ears. 

"I'll get one of the security guards to drive you home. You have ten minutes." He turned and left the room without another word. 

Violent sobs wracked through you, vision going blurry from tears. You adjusted his shirt so you were as covered as possible, his scent stinging your nose and making you nauseous as you made a beeline for the guest room. 

It was like you blacked out. Suddenly fully dressed, your duffel bag packed and swinging over your shoulder. You barreled out of the bedroom and didn't stop until you felt the cool air of the outdoors fan over you. 

You gasped for breath, struggling to get air into your lungs. You heard the opening of the front door and a distant voice which sent you bolting away to escape from this hell you'd put yourself in. 

You heard a car door, moving gravel and the sound of an engine coming up behind you. Lights stretched out around you and you wanted to scream until your head exploded. 

"Where the fuck are you going?" Clayton demanded from somewhere next to you. 

"You t-told me to leave so I'm l-leaving." You muttered between sobs. 

"I told you I'd have security take you back." 

"I don't want your fucking security. I don't want anything from you." It was a lie and you both knew it and you wanted so badly to hit something. Anything that would release the fire building inside you.

"You're not walking home. It'll take you hours to get to your place." You stopped abruptly, swinging to face him. He made quick time in hitting the breaks and halting the car. 

You stepped up to his window, leaning forward and got in his face. 

"I never want to see you again, do you understand me? Don't fucking follow me or I swear to God I will ruin you." You'd never spoken to anyone with so much venom and distaste in your life. 

He had the audacity to look wounded and regretful, his mouth opening to say something but closed again at the silent warning on your face. 

You turned away, continuing your walk of shame. You heard the car rolling backwards and turn around back up the drive to the house.

Your heart ripped apart in your chest as he once again disappointed you. 

He truly didn't love you, wasn't ever going to fight for you and that reality drove a knife into your heart and stayed with you long after you crawled into bed and everything went dark. 

His train of thoughts gets interrupted by another message from you.

You: [3 attached pictures]

You: Can't decide which ones to get :(((. Help me.

Yeah. Jack is fucking screwed.

There you are in all of your beauty. He seriously thinks his heart stops beating for a few seconds as his eyes focus on the pictures.

They are pictures from changing room. And you are shamelessly pouting while you pose with nothing just a lingerie. A smoking hot lingerie.

One black. One pink. And one purple.

There's an immediate strain in his pants as he takes you in.

You: Hello??? Where did you go? :( This is an emergency.

You demand his attention. And that finally breaks him out of the trance. He decides that you are like a love siren, trapping his mind with your smiles and your body. But not that he's complaining.

He instantly scrambles to type in the responds, and opens the payment app just like you taught him how to do it.

Handsome: [Jack sent you 300$. Accept the payment by tomorrow.]

Handsome: All of them.

Is all he types in before he leans against the washing basin. He needs to breath through his fucking erection before he can get back to the ER.

He can practically imagine your giggles as you read his text. And it screws up with him even more.

You: Jack! I wasn't asking for money. And how much do you think these cost??? I'm sending it back.

Handsome: I dare you.

Handsome: You can just buy some more. Or go get the cake you love so much.

Handsome: You better be wearing one of them when I get home, doll. Text me when you get home as well, please!

Your response comes flying in almost immediately. But Jack doesn't dare to look at it, not when he knows how much you love to rile him up and tease him.

He just hopes to survive the shift (that only just started) without any accidental hard-ons.

But knowing you, that's pretty much impossible. He is doomed to receive a dirty text from you. Because you are a little minx.

Your sister was the absolute last resort when you suddenly needed somewhere to stay.

The college housing situation you last minute arranged had fallen through, your parents sold your childhood home randomly in the fall to travel after retirement, and most of your friends were already triple bunking up with eachother by the time you started to get desperate.

You and Tammi couldn’t be more different and after a childhood full of arguing, hair pulling, and tense silences whenever you were in a room together, you pretty much resorted to only speaking on holidays.

Tammi thought you were boring and afraid of change, she’d go on and on about you wasting your youth and having no ‘shine.’ You thought, to put it frankly, she was an imbecile. You couldn’t stand her immaturity and lack of structure that left you often feeling like the older sister despite before over ten years her junior.

It didn’t help her case that she had an absolute bore of a husband.

Sammy was nice enough in the handful of conversations you’d had with him during visits back home, Tammi somewhere off demanding things of your parents or complaining about the niche aspects of holiday decorations.

He’d make awkward small talk with you while holding a beer that was growing warmer and warmer the longer he nursed it, asking you how school was going and scratching the back of his neck when you gave a dry response.

The most interesting thing about him was the one time you’d walked in on him smoking weed in the garage, his eyes widening as he hurriedly waved the smoke away from his face and told you it wasn’t what it looked like.

You’d told him you weren’t stupid and asked him for a hit, hand already extended with the same bored look on your face as always.

You both never talked about it and you wished you could have said you were surprised when a few years later he was suddenly in the police force but it seemed like a very obvious thing to do for a man as boring as Sammy Bryant.

Now that you were staying with the not so happy couple, he actually provided a good amount of entertainment even though it was a bit hard to watch.

They’d fight over just about everything, from dinner sides to him coming home a few hours late and being too exhausted to help out around the house. He’d get the same embarrassed look on his face everytime he saw you watching them curiously, either because he was the one stuck married to her or because he felt guilty your stay was a far shot from peaceful.

You weren’t sure when your small fascination with him started.

Sammy was of course easy on the eyes, especially when he would come home after a long day with his hair curlier than usual from exertion and his hands tugging at his tie and shirt buttons. You hadn’t ever missed the fact he was attractive but it seemed a lot more apparent now that you were seeing him more than annual visits.

And he was gentle, one of the sweeter men you had met in your lifetime. He was endlessly patient with Tammi even when she was acting in a way that would drive any normal person insane, devoted to his job and the troubled youth he encountered, and even warm to Richter who had his own share of canine problems.

You found him fascinating when he’d come home in the middle of dinner and greet her with a stiff kiss, starting to talk about his day with enthusiasm and then trailing off unfinished when he noticed she wasn’t paying attention.

Sometimes he’d catch your eye and you’d give him a sorry glance but most nights he silently finished his meal while staring at his plate.

Currently you’d been standing in the doorway of the kitchen for a few minutes, watching the muscles in his tense back as he scrubbed the dishes and occasionally muttered under his breath.

Him and Tammi had fought again, one of the screaming matches that seemed a bit heavier than the usual bickering.

“I’ve got it.” He jolted a little at the sound of your voice barely audible over the running water, stopping his movements and glancing over at you. “Seriously, you must be exhausted. I’ll finish up.”

He hesitated like he wanted to protest but the fatigue was obvious on his face, only having had walked through the door less than half an hour ago. Dinner had ended abruptly with Tammi in a fit of tears as she screamed about her broken camera and he screamed back about her getting a real job instead of spending all of his money.

You weren’t sure if he had even eaten anything before he was shoving his chair back and aggressively clearing the plates.

“You sure?” He sighed it out and ran a hand over his face, looking a lot less angry now as he slowly gained that familiar embarrassed look.

You gave him a reassuring nod and gestured for him to leave the kitchen, your eyes staying locked together in a silent exchange for a few seconds before he was pursing his lips and doing exactly that.

It became a bit of a routine after that, the two of you cleaning up together after dinner. Most of the time it was quiet between you but occasionally you talked about his day or rambled about your part time job downtown and the variety of ridiculous customers.

Tammi didn’t seem to notice the small bond forming between you considering she most likely wasn’t even aware you had a dishwasher in the house. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen her clean a single thing despite her messy tendencies.

However she did apparently notice your choice of wardrobe now that the summer weather had kicked into high gear.

“It’s a pair of shorts Tammi.” Your voice was detached and unbothered as you fiddled with Richters collar, attaching the leash to the metal ring and ignoring your sister as she scoffed.

“Barely. My husband lives here too you know.” She spat back in that shrill voice of hers and now you fixed your gaze on her with a sharp glare.

“He’s not even home and it’s almost 100 degrees outside, what the hell do you expect me to wear?” Your voice was louder now as you moved towards the door, a typical sister argument if it wasn’t for the slight truth behind her annoyance.

Despite your denial, you did find yourself dressing a bit more provocative when you knew Sammy would be around.

Maybe it was a bit cruel of you but you liked how awkward he got when you walked past him in a tight tank top without a bra underneath, or bent down to unplug the vacuum in a tiny pair of sleep shorts. His gaze was always on the ceiling when you checked his reaction, neck a little flushed as he cleared his throat and made some excuse to leave the room.

You saw the way he kissed your sister good night, both of them stiff and without any type of chemistry or heat. They barely touched and looked almost disgusted when they had to be in close proximity, no noises from their bedroom at night that would indicate either of them having a good time.

Sammy looked more heated when you were simply doing laundry together.

You didn’t blame him even though you could tell he blamed himself, an almost pained look on his face whenever you gave him a flirty smile or giggled a little too girlishly. He wasn’t the type of man to let his eyes wander in a marriage, even one as unhappy as his was.

It didn’t help that you were his wife’s younger sister, much younger.

You were storming out of the house as Tammi continued to try and lecture you about your clothing, lightly tugged along by an excited Richter. He pulled a little harder than normal when he spotted the car in the driveway, Sammy getting out right as you were passing by.

“Hey.” He greeted gently, approaching just enough to bend down and pet Richter on the head. His eyes slowly drifted up to your face, not before trailing over your bare legs and thighs. “You guys heading out?”

“Your wife is driving us both insane.” You said flatly and he laughed a little, shaking his head in disagreement. Sammy was never one to talk down on your sister, even after a huge blowout argument he still would try and convince you she just was having a hard time lately. “How was your day?”

He kissed his teeth at the question, eyes drifting off as he squinted against the bright sun. “Could’ve been better.”

You nodded sympathetically and gestured back towards the house with a thumb over your shoulder.

“Good luck in there then.” You said softly, half joking but genuinely feeling a little guilty knowing your sister was already in a terrible mood.

He clenched his jaw a little like he was just as aware as you were that a fight would unfold in no time, nodding his head in parting as he disappeared inside.

You took your time walking Richter around the neighborhood in circles, hoping that Tammi would be in bed avoiding household chores by the time you got back there. Both because you couldn’t take anymore bitching from her and because you were selfishly hoping to catch Sammy alone.

Fate was clearly not on your side because you walked back in to a rare sight, the two of them curled up on the couch beside each other as they watched a movie.

You could remember being in high school and seeing them like this, sitting together by a Christmas tree or kissing happily on Thanksgiving. There’d been no sign of it since you moved in and you felt a little surprised at the pure bitterness you felt in your stomach, a little rough as you tossed Richters leash on top of the shoe rack and shooed him away.

Tammi complained when you purposefully passed by them, blocking the TV momentarily with an emotionless look on your face.

You weren’t sure why it bothered you so bad.

Sure you thought Sammy was attractive and you liked getting under his skin, the complimentary nature of his stuttering when you blinked up at him or took a deep breath if you brushed by him closely. It was flattering and an ego boost for him to so obviously struggle around you but that shouldn’t leave you feel so sick at the sight of him resting his head on your sister’s shoulder.

His wife’s shoulder.

Your movements were a little rougher than necessary as you cleaned up the kitchen and you didn’t hear his footsteps over the clanking of the plates.

You stiffened when he was suddenly next to you, unbuttoning the wrist of his sleeves so he could roll them up to his elbows and help you wash up. He was silent for the first few minutes and then he cleared his throat, your eyes going to the side of his face.

“She feels bad that you fought.” He muttered and you glanced back at the living room, unable to see your sister sitting on the couch now and assuming she had retreated back to their room.

“Bet she does.” Your voice was cold and sarcastic which made him sigh in that disappointed paternal way that apparently made you shiver. “Did she tell you what it was about?”

You’d stopped with the dishes now to fully face him and he was putting a noticeable amount of effort into avoiding looking at you, letting you know she had in fact told him before he even hummed in confirmation. You scoffed bitterly and nodded slowly in disbelief at how obvious it was that she had said something to him about your clothing.

“Really Sammy? You’re not even going to look at me now?” Your voice dropped into a low whisper that made you feel like you had done something wrong.

Your intentions may had been a little misguided but you’d never actually crossed any type of line. His gaze and your subtle flirting could easily pass as just being friendly and a little awkward, you’d never done something as simple as felt his skin against yours before even in an accidental graze.

You’d never once actually flirted with him or said something that could have a hidden innuendo. The tension was simple enough it could have been entirely in your head even though you started to doubt that when he finally looked at you, clearly a little conflicted.

“Maybe you could just throw a shirt on sometimes.” He said it so softly that you almost felt bad, a little awkward stammer stunting a few words from leaving his mouth.

“It’s not my fault if you look at my tits Sammy.” Your words were harsher than you meant them to be and definitely a little counterproductive towards your possible end goal of actually catching his attention but you could practically hear your sister’s voice in his suggestion.

You were nearly certain she had whined and complained to him about you and how uncomfortable it was making her, begging him to talk to you and put up some boundaries.

He fully flushed at the statement and his eyebrows furrowed, taking an instinctive step back and resting a hand on the counter as he stared at you.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” He practically whispered and now it was your turn to sigh.

“Do you even care about how unfair this is?” You took a step closer to him under the guise of keeping the conversation private and he stared down at you with a level of knowing that almost made you embarrassed by how obvious you apparently were. “Isn’t this my house too?”

He said your name so softly that you felt a little dizzy, a little hot all over from him scolding you for some reason.

“You know how she gets.” He whispers like it’s a secret the two of you share and now you’re frowning, hating most of all when he tries to defend her to you like you don’t know her better than anyone for the worst reasons.

“Yeah she’s ridiculous, borderline crazy.” You say back and it’s a little less quiet which makes him send a panicked look towards the hallway that leads to their room. “She treats both of us like shit Sammy.”

“She’s go-“ He starts and stops the second you send him a sharp look, not needing to hear the same spiel about her and the hard times she’s apparently going through for the dozenth time this week.

He huffs out a defeated breath but thankfully doesn’t try to continue and make excuses for her that you both don’t actually believe. It’s followed by a moment of tense silence before you turn and head down to the guest room, feeling so bothered by your first slight argument that your chest burns.

Sammy doesn’t bring it up again even though Tammi clearly gets more and more annoyed by you, not just the fact that your clothes have since gotten shorter and tighter since the fight but now she’s started to nitpick just about everything she could think of.

Going for long walks with Richter just didn’t cut it for you anymore which is exactly how you found yourself sitting at the counter of some random dive bar you’d pass on your way back from work.

It wasn’t that late yet so there was only a dozen or so people sat with drinks, either having been there for most the day already or just getting off a shift and seeking solace the same way you were.

You felt almost like life was playing a cruel trick on you when the door opened behind you and a loud group came in, already a bit annoyed at the volume before you glanced over and saw the familiar uniforms now standing next to you.

There was a group of about six officers, most of them rowdy and shoving at eachother with overlapping jabs you couldn’t make out under the layers.

And in the middle of them was Sammy.

He was currently being nudged at by one of the guys who was clearly mocking him about something, a boyish grin on his face as he waved the man away playfully. He looked different like this, so much lighter than he seemed at dinner or after an argument with Tammi.

You weren’t sure if it was the feeling of your gaze on him or just natural instinct to scan his surroundings but his eyes were landing on you and the smile on his face was gone, replaced with a sort of deer in headlights look that almost made you laugh.

It took about four seconds for the others to notice where his attention had gone to and it clearly peaked their interest, seeing an opportunity to make the situation completely humiliating for him.

“Sammy.” You couldn’t stop yourself from saying his name in a light greeting, tipping the top of your beer bottle at him and slightly angling your body in his direction.

“Why aren’t you at home?” His response didn’t help his case at all with the other officers, curious smirks on their faces as one grabbed his shoulders from behind and shook him lightly.

The question was a bit nonsensical considering it wasn’t that late at night yet but the area you were in definitely wasn’t the safest and you’d never really been the type to go out, typically heading back home as soon as you were done with work or class.

“You didn’t tell us your wife was a total smoke show Bryant.” The guy behind him was loud and obnoxious but you smiled at the comment, fully turned in their direction now with your back leaned against the bar top.

He was either new or didn’t know Sammy very well considering he’d definitely brought Tammi around before but you figured her appearances probably dwindled in recent years once their marriage got rocky.

“She’s Tammi’s sister.” He mumbled but it was barely registered by the others who were going between snickering at his awkwardness and trailing their eyes up and down your frame.

“Ah younger model.” One of the others snickered and Sammy tensed completely now, jaw tensing when you audibly laughed.

“New and improved.” You were clearly laying it on thick, twirling your hair with your finger and arching your back in a way that practically shoved your tiny tank top covered chest in their direction. Your tone was flirtatious and far more seductive than necessary, maybe not noticeable to the rowdy officers but definitely to Sammy who had never heard you like that.

He was moving faster than you could process it, gripping your forearm and lightly tugging you off the stool as you made a sound of protest.

“Let’s go.” He gruffed and you had no choice but to follow after him, the whistles and hoots of his coworkers getting more and more distant behind you.

You yanked your arm away from him as soon as you were outside, feeling a burning sensation where he had been touching you.

“What the hell is your problem?” You hissed and he spun around to face you, expression just as irritated as it was when he fought with your sister which left a weird feeling in your gut.

“Why are you saying shit like that?” He spat back and your eyebrows furrowed, not buying that he was really that upset about your slight dig towards Tammi.

You were quiet as you contemplated the real reason he might be this agitated by the brief interaction, taking a few steps forward that made him clench his jaw and gulp as that familiar nervousness started to replace his anger.

“Don’t be like that Sammy.” You said it softly, that tone of voice you used when you were trying to fluster him. It was already effective enough in the kitchen doing dishes but even more deadly now, standing outside a bar in that outfit. “Are you mad they can look and you can’t?”

He didn’t reply, his eyes locked on your face intensely like he was physically restraining himself from letting his gaze wander, and you knew you had gotten it right.

“I won’t tell her.” You say quietly now and shift even closer, a bit distracted by the rare sight of him in full uniform and the way the shirt stretches around his biceps.

“Come on.” He says and it sounds exhausted, taking a few steps away. “Get in the car.”

You sigh but follow him without any resistance, disappointment that your first actually incriminating line hadn’t gotten much reaction from him. His lack of reaction was a win within itself though considering how pained he looked from trying to keep himself in check.

He drove in silence back to the house, parking in front of it when you arrived instead of in the driveway. You could see all the lights turned off except for their bedroom, blinds completely drawn where Tammi was undoubtedly obsessively editing her photos or searching for new camera equipment she’d force him to buy.

“I have to go back to the station for some paperwork.” He mumbled in explanation for the distant parking and you stared at him for a second.

He was keeping his gaze focused on the wheel in front of him, only glancing over when he felt your eyes on him. It was almost instinctually, the way it dipped down to your chest before flickering back up to your face with pure guilt.

You wanted to laugh but you almost felt pity for him and his inability to keep anything hidden.

“Sammy.” Your voice was half pleading and half tempting, your body shifting until you were facing him fully. “Go ahead and look.”

His eyes stayed locked on yours for a few breaths, clearly conflicted with himself. You felt a wave of heat at how obvious he was with his desire, regardless if it had anything to do with you or just the fact you were a young and attractive body in front of him when he was so obviously starved of intimacy.

Then he was finally caving and staring down at your chest, covered by the tank top mostly but still a noticeable amount of cleavage and smooth bare skin for him to gawk at.

You didn’t want to lose his attention now that you finally had it and you weren’t really thinking straight when you reached up to your shoulders to pull the straps down, ignoring the way he said your name in warning and tugging the tank top so it bunched up at your ribs.

He inhaled sharply at the sight of you in your bra, eyes darting all around your torso for a second like he couldn’t decide if he should still look or find something else to focus on.

His hands were twitching in his lap, curling into a fist and balling up the fabric of his pants.

“More?” You asked softly and now you were toying with the final straps on your shoulders, eyes curious as you obsessed over watching him and his reactions. He was almost embarrassing to observe, so clearly overwhelmed and torn by the sight of you.

You smiled when his head was nodding eagerly after a moment of contemplation, maybe too desperate to think straight or just having realized you’d already crossed a line.

Sammy wasn’t going to touch you, you knew that for a fact, atleast not yet. But he clearly had given up on pretending he didn’t want to look at you.

Your hands were steady unlike his still fidgeting anxiously, undoing your bra with an easy motion before you were taking it off completely and letting it rest on the middle console. His eyes went to it briefly, almost touching his forearm, before they were immediately locked back on your now bare chest.

You stared at him as his breath hitched.

He almost looked like he was going to cry when you were letting your palms glide over your ribs, teasing your skin until he seemed like he was going to lose his mind before you were cupping your breast and pushing them together.

“Do you like that?” You whispered softly and the sound of your voice, flirty and coaxing seemed to almost break him.

He groaned audibly and ran a shaky hand over his face, slapping it against the top of the steering wheel after as he adjusted his posture before looking back at you closely.

“Yeah.” He croaked it out with noticeable effort and you hoped the satisfaction you felt wasn’t as obvious on your face, practically beaming at the admission. “Keep going.”

You hummed in response and did exactly as he said, rubbing and groping your own chest as you stared at him closely. He seemed almost transfixed by the sight of it, your soft flesh being pushed and pulled by your hands and your hard nipples peeking through your fingers.

“Wish you’d touch me Sammy.” Your voice was definitely breathier now as you felt a familiar stirring in your gut from your own stimulation, a low groan leaving him when your words registered. “You don’t have to say anything. Just watch me touch myself.”

He stayed silent like you expected, clearly having decided that speaking to you would only make this situation worse than it was, but he kept his gaze locked on you and the way you were playing with your nipples and skin.

This went on for a few tension filled minutes before his radio was crackling to life with some combination of words you couldn’t register. You frowned as he noticeably stiffened and finally looked away from you, taking a deep calming breath.

“Please go inside.” He whispered, back to pointedly staring at the steering wheel and avoiding the sight of you. “Please.”

It was nearly begging and you had a feeling if you pushed just a bit further he would fold, halfway considering it before you were nodding and grabbing your bra off of the middle console.

Sammy was pulling off with a squeal as soon as you were at the front door, having waited and watched until you were off the sidewalk.

—

He practically acted like you didn’t exist after the encounter, no longer helping you with dishes or lingering around after dinner to have small talk with you about his day.

You’d expected it but it still stung the same.

He hadn’t taken advantage of you, if anything it was the opposite, but you still felt almost sick with shame and rejection. It drove you nearly insane to see him with Tammi now that you knew what it felt like to be under his wanting gaze, an obsession of sorts brewing dangerously under your surface as you went about your days like nothing had happened.

You waited to try your luck again until one of the rare days Sammy was home and your sister wasn’t. She had mentioned to you this morning that she had a dinner with a ‘model’ before talking your ear off about the photoshoot subject but you’d stopped listening as soon as she said she’d be gone for a few hours.

Sammy was somewhere in the living room when you had gone into the shower, making it one of your shortest of all time. You stayed in there just long enough to let the room get steamed up, your wet hair sticking to your shoulders and your bare skinned adorned with nothing but a small towel and water droplets.

You waited for a second after shutting off the shower head, listening closely to see if you could hear him in the living room. You smiled when you heard him clearing his throat and muttering something to Richter.

“Sammy?” You called out in an exaggerated helpless tone. You repeated it louder a few times until the sound of his quick footsteps coming down the hallway and you grin with excitement.

“You okay?” He asked softly, first half of the question muffled behind the door and the second clearer as you swung it open.

His gaze immediately raked over your towel covered frame, the bottom of it barely covering the swell of tour ass. He had a knowing look on his face when his eyes finally met yours again, worsening when you gave him a sweet smile.

“My clothes were too close to the shower and got wet.” You frowned at him in an exaggerated manner and he sighed loudly, glancing behind you to see the piles of clothes that looked suspiciously dry. “It’s too cold to walk all the way to my room like this, could you grab me something to wear?”

He said your name slowly in warning, fingers tapping against the wooden doorframe like he was considering calling you out on how obvious you were currently being. But Sammy was too sweet to do such a thing and you knew it, using his kindness as a clear weakness.

“Please Sammy.” Your pout was even more pronounced and you leaned in close enough for him to inhale sharply, leaning back immediately until he was nodding and heading down the hallway. “Thank you.”

He ignored your call after him and you waited patiently for him to return, leaning against the doorway in the tiny towel and trying to ignore the slight shiver that ran over you for the sake of your plan.

He came back with a stern look like he had mentally prepared himself to be unaffected by you and pushed a handful of clothes in your direction. You took it and laughed after a quick glance over.

“No underwear?” Your head cocked and his face fell, genuinely having forgotten in his determination to do anything but think about your drawer full of lacy panties. “That’s okay.”

There was no hesitance to the way you dropped the towel, letting it pool in a ball at your feet. His shoulders deflated and he instinctively stared at your chest before drifting down the smooth plane of your stomach and finally between your thighs.

He couldn’t see much considering you were both standing close enough together that he’d have to very intentionally strain his neck downwards to really look but you were fully naked in front of him and that fact was enough to make his head spin.

It was only a few seconds of bare skin before you were pulling the shirt he had grabbed over your head but it was long enough for the image to burn in his mind.

“More comfortable this way anyways.” You said softly as you smiled up at him and brushed past, letting your chest rub against his arm as you went to your room.

—

It turned out that driving Sammy Bryant to insanity was a highly entertaining hobby to have developed. He was so easy to fluster even after seeing all of you that day in the bathroom, still getting all red in the face whenever you got too close or touched his hand while passing salt at dinner.

Tammi had been relatively calm lately, the fights she picked daily consisting more of brief bickering than actual screaming matches. You figured it had something to do with that so called model she had dinner with the other night but that was also keeping her out of the house more often so you weren’t going to mention it.

You liked being alone with Sammy and for more reasons than your own selfish teasing. It gave you a genuine warmth to cook dinner for him, cleaning up side by side and sometimes watching movies when he could stomach being around you for long periods of time.

He would never sit next to you of course, maintaining a respectful distance and excusing himself awkwardly to bed the second you said something flirty or a romcom got too steamy.

Sammy Bryant was sadly a good guy.

So you really were left with no choice but to cross the line for him, knowing he’d never do it himself.

You’d been watching a movie silently like you were so often these days when you grew too impatient to continue trying to toe that stupid fucking line with him. You stood up and went to block his view of the TV, his gaze questioning and then panicked when you climbed into his lap.

“What are you doing?” He halfway gasped out and you kneaded your hands into his shoulders.

“Don’t play dumb Sammy.” You sigh softly as you settle onto him, knees on both sides of his thighs as you straddle his lap. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“We can’t do this.” He rushes out but he makes no move to remove you, maybe too scared to touch you at all.

You frown and lean forward so your chests are pressing together before placing a light kiss on his jaw. He practically melts right away, unsurprisingly easy despite how much he was pretending to not want you the same way you wanted him.

Your mouth is hot and wet on his skin and only gets more feverish when he’s finally letting his big hands rest on you, one on the small of your back and the other tangling in your hair like he’s preparing to stop you if you go too far.

“Does that feel good Sammy?” You whisper against his neck and he makes a sound from deep in his chest. You suck on his jaw lightly and his hands clench on you, eyes closing at the sensation. “Let me make you feel good.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out in agreement, a desperate pant as he nods. “Please.”

Your mouth is on his as soon as the word leaves him and it’s messy right from the start, moving together roughly as he slightly sits up off the couch to press into you. It’s depraved and dirty, the tension boiling over into a crash of teeth knocking and tongues colliding desperately. Sammy kisses you like he’d been thinking of it for far longer than you might have realized and you return it tenfold, gripping his shoulders tightly.

He hums and grabs your jaw to keep you steady as you lick into each other’s mouths, tilting your head just enough to allow him to get deeper as he eagerly tastes you. You hadn’t expected him to be this dirty considering how stale every interaction with Tammi seemed.

You’re desperate to get your shirt off and he waste no time, caught up in the heat of what’s happening and both of you dazed from how fast things escalated. His hand is roughly cupping one of your breast and he’s bringing his hot mouth down to it, wrapped around your hard nipple as you whine loudly and grab his hair.

“Oh fuck Sammy.” You gasp, back arching to push yourself further into him as he feverishly licks and sucks your heated skin. “There we go baby, I knew you wanted me like this.”

“Stop talking.” He grunts as he comes up for air just long enough to pull you into another bruising kiss, tongues immediately tangling again.

You’re rocking in his lap now and he’s groaning so much he can barely keep up with your mouth, more so just you licking into him while he completely loses control of himself now that he’s finally allowed himself to have you.

“Oh my god.” He grunts out, clearly pained from the desire filling him, his eyes lock down on his lap where you’re currently rolling your hips against the obvious tent in his pants. “What the fuck am I doing?”

“Letting yourself have what you want for once.” You’re whispering in his ear as you rock against him, panting slightly into his neck as you cling to his shoulders. He groans and lets his hands grip your hips roughly to help you move.

“Oh god.” He nearly whimpers as you speed up, getting sloppy and desperate as his own hips leave the couch to try and thrust up against you. You gasp at the feeling and nod to encourage him to continue.

“Fuck Sammy.” You whine and he grips you harder at the sound. “Wish you could fuck me like this, I’d ride you right now.”

“N-no.” He groans and you’re suddenly very aware of the cold metal band around his finger digging into your skin. “We can’t.”

“But I’m so tight.” You tease, going back to kissing him between panted temptations while what you actually mean is heard silently by both of you, tighter than Tammi, better than Tammi. “I’d make you feel so good.”

He curses under his breath as he bucks up to meet your pace again and you nearly collapse against his chest as you fall silent and let yourself atleast enjoy the feeling of humping against him like this.

You’re both losing it, whining and groaning as you make out sloppily and his hands rub up and down your bare back, occasionally snaking to the front to desperately grab at your chest and any part of your body he can touch.

“Oh my god.” He grunts out and you know exactly what the pained sound means, encouraging him with kisses to the neck and a nod of your head.

“There we go Sammy, come on baby please.” You gasp as you keep moving on top of him, the heat filling you almost making you dizzy as you exert yourself to please him. “Want you to cum for me.”

He’s gripping you so hard it’s painful as he rushes forward to kiss you again and shut you up, both of you moaning and panting into each others mouths as he finishes in his pants, still thrusting up against you until your whines get high pitched and you’re following right after him.

There’s a moment of softness after it’s over where you relax against his chest and continue to kiss each other, less heated now but still deep and passionate as you taste him eagerly.

It’s almost sweet, his hands much gentler now as he rubs your back and yours hold his face softly.

You kiss for a long time and your heart senses the end before it actually happens, just a split second of hesitance from him making your chest tighten up. He pulls away and his face is full of guilt, nearing so close to disgusted that you almost want to cry even though you know it’s not directed towards you.

He’s fully hating himself for what happened because Sammy is a good man. So good that it’s hard to blame him when he’s gently pushing you off of his lap and onto the couch before he’s standing up and retreating back to his room.

—

He’s flat out avoiding you now and not even bothering to hide it.

His hours at work nearly double and suddenly he’s always too tired to eat dinner with you and your sister or not feeling good, a headache or a back ache or anything that warrants him getting to hide out in their room as much as possible.

Tammi rants to you one of the nights he doesn’t come home until far past normal, telling you how she thinks he’s depressed and that he needs a creative outlet or a hobby.

You want to tell her that she’s an idiot and that if he was depressed he’d need real help and not a fucking paintbrush, but you settle for humming in vague acknowledgement.

You’re only half paying attention when she mentions the fact they’re trying for a baby, head snapping up to stare at where she’s currently sitting at the table and scrolling on her laptop.

“What?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it too and she narrows her eyes at you. “A baby? I mean… are you sure that’s a good idea Tammi?”

You tell yourself you’d have the same reaction regardless of what happened between you and Sammy, the knowledge of your sister being a terrible candidate for a mother existing long before you even took a second look at him.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She asked just as tensely, another sister disagreement already building at the mere suggestion you disagree with her.

“You just said Sammy might be depressed.” You reason even though it doesn’t even feel right to say.

Sammy would be an amazing father regardless of how he was feeling emotionally, you could just tell by how patient and gentle he was with just about everything and everyone around him. Including you before you’d pushed him too far, holding out for much longer than anyone else might have with your advances.

And even now he still wasn’t cruel to you although the distance was worse in your opinion.

“It was his idea.” She shrugs as she says it like it doesn’t send a pang directly to your heart.

It takes all of your effort to not show how affected you are on your face.

Sammy can’t avoid you when he comes home, you made sure of it. Tammi had fallen asleep hours ago and Richter was resting in his kennel, dishes done and house spotless without a single excuse for him to ignore you standing in the kitchen.

He’d have to really be an asshole and purposefully walk right pass you when you’re so clearly waiting for him and it’s just not in his nature so he slows down with a sigh, lingering there as he waits for you to or do whatever thing you’ve decided on torturing him with today.

“You’re having a baby?” Your voice is quiet and sounds more hurt than you expected it to, a little too accusatory. It was meant to be a question but the delivery barely landed and his eyebrows furrowed immediately.

“What?” He surprisingly takes a few steps closer in confusion, setting down his jacket on the chair. “What are you talking about? Did Tammi say that?”

You sigh and shake your head, realizing how what you said could be misunderstood as a very poor announcement of something he wasn’t supposed to know.

“No I just meant.. she said you were trying.” You try and explain but it comes out awkward and a little lost.

He takes a long pause as he just looks at you and you hate that it’s the first time he’s really paying attention to you in days and it’s with so much pity. The pity is ten times worse than any anger or distaste he might be able to muster.

“We talked about it yeah. Months ago, before you even moved in.” His voice is soft and reassuring even though you both know that it makes no sense in this scenario. He doesn’t owe you anything, not an explanation and certainly not loyalty.

You nod but your lips are pursed tightly and you feel a weird scratching feeling in your throat, suddenly very aware of the fact you want to cry.

You have no idea when your twisted attraction for Sammy turned into something else entirely. It had been a fun game for you to occupy yourself with while you were stuck in a suburban hell but somewhere along the ride you had gotten lost in the domestic nights you shared.

“Hey.” And then there was that, the sweetness of his voice as he moved closer to you.

It was rare he ever initiated contact, barely staying in a room with you lately, but his caring nature clearly made him drop some of his walls because he was cupping your cheek gently.

“Don’t do that please. I don’t want you to be upset.” He’s still whispering but it feels incredibly invasion, like he’d seen right through you far easier than you preferred.

You weren’t sure what drove you to it but you almost couldn’t help yourself, leaning forward on your tiptoes and pressing your lips against his.

He kissed you back immediately almost out of instinct after last time before he was sighing and pushing you back lightly, shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“We can’t.” He said sternly but his hand was still on your face, thumb lightly rubbing your cheek. “You know we can’t.”

It would have hurt more if it wasn’t for the expression he had as he stared down at you, gentle and so clearly wanting. You nodded in reluctant understanding but he was surprising you again when he made a low noise and dipped his head to kiss you again, clearly pushing past the mental block he was facing.

You eagerly kissed him back, similar to the last one you had shared full of sweetness and undeniable passion.

Your mouths moved together perfectly, chemistry obvious between you as your tongues tangled in sync and you halfway deflated in relief at the ever growing familiar taste of him.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles against your mouth and you try to quiet him with more kisses, a few being allowed before he’s continuing to speak. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you Sammy.” You attempt to reassure even though you know it most likely falls on deaf ears. “It’s okay to want something.”

“Not this.” He immediately disagrees but still pecks your mouth a few more times, the final time being a long press. “I can’t want this.”

You’re both silent for a second as you frown softly, your hands on his biceps as you rub softly.

“But you do?” It’s more vulnerable than you mean for it to be but now you’re plagued with the thoughts of him and Tammi having a baby, sealing their lives together forever and shifting his priorities and attention far away from you and whatever this was.

You needed to hear him say, not just assume from the desperate longing look in his eyes whenever he glanced at you.

“Yeah.” He whispered the confirmation down at you with little to no hesitance and you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding so deeply. “I want you.”

Sammy only had a few more seconds to spare before Tammi’s voice was coming down the hallway, questioning and beckoning him to bed while your stomach clenched painfully. He glanced down at your lips again like he was considering kissing you goodnight before he seemingly decided against it, giving you a pitying look before he was leaving.

—

He stopped ignoring you after that but you had decided that was almost worse.

You craved him all the time and it was a little less embarrassing now that he was hiding his own wants less. His hands were constantly finding you when Tammi wasn’t paying attention, grazing the small of your back or tucking your hair behind your ears with an overwhelming gentleness.

And then there was the kissing.

It happened less often than you would have liked but still almost every time he could, initiating most of the time. You’d be doing the laundry and suddenly pressed against the machine with his mouth on yours or getting a quick stolen peck when he passed by you in the living room before going to work.

You could almost pretend that he was your husband instead of your sisters.

You had the same domestic fantasy when you were walking into the police station, Richter in front of you slightly pulling you along as you tried to reel him in to the best of your ability. He was excited for the same reasons you were, spotting Sammy at his desk and nearly yanking your arm off.

“Hey you guys.” Sammy’s voice was soft when he spotted you both, rolling his chair slightly away from the desk so he could greet Richter with some playful pets. His eyes went to you next and you were glad to see him smiling, halfway worried he was going to be upset you showed up unannounced. “You okay?”

“Ask him.” You smiled back and gestured down towards the excited dog, pulling out the small baggie you’d been stashing when Sammy raised his eyebrows in question. “He found this on our walk, almost tripped me in the process of getting it out of a bush.”

You’re holding the plastic with your fingertips to avoid touching it too much and Sammy laughs in slight disbelief at the baggie filled with white powder, nodding his head slowly with a low whistle.

“I figured I should bring it to you instead of throwing it away at the park.” You continued to explain and he was standing now, pulling a plastic glove out of one of his drawers and taking it from you.

“You figured right, thank you sweetheart.” He said lightly and you both tensed up at the pet name, definitely accidental judging by the embarrassed look on his face.

You blinked at him for an awkward second before clearing your throat and glancing around the station.

“You have a second?”

His eyes darkened just enough for it to be noticeable before he was nodding and gesturing for you to follow him. You left Richter behind with some of the officers who had been fawning over him since he walked in.

Sammy was on you practically as soon as you turned a corner into a quiet hallway, mouth pressed against yours as you giggled softly into the kiss.

“Shouldn’t we go somewhere more private?” You asked him softly, your hands flat on his chest and rubbing softly while his went to the small of your back. He ignored you for a second in favor of kissing you again before he was huffing out a breath and nodding, taking your hand in his and leading you further down.

It was a small room with a few printers that looked old or broken, some leaning shelves full of stacks of paper and a noticeable lack of windows.

You kissed him desperately now that you were free to, hand holding his jaw as he guided you back against the door with his own grip on your waist. His mouth was hot and desperate on yours in a way that made your stomach clench with anticipation after waiting for him to want you like this for so long.

“Been thinking about you all day.” He confessed against your lips and you beamed up at him, letting the hand that was on his face move up to his hair.

“Yeah?” You whispered softly as pecked his jaw which drew a low hum out of him. “What about?”

You were kissing again like that was an answer within itself, his tongue slipping into your mouth and sending waves of warmth through your body. You matched it eagerly, tangling them together and using your free hand to try and tug his tie off.

He made another sound, this one of disapproval and grabbed your wrist lightly to stop you as he sighed and pulled away from your mouth. You frowned but were slightly satiated when he rested his head on your shoulder like he was physically exhausted from denying you.

It was quiet for a minute or two and you wondered if he was coming to a similar realization to that one you’d recently accepted.

This was more than lust and stupidly now.

Your hands were gently rubbing him, in his curls and across his back while his grip flexed on your hips. You could hear the sounds of other officers and detectives outside the door, a whole life he lived and belonged in while you were guided to the storage closet.

“You called me sweetheart.” You said softly just to break the silence, not even realizing the pet name he had accidentally used earlier had stuck in your head until you spoke.

His head lifted off your shoulder so his eyes could be locked on yours, they were so ridiculously fond and gentle it made you a little dizzy, a big change from the nervous and guarded look he had a few weeks ago.

“Yeah it just came out.” He spoke quietly, leaning forward as he did so you felt his breath on your lips before he was kissing you again. “Is that okay? Is it something you like?”

“Yes.” You breathed back immediately, deepening the frustratingly slow kisses for a few seconds before pulling back again. “I like it a lot.”

Sammy wasn’t shy with the pet names after that, using them almost constantly now that he knew you liked them. He used them so habitually that you felt a little anxious anytime Tammi was in the room and he was speaking to you, wondering when the time would come that he slipped up out of instinct.

Things were good between you for weeks even though there was the selfish part of you that was always wanting more and more. He still had that same guilt in his eyes, especially when you got a little more heated than just kissing in passing.

But he wasn’t denying himself of you any more and you were completely greedy.

You felt no shame about what you were doing, it didn’t keep you up at night thinking about how you were betraying your sister. That’s where you and him were different, where he was a good man still despite the growing affair.

The need for more was never satisfied just by kissing him, even if it was the type of kissing that left you with shaky legs and damp underwear. He’d let you say filthy things to him, running his hands all over your body and being a little too nervous to talk dirty back to you. You liked the redness of his neck when you whispered sweet sins to him

He even pushed aside his shame to let you blow him in the front of his patrol car, stopping by on a lunch break when you texted him that you had a terrible shift.

He’d looked so concerned when you pulled up that you almost felt bad for the hunger that hit you seeing him in uniform. He had barely gotten down the street before you were leaning over the middle console and gently kissing at his neck, trying his best to ignore you before he was turning into an empty parking lot.

It was the same as always with your mouths hot on each other, tongues tangling and him tugging you out of your seat until you were sitting on his lap and whining against his lips.

You could feel him getting hard under you and you were so desperate you could barely breathe, mouth watering as you begged him to at least let you see it, even let you just jerk him off before he went back to work.

“No baby no.” He had protested against your mouth even though he was visibly shuddering at the suggestions and groaning everytime you shifted your hips ontop of him. It didn’t take long before he was gently moving you back over and letting you take his belt off.

Things got much harder for you after that, getting to see his length and taste him on your tongue and down your throat without having him completely. It was driving you genuinely insane enough to the point you would have jumped his bones right in front of Tammi.

He was currently making it much worse by walking in the kitchen with the tired look on his face you liked so much and his big hands tugging off his tie.

“Is she asleep?” His voice is low and you nod, lip pulled between your teeth as you rest your back on the kitchen sink drawers and watch him approach you slowly. Your hands are behind you and curling around the edge of the counter with anticipation. “Hey baby.”

It’s soft, far softer than the things you’re currently imagining and you lean closer to him when he presses against you and cups your face to give you a greeting kiss.

Like you’re his wife.

“How was your day?” You hum back, more than happy to play the part.

“Long.” He says back and you can feel the words vibrating your mouth, answering him and his stressed out tone with a deeper kiss.

He doesn’t hesitate before reciprocating it, hand leaving your face in favor of spanning across your lower back and tugging you closer. Your head tilts naturally to allow the kiss to escalate even more and you almost feel guilty for the depraved things you’re thinking about.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” He mumbles against your lips and you pout a little at the gentle question, not knowing how exactly he could tell your mind was occupied.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You say back and he gives you a slightly firm look, clearly not buying your answer. You sigh and peck his lips before taking a second to consider how you want to word it. “You’re being mean to me.”

He fondly laughs a little in surprise at your statement, rubbing your back softly as you blink up at him. Your hands go to his loose tie to help remove it fully, working on the top few buttons next.

“I’m not being mean.” He denies with amusement, eyeing you as you maneuver with his clothes. You don’t stop at the top three buttons and his eyebrows raises. “I give you what you want.”

“Not everything.” You disagree easily and he knows what you’re talking about, he must know by now what you really need so desperately from him.

“It’s hard baby.” He whispers and kisses you again like it’ll soothe you enough for you to drop it. You don’t at all, the opposite in fact when you let your palm leave his shirt and go down to the minimal space between your bodies to tug at his belt buckle.

You’re not trying to undo it but simply pulling him forward and indicating what you really are wanting.

“You know we shouldn’t.” He sighs in a whisper but he looks conflicted and still a little fond of you and your antics, no matter how whiny.

“Can I at least blow you again?” You pout up at him like it’s such a simple request and his breath catches in his throat. “I did so good, didn’t I?”

“Of course you did sweetheart.” He agrees easily, bending down to kiss you again and softly tucking your hair behind your ears. He’s so sweet that it makes you a little angry, wishing so bad he’d just take what you knew he wanted from you. “You’re always so good for me.”

You’ve gotten halfway down his shirt now with the buttons before you stop, leaning forward to press your lips against his chest briefly before you’re blinking up at him again. A warmth fills you at the praise even though you’re well aware of how good you make him feel.

“Say it.” You whisper and he knows exactly what you mean, the same phrase you’d requested from him numerous times by now with no shame. His head tilts as he sighs, wanting to tell you no but knowing by the look on your face it’s a terrible idea.

“You’re better than her.” He says back, barely audible but still sincere. He’s looks a little pained to say it but it makes you breathe out in relief and nod your head in quick agreement. “You make me feel so good babygirl.”

Your mouths are pressed back together and it’s filthy immediately now, tongues tangling and his hands moving off your back and down to knead your ass under the small skirt you’re wearing.

It’s heating up quickly again, getting dizzier and dizzier the longer it goes on.

He’s groaning loudly at one point and pulling away from the kiss to roughly turn you around. You gasp at the movement and the way he crowds up behind you, his chest pressed against your back as you halfway bend over the counter.

You whimper loudly when you feel how hard he is against your ass and bend over even more so you can rub yourself back on him. He groans and immediately goes to roughly grab your hip with one hand, the other one smoothing over your cheek before he’s pressing a finger into your mouth. You suck happily on it as he experimentally ruts his hips forward.

“Gotta be quiet princess.” He urges as he slips another finger in and you moan obediently around them, arching your back as he rubs himself against you and fills your mouth.

Your tongue is eagerly licking all over his fingers as you suck desperately and he is clearly affected considering the way he’s humping you a bit desperately. His soft noises are driving you crazy and so is the mental image of how the two of you look, his big frame leaning over you and trapping you against the counter just to dry hump you like a teenager.

“God you feel so good.” He grunts and you audibly whine, eyes closing in bliss as you try your best to push backwards and meet his grinding. “You’re so pretty sweetheart.”

“I need you.” You’d grabbed his wrist to take his saliva covered fingers out, kissing against them as you speak through near sobs. “Please Sammy I can’t do this anymore.”

“Let me taste you first.” He says in the lowest voice you’d ever heard him speak in. You shake your head in protest immediately but he ignores you, free hand coming down to slightly lift your skirt and rub across the wet slit of fabric between your legs. “Fuck baby you’re soaked.”

“N-no more waiting.” You nearly sob as you continue to shake your head to really sell your point. “I need it so bad.”

It’s silent for a few seconds like he’s trying one last time to search for the self restraint to hold back but it’s clear what you want and you know he needs it just as bad as you do. You’d let him get between your legs with that tongue of his another time, any time he wanted, but right now you were desperate to be filled by him.

Sammy has you pressed against the kitchen counter tighter, your stomach digging into the top of it now as he bends you back over fully and roughly tugs the skirt up so it’s sitting in a messy pile around your hips.

He doesn’t bother taking it off, pulling your panties down your legs and grunting when he sees you all exposed for the first time.

“Do you want me to stretch you out?” He asks it lowly and the sound of his voice is nearly enough for you as is, a high pitched whine leaving you as you lay your face down on the counter and close your eyes. “Want me to take my time with you?”

“No no.” You pant out immediately and arch backwards again, knowing how depraved the sight of you must look. You feel his thumb rubbing through your soaking wet slit experimentally, a low sound from his chest coming from behind you.

The metal clasps of his belt being undone comes next and now you really feel like you’re about to cry, straining your neck to try and look over your shoulder to get another look at the thick length you’d be obsessing over since he was pushing it down your throat not too long ago.

He stopped you with a slightly rough hand to the back of your head, pushing your face back down against the cold counter just as he shifted even closer and rubbed up against you.

You could feel him now, bare and aching against your core as he teased it up and down softly. You knew you must have been soaking him from how wet you were, no doubt his intention to make the stretch easier for you.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks from behind you and now the low rasp is gone again, sounding more like his typical nervous cadence that you’re so fond of. “We can’t go back from this.”

“Don’t want to go back.” You say immediately and you’re shocked by how much you don’t recognize your own voice layered in this much desperation. “Want you to fuck me.”

He chuckles a little at the unashamed answer you give and bends down to press a gentle kiss to the side of your temple, your heart racing at the gesture even though you’re a bit distracted by less domestic fantasies. His weight leaning against your back almost makes you want him that much more and you impatiently rock your hips backwards against him.

He stills you with rough hands on your bare hips before he’s sucking in a shaky breath, the life changing feeling of the throbbing blunt head of his length pressing against you making you whine out desperately in anticipation.

“This what you wanted huh?” He groans as he pushes into you slowly and you whine happily, face flat on the counter as your eyes close from the pain of the stretch. “Wanted to be fucked like a whore baby?”

“Yes yes.” You cry in agreement as you clench around him, barely past the tip and already feeling like he’s filling you. “I’m a whore Sammy, wanted you so bad.”

His hand lands roughly on the exposed skin of your ass and you yelp, instinctively trying to move back away from the pain and instead taking a few more inches of him all at once. Your pained gasp is followed by a moan and he curses behind you.

“Slow babygirl slow.” He grunts, that softer side of him you like so much still showing despite his need having caused him to get rougher initially. “Don’t wanna hurt you princess.”

“Could never hurt me.” You gasp as you try and move further back against him, he grips your hips roughly to stop you and you whine in protest. “Please Sammy please, want you to fuck me.”

“I’m gonna fuck you baby.” He soothes the best he can but you’re too desperate to focus on what he’s saying. “You’re just so tight.”

You try your best to be patient but it’s nearly impossible, whining and squirming nonstop as he rubs your clit with his thumb and kisses against the back of your neck to try his best to get you to relax so he doesn’t stretch you uncomfortably. You’re glad he didn’t work you open first with his fingers, the pain so good you let the tears in your eyes fall endlessly.

Finally he’s bottoming out inside of you and groaning lowly, his forehead resting on your back for a second as he tries to collect himself enough to properly fuck you.

“Sammy please baby.” You gasp in a sob and you feel him tense up at the wrecked sound of your voice. “Fuck me hard.”

That seems to be the trigger that he needs to go from a soft conflicted husband to somebody fucking a tight young thing, a low grunt leaving him as he stands back up fully and grabs your sides.

Sammy is almost animalistic as he thrusts into you, kitchen full of his grunts and your high pitched whines as he fills you over and over again. The stretch is the perfect blend of pain and pleasure and you can barely catch your breath from his relentless place.

Your stomach is digging against the counter roughly and you’re barely able to catch your breath or think as he roughly fucks into you, filled up so deep you can feel him in your stomach.

“Oh my god oh my god.” You’re sobbing as he fucks you and his big hand comes forward to cover your mouth roughly, slightly lifting you off the counter to make sure you’re kept quiet.

“Gotta shut the fuck up if you want to be fucked baby.” He says it softly in your ear but it’s completely filthy and a big change from how gentle he normally is when he speaks to you. You’re most definitely crossed eyed by now from pleasure as you dumbly nod and listen to your muffled moan under his palm. “Fuck you feel so good. Best pussy I’ve ever had.”

It’s completely filthy and all you could have imagined for when he finally lost control, ramming into you over and over as he continues to speak the dirty confessions in your ear. Your stomach clenches dangerously early as he tells you how good and pretty you are, how he wants to fuck you everyday, how hard you get him just from a kiss.

“S-Sammy oh my god.” You sob out as he lifts you further off the counter, one of his rough hands smoothing over the front of your stomach and pushing down at the soft skin there like he’s trying to feel himself deep inside of you.

“I know princess I know.” He practically coos, kissing your neck sweetly while he continues to fuck you like an animal. “Does it feel too good baby? You like getting stretched like this by me?”

You can’t even bring yourself to respond, the filth coming from him and the feeling of him inside of you completely taking away your ability to think or communicate. You’re just whining and sobbing softly as he gropes you all over and brings you the type of pleasure you didn’t even know was real.

He falls silent too and you can tell by the stutter of his hips every few thrust that he’s getting close too, grunts getting lower and more desperate as he kisses against your skin.

“Want you to cum inside.” You beg him once you finally manage to get your voice back, high pitched and breathy. “Please Sammy please I want your baby.”

He curses audibly at that, a little too loud for the otherwise quiet kitchen and then you’re slammed back against the counter and fully bent over again as he speeds back up.

You’re finishing as soon as you’re back in the position and he’s able to get as deep as you imagine possible, a loud cry leaving you that is only halfway silenced as he remembers to clap a hand over your mouth too late. You can’t be bothered to care about that right now considering he’s filling you up only a few seconds after, groaning lowly while his hips stutter through his climaxed.

You’re both silent for a few seconds after, panting and catching your breath as you lay against the counter with shaky legs and he practically drapes himself over your back again.

A beat passes before he’s standing with a tired sigh and rubbing your back softly as he pulls out. You squirm uncomfortable at both the emptiness and the ache from the pace he’d been going, his hand still massaging you lightly as he shushes you gently and leans over to the sink to wet a washcloth.

It’s cold as he cleans between your legs quietly and presses light kisses to your body the entire time.

“Are you okay?” He asks you gently as he adjusts your skirt and helps you stand up, turning you around and making a surprised noise when you’re throwing your arms around his neck for a tight hug.

His hands rest on the small of your back as you hug, rocking back and forth with you for a minute or two. You pull back and help him with his belt, his eyes locked on your satisfied but tired face fondly as you close it for him so sweetly with your little shaky hands.

You finally kiss him once you’re done and it’s sweet again now, like you’re two people genuinely in love and not in laws who just railed each other a few rooms over from your sister and his wife.

Your eyes snap open from a dead sleep.

Yup, that’s a familiar wetness. It’s not like you haven’t wet the bed during pregnancy – June rolled around on your bladder all night until she reached forty-fucking-one weeks in your uterus – but you know the difference between that and this.

You take a deep breath and sit up slightly in bed. Storm lifts her head and tilts it to the side, her tail tentatively thumping against your leg. What’s going on, not-dad? You rub between her ears for a second and give her a pointed look that she somehow seems to understand. She gets to her feet, stretches low, and then stares down Andrew.

Bracing yourself for what’s to come, you rub your husband’s back and gently murmur, “Honey, wake up.”

Your husband bolts upright, at attention immediately like a soldier – even with his curls mussed sweetly and his eyelids still heavy. Even though he now sleeps a striking 4-6 hours a night, it’s still fitful and prepared for anything. Words not yet quite fully formed, he asks, “What’s going on?”

“Either a ghost just tossed a water balloon at my crotch, or-”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah.” You strip the sheet aside and gesture to the mess. “‘Oh, fuck,’ indeed. It’s go time.”

Andrew slides out of bed and stretches his beautiful arms above his head, walking to the closet to collect the large duffel he packed a month and a half ago. Lifting it triumphantly, he announces, “See? I told you having the go bag ready starting at 30 weeks wasn’t unreasonable.”

You glare at him playfully as you groan to your feet. “I’m currently going into labor with your second child and you’re starting with ‘I told you so’?”

“Good point.” He shoulders the bag, comes to your side, kisses you hard, and amends, “Let’s get you ready and hopped up on happy drugs.”

“There you go.”

Andrew helps you get cleaned up and dressed in comfy clothes before heading down the hall to collect June. Meanwhile, you wash your face and do your hair so it’s not gonna annoy you. Honestly? Knowing it’s just going to be you, Andrew, and medical professionals practically has you whistling with delight. Your first truly major life milestone with no Smurf.

As you walk toward the steps, waiting for Andrew because you know he’s gonna insist on spotting you, the first contraction hits like a bus and you let out a pained groan. Yeah, that sucks just as much as the last time you did this. Why did you think this was a good idea? Are the newborn endorphins really that good?

Inside her bedroom, June tugs on her dad’s shirt and asks, “Mommy okay?”

“Mommy’s okay,” Andrew assures right away, scooping her up into his arms as he rapidly packs her a bag of essentials. “Looks like your baby brother decided to come early.”

Nestling her sleepy head in her dad’s neck, June wonders, “You said baby not until Bobtoner?”

“October,” Andrew chuckles fondly. He tries to explain as his brain scrambles to catch up, “Babies are pretty much done growing in a mommy’s tummy a little while before we think they’re going to come, so sometimes they decide they’re done early. You wanted to stay in and be cozy for a long time, but your brother’s ready to get out and meet you. That means we have to get ready to meet him, too.”

Andrew carries her and the two bags out of her room and toward the staircase. Seeing you hunched over the stair railing as you breathe deeply, June looks at Andrew skeptically. “You sure mommy okay?”

“I promise,” he replies. “Mommy’s body is working really hard right now and sometimes it really hurts, but the doctors know how to make it hurt less once we get to the hospital.”

Shocked, she clarifies, “Hurts to have baby?”

As you snicker under your breath, Andrew explains, “That’s right, bug. And mommy’s gonna hurt for a while after, too, so we’re gonna be extra nice and soft with her until she feels all better.”

June frowns and announces solemnly, “I never have baby.”

Andrew laughs and presses a kiss to her cheek. “That’s your call, princess, but maybe wait until you’re older to decide for sure.”

Still suspicious of the whole situation, she drawls, “Otay.”

Andrew gives you a drive-by kiss before taking June to the car. “Be right back for you, sweetheart.”

“Mhmm,” you agree absently, focusing on your breathing as you anticipate the next contraction, not knowing if it’ll be any second or another hour.

With June tucked into her car seat and Storm settled next to her, whining softly, Andrew supports you down the stairs (you let him even though you feel pretty stable) and straps you into the front seat.

There’s only one possible option before the hospital, so Andrew heads over right away. Given the circumstance, the half-mile drive to your nearest neighbor feels particularly long, but the truck rumbles up the gravel drive soon enough. After kissing you again because he simply can’t stop, Andrew unloads the girls and walks up to the front door, where an automatic motion light flickers on.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Gerry answers the door with his wife right behind him, curiously peeking over his shoulder.

“Hi, Gerry. Hi, Lorraine,” Andrew says, forcing a friendly smile. “So, ah, her water broke. It’s a couple weeks early, so her sister isn’t supposed to get here for a while, and she can’t get a flight until tomorrow, but we can’t bring June or Storm to the hospital, and we don’t have an overnight sitter here yet, and-”

“Got it,” Lorraine replies easily, stepping in front of her husband. An angel on earth, she’s not even irritated at being woken up. She opens up her arms and June teeters over to her. Then she takes Storm’s leash and the dog tentatively walks up and begins to give her a sniff inspection. “We’ve got them, Andrew. Go meet your son. Give mama our best.”

“Will do. Thank you. Seriously, thank you so much. We owe you; I’ll come by and do any work you need done or-”

Gerry shakes his head and claps a large hand onto Andrew’s shoulder. “Son, we’re neighbors. Around here that means something. Don’t worry about us; you’ve gotta take care of your girl.”

Blinking back sudden tears, Andrew nods simply. Accepting. He kneels down and gives June a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead. “Your Aunt Lana is gonna come pick you up tomorrow, okay? She’ll bring you to the hospital where you can meet your brother and see me and mommy. Then she’s gonna watch you and puppy at the house until mommy can leave the hospital. Does that sound alright with you?”

She nods bravely and asks the big question: “Auntie Wana brings candy?”

“Auntie Lana always brings candy,” he confirms seriously. “She’ll watch all your favorite cartoons with you and play your favorite games. Whatever you want. You’re gonna have so much fun you’re not gonna want us to come back.”

June giggles and shakes her head. “Silly daddy.”

“Yeah, silly daddy.” He gives her one more tight hug. Then he plants a kiss on Storm’s head and scratches her ears fondly. “Goodnight, my princesses. Sweet dreams.”

“Thirty seven weeks but eight and a half pounds,” the doctor chuckles as she writes down your newborn’s measurements on the whiteboard next to your bed. The baby’s with the team of doctors while you take a minute to eat and drink and recuperate with Andrew doting on you. She adds lightly, “Mama, you should be glad he decided to come out now instead of waiting and gaining another pound or two.”

“Everything’s okay, then?” Andrew hovers too close to the doctor, but you don’t have the energy to nudge him backwards now that the adrenaline and endorphins are fading into pure exhaustion. “He’s fine even though he was early?”

“He’s perfect,” she confirms simply, offering a reassuring smile. “Lungs sound great, which is the big thing we look for when babies aren’t quite full-term. Heart is nice and strong, blood sugar and pressure are good, temperature is stable. We’re gonna bring him back in here to spend the night with you two in just a second.”

“Good.” He swallows hard and nods and looks at you. “That’s good.” The doctor disappears through the door and Andrew’s right by your side in an instant. “What can I do for you, angel? You’re so fucking amazing. Let me get you something.”

You shake your head softly. “I’m fine for now. Ready to see our little man. Hopefully he latches like a champ and we can all get some sleep.”

“If he takes after his dad at all, he won’t have any trouble latching.”

You snort out a needed laugh and poke him in the chest, resting your forehead on his shoulder. “You’re disgusting.”

“Probably true,” he concedes with a kiss to your temple.

You definitely get lucky with your son; his first feed is seamless and he’s happy to coo on your chest for a while as you slowly let yourself fall toward sleep. When you’re failing in fighting off the exhaustion, you transfer him to his little cot. Andrew curls up next to you because he doesn’t mind being your personal body pillow.

All three of you manage about two hours of sleep before the baby wakes up again, not quite crying but fussing. Since this is your second, both you and Andrew are primed to wake at even the least conspicuous baby sounds to evaluate.

While you drift into awareness, Andrew stands over the baby’s cot and whispers, “He’s so beautiful.”

You give a tired, warm smile and rub the back of his hand still resting on the bed next to you. “He looks just like you.”

Andrew’s eyes move over to yours and you realize there’s a steady stream of tears falling from his hazels. You wonder if they’ve stopped at all since the baby arrived. “You think so?”

“Your hooded eyes, your sweet cheeks and dimples,” you coo, leaning slightly forward to trace the tiny versions of your husband’s features on the baby’s face. Then you touch Andrew’s cheek and tease, “Your permanent frown because you’re a baby having feelings too big for you to process.”

He smirks and shakes his head. “That does sound like me.”

As Andrew gazes down at his son, you offer quietly, “You wanna hold him?”

Andrew shakes his head right away and you can hear the tears in his voice. “No, I- He looks so peaceful. I don’t want to- to hurt him or- I don’t know. Not yet.”

You lean your head against his side. Then you glance up at him, seeing his plain desire to hold the baby all over his features marred by the fear of his own hands, and say, “Give him to me, then. About time for a feed, I’m guessing.” You add on some extra drama by wincing when you turn slightly. “I don’t wanna pull my stitches trying to-”

Andrew urges seriously, “Stay still, angel, I’ve got it.”

With his brow furrowed and his jaw set, he carefully places his hands beneath the baby and starts to transfer him over to you with tense breaths and eyes full of wonder. 

But you cross your arms over your chest and add, “Actually, I need the baby bag if you don’t mind grabbing that for me.”

“Yeah, of course,” he says absently, shifting the baby’s weight in his arms. When the baby yawns big, tensing up his tiny fists with a little shake, Andrew smiles down at him like he’s holding a million dollars – better, actually, since he probably has held a million dollars before. The baby lets out a sound sort of like a hiccup as he recovers from the proportionally massive yawn, and Andrew’s smile only grows. Not looking at you even a bit, Andrew asks, “I’m sorry, honey, what did you say?”

“Nothing, love.” You play with Andrew’s messy curls as he sits down next to you, mussed from all the stress and movement, and muse, “He has your cupid’s bow, too. He looks like a little cherub.”

“I don’t look like a cherub,” Andrew scoffs, looking particularly cherubic with his flushed cheeks and the light in his hair. “He doesn’t look like me. He’s perfect.” He looks at you with one of his small, appreciative smiles. “You tricked me into holding him.”

“Yeah, I did.” You sigh contentedly, letting your exhausted, heavy eyelids flutter shut because you know Andrew’s got you. Both of you. “You love holding your babies in those big strong arms of yours.”

“Don’t objectify me in front of my son,” he teases.Then his voice lowers as he wonders, “What are we gonna call him? None of the names we picked feel right anymore.”

“Well, you know how I feel about AJ.” You don’t need to open your eyes to know he’s shaking his head; Andrew hates the idea of cursing an innocent baby with his name. “We could always let June name him; she’d like that.”

“And spend the rest of our lives calling our boy ‘roly poly’?”

“Po for short,” you laugh, the sound soft and breathy and sleepy. “We’ll figure it out. Mama needs to get back to bed.”

Andrew gives a soft hum of approval and you listen to him crossing the birthing suite to sit on the loveseat, not putting the baby down.

The entirety of your three-day hospital stay – your tearing is pretty bad this time and they want to make sure the baby doesn’t have any unexpected issues – Andrew barely puts the baby down. You hold him for feeds, of course, and Andrew’s religious about making sure you have plenty of skin-to-skin time, but otherwise it’s your husband changing his tiny diapers, singing him lullabies, and rocking him back to sleep when he fusses. Whenever the nurses come to check in the baby, Andrew has to physically force himself to let go. “Okay, papa bear, I need to take the little man for another check-up.”

Andrew stands up with the baby still in his arms, his expression serious. “Can I come with?”

“Not for this one,” she says sympathetically. Andrew’s developed quite a reputation for being easily the most attentive, protective father they’ve ever had in the hospital. You’ve heard a couple nurses express their jealousy and it makes you peacock a little. “But we won’t be long; I promise.”

Andrew nods tightly, follows her all the way out of the suite, and then returns to your side with agony in his eyes. You reach up to rub his back and soothe, “They’ve got him, honey. You can relax.”

“I can’t,” he murmurs earnestly. “I need to know where he is. I need- I need-”

“Love.” You tug his arm and he understands the silent request, leaning back on the bed next to you and tucking you beneath his arm. “Be with me for a minute.”

That much he can do. It’s a familiar assignment. He rests his chin on the top of your head and breathes deeply. “You come up with any name ideas since your last nap?”

You shake your head and sigh. “Nope. You?”

“Nothing seems right.”

“Yeah. He’s just too…him.” You give Andrew a mischievous glance and suggest, “I wonder if a Snickers might help me brainstorm.”

Andrew chuckles, kisses your forehead, and says, “Coming right up.”

Your sister’s on the way to the hospital for June to meet the baby when you and Andrew finally make a choice. You’re trying to fix yourself up enough that your appearance won’t make June nervous while Andrew bounces the baby around the room, humming a tune under his breath to keep them both calm. The baby’s fussing and your boobs definitely recognize his particular cry, letdown reflex beginning to tingle in your chest.

“Bring him here, honey,” you call as you untie your hospital gown. As Andrew settles the baby on your chest, you sigh contentedly, “Our last few minutes in the newborn bubble.”

“I miss our toddler bubble,” he replies as he cozies up next to you, ready with your nipple pads as he kisses your shoulder and gently strokes your thigh. “What if she doesn’t like him?”

You shake your head. “Our little extrovert? They’ll be menaces together in no time. She’ll probably just think he’s boring.”

“What? Our baby bear?” Andrew feigns shock and touches the baby’s cheek as he finishes suckling and immediately starts looking sleepy and peaceful. “Look how animated and interesting the guy is.”

After burping the baby, Andrew holds him in his arms, head on your shoulder as the three of you wait for the arrival of newly-christened big sister June.

“Baby bear and his papa bear,” you coo gently, watching how both the baby and Andrew give their versions of content smiles at your tender voice. After a moment, brushing the baby’s cheek with your thumb, you muse, “Maybe that’s his name. Bear. We’ve been calling him that already.”

“You don’t think that’s too hippie-dippie?” But Andrew’s already smiling, trying the name on for size as he gazes down at his son’s tiny face. “Bear Cody. I like it.”

“We’re from California. Nothing’s too hippie-dippie.” Then you add, “One of Lorraine’s grandkids is called Blueberry.”

He chuckles softly and concedes, “Good point.” Rubbing the baby’s back, he asks, “What do you think, kiddo? Do you like it?”

The baby opens his mouth super wide and lets out a squeaky yawn that makes you grin ear-to-ear. You kiss his temple and give Andrew a look. “See? He’s roaring.”