Xi

You have been waiting for this moment for months, even years. You are finally moving out. It is because of college, but still, it is a new beginning far from home — a brand-new chapter in your own space. A mix of excitement and nervousness settles in your chest, because living alone requires a lot of responsibility, and you are not sure if you are ready to handle it all.

For the past five minutes, you have been staring at the mountain of boxes crammed into the trunk and backseat of your car like a game of Tetris. You are wondering how you are going to carry so many boxes up to the third floor where your apartment is. With a deep breath, you finally grab one of the boxes, and immediately stagger under its weight.

"Maintenance. Sorry for the inconvenience" reads the sign taped to the elevator doors.

Drops of sweat form on your temples, down the back of your neck, and pool on your spine, making your shirt stick to your skin. Of course it would be hot as hell on the day of your move, and of course the elevator wouldn't be working — talk about lucky.

You take another deep breath, hug the box against your chest, and begin climbing the stairs slowly, careful not to lose your balance.

Your arms are trembling and your breathing is almost as heavy as the box by the time you finally reach the first floor, forcing you to set it down for a moment to rest. But just as you pick it up again, mentally preparing for the next flight of stairs, the sound of footsteps coming down from above catches you off guard.

A man is coming down the stairs. He’s tall, wearing a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the prominent veins on his forearms. His jaw is sharp — probably sharper than any knife you’ve ever seen. He looks so put-together that you suddenly feel embarrassed by your sweaty face and disheveled state.

Seeing you, he stops immediately, his eyebrows furrowing with mild concern. "Whoa. Let me help you with that." His voice is low and smooth, the kind of voice that sends a shiver down your spine before you can stop it.

You blush, heat rising from your neck to your cheeks. "Oh, you don’t have to. I can manage—"

"I insist," he replies gently, waiting with his hands hovering, giving you the choice. You let him take the box, and the relief is immediate — your arms practically sing in gratitude. He lifts it as if it weighs nothing, cradling it against his chest with just one arm — the same box you were struggling to carry with both. "I’m Jay, by the way."

You quickly wipe the sweat from your forehead and try to fix your hair because you want to look at least a little presentable for the incredibly good-looking man helping you. "Thank you so much. I’m y/n. I’m moving in today, to apartment 3B."

Jay’s expression softens, and a warm smile spreads across his face. "3B? That’s interesting. I live right next door, in 3A." He nods toward the stairs. "Looks like we’re neighbors." He gestures ahead. "After you."

You both climb the remaining stairs together and your heart still pounding. You can’t tell if it’s from the physical effort earlier or from his company. Because of the nerves, the words start tumbling out before you can stop them.

"I’m starting college this week. I got accepted and everything, and I was so excited when I found this apartment. It’s the first time I’ve ever lived away from home, so I’m really thrilled… but also kind of terrified? Like, what if I get lost on campus? What if my classes are way harder than I expected? I brought way too much stuff, I’m kind of attached to my things, you know?" You let out a breathless laugh. "Sorry, I’m probably talking too much. I get really chatty when I’m nervous."

Jay glances at you as you walk, the box still balanced effortlessly in his arms. He doesn’t look annoyed — in fact, he seems amused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You’re not talking too much. It’s a big change, but you’re doing great."

You bite your lower lip, watching him as you climb. There is something intriguing about him that sparks your curiosity. "And you? Are you a student too, or…?"

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "No, I’ve already graduated. I work at a company downtown." He says it casually, offering no further details — which only makes you even more curious.

You reach the landing of the second floor and have to stop to catch your breath, while Jay doesn’t even seem slightly winded — it’s honestly impressive. "My parents helped me pack my bags, but they’re hours away now. It’s exciting, though. New city, new people. I just hope I don’t ruin everything."

"You won’t," Jay says gently. "Everyone feels like that at the beginning. The nervousness is normal. Besides, you seem like you have a good head on your shoulders. You’ll find your rhythm." He sets the box down carefully in front of your door. "Ready for another round?"

The words hit you like a spark. "Ready for another round." And before you can help it, your mind immediately drifts, imagining Jay on top of you, his strong body pressing you into the mattress, that same low voice murmuring the question against your neck while his hands pinned your wrists above your head. Heat flooded your face and settled lower in your belly.

You quickly shake your head, trying to push the thought away, desperately hoping your blush isn't too obvious. "Yes, let's do it."

He carries the rest of the boxes for you, going up and down the stairs multiple times. Meanwhile, you keep rambling nonstop about what you are studying, where you are from, and how you are feeling about this new phase of your life. He listens as if he genuinely cares, and even though you can’t quite place the age difference between you two, you feel surprisingly comfortable with him.

When the last box finally makes it through the door, you stand in the hallway with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Jay. Honestly. I don’t know what I would have done without you."

"Glad I could help. Moving is a big step. If you need anything else, I’m right next door." With that, he returns to his own apartment, leaving you surrounded by a sea of boxes that will clearly take hours to unpack.

A few days pass. You unpack — not everything, just the most important things. Your first classes are overwhelming. You get lost twice, accidentally walk into the wrong lecture hall, and sit through an entire lecture on quantum physics before realizing your mistake. But as embarrassing as it was, that mistake ended up leading you to a guy named Jake, who turned out to be incredibly nice and cute.

Now you are standing outside Jay’s door with a plate of cupcakes in your hands, ready to properly thank him for helping you with the move. The thing is, you can’t really bake; you tried making the cupcakes yourself but ended up burning the batch, so you had to go to the bakery on the corner to buy a box of them instead. They look a bit too professional, but since he doesn't know about your complete lack of kitchen skills, you're confident he won't suspect a thing — especially since you took them out of the box and arranged them nicely on a plate just to be extra safe.

You knock on his door, your heart pounding hard in your chest. He opens it a moment later, and his face lights up when he sees you. "Hey, neighbor," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "How are classes going?"

"Good," you reply, pushing the plate forward with a little too much force. "Great, actually. I only got lost twice today, which is an improvement." Your smile widens. "I brought these for you. For helping me with the move. I made them myself."

He looks at the cupcakes, then back at you, this time raising an eyebrow. "You made these?"

"Yes," you say, nodding firmly with your chin held high, trying to look confident. "From scratch. All by myself. I’m pretty good at baking."

He picks up one of the cupcakes and examines it, narrowing his eyes as he brings it closer to his face. You feel your determination starting to crumble.

"Really?" he asks with a smile, clearly testing how long you will keep up the lie. "From scratch?"

You hold his gaze for three whole seconds before you look away in embarrassment. Your shoulders drop and your face turns as red as a tomato. "Okay, fine. I bought them at the bakery on the corner. I took them out of the box so you would think I’m a functional adult who knows how to bake." You laugh at yourself. "I tried making them the other day, Jay. I set off the smoke alarm. I’m a danger to this entire building."

He throws his head back and laughs — not mocking you, but with a genuine, warm laugh that makes you feel less embarrassed about pretending you had baked the cupcakes. "Oh my God, you actually burned them?"

"I once burned noodles. I’m a total disaster in the kitchen."

He steps aside, still smiling, and gestures for you to come in. "Alright, come in. I’ll split one of these ‘homemade’ cupcakes with you. It’s the least I can do for someone who put so much effort into the task."

Your mom’s voice whispers in the back of your mind: "Don’t talk to strangers and definitely don’t go into their apartments, sweetheart." But is he really a stranger? He is your neighbor who carried all your boxes without complaining, and the way he stands there holding the plate of cupcakes with that smile makes you not hesitate at all.

You follow him inside. He leads you to the kitchen, grabs two small plates, and carefully unwraps a vanilla cupcake, splitting it in half before sliding one piece toward you.

"Have a seat," he says, pointing to the stool by the kitchen island.

"So, you mentioned you work downtown? What exactly do you do?" you ask as you sit down.

"I’m a lawyer," he replies, taking a bite of his half and nodding in approval. "Good choice of bakery, by the way."

You laugh, biting into yours. "A lawyer. That makes a lot of sense. You have this… I don’t know how to say it without sounding weird, but you have this organized vibe. Like you’re really good at arguing without even raising your voice."

His smile widens. "People have definitely told me that before that I have a ‘courtroom voice.’ It’s just my normal voice, only lower and slower. People tend to listen when you don’t yell."

"You’ll have to show me someday. If I ever get in legal trouble, I’ll know exactly who to call."

"Please don’t get in legal trouble. But if you do, I’m your guy."

The conversation flows just as easily as it did on moving day, and before you know it, you’re venting about your annoying professor, how massive the campus is, and all the times you’ve already managed to get lost. Between all the talking, the cupcakes completely disappear, leaving the coffee he made to sit cold and barely touched in your mug. There’s just something about him that instantly puts you at ease.

Despite the age gap, he never talks down to you or makes you feel small, which makes talking to him completely effortless. It’s just so comforting to have someone around who listens to you with that much care and attention — especially when he happens to be incredibly good-looking, leaving you totally hooked since the very first day.

As he walks you to the door when you finally get up to leave, he snatches a pen and a post-it note to scribble something down. Before you know it, he’s pressing the paper into your palm, his fingers brushing lightly against yours and sending a sudden warmth to your cheeks as he says, "Here’s my number, in case you ever need anything."

"Thank you," you say, smiling a little too wide.

He nods. "Anytime. Seriously. Don’t be a stranger."

────────

The grocery bags dig painfully into your fingers as you stand in the lobby, staring at the elevator doors that are still under maintenance. You look at them as if a miracle might happen — maybe if you stare for one more second, God will take pity and finally fix it. Nothing happens, of course, which makes you let out a long sigh of frustration. It has been days since you moved in and the elevator is still not working.

Your arms already hurt from carrying way too many bags. You definitely should have made two trips, but stubbornness won.

Reaching the second floor is pure torture; your arms are burning, those plastic handles are digging right into your palms, and the bags keep swinging awkwardly against your legs. Trying to stop and adjust your grip only makes things worse, to the point where you're seriously considering just sitting right there on the stairs and crying.

You finally collapse against the wall at the third-floor landing, letting the bags slide to the floor just to catch your breath. Right then, the door to 3A clicks open and Jay steps out — perfectly dressed for work with that annoyingly handsome lawyer look that instantly makes your stomach do a little flip.

He sees you immediately. For a second, his eyes take in the whole scene — your flushed face, the many overloaded bags, and the way you are leaning against the wall breathing heavily. A light, amused laugh escapes him. It is not mocking, just genuinely entertained, as if he expected nothing less from you.

"Carrying heavy stuff again?" he asks, walking toward you. "You really don’t learn, do you?"

Before you can even open your mouth to protest, he is already reaching for the bags, picking them all up at once as if they weigh absolutely nothing. His strong arms support the weight so effortlessly that his biceps press against the fabric of his dress shirt, making it completely impossible for you not to stare.

He turns and walks toward your door, carrying everything like it is nothing.

At your doorstep, Jay sets all the bags down carefully against the wall and turns to face you. His expression is calm, almost unreadable, but there is something more in it. You understand it the moment he starts speaking in a gently scolding tone. "You really shouldn’t carry so much at once," he says, crossing his arms. "It’s not safe and it’s clearly too heavy for you. Make two or three trips next time. Look at your hands, they’re all red. You were hurting yourself. Why? Because you’re way too stubborn, huh?"

You glance down at your palms, and they are red where the plastic handles dug in. "I was fine," you say, though even you do not believe it. "I almost made it."

"Don’t be stubborn."

"You sound exactly like my dad," you reply, crossing your arms to mimic him. "He’s always telling me I’m too stubborn for my own good."

Jay’s lips curve into a small smile. "Because you really are," he says with so much certainty that you cannot even argue back. "I’m serious. Next time, make multiple trips or just text me. I’d rather help than watch you struggle like that."

There is a protective tone in his voice that makes your cheeks warm with a mix of embarrassment and something else stirring low in your stomach. He is lecturing you like a child, but somehow it sounds kind of hot coming from him.

Then he glances at the grocery bags again. Now that the scolding is over, he seems to actually pay attention to what is inside them. He picks one up and looks inside — it is full of frozen meals, instant noodles, ultra-processed food, and canned goods. "Look, I know you’re in college now, but that doesn’t mean you have to live on processed food. It’s quick, sure, but you need real fresh stuff, not just things that come out of a can. Eating like this long-term isn’t good for you. You could get sick."

You blink, caught off guard by the extra lecture. He is fully in dad-mode now, and there is something strangely attractive about how seriously he takes it, like he is genuinely worried about you. "Okay, okay. I get it… I already told you I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I just grabbed whatever is easiest so I don’t starve."

Jay’s expression softens a little. "I’m not trying to scold you. I just know how easy it is to fall into bad habits when you’re living on your own for the first time." He pauses and adds in a gentler voice, "If you ever need help in the kitchen, you know where to find me. I’m not exactly a chef, but I know how to make real meals."

Your mind wanders again because you can’t help it — you picture him in your kitchen, standing right behind you while teaching you how to cook, his hands guiding yours, the warmth of his body against your back…

"I’ll try to do better, I swear. Thanks for helping again. I think I owe you something now. How about brownies as a thank you this time?"

Jay shakes his head, chuckling softly. "You don’t owe me anything. Just be more careful next time." He glances at the heavy bags one more time. "Need help carrying these inside?"

You shake your head quickly. "I can handle it from here. I bet you’re busy, you look like you’re heading to work."

He checks the watch on his wrist. "Yeah, I have a meeting soon, but the offer stands anytime." Before turning to leave, he gives you one last firm look. "Take care of yourself."

After he leaves, you drag the bags inside, one half first and then the other, just like Jay suggested.

That night, you are sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you open your contacts. You saved Jay’s number, of course, but you have been telling yourself you don’t need to text him. It is an emergency-only number, but then you think about him carrying your groceries, the effortless way he took them from you, and the gentle scolding in his voice. Before you can overthink it, you are already typing a message to him.

────────

It is already past midnight and you have been staring at the same page of your textbook long enough for your vision to blur. Your brain has officially given up — it is impossible to absorb a single word more after hours of studying.

You are about to slam the book shut to take out your stress on it and drag yourself to bed when a soft knock sounds at the door. Your heart jumps slightly because you were not expecting anyone, especially not at this hour.

Another knock.

You get up slowly, stretching your sore muscles, and walk to the door. When you open it, Jay is standing there, looking different tonight without his formal work clothes and lawyer posture. He is wearing a simple white t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and is barefoot. He looks relaxed, holding a bottle of red wine — as if he made the sudden decision to knock on your door and came straight over without even putting shoes on.

"Hey," he says, his low voice making your stomach flip. His eyes scan over you, taking in your tired face, messy hair, and pajamas. Something in his expression softens.

"Hey," you reply softly, matching his tone.

"Hey," he repeats, then laughs when he realizes what he just did.

"Hey," you answer again, this time with a small smile. "You already said that."

"I know." He laughs again, shaking his head. "I just… it’s late."

"Very late."

"I know." He lifts the bottle slightly. "I bought this earlier today but… it’s no fun drinking alone."

You look at the wine, then back at him. The way he is standing there — messy hair, ridiculously handsome, and a little too soft — makes going back to bed suddenly seem like a very stupid choice. "Are you inviting me to drink with you?"

"I’m asking if you want to take a break. From everything."

The way he looks at you with those inviting eyes makes the decision easy, but you decide to tease him first. "I don’t usually drink with strangers."

"We’re not strangers," he says, his voice soft. Your teasing does not seem to faze him.

"We’re not exactly friends either," you reply, tilting your head and studying his reaction.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a small, almost lazy smile. "Then let’s change that."

You pretend to consider it for a moment, even though you were already fully committed the second you saw him at your door. "Mmm, okay. But let’s do it at your apartment. Mine is a mess."

His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Alright, whatever you want."

You grab your keys and follow him, also barefoot, to the door next to yours. His apartment is clean and organized as always, which makes the space feel strangely comforting. In the kitchen, he pours two glasses of wine and hands you one, his fingers brushing against yours for half a second and sending a spark through your body.

"Cheers," he says, raising his glass.

"Cheers," you repeat, gently clinking your glass against his.

You take a sip and let out a small, involuntary hum of appreciation — it is much better than you expected, probably the most expensive wine you have ever tasted. He gestures toward the living room. "Come on, let’s sit," he says, leading the way to the couch. You follow and settle onto his couch, trying to look more relaxed than you actually feel.

"This is nice," you say, taking another sip.

He sits on the other end of the couch — close enough to talk comfortably, but far enough to be polite. "It’s just wine." He takes a sip, watching you over the rim of his glass.

"I mean relaxing… not thinking about classes for the first time."

He nods, understanding. "You think about classes a lot."

"It’s pretty much my entire life right now," you admit with an awkward little laugh, taking another sip.

"I remember going through that too. Everything revolving around exams, assignments, and exhausting responsibilities."

You tilt your head, studying him. "You make it sound like ancient history."

"Sometimes it feels like it." He takes a sip, not breaking eye contact. "I still remember when I was in college. I used to think a bad grade would ruin everything." A dry laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. "There’s so much pressure."

Suddenly you find yourself wanting to know more about him, drawn by the experienced tone in his voice and posture. The wine is already loosening your tongue, so you ask. "How old are you, anyway?"

A small, playful smile appears on his lips. "I’m old enough."

You narrow your eyes, trying to hold back a smile. "That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one you’re getting." He takes another sip.

"That’s annoying," you say, leaning forward slightly and resting your elbows on your knees.

"Maybe I am annoying." He shrugs, but there is a sparkle in his eyes that tells you he is enjoying this.

"You’re avoiding the question," you accuse, pointing a finger at him.

"I’m protecting my privacy."

"From what? Your neighbor?" You laugh, raising an eyebrow.

"Especially from my neighbor."

You pout, pretending to be hurt. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

"Everyone has secrets," he says, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone.

"I don’t." You are not even sure why you say it. Maybe it is the wine, or the way he is looking at you right now.

"Everyone does." He holds his ground. "You have secrets too."

Your pulse quickens. "I don’t."

"Yes, you do."

You swallow hard. The air between you feels thicker now, charged with something you can’t quite name. You shift slightly on the sofa and notice how easy it would be to reach out and touch him. "So you have a lot of secrets, huh?" you ask, curious.

"Yes. Quite a few."

"Like what?" you press, wanting to see what he will give you.

"If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore." His lips curve into a slow, almost predatory smile.

"Touché." You raise your glass in an ironic toast, making him laugh.

A comfortable but heavy silence settles between you for a moment, thick with tension as you exchange glances and take slow sips. The wine is definitely doing its job — making your words come out slower, your laughter easier, and your body warmer.

"How old are you?" he asks, breaking the silence.

You blink, caught off guard. "Me?"

"Yes, you." He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "You asked me, so I’m asking you back."

You smile, deciding to play his game. "I’m old enough."

A low, surprised laugh escapes him — rich and genuine. "That’s my line."

"I know." You take another sip to hide your smile.

"You stole my line."

You just shrug. "I borrowed it."

"That’s not how borrowing works."

"Yes, it is."

He laughs again. "You’re impossible."

"Am I? What else?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging him.

"You’re something," he says, his voice dropping again.

"What?" You are not sure what he means by that.

"I don’t know yet." He keeps his eyes fixed on you. "But I’m figuring it out."

You feel your cheeks heat up and take another sip of wine to try to hide your reaction. Jay, however, keeps watching you, and you can tell he noticed.

"You know what I’ve noticed?" By now your voice is a little slurred, so you have to be careful with the words that come out of your mouth.

"What?" His wine glass is almost empty. He sets it on the coffee table and turns all of his attention to you.

You lean back on the couch, turning to face him more directly. Your knee brushes against his thigh, but neither of you pulls away. "You don’t talk much about yourself."

He tilts his head, frowning slightly. "Don’t I?"

"No. You listen, but you don’t share. Like, you’re dodging right now. You give answers, but you don’t really answer."

"Well, I’m trying to protect myself," he says simply.

"Protect yourself from what?" You lean forward, genuinely curious now.

"From getting too attached." The words are honest, and you definitely were not expecting them.

You stare at him, your hand frozen halfway to taking another sip. "From what?"

"To you." His voice is almost a whisper, making your pulse race and your skin flush.

"Why would you get too attached to me?"

He stays silent for a moment, his eyes tracing over you as if he wants to memorize every detail. "Because it’s easy to get attached to you."

"No, it's not," you say, shaking your head as a small, incredulous laugh escapes you.

"It is." His voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "You just don’t see it."

You look away, feeling your entire body grow warmer. "You’re dodging again."

"I’m being honest." He leans forward slightly, and you can smell him now — a masculine scent mixed with the light sweetness of the wine.

You set your glass on the coffee table and turn to face him completely, the wine making you bolder. "You’re giving me half-answers. You’re telling me just enough to make me curious, but not enough."

He stays quiet for a moment, thinking. "What do you want to know?"

You hold his gaze. "Something real. Truly honest."

Silence stretches between you, thick with something heavy and suffocating that you can't quite name. Then he whispers, "I think you’re beautiful."

Your breath catches, and for a second you are not sure you heard him correctly. "That’s not—" you begin, but he interrupts you.

"It’s honest."

"You can’t just say that," your voice barely comes out as a whisper.

"I just did." His gaze doesn’t leave yours for even half a second.

"It’s too… direct."

"You asked for it." He says it simply, like it is the most natural thing in the world.

"You’re a tease," you say, not sure if you are complaining or not.

"Wait until you find out what else I am. You want to know me? Then make sure you’re ready."

You do not know what to say or what to do, so you look away, your face burning.

When he finally walks you to your door, you are a little unsteady on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle hand on your waist, and the touch is enough to send shivers through your body. "I’m fine," you murmur, even though you are swaying slightly.

"You’re drunk," he says, smiling at your messy state.

"I’m a little tipsy," you reply, giving him a blurry-eyed look.

"You’re drunk."

"It’s the same thing," you mutter dismissively.

"No, it’s not." He is looking at you with that warm, steady gaze that makes your knees feel weak.

You smile, light and tipsy. "Yes, it is."

At your door, you miss the lock twice. He laughs softly before helping you. "Thank you," you whisper. "For this, for the wine, the company, and everything."

His lips curve into a small, warm smile. "Good night, old enough.:

You smile again — you seem to always be smiling when he is around. "Good night, old man."

You step inside, close the door, and lean against it with your heart racing and your whole body warm from the wine and his words — still smiling like an idiot.

A few minutes later, you are curled up in bed when your phone buzz on the nightstand.

────────

You have been tossing and turning on the mattress for what feels like hours — shifting positions, turning to the other side, but nothing helps. You can’t fall asleep — you mind refuses to stop, racing with thoughts about exams, deadlines, and the weight of all your responsibilities pressing down on your shoulders. You need air, you need to feel like you are not suffocating in that apartment, surrounded by boxes you haven't even had the time to unpack yet. There are several unfinished notes on your desk that constantly remind you that you are not doing enough, no matter how hard you try.

So you go up to the rooftop. The cool night air hits your face and lets you breathe again.

The city is an endless sea of lights — countless tiny glowing points in the darkness that remind you how small you really are. You sit on the old bench near the edge of the roof, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them like a shield.

Your thoughts slowly begin to calm as the minutes pass, and the knot in your chest loosens just a little.

Then the door creaks open behind you.

You turn quickly, your body instantly on alert and your heart racing. And there he is — Jay. He is wearing sweatpants and a black shirt, something about this casual, almost domestic look makes your heart skip a beat. He sees you immediately and stops. Surprise flashes across his face for a second before it turns into that familiar half-smile.

"Can’t sleep either?" His voice is low, almost intimate in a way that makes you shiver.

You shake your head. "I have too much on my mind right now…"

He nods as if he completely understands — and he really does. Walking toward you, he stops at a respectful distance before sitting on the bench beside you — close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body, but not so close that he invades your personal space. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." You shift over a little even though there is already enough space.

He leans back, looking up at the sky, which is beautiful tonight with a full moon and stars shining brightly. The silence stretches between you. He doesn’t force conversation; he simply sits there observing the sky and the city with you. The silence is not awkward — it is actually comforting, especially when you are with him.

"I can’t sleep," you admit, breaking the silence with words that slip out before you can stop them. "I try, but my brain just won’t stop. Every time I close my eyes, I start thinking about all the things I have to do, all the things I haven’t done, and all the ways I’m probably going to mess everything up."

"What’s on your mind?" His voice is gentle and patient as always, showing that he is ready to listen.

"Everything." You let out a shaky sigh. "College, exams, being away from my family for the first time… It’s a lot. I thought I was ready, that I could handle it. But sometimes it feels like I’m drowning and I don’t know how to swim. Literally."

"I know how that feels," he says after a long moment of silence. His eyes stay fixed on yours, and there is something raw in them — something honest. "I remember feeling exactly like that. Like everything was too much and I was too small to handle it."

"You’re talking about yourself. That’s new," you say softly. "You always ask about me, but you never—"

"You already have enough on your plate," he cuts in gently.

You blink, caught off guard. "What?"

"You’re stressed about college, adjusting to a new city, and far from your family," he keeps his gaze steady on you, his expression sincere. "You don’t need to hear about my problems too."

"That’s not how it works." You shake your head as something warm and confusing blooms in your chest. "We’re supposed to share things. That’s what—" You pause, searching for the right word. "That’s what friends do."

"I don’t want to burden you when you’re already dealing with so much, and I certainly don’t want to make it worse."

You stay quiet for a moment, his words stirring something you cannot quite name — but it feels good. "That’s really… kind," you finally say.

"I try." He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips.

The silence settles again, and you sit together quietly for a while longer. Then, out of nowhere, he tilts his head and asks, "How’s your succulent doing?"

You laugh at the unexpected question. "You’re asking about my plant?"

"I remember you mentioned it." He turns toward you — fully turning his body — with a small playful smile on his lips. "I bet you gave it a name."

You shake your head, still smiling. "I haven’t named it yet… but it’s still alive, which is honestly impressive."

"You’re supposed to water it," he says in a gently scolding tone.

"I know." You look away, feeling a little guilty about slowly killing a plant.

"But you forget." There is no judgment in his voice, only warm amusement.

"I forget." You laugh — something you always do when you are with him. "I have a lot on my mind, okay?"

"You’re a plant killer." He smiles, making you grin even wider.

"I’m not a plant killer! I’m just… forgetful. It is surviving, which is more than I can say about myself sometimes."

Something in your words changes his expression. It is still gentle, but now there is a hint of concern. "You’re doing better than you think."

You don’t know what to say, so you just look at him, with the words stuck in your throat.

"Does the succulent at least have company?" he asks after a moment, his voice light as always.

You blink, confused by the sudden question. "What?"

"Other plants, maybe some flowers, something to keep it company. Plants get lonely too."

You laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t think it gets lonely. It’s just a plant, after all."

"All living things have feelings. It definitely feels lonely," he says with so much conviction that you almost believe him.

"That’s not scientifically accurate," you reply, not entirely sure if what you are saying is accurate either.

"I never said it was." He shrugs. "I’m a lawyer. I deal with arguments, not facts."

"They’re the same thing."

"Not at all." He shifts closer to you on the bench, making sure you are listening. "Facts are objective. Arguments are subjective. I make a living turning subjective arguments into something that sounds like objective facts."

"That’s… something. And you’re so weird."

"I’m just concerned about your plant’s loneliness." His voice is incredibly serious, showing that he is taking this very seriously.

"You’re worried about my plant," you say, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, just like I worry about you."

You don’t know what to say again — Jay has a way of leaving you speechless. Your cheeks flush and you look away. "I’ve never received flowers before, anyway…" you say softly, the secret slipping from your lips.

Jay is not sure he heard you correctly. "What did you say?"

Even though you hesitate, you repeat it, louder this time. "I’ve never received flowers." You look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. "I had a boyfriend before, but he was an idiot. He never did anything romantic like giving me flowers or taking me for dates."

He stays silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on you while your heart pounds loudly in your ears. He is thinking about something — you can tell by the way his jaw tightens. "Would you want to go on one? With me."

You stop breathing the moment you hear his words and everything around you seems to freeze. "What?"

"A date. A real date where I pick you up, open doors for you, and take you somewhere nice. It doesn’t have to be romantic if you don’t want it to be. It can just be two people spending time together. Whatever makes you feel comfortable."

Your heart is beating so hard you are sure he can hear it, your mouth is dry, your palms are sweaty, and the words feel stuck in your throat again. Jay is asking you out on a date — a real date. The age gap has been on your mind since the day you met — he is a lawyer and you are still trying to figure out how to live on your own, but every interaction with him feels safe, like he truly sees you.

"Jay, I—" You stop, taking a shaky breath.

"You don’t have to answer right now," he says gently, giving you time to think.

"No, I—" You take another deep breath, and this time the words come out steady. "Yes. Yes, I want that."

His face transforms — a slow, warm smile spreads across his lips and reaches his eyes, making your stomach flip and your heart race just like always.

"Great," he says softly. "I’ll plan something."

A shy laugh escapes you as the reality of it sinks in. "What do you like to do on dates? I’m sure you’ve been on plenty."

He leans forward a little, resting his elbow on his knee. "I want to know what you like. That’s what matters right now, tell me your preferences so I can plan something good for you."

As you think for a moment, you suddenly feel embarrassed by how limited your preferences are. "I’m kind of picky, honestly. I like pasta, I hate anything too spicy, and I don’t like overly sweet desserts. Oh, and I’m not a big fan of seafood unless it’s fried. Is that too much?"

Jay listens attentively, nodding as if he is absorbing every detail. "Not at all. Being picky isn’t a problem, it actually makes it easier to get it right." He pauses, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. "You know, for someone who’s a disaster in the kitchen, you have very specific opinions, princess."

The nickname lands softly between you — affectionate and teasing, with a hint of warmth. Your breath catches, your face flushes instantly, and you lower your head to hide the redness in your cheeks and the smile forming on your lips.

"I… You can’t just say that," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes.

"Why not?" He is smiling even more now, clearly enjoying your reaction. "It suits you. You have high standards and you know exactly what you want, even if you pretend you don’t."

You cover your face with both hands for a second, peeking through your fingers. "You’re going to make me regret saying yes."

"Too late," he murmurs, his voice low and affectionate. "You already said yes."

You lower your hands and meet his gaze, your heart racing in the best possible way. Jay stands up suddenly and offers you his hand. "Come on, it’s getting late and you have class tomorrow. Let’s get you back inside before you freeze."

You take his hand — which is so much bigger than yours — and let him help you up. He doesn’t let go afterward, his fingers stay intertwined with yours as you walk together toward your floor. The elevator is no longer broken, but you both take the stairs anyway, wanting to prolong the moment a little longer.

Stopping at your door, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand. “I'll text you about the date,” he says softly. "We’ll pick a night that works."

You nod, still feeling a little shy about everything. "Okay… Good night, Jay."

"Good night, princess."

────────

The next day, you are more nervous than you have ever been. Every notification on your phone makes your heart skip a beat, terrified that it is Jay confirming the date. Your stomach is in knots with a mix of panic and hope, even though you want to go on this date, you are still incredibly nervous about it.

Your phone buzzes while you are in the library trying to study. "Friday at seven? I’ll take care of everything. Just be ready for a proper night out."

The words "proper night out" send a shiver through you. He is taking this seriously, treating it as something special, even though he said it didn’t have to be romantic. Still, it means something. Smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt, you text back agreeing.

When Friday finally arrives, the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. In fact, they become even more restless as the time of the date gets closer. Hours before, you start getting ready — taking your time as you choose an outfit that makes you feel confident and beautiful. You spend extra time on your makeup, keeping it natural but enhancing your eyes and lips, making sure everything is perfect.

Exactly at seven, you take the elevator down. Jay had insisted on waiting outside the building instead of knocking on your door. "I want you to have the full experience," he had texted earlier, and the gesture made you smile despite your nerves. The moment you step out onto the sidewalk, you see him leaning against his sleek black car parked at the curb. He looks unfairly handsome in a tailored dark shirt and pants.

For a moment, he simply looks at you — slowly scanning from your face to your dress and back up again as his smile widens. "You look beautiful," he says, taking a step closer. "Really, truly beautiful."

Your cheeks flush quickly and a smile forms on your lips. "Thank you. You look really handsome too."

Before you can say anything else, he reaches inside the car and pulls out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. "I remembered what you said on the rooftop…"

The bouquet is perfect, wrapped so beautifully that it makes your chest tighten. "Jay…" you whisper as you reach out to take the flowers. "They’re beautiful. I don’t even know what to say."

Without thinking, you give him a grateful hug. His arms wrap around you immediately, one hand resting on your lower back while the other gently caresses the nape of your neck. "You don’t have to say anything. Just enjoy tonight. That’s all I want."

When you pull away, still smiling widely, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and asks, "Ready to go, princess?"

You nod, holding the flowers like a lifeline. He opens the car door for you, waiting until you are settled before closing it gently. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he looks at you with a playful smile. "Seatbelt, please. Safety first."

You laugh and buckle up. "Such a gentleman."

"Only for you."

The drive starts peacefully, soft music playing in the background as you talk. He asks about your day and teases you lightly when you admit that you spent half of your class daydreaming about tonight and that it took you forever to choose what to wear.

You can’t stop stealing glances at him — the way his hands rest easily on the steering wheel, those large hands with long fingers, and the way he looks at you at red lights as if making sure you are still real.

After a few minutes, you notice the city lights fading and buildings giving way to trees. "Where are we going?" you ask curiously, realizing he has been driving for a while — much farther than you expected. "This is pretty far from our building. Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?"

Jay laughs, keeping his eyes on the road. "I’m not going to kill you. I’m just taking you to a place I love, and I think you’ll love it too."

The drive takes about thirty minutes, but when you finally arrive, the restaurant leaves you breathless. You immediately understand why he chose it — it is cozy and elegant, with a stunning view of the city. He reserved a intimate corner table with the perfect view.

He pulls out the chair for you, and as soon as you sit down, he leans in slightly to whisper in your ear, "Relax, okay?"

The dinner unfolds perfectly. You order pasta — creamy, exactly the way you like it — and he chooses a steak dish, offering you a bite from his fork with a raised eyebrow that feels far more intimate than it should. You talk a lot, and he listens as always, head tilted and eyes focused only on you.

You tell him about the friendships you are making in college, about the strange noise your AC is making, and absentmindedly mention the doorman. "He’s nice, I think… but sometimes he looks at me like he knows something I don’t."

Jay’s expression shifts with something unreadable for half a second, but he quickly covers it with a soft chuckle. "He’s probably just in a bad mood. Or maybe he sees how much you’re distracting your poor neighbor."

You laugh. "Poor neighbor? You seem to be handling it pretty well."

His foot brushes against yours under the table. "Barely."

In the middle of the conversation, Jay’s phone buzzes on the table. He glances at it, frowns, and silences it, slipping it into his pocket.

But a few minutes later, it buzzed again. Jay sighs. "I need to take this. It’s probably an emergency with a client. I won’t be long. I’m really sorry."

"Go ahead. I’ll be here judging the dessert menu."

He leans in and gives you a quick kiss on your temple before standing up. "I’ll be right back, princess."

The casual display of affection makes your heart race as you watch him walk away. While he is gone, you take a sip of your wine, observe the people around you, and study the dessert menu.

He returns after about five minutes, sliding back into his seat with an apologetic smile. "All sorted. Where were we?"

When the check arrives, Jay pays without hesitation, even though you offered to split it. Outside, the night air is cold, so he drapes his jacket over your shoulders when he notices you shivering. Then he pulls you closer for a moment, wrapping his arms around you. "Thank you for saying yes," he murmurs against your hair.

You look up at him, smiling. "That was the best decision I’ve made in a long time."

The drive back feels shorter than the trip there, unfortunately — you wish this moment could last forever. Jay keeps one hand on the wheel and the other holding yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles that send shivers down your spine. You arrive at the building sooner than you would like, but instead of stopping at the curb, Jay drives into the underground garage.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. "Thank you, Jay. For everything, the flowers, the dinner, the evening… I had a really great time."

He turns to you, that slow smile playing on his lips. "I’m glad, princess."

You reach for the door handle, but his hand moves quickly, wrapping around your wrist and stopping you. Your breath catches at the unexpected contact. "Wait, aren’t you going to thank me properly?"

You blink, confused. "I just did? The hug outside the restaurant and just now."

Jay chuckles, and his gaze shifts into something hungrier. "That was sweet, but I was thinking of something a little more fitting for the end of a perfect night."

Without overthinking it, you lean across the console and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," you whisper again, pulling back to see his reaction.

His smile widens. "Still not enough, princess. Come here."

He cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. The kiss starts soft, his lips meeting yours hesitantly, and you quickly melt into it, which makes him deepen the kiss while still keeping a slow, deliberate pace. His tongue traces your lower lip, and you part for him with a small sigh.

What begins as one kiss turns into many, you lose count as they grow more intense, hungry, and urgent.

Somehow, you end up climbing over the console. His hands guide your hips until you are straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. The space is tight and the steering wheel presses against your back, but you couldn't care less right now. His hands roam along your sides, sliding up your dress until they rest on your thighs, his thumbs drawing circles that make you whimper against his mouth.

You kiss him again and again, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging gently, which draws a low groan from him. That only encourages you — hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you. The friction makes you gasp, and Jay clearly loves the sight — he squeezes your thighs, encouraging your movements.

"God, you’re incredible," he whispers against your mouth between kisses. "So responsive… so perfect."

Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, breathing hard. "You deserve better than this, princess. Our first time shouldn’t be in a car like a couple of impatient teenagers."

You kiss him again, more intensely, nipping at his lower lip. "I don’t care, I want you right here."

He groans, sliding his hand into your hair to pull you into another hungry kiss. "You’re so eager, princess… and so perfect grinding against me like this."

His mouth moves down to your neck, sucking lightly and drawing more whimpers from you. Your movements become restless, rubbing harder, chasing friction. "Jay…" you whisper between kisses. "I need you, please."

His hands find the hem of your dress, slowly pulling it up inch by inch with clear appreciation until he discards it onto the passenger seat. "Beautiful," he murmurs reverently as he stares at your tits. "So beautiful." He leans down, pressing hot, wet kisses along the soft skin, then his tongue circles one nipple before sucking it deeply into his mouth.

You arch your back, a moan escaping your lips. He gives the same attention to the other tit, licking, sucking, and grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth while his hand massages and caresses the first. “You taste so good,” he praises, his voice muffled. "These perfect tits in my mouth… you’re already trembling. So sensitive for me."

He kisses lower, along your sternum and ribs, then back up — worshipping every inch of you while you keep grinding against him. Your panties are soaked, and the friction against his hardness only turns you on more.

He waits until you’re trembling in his lap before he finally moves. Reaching between you, he lowers his pants and boxers just enough to free himself, and when he does, your eyes widen. He is big — thick and hard. The sight makes your mouth water and heat pool low in your belly.

Jay reaches into the glove compartment, fumbling for a condom. He tears it open and rolls it down his length with surprising skill while you watch, hypnotized and a little intimidated by his size and thickness. "You’re… really big," you say softly.

Jay notices your nervousness and caresses your cheek, trying to soothe you. "We’ll go slow, princess. I’ve got you. My good girl can take it."

He helps you shift your panties to the side, guiding you as you sink down onto him. The stretch is intense but delicious — you take him inch by inch, breathing deeply as he fills you completely, murmuring praises nonstop. "That’s it, princess… so tight, so good for me… so fucking perfect around me."

You bury your face in his neck as you sink all the way down, taking him completely until your ass is pressed firmly against his lap. "Oh God… you’re so, so big," you moan, still adjusting to the intense stretch.

The age difference flashes through your mind — he is older, more experienced, probably used to women who knew exactly what they were doing. You want to be good for him, so once you feel ready, you start moving — bouncing with almost frantic energy, desperate to please him. Your hips move and grind fast, determined.

"Easy, princess," Jay groans, gripping your hips to slow you down. "Slow… just like that. You feel incredible, but there’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere."

You moan, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. "I just… you’ve probably been with so many others who were better at this. I want to make it good for you. I want to be the best—"

He cuts you off with a deep kiss, then pulls back to look into your eyes while still guiding your movements into a slower, deeper rhythm. "Hey, none of that. It’s just you right now, and you’re already the best, baby. Look at how perfectly you take me." He thrusts up gently to emphasize his words, drawing a moan from you. "You’re my princess."

You relax into his words and the rhythm he sets, moving your hips in deep, grinding motions instead of frantic bouncing. It feels even better this way — his thickness brushing against every sensitive spot inside you. "Like this?" you ask breathlessly, your voice shy but needy.

"Just like that," he praises, his voice rough. "So good for me. So wet… so tight. You’re perfect, listen to those pretty sounds you make."

You keep whispering to him the whole time — shy confessions and soft, breathless questions. "You feel so good, Jay… I feel so full. Does it feel good for you? Tell me if you’re enjoying it."

He groans, his hands roaming over your back, squeezing your ass, then returning to your tits so he can lick and suck them while you ride him. "I love it. I love everything you do. The way you squeeze me… the way you say my name. You’re ruining me, princess."

The pleasure builds uncontrollably, intense and overwhelming, leaving both of you sweaty and breathless. He slides a hand between you to your clit, circling it with his thumb in time with your movements. You tremble hard, moaning and gasping, telling him how close you are, how good he feels, and how much you have wanted this since the day you moved in.

When you come, your walls pulse tightly around his thickness and your body shakes as you cry out his name. Jay follows right after, holding you firmly against him as he finishes into the condom with a deep groan, murmuring endless praises. "That’s it, come for me… so beautiful giving yourself to me completely… my perfect girl."

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard. He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing your temple while his hands gently caress your back. "You okay?" he whispers after a while. "Was it too much?"

"It was perfect," you murmur, nuzzling into his neck. "Better than I imagined. Thank you for slowing me down when I got too excited. I probably embarrassed myself, right?"

He shakes his head lightly and laughs, then he gives you one last kiss on your temple and helps you climb back into the passenger seat, watching as you slip your dress back on. "Don’t forget these," he says, reaching for the bouquet.

You take it with a happy smile. "I wouldn’t dare."

He walks around the car to open your door and intertwines his fingers with yours as you walk toward the elevator. Once inside, he pulls you close and kisses you the entire way up to your floor.

"Your place tonight?" you ask against his lips.

Jay’s hand slides to your lower back, pulling you even closer. "Yes, because I’m not done with you yet. I need you in my bed. The thought of you in my sheets, smelling like me when you wake up… it drives me crazy."

The elevator doors open and he pulls you down the hallway toward his door, unlocking it effortlessly. The moment you are both inside, he takes the flowers from your hand, sets them on the counter, and turns to you with hungry eyes. "Come here," he growls, pulling you into a deep, desperate kiss. His hands cup your face first, then slide down your body. "Let me take care of you properly this time."

He leads you to the bedroom and there, he undresses you slowly, admiring and kissing every inch of exposed skin. When you are completely naked, he steps back and looks at you with pure admiration and desire. "Fuck, look at you… so perfect. Every curve, every inch… all mine tonight."

He removes his own clothes and guides you onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. His warm palms caress them, spreading you open even more. His mouth is on you immediately, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before circling the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, savoring you. "Mmm, already so wet," the vibration of his voice makes you gasp. "You taste so sweet, princess. Like you were made for my mouth."

You let out a shaky moan, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. "Jay… that feels incredible. Oh God—"

He slides a finger inside you, curling it against that sweet spot while his mouth continues sucking and licking. The suction around your clit, the rhythm of his finger stroking that perfect spot deep inside — it all turns the pleasure into something deliciously overwhelming. He adds a second finger, then a third, carefully stretching you as he pumps them in and out.

Your hips move against his face as the pleasure intensifies. "Don’t stop… please, Jay, just like that," you moan, your voice breathless and desperate. He eats you out like a starving man — licking, sucking, and thrusting his fingers into you until your thighs shake around his head and you fall apart with a long, loud cry. You clench and pulse around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through you.

Jay doesn’t stop right away, he keeps licking and fingering you through it, prolonging every sensation until you are limp and panting. Only then he drags his mouth up your body, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and up your neck. "You taste like heaven," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I could do this all night, make you come on my tongue until you go stupid."

He grabs a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on quickly over his hard, leaking cock. You reach down, wrapping your hand around his thick, hard length — stroking him slowly, feeling the weight, the pulsing heat, tracing the veins with curiosity. "I want it raw, Jay… I need to feel you, please."

He groans deeply, his hips pushing forward into your fist. "Baby… protection first, remember? I’ll still make you feel good even with the latex between us, I promise." After kissing your forehead, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes in inch by inch, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. You feel a burning stretch as your walls slowly give way to him, every thick pulsing vein dragging against your sensitive insides. When he’s halfway in, you look down between your bodies and see the clear bulge pressing out against your lower belly.

He notices it right after and quickly slides a hand down to press against the bulge, feeling it move under his palm as he sinks deeper. "Fuck, look at that. You see how deep I am? My cock is rearranging your insides, princess. Stretching this tight pussy so you can see it from the outside."

Your hand joins his, pressing against the visible outline, feeling him move inside you from both the inside and the outside. He teases you mercilessly, thrusting slow and deep so the bulge shifts under your combined touch. "You’re taking me so well, like this pussy was made for my cock. So greedy, swallowing every inch."

He sinks the rest of the way in with a guttural groan, bottoming out completely. "Shit… so tight, so hot. You’re already milking me."

His thick cock fills you so completely that every movement presses against sensitive spots that steal the breath from your lungs. His thrusts start controlled and incredibly gentle instead of brutal force. One hand stays intertwined with yours above your head, while the other caresses your cheek, squeezes your breast, and lightly pinches your nipple before soothing it with his thumb. "You look like pure sin wrapped around me… My beautiful princess, creaming all over my cock, taking every inch like a good girl. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Jay… it feels so good. You’re so deep, I can feel you everywhere." He leans down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as his hips move faster in a devastating rhythm that pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

You come hard around him, your walls fluttering and clenching tightly as you cry out. He does not stop, thrusting deep and steady, prolonging your orgasm until you are shaking. "Fuck, that’s it, come on my cock, baby."

Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a long, broken groan of your name as he cums, pulsing inside you. He stays buried deep for long moments afterwards, holding you close and covering your face, neck, and shoulders with soft kisses until both of your breathing steadies.

Eventually, he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and returns from the bathroom with a warm, damp cloth. He cleans you both gently, murmuring more praises the entire time. "You were perfect, princess. So responsive, so beautiful when you come for me." He pulls the sheets over both of you and wraps you in his arms.

Your head rests on Jay’s chest while his fingers trace a lazy path along your spine, down to the curve of your waist. Without a word, you shift, turning onto your side. Jay follows naturally, molding his body against yours from behind in a perfect spoon. His chest presses against your back as he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer. You can already feel him half-hard again against the curve of your ass, sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.

He nuzzles into the back of your neck, placing soft kisses there. "You okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough in the quiet room.

"More than okay," you whisper back, pressing lightly against him. "I like feeling you close like this."

Jay reaches for another condom from the nightstand. You hear the faint rustle as he puts it on, then his hand returns to your body, tenderly caressing your side and hip. He lifts your top leg slightly, hooking it over his, opening you up for him. The thick head of his cock brushes against your entrance before he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until he is buried completely inside you.

"So good," he whispers against your neck, sliding a hand up to caress your breast. His fingers massage gently, his thumb circling your nipple until it hardens under his touch.

He starts moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips, thrusting unhurriedly so you can feel every inch of his thick cock dragging against your walls. While he fucks you, his hand on your breast never stops worshipping it — squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, occasionally pinching lightly before soothing it with gentle caresses. And his mouth keeps placing open-mouthed kisses along the back of your neck, back, and shoulder.

You reach behind you, running your fingers through his hair as you move with him. "Jay… deeper like that feels so good."

His thrusts become a little deeper, but still controlled. "You take me so well every single time. Look at how perfectly you fit around me. I could stay inside you forever." His mouth finds the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark while he continues playing with your breasts — pinching, rolling, and caressing until your nipples are deliciously sore. Only then he slid his hand down to your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The combination of sensations is overwhelming and pushes you closer and closer to the edge. "You’re so close… I can feel you squeezing me. Come for me again, princess."

And you do. Your walls contract rhythmically around his thickness as you moan his name, your body trembling in his arms. Jay follows right after you, burying his face in your neck with a deep groan as he comes, filling the condom.

You turn your head slightly to capture his lips in a lazy kiss. "I feel so safe with you," you whisper. "And so wanted."

He stays inside you until the aftershocks fade, then carefully pulls out, discards the condom, and cleans you both once again with gentle care. He pulls the sheets up around you both and draws you back into his arms, spooning you again.

Jay’s hand rests tenderly on your stomach, tracing small circles there. You feel deeply in love and completely at peace as you start to drift off to sleep, safe in his arms.

Sunlight is already filtering through the curtains by the time you slowly wake up the next morning —.only to realize the space beside you is empty, even though the warmth of Jay’s body and the faint scent of his cologne still linger around. You stretch and sit up to look around the room, noticing one of his shirts draped over the back of a chair. Slipping it on, you pad barefoot out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, drawn by the rich aroma of coffee and food already filling the air.

Jay is at the stove, flipping eggs while a plate of toast and cut fruit waits for you on the counter. You walk up to him and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. "Good morning."

He turns off the stove and turns around, settling his hands on your hips. His gaze softens instantly when he sees you wearing his shirt. "Good morning, princess. You look way too good in my clothes."

You laugh softly and tilt your face up, expecting a kiss. He leans in but pauses with a playful look. "Ah, but you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. No good-morning kisses until after breakfast."

You pout and dramatically pull away. "Not even a kiss on the cheek? You’re so cruel."

With a sigh, he gives in — pressing a long kiss to your cheek, then another to your forehead. Before you can say anything, he effortlessly lifts you and sits you on the edge of the kitchen counter, standing between your knees. "There. Now I can look at you properly while I finish this."

As he moves around the kitchen, your eyes wander until they stop on the refrigerator. Something catches your attention — photos are held up by magnets, but one in particular stands out: a Polaroid of Jay smiling with his arm around a woman’s shoulders. You hadn't noticed it on your previous visits to the kitchen — you had been too focused on him. "Who is that?" you ask curiously, nodding toward the fridge. "The woman in the photo with you?"

Jay glances over while sliding a plate toward you. "That’s my sister. We don’t look much alike, I know. We’re actually half-siblings."

You tilt your head, studying the photo for another second. They really do not look very similar, but that is not unusual for half-siblings. "She looks nice," you say lightly, accepting the plate he offers. "Breakfast looks delicious, by the way. You really didn’t have to."

"I wanted to," he replies, stepping between your knees and stealing a quick peck. "After last night, it feels right to take care of you this morning… and maybe every other morning too."

You smile shyly. "Speaking of last night… it was incredible. You made everything feel so good, so right. I keep replaying every part of it in my head."

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "You were perfect, baby. I loved every second of it." He leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth. "You’re so beautiful when you let go for me."

"You’re going to make it really hard for me to focus in class today." You take a bite of the toast, savoring it. "Oh, by the way, I’m going out with some new friends from college tonight. They invited me to a party, it’s a chance to get to know each other better outside of class."

Jay nods, resting a hand on your thigh and stroking it lightly. "Sounds fun. Just be careful, okay? Text me when you get there and when you’re heading back."

"I will," you say, stealing another quick kiss from him. "I won’t stay out too late anyway. I have an early class tomorrow."

He picks up a piece of fruit from the plate and brings it to your mouth, brushing his fingers teasingly against your lips. "You deserve to have fun… I’ll be here if you need anything when you get back."

You stumble out of your friend’s car a little after 1 a.m., waving goodbye as you sway on your feet. You make your way toward the building entrance and suddenly remember that you promised to text Jay — which you didn’t. So you call him to let him know you arrived and are heading up. In response, he says he is waiting for you.

When you reach the third floor, Jay’s door is already open and he is waiting for you. "Heyyy," you say cheerfully, immediately wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. "I’m back. Just like I promised."

Laughing Jay’s arms wrap around you automatically as he looks at you more closely. "You’re pretty drunk, princess. How was the party?"

"So much fun," you ramble, clinging to him tighter as he guides you inside and closes the door. "We danced, there was a shot game, and my new friends are so funny. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt." You tilt your head up, puckering your lips. "Kiss?"

Instead of a proper kiss, he gives you a quick one on your forehead. "You smell like a distillery and your shirt is soaked, what happened?"

You look down at the sticky stain on your shirt and pout. "Someone spilled on me. It’s gross. But I still want kisses, real kisses." You try to pull his face down, standing on your tiptoes. "I missed you all night. I kept thinking about you during the party… about how nice you were last night. We should do that again right now."

Jay gently holds your wrists to stop you. "Not tonight, princess. You’re drunk."

"But I want you," you beg, pressing closer, but he doesn’t give in at all. "You’re so hot, so gentle, and… big. Please?"

He shakes his head and guides you toward the bathroom. "No. Only when you’re sober and can remember everything clearly. Right now, I’m just taking care of you, okay?"

"Let’s get you cleaned up," he says gently once you reach the bathroom. Reaching for the hem of your wet shirt he carefully pulls it off, followed by the rest of your clothes.

"You’re always so gentle with me," you murmur, watching him adjust the shower temperature. "No one has ever been this gentle. I really, really like you, Jay."

He smiles softly and helps you into the shower, joining you still fully dressed so he can take care of you. Jay keeps one hand on your waist to steady you while the other runs soapy over your shoulders and arms.

The alcohol in your system makes your emotions spill out easily before you can stop them. "I think… I think I’m falling for you," you confess, your tongue loose, making your cheeks flush. "Is that crazy? It feels too fast. I know I’m younger and still figuring everything out, but being with you just feels right. You make me feel safe, wanted, and special."

Jay pauses for half a second, processing what he just heard, but then continues washing you carefully — lathering the floral-scented body wash over your skin. "This smells like… girl stuff," you say, a little curious. "Is it yours?"

He looks away for a moment before answering. "It’s my mom’s. She left some things here the last time she came to visit."

"Ah," You rest your forehead against his chest as the water runs over both of you. "I meant it, though. About falling for you. Even if it’s too soon… I can’t help it."

Jay wraps his arms fully around you under the spray of water, holding you close — voice is full of affection when he finally replies. "Hey… look at me, princess." He gently lifts your chin. "What you’re feeling… I feel it too." Softly, he kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "We don’t need to rush or label anything right now. Just know that I’m here and I care about you a lot."

Even in your alcohol-fueled haze, his words calm the part of you that was worried you were moving too fast. "Really? You feel it too?"

"I do." He continues washing you carefully — your arms, your back, your sides — just taking care of you. "Being with you is easy. Natural. So let’s just enjoy it, okay? One day at a time."

Jay finishes rinsing you off and helps you out of the shower. Wrapping you in a towel he dries you gently before dressing you in one of his shirts. By the time he guides you to bed, you are already sleepy. He helps you lie down and you snuggle into the sheets, murmuring one last "I really like you" before falling asleep.

────────

The following days feel almost too good to be real.

You wake up in Jay’s bed, wrapped in his arms and wearing one of his shirts. He always wakes up before you to make breakfast and greet you with a good morning kiss and that smile that still makes your heart flutter. But on some mornings, you pull him back into bed to cuddle before classes and work, and without any argument, he makes time to make you feel loved.

When you get home from class, tired, Jay is already there to greet you cheerfully despite his own exhaustion. He texts you during the day, asking how your classes are going and reminding you to eat. When you are together, he pulls you in for slow, affectionate kisses — the kind that make your legs weak. Some nights you cook together as he tries to teach you how to make proper meals. Other nights he orders takeout and you eat on the couch while you tell him every detail of your day. He still doesn’t share much about himself, always dodging the subject, but you do not push — you don’t want to be invasive.

The sex is frequent — sometimes slow and worshipful, his mouth and hands adoring every inch of you until you are trembling and coming apart. Other times it is faster and more urgent — against the kitchen counter, in the shower, on the couch, in his home office. One night you try baking cookies together, ending up covered in flour and laughing as he kisses the mess off your cheek. Another night you start watching a movie cuddled together, but the movie is forgotten halfway through when clothes come off and he fucks you right there on the couch.

Suddenly everything feels so domestic — he now keeps an extra toothbrush for you, your notebooks are on his coffee table, and some of your clothes are scattered around his apartment. It is undeniable that you are falling deeper and deeper in love.

On a Sunday afternoon, you are studying on his couch while Jay is in his home office, working on a complicated case that demands his full attention. After hours buried in books and notes, concentrating is almost impossible. At this point, your mind keeps wandering to him without permission. When your brain finally gives up, you close the book with a dramatic sigh.

You walk down the hallway and peek into his office. Jay is sitting at his desk with his sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly attractive as he concentrates on reviewing some papers. "Jay?" you call, walking in without waiting for an answer.

He looks up, and the moment his eyes meet yours, the tension in his shoulders softens. "Hey, princess. How are the studies going?"

Boring." You take a few steps closer and don’t ask for permission — you simply climb into his lap, settling on his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. You leave a trail of kisses along his jaw, then his cheek and lips. "I missed you. Pay attention to me? Just for a little while?"

One of his hands rests on your waist while the other continues organizing the documents. "I’d love to, baby, but this case is a nightmare. There are documents everywhere. I’m going crazy with these."

You nuzzle into the curve of his neck and kiss him there. "You’ve been in here for hours… you deserve a break." Your hips move subtly against him, restless, the friction sending a spark through both of you. You feel him twitch beneath you, already starting to respond to your movements.

Jay’s grip on your waist tightens. "Princess…" There is a warning tone in his voice, bordering on frustration. But as you grind against him, you can feel him beginning to harden, and that gives you hope — you think he might give in.

"You’re really testing me today." He pulls you into a kiss, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. When he pulls away, it is with a frustrated sigh.

"That's the point," you whisper, smiling proudly against his lips as you continue grinding, slower this time, feeling him get even harder.

Jay curses under his breath, gripping your hips more firmly. No matter how hard he tries to hold back, he can’t, the desire is uncontrollable. He reaches between you and unzips his pants. "Fine, but you’re going to behave." He frees his hard, throbbing cock and pulls your panties and shorts to the side. This time there is nothing between you — no latex barrier, just him.

You sink down onto him slowly, and the new sensation hits you immediately — it’s different, hotter, more intimate. Every ridge and vein is raw against your walls, the skin-to-skin contact sends a shiver through your entire body and makes you moan as you settle fully onto him. The stretch feels deeper and more overwhelming than ever.

For a moment, it feels perfect — connected, raw.

But then his hands close firmly on your hips, holding you completely still. "Don’t move," he commands, his voice noticeably deeper and rougher. "Stay just like this. No grinding, no whimpering. I’m serious."

His cock pulses hot and heavy inside you, and you can barely focus on what he said. "Jay… oh my God, you feel—"

"I said don’t move," he interrupts, repeating it more harshly this time. His free hand returns to the stack of papers while the other arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place.

At first, you try to obey — resting your head on his shoulder and breathing deeply every time his cock twitches inside you, but the longer you sit there, the harder it becomes. You let out a soft moan as your hips twitch involuntarily. "Jay… please, just let me move a little bit."

"I told you not to move. Jesus, you’re really pushing it today." The irritation is clear in every word now, and his grip on your waist tightens even more. "I have a deadline. I can’t afford to get distracted like this."

Again, you try to stay still — you really do, until frustrated tears prick at your eyes — but your body betrays you with small, involuntary movements of your hips. "I’m sorry… I can’t help it. This is driving me crazy. I need you to move, please."

Jay’s jaw is tense and his breathing comes in heavy bursts — clearly fighting the urge to thrust up into you. "You think I don’t want to? You’re so tight and wet around me right now, but I can’t. I have work to do and you’re not letting me focus." His tone grows even harsher. "Stop squirming. Be a good girl for me and just sit there.”

But you do not listen — you roll your hips again, letting out a moan as he rubs against that sensitive spot inside you. "Jesus Christ. I told you I have work and this is fucking important."

"But I missed you and this is torture. Please, please just fu-"

He cuts you off sharply. "You always miss me, always need something. Kisses, hugs, my cock, my fucking attention. You practically live here now, your things are all over my apartment, you sleep in my bed like it’s yours. Isn’t that enough attention? You know what? I need you to get off so I can actually finish this case."

The words hurt, making your chest tighten — tears of frustration turn into something heavier and spill down your cheeks. "I didn’t mean to be annoying… I just wanted to be close to you."

"Yeah, well, wanting to be close to me doesn’t magically make my deadline disappear. I’m already behind because of distractions like this." His hand on your hip tightens even more, holding you completely still, the pressure bordering on uncomfortable. "You have your own apartment right next door. Just give me a few hours alone, for once."

You stare at him in disbelief at what you just heard. Suddenly the intimate position feels humiliating — the way you are still stretched around him while he looks at you like you are nothing but am annoyance. "You want me to leave? Like this… right now"

"I’m telling you to give me some space." With no patience left, he lifts you off him, leaving you empty and trembling. "Go to your place, take a nap, study, whatever. Just let me work."

You stand there with shaky legs, wiping away your tears, feeling small, vulnerable, and unwanted. With a quiet, trembling breath, you whisper, "…Okay."

It's past 9 PM when Jay finally steps out of his office, having finished dealing with that pile of papers. The silence hangs heavy now, normally you would be humming, curled up on the couch waiting for him, or laughing at something silly on your phone. Without you, the space feels too empty. He had been rude — way too rude — and he sees that now. He owes you an apology, so he walks over to your door, but just as he is about to knock, he notices the door is not fully closed — it’s slightly ajar, allowing him to hear low murmurs of voices.

Frowning, he pushes the door open a little more and steps inside, finding a guy standing right at the entrance to your living room, putting on a jacket. The guy turns at the sound of the door, his expression quickly shifting to surprise. "Ah, hi. You must be Jay. She talks about you a lot."

He looks over the other guy’s shoulder toward the couch where you are sitting with your knees pulled up. The guy cleans his throat, sensing the tension between the two of you. "I was just leaving… It was really nice talking to you." He gives you a small wave. "Text me if you need anything else, okay?"

You smile and wave back. "Yeah. Thanks, Jake. Drive safe."

As Jake heads for the door, Jay blocks his path. "Wait. What exactly were you doing here?"

Jake blinks, surprised by the sudden question. "She seemed pretty down when we texted, so I decided to stop by and check if she was okay. Anyway, I’m heading out. Nice to meet you, man."

He steps aside, letting Jake pass. The door closes behind him, leaving just the two of you in the suddenly too-quiet apartment.

You stand up, hugging yourself. "Jay… what are you doing here?"

The regret he felt for being so harsh with you is quickly replaced by jealousy and irritation. "I came because my place was too quiet without you. I started thinking maybe I was too hard on you earlier, but clearly you didn’t waste any time finding company."

You frown, confused by what he means. "He’s just a friend. I told you about him before, we met during my first week on campus when I accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall. I was upset after you basically kicked me out, so I texted him. We weren’t doing anything, just talking."

Jay lets out a short, bitter laugh and steps closer. "Talking late at night like it’s a casual visit. You mentioned him before, of course, but I didn’t know you two were close enough for house calls."

The hurt from earlier mixes with frustration now. "You were so rude, Jay. You made me feel like I was an annoying pest who can’t function without your attention. I understand you’re stressed with work, but you didn’t have to push me away and kick me out like that. I felt embarrassed."

He closes even more of the distance between you, standing close enough that you can feel the jealousy radiating off him. "You’re the one who can’t sit still for five minutes without demanding something, climbing into my lap while I’m trying to meet a deadline, whimpering and squirming like a spoiled brat because you ‘missed me’."

You take a step back, but the couch hits the back of your legs. "I just wanted to be close to you."

"But the world doesn’t revolve around your need for attention. I love having you around, but today? You made it impossible for me to concentrate, and the second I ask for a few hours to actually get things done, you run straight to this Jake guy?" Jay doesn’t care that nothing happened — the image of another guy in your space, late at night, while you were upset, makes his blood boil.

"I didn’t run to him! I was crying when he got here and he just listened. Unlike you, who basically told me to leave because I’m too much."

Jay’s laugh is harsh this time, completely humorless. "Too much. Yeah, that’s one way of saying you’re a spoiled brat who demands attention every second, and the moment things get difficult, you replace me with whoever is most convenient."

Neither of you speaks for a long moment. You look away, Jay’s jaw clenches, and soon his gaze drifts from your face to the way you are hugging yourself, then lower, lingering on your bare legs. The jealousy is still burning in his chest, mixed with the memory of you sitting on his cock earlier, demanding attention, all needy.

"Come here," he says, nodding toward the couch.

You hesitate, biting your lip, which makes Jay exhale sharply and close the distance. His hand wraps around your wrist, guiding you toward the couch. "We’re not done talking about this."

He sits on the couch and pulls you closer until you are lying across his lap, your stomach pressed against his thighs. Your shirt has ridden up naturally, but he is not satisfied. "This is in the way." His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down and tossing them aside — leaving your ass completely bare for him.

Jay’s palm rests on one of your cheeks, squeezing the flesh possessively. "You’ve been pushing all day… needing attention, teasing me, and then Jake shows up at your place, and I’m supposed to just swallow that?" His fingers dig harder into the flesh. "You’re mine, and it’s time you learn what happens when you piss me off this much."

His hand makes slow circles over your skin, almost soothing. "How many spanks do you think you deserve for acting like this?"

Your heart races as you try to process his words — head turning slightly to look at him. "What? Are you serious?"

He meets your eyes with a firm, dark expression — one you have never seen from him before. "Very serious. You’ve been spoiled all day, teasing me on purpose. So tell me, how many do you think you deserve?"

You swallow hard, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I don’t know… Five? Maybe?"

Jay lets out a mocking laugh. "Five? That’s way too low, baby. You’re going to take twenty, and you’re going to count each one out loud. If you lose count or mess up, we start over. Understood?"

You hesitate but eventually whisper, "Yes… okay."

"Good girl." His hand lifts and the first spank comes without warning — firm and sharp, the sound echoing through the silence. You jolt, a surprised moan escaping you — heat spreads instantly across your bare skin, the sting stronger than you expected.

"One," you gasp.

He immediately rubs the spot in slow, soothing circles, calming the hot skin where he struck.

"Two," you say after the next spank lands on the other cheek.

Jay keeps a steady rhythm — delivering hard spanks followed by almost tender caresses. Then his fingers slide lower, tracing your wet folds, spreading them teasingly, brushing against your entrance, lightly circling your clit before pulling away.

"What a spoiled little brat," he murmurs during one of the pauses, rubbing your reddened cheeks while two fingers tease your slit again. "You’re already getting so wet… You like this, don’t you?"

You moan instead of answering, which earns you another sharp spank. "Five."

He continues, the spanks leaving marks and building heat across your ass. Now his fingers are dip inside you, moving with slow, shallow thrusts, curling just enough to brush that sensitive spot and make you clench around him desperately. But he always pulls back before you can get close to the edge.

"Six… seven… ah!"

By ten, tears prick your eyes, your thighs trembling as the sting turns into a pulsing heat.

Jay pauses longer this time, massaging your sore ass and spreading your cheeks so he can tease your entrance again. "You’re mine. When you need attention that badly, you come to me, even if I’m stressed, even if I tell you to leave." A finger pushes deep inside you, staying there while his thumb brushes your clit.

You lose track amid the overwhelming sensations and he makes you start over, just as he warned. "Back to one." During the restart, two more fingers slide inside you, moving in a torturous rhythm. "You feel how wet you are? This is what happens when you forget who you belong to."

"You’re mine. Your time, your attention, this body. I don’t share it." Spank. Soothe. Tease. "Say it."

"I’m yours," you moan.

"Louder." Another spank.

"I’m yours, Jay!"

When he finally reaches twenty, you are a trembling mess with tears streaming down your face. Jay finally pulls you up and turns you so you are sitting in his lap. His hands stay on your ass, carefully massaging the sore flesh and you press yourself against the hard bulge in his pants, burying your face in his shoulder. "You did so well, my good girl."

Jay lifts your chin, meeting your eyes. For a moment, he just looks at you — really looks at you — taking in your flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. Then he leans in and kisses you. One hand remains on your sore ass, squeezing gently, while the other slides into your hair. He kisses you like he needs to claim every part of you — hungry, insistent, his tongue tracing your lower lip before sliding inside. You melt into him, moaning against his mouth as you start slowly grinding your hips.

He pulls back just enough to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot below your ear. "Still so needy… even after all that." Then he kisses you again, deeper and hungrier, tongues sliding together with fervor. The hand on your ass slips between your bodies to tease your wet folds with light circles and shallow dips — keeping you right on the edge.

When he pulls away, a thin string of saliva connects you for a second before breaking. "On your knees, princess."

Obediently, you slide off his lap and kneel between his spread thighs. Jay looks down at you, one hand lazily stroking your hair as he frees himself from his pants — his cock springs out, thick, heavy, and already leaking at the tip.

"Open. Tongue out," he says, tapping your lower lip with two fingers. You open your mouth and obediently stick your tongue out. He leans forward and spits directly into your mouth. The warm, viscous saliva lands on your tongue, degrading in a way that makes you shiver. "Swallow that first," he instructs. You swallow while keeping your eyes locked on his. He nods with a satisfied hum. "Now show me how sorry you are for pushing me today."

You start with kisses along his length before dragging your tongue from base to tip. Jay groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, but he doesn't force you — not yet. His thickness stretches your lips as you finally take him into your mouth. He is big enough that you can only take about half before he hits the back of your throat. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking what does not fit in a steady rhythm.

"Fuck… that’s it," he murmurs, tilting his head back for a moment before his gaze returns to you. He doesn't want to miss a single second of this. "Look at me while you suck it."

You do, looking up at him with teary eyes, and the sight makes his cock twitch in your mouth. When you pull back to catch your breath, he slaps his cock against your tongue a few times, leaving strings of saliva connecting you, before guiding you back down. "Yeah, just like that… good girl."

Between bobs, when you pull back to breathe, you say breathlessly, "I’m sorry for distracting you and for Jake being here." Then he guides you down again.

Jay’s hips start moving, pushing a little deeper and testing your limits. Tears continue to prick your eyes from the stretch, but you keep going, hollowing your cheeks and moaning around him.

When he finally gets close, Jay’s grip tightens, his thighs tense, and his breathing becomes ragged. "I’m going to come. Don’t waste it, swallow everything." You nod around him, doubling your efforts and with a deep groan, he comes down your throat — thick, hot pulses that you swallow eagerly, not letting a single drop escape.

He pulls out slowly, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to the tip before it breaks. "Open your mouth. Show me."

You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to prove you swallowed everything. “That’s my good girl.”

He helps you up, pulls you back into his lap, and kisses you, tasting himself on your tongue. Your hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you that makes Jay groan into your mouth, one hand sliding down to grab your bare ass and guide your movements.

"Still not satisfied? Such a greedy little thing." Even though he just came, his cock is already stirring again, hardening beneath you as your wet pussy slides along his length.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Jay… I need you so bad."

He answers by kissing you again, but soon pulls back to meet your eyes. "Then take what you want."

You don’t hesitate, not even for a second. Rising on shaky knees, you reach down and align the thick head of his cock against your entrance, and slowly you sink down, gasping at the stretch and every inch that fills you. The lack of a barrier makes him feel impossibly thicker than the last time in his office — hotter, more intimate. The spanked skin of your ass burns as you settle fully against his thighs.

"Fuck," Jay hisses, his head falling back against the couch for a moment as his hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you fully impaled on him. "So wet… so fucking tight like this."

You start moving, rolling your hips in a slow, deep rhythm, the angle letting you feel every ridge and vein raw inside you, pulling broken moans from your throat. One of his hands slips under your shirt to caress one tit while the other stays on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh in time with your movements. The mix of pleasure and stinging burn makes everything more intense.

"That’s right," he growls, thrusting up to meet you. "This is what you wanted all day, isn’t it? My attention. My cock." You lean forward, kissing him messily while you bounce, moving your hips faster.

With a low curse, he wraps his arms around you and suddenly flips you, laying you down on the couch cushions, driving him even deeper which pulls a sharp cry from you.

Now he is on top, pinning you beneath him — one of your legs hooked over his shoulder as he starts thrusting into you with deep, powerful strokes — hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt each time and the lack of a condom lets you feel every raw inch.

Clinging to his back, your nails dig in as the pleasure borders on overwhelming. Jay’s face hovers above yours, his hair damp with sweat falling into his eyes. Rhythm falters for a second as he looks at you, something darker flashing across his face, the jealousy from earlier — the image of Jake leaving your apartment — has not disappeared. "Are you on the pill?"

You shake your head, breathless, barely able to form words between moans. "No, I’m not."

He thrusts harder, hitting deep against your cervix as if to emphasize the point. "Good," he growls, eyes locked on yours. "Actually, fucking perfect. Maybe I’ll knock you up tonight, put a baby in you so you won’t even think about another guy like Jake. You’ll stay right here with me, we’ll have a beautiful family, me, you, and our kids. No more distractions."

The words should have shocked you, but in the heat of the moment — with him fucking you raw, his body claiming yours completely — they only send a fresh wave of arousal through you. Moaning loudly, your legs tightening around his waist. "Jay… fuck—"

He groans at your reaction, his hips moving harder. "You like that idea, don’t you? My cum deep inside you, getting you pregnant so everyone knows you’re claimed." One of his hands slides down to press lightly against your stomach, as if he can already imagine it.

The couch creaks beneath you both, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the wet noises of him fucking you filling the room. Jay’s earlier irritation fuels every deep thrust, but so does possessiveness — the need to claim you completely after the stressful day. He presses you deeper into the cushions, his hips moving in a way that grinds against your clit with every stroke.

When you finally come, it is intense — your walls contracting tightly around his cock as you scream his name. Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible, and you feel the hot pulses of his cum filling you, thick and warm.

For long minutes, Jay simply holds you — kissing your neck, your jaw, your swollen lips — his cock softening slowly inside you, but as the minutes stretch on, you feel him coming back to life, pulsing against your sensitive walls. "Already?" There is a playful tone in your voice.

"I can’t help it." He moves, pressing one last kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling out. You moan at the loss, feeling his cum start to leak out of you, but his hand quickly reaches down to push it back inside you with two fingers. "Don’t waste it."

He leans back on the couch, stroking himself until he is fully hard again. "Turn around. Hands on the backrest."

You obey, your body trembling as you shift position, kneeling on the cushions, gripping the top of the backrest and arching your back slightly while Jay moves behind you, his gaze fixed on the evidence of the earlier spanking — your cheeks still red with visible handprints — as one of his palms smooths reverently over the heated skin before squeezing firmly.

"Fuck, look at this… Still so red from your lesson." His cock brushes against your entrance before he thrusts deep inside you in one powerful stroke, the new position letting him sink even deeper as the head of his cock presses against spots that make your toes curl drawing a loud moan from you while you grip the backrest tighter as he bottoms out.

Jay starts fucking you with firm, powerful thrusts — deep and deliberate, the couch creaking beneath you both — as every thrust makes your sore ass bounce and the red marks darken even more with the impact, his eyes unable to leave them while his thumbs press into the soft flesh, pulling you back onto his cock repeatedly.

"These marks… they look so good on you." Without warning, he lands a hard, stinging spank on your right cheek, the already sensitive skin making you cry out and clench hard around his cock as Jay groans at the sensation, his hips stuttering for a moment before he resumes his deep rhythm.

He gives your left cheek another spank, making you writhe and moan again as you push back against him desperately despite the burn — or maybe because of it — the mix of pain and pleasure making you even wetter, the previous creampie turning everything obscenely wet and messy.

"That’s it," he praises, smoothing his hands over the fresh marks he just added. "Squirm for me. I love how sensitive you are right here." He gives you one more spank, lighter this time but still enough to make you shudder, and immediately soothes the area with his hands, massaging the sore flesh while he continues thrusting deep and hard from behind.

Jay leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside yours while the other reaches down to rub tight circles on your clit. His chest presses against your back, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks between thrusts. "You’re going to take every drop again, princess. I’m going to give you my babies, keep you so full you won’t even think about anyone else."

When you come again — hard, your vision blurring from the overwhelming sensations — Jay follows right behind, burying himself deep with a groan and flooding you with another load of hot cum. He stays inside you for a long time afterward, thrusting slowly through the aftershocks.

Finally, he pulls out carefully and pulls you into his arms, stroking your back in slow, gentle movements. "You’re a mess, princess. Come on, let me take care of you."

He stands up with you in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. Once inside, he turns on the shower, adjusts the temperature, and removes the rest of both your clothes before guiding you under the hot spray with him where the water cascades over you both. Jay takes his body wash, lathers it between his hands, and runs them over your skin — being extra careful around your sensitive ass, massaging the foam in light circles that ease some of the sting.

"Maybe I was a little too rough tonight," he says, his hands moving along your thighs, cleaning away the evidence of the many rounds. "Work stress got to me, and then seeing Jake… I took it out on you more than I should have. You handled it really well, but I’m sorry if it was too much."

You lean back against his chest, letting the water rinse off the soap as you tilt your head to look at him. "It hurt… but it also felt good. In a weird way. I just hated feeling like I was bothering you earlier. I didn’t want to annoy you while you were working. I just… missed you a lot."

After rinsing you, he turns off the shower, wraps you in a towel first, then himself and dries you carefully, paying extra attention to your ass and rubbing some soothing lotion he finds in the cabinet. "There. Better?"

"Much better," you admit, reaching up to touch his face. "Thank you for taking care of me like this."

He leans down and kisses your forehead. "You make it easy to want to take care of you." Pulling you closer, his voice shifting to something even calmer and more sincere. "I don’t know what I’d do without you around. I can’t imagine coming home and not having you here like this. You just… fit. Right here with me."

You hug him tightly, burying your face in his chest. "I feel the same. I always want to be close to you because you make everything feel better."

Smiling against your hair, Jay guides you to the bed and pulls the covers back, lying down beside you to pull you close against his chest. One arm wraps around you securely, his hand rests gently on your ass — not squeezing, just warm and protective over the sensitive skin.

You snuggle even closer, your leg draped over his as exhaustion finally takes over completely. "Stay the night?" you ask sleepily.

"Wouldn’t dream of leaving," His fingers trace lazy circles on your back until your breathing evens out and you fall asleep.

Next morning you stir slowly, feeling the pleasant ache in your muscles and Jay’s heavy arm draped over your waist, his body curled protectively against your back. He feels you waking up and trails lazy kisses along your shoulder before moving up the side of your neck. "Good morning, baby," he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep as his hand slides to your stomach. "Sleep well?"

You turn in his arms, smiling despite the slight soreness when you move, and reach up to brush the messy hair from his forehead. "Yes… thanks to you."

He leans in and kisses you properly — slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes you melt. At this point, he couldn't care less that neither of you had brushed your teeth yet. "You were incredible last night. Let me make it up to you a little more with breakfast."

Jay borrows a pair of your sweatpants that look comically tight on his incredibly nice ass, making you laugh as he models them. In the kitchen, you work side by side like so many mornings before — he cracks eggs for scrambled eggs while you toast bread and slice fruit. Small touches are stolen throughout: a hand on your lower back as he reaches past you, a quick kiss on your temple when you hand him the salt shaker, a playful bump of his hip against yours.

"You’re in a good mood today," you tease, leaning against the counter while he plates the food.

"I can’t help it when I wake up next to you." He sets the plates on the table and pulls you in for another kiss before you both sit down.

After eating, you start getting ready for college and he for the office. Jay kisses you one more time before heading back to his apartment next door to get ready for work. You take a long shower and, once dressed in jeans and a comfortable blouse, you step out into the hallway at the same time he does, looking impeccable in his work clothes.

He quickly pulls you in for a proper goodbye, hands gently cradling your face as he kiss your forehead, lingering there for a long moment. "Have a good day at class. Text me when you’re done." With one last soft kiss on your lips, he pulls away with a smile. "See you later, princess."

College passes in a whirlwind of classes and notes, but your mind keeps drifting back to Jay — the way he holds you, the sweet words, the kisses. He has not sent many messages during the day, which is a little unusual, but you figure he must be busy at work.

When you finally get home in the early evening, you step into the elevator and press the button for the third floor. Just before the doors close, a woman you have never seen in the building before enters, but something about her face seems vaguely familiar.

The woman smiles politely as the elevator starts moving. Curiosity gets the better of you and before you can stop yourself, you ask, "Hi… do you live here? I’ve been in the building for about two months and I don’t think I’ve seen you around."

She nods, laughing lightly. "Yes, I do, but I’ve been away on a work trip. I’m a lawyer and a complicated case kept me out of town longer than expected. I actually got back this morning."

"Wow. That sounds intense… By the way, my name is y/n. Nice to meet you."

The woman’s smile widens. "Nice to meet you too. Jay has already told me about you. He’s mentioned his sweet neighbor a few times."

Your heart flutters with joy — Jay talked about you to the neighbors. It feels special, like proof that you are really becoming a bigger part of his life. "He did? That’s nice to hear."

The elevator dings on the third floor and you both step out together. A small flicker of confusion crosses your mind — she is going the same way — but you don’t think much of it. Maybe she lives farther down the hall.

Then you see Jay standing there and your face lights up immediately. He hadn't texted you all day, and seeing him now makes excitement bubble up inside you. You walk toward him with a radiant smile.

At the same moment, the woman also walks straight up to him. When she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him — a deep, familiar, affectionate kiss. Jay’s hands settle on her waist automatically as he eagerly kisses her back.

The world stops.

Your feet freeze mid-step and everything inside you turns cold and numb. It takes a moment for your brain to process what you are seeing, but then the pieces fall into place with painful clarity. That was Jay’s wife. The woman in the Polaroid photo he casually said was his "sister." The late-night calls he claimed were from the office. The feminine body wash he said belonged to his mom. The distant restaurant he took you to on your first date, probably so no one nearby would recognize him. The way the doorman sometimes looked at you with that judgmental expression, like he knew something — he did. All the small inconsistencies you had ignored because you were so blinded by how gentle and attentive he seemed.

Every sweet word, every touch, every promise of "you’re mine" had been built on lies. He was married. His heart already belonged to someone else, and you had been nothing but a convenient distraction from the apartment next door — blind, eager, and so in love with the version of him he showed you that you never saw the truth.

Jay’s eyes meet yours over his wife’s shoulder, and for a fraction of a second, something like panic or guilt flashes across his face. The shock turns into pure pain, making you practically run to your door as you fumble for your keys while hot tears blur your vision.

You lean against the door, sliding down to the floor as sobs begin to escape you. Your chest hurts as if someone had ripped a hole in it. All the cute moments — the kisses, the touches, the date, the bouquet — turn ugly and humiliating in your memory.

You cry hard, knees pulled up to your chest, as disappointment turns into shame for having fallen so completely for the man who made you feel special, desired, and loved… and it was all a lie.

The thin walls allow you to hear muffled voices — his wife asking about his day, the normalcy of their conversation only making everything worse. You press your hands over your ears, trying to block out the sound, but the damage is already done. Your heart is shattered.

The man you had grown so attached to — the one who held you so tenderly after sex, who made you breakfast and promised more comfortable days like that — was someone else’s husband, and you had been the other woman without even knowing it.

you've mapped his schedule without meaning to. tuesdays and thursdays, practice at 6:42pm. mondays he lingers after class pretending to pack slowly- something you still can't find the reason to. and fridays he checks his phone before stepping outside, probably waiting, with his foot tapping the door frame; waiting for something you still can't figure out.

but you don't reach out to him. you're not dumb. instead, you adjust. shifting your routine by minutes- not hours- you can't do hours, you have to keep appearances. so you sit three rows up in the stands during his games, close enough to see his face and his brows curl, but far enough to remain forgettable. you never cheer too loud. you don't wave, or look interested- despite watching his shoulders tense before a kick, and the way he heaves when he scores. it's all purely harmless. people watch atheletes all the time. except you remember everything.

when you first fell in love with his soft features- the first time he got injured sophomore year and didn't post for two days. you remember how he limped slightly to his right the second week of lab, how his bag swung into your hip and he muttered a sorry, kindly bowing and complimenting your bunny keychain that you bought at the market he was also at one time, and with his cute apology, he smiled- even squishing it a lil. your keychain is now attached to your hip.

you don't tell anyone this, you don't even tell sunoo how bad the crush is other than you telling him it's just a small one. yes, the sunoo- the one who somehow knows everything.

you don't tell anyone that you memorized his student id number from a shared document "just in case." you don't tell anyone that you've walked past his dorm building enough times to know which light is his- which was always strangely dimmer than the rest.

but you've never crossed the line. you've never touched his door. you've never followed him at night. you just,

hover. observe, stay nearby. close enough to exist in his orbit; but never close enough to follow him at night, sniff his things, or grab his attention.

sometimes you wonder what would happen if he noticed you. if he just turned around, mid-stride and looked you into your eyes directly and not past you. if he asked why your gym schedule mysteriously mirrors his. that day when it comes, knowing you have calculated it, you think you’d smile politely and say 'coincidence' with a confident smile to match your meek appearance. just the year group's high achiever and the college campus sunshine, overlapping schedules because perfection grows from the same root.

it’s familiarity. and familiarity, you tell yourself, is the safest kind of devotion.

you've never achieved this level of devotion to other crushes before, so why is it that jake stood out to you? maybe its the difference in personality, his looks, or how easy he gets it. maybe, its because he saw you differently, his eyes intensely sharpening when you first made eye contact with him, and for a split second- you believed you could be seen again. you crave for that moment. devoted to living a life so blindly that he could one day enter again.

these recent days, you cling onto sunoo and yunah more, puffing your cheeks out in the library after successfully completing all modules, happy for another hotpot night with them and the rest of your friends, all while he tells you all the hot goss and scolds you for being glued to the phone. so you rest your phone down on the table, pretending to act surprised about the campus drama- when you've heard it several times through different accounts.

you stare at the time, zoning out. 8:46pm- your mind immediately goes to jake wrapping up his practice on the field, probably washing up and saying bye to his usual fieldmates, jungwon and jay. you narrate his whole routine in his mind.

he drives on wednesdays, so-

"oi." sunoo pushes ur shoulder. "finish your tea! i bought it just for you." he huffs, and you break a smile. sipping it mockingly in front of him who rolls his eyes. he then lights up again, "oh yeah! forgot to mention-" he pauses looking around in the local restaurant for other campus goers before looking at you again. "your little crush jake?" he bites his lip, "i think he has a thing with another girl, she's in physics 119. like you. 'jina'? ring a bell?" he scowls, "it better be a rumour, i swear he has a thing with every girl he sits nexts to." "he doesn't even talk much besides smiling and answering questions." yunah rolls his eyes. you sit there, laughing along. when in reality, jealousy boils within you. "its always the girl that initiates the talk, does he think high of himself?" sunoo hisses his lips. no. he's too humble. "nah he seems only the type to get what he wants and leaves." no, he'd never. but nevertheless, you respond; "i wonder who the lucky girl is." mundanely, causing a sympathetic chuckle to escape their mouths.

walking home on campus grounds in that dead of night, you slumped your shoulders. eyes pounding to the thought of waking early, just to secure the spot you want in chem. head hurting at the thought of someone else taking it, or worse, him not being there at all.

why couldn't it have been me? am i.. not pretty enough? am i not.. visible enough?

you shake your head, settling down your things before checking the college class portal's syllabus.

PROJECT: BOND_ASSIGNMENT A3_PAIRS_NAMES.slx

The project pairings will be announced randomly this Thursday afternoon if you haven't put your name aside on excel!

you’re already aware of the possibility before the professor puts you with another foreign exchange student again. reliable, class rep energy. you stay quiet mostly, but speak your truth and opinion in elegance. you're respected, cute, pretty, but never enough to be chosen by another classmate. you sigh again, before checking the class roster after your shower. refreshed it twice. memorized the alphabetical sequence. calculated where your name would fall if the pairs were random. you delete your name on the spreadsheet, knowing you'd probably be paired with another helpless student.

and then the page froze. another anonymous student checking the spreadsheet. 2:11am. it overwrites, but you quickly close the tab just incase someone catches your initials snooping around jake's name.

so you close your eyes. wishing the days go by faster to unknot the clouded jealousy of him being paired with another clueless girl.

the next morning, you arrive to class exactly three minutes early. to sit on your favourite spot. you always do. except, the class has been rearranged, desks put together in pairs rather than seperate, and some being occupied already by books and drinks. jake is already there. that’s new. he doesn’t usually arrive before the professor. he’s sitting in your row. not the front. not the back. your row. he looks up when you walk in, you don't meet his eye, your hands feel clammy. cold, your hair falls across your ear and into your view, you smile as a confident greeting. masking the heartbeat hastening your very body. he clears his throat, and he smiles like this is coincidence. you take your usual seat, pulling out your usual pen and journal, fixing the strap of your bag and unlocking your ipad.

it's no one else in the damn room besides you and him. and your mind cannot compensate for the speed of thoughts rushing in. you feel his eyes, hover. waver between you and the board that projected the college's isignia. he clears his throat- something you know all too well he does before he speaks, and so you bite the inside of your cheek- internally panicking.

“did you check the roster?” he asks casually.

did i.. accidentally change something last night? you panic.

your stomach dips. “yeah.”

did i sound too casual?

“late night,” he adds.

WHAT?

you freeze for half a second. “what?”

did somebody see me lurking?

“it updated at 2:11.”

your pulse stutters. you didn’t mention the time. you didn’t mention you saw it update. you didn’t mention anything. you look at him carefully. he’s twirling his pen. calm. "oh. proffessor worked overtime. typical." you comment, before looking down at your phone, absent minded.

"yeah." he replies. a wave of silence following. "im your project partner.. by the way. i-um.. checked the spreadsheet." he casually adds.

"oh." your eyebrow perks up. you can't help it. you take your time to turn to him. pulse steadying. you must keep appearances. your keychain on your bag jingles when you turn to face his shaggy hair. fuck,

he’s closer than you expected.

not leaning in. not invading your space. just sitting there like he’s always been that distance from you. like this isn’t new. those occasional blocky glasses he wears perched on that high nose-bridge you wished you could feel, and his hands, gripping the edge of his table. like he's ready to leap on the empty desk right next to you. "okay." you remind yourself to polietly reply to his comment. all while half your brain is trying to figure out if the professor really did put your name back in- or if-

“guess that makes this easier,” he says lightly, tapping his pen against his notebook. “no awkward introductions.” awkward? he think's i'm not awkward. good.

“i don’t think we’ve ever talked,” you reply, watching his face carefully. before watching the people pile in, saying hi to jake and you. his lips curve faintly. “not directly.” your pulse skips.

not directly.

“i mean,” he corrects smoothly, eyes turning to the professor settle down his bag and wave the cursor around, “we’ve had the same classes for two years.” you fakely chuckle, "right. true." you say, before being quiet. listening to the faint murmur of classmates talking about their partners. you failed to calculate the possibilities of someone putting your name back into the excel. or maybe you hit control z- either way- you thanked whoever put your name to the empty slot next to his name.

"i thought it was gonna be randomised." you bring up, to which you see jake shrug, bringing his bag next to you. cologne wading into your presence. "i think the professor changed his mind. typical." he mocks your tone. banter, something you have analysed is his friendly attribute of his.

he's talking to me.

you exhale as a laugh, slightly moving away as you open up your macbook, lowering your brightness. and while he looks away, you delete your notes. you delete his contact number, you delete everything including the evidence that you were on excel. you wanted to remain calm. and you did so by acting like you're not fond of his cute remarks.

the class lecture about the syllabus made your eyes roll. stupid easy investigation that can be done in two days. you wished it was harder, something that you could even imagine going to his place for-

"should we exchange numbers?" jake perks at you, whipping around with a casual smile, eager for your own casual reply. "s-sure." you answer, bringing your phone up, acting busy while he unlocks his. his fingers start tapping on his screen. "also, should we meet up soon? maybe next friday?"

next thursday. doable for you, very. but you know his schedule all too well, there's absolutely no way on friday's that he's free.

"i'm free all day." he smiles, again. a slight dimple carved from his jaw and chin compliments his puppy eyes. you blink several times, nodding to him politely, smiling back. "oh really?" "really."

"i thought a guy like you would be usually booked." you bring up, chuckling. sly. lying. joking about his apparent popularity, when in reality, you wanna know why his schedule is suddenly free for record-keeping.

"nah, i care about my grades too." he says, eyes too intense- feeling as though he's measuring your reaction. "that's new." you tease lightly. feeling a momentum in your conversation. "didn't think varsity boys had time for stuff like this."

his smile falters just a microsecond, small, controlled. you've never seen that expression before. his eyes fall between you and your phone. "i make time for what matters."

the way he says it makes your stomach tighten. you look down at your phone instead of answering. phone buzzing.

‎ ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

you blink- slowly raising your eyes to him. he's still holding his phone, but it's already back on the table. quick. you understimated him. "fast fingers?" you ask lightly. he tilts his head. "what?"

"you texted before i even saved yours." you comment, and you find that unfamiliar expression reside on his face for the second time- eyes fluttering. he chuckles loosely, shaking his head. "did i? maybe i just type fast." looking down at your lockscreen- "you like pink? cute."

cute.

pull yourself together.

you try to replay the moment in your head: handing him your phone- which honestly you don't recall, and him typing his number in. strange- but nonetheless, you are thrilled. officially having his number (with consent) is enough for you. "right." you smile again. the class officially starts with no extra comments made towards the excel, the professor- who seemed hyper for someone who had supposedly tampered with the excel early in the am- had adjourned the class early, gifting everyone an hour early schedule to their day. you watch as people pile their things and go, talking to their friends and newly found partners- in which you expect jake to trail after. you never dared to leave before him, so you hesitate packing, double checking your work as a means to act busy.

"so uh-" jake clears his throat. he hasn't left, which was new. you turn to face him, and his eyes trail to yours. looking at both before looking away. "library next week? 10am?" he asks. blocky glasses sliding off his nose bridge, packed away into his bag.

your mind spikes. thrill. heat rushing to your ears. study date. you try not to delude- i mean it's not a date- but-.. study date. your mind wanders. another thought quickly catches. you're always in the library at 10am regardless. perfect fit. "sure!" you perk back, beaming in a friendly sense, keeping your demeanour at a 'casual' level. you end up ultimately choosing to leave as jake's body refuses to move. you wonder why, but shake it off as you finally rise from your table. you feel a chill down your spine- something you feel uncommonly as you're getting up and swishing your bags between the narrow desks. you tilt your lips upward and wave to him before the frosted glass hides you; and your smile drops- something dark within you coiling as you pace down the stairs.

jake cares about his grades.

jake's a smooth talker.

jake blinks slowly when he doesn't understand a concept.

jake uses the smile emoticon- especially to women - and you gag at the thought of him flirting with that fling of a girl in physics 119.

and he's more.. secretive than i thought. charming.

you like him even more. exiting the building, you find yourself smiling, unbeknownst to the figure that watches you from the classroom- smiling back.

you made sure you'd be there at 10am, whether or not you were losing sleep to the thought of him waiting for you. you chose to skip your usual routine of buying vending machine tea, to rather fix your hair and choose perfume- all nothing but a calculated thought to present yourself well before he arrives- but to your dismay, you find his dark chocolate hair, glistening under the soft morning sunlight, his head resting on his palm as he scrolls through his phone, bag under his chin on the desk. your favourite spot. window table, the one that's quieter from the rest- booked under his name, vacant for you to sit at; and worse? two drinks on the table.

your heart pounds. no woman is ever allowed to deserve this. you believe. the way he doesn't know you- and yet..

jake is a kind and hardworking man. and you smile of the thought of him getting ready for you. only you.

"h-hi." you open the glass door and he shoots up. "morning!" he smiles, pushing you a drink. you can't tell what it is by its paper silhouette. you stare at it. i can't accept this- you think. "i-i don't drink coffee at this time, sorry- i-i prefer te-" "it's tea." he cuts you off, turning it around so the label faces you. "green tea." he says, to be exact. "oh!" you genuinely become surprised. your favourite brand, smiling back at you- internally bringing you joy. "glad you like it. it was my lucky guess." he comments, before opening his laptop, bouncing his knee. "thank you." you mumble, opening your contents before turning to him. "shall we get started?"

studying and relearning content was a breeze to you- and it felt even easier when jake nods to your voice- utterly submissioned to your delegated tasks you asked for him to do- all while you secretly watched in the corner of your eye the way he grips his pen with his fingers, and his palm grazing his keyboard. the way he only ever uses those glasses around you and his lip bites when he's puzzled- all you could do was imagine those fingers splayed across your body while you bit the inside of your cheek and smiled the pain away.

pull yourself together.

"is this right?" he leans in, chain swishing against his hoodie before he swivels his chair closer to you. you don't even pay attention to his damn formula (which you know is wrong) and his morning rasp seeping out of the tiny vocal cracks in his voice; while his beady eyes look for a steady nod of validation. "it's okay." you assure him. you look at the time. 11:42am. another class waiting for you under the sea of schedules you were entitled to today.

"is it time already?" he brings up the time after watching you fondle with your watch. "soon, yeah. let's smash this practice investigation out- okay?" you politely exhale, averting your eyes away from his hardened ones staring back at you. intense. you feel again. the same weight of staring like the first time he saw you- but this time, you're afraid to face it. 8 minutes pass and you try to wrap things up. he doesn't seem to say anything besides looking at your bunny keychain and fondling with his notepad. "same time next week?" you try to casually initate another time- this time you want to savour his presence more.

"sure!" he smiles up at you again. "what class do you have next?"

"physics. 119." you flatten your lips. straightening your books before placing them neatly into your bag. he hums, nodding away. "in the same class as her. right." he mumbles but you catch it. your eyes can't help but slightly squint at the thought of him thinking about her. so you leave, muttering a quick goodbye while you push away the doors.

"fucking hell." you grumble. you stay apparent, on the lines, respectable- and yet someone who's completely nowhere on his radar gets to just have his attention just like that? unfair. unfair. unfair. you repeat those words until you reach the doors of your next tutorial. blanking out to the words and equations mashing together.

‎ ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

you flinch at jake's notification at night. you remember how often his dim dorm lights were always on- but you never imagined he'd be studying past practice hours- for all you remember, he only stayed up late like that twice the past year, but nonetheless, your sources cannot just be trusted from someone who observes from the peripheral distance. maybe this was a sign for you to step further. you pocket sunoo's message into the back of your mind, insisting on helping jake in the back of the class while he messages back his dumb keyboard emojis and thank yous.

you feel.. loved.

though you know this isn't what it is- you feel like an ounce of your hardwork is being paid by incriments, and you hate to think that maybe you could end up being close to him. you love it. you love his messages- the way you could picture his heavy lidded eyes lifting just to think of messaging you late at night- it makes you so fucking heated.

he thinks of me.

but this level of seeking is probably never gonna end in the way that you want.

after sunoo’s offhand comment that jake never lets anyone in his room and barely lets people get close, something inside you twists, not in fear but in fascination. the idea that jake, who is warm and casual and almost flirty with you during your project sessions, is cold and distant with everyone else makes every moment with him feel rare and deliberate.

instead of scaring you, it settles into your chest like a quiet privilege. you start watching him more closely during your meet-ups, noticing how his posture loosens when he sits beside you, how his voice softens when he asks a question, how he looks at you like you are familiar rather than temporary. you find yourself in the same laundry aisle three minutes after him, buying the same softener he uses. you smile more when he notices the similarities you seem to fabricate.

he does not resemble the closed-off version sunoo described, and the contrast sends a new kind of confidence blooming through you. you stop rehearsing everything you plan to say. you tease him lightly when he misreads a formula. you hold his gaze a little longer just to test him, to see what he will do. he notices every time. he always meets your eyes, always gives a small amused smile, always reacts in a way that feels intentional, like he is matching your energy by choice and not by accident. with each meeting, he lets you a little further in; and you start to feel chosen, special, almost intoxicated on the version of him that exists only when you are near. it does not matter that what you have learned about him should make you cautious. if anything, you are the binding evidence that defends his whole being. instead, it makes you more curious. instead it makes you want to see what else he hides behind those closed doors. it makes you want to be the person he breaks his rules for.

days slip by in a way that feels almost curated; jake drifts closer without ever making it obvious, brushing your hand when he passes something to you, leaning in too close when he laughs, his breath warm against your cheek in a way that sunoo immediately narrows his eyes at. “he’s weird. not like 'quirky weird', like, somethings up with him.” sunoo mutters one afternoon after jake murmurs something low and suggestive into your ear- something harmless on the surface, something about how “you look better when you’re focused on me instead of the notes,” but his tone leaves your knees weak. you pretend not to care, pretend not to replay the moment in your head hours later, but when you get home that night the memory crawls under your skin, settling exactly where your fingers start to slip beneath your waistband. you’re just starting to let yourself sink into the thought of him- the way he looks at you, the way he stands too close, the sound of his voice when he says your name.

fuck. you're wet at the thought of his honey voice and supple lips. the image of his fingers reaching for your hand and your work- fuck.

"you look better when you're focused on me instead of the notes." you imagine his voice, moaning against your core- or worse, looking down at you when you sink into his cock. you palm your core, fingers pressed against your clit as they tent up under your waist band, and you circle slow. you haven't had time to touch yourself- especially recently when every time given the opportunity, notifs pop up, or lights tend to flicker past your window. and even, on some occasions, he messages you while you rub to the thought of him. you can't afford to lose a quick release of your inner stress and fixations- especially after what he said to you. "focus on me-" fuck. you groan at the feeling of finally being able to reward yourself.

‎ ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

fuck!

when your phone buzzes violently against your sheets, you instantly let go of your core. jake. calling. it’s past midnight. your breath catches, embarrassment lightning-hot across your face, because how does he always do this? how does he always interrupt you at the exact second you’re thinking about him, wanting him? you'd never. never. complain about this but, you were so close to cumming it hurts. you debate letting it ring, but curiosity wins, and when you pick up, he’s already breathing hard on the other end like he’s been running or pacing. “h-hey,” he whispers, voice strained, intimate in a way that shoots straight to your gut. you sit up quickly, heart pounding. “jake? are you okay?” he laughs softly, breath shuddering through the speaker, low and knowing. “i don’t know,” he murmurs, “sorry- i don't kn.. you were bus- i mean, were you busy?” your whole body freezes. you look frantically at your phone, hearing his shallow breathing. you swallow, suddenly aware of your shaking fingers, that same rhythm and tone you feel yourself to. fuck. it's too perfect- the way he slips into your night at the exact moment your guard falls. “no,” you lie, voice barely steady. his exhale deepens, satisfied. “good,” he says, like he already knew the answer anyway. “i just… needed to hear you.”

"hear me?" "i-i'm stressed. about tomorrow. our review. and the away game i have later that night... f-fuck." his breath is shaky. and you genuinely believe it may be anxiety rushing to his throat. but fuck, the way he swore under his breath against your phone? the way he's breathing like.. no. you can't think like this. you're slipping. slipping control. slipping the devotion of staying borderline on the edges of obsession. but your fingers slowly sink back down, rimming the edge of your panties.

perfect sunshine, stressed enough to call you. hm, if you would, you'd fuck that stress out of him.

"it's gonna be okay, jake.." you whisper, and you feel a shift, like linen shuffling over his mic. is he in bed? you wonder. he should be. he's got practice early in the morning, and sooner he'll be in class with you. "it's late. we should just end-"

"no!" he shudders. "i mean, no," he inhales, voice vibrating like he's holding back a groan. it makes you wetter by the milisecond. this feels right. you lie to yourself, pathetic, the way you're running your fingers down your folds while you hear his breath stutter over his silly thoughts. but it's perfect. stars aligning- just for you.

jake wants to stay in call with me. is all the news you can muster from his response. and you can't help but get off to it.

"you there? y/n?" jake calls out to you, "please.. say something." "hn-" you bite back a moan. "j-jake," you mildly whisper. and you hear the shifting of his sheets on the others side. "why.. are you calling me?" you ask quietly. then, softer, "of all people?"

"what do you mean, of all people?" he holds his breath, you can feel it through the phone. "you have friends- teammates.. girls." you stop, "i'm not exactly your first point of contact."

"f-fuck." you hear faintly. muffled like he covered his mouth. was that a whimper? "'cos you always seem to answer," he inhales. "everything. you always answer everything. even to others."

even to others? like your friends? and classmates..? now that you think about it, what does he know of you? "oh." you reply, trying to shift the awkward tension. "you seem to be out of breath." you whisper-talk, "did you.. run?" jake never goes on runs, even when advised to. he hates cardio. "...yes." he confidently says, but part of you, feels like he's lying. the same gut feeling you get when he loses composure, even for half a second. there's a silence that hangs for a few.

"about chem.. you'll be okay. trust me. we'll pull through." you reassure him, fingers still resting ontop of your core. "a-and my game..?" he asks. there it is, his breath holding back again. "if it helps, i'll be there to support you." if only he knew how much you already do that.

"really?" he exhales. "yes, jake. i'll watch you. i-if i have tim-." "say you wanna see me." bold. jake said it with no hesitation. like he shot up from his bed. "say that if you have time, you'll come see me." he softens his tone, quieter. raggedy.

"i really wanna see you play, jake. if- i.. have time." he huffs through the phone hearing your words whistle back. 'if i have time.' you replay, cautious of your reply.

because you always have time. for him. "jake?" you hasten your fingers, only hearing muffling groans and the shuffling of linen from his end. "f-fuck. hello?" you're desperate to cum to his voice, hardened by his odd nature to desperately want you. filthy. messy. you find yourself, sweat clinging to your forehead and your panties carrying the slick you keep sticking to.

"good. so f'good." you hear. your mind registers that jake is murmuring things, maybe half asleep on call with you. but your body responds to his half strong response, his voice croaking, higher, whiny at the ends of his syllables. you cum. quietly. you try to hold back a moan, but it ends up catching slightly on the mic.

shuffling, breathing. ragged breathing. "jake?" you call, pretending not to be breathless. pretending that you didn't just cum to your classmate. your new friend. your jake.

"s-sorry y/n, sweets. i fell asleep, or something." he mumbles the rest. "see you later today?"

"yes." you clear your throat. "goodnight. jake." you try to sound cold. "goodnight, y/n. thank you." guilt washes over you, and you clean and scrub until you feel pure- less creepy- less- obsessive. you don't sleep that night. i mean, who are you to blame, you practically came over and over to the sound of his panting words.

a smile creeps up. so painfully tight it cracks the corner of his lips.

3:32am.

she always has time. even if the bleachers are stained by the rain.

y/n has free time on thursdays. after physics 119. she sits nexts to jina. that stupid girl that won't let me know y/n's laptop password.

y/n always goes home. unless sunoo asks her out for hotpot.

polkadot panties on thursdays. my favourite.

sunoo is getting onto me. nuisance.

she breathes heavier when she lies. lowers her voice when embarassed.

jake smiles into his pillow, cum stained briefs sticking against his abs. "and she sounds beautiful when she tries to hide it." he whispers, staring at the dark ceiling. the array of monitors stacked like cctv brims the room with blue. pictures of you. videos. notes. your printed grades. your number written on wherever it could be read- and a stack of perfumes- ones you prefer for men, clothes bought still in their packages that suit your style for sporty guys; and stacks of glasses and accessories- just like what you stop and pause to stare at in a man; everything catered for you. everything to do with you. codes run like stopmotion in one of his monitors- and it whirs to the sound of his nails digging into his cuticles. "she picked up." he whispers, "she always picks up. good to know." he laughs. he stairs at the bottom side monitor to the left of his bed. a site pinging a glowing red dot to know that you're safely sleeping in your bed- now glowing yellow to notify low battery.

"fuck." he knits his brows. "now what?"

the morning seeps into your blinds and you're already behind. you swiftly get up- late. you don't even know how the alarm failed to go off, but you scramble, lips glossy and swiped over your lips, hair a little domesticated than your normal perfect class president appeal everyone expects from you. rushed. vulnerable. exposed. messy. messy. messy.

when you swing your bag out onto the nearest full campus bus, you squeeze between others to sit near the middle. you sit on the edge of the seat, surrounded by strangers, uneven pulse carrying you from last night. your bag strap yanks back when you feel a tug at the zip. you think it's fabric catching onto someone, or someone trying to latch on to the jerking vehicle. and because of the time, you failed to notice a familiar piece of you snapping off, tagging off and hurrying to class to find jake not even there. you didn't notice the hand that was quicker than your legs.

you sit, silently huffing. mind worrying where he might be. irritation replaces anxiety. stressed for your project review, waking up late from his call- what if it wasn't real? what if all your hard work of knowing him gone to waste after being exposed? you huff your hair out of place, straightening your pens to keep calm. five minutes pass.

then the door opens.

he steps in like he owns the room. hair slightly damp like the gym showers soaked him. hoodie half zipped. lips parted like he hurried. his eyes find you immediately.

immediately.

his apology to the professor is soft, casual. he doesn't look embarassed, he doesn't look pressured. he seems as if the call that happened last night was your imagination, that his stress- his vulnerability-was a fallacy.

he sits nexts to you like always now. regardless of the project review. you feel guilty, taking people's chances sitting next to him- but you feel the genuine urgency in him wanting to secure the spot next to you. "overslept." he mutters, voice low. croaky. just for you to hear.

your facade builds up again. yes, despite the lack in keeping appearances today, you still flatten your pink tinted lips together, rolling your eyes as your sweater bunches at your sleeves. "that's new."

he slowly grins, "i was up late." as a proof that last night was real. your throat tightens. "studying?" you ask lightly, "yeah. something like that." he adds on to your joke.

while the professor continues to meet each pair, you two sit at the back, fondling with both of your paperwork. his knee brushes yours under the desk- not moving away. he leans closer than necessary to open his notebook for the umpteenth time. his perfume wades into your air while he chuckles about your messy hair. he asks again about the examples you solved. about things he already knows.

he's performing.

for you.

and you feed into it so easily.

you correct his formula, taking the pencil from his hand. he lets you. you laugh quietly at something small. he watches your mouth when you do. he taps his pen against your notebook like he's restless, like he needs your attention anchored back at him at all times- and you gladly do. you've always, always- always, have.

you don't realise you're glowing- nor do you realise your bag feeling lighter. the professor is still occupied. still working on a few pairs a couple of rows in front of you. he tilts his head, pretending to notice something. "oh," he says casually, reaching into his hoodie pocket before you could turn around. he pulls it out. "you dropped this."

your pink bunny keychain, dangling from his slender fingers. the stitching a little tattered, but nonetheless, alive and now in the palm of your hand. your heart stutters, "i-what? when?" you mutter your thank yous. "found it on the way here." he shrugs.

you frown faintly, thumb brushing its ears. you look at it's buttoned eyes, something different points out to you. the buttoms are aligned neater, symmetrically. your eyebrows knit and your eyes stutter, convinced it was just only recently you observed. "thanks," you say again, cheeks flushed. "i didn't notice." he smiles.

of course you didn't.

he felt the old battery's weight in his hand earlier, and had pressed his thumb against the tiny seam he stitched himself weeks ago. had replaced the beeping tracker's battery with an identical plush, same thread, pink and cute just how you like it- before you even reached the bus stop. he was on campus two whole hours before you. not including practice.

you always rush when you're flustered, don't you?

you don't double check your bag around me, do you?

you trust me, don't you?

jake watches your fingers brush the bunny absentmindedly as you tuck it back into your zipper. "what would i do without you?" you say outloud, watching him chuckle, pushing his glasses back to look at you properly.

then there's that look he gives you. one you can't seem to find on others- or even from him to others; only you. the one that makes you feel visible, seen. his jaw tightens for a second. "you don't have to find out."

what does that mean? you wonder, but you shake it off. you're getting somewhere.

later down the hour, the professor ends up dismissing you and jake's investigation, saying it was unnecessary to check on high achievers. "you both know what you're doing. no need to stress. jake- your report is very good. keep it up."

you look at jake. raising a brow. there was really no need for a call last night.

you wonder, if the shaking breath and the late hour meant something real.

or maybe he wanted me on the line.

class resumes as normal- this time you leave earlier, you feel grimy, the feeling of sin still washing over you from last night. you shuffle your bag, your books, your bunny plush dangling from your shoulder. you check the time, mentally checking that jake would probably leave to go to his dorm soon. as you get up, you feel a tug at your sweater.

you turn, seeing jake, eyes crossed and wide, surprised you're leaving early. "see you at the game? tonight?" voice raspy at the ends, in the way that you know (but you can't accept) is desperation. why does he want to see you out of all people?

right. his game he practically begged tor you to watch. you can't escape it now. "o-of course. see you." you press your lips together, smiling as you casually can.

later that day, you sit in the bleachers, bag tucked between your legs, a whiny sunoo attached to your hip- teasing you for promising jake. what he doesn't know is that you've watched him several times. but you feel as if it's your first with the way you're in jake's line of sight- visible now- like you always fantasized even when you preferred being unseen. but visible now means visible forever- and visible now means- in your eyes- that jake likes you.

you watch his habits, his form, the way he squints and pants when idle, the way he laughs when his teammates slap his back. he checks his phone mid-game. smirking to himself.

what was that? you feel your stomach coil. what could possibly be more interesting for him to smirk at his phone for? was it a text?

you check social media, you snatch sunoo's phone to look at anything to do with him in any of the circles he's around. when sunoo raises a brow, he shrugs it off when he gets his phone back. what could he possibly smirk at? and why can't it be toward me.

it was obvious his team would win, and when he did, he scans the bleachers. finds you- holds eye contact for half a second too long before finally letting his teammates drag him into noise. sunoo squeezes your arm, tearing away your eye contact. "your boyfriend's starting to like you back." he jokes- half true. you blush immensely at sunoo's comment. punching his shoulder softly. jake goes back to looking at you- eyebrows furrowed at the way you look at sunoo. the way you touch him so casually. you're literally only here for his game, and jake has counted that you've given too much attention towards sunoo for more than a minute too long, while he counted in his mind that you've watched for approximately nine. sunoo's is one too many.

what could you possibly be smirking at?

the team drags him away, and you end up walking home with sunoo- texting him before the night could end.

‎ ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

the house is already loud before you even reach the door. bass leaking through the walls like a heartbeat, front porch crowded with bodies, laughing too hard, drinks sloshing in red cups- bodies swaying to incoherent music nobody can really hear. you shudder. sunoo drags you inside by the wrist, beaming with excitement, already greeting three people you've seen twice- passing you drinks like it was waiting for you. you down it of course, matching their vibe. the air inside was warm. thick, heavy. soiled with perfume and sweat, and the sweet burn of cheap alcohol. feeling slightly out of place, you clutch your drink, scanning the rooms instinctively even though you told yourself you wouldn't come here looking for him.

and then you see him. not directly. first you see jay- leaning near the staircase talking to jungwon, their heads close together like they're trying to hear eachother over the loud music. he catches the inkling that someone's staring, and his expression shifts when he sees the room and finds your eyes staring back. you see the way his face subtly tenses, nudging jungwon with his elbow, murmuring something you wish you could hear. now both are glancing your way; not long enough to be obvious, but long enough to make your stomach churn. and so you look away quickly, pretending you didn't notice.

sunoo has already disappeared toward the kitchen, with yunah kissing your cheek, introducing you to two girls you remember her fawning about. they pull you along easily, and soon the awkward wall crumbles. you and your girls are loud in the friendly way that makes everything feel lighter. a vision you've never dreamt about, and a colour you've newly discovered, you drink questionable things in one hand, smoke wonders with the other- and you giggle at the thought of releasing a carefree, non-pyschotic self to the world. you hug girls and clink drinks with guys, you get recognised for your quiet demeanour, high grades and pretty face. you believed you were outcasted- when all in reality, it was the sin of loving jake that held you down. someone compliments your skirt, and a few others take you with them to the living room to reside by the louder music and bad dancers.

for a little while you forget about watching- you forget about being careful. you just exist in the noise- feeling, being, existing- seen; without a prompt or person.

still, every once in a while, you feel it. that prickle at the back of your neck. the strange sensation of being looked at for longer than necessary. every now and then you catch pieces of him instead of the whole- his shoulder disappearing through the hallway, his laugh near the kitchen doorway, a flash of his hoodie- a hand reaching for a cup.

it feels like orbiting. like both of you are circling the same centre, gradually closing, without yet colliding.

at one point, a guy approaches you while you're near the couch. typical questions like the others, this time, you're more sober. asking what year you are, where abouts you live- leaning too close to your ear like they always excuse themselves to do at parties. you answer politely, smiling, lazy, skirt riding up, baby hair sticking to your neck. hair blown out and your lips pink. he says a joke that actually prompts you. you laugh, head leaning forward, engaged in the conversation while your eyes wander over his shoulder.

and that's when you see him. again.

not jake, jay.

he's back near the staircase, but this time he's not laughing. he's watching. when your eyes meet, he lifts his hand slightly like he wants you to come over- quickly, urgently. like he wants to say something to you.

and then someone bumps into you, the conversation shifts, and when you look back he's gone. you shrug it off. the party goes on for another hour, maybe more- maybe a few.

yunah is no longer to be seen after disappearing with a group upstairs. sunoo drifts toward the back patio with people you don't remember hugging. you stay near the living room with a couple of girls who start telling you stories about some professor everyone hates, and you're laughing again, warmer now, more.. relaxed.

your phone buzzes in your hand.

╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

you blink. you swear he was just here. and no, you're way sober than you think. you glance upstairs, and you don't find him. you glance toward the patio doors, expecting to spot his blonde hair- but the crowd shifts and the face sblur together, maybe he really did leave- maybe you just didn't notice.

you start typing a reply when you hear someone call your name. you look up. "y/n!" jay is pushing through the crowd toward you. not hurried exacty- but purposeful. his expression rests different up close. less amused, more- uncertain.

"hey," he calls, leaning in so you can hear him over the music. "i just wanted to t-"

his hand lifts like he's about to guide you somewhere quieter- but suddenly he's not the closest person to you anymore. a body slides between you before you even realise what had happened.

jake.

it's smooth enough that anyone else might miss it. the way his shoulder nudges jay aside- hand settling at the back of your wait like it's always been there. the movement isn't aggressive- rather, final. jay pauses, brows furrowing, softening at yours who squints in confusion. "she good?" jake smiles at jay slighty. like the interruption meant nothing. jay's jaw tightens, eyes flickering it could almost count like an eyeroll. "yeah," he mutters, glancing between you both before stepping back into the crowd. you rarely register the exchange. your attention is already caught by the warmth of jake's hand at your side. "hey," he calls, voice quieter now that he's closer. "hey.." you reply, surprised to see him pop up after all this time.

"you still here alone?"

"sunoo left apparently," you say, showing him the texts. his breath hitches when you lean in, unlocking your phone through your passcode. jake watches you press the numbers in, mumbling the numbers as you follow. he nods slowly to your complaint, like that make sense. "i did get to see him, he mentioned he might." he sheepishly replies. you frown, pouting at the ends. "to you?"

"earlier," he answers easily, "he didn't want to drag you out, especially if you're having fun." the crowd feels bigger, the bodies feel closer, and all of a sudden jakes looking down at you, his chest inches away from yours. his varsity jacket shaped his shoulders to tower yours, and his chain clinks as other people bump into him. his canines show when he turns to say hey to others- yet, his eyes still cling onto yours.

"you wanna stay?"

you hesitate. hazy. no alcohol needed when his voice dips like honey into your throat. his thumb comes up to brush a bit of hair on your face. "or," he leands down, "i can take you home." soft, croaking whisper that you swear was louder than any other music in the room.

your heart stutters, a lot.

you look at him properly, facing up where the party lights glimmer on his face for a fraction before its lost in the darkness- and then again when the light manages to catch him. the way he's watching you carefully, like your answer matters more than anything happening in the rest of the house. the party keeps moving, people enjoying their time while others don't. did i enjoy my time here? you think to yourself- but do i prefer jake to take me home?

"y-yeah.. if that's okay." you mumble into his ear, going on your tippy toes for him to shudder when he feels your hot breath and hands on him. his smile deepens, satisfied in a way you can't quite place. "perfect." he murmurs. as he guides you toward the door, his hand rests on your lower back, circling around the straps.

you don't notice jay watching from across the room.

you don't notice the way he shakes his head, walking away.

and you don't notice that sunoo never actually left the party. at all.

you try to look back once more at the front porch, but jake tugs you- clumsily. "let's get you home, missy."

the ride back is quieter than the party.

the streets are mostly empty now, campus lights stretching long across the windshield as jake drives with one hand on the wheel. the music in the car is low enough that it barely fills the silence. you’re still warm from the hovering noise of the house, from the drinks, from the way everyone had been looking at him all night and yet he circled back to you.

you sit angled slightly toward him, knees turned his way without thinking. for a while, neither of you say anything. then he glances at you briefly. hands tightening at the wheel, eyes flickering to your hand scrunched at your thighs.

“you were having fun back there,” he says. so he's been watching?

“it was loud, haven't seen others in so long,” you reply, smiling faintly. he hums like he doesn’t believe that. fingers tapping on his lap as the traffic light stays red. this is it now, you think. he ditched his practice run for my tea run. he takes me home. we barely talk about the project anymore. we talk about things he enjoys, and things i like. he's perfect.

“jay tried to talk to you earlier.”

right. your stomach flips. “yeah,” you say carefully. “he said hi- seemed like he wanted to talk to me.” "about what?" his response was almost instant. you fumble, shrugging- "i don't know.. you? maybe?" you were genuinly unsure, blinking rapidly.

jake’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. looking at the window as the gear changes quickly, jerking you forward fast. you huff at the change of velocity. “he does that,” he says after a second. “gets in people’s heads.”

you watch his profile while he drives. the way his fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel. the way his shoulders are slightly tense even though the road is empty.

“why?” you ask softly. jake glances over. “why what? sweet?”

you hesitate.

“does.. jay like," breathe, "d-do you worry about what he's going to say?” the car goes quiet again. he exhales slowly through his nose, looking at your silhouette reflecting off his window. “that depends on what he's gonna say.” you shrug like it doesn’t matter. “nothing important, i bet.”

his eyes linger on you for a second longer than they should before returning to the road. “good,” he murmurs. the word settles strangely in the car- silence hanging off the last word. good?

a few minutes pass.

you reach the stoplight near your dorm, and that’s when you feel it. his hand. it settles on your thigh like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

warm. steady. your breath catches. you don’t move away. instead you look down at his hand, then back at his face. “jake,” you say quietly.

“yeah?”

his thumb shifts slightly against your leg. your heart is racing now. your thighs heat up, feeling the shift in the atmosphere. this is it. your heart races. your keep your appearances, despite the fever rising between your legs. “do you do this to everyone you drive home?”

he lets out a soft laugh. “no.” touch me more. “why me?”

he doesn’t answer immediately. the light turns green but he doesn’t move for a second. then he drives again. “you already know why,” he says finally. your pulse jumps, yet you don’t push further. by the time he pulls up outside your dorm, the tension in the car is thick enough to feel. neither of you move right away. the buzz of alcoholy bubbles within your chest, you're horny, still confident from the party- and the one you've had your eye on since ever is driving you home. and just like that, years worth of staying near his orbit led you to say this final.

“you can come up,” you hear yourself say. you didn't expect to say this sooner, but fuck, everything just turned right the moment that damn excel spreadsheet updated. you thank fate- but all in all, you smile to yourself, guilt-free of obsession.

he looks at you for a second like he’s deciding something. hiding the way he picks at his thumb cuticle, skin pale after pressing into his own fingers. it's all going to plan.

then he nods.

“okay.”

for someone that's smart- being in love makes you forget things. like how you forgot to even mention where you live despite him driving you, and how you forget to cover your phone passcode the first time he asked for your number, not to mention, the passcode to your dorm room.

you're biting your lip climbing up the stairs to your own place, heart speeding as you hold your heels. jake's trailing behind you- unbeknownst that he's filming. biting his lips to the inprint of your panties against your tight skirt, the way your huffing and arching after each step, and the way he swore he saw dampness right on your sweet spot. he waits, watching you unlock it as he memorises everything. he opens the door quickly for you after unlocking it in desperation.

inside your room, the air feels smaller somehow. more private. you toss your heels onto your chair, ruffling your hair as you move toward the small kitchenette. “you want water or something?” you ask.

“i’m good.” his voice is quieter in here. almost a whisper. he takes in your interior. exactly how he imagined. a few cabinets moved or rearranged from the last time that he took photos- but nonetheless, just like he envisioned. cute. pink. pretty. soft. smart- just like you.

you turn away for a moment, reaching into the cabinet. and in that moment, jake moves. his eyes scan the room quickly. the desk. the shelf. the window. small, precise movements. something small slips from his pocket, fingers quick and practiced as he sets it behind a stack of books on the shelf.

another near the edge of your desk lamp. tiny. silent. gone before you turn back around. and of course,

you don’t notice anything. you only notice how close he is now.

“thanks for the ride,” you say, softer.

he steps closer. close enough that you can feel the warmth of him again, the same way you did in class, the same way you did in the hallway at the party. his hand lifts. for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you. you slowly blink- heart exploding; but instead his fingers brush lightly against your cheek.

slow, deliberate. his lips follow, grazing your cheek first. then the corner of your jaw. near your earlobe, down to your neck. your breath stutters, hitching at the feeling you've been wanting for so long- no, needing. you moan silently. he almost loses composure, body tensing at the blood rushing to his crotch.

he lingers there just long enough to make your skin burn, and fuck, it's so embarassing how much you're dripping. then he pulls back. “goodnight,” he says quietly. eyes trailing down to your lips again, biting his own, knotting his brows.

you blink. “you’re leaving?”

a faint smile touches his mouth. “for now.” he steps away before you can stop him, heading for the door like he didn’t just leave your entire body buzzing- like he didn’t just light something under your skin. you watch him go, heart pounding. and when the door closes behind him, you press your hand against your jaw where his lips were. wondering why he would start something like that only to leave. wondering if he knows what he’s doing to you. across the room, the tiny camera behind your books watches you pace slowly across the floor. jake walks down the dorm hallway already smiling- because he knows exactly what he’s doing.

you think you’re going crazy, pushing you to go over your limits, wanting, shamelessly wanting him. what you don’t realize he’s been making sure you do; and the funniest part is you think you might be the messy one, the obsessed one. you have no idea he’s already ten steps further gone than you are.

too quiet, too empty. you stand there for a moment, staring at the door like it might open again if you just wait long enough. your jaw still tingles where his lips brushed it. your chest still feels tight from how close he was touching you. the breeze feels cool against your heat. you continue to replay it. his hand on your cheek, mouth at your jaw. 'goodnight.' goodnight? you laugh under your breath, pacing once across the room. the heated, slicky energy in your body has nowhere to go. it's worse now than before he came over. worse than when he had his hand on your thigh in the car.

you press your palm to your face- he knew what he was doing.

and so when you text him that night? begging for him to come back?

╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

in truth, jake never left. he drove, slowly. just far enough that the glow of your dorm windows disappeared from his rearview mirror. just far enough that anyone watching from inside would think he was gone. the car rolled past the corner of your dorm building before he turned the wheel, circling the block once like a habit- like muscle memory. then he parked, not far. just out of sight. his phone was already in his hand before the engine even stopped. the second screen flickered on quietly, the small camera feeds activating one by one. the tiny lenses he had pressed into your room earlier caught the dim glow of your lamp, the edge of your desk, the soft blur of your bed. pacing. like how you normally do when you want something you can't have. running your hands through your hair. checking your phone again and again.

jake leans back in the driver's seat, slowly. the corner of his mouth lifting as he watches the exact moment you break. he had measured this almost perfectly. the kiss on your jaw. the pause before leaving. the silence after. he knew you wouldn't sleep. tension would bloom. knew you'd text like a desperate slut.

his thumb traces the edge of the screen where your mesaages keep appearing.

jakey please

his jaw tightens slightly. he watches you read his reply. you type without hesitation. biting your lip. bra slipping when you collapse onto your bed. good. good girl. so needy. he mutters to himself, salivating to you.

he then turns the car off, because you asked. one thing you truly got correct about him- is that he has never been good at denying himself things he wants. especially when the thing begging for him is you.

soft. the knock at your door came softer than you expected. two quick taps that almost blended into the quiet hallway noise. you were already standing by the time you realized what you were doing. your hand hovered over the handle for a split second before you opened it.

jake stood there like he had never left.

his hair was slightly more disheveled (deliberately) now, hoodie thrown back on carelessly, eyes darker and blown out than they had been earlier. for a moment neither of you spoke. the air between you felt heavier than it had in the car, heavier even than the moment he kissed your jaw before leaving. he watches the way he looks at you. brows furrowing at his sudden arrival and eyes. he walks in.

the door shuts behind him with a quiet click. “thought you just wanted to talk,” he murmurs, voice low. your throat tightens. “i did.” but you were already standing too close to him for that to be convincing.

jake studies your face slowly, the way your breathing hadn’t quite settled yet, the way your hands kept fidgeting near your sides like you didn’t know where to put them. his gaze flicks briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

“you texted me like you were losing your mind,” his voice fries as it drags out.

heat rushes up your neck. “i wasn’t-" "you were."

you step back instinctively, but the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed. jake closes the gap by following without hesitation, slow enough that you could have moved away if you wanted to. but you didn’t. “say it properly,” he whispers.

you blinked at him. “what?”

“why you wanted me here.”

your heart hammered against your ribs. every instinct in you told you to pull back, to recover the careful composure you had always kept around him. but standing this close to him, feeling the warmth of his body, the faint scent of his hoodie, the memory of his mouth against your jaw still burning on your skin, it was impossible to pretend.

“i wanted you,” you said quietly. "f-for a while now."

jake’s expression shifted. not surprise you were expecting. but satisfaction.

his hand comes up slowly, fingers brushing along your cheek before sliding into your hair, tilting your face slightly toward him. “i know,” he murmured. it's the tone where it clicks. where his 'i know' meant depth, like, really meant it.

then he kisses you.

this time there was nothing hesitant about it. the tension that had been building for weeks snapped between you both at once. your hands grabbed the front of his hoodie instinctively, pulling him closer while his grip tightened slightly in your hair, steady but firm. the kiss deepened quickly, breathless and hungry in a way that made your head spin. he bites your lip as he piercing his tongue to pry open that sweet mouth of yours. he growns as he pushes you into the bed. smiling. smirking as your close your eyes, spreading your legs while he leans into you, hands now pressed to the sides of your body, caging you in on your own bed.

jake pulls back first, just barely, saliva still catching between you. “you’ve been watching me for months,” he said softly. your stomach drops.

“don’t pretend you haven’t,” he added.

you stared at him, stunned, but his mouth brushes your cheek again before you could respond, trailing slowly down the line of your jaw the same way he had earlier. the difference now was that he didn’t stop immediately.

your hands tightened in his hoodie again. jake notices, of course he does.

a quiet laugh left him, low in his throat. “look at you,” he murmured. “you act so put together all the time.” your breath caught as he kissed your jaw again. teeth grazing it. “but the second i walk away,”

his hand slide along your waist, steadying you as you leaned slightly into him without meaning to.

"..you lose it."

you should have been embarrassed. but all you felt was heat.

and the strange, dangerous relief of being seen exactly the way you were. though, you have no idea he is even worse.

months, no- years. of pent-up tension. obsession, pining, and frustration of the thought of not having you until you finally gained interest in him crashes into him as he forcefully pushes his teeth onto yours, bringing a had up to ride up your torse and press into your neck to make you squeal like you always do.

"hardest part was getting you to like me," he breathes, panting into your neck, gnawing at your neck, "fuck! you smell so good." he growls, "second part?" his hands ghost over your breasts. "sweet. easy, fucking--" he gropes you with no hesitation, "fucking perfect. stars aligned. all thanks to me."

this is not the jake you imagined. his demeanour is darker, hungrier, cockier. whispering and growling incoherent things. you begin to realise if your yearning for him was already heavy- what could he have been looking for in you this whole time?

nonethless, you are breathless against him. hands gripping his hoodie like you don't know where else to put them. the moment he palms your breasts you swore you could've came right there. every touch he sends to feel your tits move under his palm sends you to orbit, and he loves every reaction out of you- you can feel it in the way he groans at your breathy and shakey moans. "j-jake!" you squeal as he shoves your knees open for his legs to pin you. "i know you like this." he pinches your nipples through the fabric, slapping them like he's been familiar to your body before.

has he been thinking about my body?

you squirm, trying to pry away from the sensitive slaps when he squeezes your nipples. you break a moan loud, slick gushing out your panties even when he hasn't touched your folds. he watches your face carefully. "you told me you're going to behave." he mutters, watchinig you squirm and attempt to cover your panties. "behave."

he clicks his tongue, hearing your phone going off in the background, you whip your head, knowing it's sunoo. "lemme-"

"behave." he reaches for your phone, reading the message, chuckling to himself before chucking it aside to your dresser- looking down at you. moonlight cascades down his nose and wet lips, and his eyes darken when he finds the sight of you erotic. "jay can't keep his mouth shut. can he." he mutters, before putting a thumb on your lip, swirling it in your saliva. you open your pretty lips before him and maintain eye contact while he watches you suck his thumb. "f-fuck." he groans, letting go of your lips, gripping onto your thighs while he strips his shirt, chain swishing like a hypnotic charm above you.

"you're so.." you pant, "this isn't real.." your heavy lidded, watching him go down to kiss you, leaving a hickey on your neck before kissing downwards, ripping off your top and unbuckling your bra with one hand. "yeah, sure baby.. this isn't real."

he sinks down to lick your nipple before sucking on them, hands trailing to hold the line of your back upward to his mouth, pulling you up to him while he looks you into the eyes, moaning. "fuck.. you love it don't you.." giving love to both of your breasts, rubbing intimate circles on the small of your back while you thighs quiver. "jakey.. please?"

"jakey?" he mocks, letting go of your breasts. "f-fuck." he looks up into the ceiling, like groping and touching and licking you was a portion of himself holding back. he's so hard and tense he exhales so loud before looking down at you. splayed out on your cute small bed, some hairs stuck on your cheek while your lips stay open and plump, perky tits out and pink while your skirt thats rode up to your hips show your cute panties soaked in sin. the way his breaths slow and speed up, was a curiosity you know you've encountered before. in the back of your mind, his voice replays, matching the sound of that one phone call in the middle of the night- where he claimed he was stressed.

he wasn't stressed. you learnt, he was..

he continues on his way down, exploring your body like a map he's already uncovered in his mind, smile so tight you can't help but moan his name when his lips graze your lower tummy; quietly resting at your waistband.

"pretty.. smells good. i know it tastes so fucking good.." he hooks his finger through the thin band, lifting it up just to see your folds glisten in the dim light. translucent thick sticky strings cling onto the fabric and web between your folds like bridges waiting to be broken.

you whimper at the way he blows cool air to see your thighs tense and shake, slick oozing out from the tight folds while his cock rubs against his denim, hurting under his fly. "all this for me?" he cooes, going down to kiss your needy lips again. and you nod furiously, begging, shameless, messy. "please.. please." you beg, salivating at the thought of him going down on you.

he uses his fingers to spread your cute pussy lips open, splitting them to see your throbbing clit hide behind the slicky foam. he licks his lips before going straight for your core, sliding off your panties and shoving them into his pocket. too hazy to notice, you moan so loud it makes him shudder at the power he has over you. he's lapping at your clit like he was born to do this, tongue circling and softly flicking while his nose occasionally bumps upward, nestling in between the top of your folds, bubbling the slick and saliva he's combined. his eyelids are resting heavy, looking at your parted mouth and red cheeks, tits bouncing when you grind against his mouth when he purposely goes slow.

he then sinks a finger or two while he makes out with your pussy. you yelp, begging him to be slow while sloshy sounds and wet slapping makes him moan against your core. "sorry baby, but you begged for this." he groans, gripping your thighs while he pushes up into your heat. his fingers slip out, making you feel empty. he then grabs your waist, making you prop yourself ontop of him while his lips act like your personal chair.

"fucking sit and grind on me." he begs, pressing your thighs flush against his lips to let you know it's safe to press onto him. in the meantime, he unzips his pants, cock springing free and leaking. you can't see it, but you can hear it. the fapping of his hand lapping against his cock, masturbating to the feeling of your sweet, sweet pussy against your lips. he can't even speak, just moaning, neck glazed with glistening sweat and liquids while he knits his brows, matching your pace with his cock. "'m gonna cum! jakey!" you cry, tears spilling at how sensitive you feel, being touched for the first time in so long, and it being like this? like a dream so out of reach you've never believed you could touch and fuck?

he nods under you, tongue pressing into your hole as you continue to clench your thighs around his pretty face. his hand strokes his cock faster while you stutter, and you feel it. "fuck! f-fuck fuck!" you cry, breaking down in stuttering moans while his gutteral voice vibrates against your swollen clit. the climax shot signals to both of your spines, thumping your hearts. jake hasn't come yet, he's been edging himself so in the final moment of your climax, he flips you over. you're flipped onto your back, and he presses your cock against your sticky skirt kneeling over you with his hard abs and wet face. "gonna cum all over you. yeah?" he bites his lip as you chase your high. you look down and see his cock. big. girthy, slightly veiny compared to his hands and swollen, hardening with every stroke until he uses his other hand to open your jaw.

"y/n. fuck, baby-" his breath hitches and you see his tip paint your body. your lips part, tongue out to catch the first few spurts while your tits and pussy catch the rest. he heaves, panting, cock spazzing while it milks the rest of your thighs, dripping while hard- still.

"beautiful." he breathes, tears brimming in his eyes from the taste and feel of you numbing into his skin like pins and needles. "fuck.."

you're sensitive and hot, sweat clinging onto your linen sheets while jake wets a cloth to clean you. he first watches you taste his cum- shivering at the sight, cock aching and hard again. you beg for a second time-

╭──────────.★..─╮. ╭──────────.★..─╮

ping! ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯ ╰─..★.──────────╯

round two never happens.

you're half underneath hims, his breath already unsteady from his phone calling. yours too under the pile of things cluttered when he threw it across the room. his mouth goes down onto your jaw, again, slow- like he's deliberatley ignoring the world outside your room. you try to get up but jake catches your wrist easily, pinning it above your head with one hand. "leave it," he murmurs against your skin. you swallow hard. "it's sunoo-" "i know," jake whispers, and something in his tone makes your stomach flip. when jay calls twice, you feel the shift in his body immediately. tensions, annoyance, restraint pulling tight under your skin. his eyes flick to the screen on your bedside table, then back to you.

you're both breathless, eyes glued to each other, magnetised- deaf, not hearing the messages you both were relaying to eachother while rubbing your erotic skin together. jake slides off the bed, kissing your wrist. "we'll finish this later." the promise is so certain, so solid, that your entire body answers to it. he clenches his fist, picking up his shirt. you scoot up but he stops you. dropping his shirt. he's carefully cleaning the rest of you, kissing and inhaling your scent and skin while he opens your drawer to place you in an oversized shirt- which is weird, you didn't even know how he managed to find it.

you kiss him, and he lets you, shoulders relaxing the moment you help him put his shirt back on. the look of regret pools in his stomach when he stands to leave, pocket still bulging with your forgotten lingerie.

you lie back onto your bed, dazed. adrenaline humming under your skin. trying to breathe normally as your phone vibrates again and again in your hand.

the next day is worse.

you barely make it class without thinking about his hands, his breath, his words, the look in his eyes when everything was cut short. you sit down at your desk before he arrives, hair neat, jeans clean, hoodie folded on your lap. you try to get your face under control, trying not to look obvious. he walks in- and your composure comes crashing down, pulse spiking.

but he doesn't look at you right away, and that's somehow even worse. he doesn't even sit next to you.

that makes things last night hang off the cliff. your heart races, messages left on read. your eyes pretending to be glossy from yawning. you want to cry. disappear. you risked it all to get where you're at. was it really.. all a fucking lie?

i want him.

a whole half hour into class, you're gathering your notes. you decide to leave early, not seeing the way jake slows down his writting, glasses lowering down, piercing his eyes into your back when you abruptly leave the lab. he grips the edge of his table, biting the insides of his cheek when he makes eye contact with you through the lab's window before you're gone. he then darkly smiles.

you pace down the hallway, until someone grazes your elbow, pulling you back into a segregated corridor. jay.

he looks tired, tense. like he didn't sleep either.

"y/n," he mutters, glancing over his shoulder like he's making sure no one's watching. "come here, please..just-" he clears his throat, softer. "just two seconds please."

you hesitate before following him into a small side hallway. he's running a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning to face you.

"you don't know him." jay states, quietly. eyes shaking. you blink. "i do-"

"no," he snaps, lowering his voice. "you don't."

you stare at him, unsettled. bag clinking against the empty corridor. "jay.. what-" "he's not what he pretends to be," he adds.

"jake's... he's.. obsessive. paranoid," he grabs your wrist to go inwards into the depth of the corridor, bringing you to the window that over looks the campus grounds. you two spot his jacket from afar. his glasses off, bag on his shoulder, eyes darting across the crowd around him in hopes he can see you by referencing your location from the bunny keychain.

jay clicks his tongue looking at him, jaw tightening. "that whole, golden-boy, friendly sweet image?" he looks back at you, staring back down at jake standing in the crowd. "what about it?"

"he bought it," he grabs your shoulders. "literally. bought it."

"the tutors. the scouts. the coach. the parties. the friends. the dorm. the prescription. the market. the image. his family- fuck," he stammers, "you don't know how far he's gone to-"

"jay, stop." you push his hand away, "no y/n, think about this." he gets louder.

"what kind of sophomore shows up into the term unannounced? and suddenly he just fits in? schedules perfectly aligned, my roommate kicked out for no reason. jake wasn't even like this when he moved in! a-and don't get me started on his room-" his head jerks suddenly, and your breath hitches when you follow his gaze.

jake. staring back up at you from the ground, through the tinted glass. expression unreadable.

"shit." he mutters, "seriously, y/n.. he's some.. sort of creep. and i know you like him but -just seriously stay away. please."

you gulp, taking in everything jay has just said to you. flashing back to the car ride where jake felt uneasy by the way jay approached you.

"sorry.. jay," you pause.

"but am i.. supposed to be scared..?" you smile, laughing.

he stares at you like the hallway suddenly tilted sideways. “what?” you laugh again. not loudly. not hysterically. just a soft, breathy laugh that makes his blood run cold, because it isn’t nervous.

it’s aware.

you lean back against the wall, eyes drifting toward the window where jake is no longer to be seen. you inhale, before meeting jay’s again.

“you think you’re warning me,” you murmur, smiling faintly. “but you don’t understand.”

jay steps back instinctively.

“understand what?” you shrug lightly, like you’re commenting on the weather. "i don't.. care." jay’s voice shakes. “y/n… please don’t tell me you like this.”

you glance at your bunny keychain, the memory of last night burning behind your eyes, the slick, the confessions, the way he said your name when you finally gave into him. you look at jay again.

“i don’t like it,” you correct him softly. you push past him, your fingers brushing his shoulder. “i love it.”

jay goes completely still. watching you walk away, down the corridor and out of his sight. he turns back around and sees him of course. his pulse deadly calm, expression unreadable like it always turned out to be. fake.

jake. he doesn't say a word. he just walks forward, quiet, composed, terrifyingly controlled. he grabs jay by the front of his shirt and shoves him into the nearest storage closet so fast. the door slams.

"told you to keep your mouth shut."

jay's voice cracks. "she deserves to know-" "say one more word," jake murmurs.

"and there won't be a next semester for you. do you understand me?"

silence. thick. dangerous. jay nods.

jake lets go of jay's jacket. walking back out the hallway, smoothing his hoodie like nothing happened. his smile turns soft, leaving jay to fend for himself, while he checks your location.

it’s not silence exactly. it’s something more deliberate. controlled. like he’s letting the absence do the talking for him. after last nigh- after being interrupted. after the way he left you wanting, shaking, thinking about him even when you tried not to- the quiet almost feels like a punishment.

you check your phone between classes. between conversations. between breaths.

nothing.

the longer it goes on, the more your mind spirals. maybe he regretted it. maybe it really was just the heat of the moment. maybe jay was right. maybe you should never-

your phone vibrates.

╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

his dorm is spotless when you enter.

too spotless.

like someone with money and secrets cleaned it all in a panic. his textbooks are neatly arranged, clothes hidden, every incriminating trace of his obsession tucked out of sight. for the first time, his room looks normal. boring, even. but you’re too distracted by him to question it.

he kisses you before the door even clicks shut. his hands find your waist, your neck, your hips, guiding you backward toward the bed like he’s been replaying this moment since last night- because he has. you climb onto his lap without thinking. chair smacking against his desk in a hurry. he smiles, leaning his head back when his hands grab your thighs, pulling you closer. “god,” he breathes against your mouth, “you really couldn’t wait, could you?”

you want to deny it. you can’t.

his laptop is open behind him on his desk, screen dimmed but not closed. something flickers in the corner of your eye as you move, but your breath stutters too hard to look properly. you grind on him, tits perked up, pussy salivating and drooling on his sweatpants. he's feeling you up like there's no tomorow.

you start moving against him slower, steadier, matching the rhythm he sets with his hands on your hips. jake’s head tilts back for a moment, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as he watches you. then your gaze drifts behind him. to the laptop that bumps awake after the chair had knocked into it.

the screen wakes. and you freeze. because staring back at you,

is your room. your bed. your desk. from an angle you’ve never seen.

your breath breaks.

jake notices instantly, his hand slides up your spine, pulling you closer, eyes blown, forcing yours to look back at his. "don't stop." he murmurs, hands gripping your waist. you can't speak, feeling his cock tent up under you. "wha- what is that?" he groans, slamming the laptop shut while he carries you to his bed. "sorry baby, y'weren't suppose"d to see that yet." he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. "yet?"

jake smiles, slow, dangerous. you bite your lip. "keep going and i'll tell you everything."

your cheeks burn, grinding on his briefs against the headboard. but you don't ever plan on stopping- not now that he’s unraveling in a way you’ve only imagined in your most unhinged moments. his hand slides into your hair, not forcing, not guiding. just holding. "you'd suck my cock, right baby?" he pleas, without a second thought you move.

your knees hit the mattress before you even realize you’ve sunk down, your breath warm against his skin, your hands pushing his hoodie up, your mouth and blushed cheeks brushing him through the fabric just enough to make his entire spine pull taut. jake’s head drops back with a sound you’ve never heard from him before- not a groan, not a sigh, something deeper, cracked open from morning he held himself together around you. he looks down at you like he’s seeing a prayer answered. and you softly pull down his briefs to free his length, slapping back at you. "fuck.." you swear, hands reaching out to stroke his cock with two hands, kitten licking his tip where the precum stains your chin. his hands cuff your soft hair, massagine your scalp while you gradually warm your mouth by sucking lower and lower. he groans, moaning at the sight of you. "deeper, sweetheart. i know you can take me."

he encourages by pushing you down, and eventually he gives up and making you gag on his shaft. he keeps you there despite your throat constricting and your whines escaping. your knees buckle and feet curl feeling his tip tickle the back of your throat, restricing your airways in a way that produces more saliva at the base of his dick, foaming at his balls. he bites his lip, jerking up to hear you gag while tears form at the outer corner of your eyes, bringing the prettiest shade of pink to your cheeks. he yanks your hair up, pulling you off his dick thats raining saliva, spluttering across his thighs and down your pretty dress. "you did so fucking good, sweetheart.." he praises you, "think you could suck me some more?"

you take him in again, this time, his hands interlocked with yours while he watches you in psychotic obsession, smiling at you bobbing up and down so messily. "of all the things i pictured.. you like this is always the clearest. my beautiful y/n." he lolls back, hips stuttering while he pumps up into you- unable to resist the feeling of fucking your mouth. then he feels it, the difference in grip, your hand twists the base while your mouth sucks the tip, tongue swirling around while precum leaks and leaks down your fingers. jake's eyebrows twist upwards. "f-fuck!" he groans, "fuck sweet- i'm gonna cum!" he pushes you down even more, and you let him, feeling his hot thick cum water your throat. "s-shit.." he moans, "say ahh." he pulls you up gently, making you sit on his cock with your dress still on, your pussy rubbing against his length. you open your mouth and he grabs your jaw with force to examine it. he hums in satisfaction.

"good girl."

he mouth crashes back into you, all heat and teeth and the kind of hunger that makes thought impossible. your thighs tighten around him instinctively and the sound he makes against your lips breaks something within you. "fuck! jakey."

the call of his name makes his cock twitch, and he kisses as a reply. your hands trail down, lifting off your dress to reveal the marks he left last night. jake traces over them, shuddering. "fuck.. i've prayed for days like this."

"jakey.. please fuck me.." you whimper against his chest. he lets out a laugh. deep, gutteral, manic. you watch his face shift. dark. it makes sense as to why jay warned you. but piecing the fact that you've been seen this entire time? only you? only.. just for you?

"fuck me!" you beg, moaning into his ear until he nods frantically.

he lines you up with a slowness that is almost cruel, his forehead resting against yours, breathing you in like he’s steadying himself.

“the moment this cock goes into you, you will never get off of it.” he murmurs. not a question, a confirmation of something he already knows. you nod, barely, but it’s enough.

the moment he pushes into you, everything stops.

your breath, his breath, the air between you, it all folds in on itself. your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails dragging along the tense lines of muscle as your mouth parts in a sound you didn’t mean to let out. jake curses under his breath, low and bitten-off, his grip on your hips tightening like he’s fighting the instinct to pull you down all at once. “god,” he breathes, voice shaking. “made for me. fucking made for me."

"tight ass fuckin' pussy. i knew you're only good for me." he laughs, smacking your clit while you moan in desperation.

you cling to him, dizzy, nails curling at the back of his neck. he kisses your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, everywhere but your lips like he wants to take his time now that he finally has you exactly where he wanted. you shift, wincing at his bulging cock outline itself on the outside, and you whimper, the ecstasy of his tip rubbing against that gummy spot like it belonged. "so big-" you whimper, "s-so good.. fuck! baby-"

baby? he grins.

“look at me,” he orders you, and when you do, the expression on his face nearly undoes you. raw. unfiltered. obsessed.

“do you know,” he says, barely above a whisper- thrusting slow deep and rough strokes that make your slick fly across the wall- “how long i’ve been waiting to be inside you?” your breath catches hard, your body instinctively tightening around him. his pupils blow wide. "don't kn-ow jake-" "use your words, baby. use your brain. when did you meet me? c'mon i know you know baby." he's mocking your cute mewls and tones while he turns you to your back and fucks you relentlessly

“months?” he smiles, voice breaking on the word, not even breaking a sweat while his cock rams deep into you. "s-slow down!" you plead as his thick vein rubs against your clit. "no, you fucking slut." he spits, spitting onto your tits and mouth, fucking you louder that all the monitors wake despite being metres away from the bed. the bed is creaking hard, and with every thrust your moans multiply. he slaps your cute face, groping your tits like he needs to. “no baby i’ve been losing my mind over you for years.”

"and then opportunity presents itself to me. yes- making you mine." his hips move just slightly to snap rough flicks into your spot, enough to make you whine incoherent sounds and roll your eyes back "haah!" you pant. "professors don't fucking work overtime. i do." he refers back to the excel, then to your bunny keychain, reminded you of your habits with the way he presses his thumb into your thighs while all you have to do is spread your legs and take it. you try to hide, he doesn’t let you.

he grips your chin, tilting your face back to him.

“don’t hide,” he murmurs. “you wanted this. you begged for me last night. begged again today like my girl, and now that i finally have you?”

his mouth brushes yours, soft, reverent. biting it as he smacks your ass, speeding up.

“i’m not letting you look away.”

your breath trembles. you feel too full, too seen, too wanted in a way that teeters between intoxicating and terrifying. "s-full!" you whine, and he turns you around to be on your knees, facing you towards the array of his monitors, each with a cam that's got your wardrobe, and videos of last night repeated over and over. he pulls you closer, chest pressed to yours so tightly you can feel his heartbeat slamming against your ribs.

"you like it when i overstimulate you, don't you?"

"you love it when guys grope you when you're acting dumb, don't you?"

"you came to my voice on the phone, you love that shit hm? don't you?"

“you have no idea,” he whispers, lips dragging along from your neck to the shell of your ear, “how long i’ve been imagining this. how much i've spent. getting you.

and the truth is:

neither of you are pretending anymore.

"look at yourself." then he faces you towards the mirror hanging off his closet. "look how good you look when you're fucked by me." he then leans down mid thrust, throbbing inside of you. "if i see you near another man again i will fuck you so hard you won't be able to see anyone."

the sloshing of his dick against your pussy is becoming a constant sound. you can tell his roommates were finally home- meaning jay too. it's probably why he's fucking you meaner, pushing you against the doorframe as you poke your tongue out for his camera. you're feeding into his obsession- all knowing because you're also into it. disgusting. messy. nothing like how you are perceived. but in jake's room where his sinful flaw is power? you both fuck eachother like rabbits. making sure every imprint of your slick and come has touched his setup and sheets.

"stay with me, sweetheart." he groans into your ears and you slowly go in and out, dummified by his cock squelching sounds inside of you. you can't help but get wetter when he changes positions, picking you up easily and freely as he wants- fucking you over his desk, sucking your clit and then raising your legs to fuck you over his vanity. hell, he even pushed you outside in the night and fucked you over his balcony railing while he had his hand over your neck so you wouldn't make a sound.

he made sure jungwon could hear. he made sure jay knew. he made sure that you knew it the most;

how in love he is with you. ever since you walked past him one night at a club, hips swaying like it foretold his future.

"jakey.. 'mm love you!" you cry out, dry tears making your hair cling onto your face like sweat, tits all red while your ass is plumply spanked, red and captured by his cameras.

he swears under his breath, forehead pressing to yours, muscles tightening beneath your hands. the way he holds you suddenly shifts — not rougher, but deeper, his body curling around yours like instinct, like he’s trying to fuse himself into you.

“fuck! y/n-” his voice cracks, low and raw, “i’m right there, i'm gonna cum! don’t move, don’t-”

your fingers dig into his shoulders and that’s when he completely unravels. "i fucking love you." he grows, gutteral and mean. your hips shake and your pussy to lets go, squirting down his abs while he yells. praising you and slapping his fingers down your tongue while you cum on his cock.

his breath leaves him in a shaky rush, his entire body pulling tight, burying his face in your neck like he can’t bear to be anywhere else in the world but inside this moment with you. the sound he makes; muffled, broken, helpless- whimpering, is something you’ll never forget.

he holds you through all of it. tight. like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip even for a heartbeat. "no one can do this to you but me baby, you hear me?" he gropes your sides to hard it bruises. you yelp and moan in reply.

cooling off, he stays inside your pussy, throbbing and slowly pushing in and out while , breathing hard, refusing to pull away. one of his hands slides up your back, almost trembling, and you feel his lips brush your shoulder in something close to reverence.

“did so well baby, i fucking love you." he bites your ear, hands reaching up to cover your body with his wet blanket.

you open your mouth but he cuts you off with a kiss- slow, deep, completely different from the frenzy before. cum leaks out for the second time. "baby, the only thing i don't know about you is your stamina." he deeply mutters into your ear.

"i don't know that one either." you pout, he licks his lips. "yeah?"

"let's test how much cum my sweetheart's pussy can take." he spits on you. the night drags into your body being squeezed and used, just like how you wanted it to be.

the room is unbelievably quiet after.

not empty, just quiet in the way the world gets right after something breaks open. the air feels warm and heavy against your skin, your heartbeat still echoing in your ears. you are still in his lap, still holding on to him, still trying to breathe through the aftershocks running through your body. his chest rises and falls under your palms, steadying itself slowly, and the warmth of him seeps into you until it is the only thing you can feel.

jake does not let go of you. one of his hands stays in your hair, gentle now, almost tender. the other rubs your back in slow circles that make your eyes flutter shut. his forehead rests against your cheek and his breath hits your skin in soft, uneven waves. he tries to speak but stops once, gathering himself, grounding himself in the weight of your body pressed to his.

then quietly, he asks, “you okay?”

you almost laugh at the absurdity of the question. you feel more than okay. you feel like you have been taken apart and put back together in a way that makes too much sense. but you only nod, fingers curling against the back of his neck as if to confirm it for both of you.

he exhales with something that sounds like relief. real relief. the kind he has never shown anyone else.

for a long moment neither of you move. you stay chest to chest, breathing each other in, letting the room settle around you. you can feel his pulse in his throat. you can feel his hands loosen just slightly as his body relaxes for the first time since you stepped through his door. he looks like someone who finally got what he has been starving for.

eventually he lifts his head enough to look at you. the expression on his face is raw and unguarded. it is not the version of jake everyone else knows, the calm golden boy persona, the soft smiles, the easy charm. this is the real version. the one who wanted you long before he said a word about it. the one who let his obsession run until it turned into action.

“you are not going anywhere tonight,” he says quietly.

it is not a command. it is simply a truth.

you look at him and feel something inside you tighten. “i was not planning to.”

slowly, his mouth curves. the satisfaction hits his eyes before it hits his smile. he cups your jaw with both hands and pulls you into a kiss that is slow and deep and full of possession without force. it is a kiss that feels final. like a seal.

“good,” he whispers against your lips.

he pulls you even closer, tucking your body fully against his. the warmth of him wraps around you and you sink into it like it is the first safe place you have ever known. he kisses your shoulder once, then your cheek, then rests his head at the crook of your neck.

“i am done pretending,” he says softly. “you are mine.”

your breath catches as your fingers slide into his hair. there is no fear in your chest. only, devotion.

“i've been yours.” you whisper back.

his entire body reacts. he closes his eyes like the words strike something deep and final inside him. when he opens them again, all you see is certainty. he hooks an arm under your thighs and pulls the blanket over both of you without breaking the hold he has on your waist. you settle against him easily, naturally, like you have been fitting into this space for longer than you realized.

the laptop screen behind him dims at last. the camera feeds fade away. jake does not turn around to check them again. he does not need to.

you are already here. engulfing in his sin while your pussy burries the last bit of his cum inside.

your breathing steadies against his chest, your fingers still tangled in his hoodie, and his arm tightens around you one last time before he finally lets himself relax. this is exactly where he wanted you. and the quiet that settles over the room is not the aftermath of chaos.

it is the beginning of something that feels disturbingly safe for both of you.

╭──────────.★..─╮

ping!

‎ ╰─..★.──────────╯

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h64<3 | always down for your constrcoskdtkove criticism on this one, it helped me take a lot of stress out writing this in my down time- so really appreciate if you say things that could help me be a better writer <3 fart

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tags:

The sun beat down on the driveway, turning the concrete into a shimmering mirage. You squeezed the sponge, the soapy water running in rivulets down your arm and dripping from your elbow to the hot ground with a soft hiss. You were bent at the waist, ostensibly scrubbing the rear passenger door of your parents’ sensible sedan, but your focus was laser-sharp on the property line to your left. The fence was low, just chest-height, designed for neighborly chats.

You’d chosen the outfit with a precision even a military strategist would admire: faded denim booty shorts that hugged every curve, showed an indecent amount of thigh, and rode up with any movement, and a thin, white cotton tank top that you definitely hadn’t doused with the hose on purpose. It clung to you now, transparent in patches, the peaks of your nipples visible even through your bra. You’d seen Jay’s black Rolls-Royce pull into his driveway twenty minutes ago. The timing was perfect.

Just be casual. You’re just washing the car. Just being a super helpful daughter.

You heard his door open and shut. Your heart hammered against your ribs. You didn’t turn. You just bent over further, reaching for the hubcap, knowing the position showcased the full length of your legs and the round swell of your ass.

“Well, well, look who it is.”

His voice, deeper and more resonant than you remembered, sent a bolt of arousal straight through you. You straightened up slowly, turning with the sponge in your hand, forcing a smile you hoped looked surprised and not predatory.

“Jay! Hi. Yeah, just… you know. Earning my keep.” You gestured vaguely with the sponge, sending a droplet flying. It landed on your thigh and traced a slow, tantalizing path down your skin. Much to your dismay, his gaze remained trained on you.

Park Jongseong hadn’t changed much in four years. If anything, time had been kind, sanding away any softness and leaving behind sharper, more defined angles. His black hair was neatly styled, his jaw clean-shaven. He wore dark trousers and a crisp, light blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms dusted with fine dark hair and corded with tendon. He looked like what he was: a successful salaryman in his mid-thirties. And he looked at you with a polite kind of curiosity that made you feel like you were seventeen with braces and a huge crush on him all over again.

“I heard you were back. Congratulations on graduating, kiddo.”

Kiddo. The word was a bucket of ice water. You felt your smile tighten. “Thanks. It’s…um. It’s good to be back. For the summer, anyway.”

“Only for the summer?” he asked. “What’s the plan? Back to the city after that?”

“Yeah,” you said, a little too eager to make conversation with him. “That’s the goal, at least. I want to move back once I find something. But the job market is, like, super rough. Everyone wants at least three years of experience for an entry-level position.”

He hummed, thoughtful. “That hasn’t changed.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Apparently not.” You stared down at your feet, suddenly self-conscious. “So, um. Yeah. This is just me trying to save a little money, I guess.”

“Mm, that’s smart. Get your bearings before you conquer the world.” He leaned against his car, crossing his arms. The motion pulled his shirt taut across his chest. “Your parents must be thrilled to have you home again.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you joked lightly, squeezing the sponge again. “I think they forgot how much laundry one adult child can go through.”

He chuckled, brief and polite. “That checks out.”

There was a pause. The sun pressed down, cicadas buzzing somewhere in the trees, and suddenly you were acutely aware of how close he was standing, of how small the space felt between the fence and the car.

“Actually,” you said, glancing down at the suds collecting at your feet, then back up at him, “my mom mentioned something yesterday. About you. About… um. Next door.”

His brows lifted slightly. “She did?”

“Yeah. She said you’d been on your own for a while.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I didn’t… realize things had changed.”

He blinked, then understanding dawned. “Ah. The divorce.” He said it so casually, as if commenting on the weather. “Yeah, three years now. Your parents didn’t mention it before? Huh. Well, no hard feelings. We were young. Jumped into things too early, maybe. It was amicable.”

He delivered the information in a factual, unemotional way. You searched his face for any hint of pain, regret, anything that would make him seem more vulnerable, more reachable—but there was nothing but a mild, pleasant detachment.

“Oh,” you managed, your voice smaller than you wanted. “I’m… sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.” He waved a hand, dismissing your concern along with his past marriage. “It’s life. We’re both fine. So, what was your degree in?”

The conversation was so normal, so utterly mundane, it was maddening. He was talking to you like you were the neighbor’s kid who’d gone off to camp and come back a little taller. The tank top might as well have been a potato sack. The shorts might as well have been snow pants. You answered his questions about your major, your vague career plans, all while your skin burned under the sun.

“Well, I should let you get back to it,” he said, pushing off his car. “Don’t want your dad thinking I’m distracting his little girl from her work.”

There it was again. Little girl. You wanted to scream. Instead, you squeezed the sponge so hard soap suds oozed between your fingers. “Yeah. Sure. Nice to see you, Jay.”

“You too, kiddo. Welcome back.”

He gave you a final, easy smile and turned, walking into his house without a backward glance. You stood there, dripping and furious, a knot of frustrated desire tightening low in your belly. The hope you’d sworn you wouldn’t entertain was now a live wire, sparking and dangerous. He was single. He was right there. And he still saw you as a child.

That night, lying in your childhood bed, the same bed where you’d spent countless nights five years ago fantasizing about your handsome new neighbor, the frustration metamorphosed into a raw, aching need. The memory of his rolled-up sleeves, the deep timbre of his voice. Your hand slid under the waistband of your sleep shorts. The cotton was soft, but your skin was softer, hotter. You imagined it was his hand, calloused and sure from work, not your own trembling fingers. You traced circles low on your stomach, then dipped lower, through the neat patch of hair. You were already wet, the slick evidence of your own pathetic longing. You let out a shaky breath, biting your lip to stay quiet as your parents’ soft snoring echoed down the hall.

You thought of him leaning against the car. You imagined him walking over, his polite smile fading into something darker. You pictured him taking the sponge from your hand, his fingers brushing yours. “You missed a spot,” he’d say, his voice dropping to a whisper. His hand, wet and soapy, would slide up your inner thigh, under the shorts…

Two fingers slid inside yourself, and you gasped, arching your back off the mattress. The fantasy crystallized. It was his fingers, thick and probing, curling inside you. It was his thumb rubbing tight, insistent circles against your clit. You moved your hand, setting a rhythm, your hips rising off the bed to meet your own touch. The images came faster, more vivid: his mouth on your neck, his body pressing you against the cool metal of the car, his belt buckle digging into your stomach…

Pleasure coiled, tight and urgent. You pressed the heel of your hand harder against yourself, your breaths coming in short, sharp pants. Jay. Jay. Jay. The name was a silent mantra on your lips as the climax ripped through you, a wave of release that was immediately followed by a crushing wave of emptiness. You lay there, spent and slick, the fantasy evaporating and leaving behind the stark reality of your quiet room. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. You needed him to see you. To want you.

The seduction campaign began in earnest the next day. Operation Seduce-Jay was a go.

You took your yoga mat to the most visible part of the backyard, right where the morning sun hit and where the sightlines from his kitchen window were unobstructed. You wore a sports bra and leggings so tight they felt like a second skin. You moved through your sun salutations with exaggerated grace, bending and stretching, holding downward dog for what felt like hours, knowing the position made the leggings strain across your ass. You saw his silhouette at the window once, just a dark shape, but he didn’t come out, and you finished your session vibrating with frustration, your body buzzing with unused energy.

A few days later, you “accidentally” locked yourself out. You walked to his door in just a short sundress and—you hoped—an innocent smile. “Jay, hi! So sorry to bother you. I was gardening and the door slammed shut… do you have the spare key my mom gave you?”

He opened the door, already dressed for work. His eyes did a quick, automatic scan down your body. The dress fell mid-thigh. Your legs were bare. For a glorious second, you saw something flicker in his dark eyes—a pause, a hesitation. Then it was gone, buried under a layer of neighborly concern.

“Of course, Y/N, come in.” He stepped aside, ushering you into a house that was impeccably clean and minimalist. He fetched the key from a hook by the door. “Here you go. Tell your mom her begonias are lookin’ great.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking the key, your fingers brushing his. A jolt. Did he feel it? His expression didn’t change. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Any time.” He opened the door for you, the perfect gentleman. “Stay out of trouble.”

You baked chocolate chip cookies and brought them over, offering them with a story about practicing domestic skills. He accepted the plate with a grateful smile, called you ‘sweet’, and closed the door. You washed your car again, this time in a bikini top and cut-off jeans. He waved from his lawnmower, shouted, “Don’t forget the sunscreen!” and kept mowing.

The more he treated you with this infuriating, benign kindness, the more it became an aphrodisiac of sorts. Your desire curdled into something desperate and hungry, and your nighttime and shower rituals became a twice-daily release valve for the pressure building inside you. In the shower, with the water beating down on your back, you’d lean against the cool tiles and imagine him joining you. You pictured his hands, slick with soap, sliding over your breasts, cupping them, his thumbs brushing your nipples until they were hard peaks. You imagined him turning you around, bending you over, his hands gripping your hips as he—

The fantasies were so vivid and visceral that you could almost feel the ghost of his touch, the phantom pressure of his body. You’d come with a muffled cry against your arm, the water drowning out the sound, your legs trembling. Afterwards, leaning against the wall, breathless, the frustration would return, redoubled. It was a feedback loop of your own making: his indifference stoked the fire, and only fantasies of him could temporarily quench it, which only made the real-life indifference more unbearable.

A week after the car wash incident, you saw him struggling with a large, flat-pack furniture box on his driveway. It was a bookshelf, teetering dangerously as he tried to maneuver it alone.

Opportunity.

You jogged over, putting a little extra swing in your hips. You’d just come from a run and were still in your tight running shorts and a sleeveless vest, your skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.

“Need a hand?” you asked, your voice bright.

He looked up, strain evident on his face. “Ah… it’s heavy, kiddo. I’ve got it.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m stronger than I look.” You didn’t wait for permission. You grabbed one end of the box, your fingers brushing his as you took the weight. The contact was electric. You saw his jaw tighten. “See? Lead the way.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Just to the living room. Slow and steady.”

Moving the box was an intimate, awkward dance. The space was confined, forcing you close. Your shoulder brushed his chest. Your hip bumped his thigh. With every shuffle-step, you were hyper-aware of the thin layers of fabric between your bodies.

“You’ve definitely gotten stronger,” he grunted, adjusting his grip. His forearm flexed next to your face.

“Told you,” you said, smiling up at him. You made sure to look him directly in the eyes, holding the gaze for a beat too long. “I’m not the scrawny high schooler you remember.”

He held your gaze, and for the first time, you saw a crack in his polite mask, a wariness. A reassessment. His eyes darted down to your lips, then back up, so fast you might have imagined it. But you knew you didn’t.

“No,” he said quietly, his voice a low rumble. “You’re not.”

It was the first acknowledgment, however small, that you were an adult. A woman. The words sent a thrill so intense it made your knees weak. You held onto the box for support.

You got the box into his living room and set it down with a collective groan. You were both breathing heavily. You straightened up, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand, letting your tank top ride up and expose a sliver of your stomach.

“Thanks,” he said, not looking at the box. He was looking at you. His gaze was different. It was no longer glancing; it was taking you in. The sweat on your collarbone, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the defined line of your waist where your shorts met your skin. The air in the room felt thick, charged.

“Any time,” you breathed. This was it. The moment. You took a half-step closer, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You saw his eyes darken. His hands, which had been hanging at his sides, flexed slightly.

Then, he blinked. He took a deliberate step back, breaking the spell. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that seemed suddenly nervous. “I, uh… guess I should let you get back to your run. Don’t want to keep you.”

The dismissal was gentle, but it was a dismissal all the same. The whiplash from the heat in his eyes to the retreat in his posture left you reeling. The hope that had surged moments ago curdled into something bitter and sharp.

“Right,” you said, the word clipped. “My run.”

You didn’t wait for another ‘kiddo’. You turned and walked out of his house, the screen door slapping shut behind you.

The final straw came a few days later. You’d spent the morning concocting the most obvious, shameless scheme yet. The forecast called for a heatwave. Your parents were out for the entire day at a family friend’s anniversary party. The backyard sprinkler system was on a timer.

You dug out the red bikini you’d bought for a college spring break trip and never worn. It was minimal, scandalous, all triangles of fabric and strings. You laid a large, colorful beach towel in the center of the lawn, directly in the splash zone of the oscillating sprinkler. You positioned a pitcher of iced tea and a romance novel with a particularly lurid cover within easy reach.

At precisely 2 PM, as the sun reached its peak, the sprinklers kicked on with a chk-chk-chk. A fine, cool mist filled the air, catching the light. You walked out, the grass tickling your bare feet. You could feel the heat of Jay’s gaze before you even saw him. He was on his back deck, reading the newspaper. You didn’t look at him. You just walked to your towel, lay down on your stomach, and untied the back of your bikini top.

The sensation of the sun on your bare back, the intermittent spray of cool water from the sprinkler, was incredible. But it was nothing compared to the thrill of knowing he could be watching. You could almost feel it, and you arched your back slightly, letting the strings of the top dangle loose. You reached for your iced tea, the movement making your muscles flex, and took a long, slow drink, letting a few drops trail down your chin and onto your chest.

You waited. One minute. Two. Five. The suspense was agony. You heard the rustle of his newspaper. A chair scraping. Was he coming over? Was he finally going to break?

Then, you heard his back door open and shut. Not the screen door to the yard. The solid, interior door.

He was going inside.

A rage, hot and humiliating, boiled up in you. You sat up abruptly, clutching the loose bikini top to your chest. You stared at his empty deck. That was it. You were done. You’d paraded yourself in front of him like a prize heifer at a county fair, and he’d just—just gone inside! To do what? Watch golf? Balance his checkbook?

The frustration of the entire summer coalesced into a single, white-hot point. The sexual tension, once a thrilling game, was now a torture device. You were horny, aching, and so unbelievably mad you could scream. You stomped back into the house, not even bothering to retie your bikini. You let the top fall away as you slammed the kitchen door behind you, storming through the silent, empty house towards your room, your skin still damp with sprinkler water and the humiliating heat of utter, complete rejection.

The weekend arrived, a blistering, stagnant Saturday that felt like a physical extension of your frustration. Your parents had left that morning for a two-day trip to the coast, their cheerful “be good!” echoing in the suddenly cavernous house. Their absence should have felt like freedom, an opportunity. Instead, it felt like a taunt. The silence of the house was a mockery of the silence from next door. Jay hadn’t so much as glanced your way since the sprinkler incident three days prior, and you were so wound up you felt like you might snap. The horniness was a physical ache, a persistent throb between your legs that no amount of your own desperate, furious touching could satisfy. The fantasies had become stale, pathetic echoes that only highlighted the absence of the real thing. You needed something, anything, to shatter the tension coiling inside you.

But then your phone lit up—

It was Yunjin.

yunjinnie ♡: going to the club 2nite!!! u in?

You stared at the message. A club. Loud music, dark corners, bodies moving without thought. It was the exact opposite of the quiet, calculated siege you’d been waging on your own street, and a reckless, wild idea took root.

If Jay wouldn’t see you as a woman, you’d find someone who would. You’d prove it to yourself. And maybe, in some twisted way, you’d prove it to him.

you: duh, you typed back, your fingers trembling slightly. pick me up at ten.

The Uber dropped you and your two friends in the pulsing heart of the city after 11 PM. The club was a thrumming beast of bass and neon. You’d dressed for vengeance: a little black dress so short it was barely legal, the neckline plunging, the fabric clinging to every curve you had. You’d spent an hour on your makeup, smoky eyes and a dark, glossy lip. You looked nothing like the girl next door—no, you looked like a woman who knew what she wanted.

And for a few hours, you almost convinced yourself you were her.

The music was deafening, the crowd a sweaty, undulating mass. You drank the fruity, too-strong cocktails at the bar. You danced, losing yourself in the rhythm, letting your hips sway, your head fall back. You caught the eyes of men across the room. You held their gazes, you smiled, you turned away. The power was a heady, temporary drug.

His name was Leo, or maybe Liam—you didn’t quite catch it over the roar of the speakers. He was tall, with artfully messy brown hair and a smile that was all straight, white teeth. He’d sidled up to you on the dance floor, his hands finding your hips, his body moving in time with yours. He was handsome. He was interested. His gaze didn’t skate over you with polite detachment—it devoured you, lingering on the swell of your breasts above the dress, the length of your thighs.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he shouted into your ear, his breath warm and smelling of vodka.

A thrill went through you, sharp and validating. See? you thought savagely, your mind flicking to a certain neat house with a dark window. Someone wants me.

You let him pull you closer. You let his hands slide from your hips to the small of your back, then lower, palming your ass over the thin fabric of your dress. You didn’t stop him. You arched into the touch, a silent permission. His eyes darkened, and he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Wanna get out of here?”

Your friends were lost in the crowd, paired off with their own conquests. The house was empty. The night was young. And you were so, so tired of being the one who waited, the one who hoped, the one who touched herself to the thought of a man who would never look her way.

Yes.

You nodded, the motion feeling both decisive and numb. You didn’t look back as you followed him through the crush of bodies, out into the relative quiet of the street. The humid night air hit your sweat-slicked skin, a shock after the club’s furnace. He hailed an Uber, his arm slung possessively around your shoulders.

The ride was a blur of streetlights and anticipation—he didn’t waste time. As soon as the car pulled away from the curb, his mouth was on yours. It was hungry, sloppy, all tongue and teeth and the too-sharp taste of his cologne. His hands were everywhere, cupping your face, dragging down your neck, groping your breast roughly through your dress. You kissed him back, forcing enthusiasm, trying to lose yourself in the physicality of it.

But your mind, traitorously, wouldn’t switch off. As his mouth moved to your neck, sucking hard enough to make you gasp, you thought, A hickey. Good. The mark would be there tomorrow, a purple-black brand just below your jaw. Let Jay see that. Let him see that someone wanted me enough to mark me. It was a petty, vicious thought, and it gave you a twisted sliver of satisfaction.

Leo—Liam—whoever—moaned against your skin, his hand hiking up your dress to squeeze your bare thigh. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he mumbled, his lips wet and roaming. “Can’t wait to get you into bed.”

You made a sound that was supposed to be agreement, but it got lost as the Uber pulled up to your dark, silent house. It was past 1 AM. The street was deserted, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of the old-fashioned streetlamps. The only light was the faint, blue flicker of a television behind the curtains of Jay’s living room window. He was still up.

Good, the vicious part of you thought again.

You fumbled with your keys at the front door, your fingers clumsy from alcohol and the relentless, distracting pressure of his body. He had you pinned against the wood, his hips grinding into your ass, his mouth working at that same spot on your neck, making the skin there feel swollen and tender. His breath was ragged in your ear.

“C’mon, baby, get it open,” he urged, his voice thick.

You finally slid the key into the lock. The click was loud in the quiet night. You pushed the door open, stumbling backward into the dark foyer, pulling him with you by his shirt collar. His hands were already on the thin straps of your dress, tugging them down your shoulders. The cool air of the house hit your overheated skin. You were a breath away from crossing a threshold, from making this pathetic rebellion real.

“Y/N? What the fuck are you doing?”

The voice sliced through the dim hallway, cold, hard, and utterly, terrifyingly familiar.

Your blood turned to ice. Your heart seemed to stop entirely, then slam against your ribcage like a trapped bird. You froze, your dress half-off one shoulder, Leo’s mouth still attached to your neck. You slowly, painfully, turned your head.

Jay stood in the arched doorway that led from the foyer to the living room. He wasn’t in pajamas. He wore dark sweatpants and a plain grey t-shirt that stretched across his chest, the sleeves tight around his biceps. He must’ve used the spare key. Your parents had probably told him to look after you, or something. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. His jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle leaping in his cheek. His dark eyes, usually so carefully neutral, blazed with an intensity that pinned you to the spot.

Leo—definitely Leo—jerked back from you, wiping his mouth. “Whoa, man, what’s your problem?”

Jay’s gaze didn’t even flicker towards him. It stayed locked on you, burning with a disgust that made your stomach plummet. “Get your hands off her,” he said, his voice low but carrying a vibration of threat that seemed to shake the walls. “Now.”

Leo, emboldened by alcohol and interrupted lust, puffed out his chest. “Hey, she invited me, alright? We’re just—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you were,” Jay cut him off, taking a single step forward. He wasn’t a large man in the bulky sense, but the sheer, controlled rage radiating from him made him seem to fill the entire space. His shoulders were set, his posture rigid. “You’re leaving. Get out.”

Leo blinked, the bravado starting to crack under the weight of Jay’s palpable anger. “Look, buddy, I don’t know who you think you are—”

“I’m the man telling you to get the hell off this property before I make you.” Jay’s tone was glacial, final. It wasn’t a shout. It was worse. It was a promise. “Go. Home.”

Something in Jay’s eyes, some flinty, dangerous certainty, got through Leo’s drunk haze. He looked from Jay’s furious face to your pale, shocked one. He held up his hands in a placating gesture, taking a stumbling step back towards the still-open front door. “Okay. Okay, Jesus. Sorry, man.” He shot you a quick, confused look, mouthing ‘call me’ before he vanished into the night.

The door swung shut with a soft, definitive click.

The silence that followed was absolute, and so much more oppressive than the noise of the club. You stood there, your dress askew, the hickey on your neck throbbing like a fresh wound. The adrenaline of the confrontation was ebbing, leaving behind a cold, creeping shame—and beneath it, a hot, searing anger. How dare he?

You finally found your voice, though it came out thin and shaky. “Why the hell did you do that?”

Jay turned his head slowly to look at you. The fury was still there, banked now but simmering just beneath the surface. “Y/N, that was so irresponsible.” He said your name like it was a curse. “Your parents not being home doesn’t mean you bring random guys you picked up at a club into your house. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

The chiding tone, the sheer, infuriating concern. All the weeks of being called ‘kiddo’, of being ignored in bikinis, of having your offers thrown back in your face with a polite smile. You’d had enough.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” you snapped. “And it’s none of your business!” You turned on your heel, the movement wobbly, and marched towards the kitchen, needing space, needing to get away from his judging eyes. You heard his footsteps behind you, quick and sure.

“I was just trying to look out for you, Y/N,” he said, following you into the dark kitchen. The only light came from the digital clock on the stove, casting the room in a faint green glow. “You don’t know what boys are like. You don’t know what they want from you—”

You whirled around, your back hitting the edge of the cold granite countertop. The impact jarred you, fueling your rage. “I know exactly what they’re like!” you shouted, the sound raw in the quiet house. “Jay, I’m not a kid anymore, for fuck’s sake! I know what he wanted from me, okay?” You took a heaving breath, the most humiliating, honest truth ripping out of you. “Is it so bad I wanted him to fuck me too? Huh?”

The words hung between you, filthy and stark in the dark.

Jay went very, very still. The anger on his face shifted, morphing into something more complex, more dangerous. He took a step closer, and then another, until he was standing right in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the clean, sober scent of him, so at odds with the club sweat and cheap cologne still clinging to your skin.

He scoffed, a low, derisive sound. “So you thought the best thing to do was find a boy at a fucking club and take him home with you?” His voice was a soft, deadly rasp. “That’s your solution?”

The condescension cracked the last of your restraint. You lifted your chin, meeting his blazing eyes head-on. “Yeah,” you shot back, your voice trembling with fury and something perilously close to tears. “So what? You weren’t gonna do it, were you?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you knew you’d crossed a line there was no coming back from.

Jay’s gaze dropped to your mouth, then to the lurid mark on your neck. A low, almost inaudible growl rumbled in his chest.

“You think that’s what this has been about?” he asked, his voice so quiet you had to strain to hear it. He took the final half-step, eliminating the last inch of space. His hands came up, not to touch you, but to plant themselves on the counter on either side of your hips, caging you in. Your body was flush against the cool granite, his torso just a breath away from yours. “You think I haven’t seen you?”

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t speak. You could only stare up at him, your heart hammering a frantic, terrified rhythm.

“I saw you,” he murmured, his head dipping so his lips were beside your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, raising goosebumps everywhere it touched. “In those fucking shorts, bent over that car. Dripping wet. I saw you on that yoga mat, every fucking stretch. I saw you in that bikini.” Each sentence was a soft, searing indictment. “I saw it all.”

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes again. His own were black pools in the dim light, devoid of any gentleness. “And you know what I did? I went inside. I closed the door. I took a cold shower. I read the goddamn financial section twice.” His jaw ticked. “Because you’re my neighbors’ daughter. Because you just graduated college. Because I’m supposed to be the responsible one. The adult.”

His words were a confession, but they were hurled at you like accusations. Every denial, every dismissal, recast as a brutal act of restraint.

“But you,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower, becoming a husky, intimate scrape against your nerve endings. “You didn’t make it easy, did you? Parading yourself around. Testing me.” His eyes flicked again to the hickey. A muscle in his neck corded. “And then you go and bring that home.”

He leaned in again, but this time, he didn’t speak near your ear. He brought his face to the side of your neck, right next to the mark that the other man had left. You felt the whisper-soft brush of his nose against your sensitive skin. It wasn’t a kiss. You shuddered violently, a whimper escaping your lips.

“Do you have any idea,” he breathed, the words vibrating against your throat, “how hard I’ve been holding back?”

The sound that left you was pure, undiluted need. All the fight drained out of you, replaced by a wave of such intense, shocking desire it left you weak. His large, warm body surrounded you, his heat seeping into your chilled skin, and you could feel the tension thrumming through him, a live wire of suppressed want that mirrored your own.

His nose traced a path from the hickey up to the hinge of your jaw. “You wanted some boy to fuck you?” he murmured, his lips so close they brushed your skin with every syllable. His voice was thick, laced with a possessiveness that made your knees buckle. “That’s what you were after? A quick, messy fuck?”

You couldn’t answer. You could only press yourself back against the counter, as if trying to escape the intensity of his proximity, but only succeeding in arching your chest closer to him.

He made another low sound. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.” One of his hands left the counter. He didn’t grab you. His fingers, warm and slightly rough, came up to lightly trace the line of your collarbone, exposed by your slipping dress strap. The touch was electric, a brand. “I’m not some college kid just looking to get his dick wet.”

His fingertips trailed down, over the swell of your breast, just above the neckline of your dress. You stopped breathing. Your nipples hardened into aching points, straining against the tight fabric.

“If I touch you,” he said, his voice now a dark, solemn vow in the dark, “it won’t be a game. It won’t be you trying to prove a point.” His hand slid around to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in the hair at your nape. It wasn’t a gentle hold. It was firm, anchoring. He forced your head back just a fraction, exposing your throat fully to him. “If I touch you, I’m going to ruin you for anyone else. Do you understand that, Y/N?”

His words should have scared you. They should have sent you running. Instead, you felt so desperate you thought you might die if he stepped away now. You managed a tiny, jerky nod, your eyes wide and fixed on his shadowed face.

He searched your eyes for a long, agonizing moment. Looking for hesitation. For fear. But he must have only found the same wild, reckless hunger that was tearing him apart, because with a groan that seemed ripped from the core of him, he finally gave in.

His mouth crashed down on yours.

It was nothing like the sloppy, impatient kiss in the Uber. This was a conquest, hard, hungry, and devastatingly skilled. His lips moved over yours with a ferocious certainty, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. The hand at your nape held you steady, while his other arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you flush against him. The feel of his hard, muscular body against yours, the proof of his arousal pressing insistently against your belly through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, made you moan into his mouth.

He swallowed the sound, kissing you deeper, his tongue tangling with yours in a fierce, silent battle. It was all heat and pressure and the faint, tantalizing scrape of his teeth. He kissed you like he was starving, like he was trying to drink you in, to consume the weeks of frustration and denial in a single, searing act. Your hands, which had been limp at your sides, flew up to clutch at the solid planes of his back, your fingers digging into the muscle beneath his t-shirt.

He broke the kiss as suddenly as he’d started it, both of you gasping for air. His forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in ragged gusts against your lips. His eyes were closed, his features taut with strain. Then his mouth was on your neck again, but this time, it was on the unmarked side. His lips were hot and seeking, his tongue tasting your skin. Then his teeth scraped lightly over your pulse point, and you cried out, your head falling back against the cupboard behind you.

“This,” he growled against your skin, his breath scalding. “This is mine.” He sucked hard, a sharp, deliberate pain that melted instantly into a pooling, liquid heat between your legs. You knew he was leaving his own mark, erasing the other one, branding you as his. The possessiveness of it should have felt archaic, oppressive. It felt like absolution.

His mouth trailed lower, down over your collarbone, to the straining neckline of your dress. His free hand came up, his fingers hooking under the thin strap and dragging it down your arm, followed by the other. The top of your dress pooled at your waist, leaving you bare from the waist up in the cool, dark kitchen. The air prickled against your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he looked down at you.

He went perfectly still, his eyes devouring the sight of your breasts, heaving with every ragged breath you took. “Christ,” he breathed, a reverent curse.

Then his head dipped, and his mouth closed over one taut, pebbled peak.

You gasped, a sharp, shattered sound. His tongue was hot and wet, laving over your nipple before he drew it deep into his mouth, sucking strongly. The sensation was so intense, so direct, it arrowed straight to your core, making you clench around nothing. Your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him to you. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same devastating attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud until you were writhing against him, little pleas falling from your lips.

He lifted his head, his lips glistening, his eyes black with lust. “You’ve been driving me out of my fucking mind,” he said, his voice guttural. He leaned in again, his mouth finding yours in a slower, deeper kiss that was all tongue and shared breath and desperate, building need. His hands moved to your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh there, and he lifted you effortlessly, setting you on the cold granite countertop. The shock of the cool surface against your bare thighs made you jolt, but then he was there, stepping between your legs, pushing them wider with his hips.

The thin fabric of your dress and your flimsy underwear were the only barriers left. He was so close you could feel the hard, thick length of him pressing against your damp center. You rocked against him instinctively, seeking friction, and a ragged groan tore from his throat.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his hands sliding up your bare thighs, pushing the bunched dress higher. His thumbs brushed the edges of your panties. “Tell me what you wanted that boy to do to you.”

His hands were on your bare thighs, his thumbs a hair’s breadth from the soaked fabric of your panties. The demand hung in the air, thick with the promise of humiliation and reward. You were laid bare on the cold granite, half-naked and utterly at his mercy, and the words he wanted were like ash in your mouth—but you wanted to give them to him. You needed to.

“I…” you started, your voice a breathy, broken thing. You swallowed, your throat dry. His dark eyes watched you, unwavering. “I wanted him to—to touch me.”

Jay’s expression didn’t change, but his thumbs began a slow, maddening stroke along the crease of your thighs, just outside the lace of your panties. “Too vague,” he chided, his voice low. “Be specific. What did you want his hands to do?”

The heat of his touch was a brand. You squirmed. “I wanted… his hands on me. Here.” You gestured weakly toward your core, cheeks burning.

“Here?” he murmured, and finally, finally, his hand slid up, his palm cupping you over your panties.

A sharp, punched-out gasp left you. The pressure was firm, deliberate, and the thin, damp fabric did nothing to mute the sensation. You could feel the heat of his hand searing through the lace, the rough texture of his palm.

“Like this?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

You nodded frantically, your hips canting up into his touch, seeking more. “Yeah,” you breathed out. “Yeah, just like that.”

“And then?” he prompted, his other hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your fevered cheek. The gentleness of the gesture was at odds with the intensity in his eyes. “You brought him home. What did you want next?”

You were drowning in his gaze, in the scent of him, in the possessive pressure of his hand. The truth spilled out. “I wanted him to fuck me,” you whispered. “I wanted to not think. I just wanted to be—hngh—used.”

A low, dark sound rumbled in his chest. It wasn’t quite a laugh.“You wanted to be used,” he repeated, his fingers flexing against you, making you whimper. “By some boy who wouldn’t know what to do with you. Who wouldn’t know how to make it last.” He leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “Who wouldn’t even know how to make you beg for it.”

His mouth captured yours again. It was hard, consuming, possessive, his tongue sweeping in. At the same time, his hand began to move. He rubbed you through your panties, the lace scratching deliciously against your swollen flesh with each slow, deliberate circle of his palm. You moaned into his mouth, a desperate, hungry sound. He swallowed it, his other hand sliding into your hair, holding you still for his kiss. He was everywhere, overwhelming all your senses. The taste of him, the feel of his hard body between your thighs, the scent of his skin, the pressure of his hand—it was a sensory assault that left you boneless and wanting.

He broke the kiss, trailing his lips down your jaw, to your neck, to the new mark he’d left. He kissed it softly, then bit down gently, making you cry out. “You wanted to be touched?” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot. “You have no idea.” His hand on you became more insistent, the circles tighter, faster. The fabric was soaked through, a slick, hot barrier. “Is this what you needed? Hmm? This little bit of friction?”

“Jay,” you gasped, your head falling back. Your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, clutching the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You were already teetering on an edge, weeks of pent-up frustration coming undone under his skilled hand.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his voice a dark rasp in your ear. His mouth was on your neck again, kissing, sucking, marking you further as his hand worked you. “Tell me what you want now. Right now.”

You were beyond pride, beyond games. You were a live wire of need. “More,” you choked out, grinding yourself against his palm. “Please, Jay. I need more.”

He chuckled, the sound condescending and darkly thrilling. “More? You’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that, baby.” He slowed his hand to a torturous, teasing stroke. “Use your words. What does this greedy little pussy want?”

The vulgarity, the sheer meanness in his tone, sent a shock of pure, liquid heat straight to your core. You were so wet you could feel it begin to trickle down your thigh. “I want your hand,” you begged, the words tumbling out. “Under my panties. I want you to touch me, Jay, please touch me.”

“Good girl,” he purred, and the praise was like a drug.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties. In one smooth, ruthless motion, he dragged them down your thighs and let them fall to the floor. The cool air kissed your bare, exposed flesh, making you gasp, and then his hand was back, but this time, there was no barrier.

His touch was electric. His fingers, warm and slightly rough, slid through your slick folds with an intimate familiarity. A deep, guttural groan left him. “Fuck, you’re dripping.” He stroked you, gathering your wetness, spreading it, his touch agonizingly slow. “All this for me? After your little field trip?”

“Yes,” you whined, bucking your hips, trying to force his fingers where you needed them. “Only for you. It was always for you.”

He made a sound of dark satisfaction. His index finger circled your clit, a feather-light, maddening touch that had you seeing stars. You were panting, little punched-out noises—hngh, ngh, ah—escaping with every breath, grinding shamelessly against his hand, against the hard ridge of his cock still trapped in his sweatpants, anything for more friction.

“So eager,” he mused, his voice thick with lust. He watched your face, your desperate movements, with a predatory focus. “Can’t even control yourself, can you?” His finger dipped lower, sliding through your entrance, coating himself in your arousal, but not pushing in. “Is this what you do in your room at night? When you think no one can hear? You touch yourself and think of me?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, the admission torn from you. “Every night.”

“Pathetic,” he breathed, but there was no disgust in it, only a raw, hungry pride. Finally, he gave you what you craved. He pushed a single finger inside you, deep and slow.

Your cry echoed in the quiet kitchen. It was a stretch, a delicious, filling invasion. Your inner muscles clenched around him instantly, gripping his finger with a shocking tightness. He groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Christ. You’re so fucking tight.” He began to move, a slow, deliberate pump in and out, his palm grinding against your clit with every thrust.

It was too much and not enough. The coil inside you was winding impossibly tight, your hips meeting every stroke of his finger.

Then he added a second finger.

You screamed, the stretch a blinding flash of pleasure-pain. He scissored them inside you, stretching you wider, curling them just right to brush that spot deep inside that made your vision blur at the edges. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles.

“You’re going to come on my fingers,” he murmured into your ear, his own breath ragged. “Aren’t you? You’re going to scream for me and come all over my hand like a good girl, and then you’re going to get on your knees and show me just how grateful you are.”

Your orgasm made your whole body shake, your back bowing off the counter, a strangled, wordless scream tearing from your throat as you convulsed around his fingers, your walls milking them as wave after wave of electric pleasure crashed through you. It seemed to go on forever, your body shaking with the force of it, your cries dissolving into broken sobs.

He held you through it, his fingers still moving inside you, gentling now, drawing out every last shuddering pulse. When you finally went limp against the counter, he slowly withdrew his fingers. He brought them to his mouth, his dark eyes locked on yours, and slowly, deliberately, sucked them clean.

The obscenity of it made a fresh jolt of desire spear through your sated body. You watched, mesmerized, as he tasted you.

“Sweet,” he said, his voice raspy. He leaned down, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. When he pulled back, his eyes were blazing. “Now,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Get on your knees.”

A shiver of pure anticipation raced down your spine. You slid off the counter, your legs wobbling, but he caught you, his hands firm on your hips. He guided you down until you were kneeling on the cool tile floor of the kitchen, right between his feet. From here, you were eye-level with the prominent bulge straining against the front of his grey sweatpants. The sight made your mouth water.

He looked down at you, his expression a mix of fierce desire and dark amusement. “Were you going to suck him off?” he asked, his voice soft. “That boy. Were going to get on your knees for him in your pretty little dress?”

You shook your head, your eyes wide. “No, no—not him,” you vehemently denied. “Only you.”

“Prove it,” he said, the challenge clear.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the waistband of his sweatpants. You hooked your fingers in, and he didn’t help, just watched you, his hands now resting at his sides. You tugged, and the soft fabric slid down his hips, taking his boxer-briefs with them.

His cock sprang free, and you actually whimpered.

It was thick, long, and beautifully veined, the head flushed a deep, angry red and already wet with pre-cum. It curved upwards slightly, imposing and perfect. You’d fantasized about it, sure, but the reality was much, much better than any figment of your imagination. You almost drooled.

A low chuckle above you. “Fuckin’ cockslut.”

You looked up at Jay, your lips parted. He was watching you with a heated, expectant gaze, one hand coming to rest on the top of your head.

You didn’t need to be pushed. You leaned forward, your eyes locked with his, and pressed a soft, reverent kiss to the tip of his cock. You heard his sharp intake of breath.

Encouraged, you opened your mouth and took just the head inside, sucking gently. His fingers tightened in your hair. You swirled your tongue around the sensitive ridge, licking away the bitter-salt pre-cum, giving little kittenish licks along the underside. You were exploring him, worshiping him. Just the power of having this formidable, composed man at your mercy, even for a moment, was intoxicating.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary jerk.

You took him deeper, relaxing your throat as you’d practiced in fantasies, letting his thick length slide into the wet heat of your mouth. You couldn’t take all of him, not yet, but you took as much as you could, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked. One of your hands came up to wrap around the base of him, stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach.

He let out a string of low, guttural curses, his hand in your hair now guiding the pace. You followed his lead, bobbing your head, sucking him properly, the sounds lewd and wet in the silent kitchen. Fuck, it felt so good. You couldn’t help but be turned on by the act itself, by the weight of him on your tongue, by his groans of pleasure, and before you knew it, you began to move. Still on your knees, you started to rock your hips, grinding your aching, sensitive pussy against the hard leather of his shoe.

He noticed, of course. He looked down, saw the desperate, shameless movement, and he laughed. It was a dark, condescending, mean laugh. “Look at you, baby,” he said, his voice rough with lust. “Rutting against my shoe. You’re so fucking easy, Y/N.” he remarked incredulously.

His words were gasoline on the fire of your arousal. You moaned around his cock, the vibration making him curse again. You ground harder against his shoe, the pressure against your clit through the thin leather sending jolts of pleasure through your oversensitive body. You were close again, so close, just from sucking him and frotting against his shoe like a mindless slut.

You pulled off him with a wet pop, your lips swollen, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his glistening cock. You were panting. “Do you—” you gasped, looking up at him through your lashes. “Do you want to fuck my mouth? You don’t have to hold back.”

His eyes darkened to near-black. A raw, hungry groan was torn from his chest. His hand tightened in your hair. “Open,” he commanded, his voice strained. “Wider.”

You obeyed, dropping your jaw, sticking your tongue out, presenting yourself. There was a wild, almost feral look in his eyes as he looked down at you, his cock in his hand, poised at your lips. Then he pushed forward with a firm, controlled thrust that buried his cock deep in your throat.

You gagged, tears springing to your eyes, but you forced yourself to relax, to take him. He held himself there for a moment, letting you adjust, his thumb stroking your cheek with faux-gentleness. Then he pulled back and thrust in again. And again. He set a relentless, deep rhythm, fucking your mouth in earnest, his hips pistoning, his grip on your hair keeping you perfectly in place.

The sounds were obscene—wet, guttural, choking sounds from you, groans from him. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn’t try to stop him. You looked up at him, your eyes watering, and the sight of his face, taut with pleasure, his gaze locked on where he disappeared between your lips, was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen. You brought your hands to his thighs, holding on as he used your mouth.

All the while, you kept grinding against his shoe, the rhythm of your hips matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The sensations—the fullness in your mouth, the pressure on your clit—were driving you insane. You were a mess of need, a tool for his pleasure, and you loved it.

You felt his rhythm stutter. His thrusts became harder, deeper, less controlled. “Gonna come,” he warned, his voice a ragged snarl.

You didn’t pull away. You looked up at him, pleading with your eyes, and took him even deeper, humming around his cock.

That was his undoing. With a half-growl, he came, hot jets of bitter salt flooding your throat. You swallowed desperately, gulping down every drop, not letting a single bit escape until he was spent, until he was softening in your mouth, his body shuddering with the aftershocks.

Only then did he gently pull himself free. You slumped back on your heels, panting, your lips bruised and wet, your throat sore. Your own climax had been cresting the whole time, and the frantic grinding against his shoe finally tipped you over the edge. With a choked, silent moan, you came again, your body convulsing as you soaked your own thighs and the floor beneath you, your orgasm somehow more intense for being so utterly debasing.

He looked down at you, kneeling in the stickiness of your own release, face tear-stained and mouth used, and he shook his head, a slow, condescending smile playing on his lips. “You came from that?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “From humping my shoe while I fucked your throat? You really are a desperate little whore.”

He reached down, his hands under your arms, and hauled you to your feet. Your legs were like jelly. He kissed you hard, tasting himself on your tongue, his hands roaming your bare back. “So fucking dirty,” he muttered against your lips, backing you up until your ass hit the cold granite counter again. He lifted you, seating you on the edge, and stepped back between your spread thighs.

His eyes were ravenous again, his cock, though spent, already beginning to harden once more. His gaze dropped to your glistening, swollen folds. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick and full of awe. “You’re a complete mess, baby.”

He leaned in, kissing you hungrily, one hand coming down to cup you again. This time, he didn’t tease. He slipped two fingers back inside your soaked, sensitive cunt, his thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy, and you cried out into his mouth, your body jerking. You were so sensitive it was almost painful, but at the same time, you couldn’t get enough.

He started fingering you again, his thrusts deep and sure, his thumb rubbing tight, relentless circles. “You’re still so greedy for it,” he observed, his lips trailing down your neck to your breasts. He took a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, as his fingers worked you. “Can’t get enough, can you? Are you going to take everything I give you? Hm? Gonna be my good girl?”

“Yes,” you moaned, your head thrown back, your hands clutching at his shoulders. Your moans were loud in his ear, heavy, panting breaths. “Jay, please, I need you. I need you so bad.”

“You need what?” he prompted, curling his fingers inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

“I need you to fuck me,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Please, Jay, fuck me. I need your cock inside me,” you sobbed. “I can’t wait anymore.”

He groaned, pulling his fingers free and resting his forehead against yours, his body trembling with the effort of his control. “I can’t, baby,” he said, his voice strained. “I don’t have a condom on me. I wasn’t exactly planning this.”

The denial was a physical blow. You whined, a high, pathetic sound, grinding your hips against his, feeling his renewed hardness press against your belly. “Please, I need it. I don’t care. I need you.”

He gripped your hips, holding you still. “It’s not safe, Y/N. I’m clean, but you—”

“I don’t care!” you cried, your desperation breaking through. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I want you inside me. Raw.” you whined, too far gone to care what you were saying. “I need your cock in me, please.”

Jay let out a tense breath. “Yeah, baby?” he asked. You could almost feel his self-control slipping.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you canted your hips towards him again. “Hn—yeah, Jay,” you wrapped your arms around him, pressed your mouth to his ear as though you were about to tell him a secret. “Want you to come inside,” you whispered breathlessly. “Want you to put a baby in me.”

Your words, your utter, shameless abandon, were the final blow to his self-control. His eyes snapped to yours, wide and shocked for a split second before they darkened with a ferocious, primal hunger.

“Such a dirty fucking mouth,” he breathed, awe and lust warring in his voice. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He reached between you, taking his thick, hard cock in his hand. He guided it to your entrance, the swollen head nudging against your slick, swollen folds. He rubbed it up and down, coating himself in your wetness, slapping the heavy length of it against your clit a few times, making you shiver and cry out with each sharp impact.

“You want it raw?” he growled, his eyes locked on yours. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Hngh—yeah—”

With a final, guttural curse, he positioned himself and thrust forward, burying himself inside you in one long, deep, searing stroke. The sensation of him filling your cunt, completely unhindered, was so profound it stole the air from your lungs. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, your eyes wide, as he seated himself to the hilt, his pelvis grinding against yours. There was a split second of pure, blinding stretch—a hot, perfect ache that bloomed into a consuming, liquid heat. You could feel everything, every ridge and vein, the throbbing pulse of him buried deep inside you. It was more intimate than anything you’d ever experienced before.

“Fuck,” Jay groaned, his voice a shattered rasp against your neck. His whole body shuddered, his arms trembling where they braced on the counter beside your hips. He didn’t move for a long moment, just stayed sheathed within you.“You’re… god, you’re so tight, baby. It’s so fucking hot.”

You finally remembered how to breathe, a ragged, choking gasp. Your inner muscles fluttered around him, a helpless, welcoming clench. “Jay,” you whimpered, your fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back. “Oppa.”

That broke his stillness. He pulled back, a slow, dragging retreat that made you cry out at the loss, then slammed back in. The force of it jolted you up the counter, your shoulders scraping the cold granite.

“Yeah,” he growled, his eyes dark and wild. “That’s it, good girl. Take it.” He drove into you, deep, hard thrusts that knocked the breath from you. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider, holding you open for his relentless pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, wet and obscene, filled the kitchen, mingling with your high, desperate whimpers and his guttural grunts.

It was too much. The weeks of frustrated longing, the humiliating attempts at seduction, the searing jealousy—all of it combusted into this. You couldn’t think, couldn’t form a coherent sentence—right now, you were nothing but a fucktoy for him, each thrust sparking white-hot pleasure deep in your belly, radiating out to your fingertips and toes.

He leaned over you, his mouth at your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Look at you,” he snarled, his voice thick with a vicious, possessive delight. “Look what you’re doing. What would your parents say, huh? If they walked in right now?”

A fresh wave of heat, shameful and thrilling, washed over you. You moaned, your head thrashing side to side.

“They trusted me,” he continued, each word punctuated by a hard, deep stroke that made you see stars. “Their good neighbor. Keep an eye on our daughter while we’re out, Jay. Make sure she’s safe.” He laughed, a dark, humorless sound. “And here you are. Spreading your legs for me. Letting me fuck your slutty little cunt raw. Aren’t you?”

“Yes!” you sobbed, the admission torn from you. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, trying to pull him deeper, to take more of him. “Yes, I am—ah—I’m your slut, please—”

“That’s right,” he hissed. He shifted his angle slightly, and on the next thrust, he hit a spot so deep and sensitive your vision blurred. A broken scream ripped from your throat. “Scream for me. Let the whole fucking neighborhood hear what a whore you are for oppa’s cock.”

You were babbling, a stream of filth and praise and pure, unadulterated need. “It feels so—hngh—good, Jay oppa, you’re so deep—hah—you’re gonna ruin me for anyone else, please—ah—don’t stop, fuck me harder, make me yours—”

He obliged, his pace becoming brutal, animalistic. The counter was rocking with the force of his thrusts. One of his hands left your thigh and fisted in your hair, pulling your head back to force you to look at him. His face was a mask of carnal intensity, sweat beading on his temple, his jaw clenched. “Mine?” he growled. “You want that, baby, wanna be mine? Want me to breed you, so everyone knows you’re mine?”

The words sent thrills of excitement and arousal down your spine. Your inner muscles convulsed around him, a prelude to an orgasm that was already building, getting closer and closer with every punishing stroke. “Yes,” you gasped, your mind fracturing. The thought, the dangerous, impossible thought, spilled out. “A-and then if you get me pregnant,” you smiled, dazed and cockdrunk. “You’ll—ah—have to make me your wife.”

He froze for a fraction of a second, his hips still buried deep within you, his eyes widening in stunned surprise. Then a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. It wasn’t kind. “Yeah?” he rumbled, his voice dropping to a low, thrilling register. He began moving again, slower now, but with even more deliberate, grinding force, rotating his hips to press against that magical spot with every inch of his cock. “You wanna be oppa’s pretty little wife? Hmm? You’d like that? Wearing my ring while you walk around swollen with my kid?”

“Yes,” you mewled. “Please, Jay oppa, please.”

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a searing, dominant kiss. When he broke it, his lips were against yours as he spoke. “You’d wait for me to come home every night? Have dinner ready?” His breath was hot against your mouth. “And then what, baby? You’d get on your knees the second I walked in the door? Or would you just bend over the table and let me take what’s mine?”

“Anything,” you promised, your voice trembling. “Anything you want. I’d be so good for you. I’d be so much better than her.”

The mention of his ex-wife slipped out, fueled by a sudden, fierce jealousy that cut through the pleasure haze. You felt him stiffen inside you again. His eyes searched yours, and you saw a flicker of something vulnerable before it was swallowed by a darker, hotter fire.

“Is that right, Y/N?” he murmured, his thrusts becoming deep, purposeful rolls of his hips that rubbed every nerve ending inside you just right. “You think you could be better?”

You nodded frantically, your nails scratching down his back. “Wouldn’t I?” you demanded, the possessiveness in your own voice surprising you. “Won’t I? Tell me I will.”

He laughed darkly then, a rich sound of satisfaction. He kissed you again. “Of course you will, baby,” he whispered against your lips, his tone shifting into something filthy and reassuring all at once. “You already are. Look at you. Taking my cock like you were made for it. Fuck.” His composure cracked on the last word as you clenched around him instinctively. “Fuck, oh—I’m close, baby. Are you sure? Are you sure you want this?”

You whimpered, your body trembling, your mind hazy and drunk on him, on everything he was giving you. “Yes, yes, please,” you begged, your voice a broken moan. Begging. That’s all you could do now. “I need it. I want it. Fill me up. I wanna feel you come inside me, wanna feel you dripping out of me later. Please—oh—don’t stop, don’t hold back. I’m yours, oppa, I’m all yours—”

His breath hitched, and you saw the conflict flicker in his eyes—the last shred of restraint warring with the dark, possessive hunger that had taken over. But with your words, your begging, your shameless need for him, he buried himself to the hilt, his hips grinding against yours. His hand slid between your sweat-slicked bodies, and he rubbed your clit unerring accuracy in fast, tight circles, the pressure perfect, relentless. At the same time, his thrusts became shorter, harder, frantic, losing all rhythm as he chased his own peak. It was the final trigger—the build-up inside you snapped, and your third orgasm of the night wracked your body, a supernova of pleasure. You screamed, a raw, continuous sound, as your body arched off the counter, convulsing around him, your inner walls fluttering and clenching in rapid, uncontrollable pulses, milking his cock.

The sensation of you clamping down on him, so tight and hot and wet was what made him finally let go. You felt it—the hot, pulsing release of him deep inside you, painting your walls. His head dropped to your shoulder, his breathing ragged, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. The feeling prolonged your own climax, drawing out the waves of pleasure until you were sobbing, oversensitive and utterly spent.

“God,” he muttered, his voice thick and rough against your skin. “You’re gonna feel me for hours, baby. You’re gonna remember this every time you move.”

“I really am,” you groaned, your head lolling back against the cool cupboard door, your body a soft, pleasantly ruined mess.

Jay’s soft chuckle vibrated through his chest, where your cheek was pressed. He was still inside you, softening, both of you sticky and spent and tangled together on the kitchen counter. His arms were looped loosely around your waist, holding you up more than you were holding yourself.

“Serves you right,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “Terrorized the neighborhood all summer.”

You pinched his side, but there was no strength in it. “You loved it.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His expression was softer now, the fierce, possessive edge smoothed into something warm and sated. He looked more amused. He traced a finger down your cheek, catching a stray tear track from earlier. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Shut up,” you retorted, but you couldn’t help smiling.

He kissed you then. It was nothing like the earlier kisses—not the desperate crash of his mouth on yours in the hallway, nor the filthy, panting exchanges against the counter. This was slow and sweet and romantic. You sighed into it, melting against him all over again.

When he pulled away, you chased his lips for a second, making him laugh—a real, genuine laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes. You’d never heard him laugh like that before. It did something funny to your chest.

“So clingy,” he teased, bumping his nose against yours.

“You just fucked me senseless on a kitchen counter. I think I’m allowed to be clingy,” you mumbled, grinning, your noses still touching.

He hummed, his hands sliding up your bare back in a slow, soothing stroke. “I did, didn’t I?” He said it with a note of wonder, as if he was just realizing it himself. “Your parents’ kitchen counter.”

A giggle bubbled out of you, absurd and giddy. “They eat breakfast here.”

Jay shook his head, laughing. “Oh my god, Y/N. Don’t. I’ll never be able to look your dad in the eye again after this.”

“He thinks you’re such a nice, responsible young man,” you said, doing a poor impression of your mother’s voice.

“Was,” Jay corrected, grinning. “Was a nice, responsible young man. Then his neighbor’s daughter decided to destroy his sanity with a pair of booty shorts.”

You swatted his arm. “As if. Until today, I thought you had the self-control of a saint.”

“Saint Jay,” he mused, kissing the tip of your nose. “Patron saint of cold showers and repressed desire. I should get a medal.”

“You just got your reward,” you said, shifting slightly and wincing at the sticky, oversensitive feeling between your thighs.

He noticed immediately, his expression shifting to one of gentle concern. “Alright, come on. Up you get.” He lifted you easily off the counter, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist again as he carried you like you weighed nothing. You yelped, clinging to his shoulders.

“I can walk!”

“Humor me,” he said dryly, navigating out of the kitchen and down the dark hallway towards the bathroom. “All you have to do is hang on, baby.”

He pushed the bathroom door open with his foot and set you down carefully on the closed toilet lid. The light he flicked on was mercifully dim. He rummaged in the cabinet, pulling out a clean washcloth. You sat there, watching him, feeling strangely shy now in the aftermath. You were naked except for the dress still tangled around your waist, covered in sweat and him and your own release. He was still mostly dressed, just his sweatpants and boxers around his ankles, his t-shirt rumpled.

He ran the washcloth under warm water, wringing it out. Then he knelt in front of you, his movements deliberate and tender. “Okay?” he asked softly, looking up at you.

You just nodded, words stuck in your throat.

He started gently, wiping the smudged makeup from under your eyes, cleaning the tear tracks. His touch was so careful, so at odds with the man who had just been snarling filth in your ear. He moved the cloth down your neck, cleaning the new, tender mark he’d left, then over your collarbones and shoulders. He cleaned your breasts with a sort of gentleness that was incredibly intimate, wiping away the sweat and the faint stickiness. You shivered.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Not really,” you admitted.

He smiled, a small, private thing, and pressed a kiss to your knee before continuing. He nudged your thighs apart and began cleaning between them, his touch light and respectful.

When he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the hamper and stood, offering you his hands. “Shower?” he suggested.

“You’re asking?” you teased, taking his hands and letting him pull you up.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman now. The monster has been sated,” he said, pulling his t-shirt over his head and finally kicking his pants the rest of the way off. You got a proper look at him—all taut muscle and smooth skin, dusted with dark hair. He was beautiful. He saw you looking and raised an eyebrow.

“Like what you see?”

“Maybe,” you giggled, stepping out of the puddle of your dress and letting it fall to the floor. You reached past him to turn on the shower, the pipes groaning to life.

He stepped in first, holding the curtain for you. The water was blissfully hot, and you both sighed as it cascaded over you, washing away the last physical remnants of the kitchen. He reached for the shampoo, pouring a generous amount into his palm.

“Turn around,” he said.

You complied, leaning back against his chest as his strong fingers worked the lather into your scalp. It was possibly the most luxurious feeling you’d ever experienced. His thumbs massaged your temples, then worked down the tense muscles of your neck and shoulders. You sighed, your head lolling back against him.

“You’re good at that.”

“I’ll have you know that I have many hidden talents,” he said, his voice a rumble against your back. He rinsed your hair carefully, shielding your eyes from the soap with his hand. Then he took the body wash, lathering up his hands before sliding them over your shoulders, down your arms, over your stomach, washing you with thorough, tender care.

“Your turn,” you said, turning around and taking the bottle from him.

You mimicked his actions, lathering your hands and washing his chest, his arms, his back as he turned for you. You scrubbed at the faint red marks your nails had left on his shoulders, and he chuckled. “Battle scars.”

“You started it,” you countered, soaping up your hands again and, with a bravado you didn’t entirely feel, sliding them down his stomach, to his hips, and taking him in hand. He was soft now, but you washed him gently, thoroughly, and he let out a soft, appreciative sigh, his head bowing to rest against yours under the spray.

“Feels nice,” he mumbled.

You finished, rinsing him off, and for a few minutes, you just stood there under the hot water, wrapped in each other, letting the steam and the warmth seep into your bones.

Finally, he turned off the water and reached for a towel, wrapping you in it first and rubbing you dry before briskly drying himself. He found two more towels for your hair. Back in your room, he dug through your drawers without asking, pulling out an old, soft t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts for you, and borrowing a pair of your dad’s sweatpants he found in the laundry room for himself. They were comically short on him, hitting mid-calf.

You both collapsed onto your bed, the sheets cool and clean. He pulled you into his side, your head on his chest, his arm around you. The digital clock on your nightstand glowed 3:47 AM.

“So,” he said into the quiet darkness, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. “Operation Seduce-Jay. Was it a success?”

You snorted. “I’d say it was a catastrophic, overwhelming success. I think you broke me.”

“You broke me,” he reminded you. “With your fuckin’ cookies. And the yoga. And that goddamn red bikini,” he sighed. “Should be illegal.”

“You went inside!”

“I had to!” he protested, laughing. “I was two seconds away from jumping the fence to get to you. I had to go read about municipal bond yields to calm down.”

You giggled, the absurdity of it all washing over you. “Ew, you’re such a dork.”

“And you are a menace.” He kissed the top of your head. “A beautiful, frustrating, incredibly sexy menace.”

You were quiet for a moment, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “What happens now?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

He was silent for so long you thought he might have fallen asleep. Then, “Well, your parents get back tomorrow afternoon. So I should probably not be here when they arrive.”

Your heart sank a little. “Oh. Right.”

“But,” he continued, his voice thoughtful, “I was thinking. My aircon is making a weird noise. A rattling sound. Very concerning. I might need a second opinion on it.”

You lifted your head to look at him. He was smiling, a playful glint in his eye. “You need a technician.”

“I need a helpful neighbor,” he corrected. “Maybe tomorrow evening, after they’re back and settled, you could come over and listen to it? I’d make dinner. As a thank you.”

A slow smile spread across your face. “I don’t know anything about air conditioners, Jay.”

“That’s okay,” he said, pulling you closer. “We’ll look it up on YouTube.”

You laughed, burrowing back into his side. “That sounds like a very thorough plan.”

“I’m a very thorough guy,” he said, his voice growing sleepy. “As you’ve recently learned.”

You lay there together, in the quiet dark of your childhood room, and for the first time all summer, the aching, frantic need was gone. You lay there a little longer after that, listening to the house breathe around you—the faint tick of cooling pipes, the birds and insects outside, the steady rhythm of his breathing slowly evening out against your shoulder. It felt unreal, how ordinary it all was, how gentle.

Jay’s arm tightened around you in his sleep, and you stared into the dark and smiled to yourself.

Tomorrow, there would be a thousand practicalities to untangle: how to tell your parents without making it weird, how to explain the age gap without making it sound wrong, how to navigate dating when one of you still lived down the hall from their childhood bedroom and the other woke up early for meetings. But that was tomorrow, a distant land, far away from tonight, from this moment with Jay’s hair brushing your neck and his breath soft on your skin.

Because tonight, the summer finally felt complete.