Currently Nursing A Massive Crush On Pedro Pascal

“Peña,” he answers on the second ring. 

Sitting at your desk outside Javier Peña’s office, you have the corded phone receiver held to your ear and documents in front of you that you’re preparing for his signatures. 

“I have someone from the ambassador’s office on the other line,” you tell him. “I’m going to assume you’re in a meeting?”

He isn’t. 

The smile is clear in his voice when he replies, “Yeah, I’m definitely in a meeting.”

“I’ll send them to your voicemail.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, sir.”

“Just Javi.”

“It’s no problem, Just Javi.”

An amused breath leaves him. “Smartass.”

“I’m just calling you what you requested. I need to take care of this call. Bye, Just Javi.”

“Javi. Bye, Florecita (little flower).”

The nickname makes you smile, knowing he calls you it because there’s always a bouquet on your desk—today, it’s daisies. 

Pressing a couple of buttons has you back on the line with the other person, apologizing that your boss is indisposed in a meeting and transferring them to his voicemail. Immediately, you return to the task you were working on before being interrupted. 

Being the secretary for the attaché isn’t too bad. 

For months now, you’ve worked with Javier, and at first, he didn’t even know what to do with you until requests started coming in for him to attend meetings, be on conference calls, and turn in paperwork by deadlines. That's when he tagged you in to be the keeper of his schedule. He was polite and professional at the beginning of your partnership, and a little sulky, which you figured had to do with the job. Over time, he still sulked, but he’s warmed up to you, especially with how you run interference with his calls that come through and keep him from talking to people who annoy him to the best of your ability. Occasionally, he has to speak to them; rarely, however, because you have no issue lying through your teeth for him—he gets grumpy after those calls so it’s better for him to hardly take them. 

He’s friendlier now than when you first met, and the only time you’ve seen him crack a smile is when he’s talking to you. The first and every time after he has made you feel like you’re melting—yes, you have a crush on your boss. 

Have you seen him? 

Those suits? The hair? The mustache? His shoulder-to-waist ratio? His ass? He’s gorgeous, and you don’t have a chance in hell, so you bask in the smiles he gifts only to you, and the fun, flirty conversations that aren’t leading to anything since he’s your boss, and way out of your league. 

Glancing at the watch on your wrist informs you it’s time for lunch—it’s crazy how quickly time flies when you’re working sometimes. The small stack of papers on your desk gets stapled and set off to the side and out of the way. When you pull open your bottom desk drawer, your purse is in there, along with two small paper lunch sacks. Pulling the latter out, one is set in the space the papers once occupied, and the other you carry as you roll your chair back and get up. It’s only a handful of steps to the closed door, rapping your knuckles against it twice. 

“Come in,” says a voice from inside. 

Opening the door, you make your way in, closing it behind you. Your boss is sitting at his desk sans his navy blue suit jacket, a cigarette cushioned between his plush lips, wisps of smoke rising from it as he reads over documents. 

That’s another thing about Javier—you’re pretty sure he lives on coffee and cigarettes, not buying it anytime he says he’s quitting them. 

To be annoying, you put the paper bag directly over what he’s reading. His head pops up to look at you with his big, brown puppy dog eyes, his fingers pulling the lit nicotine from his mouth and depositing it into the glass ashtray he keeps within reach.  

“I’ve told you, you don’t have to bring me lunch,” his words come out in a deep rasp. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you can’t help but snort, noticing his gaze dropping to your bosom for a split second before it’s back on yours. 

“That’s a lie,” you reply, and he frowns. “You always forget to eat because you’re too busy working. So, the solution is for me to bring you food. That way, you can eat and keep doing all your important stuff.” 

His eyes dart away as he sighs. “Can I pay you for the lunches?” he asks. “You probably didn’t have making lunch for your helpless boss in your food budget.” 

You smile. “I didn’t, but I’m happy to make them for you. There’s no need for you to pay me for the food.” 

His eyes meet yours. “There’s gotta be some way for me to thank you.” He sits back in his chair, letting you take in the ample breadth of his shoulders in his white dress shirt, his red patterned tie running down the center of his chest. “How about I take you out for a drink tonight?” 

That causes your brain to record scratch. 

“A drink… with me?” you answer slowly. 

There’s a confused expression on his face. “Yeah? I would’ve asked you sooner, but I’m always fucking working, and tonight I’m free—this entire weekend, I am, as long as I’m not called in.” 

He would’ve asked you sooner?

“I know you are…” You are the keeper of his schedule. “It’s just a thank you drink…?” 

His hand goes to his mouth, your eyes stuck on the journey his thumb makes, swiping over his bottom lip and wondering for the thousandth time what it’d be like to kiss him. 

“Can be…” he answers, his eyes darkening when you look at them. “Or, it can be more if that’s what you want.” 

He wants to go on a date with you? 

“I like the sound of more,” you quietly reply. 

“I like the sound of more, too.” And you’re gifted with one of his smiles, this one crooked and charming. 

It makes you swallow, your skin feeling heated. “I just want to make sure I’m reading this right,” you start, feeling discombobulated. “You’re asking me out on a date, right? Me?” You point at yourself, so there’s no mistaking who you mean. 

That confused look is back on his face as he leans forward. “Yes, I am asking you—” He points at you. “—to go out with me.” He points at himself. “Why are you so surprised? I like you.” 

Your eyes widen. 

“You like me?” 

“Yes? Querida (Darling), why are you having trouble believing I’m interested in you?” 

This is so embarrassing, you have to cover your face in your hands, your voice muffled when you answer, “Because you’re extremely attractive, and I’m me, and I’ve seen the women you normally go for.” Everybody knew about his one-night stand with the woman who worked here. “I’m nowhere near as beautiful as them.” 

The sound of his chair wheels rolling met your ears, and seconds later, you jolt when big, warm hands are grabbing yours and pulling them away. A concerned look you’ve never seen is on his face, his thumbs rubbing over the backs of your hands. 

“Don’t say that,” he says in a soothing tone. “Wanna know something?” 

“Sure.” 

“I find you more attractive.” You huff in disbelief. “I’m serious,” he continues. “Not only do you look beautiful—” His hand moves to cup your cheek. “—what’s inside you is beautiful, too, with how thoughtful and caring you are. You’re also funny and smart. I’ve been dying to take you out.” The sincerity in his gaze takes your breath away. 

Has hell frozen over? Are pigs flying? How in the hell is this perfect specimen of a man interested in you? He’s adamant he is, and you know he’s telling the truth, which seems insane, yet it’s exhilarating. Your love life is non-existent; you’ve never even been in a relationship, not for lack of trying; it’s just no one’s ever been interested. Now, someone is, and he’s so hot. There’s just one big glaring problem…

“You’re my boss…” you point out. “We’re not allowed to have any kind of romantic relationship due to the fact there is a major power imbalance here.” 

“The person who has all the power is you. You decide how far things go and if things should end. I’d never fire you or hurt your career in any way if you wanted nothing to do with me—I just wanna take you out for a drink, and from there, it’s all you.” 

His last sentence causes a nervous flutter in your tummy. 

“Okay, I’d like to get a drink with you. What’s your plan for us not being seen together?” 

He smiles, taking a step closer so your bodies are practically touching, smelling his spicy cologne that makes your mouth go dry. “I’ll take you to this little hole-in-a-wall place I know. Can I pick you up at seven?” 

You frown. “You know I live in a building full of people who work here—they’ll see you.” He’s occasionally driven you to and from work when the usual person you carpooled with was sick. 

“I won’t go to your door. I can park in the back of the lot and call you to come out to me.” 

“Have you put a lot of thought into this?” you ask. 

His cheeks pink up while he looks away. “Yeah…” 

The answer makes your heart pound in your chest, wondering what all he’s imagined, and something comes to mind, your curiosity getting the better of you. 

“What, um, is your plan if after the drink we want to go somewhere quieter and more… secluded?” 

His eyes are back on yours, his voice going a little deeper. “I’d take you back to my place.” 

The thought of that both excites you and makes you nervous.

“People won’t see me?” 

“No one from here—I had them put me up somewhere away from everyone else.” 

“Oh.”

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes,” you breathe. 

As soon as you say the word, his lips descend on yours, his hand cradling your head, his other arm wrapping around your back to pull you into him. This is a scenario you’ve daydreamed about countlessly; and the real thing? Even better than you imagined—his lips are soft and plush, the kiss tender, working his mouth against yours in a way that has something stirring low in your belly. He tastes like cigarettes and black coffee, which shouldn’t be as appealing as it is, your body feeling warm, the skin hot where he touches, your fingers digging into his shoulders. 

The moment comes when your lungs ache for breath, and he kisses you one last time, ending it with a playful nip to your bottom lip, his own lifted in another smile. You’re breathing heavily, seeing his lips had reddened, his eyes heavy–lidded. 

“Was it everything you hoped for?” he asks. 

It’s hard to think, not knowing what he’s talking about. 

“Huh?” you answer. 

He’s smiling cheekily now. 

“All the times you thought about kissing me—actually doing it, was it how you imagined?” 

The way your stomach drops, feeling your face heat. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “Was I that obvious?”

“Yeah. You don’t know how many fucking times I thought about giving you what you wanted.” 

“I am so embarrassed.” You squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Don’t be. I love it, and it gave me hope you’d agree to go out with me.” 

Looking away, you tell him, “It was better…” 

He grins, his head moving to kiss the side of your mouth, turning so your lips can meet. It’s quick, him whispering, “Yeah?” When he breaks away, nudging his nose against yours. 

This sweetness has you feeling all gooey. 

“Yes.” 

“Eat lunch with me.” 

“Is that an order from my boss or Javi?” 

He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “It should’ve been a question from me, Javi—sorry.” 

You smile, pecking him on the lips. “In that case, my answer is yes. I’ll need to go grab my food.” 

Both of his arms hug around your middle, pressing his face into your neck. “I don’t wanna let you go yet.” 

Hugging him back, you reply, “Okay,” kissing his hair. 

Him being all touchy-feely and sweet is very unexpected but a welcome surprise. 

The blinds are all closed on the glass walls that enclose a good portion of his office, and there’s no worry of anyone stumbling upon the two of you in this embrace since they’d knock first. With how his body relaxes into yours and the way he lets out a happy sigh, it seems this hug is something he’s needed, and you’re more than willing to give him the comfort. 

“If you ever need a hug, just let me know,” you whisper. 

His arms loosen, raising his head to look at you. 

“Thanks. What, uh, if I need a kiss?” 

You giggle. “Same. Just let me know.” 

“I think I need one before you go.” 

“I will be gone for less than thirty seconds.” 

“It’s thirty seconds too long.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you reply in exasperation. “Kiss me, you goober.” 

And he does, slotting his mouth against yours, kissing you. 

It might’ve lasted seconds or a minute, you’re not sure, with how lost you get in his lips on yours and his body pressed so close. When he finally pulls away, you chase his mouth, and he chuckles, making you frown. 

“Go get your lunch, Florecita,” he rasps. “We’ll eat, finish working, and tonight, I’ll kiss you as much as you want.” 

Opening your eyes, they’re locked on his, smiling as you reply, “I like that plan.” 

He has the same expression, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I do, too.” With that, he gives your hips one last squeeze and walks to sit behind his desk again, and you make the quick trip to get your lunch and bring it back, shutting the door behind you. 

Javier tries to get you to pull one of the chairs in front of his desk around to sit beside him; however, you give him a firm no in case someone comes by. Instead, you end up across from him, talking between bites of your sandwiches and chips. 

There are things you already know about him, such as he’s from Texas, only his father is alive, and, of course, how he helped take down Pablo Escobar. During this lunch, you learn his mother passed away five years ago; he has no siblings but a large extended family, he dearly misses his mother’s tamales, he’s still good friends with Steve Murphy, and he grew up on a cattle ranch where his father still lives. 

You finish your food, and you put all the garbage into the paper bag to throw out. 

“What are your plans for the weekend?” you ask him. “I can’t remember the last time you had one off.” 

“I haven’t.” He crumples up his trash in his own bag. “And I’m not sure yet what my plans are,” he answers with a wink, your mouth falling open. 

Clearing your throat, you quickly get up, avoiding eye contact with how hot your face feels. 

“What about you?” he asks. 

“Um, I’m not sure, either.” The original plan was to deep clean your apartment, but now, with your date tonight and Javi having the whole weekend off, things might be changing. 

“Maybe we can figure out something together tonight.” 

“Maybe,” you reply, walking backward with your garbage in your hand, still avoiding looking at him. “I have to get back to work, Mr. Peña, sir—”

“Just Javi,” he interrupts. 

“I have to get back to work, Just Javi, and pretend like I don’t know what it’s like to kiss you or think about how I’m going out with you tonight, so if you can do me a favor and not be sexy for the next—” You check your wristwatch. “—three hours and fifty-eight minutes, I’d greatly appreciate it.” 

“I’ll try…?”

Your back bumps against the door. 

“Great!” Taking a deep breath, you chance a glance at him to see he’s smiling. “Me?” you whisper in disbelief, reaching behind you to grab the door handle. “He likes me?” 

Turning, you open the door, Javier saying loud enough for you to hear, “Yes, you,” and butterflies flutter rapidly around in your belly. 

Thankfully, the rest of the day goes by quickly, the two of you staying very professional, aside from the one kiss he stole when you needed him to sign something. 

When it was time to leave, you told him goodbye from the doorway, and he made you wait so he could walk you to the car park, where you went to catch a ride with your friend, and he walked to his Jeep. 

With how nervous you were, dinner was light and quick once you got home, followed by taking your time to get all gussied up for your date—showering, getting out your cutest black dress, doing your hair and makeup, and spritzing on some perfume. 

Doubt creeps its way into your brain that maybe you imagined all that happened—Javi didn’t ask you out, Javi didn’t kiss you or hold you in his arms. It makes you think there isn’t actually going to be a date, and all the work you put into getting ready is for nothing. You try your best to push it down; becoming nervous because it all did happen, and you are going out with him, making your mind race with possibilities of what could happen that evening—what you hope will happen. 

By the time it’s five to seven, you’re so lost in thought you practically jump out of your skin when your home phone rings on the wall in the kitchen. Making your way there, you answer it on the third ring, picking up the receiver to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, It’s me. I’m here.” 

“Okay, I’m heading down.” 

“Can’t wait to see you. Bye.” 

“Bye.” 

Hanging up the phone, you grab your purse, put on a jean jacket, and slip on some sensible, easy-to-walk-in heels as you leave, locking up your apartment tightly. 

It’s a Friday night, and you live in a large apartment complex, trying to avoid as many people as possible as you leave. 

Do you ensure no one is around as you walk into the parking lot, trying to keep to the shadows? Yes. 

The sun has already gone down, the headlights off on Javi’s Jeep, the vehicle dark at the back of the parking lot, save for the tiny orange glow of the cigarette he’s inhaling.

The overhead light doesn’t even come on when you open the passenger door and jump in, the dashboard and radio softly glowing. His window is partly down, and he tosses what he’d been smoking. 

He leans toward you, and you stop him with one palm, the other digging in your purse on your lap, relying on feeling around to get what you’re looking for, finally finding it. 

There’s a shining stick of gum between your fingers when you hold them up to him. 

“You’re the hottest man I’ve ever met,” you say, “and I’m really into you, but I’d prefer not to make out with someone who tastes like an ashtray.” 

He sighs, taking and unwrapping the gum. “I’m quitting,” he grumbles, putting it in his mouth and chewing, the wrapper getting rolled into a ball and tossed in the empty cup holder between you. 

“Uh-huh, sure, Javi. You’ve been saying that for months now,” you reply, patting his chest. 

Snatching your hand, he brings it to his lips, softly kissing each of your knuckles. 

“I’ll get some nicotine gum tomorrow, so you’ll kiss me.” 

That has you taken aback. 

“You’re going to stop smoking, so I’ll kiss you…?” 

“It’s one of the perks, and I know you fucking hate the habit.” That’s true. “Is my mouth minty enough? I wanna kiss you.” 

The fact you could smell the spearmint on his breath told you it was, your hands pulling his head toward you, smashing your lips against his. You can feel him smiling, his large palm cradling the back of your head, and allowing him to deepen the kiss when his tongue seeks entry into your mouth, unable to keep from moaning when it slides against your own. 

Kissing, you have some experience with, not a lot, but some, so you follow his lead, and he takes your breath away. 

When he pulls back, you feel dazed with your eyes closed, heart pounding, and chest heaving. 

“You okay?” he asks.

Blinking open your eyes, you answer breathily, “Yes. You’re just really good at that—wait, why is there gum in my mouth?” you ask, chewing it. 

When did he slip it in?

In the lowlights of the radio, you can see him smiling as he laughs, and you’re almost positive this is the first time you’ve heard such a wonderful sound, determined to hear it again. 

“You’re adorable,” you say, cranking down your window, spitting out the wad, and rolling it up again. “And I’m positive you’re going to be the death of me.” 

His hand guides your chin to make you look at him, a serious look on his face. “I’m not gonna be the death of you,” he replies.

“With how much I like you, how hot you are, and the way you kiss? I’m fucked.” 

“We’re both fucked.” 

When he finally starts driving, his hand holds yours on your thigh, confirming he’s a big physical touch person, always needing to be touching you. 

It’s quiet as he takes you out of the area you’re familiar with. For you, it’s because your stomach is aflutter with nerves, and you’re trying to figure out what’s going to happen, or really what you want to happen that night. How far do you want to take things? He said you’re the one who decides. How brave are you? 

The place you end up is unfamiliar to you, Javi parking along the curb and jumping out to come around and get your door. He’s smiling as he offers you a hand to help you out that you happily take, his eyes moving up and down your body when you stand in front of him. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, shutting the car door. 

It’s your turn to check him out, seeing he’s in criminally tight jeans, a maroon button-up, and a black leather jacket. 

“You’re pretty handsome yourself.” 

“Thanks. I promised you a drink.”

“Yes, you did.”

Your purse is dangling on your shoulder, Javi taking your hand as he leads you down the sidewalk, past a bakery and a little mini-mart, until you arrive at your destination. It’s a tiny neighborhood bar, the wooden sign above naming it La Sirenita.

“Is the owner a big Disney fan?” you ask before entering. 

“What?” His eyebrows scrunch together, his free hand ready to pull open the door. 

“It’s called ‘The Little Mermaid,’ like the Disney movie from a few years ago,” you explain. 

“I haven’t seen that… It’s named La Sirenita because the owner used to work on a fishing boat and swears when he fell overboard once, a mermaid saved him.” 

“That’s basically the plot of the movie…” 

His eyebrow rose. 

“Florecita, this bar has been here for twenty fucking years. He didn’t name it after some dumb kid’s cartoon.” 

“The Little Mermaid is a masterpiece of cinema, thank you very much. Now, let’s get inside.” 

As you expected, the inside has artist's renderings on the walls of mermaids, and over the bar is a fishing net. Seats line the bar top, and there are a few tables and a few booths. The place is not too terribly busy, spotting one empty two-person table in a corner. It’s not very loud, with people talking and laughing, music playing in the background at a reasonable volume. All in all, the atmosphere is lovely. 

“Do you wanna go have a seat, and I’ll grab our drinks?” he asks, nodding toward the empty table you spotted. 

“Sure,” you answer, telling him what you’d like. 

There’s no one here you recognize, which makes you breathe easily, hanging your purse on the back of your chair with your jacket, sitting down, and looking around the room. A few minutes later, Javi arrives with the drinks, not even a little surprised he got a whiskey for himself. 

He’s in the seat across from you, taking a sip while you stare into your glass. 

“I’m going to be honest with you,” you say. “This is technically my second date.” 

His hand reaches to grab yours on the table, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. 

“I don’t date either. Fuck, I’ve been in one relationship? And it was a fucking nightmare.” 

Lifting your head, you ask, “So, you’re not interested in dating or being in a relationship? It’s okay if you’re just looking for something casual without commitment.” 

You’ll take him any way you can get him. 

“Shit.” His eyes close tightly, pressing his fingers to his brow. “I already fucked up. I should’ve said, ‘I didn’t date until now,’ and I am interested in being in a relationship with someone right for me. The last person… wasn’t.” 

Hope rises in you. 

“Okay. That’s good to know.” 

His hand drops, gaze meeting yours. “Are you interested in all that? Or just wanting something casual?” 

“I’m interested in dating and a relationship. I’ve never been in one, but I think I can figure it out.” 

He smiles, his hand tightening around yours. “You can,” he replies. 

You hide your own smile by taking a drink and setting it back down after some seconds. 

“What do you want to talk about?” you ask. 

“I wanna hear your story.” 

“It’s awfully boring compared to yours.” 

“I don’t care. I wanna hear it.” 

“Fine.” 

And you give him a rundown of your family—divorced parents who remarried, and now you have a handful of younger half-siblings. Graduated from high school, went to college, and got a degree in business, and you’re in your current job because the pay and benefits are decent, and it puts you on a different continent than your family. He, of course, inquires why that’s a good thing, to which you have to explain they always need something from you—money, favors, your time, but can never help when you’re in need. Thus, you moved far away to make it so they couldn’t use you anymore. 

The glasses in front of you both become empty, so he gets each of you another drink. 

Then it’s his turn to share—he loves his family, misses his mom, and talks to his dad at least once a week; he does know how to ride a horse and does not like wearing cowboy hats but loves the boots and wears them when he’s feeling a little homesick. He doesn't bother telling you all of his history with the DEA because you pretty much know all of it. However, he does give you the details about his failed relationship with a woman named Lorraine from his hometown, who treated him like shit, and claimed to be pregnant when he tried to leave her so he’d have to marry her. Luckily, he discovered the lie the night before the wedding and left her at the altar, which he recognizes was a shitty thing to do, telling you he apologized to her the last time he was home.

Things get more lighthearted when he tells you stories about cooking with his mom growing up and her teaching him, getting flirty about his skills. 

“I make a good breakfast,” he tells you, winking as he takes a drink. 

It feels hot in the room, stifling almost, gulping while your eyes look anywhere else than at him, trying to figure out in your flustered state how to respond. 

“I bet you make a good breakfast,” is what comes out, your eyes rounding. 

“You’ll have to try it and let me know.” Your gaze latches onto his, seeing him smirking. His lips are shiny from his whiskey, and all you can think about is kissing them and tasting it on him. 

“Come here,” he says, pushing back in his chair. The second drink in your system gives you the courage to get up and walk around the table, letting him pull you down to sit across his lap with your legs dangling over the side. His arm locks around your back, his other hand stroking your cheek. 

The tip of his nose rubs against yours. 

“You wanna kiss me?” he purrs. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

“Then do it.” 

Crushing your mouth to his, your fingers end up in his hair, surprised by the softness. The kissing heats when he presses his tongue between your lips, tasting the whiskey when it tangles with your own. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or him, or a combination of it both, but your skin feels so hot you’re wishing there were no clothes on your body. Your lungs start to ache, and his mouth moves to your jaw so you can take a deep breath. 

“What do you want?” he asks between kisses. 

“You,” you gasp. 

“You wanna get out of here?”

The throbbing you’re feeling between your legs has you answer immediately, “Yes.” 

His hand, not on your back, moves down to grab the side of your ass while he sucks on your pulse point, the sensation making you moan.

“There’s just a bit of a problem,” you force out, trying to ignore the burning arousal in your belly. 

His head rises to look you in the eyes, his mouth turned down in a frown. 

“I’ve got condoms,” he says quickly. “And I’m clean—got tested recently.” 

“That’s wonderful?” you reply, unsure how to respond. “I’m on birth control? But the problem has nothing to do with preventing babies and STDs…” 

“What’s the problem…?”

There’s no way you can look at him, so you close your eyes. 

“It’s a problem I’m really hoping you can help me with, actually, if you’re willing.” 

“What is it?” 

“I’ve, um, never had sex?” you say in a hushed voice. “And it’d be great if you could fix that…” 

There’s still chatter, laughter, and music happening around you, but in the little bubble of the two of you, it’s silent—which goes on for too long, and you open your eyes to see a gobsmacked look on Javier’s face. 

“Javi?” 

“Never?” he asks, barely above a whisper. 

“Never.” 

He must regain his bearings because he asks, “But you’ve fooled around with people, right?” 

“I’ve done some kissing and rubbing over clothes?” 

There was an almost drunken hookup in college, but you chickened out. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. 

“If this is too much pressure, you can tap out. I just trust you and know you’ll do it right and take care of me.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, absolutely. Zero hesitation.” 

He nods his head. “Okay, I’ll do it, but if you change your mind at all, you tell me.” 

A thrill runs through you. 

“Of course.” 

“Good.” 

“One other thing…” 

“Yes?” 

“I’ve also never orgasmed…” 

That has him harshly whispering, “What?!” A look of disbelief on his face. “Don’t you touch yourself?” 

“Not really,” you reply, shrugging. “I could never really figure it out.” 

“Get up.” He pushes you to stand from his lap. “We’re leaving right now.” He gets up, pulling his wallet from his back pocket, tossing some cash onto the table while you grab your purse and jacket. His billfold is back where it belongs, and he takes your hand, pulling you out of the bar in a hurry. 

He’s driving fast once you’re both belted into his Jeep. 

“What is going on, Javier?” you ask. “Why are you being so intense about my lack of orgasms?”

His hand is gripping your thigh. 

“Because it’s not right you haven’t had one, and I need to fix that immediately.” 

“Maybe slow down, so we make it to your apartment safely?” 

He slows a tiny bit, and you count it as a win. 

His apartment building is definitely away from where you knew the other employees were housed and much nicer. He parks beneath the building in the parking garage and leads you to an elevator that requires him to enter a code in a keypad before it will work, your eyes bulging when he hits the number for the top floor. 

“I had them put me in the nicest place they could find with the budget they had for my housing,” he explains without you asking, standing beside you with his arm around your waist. “They offered me a house, but I preferred the security of this place.” There’d been a gate you had to come through to get onto the property. 

“It’s way nicer than my dingy apartment.” 

“I used to live in your apartments back in the day.”

Your eyebrow lifts. “Back in the day? It was literally, what? Maybe two or so years ago.” 

“Yeah, back in the day when I was nothing but a dumb DEA agent.” 

“Who helped take down Pablo Escobar… The Los Pepes shit was dumb, but you still made a difference.” 

“I guess.” You can hear him frowning. 

Turning your head toward him, he meets your eyes. 

“You made a difference, and now that you’re in charge, you’re gonna take out those Cali cartel fuckers, too.” 

A little smile curls up on his mouth. “Maybe.”

“You will.” 

“You have a lot of faith in me.” 

“Because you’re an amazing man who’s good at his job and actually gives a shit—you’re gonna do it, and I’ll celebrate with you when you do.” 

The elevator dings as the doors open, both of you walking out into a hallway, following as he goes to the right. 

“You’ll have a drink with me at the office?” 

“Sure, if that’s how you wanna celebrate.” 

Arriving at his door, he digs his keys out of his pocket and unlocks both locks. 

“How did you imagine we’d celebrate?” he asks, stepping inside and welcoming you in. 

The front door is closed and locked behind you while you use the wall beside it for balance to take off your heels, Javi already kicking off his boots and hanging up his jacket on a nearby coat rack. 

“I don’t know,” you answer, getting one shoe off, then the other. “Aren’t celebratory blow jobs a thing?” you ask as you straighten and face him, passing him your purse and coat, which he hangs up with his jacket. 

His eyes narrow. 

“You said you’ve never fooled around with anyone?” 

“Yeah?” Your arms cross in front of you. “I haven’t—I shouldn’t know different sex acts because I’m inexperienced? I’m a virgin, not a prude, and a very curious virgin who’s watched porn.” 

“...And you didn’t touch yourself?” 

“Watching the porn? I tried. Like I said, I couldn’t figure it out. Maybe I was thinking too hard?” 

“Maybe. I’ll get you there. Come on, baby,” he says, retaking your hand and leading you through his massive apartment that has a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows in the living and dining rooms. The place is sparse in terms of decorations and sticks to neutral colors—white, beige, and black. There’s furniture, of course, and a television in the living room, along with a bookcase with some books on it that you walk past into a hallway you assume leads to the bedroom. 

“How many bedrooms do you have?” you ask. 

“Two, but I converted the guest room into an office.” 

“You work too much.” 

“You got a better idea of what I can do with my time?” he asks over his shoulder. 

“Assuming you fuck as good as you kiss, yeah.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head as he faces forward. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me.” 

His bedroom is spacious, featuring another wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, and also sticks to a neutral color scheme; his neatly made bed is king-size with bedside tables on either side and lamps atop them, spotting a dresser, a closet, and a door you assume leads to an en suite—the pièce de résistance that really pulls the place together are the panels of mirrors directly over the bed. 

“I like the horny—”

“They came with the apartment,” he cuts you off.

“Well, if you hate the mirror, why don’t you move the bed?” There’s enough room for him to place it somewhere else. 

Standing at the end of his massive bed, he turns to you, his dark eyes on yours. 

“Because I’d like a chance to use it.” His tongue peeks between his lips. 

“Wait, you haven’t fucked in here?” You have a hard time believing that. 

He sighs. “When would I have time?” he asks. “I’m always fucking busy or too fucking tired—I hate saying it, but I’m getting old.” 

“Javi, you’re not even forty. You’re not old.” 

“I feel old.” He pouts. 

Taking a step forward to press your body into his, you rub your hands up his chest. 

“Well, I think you’re young and sexy, and I’d love to use the mirror with you.” 

He’s crookedly smiling, his hands on your hips. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes.” 

“Can I take off your clothes?” 

“Sure.” 

The nerves are back with a vengeance. 

Capturing your lips in a kiss, his palms move up your back, easily working down the zipper on your dress and helping to get it off your arms, where it falls, pooling around your feet. His mouth makes a wet path along your jaw while his fingers unhook your black lacy bra, where it quickly joins your dress—you’d been thankful you had one set of cute matching lingerie, Javi’s mouth moving down your neck to your chest. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks, placing a soft kiss over your thudding heart. 

“Yes,” you answer, confused about where to put your hands, so you rest them on your waist. “You can, um, touch me anywhere. I don’t mind.” 

He takes your tits into his hands, lightly massaging them while kissing the tops. When he sucks a pebbled nipple between his lips, you gasp at the shock of pleasure that shoots to your cunt—it feels so good as he sucks and nibbles at the hard bud, moving to the other to give it the same attention, your fingers ending up in his hair, unable to keep from moaning. 

You can feel your heart beating at the apex of your eyes, your panties feeling wet, and your desire thrumming in your core. 

His hot mouth continues its worship of your breasts, Javier grabbing your dominant hand and moving it down your body and under the elastic of your panties, having you slide two fingers through your wet slit. 

His lips leave you. “Feel how wet you are?” he asks, having you make another pass. 

“Yes,” you breathe, your eyes closed. 

“Does it feel good, Hermosa (beautiful)?” 

“Yes.” 

“While I suck on your gorgeous tits, I want you to rub right here.” He places two of your fingertips over your clit. “Do what feels good, but don’t be too gentle.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Here.” Slowly, he has you start circling the nub, your breath catching in your throat. “It feels good,” he says, and you agree. “But you’re being too nice. Go faster and apply more pressure—don’t be afraid to fuck it up.” With that, you do as he instructed, your fingers rubbing furiously against your bundle of nerves. 

“Oh my god,” you moan at the pleasure coiling inside you. 

“Good girl,” he purrs. “Keep doing that for me, baby.” 

His mouth goes back to your breasts, and you feel like you’re losing your mind at how amazing the combined sensations feel. An odd tightening is happening in your center, getting tighter and tighter as every second passes. 

“Something,” you gasp. “Something feels weird.” 

His lips come off you with a pop.

“That’s good, Florecita. It means you’re close. Keep going, baby. Keep rubbing that pretty little clit and make yourself come. I want you to be my good girl and come for me.” 

Whenever he calls you his ‘good girl,’ a pleasant tingle moves down your spine. 

He’s back to sucking on your nipple while he rolls the other between his fingers, and the coil in your belly is winding so tight, it feels like something is going to happen, and it does—the coil snaps, and suddenly euphoria is overtaking your body feeling it spreading out from your center to your fingers and toes, Javier having to catch you when your legs give out, hugging you against him. 

“There it is,” he murmurs in your hair. “My good fucking girl coming for me. I knew you’d do it. Fuck, you’re amazing.” 

It takes you a minute to think a coherent thought and another to remember how to speak. 

“I know this is only our first date,” your words are coming out slurred, “but I don’t wanna let you go, like ever. I really like you, and it’s not because you helped me come.” 

“I don’t wanna let you go, either.” He kisses your head, hugging you tighter. “You wanna see where this will go?” 

“You mean I can be your secret girlfriend?” 

He snorts. “I’ll take you any fucking way I can get you—if I have to, I can switch you out with someone else’s secretary, and then it won’t be an issue.” 

“You’d hate that.” 

“I’d fucking hate that.” 

“Let’s date in secret—that sounds fun. Having rendezvous’, making out in storage rooms, fucking in your office—”

“Fucking in my office?” 

“The door’s got a lock. Lunchtime quickies. Especially on days when you’re stressed.” 

“You’re perfect.” 

“I’m horny, and I’d really like to see what you can do with this.” Your palm rubs over the front of his jeans, feeling him hard and straining against the zipper. 

He groans, and the sound goes straight to your pussy. 

“Can you stand?” he asks. 

Your legs are working fine now, putting all your weight on them. 

“Yeah.” 

His arms loosen around you to meet your gaze. 

“Do you wanna undress me?” 

“Yes.” You nod. “Am I allowed to touch you?” 

“You can do any fucking thing you want to me.” 

His answer makes you smile. “How romantic.” 

It’s a little nerve-wracking having his attention on you as you work open the buttons on his shirt, his hands soothingly rubbing over your bare hips. 

“Relax,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your cheek. His lips are at your ear as you finish unbuttoning him and untuck his button-up from his jeans. “You’re doing good.” His breath tickles your skin. “All you’re doing is getting my clothes off.”

He calms you, but now you’re trying to figure out the logistics of getting the shirt off him. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re ridiculously broad?”

He huffs in amusement, standing to his full height to look at your face while he smiles. 

“No one has told me that.”

Now, you’re able to push the button-up off his shoulders and pull it to fall from his arms onto the floor. 

There’s a lot of golden skin in front of you, your eyes taking in the freckles, and his soft belly with the tantalizing trail of hair below his navel leading down into his jeans. 

“I’ve always wondered what you were hiding under those suits,” you murmur, rubbing your hands along the warm skin of his shoulders, down his chest, to his stomach. “And I’m not disappointed.”

“I love how you look naked, too.”

The comment makes you duck your head, feeling heat creep up your neck. 

His fingers go under your chin, tilting your face up to see his warm expression. 

“I mean it,” he says. “You’re beautiful, and I need you to believe me.”

The truth is clear in his eyes, yet it’s hard to accept he thinks that.

“I know you’re not lying to me.” Your gaze shifts to stare over his shoulder at the bare cream-colored wall. “No one’s ever wanted me,” you say quietly. “No one ever looked at me as more than a friend. My first date? Was with this guy I was best friends with from elementary through high school. I was madly in love with him, and he saw me as nothing more than the sister he never had. We only went on the date because it was our senior prom, and neither of us had dates, so we went together. No one has ever wanted me.” 

“I want you,” he replies with conviction, so there’s no doubt. “I want you, all of you.” 

It makes you sigh. “And that honestly is insane to me.” 

“I’m not liking whatever this shit is where you think I’m too attractive for you, or whatever the fuck it is,” he says, his hands going to his belt, hearing him unbuckling it. Your eyes flick back to his, and you’re greeted with the grumpy expression you’re used to seeing at work. He pops open the button on his jeans, and you hear the teeth pull apart as he unzips them, making you gulp. 

“Are you mad at me?” you ask.

“What?” His face pinches in confusion, pushing his pants down, and you can’t help but look—he’s not wearing underwear. Bobbing between his legs is his sizable hard-on that has your eyes rounding at wondering how it would fit inside you. “No, I’m not mad at you, baby—fuck, the way you’re staring at my dick is driving me crazy.” He steps out of his jeans and does the awkward dance of getting his socks off. 

“I’m trying to figure out how you’re gonna get that thing inside me.” 

He chuckles, his bare feet planted on the floor, putting his hands on his hips. 

“I’ll tell you, and you can keep touching me if you want, but first—” He closes the distance to have your bodies practically touching, his dick pressing into your stomach, while his palms come up to hold your cheeks, your own going over his. “—creo que eres hermosa y te deseo (I think you’re beautiful and I want you). Eres muy hermosa (You’re very beautiful). Te he deseado por mucho tiempo, y no sabes lo feliz que estoy de finalmente tenerte (I’ve wanted you for a long time and you don’t know how happy I am to finally have you).” 

“¿En serio (Really)?” you ask. 

“Sí (Yes).” He nods. “Estaba chingado desde la primera vez que te vi (I was fucked from the first time I saw you.”

“No, estás mintiendo (No, you’re lying).” 

“Sabes que no lo estoy y tu también estabas igual de chingada cuando me conociste (You know I’m not and you were also just as fucked when you met me). Admítelo (Admit it).”

“Por supuesto que estaba y aparentemente fui muy obvio al respecto (Of course I was, and apparently I was very obvious about it).”

He grins, and an adorable dimple appears in his cheek. “Así era yo (So was I).” 

Your eyes narrow. “How were you obvious, Javier?” 

He gives you a look. “Remember when I had that meeting with HR, uh, a month or so ago?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Apparently, people are under the impression we’re fucking.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah, caught me off guard, too. I guess I treat you differently than everyone else and act differently.” He shrugs. “I told them we just have a close professional relationship, and I’d do nothing untoward to jeopardize it.” 

“You say with your hard dick jabbing me.” Reaching down, you wrap your fingers around him, Javi’s mouth falling open—he’s hot to the touch, hard like steel, and smooth as velvet, slowly stroking him. 

His throat works as he swallows. “Got them off my ass.” 

“Good, now tell me how you’re getting this—” You squeeze him, and he groans. “—into me.” 

“Fuck, if you’ll let me, I’ll eat your pussy and use my fingers to loosen you up. Once I think you’re ready, I’ll get some lube to make fucking you as painless as possible.” 

“You want to go down on me?” 

He’s smirking under his perfectly trimmed mustache. 

“I’d love to go down on you. I wanna see how you taste,” he answers with a wink. 

It makes arousal stir in your belly at the thought. 

“Okay. I’d like that.” 

His lips descend on yours, kissing you while his hands grab your waist to turn you both so your back is to the bed, guiding you until your legs bump into it. One moment, his mouth is on yours, and the next, it’s not when he lifts you by the thighs onto the mattress with a grunt, pushing you further onto it. 

“Head on the pillow in the middle,” he orders, tapping your hip. 

Crawling back, you do as he says, Javi climbing up after you.

He’s on his knees, the bed dipping as he moves toward you, his big hands latching around your calves to spread your legs. He picks up one, bending and turning his head to kiss your inner ankle, keeping his eyes on yours while his lips blaze a trail along your leg to your knee. It feels like electricity is under your skin where he touches, it prickling, his mustache tickling you and making you squirm a little. He brings the other leg up and makes the same journey from ankle to knee that has you biting your lip and wishing he’d touch you where you are pulsing. 

His eyes are so dark hardly any of the familiar chocolate brown remains, excitement bubbling in you when he opens your legs further apart and moves to lie between them, setting them up on his broad shoulders. You’re still wearing your lacy panties, and he shoves his beautiful nose into them, feeling as he inhales deeply and groans, his head moving side to side, nudging your clit, the sensation causing you to dig your fingers into the bedding. 

He must get to the point where he can’t wait any longer, sitting up enough to tug your underwear down and off one leg before he’s back in position. For some odd reason, you suddenly feel self-conscious, shy, and embarrassed about being completely nude, hiding your eyes behind your hands. 

Javi rubs along your sides in comfort. 

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asks gently. 

“No,” you answer. 

“Is it being naked?” 

“Yes.” 

“I love your body, and I’ve told you I think you’re beautiful. Would you be more comfortable wearing one of my shirts?”

“Um, yeah, but I want to do this naked. It’s just new...” 

“Don’t force yourself,” he replies, kissing your inner thigh. 

This tiny conversation has made you feel much better, lowering your hands. Staring at the ceiling, you can see your naked body, and Javi’s lying between your legs in the mirror. 

“I’m not.” Sitting up on your elbows, you want to look at him, a reassuring smile on your face. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

His eyes lock on yours. 

“Promise me, you’ll stop me if I do something you don’t like.” 

“I promise.” 

“Good girl,” he purrs, and you shiver. 

With two fingers, he spreads open the lips of your pussy, and looks at it with a hungry gaze, wetting his lips like he can’t wait to taste. 

“So fucking pretty,” he says. “I’m gonna make you feel good—need to get you really wet.” 

Suddenly, you watch his jaw flex, him spitting onto your clit, you gasping at the warm saliva slowly dripping down toward your entrance. A loud moan leaves you when he dives in, his tongue licking a hot stripe up through your center, feeling the vibrations of his groans. It’s different, odd, new, and you can’t get enough. He has to lock an arm over your stomach to keep you from moving as he goes to work, lapping all over your folds, tracing every bit of your sensitive skin to get all your arousal from the source. 

“You taste so good,” his words are said against your cunt. 

Heat races up your spine as he sucks your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over it with his pleasure-addled gaze on yours—it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and it’s so good, every nerve in your body alight in bliss, your belly starting to tighten. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “It feels so good. I think you’re gonna make me come again.” 

Your heels dig into his back, your toes curl, fisting your hands in the comforter for something to hold on to while your thighs tremble. Somehow, he just knows how to take you apart, finding a rhythm that’s turning you into a mess.  

There are a few seconds where his mouth leaves you to suck on his fingers before he goes right back to working you over; your jaw’s slack, your skin’s heated, and there’s tension in your belly that’s rapidly growing. He carefully starts pressing one thick digit inside you, your eyes snapping shut as you whimper at the new sensation, so tight he has to wiggle it in order to get all the way in—his tongue is teasingly flicking over your sensitive bundle of nerves and counteracting the slight discomfort of his finger, eliciting soft sounds from your parted lips.

It takes some time to get used to the foreign feeling, it slowly turning into pleasure and fanning the growing flames in your tummy. Sucking hard on your clit, another digit slips inside, your body jerking at the intrusion and the stretch it causes, whimpering. 

“Relax, baby,” he says. “Your pretty little pussy is taking my fingers so well.” 

His mouth is back on you, and it’s a tight fit for his fingers, but thankfully, you’re wet enough it eases in, and he languidly works them until your body relaxes, and he’s easily pumping them in and out of you. 

It’s embarrassing how he reduces you to a mewling mess with how amazing he’s making you feel. 

“You’re doing so good for me,” his muffled voice says into your pussy. 

His mouth, his fingers, your stomach is bunching up into tight knots, knowing it will not take much more to get you there—it’s insane that before today, you’d never been able to make yourself come, and here’s this man on the precipice of making you orgasm for a second time.

You’re ruined. 

He’s ruined you for anyone else. 

His fingers twist and scissor to stretch you out, making you whimper, grabbing his hand on your tummy that he squeezes back. He crooks his digits, and on the next pass, he slides against something that has your back arching and eyes blurring with stars, moaning his name loudly. 

“There it is,” he groans into your skin. “Come for me, Florecita. Give me another.” 

His arm is like a band of iron holding you down as you writhe. 

It’s all too much—what he’s doing to you, hearing the squelching of his fingers, the obscene slurping noises, and the rough sounds coming from his throat. Your body is quivering uncontrollably, and then you’re shattering, falling back onto the pillow with your arms giving out, pleasure surging through you as you come with a silent cry. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, your brain a blissful haze. 

His face comes up, his voice a rough rasp, “Good girl.” His fingers are still working inside you. “You’re fucking gorgeous when you come.” 

Your eyes are closed, riding out the high, and you’re starting to believe he actually does think you’re beautiful. Was there a tiny voice in the back of your head telling you he was saying all the sweet things just to get into your pants? Yes. But you’re almost positive he genuinely has feelings for you and does find you attractive. He’s given you so many opportunities to back out and offered to let you wear one of his shirts so you’d be more comfortable—guys who only want to get laid aren’t that kind. 

Javier obviously cares about you, which has you feeling over the moon. 

You’re coming down, your body starting to relax, and your heartbeat slowing. 

“Come up here and kiss me,” you say, sounding drunk and doing grabby hands at him. 

He chuckles, his fingers slipping out of you, and he gets out from under your legs. His mouth ghosts a trail of kisses over the soft skin of your belly to your chest and along your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake until his hips are resting between your thighs and his face is over yours, smelling your musk on him. 

“You’re gonna boss me around at work and home?” he asks, kissing your chin, the question causing your heart to skip a beat.

At work and home. 

“Maybe.” You wrap your arms around him, feeling his hard cock pressing into your belly. “Someone's gotta do it.” 

“Mmm, I like it when you boss me around.” He kisses your cheek. 

“Kiss me.” 

His lips press to your other cheek, your eyes opening to glare at him. 

“I said kiss me,” you order. 

“I am kissing you.” A peck to your jaw. 

You pinch his ass, and he chuckles. “Please kiss me on the mouth.” 

He’s smiling. “I can do that.” 

His lips claim yours in a hot, open-mouthed kiss, running your fingers through his hair and moaning at tasting yourself on him. His tongue plunders your mouth, licking the edges of your teeth and tangling with your own, Javi’s hips slowly rutting into you to ease his throbbing dick leaking on your skin. There’s an ache you’re feeling deep in your core that needs to be filled, and you know he’s the only one who can ease it. 

Coming up for air, he kisses along your jaw, nibbling on your chin. 

“Javi?” his name comes out breathy. 

Immediately, his head moves into your vision with a look of concern.  

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong. I want you to fuck me.” Your lip pulls between your teeth.

“Are you sure? I can finger you some more.” 

Smiling, you stroke his cheek. “Javi, please fuck me.” 

“Okay.” He nods. “Let me grab a condom and some lube.” He starts to move, and you stop him by grabbing his arm. 

“You’re clean?” you ask. 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m on birth control—it helps with my periods. I’m obviously clean, too, and okay without the condom if you are.” 

His eyes go a little wide, and he swallows hard. “You’d let me fuck you bare?” 

“I trust you and want to know what it feels like without the barrier. Is that okay?” 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re on birth control?” 

“Yes.” You nod. “The pills are in my purse if you want proof.”

“I believe you. Shit, yeah, it’s okay. I’m kicking myself in the ass right now for not asking you out sooner.” 

“Because you could’ve been having a lot of condomless sex?” you ask with an arched brow. 

He frowns. “I care about more than sex,” he answers defensively. “You know I care about more than sex, right? I’d be happy with cuddling with you in bed or on the couch and talking if you didn’t want to fuck right now—hell, I’d be happy falling asleep with you. It’s as long as you’re with me, and I wish I would’ve asked you out sooner so I could’ve had more time with you outside of work.” 

What he says makes you feel like you’re floating—you knew his feelings were genuine. 

“Oh, I know you care about more than sex,” you reply right away. “To be honest, you’re very dreamy, Javier. Like, you make me swoon. I’ve thought about investing in a fainting couch.” He snorts. “But, seriously—” Your palm presses to his jaw. “I know you care about more than sex. I mean, there was that time you had soup delivered to my apartment when I was sick, and now that I know where you live geographically, you had to drive really out of your way to carpool with me for that one week.” When the usual person you rode with was out with a bad flu. 

“That was a good week.” He smiles, turning his head to kiss your palm. “And the flowers.” 

Your eyebrows crease. “What flowers?” 

His eyes sparkle. “The bouquet on your birthday.” 

“The mystery bouquet was you?” you ask in disbelief. 

It’d been a large, beautiful bouquet of your favorite flowers whose card only wished you a happy birthday with no name or idea of who’d sent them. 

“Yeah.” 

“Javier, you ridiculously sweet man.” Sitting up, you kiss him, something tender and loving. Breaking apart, you say, “Okay, now I can see how you obviously like me. I have no idea how I missed it.” 

His lips turned down, Javi sighing. “You didn’t see it ‘cause you convinced yourself I wouldn’t be interested in you.” 

“And the whole you being my boss and figuring you wouldn’t break the rules. Now I’ve learned not to make assumptions.”

“Fuck the rules.”

“Aren’t you the rebel. What do you want to do?” 

He looks confused. “Huh?” 

“All night, you’ve been focusing on me, and I want to know what you want to do. Would you prefer cuddling naked and talking, or do you wanna have sex?” 

“Sex,” he answers immediately, making you giggle. 

“Which are you more excited about, taking my virginity or fucking me bare?” 

“Fucking without a condom. I’m happy I get to be your first so I can make sure it’s good for you, but I’m really fucking excited to be inside you with nothing on.” 

“I’m really excited to feel you inside me with nothing on, and I’m happy you’re my first, too. I wanted you to do it because I knew you’d take care of me.”

What you say makes him smile. “I am. Let me get what I need.” Quickly, he pecks you on the lips before moving off of you, the mattress jostling as he heads toward the bedside table on the left side of the bed. He’s stretching and reaching inside the drawer, returning to you with a small bottle, kneeling between your spread legs. “I’m just gonna use my fingers to make sure you’re ready,” he says, popping the cap and slicking up his digits. 

Looking in the mirror above, you watch and feel as he presses in one that goes in easily, then a second. His attention is on you, his focus alternating between his fingers buried inside your wet cunt, and the expressions your face is making as he slides in a third that stretches you more than before and really tests your limits, reveling in the burn. His other hand is rubbing your thigh. “Relax, baby,” he says, pushing them in and out and spreading them. There’s a thin layer of sweat on your skin, and it takes a second for you to do as he told you. “Do you still want me to fuck you?” he asks. 

You nod your head in answer. 

“Words, Florecita. I need to hear it.” 

“Yes, Javi. I want you.” More than anything, you leave out. 

“I think you’re ready.” He removes his hand. “If it hurts too much or you want me to stop, tell me, and I will immediately. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Javi.” 

“Good girl.” 

The bottle being opened sounds again, seeing Javi in the mirror stroking lube onto his hard shaft, it glistening in the lights of the room. Your heart is hammering in your chest over what’s about to happen, nerves fluttering all about in your tummy so rapidly you think they might get out. 

He shuffles forward a little, rubbing the tip of his cock through the wetness between your folds. 

“Are you ready?” he asks. 

“Yes.” 

It’s sweet that he moves to have his body over yours, holding himself on one arm beside your head while the other hand notches himself at your entrance—he distracts you by pressing his soft lips against yours in a searing kiss as he slowly starts sliding into you. He has you moaning into his mouth as he fills you, your tight walls stretching around him to accommodate his girth, digging your fingernails into his shoulders. Surprisingly, there’s no pain; Instead, you’re wondering how much more of him you can take with how insanely full you already feel when he’s barely halfway in. 

When his hips finally meet yours, you can’t breathe. 

It’s almost too much for you and bordering on overwhelming. 

The kiss ends, his eyes searching yours while his words come out strained, noticing the sweat on his brow, his bangs sticking to his forehead, “Are you okay?”

Finally, you suck in air. “So big,” you gasp. 

He looks worried. “Is it too much? Do you want me to pull out?” 

“No.” You shake your head. “I just need a second.”

“Okay.” He kisses the tip of your nose, then sweetly nuzzles his face against yours. “You feel better than I imagined. I could stay like this for hours, having your tight little pussy warming my dick. You’re so fucking tight and wet, squeezing me like a goddamn vice. Once I get going, I don’t know how long I’m gonna last ‘cause this perfect cunt is gonna milk me dry.” 

Everything he’s saying has arousal thrumming in your veins, your body getting used to having him inside you to the point you need him to do something, anything at all.  

“Move,” you tell him. 

His eyes meet yours, a flush covering his cheeks. “Okay.” He hitches one of your legs high on his hip, then the other, your heels resting at the small of his back. You can feel the splay of muscle under your calves work as he does an experimental roll of his hips, the angle putting pressure on your clit, pulling a moan from your throat at the pleasure. 

“You feel so good,” his voice is breathy. “So fucking perfect.” He’s thrusting slowly, and you can tell he’s holding himself back, his face ending up in the crook of your neck. “You’re so fucking perfect and beautiful.” He groans, and the sound makes you clench, him pausing with a hiss. “Shit, don’t do that, or this will end quickly.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s okay.” He kisses your cheek. “Fuck, when you come, you’re probably taking me with you.” 

That has a thrill rolling through you. 

He starts back up again, going slow, languid, feeling every ridge and vein on his cock as it presses into spots of bliss you weren’t even aware existed—the beginning of an orgasm is starting to take shape in your center, your toes curled up tight and needing more to get yourself there.

“Faster,” you say.  

Gradually, he picks up speed until there’s a wet slap of skin against skin, and he’s grunting in your ear, his thrusts steady, hard, and fast, the muscles in your belly tightening. All you can do is hang onto his shoulders, your mouth open as his name spills from it in gasping moans, chanting it over and over again. He’s pushing in so deep you’re sure he’s rearranging your guts in order to make himself fit.

His dick is moving in and out of you at a punishing pace, flooding your system with pleasure, unable to think about anything else except how you’re being wrecked by the man above you. 

In the mirror on the ceiling, you can see him fucking you—the way the muscles in his back are moving just under his golden skin, the glistening layer of perspiration shining in the light, the redness on his shoulders from your nails scratching at them, and add in the sounds—the rhythmic bang of his headboard hitting the wall, the mattress springs squeaking beneath you both, the wet suck of him working his cock in and out of your pussy, his rough noises, and your softer ones; it’s all utterly obscene and rocketing you toward your release with how it turns you on. 

One time, and you’re addicted. 

You want Javi to show you more—try out different positions and teach you new things, wanting to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel right this second. This has awakened something in you that’s hungry, and you want to feed it. 

His strong arm wraps around your back, and you squeak in surprise when he rolls you both so you’re on top, keeping himself buried to the hilt in your sopping cunt. Your knees are bracketing his hips, hands on his chest for leverage, and Javi doesn’t make you think about what you need to do; his large palms grab your ass, using his strength to work you up and down his slick cock. 

Somehow, he’s deeper like this, your mouth falling open, and helping him by rising and falling on your own as you keen. 

Sweat is coating both of you, seeing drops caught in Javi’s happy trail, loving the flush that starts on his chest and moves up his neck to his cheeks, the flexed muscles in his arms defined—from the look on his face you’d think he’s in pain, his eyes glazed over in lust and shifting between watching you ride him and looking up at the mirror. It gives you the idea to lean back and hold yourself up with your hands on his thighs to give him a better view as you bounce in his lap. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re fucking gorgeous taking my dick so well,” he says the words through panted breaths. Your climax is near, getting closer and closer with every deep kiss of his cock inside you. “Are you gonna come for me? Are you gonna let me feel you come around my dick? You gonna take me with you? Come on, Florecita, give it to me.” 

His calloused thumb circles your clit so perfectly that it has you falling over the edge, coming with a loud moan of his name, laying forward onto him. Your inner walls tighten around him, hearing Javi groan, euphoria exploding out from your core to spread to your limbs, your mind going blissfully blank. 

Javier firmly grips your ass, grunting as his hips thrust upwards frantically to chase his own high. 

He says something you don’t register, a sharp slap to your asscheek quickly following to get your attention. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Gonna come,” he says through his teeth. “Need you to get off.” 

That made little sense to you since you discussed how you’re on the pill. 

“Come inside me.” 

A pained noise leaves him, his rhythm stuttering. “Fuck, are you sure?” 

“Yes, come inside me, Javi.” 

His orgasm must catch him off guard with how long and strained his moan is as he comes, his hands pulling you down hard and flush against him—it surprising you how you’re able to feel his cock thicken and jerk, the hot spurts of his spend filling and coating your inner depths. 

His chest is rising and falling hard beneath you, welcoming his arms that hug you close to his body, your face tucked into his neck and content on where you’re at, not wanting to move—with how your arms and legs feel like they’re made of Jell-O, there’s a chance you couldn’t move if you wanted to.

There’s no way your first time could've been better—it was perfect. 

Minutes pass as you both share in the relaxing post-coital bliss, your hand ending up in his hair where you play with the sweat-damp strands, Javi humming appreciatively. 

“How was it?” he finally asks, his voice rough. 

“Amazing,” you reply, not sounding any better.

His head turns, kissing your forehead. “Yeah?” 

“Oh, yeah. How long before you’re able to go again…?” 

A huff of air leaves his nose. “Am I in for a long night, Florecita?” 

“You’re in for a long weekend, Javier.” 

“One time, and you’re fucking insatiable,” he chuckles. 

“The one time was life-changing, and I want you to show me all the things I’ve been missing out on.” 

“Your pussy is probably gonna be sore tomorrow, and you won’t want me touching it.” 

There’s already an ache. 

“True, so tomorrow we can go over the art of sucking your dick and hand jobs?” 

He sounds amused, “We can do that, and I’ll make you breakfast.” 

“Yes, I’ve gotta have that breakfast.” 

“And I want to take you out to dinner.” 

It takes you a second to process what he said.

“Like on a date?” 

“Yes, Florecita. I want to take you out on a proper date.” 

Moving your face over his to meet his eyes, you reply, “Where will you take me so nobody from work will see us?” 

His hands rub over your back. 

“I know some places only locals go to. I can also take you to a different city if that will make you feel better.” 

“I trust you.”

A serious look came over his face, his hand coming up to slide along your cheek. 

“I’m really fucking busy with work,” he says. 

“I’m intimately aware.” 

He nods, sighing. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good at being your boyfriend.” 

“Are you gonna cheat on me?” 

He looks offended. “What? No. If I’m with someone, I’m with them and them only.” 

“That’s good. When you’re not busy with work, will you want to spend time with me?” 

“Even when I'm working, I want to spend time with you.” 

“You’re so sweet,” you reply, pecking him on the tip of his nose. “I know you’re a busy man, Javi. The way I imagined this going down is we’d spend time together on lunches and breaks at work. I can either keep you company and rack up overtime at the office when you stay late, or we can come here for you to continue working, and I’ll do my best not to distract you.” 

There’s a curious expression on his face. “How would you distract me?” 

“I don’t know, maybe walk around your apartment in little to no clothing?” 

He wet his bottom lip. “I think I’ll start working after hours at home more…” 

His horniness makes you laugh. “You’re adorable. Then, on the rare occasions you actually have a night or day off, we’ll do stuff.” 

“It’s not gonna bother you we won’t have a traditional relationship?” 

“I’ve never been in one, so no,” you answer with a shrug. “I mean, we already spend basically all of our time together; this just changes our dynamic and means I can kiss you whenever I want.” 

He smiles. “Yes, you can.” His hand gently pulls you down for a kiss. Separating after some seconds, he says, “We need to get you cleaned up.” 

“Right.” You also needed to empty your bladder since that was important after sex. 

“There’s a huge fucking tub in my bathroom, so I’ll run us a bath, and afterward, I want you to drink some water and have a snack.”

“It’s surprising to me you have food here. I honestly thought you survived on coffee and cigarettes.” 

A sigh leaves him. “I usually remember to eat breakfast and dinner… The people who clean this place also buy my groceries, so yeah, I’ve got food here. I’ll make you something to eat.” 

“That’s very sweet of you,” you reply, kissing him briefly. “Thank you.” 

“And I’ll give you a tour—there’s not much, but I’ll show you everything.”

“I’d love that,” you say with a smile. 

“Then you can tell me what you want to do next.”

“I wanna rub your back.” With how tense he always is and the sounds he makes getting out of chairs, you know it has to bother him. 

His eyes get bigger. “Okay.”

“Work out some of that tension, and after, if you’re up for it, there’s this position I saw in a dirty movie where the woman was on her hands and knees, and the guy was just really giving it to her from behind and spanking her, and I wanna know what that’s like.” 

He’s staring blankly at you like his brain has stopped working. 

“Javi?”

It gets his attention. 

“When my job’s finished down here?” he says. 

“Yeah…?”

His hands cradle your face, his eyes staring deeply into yours. 

“I want you to come home with me, back to the States.” You didn’t expect him to say that. “I’ve had you by my side for months,” he continues, “and now that we’re together, I don’t want to go home without you.”  

“We just started dating…” 

“And I already know I’m going to marry you.” 

Masterlist

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A thong style for the bottom, but the real name of the connected piece of lingerie was lost on you. Never an expert on this kind of thing, you had found the seductive lace on a recent patrol, sitting in a box wrapped with a ribbon, never even worn.

Part of you had wanted to just leave it there, shove it back into the closet of that long abandoned house.

But your fingers had brushed against the lingerie, marveling at how the burgundy looked against your skin, and you sighed to yourself, gingerly lifting up the piece and tucking it carefully into your backpack.

For weeks that lingerie had stayed in your pack, too afraid to take it out and put it anywhere in the bedroom you now shared with Joel, not wanting him to see it and draw conclusions.

What conclusions, though? That you were trying to seduce him?

You didn’t have to try to do that. The two of you had hardly been able to stop fucking since you started, and your sex life had only turned up in temperature once you both accepted your feelings for each other, even if you never explicitly stated said feelings.

No confession was needed. You both understood each other even better than yourselves, and knew what you had together was real. Being with each other was all you needed.

So then why had you taken the lingerie?

You observed yourself in the mirror, tilting your head as you ran your fingers over the lace again, wondering if you looked…pretty.

Joel was a man of few words, even now. But he wasn’t shy either—he had no issues calling you beautiful whenever he was inside of you.

Outside of sex, though, you could probably count on one hand the times he had complimented you on your looks. One such time had been at the holiday party, and you remembered how much your heart had raced, feeling so happy at the idea that he saw you that way, like you were something beautiful.

You weren’t shy either, by any means. In fact, you could be arrogant as fuck at times. You were confident when it came to sex, not caring what you looked like.

But Joel made you care.

With a sigh, you grabbed the t-shirt that belonged to Joel that you had brought into the bathroom with you, pulling it over your head and tugging the hem down, making sure it was long enough to cover up the lingerie so that you would be able to chicken out without him ever knowing what you wore if you couldn’t build up the courage to show him.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you closed the door behind you, smiling to yourself at the sight of Joel leaning back against the headboard, reading glasses perched on his nose as he read the book on outer space he had been trying to get through for Ellie.

“Hey,” you murmured after you had walked around the bed and climbed in beside him, careful to make sure the t-shirt still covered your body as you kissed his cheek.

Joel hummed, turning his head to meet your lips in a chaste kiss before going back to reading his book.

You sat in content like that, tucking your legs under yourself with the t-shirt covering your thighs, hiding any hint of lace as your heart raced in your chest at the thought of what you were wearing, and how he had no idea.

As you rested your head on his shoulder, you read the book with him, enjoying the topic of outer space as it reminded you of your sister. Every now and then one of you would remark on some little fun fact, and when Joel turned the page after you confirmed you were done reading a passage, his hand came to rest on your leg above your knee, drawing lazy patterns against your skin.

So drawn into comfort by the moment, you didn’t notice as his hand rose higher, callused fingers dancing across the soft skin of your thigh until it brushed against the lace resting on your hip right above it.

Joel’s hand paused in the same moment you froze at the sensation you both felt of his hand resting over a part of your lingerie.

His head turned then, glancing down at you as your breath quickened, avoiding his gaze to stare stubbornly at the page even as his fingers danced higher, spreading across the lace on your stomach as his breath hitched.

“What’s this?” he mumbled, his voice husky as he turned to look down at you better, sucking in a sharp breath as he saw just a hint of the red lace on your skin from where his hand had pushed up the t-shirt slightly.

“Joel—”

“Are you wearing lingerie for me, darlin’?” his voice came out in a rumble, eyes flashing up to meet yours, darkening with a familiar desire that seemed deeper, hungrier than how he usually looked at you.

“Uh—” you cleared your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up as your eyes darted away again.

At your hesitancy, Joel’s hand froze from where it was sliding up towards your breasts under the shirt. He pulled back, shifting to sit up and forcing you to do so as well, glancing over your face with a frown.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked quietly, concern mixing with the hunger in his gaze, his affection for you winning over his lust. “You don’t gotta wear anything like that if you don’t wanna, you know.”

“No, I know,” you said quickly, wanting to assure him you didn’t feel like you had to.

But it was hard to admit that you wanted to, that you wanted him to call you pretty. That you wanted him to worship you.

Biting your lip, you glanced away, eyes darting around the room before Joel gently took your chin and directed your gaze back to meet his again.

“Talk to me, mi luna,” he whispered, and you sighed, melting at the fond name he had for you that dripped from his lips in his most affectionate moments with you. “What’s wrong?”

“I just—” you groaned, dropping your face into your hands. “It’s…embarrassing.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Joel sighed, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you gently into his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring against your hair, “You don’t ever have to be embarrassed around me.”

He pulled back, leaning his forehead against yours, gazing deeply into your eyes as he added, “I’d like to see you, if you’d let me. But you’re always beautiful, lingerie or not.”

Your eyelashes fluttered, breath hitching as your chest warmed with fondness before you leaned up to meet his lips in a deep kiss that you poured the depth of your emotions into.

Joel moaned quietly into the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth for something deeper until he pulled back with a rasp of, “Will you let me see you, darlin’?”

With a nod, you pushed yourself back, rising from the bed as Joel tossed the book and reading glasses onto the bedside table before he moved to sit on the edge of it. You grabbed the hemline of the shirt, bringing it over your head to land on the floor, completely forgotten as Joel took you in.

“Sweet God,” he whispered, voice thick with longing as his brown gaze darkened so much it was nearly black, fingers twitching from where he grabbed the edge of the bed. Wanting to touch you, but wanting to appreciate the way the lace looked on you first. “Turn around for me, sweetheart. Let me see all of you.”

You did as he requested, heart racing as desire pooled between your legs when he saw your ass and groaned.

“Fuck,” Joel mumbled, and you gasped quietly as you felt the rough palm of his hand against your ass, grabbing your soft flesh and bringing moans from both of your lips.

He was grabbing your hips then, turning you around so he could see you from the front again, large hands spreading across the lace on your body, taking in the texture pressed to your skin as he cupped your breasts in his palms. His thumbs rubbed over your nipples, bringing them to peaks that showed through the burgundy lace as you moaned, and Joel exhaled heavily at the sound.

“C’mere,” he murmured, grabbing your hip and tugging you forward, and you collapsed down into his lap, meeting his lips in a desperate kiss as you both fell back onto the bed together.

His tongue slipped into your mouth as you kissed, hot and desperate, saliva exchanging between you as you shifted so you straddled his thigh. You grinded down against him with a moan, finding delicious friction in the lace rubbing against your clit as he cupped the back of your neck with a large hand.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you wanna ride my thigh?” Joel whispered as he leaned back, head falling back against the bed as you nodded, rolling your hips so you could continue to get sweet friction on your throbbing clit. “Go on, then. I want to see you soak through that pretty little lace until you’re coming on my thigh.”

You whimpered, nodding again as you humped his thigh faster, lips parting with fast breaths, chest heaving as Joel intently watched your body roll with the grinding.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Joel whispered, lifting his leg so he could bounce it gently, meeting your ministrations and nudging your clit in the perfect way, making the sensation even more delicious as you hurtled towards the edge. “Come on, you can do it. Drip all over me, sweetheart, cum for me.”

Your head tossed back, crying out as your body followed his command without a second thought, hips weakly gyrating against his thigh as you rode out the orgasm on his leg.

“Fuck, look at you,” Joel mumbled, using his hand still on the back of your neck to pull you down into a hard, passionate kiss. “Soaked my thigh, darlin’. Might have ruined that pretty little lace of yours, too.”

Joel lifted you up so he could rid himself of the boxers that were containing his erection, fabric now stained with your release from where you rode his thigh. You watched his cock hit his stomach, tip already leaking with precum as he situated you above him.

He curled his fingers around the soaked lace of your lingerie, dragging it away from your pussy with a moan at the obscene, wet sound of it pulling from your folds.

“Would look even better if my cum was on there too,” Joel whispered, and your eyelashes fluttered, feeling the ache for another orgasm begin to fill your lower stomach as his hand found his cock to guide along your folds and collect your release. “Fuck, you’d look so good with my cum leaking out of your pussy, with only this slutty little lace to keep it in.”

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you gasped, head rolling back between your shoulders as he pushed the head of his cock into you, inching inside of you in slow, sensual thrusts until he was bottomed out with your ass pressed to his balls from where you were now sitting on top of his thighs.

When you pulled your head back up to look down at him, you saw his dark gaze fixed on where the lingerie still covered your stomach, and with his previous words, an idea began to swirl through your mind.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Joel?” you whispered huskily, grabbing one of his hands to place it on your stomach, your other hand resting on the bed next to his face as you leaned down to hover your lips inches above his. “You’d like to put your baby in me, hm?”

Joel’s breath hitched, eyes wide as they met yours from underneath you, and for a moment you worried you had taken it too far.

Your mouth opened, about to apologize, when he breathed out a desperate moan of, “God, yes.”

A moan slipped past your own mouth, still open and letting out a steady stream of whimpers and expletives now as Joel lifted his knees up, placing his feet against the mattress so he could fuck up into you.

“Jesus, is that what you want, sweetheart?” Joel grunted, bucking up into you with his hands grabbing your waist tightly, pulling you down to meet each hard stroke. “You want me to fill you up until you’re having my baby?”

You cried out from pleasure as he rotated his hips, hitting that sweet spot inside you that made you lose any coherent thought other than the realization that yes, yes, “Yes!”

“Oh fuck,” Joel moaned, his balls slapping against your ass each time he bucked into you, the obscene sounds of your hard sex filling your shared bedroom. “Fuck yes, baby. Take it, take my cock until you make me cum inside of you.”

“Joel, please,” you whimpered, rolling your hips to meet his movements, and one of his hands left your hip to find that sensitive bundle of nerves between your thighs that was begging to be touched.

“Gonna fill you up, sweetheart,” Joel moaned and whimpered as you stared wide-eyed at the ceiling while he fucked you, vision blurring until you were nearly blind as his thumb rubbing mercilessly over your clit brought you to another orgasm. 

“Gonna give you my baby,” Joel gasped, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate as his hips rolled underneath you while you grabbed at his knees to try and keep your boneless body up with the aftershocks of your climax rocking through you. “And you’re gonna wear this little piece again. I wanna see your tits spilling over this lace when I get you knocked up for me.”

“Do it, Joel,” you whisper hoarsely, falling forward to brace your arms on the bed around his head, wide gaze meeting his as he bucked up into you. “Cum inside me, fill me up, make me yours.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, fuck!” Joel moaned until he nearly cried out the last curse, pulling you down to meet his hard thrusts once, twice, before his cum began to shoot inside of you, coating your walls as he seated himself as deep inside you as he could so you took it all.

You were both panting heavily, two sets of glazed over eyes meeting in pure bliss as his cock continued to pulse inside of you, filling you up even more than you would have thought until the feeling of the hot cum shooting into you subsided.

Still, you both stayed like that, foreheads resting together as your lips met his in lazy kisses, again and again until his cock began to soften inside of you, and he pulled out with a groan.

“Fuck,” Joel panted, looking down at where his cum immediately began to drip back out of your pussy, coating your thighs as he pulled the lace of the lingerie back into place, moaning as his release mixed with yours on the dark red fabric.

“I guess you really liked this little number, huh?” you teased breathlessly, and Joel laughed softly, rolling you over so he was on top of you, showering your face with affectionate kisses until his lips met yours in a slow, soft kiss that said all you needed to know of how much he cared for you.

Still, he whispered quietly, “you’re so beautiful,” as his face nuzzled into your neck, and you sighed happily, knowing now that you would never feel embarrassed to show yourself off like this for him again.

After a long day, Joel was ready to relax and enjoy a bonfire with you. It’s how you spent a lot of summer nights in Jackson, you and Joel and sometimes Ellie just sitting around the fire, sharing stories and shooting the shit.

Tonight Ellie was at Dina’s having a sleepover, leaving just you and Joel together. It was nice to spend nights alone with Joel. Sometimes you’d talk about anything and everything and other nights you’d just share a comfortable silence. After everything you went through on your way to Jackson, it was nice to enjoy some peaceful nights with Joel. 

Upstairs, Joel changed into some plaid pajama pants and a slim fitting t-shirt and made his way through the hall and to the top of the staircase, his heavy footsteps alerting you of his presence. 

“Joel?” you shouted to him from the kitchen. You were preparing a snack in preparation for the bonfire. “Can you grab me a hair tie please?” 

You were peeling apples and slicing bread to make pudgy pies for you and Joel to share. It’s one of the campfire snacks he introduced to you and Ellie. Back before the outbreak, he said, people would use canned pie filling or peanut butter and Nutella as filling for the toasted sandwiches. Now you had to get more creative, so you opted for spiced and sugared apple slices. You preferred berries, but apples were Joel’s favorite filling for dessert. You didn’t mind. He used to make these for his daughter.

“Where can I find one?” he called back. 

“On my bedside table, right by the lamp,” you stepped closer to the staircase so you didn’t have to raise your voice as much. “It should just be a plain black one.”

Joel nodded and walked to your room. At your bedside table, he didn’t see any hair ties. Just some jewelry and a comic book Ellie lent you that she wanted you to read. Perhaps it was in the drawer? 

 Joel opened the drawer and rummaged around your belongings. There was a bottle of your favorite almond scented lotion from the local soap maker, your journal and some pencils, but no hair tie. He should have called out to you to ask if there was another spot your hair tie might be at, but curiosity got the better of him. He knew it was wrong to snoop through your personal belongings, but he couldn’t help himself.

Joel pulled the drawer out a little further and lifted your journal up. His eyes widened at what he saw. It wasn’t your hair tie, that was for damn sure.

 Under your journal was an ancient porno magazine, probably from the 70s or 80s. Joel didn’t bother checking for a date. He had to know what the hell was in this old ass magazine that you were using to get yourself off. He remembered these kinds of magazines from when he was a teenager. They were often tacky and somewhat over the top compared to the explicit videos he’d watched on the internet before the outbreak, but they did the job. Who was he to judge?

Joel sat on your bed and flipped through the pages of the magazine. There were women in frilly chiffon lingerie with bushy and unkempt pussies, just the way he liked them. That was one nice thing about the outbreak, a lot of women ditched the beauty standards of the 90s and 2000s and went au naturale. Joel loved it as a young man then and he still loves it now, decades later.

The magazine nearly flipped itself open to one particular centerfold. It was a man fucking a woman from behind, her back arched and hair covering her face. They were at the edge of the bed, her fingers gripping the retro floral duvet cover. She was beautiful, but it wasn’t her who captured Joel’s attention. It was the man. 

He was tall, dark, and handsome with a thick downturned mustache, not unlike Joel’s. He had dark hair and dark eyes as well. Even his nose was similar to Joels, strong and sharp with a curve. Joel couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. The pages were worn and the corners were dog eared, leading Joel to believe that these must be your favorite pages. His ego soared, as if it needed to be any bigger. He always had a feeling that you had a thing for him.

Downstairs, you were growing irritated. “What is taking so long?” you muttered to yourself. Joel was taking forever to find the hair tie you had so neatly placed next to the lamp on your bedside table. After turning off the burner of the stove, you paced through the kitchen and up the stairs.

 “You are such a man, you know? You guys are terrible at looking for things. If it was a snake it would have bit you,” you grumbled out, half talking to yourself and half talking to Joel. You opened your mouth to continue speaking as you walked into your room but froze when you saw Joel on the bed, thumbing through the pages of your dirty secret. 

“I found your spank bank,” Joel taunted with sarcasm, not yet looking at you. He flipped through a couple more pages before turning to face you, his intense stare meeting your flustered expression. 

You were frozen in embarrassment, completely unable to speak, unable to move. Your face felt like it was on fire and you could hear your heart pound in your ears. 

Joel’s low and gravelly voice filled the silence. “Didn’t mean to embarrass ya, baby. It’s okay. Human nature,” he winked at you with a crooked smile. 

You quickly stepped over to him and tried tugging the magazine out of his hands, but he held on tightly. “Joel,” you pleaded as your sweaty fingers slipped off of the paper.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided you. “This dude here kinda looks familiar, doesn’t he?” Joel looked at you with a knowing expression as humiliation filled your chest. Yeah, he looks just fucking like you. Leave me alone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Joel,” you muttered angrily. You were about to burst into flames, whether from embarrassment or anger you didn’t know. You didn’t care. How dare your body put your shame and embarrassment on display? You were giving Joel exactly the kind of sick satisfaction he absolutely did not deserve. 

“Oh, baby. I think you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. Look at how you’ve dog-eared these pages,” he used his pointer finger to trace the bent triangles at the corners of the pages. “Guy looks just like me, doesn’t he? Is that what you like so much about these pages?” his southern drawl had your stomach doing flips. “I know they’re your favorite, magazine practically opened right up to them.”

You ignored his question. “The pages were like that when I found the magazine,” you tried lying, but it was a futile attempt. This was bullshit. Joel was the one who was caught red handed, and yet you were bearing the brunt of the humiliating situation. Only Joel Miller could spin this situation to work out in his favor.

“Sure, sweetheart,” you reached for the magazine again, but Joel pulled it out of your reach. “You know baby, you didn’t have to fantasize with a dirty old magazine if you wanted to fuck me. All you had to do was ask.”

You said nothing, just glared at him. Joel wore a loathsome smirk as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. 

“Wish I knew this is what you were usin’ to get yourself off at night. All those pretty noises, all this time. They were all for me, weren’t they?”

Any words you could think of got caught in your throat, it felt like dry swallowing a pill. You just looked at Joel with pleading eyes, begging him to stop making you feel like a fool. If you weren’t so embarrassed, you’d be yelling at him for rifling through your private belongings and calling him presumptuous asshole for insinuating you fantasized about him. Of course, he was entirely correct in his assumption. You were completely and utterly infatuated with him. Even when you weren’t using his doppelgänger to get yourself off, you were thinking of him all day long. 

 “Please,” you finally choked out, feeling tears prick your eyes. You couldn’t take any more of this torture. “Just stop.”

“Oh, sweet girl,” he spoke with a soothing tone. Joel placed a hand on your thigh and twiddled his fingers along the fabric of your pajamas. “You know I’m just gonna keep buggin’ you until you tell me what I want to hear.” Joel looked at you with his sparkling brown eyes, darkened with lust. “So what do you like about these pages, baby?”

Turning your face towards your lap, you whispered your response to his prodding question. “I like the way he’s fucking her,” If that’s all it’d take to make him stop, might as well spill your guts.

“Yeah, I do too. It’s sexy, isn’t it?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, glancing at the familiar image. Joel was 100% right. Those were certainly your favorite pages. You didn’t even need them anymore, the picture was tattooed on your brain. “I like how the man looks.” you admitted with bravery.

“I bet you do. Because he looks like me, right?”

You nodded your head shyly. You couldn’t believe yourself, giving up and letting Joel win. He’d never let you live this down. But maybe if you butter him up a little he’ll let you off easier. “You’re more handsome, though,”

“Oh, baby. Gonna make me blush,” Joel replied to you with a saccharine smile. He really did seem genuinely flattered by your comment. “This is really what you look at when you’re playing with your pussy?”

“Yeah, kind of,” you say, feeling some confidence fill your chest. “I pretend it’s you fucking me like that.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhm,”

“You’re such a good girl for me, baby. I like knowin’ you think of me like that,” he praises you for finally letting go of your embarrassment. He doesn’t only want to tease you. If this is what you fantasized about, he was gonna make your dreams come true. 

Joel takes one of your hands in his own and moves it to your center, pressing your fingers against your core. You gasp at the feeling of your wetness on your pajama pants. “Think you can do somethin’ for me?”

“What?” you murmur.

“I want you to give me a show, baby. Show me how you touch yourself when you’re lookin’ at that magazine,” Apprehension fills your bones once again at his words. “Don’t be nervous, sweetheart. I just wanna see how pretty you look when you come. And after you do that, I’ll fuck you just like how he’s doin’. What do you say?”

“Just like, touch myself?” you laugh awkwardly at his request. This cannot be happening. Right?

Joel sets the magazine down and helps you to the top of the bed. He leans you against the pillows and kisses your lips for a second, and every time his tongue mingles with your own your anxiety melts away, little by little. This is all so surprising, maybe he does really want to make you feel good.

He kisses you gently and with care, using his lips to encourage you to let go again. He kisses the side of your mouth, then your jaw, your neck, and down your body before lifting up your pants and looking at you expectedly, asking permission to remove your clothing. You nod and he helps you out of your pajamas. It’s all so sudden and you feel exposed, all naked and laid out for Joel.

“You’re beautiful,” Joel says earnestly as he takes one of your wrists and guides your hand to your needy pussy, encouraging you to show him what you look like when you’re whimpering at the thought of him in the middle of the night. You don’t touch yourself yet, though. You cover your center with your hand, slightly embarrassed by the thick tuft of hair surrounding your vulva.

“I haven’t shaved in forever,” you say sheepishly. It’s kind of silly, worrying about body hair at the end of the world. But you can’t help it.

“That’s alright, sweetheart” Joel says as he reaches for the magazine and flips to one of the first pages he saw, a woman spread eagle with her full bush on display. She’s smiling and radiates confidence. “See? It’s a beautiful thing. It’s how they’re meant to be.”

You’re skeptical. “Do you really think so?” 

“Of course I do. I love your pussy, it’s beautiful just how it is,” Joel grips your thighs and parts your legs, and your fingers gently drop to touch your dripping center. Joel reaches forward and places his hand over yours, helping you circle your clit with your middle finger. It’s slow at first and you squeeze your eyes shut, still feeling slightly awkward. Masturbating for someone else to watch is completely different from sex. You feel vulnerable, like you’re being studied under a microscope. You don’t feel that way for long, though.

Joel continues to help you circle your clit until he senses you becoming more confident, then removes his hand to watch you do your thing. Your fingers swirl around your hole as you gather your slick, then travel up again to rub your clit in those same circles he helped you create. You let out little gasps and whimpers, and it’s music to Joel’s ears. Finally, he has an image to match with the moans and other noises he hears from your room.

Usually you can get yourself off fairly quickly but with Joel in front of you, it takes a little longer. You open your eyes and peek at him. His dark and hungry eyes are focused on your center, but they flick up to your own. He smirks devilishly at you for a half second then goes back to watching your actions, almost obsessively. He is obsessed.

The sight of him pushes you closer to the edge, and he watches your pussy twitch as you finger your clit even faster. His expression changes then. He’s no longer looking at you with adoration and lust. Joel looks angry and jealous, with a furrowed brow and a scowling frown. You tilt your head slightly in confusion but before you can think Joel lunges forward and rips your hand away from your cunt, pinning it next to your torso. 

“Let me taste you?” he whispers. You nod hurriedly in response. Lick me, touch me, do anything.

He presses a kiss to your clit and you gasp in surprise. “This is my pussy now,” he growls. Now that he knows what you look like touching yourself for him, he can’t just sit there and watch you anymore. Joel’s desperate, he needs to make you come. “From now on, you’re only gonna come when I say so. Do you understand?”

You mumble incoherently and Joel swats your thigh, not satisfied with your answer. “Do you understand?” he repeats, his voice dark and serious.

“Yes, Joel,”

“Good girl. You just relax now, let me take care of you,” he instructs you. Your head falls to the pillow, and you let out a soft exhale as Joel wraps his strong arms around your thighs and pulls your pussy to his face. Joel inhales your scent deeply, enjoying your aroma. 

He licks a long stripe from your slick hole all the way to your clit, flattening his tongue against you. He licks every inch of you, memorizing your folds with his deft tongue. When he’s satisfied with the way he’s worked you up, he focuses on your clit, flicking it with his tongue before inserting two fingers inside of you. 

“Joel,” you gasp out, hands reaching for his salt and pepper curls. Your thighs clamp around his head and he removes his hands from your body to spread them out again. 

“You stay open for me now,” he commands. He plunges his fingers back inside you and curls them upward, hitting that spot that makes your knees weak and your eyes see stars. You moan loudly when Joel’s lips attach to your clit once more, this time gently sucking on the sensitive bud. He’s drunk on your taste, completely addicted to your flavor. His tongue continues dancing on your center and you pull him close to you, rutting your hips into his face. Every once in awhile you swipe his nose and he uses the opportunity to dip and twirl his tongue inside of you. 

This is the best way to eat pussy, Joel’s learned. Find out what makes her tick and keep doing that, let her grind on his lips and nose. Right now, your wish is his command.

You reach down and grab his not working arm to bring it towards your breasts. Joel picks up what you’re putting down immediately and trails his hand over your breasts, pinching and twisting your pebbled nipples. That’s all it takes to have you coming in his mouth. 

You cry out his name as you buck your hips into him, fighting the urge to push him away when the feeling becomes too intense. 

Joel doesn’t allow you to catch your breath. He flips you on your tummy and drags you down the bed, his fingernails pressing into your skin. “You did so good for me, baby. You gonna let me fuck you now? Just like you pretend, right?” He pulls his shirt over his head and steps out of his pajama pants behind you.

“Yes, Joel, please,” you whine.

“I like hearin’ that. Keep beggin’ for me,” Joel demands as nudges your thighs apart with his knee. He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, painting his precum on your skin. He pushes the tip inside, not yet dipping all the way inside you.

“I need you,” you sob with desperation. 

“Need me to what?” He knows what you need, but Joel’s gonna make you spell it out to him.

You let out a groan of frustration and back your ass into his hips. Joel chuckles at your annoyance. “Come on now. Tell me what I want to hear,” he repeats his words from earlier. “Put that pretty mouth to use.”

“I need you to fuck me,” 

“There you go. Was that so hard?”

Joel wraps his hands around your hips, his fingers digging into your lower stomach and his thumbs pressed firmly into your lower back and slams his hips into you. His fingernails leave dents in your skin.

You yelp at the sudden contact, not expecting him to go so hard and fast. His thick cock stretches you out and you can feel the tip hitting you deep inside. 

“Always knew this pussy would feel good,” he mumbled behind you, beginning his firm pace. 

You arch your back into him, using your body to tell him what you need. You love the way he feels, so strong and holding you so tight. It really is a fantasy come to life. “Don’t stop, please,” you cry for him.

“Mmmm,” he hums. “You love this cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, Joel,”

“That’s right. It’s all for you, baby,” he continues pounding into you.

Joel stops for a second and flips you over on your back. He apologizes, “Sorry, sweetheart. I know I said I’d fuck you like them in the magazine but fuck, I gotta see you,” he says. “Can’t let you hide those tits from me anymore.”

Joel pulls your legs up and places them over his shoulders, opening you up even deeper for him. He lets out a moan at the change in position.

He admires the way you look, all of it just for him. Your half lidded eyes, mouth open and spilling out moans and obscenities with every snap of his hips. You’re completely fucked out.

You reach down to thumb your clit and he smacks your hand away. “What’d I say earlier? You come when I say. I didn’t say, did I?” he scolded you.

“N-no,” you stutter out. 

Joel takes your wrists into his hand and pins them above your head. “Can’t trust you, sweetheart. Thought you were gonna be a good girl for me,” He snakes his other hand between your thighs and circles your sensitive clit with his thumb ever so lightly. Torturing you with what could be and never giving you more. 

The wet squelching noises of your pussy and the slapping sound of skin hitting skin have your head spinning. Joel fucks you at a merciless pace, frenzied and desperate. He’s savoring the way you’re squirming under him, straining your wrists against his locked grip. He knows it’s agonizing, almost painful the way you’re aching for release. But he’s determined to teach you a lesson. 

“Please,” you choke out. “Just make me come,”

“I don’t know that you deserve it, baby, Touchin’ yourself to that picture of my lookalike? That’s awful selfish of you,” he chided you. “Depriving me of this?”

“Joel,” you whined. You’d do whatever it took to get some release.

“Tell me how long you were needing me,” Joel panted. “Weeks? Months?”

“I don’t know. Forever,” you admitted. “I need to come now, please.”

“Forever? I wish you said somethin’ earlier, baby. You wouldn’t be in this mess,”

You didn’t know how much more you could take. Tears of frustration were streaming down your cheeks, each of his thrusts hitting deep and massaging your insides. You were right there, you just needed permission to let go.

Joel was right there with you, also struggling to hold on. He wanted nothing more than to keep fucking you without allowing you to finish, but he’d never seen something so erotic and sexy. Your body, tangled in his own, your twitching thighs and furrowed brow. And he was responsible for all of it, responsible for turning into this wreck. 

“You’re takin’ me so good, sweet girl. Beggin’ and askin’ me so nice,” he whispered. “You do one last thing for me, and I’ll let you come.”

“Anything,” you gasp. Now his wish is your command. 

“You focus right here. Look at me, and don’t close your eyes. Keep makin’ those pretty noises for me, just like you always do,” You’re not even consciously trying to follow his orders, you just do. You can’t break your stare from his dark and hungry gaze, his lip curled in a nefarious smirk. Breathy moans and high pitched squeals escape your mouth. 

“Always knew you’d be my good girl. Alright now. Let go for me,”

That’s all you needed to reach your peak. The warm, coiling feeling in the pit of your stomach erupts, shooting electricity through your veins. Your vision goes blurry and you hear staticky ringing as you cry out for Joel. It’s all you can feel as wave after wave of pleasure rocks your body. 

Joel’s thrusts are sloppy now as he chases his own orgasm. Your fluttering walls and the way you whisper his name like a prayer are all he needed to reach his peak. His hips are stuttering and his muscles jerk and tremble as he pulses inside you, painting your insides with his seed. Joel hovers above you, placing wet kisses and tonguing your salty skin. He’s addicted to the way you taste. 

It only hits you now how surreal this entire evening is. Joel’s above you, collecting himself and catching his breath and you’re still pinned beneath him. Of course, you imagined fucking him many times prior to this but it was never this way. You couldn’t complain, though. 

Joel interrupts your thoughts with a kiss, sweet and gentle and loving. A stark contrast to the way he fucked your body just moments before. “So apple pudgy pies, right?”

You giggle. Joel is such a typical man, wanting a snack right after sex. At least he’s not already passed out on top of you, the way other men often do. “Yes Joel, just like you asked for,”

Joel backs away from you then with a cute little fist pump, as if he’s winning a prize. “Fuck yeah,” he whispers, walking to the bathroom completely nude. He’s got such a nice and plump ass, you notice. 

He comes back and wipes you off with affectionate care, being extra conscious not to irritate your sensitive skin after the rigorous fucking. He helps you into your pajamas then and kisses you on the top of the head. “I’m gonna get the fire goin’, meet me out there?” 

“Sure, Joel,” you respond with a smile. “I have to finish up with the apples first, though.”

“Take your time. I’ll be out there,”

You sit up and kiss Joel one last time, the way his lips slide against yours gives you butterflies. It’s a little late to feel that way after what you just did. You go to the bathroom then go downstairs and finish prepping the apples, stirring them over the stove. Once they’re finished, you prepare the sandwiches and make your way outside to sit next to Joel.

The warm glow of the fire illuminates his skin and he looks so handsome, his features look so defined by the light and shadows. He helps you put the sandwiches in the pie irons and then places them on the grill above the fire, careful to make sure they’re not getting too much heat too quickly. 

The fire begins to shrink, flames not reaching quite as high as the sandwiches need. You turn your head around you looking for some more firewood, but the sound of ripping paper interrupts your search. 

It’s Joel, tearing out pages of a magazine. Your magazine, from before. You look at him with confusion. 

“I told you, sweetheart. You won’t be needin’ this anymore. You come to me,” he explains with a low voice, flipping the cast iron pans. “I took good care of you, right?”

You smile shyly. “You did,”

“And I intend to keep takin’ care of your needs,” he promises. 

You nod wordlessly, still smiling. A few more moments pass before Joel removes the irons from the fire and removes your pies to cool off, then slices them in half. They’re golden brown and the spicy, sweet, warm smell is sinfully delicious. The gooey apples spill from the bread slightly. Your tummy grumbles at the sight. 

The dessert has cooled enough, you decide. Taking a half of one of the sandwiches in your hand, you bring it to your mouth and take a small bite, the cooked apples are like lava in your mouth. You hiss at the burn on your tongue and lips. 

Joel looks at you with disapproving concern. “Tsk,” he mumbles with displeasure. “You’re terribly impatient, aren’t you?” his tone from the bedroom is back. Reaching forward to take your chin between your fingers, he swipes his thumb along your bottom lip, collecting some of the apple filling. Your eyes widen, you’re startled by his touch. 

“I’ll fix you, though. Teach you some self control,” he sucks his digit into his mouth and pulls it out with a pop, humming at the sweet flavor. “Lord knows you need it.”

 All you can think about is sucking his cock the same way he sucked his thumb. You wonder how the soft skin of his dick would feel on your tongue. How he would taste, how he’d look as you take him deep down your throat. 

God, how you need it.

You’re starting to think you’re losing your mind, or at the very least getting close to it. This was meant to be a simple expedition, dangerous or not. Drop in, spend a month prospecting, drop out again, hopefully get rich enough to never have to return to The Green.

Getting a big stupid crush on your companion wasn’t meant to be part of the plan, but then Ezra had come along with his stupid drawl, broad frame, and that stupidly attractive smirk. 

Everything about him pisses you off, but that’s less to do with him and more to do with how increasingly needy you are where he’s concerned. 

Is it just you, or is he taunting you? You feel as if he’s more than aware of your interest, using it against you in a subtle way. 

Like right now, for instance. He's taken to coming out the sanitiser still half damp, hair sticking to the nape of his neck, no shirt in sight, barefoot. That would probably be easy enough for you to ignore, and you had, quite successfully, for some time, until he'd found the damn sweatpants.

Dark grey in colour, they leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. You wish you were exaggerating, but you can see absolutely everything outlined in those sweats. Every thick, slightly curved inch.

Honestly, the damn things are obscene, and if you were on any sort of civilised planet, he’d probably get fined for public indecency. But you’re not on a civilised planet. The Green is lawless territory, and anything goes.

You wish you could remember that a little more often, or useful facts from the prospecting guide, but instead you have the outline of your companion’s arguably sizeable cock imprinted firmly into your brain. Great.

You have to force your expression to remain neutral. Force your eyes to move past him, look at anything else, because god knows you’ve already been looking too long. Long enough for that slow, lazy smirk to creep into his features as he leans against the closest countertop, watching you.

Why the fuck is the lander so small? Or maybe he’s just big and imposing. Who cares. You flop down in your bunk, try to return your attention to your book, but honestly? The prospecting manual isn’t exactly a riveting read at the best of times.

Still, it must work to take some of the heat off you, because he stops slouching against the bench, practically saunters across the small space, hauls himself up the short ladder to the top bunk, and stays there.

You don’t like heights. Not even bunkbeds. Almost ironically, you’re starting to wonder if sleeping on the bunk below his is as close to getting beneath him as you’ll ever get.

Your cheeks heat at the thought.

The lights in the lander go out at a touch of the control panel set beside the bunk, leaving only the faint glow of the emergency lighting, the sign that the security system and the air filters are still running at full capacity.

You could still read by overhead lamp, but it’s easier to put the book aside and pretend to be asleep. It’s only when you hear Ezra’s breathing become more steady and lazy that you dare to move again.

It’s embarrassing, honestly, the way you’re dancing around the subject. Reduced to getting yourself off in the sanitiser or in your bunk, trying to keep yourself quiet.

You’re almost certain you’ve heard him do the same once or twice, but you’ve been genuinely half asleep and unable to tell if you were hearing what you wanted to hear.

The thought of him wrapping one of those big, scarred hands around his cock, stroking himself slowly, trying to muffle any sound, is enough to make you soak your panties. His hands are big enough. You’d probably need to use both.

The idea of sleep is now the furthest thing from your mind, the ache between your thighs far more pressing and needy than anything else. Carefully, trying not to make too much noise, you tug your panties down, kick them off under the blanket that’s suddenly too hot.

Your shirt comes off too, tucked up by your pillow. It’s a lot more comfortable this way, naked under the blanket, your hands wandering across your body. In the dark it’s easier to imagine the hands are his, even if they are far too small to realistically be so.

You dip a single finger into your soaked core, spread your own slick across bare skin as your other hand slips upwards, cups a bare breast, fingers pinching a sensitive nipple into a hardened bud.

It’s not enough; you add a second finger, consider the thought somewhere in the back of your mind that his hands are so big, you’d probably need to fit three or four of your own fingers inside yourself to take two of his.

The thought makes your cunt clench around your exploring fingers, a soft whimper almost escaping before you bite down - hard - on your bottom lip to keep it trapped.

Not trusting yourself to keep quiet enough, you release your nipple, cover your mouth with your hand as you start to rock slowly onto your own fingers, chasing release, mind foggy, nothing mattering in the moment more than the feeling of pleasure beginning to overwhelm you as you imagine him inside you…

“I can hear that undoubtedly sweet pussy singing for me from up here.” His drawl interrupts your fogged, hazy mind; you almost sit bolt upright, almost jump, but instead you freeze.

“Don’t stop on my account… unless of course you’d be more acquiescent to the idea of my assistance.”

You’re used to the way he speaks, like something from an old world poetry book. Even in the fog of your brain, you understand what he’s saying. What he’s offering.

“Get the fuck down here.” Your response is far less eloquent, but then again he’s the one with the words.

You swear to god you hear the smug bastard laugh as he rolls out of his own bunk, slides down the ladder.

“Normally I’d make certain you knew I disapproved of your uncouth manner of speaking, but… in this case? I suppose it can be forgiven.” He shrugs in the dim light; you can see the smirk on his face as he leans against the bunk frame, watching you.

“You gonna just stand there and watch? I thought you offered assistance.”

You don’t even care how needy you sound; he’s caught you completely off guard, your fingers still soaked with your own slick, desperate and hormonal and definitely not thinking with your brain.

“Patience is a virtue, sweet girl.” Still, he obliges you, tugs down those sinfully tight sweatpants, leaving him entirely bare to your hungry gaze.

Fuck.

The outline may have been impressive, but it’s nothing compared to actually seeing him. He’s big and broad, carries himself with a sort of easy swagger, but even that doesn’t prepare you for how fucking perfect his cock looks. Just as thick as you’d expected, big and slightly curved, soft curls framing that and a pair of heavy balls that you want, desperately, in your mouth.

“Please… get over here… right now.” You remember your manners this time, even if your mouth is watering and your pussy dripping at the sight of him.

Maybe asking nicely does something to him, because he doesn’t taunt you this time, just peels back the blanket, dark eyes taking in your naked form before he crawls on top of you, leans in to devour your mouth in a hungry kiss.

You cling to him, hook one leg around his waist to keep him there as your fingers drag up his back, across broad shoulders. His tongue plunders your needy mouth in such a way that leaves no room to doubt that he wants this, wants you, just as badly as you want him.

You can feel him pressing against your thigh, the hot, heavy weight of him, and your pussy clenches around nothing yet again at the thought of him inside you.

“Now, what were you doing down here?” He breaks the kiss to ask, one hand crawling down your torso, cupping your drenched pussy lightly.

“Ez, please…” you’re so fucking needy for him, want him inside you so badly it aches, uncaring if he’s too big to take.

“Patience, dove, it’s not my intention to hurt you. When I have you screaming, I want it to be purely in pleasure.”

Then he moves, effortless, so your thighs are resting on his shoulders, his face so close to your cunt that you can feel the heat of his breath on your skin.

“I heard you, of course, but I know I can do an undoubtedly superior job… all you have to do is sing for me, sweet dove.”

Then he leans in close, spits on your cunt, and traces a lazy pattern on your clit with the tip of his tongue, uncaring of the mess he’s making, what with his own spit and your slick coating his tongue, your thighs, the sheets.

“As sweet as nectar, just as I suspected.” He half murmurs it against your skin, slides his tongue inside you and moans, completely without shame at the taste of you, at the way your smaller hands fist into his hair as you grind yourself against his mouth.

He pulls away from you, drawing a disappointed whine from your lips.

“So needy,” he sounds half amused, half aroused; you can’t see, of course, not in this position, but his cock is aching and throbbing against the sheets of your bunk, leaking pre cum into the fabric.

“Ez…”

He lays a soft slap to your overstimulated pussy, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

“Patience.” He leans in and kisses where he slapped, traces his tongue around your clit before sucking it greedily into his mouth, releasing it with a lewd sound before delving his tongue back inside you.

He’s about to become the worlds’ biggest hypocrite, and he damn well knows it, because the more he licks and sucks at your cunt, the more desperate he is to just fuck you. Especially when you start whimpering, practically convulsing beneath him with the force of your climax.

He doesn’t even bother wiping his mouth, uncaring that your slick is dripping off his tongue, into his short beard, coating his moustache.

Moves instead so his forehead is pressed to yours, one big hand cupping your breast as you recover.

“Tell me, dove, have you had enough? Or do you require more assistance? I’d be more than happy to oblige you in whatever you wish for, although arguably I’d be more in favour of you begging me to feed that sinfully sweet cunt my cock.”

A kiss to your lips before he continues, rolling a pebbled nipple between thumb and forefinger.

“I just know you can take me, can just imagine how well those soft, sweet walls will envelope me. Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me that you want it.”

Your brain is so fucking hazy from your climax, from his words, but you’re greedy. Greedy and desperate and you want more. Want him to feed your tight little pussy every bruising inch of his cock, satisfy the desire and need for him that’s been building, neglected, for far too long.

“Please, Ez, I need it… need all of you…”

He keeps his forehead pressed to yours as he releases your breast, keeps himself propped up on one arm, uses his free hand to position your leg how he wants you, before wrapping that same hand around his cock, the tip and underside coated with his own pre release. He strokes himself slowly, thumb caressing the thick vein in the underside of his length, repressing a slight shudder at how sensitive he is already.

He’s halfway to guiding himself to your cunt when your much smaller hand reaches down and starts to caress his balls, soft little touches that draw a groan from him. He doesn’t even bother trying to repress that sound, moans softly as you touch him, guides himself to your heat and sinks inside.

You moan the moment he slides inside you, panting the second he sinks the first inch of a considerable amount into you. Your hand abandons its caressing of his balls, flies to his back to brace yourself instead.

“Slowly now, dove,” he’s trying to be somewhat careful, as close to gentlemanly as he’s capable of being; knows he’s big, doesn’t want to hurt you.

You have other ideas.

“No, not slowly.” You demand, arching up against him, wrapping your thigh around his waist to try and get him in deeper. “Need all of you, need it so bad…”

Ezra is not a man known for his patience, more given to fits of impulse, and it’s that side of him that wins out as he presses deep into you in a single fluid movement, slamming his hips flush against yours.

Oh, but the sound you make, makes it worth losing the prospect of savouring the moment, taking his time filling you up. The way you scream for him, nails clawing sharp lines up his back, leaving little crescent shapes in his shoulders.

He can feel you tighten and pulse around him, cock throbbing and aching in response. He wants to say something, anything, something poetic, but you beat him to it, in your far less eloquent manner.

“Fuck, Ez, you feel so fucking good…”

He likes the shortened version of his name on your lips, even more so when you sigh it like that.

“Do I, sweet girl?”

Fuck, he loves hearing you praise him, praising his cock, feeling you soak him, the way you claw at him.

“So good,” you repeat, leaning up to kiss him as he starts to move, slow, teasing little thrusts that make you whimper.

“Tell me you love my cock, dove,” he moans as you tighten around him again, tight little pussy barely able to take him, and yet…

“I do,” you babble as he starts to move properly, slow, lazy, deep thrusts that brush your cervix and make you gasp in pleasure. “Fucking love your cock, Ez, need you inside me, needed you for so long.”

It’s enough, more than enough, to short circuit his brain; nothing matters anymore but the heat of your smaller body beneath his, the way you arch up against him, moaning and mewling and babbling praise to him that only serves as fuel for the fire burning inside him.

It feels like simultaneously no time at all and an eternity have passed before you’re convulsing beneath him again, lips parted in a desperate, broken moan as you soak his cock, giving him better friction to drag himself out of you, slam back in.

His stamina is moderately impressive, but he’s not going to last, not like this, not when you’re so perfect for him, one hand clawing at his back, the other fisted into the sheets.

“Better tell me where you want me, little dove,” he breathes it into your ear, “or I might just be inclined to plant my seed in this sweet cunt and claim you forever.”

You whimper, lock your legs around his waist, make him smirk in satisfaction.

“Oh, you’d like that?”

You moan your affirmation, pussy tightening and throbbing around him at the very thought, the idea of him filling you with endless ropes of his seed…

“I did say I was happy to oblige your every wish,” he nuzzles his face into your shoulder, leaves a soft bite to sensitive skin before he pulls himself into a mostly sitting position, both hands on your waist, dragging your smaller body onto his cock again and again, using you for his own pleasure until he feels his balls tighten, cock aching as he finds his release, spilling endless heat of his cum into your waiting, needy cunt.

You whimper, wriggle beneath him, desperate to keep every drop he’s given you inside. He stays there, looking down at you with something like feverish adoration, until he feels himself start to soften inside you, pulls out of you, watches some of his spend drop from your swollen cunt onto the sheets.

“What a waste…” he murmurs it almost to himself, before he moves down between your thighs again, fingers catching what’s dripped out and pressing it back inside.

“Ez?”

“Hm?”

“What’re you doing?” Your voice is thick with fatigue, and yet lust still hangs heavy from every word.

“I want to test the hypothesis that our tastes combined are sweeter than any possible drug I’ve had the fortune to sample in my time.”

You blush as you realise what he intends to do, his hands already spreading your thighs as he leans in to taste himself inside of you.

“Dieter,” you murmur, running your hand through the soft fluff of his hair. He looks up from between your legs, his eyelids drooping and his chin shiny with slick. 

“I’m busy,” he says, flicking his tongue out and lapping at your clit. You’re writhing with overstimulation, but you don’t really want him to stop. It’s your last day in his too-big house, and he’ll be doing the press circuit and a couple of festivals to promote a film he’d done before the pandemic. And after that, he’s signed on to three projects, back-to-back. He was so excited when he told you, and you were thrilled for him. 

“Serious roles, baby,” he’d said. “I could get another Oscar with at least one of them.” 

The next and a half of his life is all planned out. You need to soak up as much of each other as you can. 

But you also need to talk. 

“Dieter,” you say again, a little more insistently, and his head snaps up, eyes big and soft at your shift in tone. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, crawling up to kiss your lips. You can taste yourself all over him. 

You have to talk. 

“What’s gonna happen with us?” You ask. 

He swallows and scratches his chin before he lays his head down on your chest. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, like, it’s gonna be months without seeing each other. Especially when you start working. We haven’t gone that long since we got together.”

“But we did this before. Remember? When I was in England. We did okay.”

“That was different,” you sigh, ruffling his silky tresses and kissing the top of his head. “We were just friends. We weren’t in love.” 

“I was,” he counters, looking up at you again. He sits on his knees and pulls your fingers to his face, brushing them against his patchy beard. “I was in love with you.”

“We weren’t a couple, Dee.” 

He leans over your torso to kiss you again, and goddammit, you are helpless to those sticky sweet marshmallow lips of his. 

“It’s gonna be fine, peach. It’s just a couple of months, and we’ll talk every day, and I’ll send you all the possum pictures I can find. And we’ll be okay because we’re the best. You trust me, don’t you?” 

And of course you do. If someone had said a year ago that you’d trust Dieter Bravo with your heart, you’d have taken them to the hospital to check for brain damage. But here you both are, and he’s done nothing but prove himself for the last six months. 

It’s a chaotic kind of routine; he spends time at your place, and you spend time at his, and he asks you to move in with him, and then you ask him to move in with you, and it never really gets resolved. 

But the important part is that you’ve been together all this time. What happens when he’s far away from you, surrounded by beautiful people and expensive champagne and designer drugs? 

Will you just have to sit and wait and hope he doesn’t forget about you?

“Hey,” he says, waving his hand in front of your face. “Come back to me, baby. We’ve got this.” 

But you’re not sure you do. 

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you say, annoyed at the tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “What if you forget me?”

“Baby,” he says, smoothing the tears from your cheeks with his big thumbs. “How could I forget you? I love you so much.”

His voice is small and raw—he sounds hurt. You hadn’t thought about how your doubt might make him feel at all.   

“Oh, Dee. I know you love me. I’m sorry. You’re so good to me. I just…promise you won’t answer any other weird Instagram messages from random girls?” You ask, nosing his cheek. 

“Only one girl I want,” he says, sliding his fingers through the mess he’s made between your legs, pressing into you and groaning at the whimper it pulls. “Haven’t I done a good job showing you how much I need you?”

He repositions and pushes himself inside of you, watching your eyes roll in the back of your head with each slow, easy thrust. 

“That’s my girl,” he says. “You don’t need to worry about a thing, peach. I’m always gonna take care of you.”

“Fuck,” you whine.

“And that, too,” he whispers.

**

Dieter misses her immediately; the moment he gets in the air he’s thinking about the way her fingers slot between his and how she fits so perfectly against him when they sleep. She should be next to him on the plane. It should be the two of them and Delilah, but no. He’s an ocean away from her. 

Again. 

Does she miss him, too? 

Probably not just yet. She’s less needy than he is. She’d argue if he said that out loud, but it’s the truth. He’s been hooked on her from that very first video call. And maybe even before then, too. 

The weeks crawl by, and he finds himself with free time he didn’t used to have during these press tours. He used to go out and party, find some warm body to fuck for the few days he was in whatever city, and leave without really remembering any of it.

Now he goes back to his hotel and locks himself in his room waiting for her to tell him she’s awake. 

Sometimes she calls and he’s got his cock in his hand already, and he listens to her whimper his name. Sometimes if he’s lucky he can get her to show herself, but he never pushes her. He’s happy with whatever she gives him. 

He makes notes of all the museums and galleries and historic sites he wants to take her to when this is all over and he can whisk her away on romantic trips.  

He tries to sketch her, but that hurts too much. He’s always sketched her when she’s in front of him, bare and soft and vulnerable. That’s when she tells him all those secret things he keeps close to his heart locked away like little treasures. 

Dieter’s been in love before, but not like this. Never like this. He has to remember the situation’s only temporary—he’ll be back with her soon. And they’d figure it all out together, even when he has to leave for other jobs. 

After a few weeks, though, he’s starting to lose it.

Dieter loves acting—really, he does. There’s nothing like a really good script with an intriguing role to bring to life. He just wishes it didn’t come with so much bullshit afterward. And he’d gotten used to doing this shit via Zoom, anyway. He could do interviews with no pants on if he wanted, and spend the breaks in between kissing his girl. 

Dieter thought, truthfully, that Edge of Love would be shelved. It was a mid-budget romantic drama he filmed somewhere between winning his Oscar and a few months before the pandemic hit. It would have come out in 2020, but, well—things happened. He’s not surprised to be doing any promotion for it at all. 

Marathon interview days are his least favorite activities. Eight to ten hours of answering the same questions over and over, pretending like he’s perfectly fine being grilled about his love life by people whose names he doesn’t know and will never speak to again, and not even being able to do a single line is almost goddamn intolerable. 

And worse, she hasn’t answered him today. 

She hasn’t even checked the message. He found a very weird possum to send to her, and she hasn’t even looked at it. 

His co-star, Sophie Neptune, stares at his bouncing leg. “What the fuck is going on you with, Bravo?” 

“Nothing,” he says, putting his phone away and standing up to stretch. “How’s—what’s his name—Steve?”

“My husband is fine, but I know you don’t care about that, so stop trying to change the subject. What’s going on with you? You’ve been a mess all week,” she asks, checking her perfectly styled blonde hair in a compact mirror. 

“Just…girl stuff,” he says, perfectly aware that “girl stuff” is not an acceptable answer for a man in his forties. Sophie raises her eyebrow. 

“Are you having drama with some twenty-year-old again?” 

“No—look, I didn’t have drama with a twenty-year-old. I didn’t know she was twenty, okay—this is not about anything like that. I…miss my girlfriend. She hasn’t texted me back.”

Sophie stares at him for an uncomfortable amount of time. 

“Did you get body-snatched?” She asks, and Dieter scowls at her. “What’s so unbelievable about that?” He demands. This interview room is getting stuffy, the chairs more uncomfortable by the second. The ugly carpet scuffs against his shoes as he paces back and forth, trying not to check his phone again. 

Why hasn’t she answered him?

Sophie smiles softly. “Where is she right now?” 

“Well, she’s in—oh.” 

Right. It hits him that it’s the middle of the night where she is. 

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess…”

“She’s just asleep, Dieter. Happens with me and Steve all the time.”

Dieter sits down and folds his arms across his chest. “How do you do this? We met online and didn’t even see each other in person for months after and it was fine.” 

“Love makes it a little harder,” she says. “But it makes it easier, too.”

A PA sticks their head in. “Next interviewer’s here, guys.” 

“Thanks!” Sophie says, flashing a smile before turning back to him. “You guys public yet?”

“We’re not not public,” he says, thinking hard about it. 

“Talk about her,” Sophie says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t need to go into detail, but you can work her in there. People love that shit, you know? Good publicity and she’ll feel acknowledged.”

Talk about her. He hadn’t even thought about it before—he’d never been in a relationship he wanted to talk about. Or with anyone that wanted to talk about him. 

“My girlfriend loves it like this,” he says when the interviewer comments on his slicked-back hair. 

“My girlfriend picked it out,” he brags about the pinky ring he’s wearing. This isn’t technically true—he begged her to choose between the eagle and the wolf-but he likes talking about her. 

After a couple of hours, he can’t make himself stop talking about her. Sophie’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Have you met his mystery girl?” Some intern from Buzzfeed inquires. 

“Nope,” she says. “But I hear she’s amazing.” 

He gets back to his hotel room that night, jumping when his phone finally buzzes. 

Dieter wastes no time in calling her. “Peach!”

“Hi, baby,” she says. She’s still sleep-rumpled, and he wishes he could be there to wrap himself around her and wipe the goop out of her eyes. She hates when he does that. “How was your day?”

“I have to ask you a question,” he asks, breezing past her inquiry. 

“What’s up?” “I…so, you know I'm home in like a week?”

“Mmhmm. Finally.” She’s stretching, her little moans distracting him from the topic. 

“I, uh, so the premiere is the week after. Would you wanna come?” 

She props the phone up on that aloe vera plant on her coffee table and looks at him with a frown. It feels like someone’s doing backflips in his stomach. 

“Are you…you’re sure? Like, you wanna make this official?” 

“Is it not official?” He asks. He could really use a drink. Or a pill. Or something. 

“No, I mean, of course, it is. For us. I didn’t know you wanted to, like…make it all public, I guess.”

“I thought—it’s not like we’ve been secret, right? Because if that’s the case then I just told a whole lot of people a big secret—”

“What are you talking about?”

“I talked about you all day today! In every interview! My girlfriend this, my girlfriend that. Sophie told me it helps her when she’s missing her husband,” he says. Maybe he’d completely misread this whole thing. 

“You did?” She asks, but she doesn’t sound mad. “Aw, baby. I just…like, yeah, I didn’t know if you’d want to be public about our whole thing.

“But I love you,” he protests. Sometimes she says things like that and he wonders if he’s done something to make her feel like he’s ashamed of her. He pushes his sketchbook out of the way and leans back on the headboard. 

“Drawing again?” She asks. 

“I tried,” he says miserably. “Every time I try it makes me sad.”

“You don't always have to draw me if it makes you sad,” she says. Delilah pops into the frame and settles on her lap, and he misses the little family he’d made so much his heart might burst. 

“You’re all I think about. Making me crazy,” he says. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” she says. Her eyes soften as she pets Delilah and she picks her phone up to bring it closer to her face. “Listen, yes, I’d love to go with you to the premiere.”

“Oh, thank God,” he breathes.

“I don’t think I have anything to wear, though,” she continues, biting her lip. If he was there he’d tug it from between her teeth and kiss the indentations. 

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of all of it. Can you get some time off?”

“Technically no, but as long as I get my work done it’s fine. I’ll have to leave Delilah with Taylor, though. Seems like we’ll be busy.”

He refrains from begging her to move in with him again.

“I just can’t wait to see you,” he says. 

“I know, Dee. Me either.” 

They grin a little dopily at each other, and he tells himself it’s almost over; they’re almost there. It’s their first big, long break, and they’ve almost made it through. 

“So,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee. “What did you say about me? To the interviewers?”

“Oh. A lot. Like, a lot. I didn’t say your name or anything but in about three days you’re gonna be my mystery girl. And then I’ll show you off to everyone.”

“Yeah?” She giggles. 

“Yeah. Take your shirt off.”

“Dieter!”

**

Have you ever been this nervous? 

No, definitely not. This is a real movie premiere, with cameras and interviewers and expensive clothes and—would you actually be with him? You haven’t even thought to ask him how it all works, but he’s assured you over and over he’d taken care of everything.

It’s kind of exciting to see him in full movie star mode. 

You got ready early in the day, too nervous to sit around and smoke as Dieter had, even after he tells you to sit down and chill out because these events can be long and you need to save some energy. 

“That’s the problem, Dee,” you explain. “I have too much energy.”

“I know how we can burn that off,” he says, advancing toward you with a look you’re weak to resist. 

“Absolutely not, sir. Not when I just got my hair right.”

“My girl can fix it. She’s a genius,” he murmurs, crowding you into the kitchen counter. “Come on. Let me help you relax.”

“Jesus Christ. You’re insatiable,” you chide, but with no real bite. He’s already got his hand down your leggings, cupping you with his big hand. 

“Not my fault you make me so crazy,” he says, biting your earlobe. “I just wanna make you come, baby. That so wrong of me?” He’s teasing you over your panties, whispering softly in your ear. “Hm? That wrong of me? Just let me make you feel good.”

If you say no, he’ll stop, which makes you want it more. He moans in approval as your panties grow damper, and he’s just about to slide his fingers inside of them when his phone makes a loud chirping noise. 

“Fuck!” He whimpers into your neck, looking up at you with big apologetic eyes. “That’s my real serious alarm, peach.”

You wrap your hands around his wrist and pull his fingers to your lips, scattering kisses across them. “Go shower, Bravo. I need to put my dress on.” 

Dieter pouts a little and kisses you one more time before pulling away and adjusting himself. It does nothing to hide his desire for you, his cheeks tinged a soft pink as he drags his eyes up and down your form shamelessly. 

“Might wanna do something about that, baby,” you tease. 

“You’re killing me, sweetheart,” he whines. But he turns around and heads to the bathroom where he’ll surely indulge himself to take the edge off. 

Dieter’s sexuality had been almost overwhelming at first, and you worried yourself sick that you wouldn’t be able to keep up with his appetite. That he’d find out you weren’t as sexual as he might want or need you to be. 

It hadn’t been a problem yet, though. He touched you in ways that made you bloom; worshipped you so much that you couldn’t help but want more. On the rare occasions that you’d been tired or sick, he simply held you from behind, trailing kisses down the back of your neck until you relaxed and fell asleep. 

He just wanted to be near you. 

And God, you wanted to be near him, too.

You slip into the dress Dieter bought you and admire it in the mirror. It’s pale peach with a fitted bodice and a tea-length tulle skirt so poofy you can’t help but twirl around. It even came with a matching mask. Dieter catches you as he steps out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his waist, accentuating his soft tummy. 

“Wow,” he murmurs. His hair drips water droplets onto his strong shoulders and you glance at the clock to see if there’s enough time for something—anything. He’s so beautiful and reverent and it’s driving you crazy. 

There’s definitely not.

Ugh. 

Time moves even faster after he gets his slacks on. The driver arrives and you’re whisked into a large black SUV like some government official being secreted away to a bunker. Dieter holds your hand all the way there, kissing your manicured fingertips while he explains some of the process. 

“We’ll get ready across the street. And the room’s mine, so we can go back afterward, and I can make you come so hard so many times we’ll have to ask for new sheets.” He whispers the last part in your ear as your driver pulls up to an extravagant hotel across from the theater. 

“Stop that,” you giggle quietly. “We’re around people.”

“I don’t care, peach. I’d eat your little pussy in front of all these people if you’d let me,” he murmurs. “I want you so bad.”

“You’re gonna ruin those expensive slacks if you keep it up, Dee,” you say, and he nips at your neck, careful to avoid smudging any of your makeup. 

People are already crowded outside the theater, taking pictures and holding up signs to catch the actors’ attention—mostly for Dieter, but there are a lot for Sophie, as well. You’ve met Sophie exactly once, and while she was perfectly nice and welcoming, you got the suspicion she didn’t think you’d be around for long. You don’t know if that says more about Dieter or you. 

You’re still not looking forward to being anywhere near her during any pictures. 

“Shower’s big enough for two,” Dieter calls from the bathroom. Black marble, a rainfall steam shower, and Dieter’s lascivious grin greet you as your poke your head inside. It’s definitely big enough for two. You can see the wheels in his head turning already.

The hotel room itself is huge with separate living and sleeping areas and a sizable balcony. Crisp white linens on the bed and brown leather furniture in the living room—it all seems a bit excessive to use as a glorified dressing room, but Dieter always likes going big. 

“I see that,” you murmur, grinning back. 

He curls himself around you in front of the mirror and you pull out your phone to snap a picture. His head’s turned so that his nose is nuzzled against your cheek, a playful grin on his face to match your own. Maybe you’ll post it later tonight.

When his assistant, publicist, stylist, and groomer crowd the room, the need for a large space becomes more evident. Everyone has suitcases full of stuff—styling tools, moisturizers, concealer, hair putty, extra shirts and pants. You do your best to stay out of the way, tucking yourself into one of the leather armchairs in the corner and watching his transformation into Dieter Bravo, Movie Star. 

It’s been a long time since you even thought of him as Dieter Bravo, Movie Star. For half a year he’s just been Dieter Bravo, Man Who Sings Lana Del Rey Half-Naked in the Living Room. 

It’s around the forty-five minute mark of trying not to take up precious space that a chasm of doubt opens in your stomach. Any time you think there might be some way for you to help, an assistant or stylist jumps in to do it before you can even get up. Because of course they do—they’ve been doing this for years. You’re not really needed in this part of his life. 

And that’s fine—it should be fine, anyway. You don’t need him interfering in your job. 

Dieter’s attention span is terrible at the best of times, and he’s listening intently to some spiel from his publicist you understand exactly none of all while his hair is twisted and prodded and poofed. His stylist is steaming a white tuxedo jacket and fussing at him to get out of the slacks he’s already wrinkled. 

He’s wearing the boxers with the raccoons and possums you got him for his birthday, and that lightens the lead weight in your throat. Out of all the outrageously expensive gifts from his rich and famous friends, those boxers were his favorite. He looks over at you and smiles, and the chasm closes a bit more. 

“Doing okay?” He asks, but the door swings open and Sophie Neptune walks in before you can answer. She makes a beeline toward Dieter, waving hello in your direction. 

She is a dream with her long blonde hair flowing around her shoulders and soft pin-up curls in the front; glowing in an off-the-shoulder cobalt blue dress, floor-length and sleek, her black stiletto Louboutins peeking from the bottom. She’s only here for a few minutes, teasing Dieter for wrinkling his pants again—you swallow, wondering how often she sees him half-dressed, exactly—before she’s pulled out by her own team because it’s time to go. 

Finally. Dieter slips back into his newly unwrinkled pants and button-up, his white jacket accentuated with a black bow tie. He looks like a movie star, all right. 

You glance in the floor-length mirror, suddenly feeling like you’re wearing a prom dress. 

Playing dress up. 

He starts to leave, and you mean to follow, but his publicist stops you. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, eyebrows raised. 

“I—well, I mean, Dieter—”

“You’ll meet him in the theater later. He’s doing interviews with Sophie now.”

Dieter just waves back at you and mouths “See you soon!” from the doorway. 

“Oh,” you mumble. There’s nothing else to say.

His assistant, Emmy, a sweet twenty-something, walks with you across the street. No one looks in your direction, too focused on the arrival of the lead actors. 

“It’s just in here,” she says, opening a side door. 

“Is it always this crazy?” You ask.

“Yup,” she sighs. “I think it’s a little crazier because people are happy to do this stuff in person again, too.”

“I guess so,” you murmur. 

“Are you okay here?” Emmy asks.

“All good.”

She leaves you there in a kind of reception area where very important people in suits and evening gowns that cost more than your car are networking and sipping cocktails. 

You just don’t belong here.

It’s only a little longer, and he’ll be in here with you, you remind yourself. And it’s not your night. It’s his night and Sophie’s night and the rest of the cast and crew’s night. You weren’t even with Dieter when this was filmed. 

You wander the room a bit and grab a glass of champagne before going to a window that overlooks the red carpet. 

It’s hard to describe just how beautiful Dieter and Sophie look standing next to each other, her arm draped across his shoulder, his hand resting on the small of her back. Their chemistry is obvious even from here.

They make sense together.

It’s all press, it’s all publicity—your brain knows this. That doesn’t stop your heart from sinking to the floor when he leans down and presses a kiss to her shoulder; when she turns and gives him a soft, sensual smile. 

They’re flirting for the cameras. You know that.

Right? 

Emmy interrupts your thought spiral to guide you into the theater and show you to your seat. Her eyes widen when she realizes you’re sitting next to a complete stranger.

“Where’s, um, where’s Dieter sitting?” You ask, trying to keep your voice even, knowing full well that she does not get paid enough by your boyfriend to deal with whatever meltdown you might be on the brink of. 

She points to the row in front of you, a few seats to the left. You can’t even lean forward to touch his shoulder. 

“Thanks, Emmy,” you say, trying to snap yourself out of it. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it. 

“No, no, it’s not your fault. I think Dee and I just had some bad communication.” You take a deep breath, trying to settle yourself. He’d never really told you what you’d be doing or where you’d be sitting or how much you’d really see him tonight. And to be entirely fair to him, you hadn’t asked. You’d just assumed. 

But Dieter always made you feel like someone. He always made you feel like you mattered, even when you’ve always felt a little invisible to the world. He went out of his way to make you feel seen. It just never occurred to you that it might not apply in all areas of his life. 

Would it be like this every time? You waiting for hours for the possibility of seeing him? Would you ever get to sit next to him at one of these things?

You sit there for a while, feeling very silly in your poofy dress you’d loved so much this morning, and wonder if you’ll see Dieter at all tonight. If he mingled with executives and whoever else after the red carpet, which he’d mentioned was common, he’d probably come in just before the screening started. And he’d sit all the way down there next to Sophie, and maybe he wouldn’t even look at you.  

You’re suddenly having a hard time breathing in this dress, and you might suffocate under this mask. The walls are too close, the ceiling’s too low, and there are too many people filing into the theater. The perfectly-fit bodice of your dress squeezes your lungs together, and you’re horribly aware of the way your tongue sits thick and dry in your mouth. If you don’t leave right now, you’re going to throw up on these beautiful red velvet seats. 

Stumbling out of the theater, you run right into Emmy. 

“What’s going on?” She asks, holding her hands out to steady you. 

“I’m just not feeling well,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Emmy doesn’t believe you for a second. “It’s not him,” she says quickly. “They have to sit together—”

“I know,” you cut her off. “I think this dress is too tight or something.”

She shifts back and forth on her feet. You really don’t need to make this girl’s night more difficult. 

“Just let him know I was feeling sick and I’m gonna go lay down at the hotel,” you say. “If he notices.”

You shouldn’t have added that last part, but it slipped before you could stop yourself. Emmy scrambles for the right words, but you squeeze her arm and smile.

You feel her eyes on your back as you find the side door you came in through and slip out into the setting sun.  

**

After an eternity on the red carpet, Dieter’s close to a breakdown. He’s hot and tired and starving and he wants to see her. Interviewer after interviewer asks where she is, why isn’t she your date tonight, and all he can say is “She’s inside somewhere.” 

Emmy hands him a bottle of water, and he chugs the whole thing, wiping his mouth and looking around for a woman in a peach dress. 

“Is she already in the theater?” He asks. Emmy wrings her hands together in a way he doesn’t like at all. He narrows his eyes. “Where is she?”

“She, um, left. She said to tell you she didn’t feel well,” Emmy says, chewing her lip. “If you noticed.”

“Shut the fuck up; no she didn’t. Where is she?” He asks. Because she would never just leave. That isn’t like her at all. Why wouldn’t he notice her being gone?

“Okay, um, I think maybe she was confused about some stuff happening,” Emmy starts. 

“Confused about what?” He asks, folding his arms, heat rising up his neck and cheeks. 

“Well, like how long she was gonna be alone. And then the two of you weren’t sitting together. And maybe she thought she’d be on the carpet, too, I don’t know,” Emmy says, wincing like he’d explode with the wrong wording.

“It’s only been—” He glances at his watch — “Fuck, two hours?”

“Yeah.”

“They wouldn’t let me go, Em,” he says, like pleading his case to her would help. “And I was gonna be right next to her the rest of the night!”

“Um, about that, actually, they had her sitting one row back and, like, five seats down and you’re sitting next to Sophie,” Emmy says.

“What?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“I thought you knew that!”

This is a disaster. Dieter had specified wanting her next to him. His manager was supposed to make sure of it. 

“Fuck. Fuck! And she said she thought she’d be with me out there?”

“No,” Emmy says. “Not in so many words. But I think maybe she—I mean, you did say you’d show her off, Mr. Bravo.”

He pulls his phone out, determined to find out where she is. His texts won’t send, and his calls goes straight to voicemail. 

“I gotta go, she’s not—”

Emmy doesn’t try to stop him, but his publicist catches him before he makes it to the door. 

“You can’t go anywhere, Bravo,” he says. “You’re contractually obligated to attend this entire event or you’ll be out a shitload of money, and we’ve just gotten your whole image cleaned up.” 

Dieter’s seething. He wants to burn this whole fucking theater down to get to her, image be damned. 

“Just have a seat,” Emmy says, pushing herself between his publicist and himself. “I’ll find her. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s totally fine. I’m sure she’s at the hotel.”

He takes a deep breath and nods. “Find her,” he pleads, turning back to the auditorium. He stops and turns to glare back at his publicist. “Or I will take all this coke in my suit pocket and snort it in front of every studio executive while thanking my publicist for all the work he does.”

**

“Sorry,” the woman at the front desk says. “We don’t have anyone checked in under that name.”

Your heart drops. Dieter told you he’d put your name on the room, too. You hadn’t thought to get a room key before you were herded out. “It’s, um, it might be under Dieter Bravo,” you say timidly, but you don’t have much hope. She looks you up and down, you and your poofy dress, and gives you a sardonic smile. 

“You’re here with Dieter Bravo?” She asks. 

“I’m his girlfriend,” you say, already preparing for whatever comeback she has for you.

“I’m sure,” she says, looking you up and down. “Be that as it may, you’re not on any room for anyone, and I can’t just give you keys for celebrities that may or may not be here. Sorry.”

You can’t even really be that angry with her as you walk out of the hotel. You wouldn’t have believed you either. 

The problem is that everything but your phone and a tube of lipstick is in your purse upstairs. The tiny clutch in your hand is all you have. You suppose you can just order a Lyft, but as you glance up and down the crowded street, you don’t even know how a car could get to you easily. Half of the street is shut down completely.

Dieter says it’s always like this. 

You take a deep breath—all you need to do is get to a less crowded area. Your phone is fully charged, thank God, and you know perfectly well how to operate your Maps app. It’ll be fine. Just a mile or so in your heels, and you’ll be fine. 

The soonest pickup is in one hour, and you realize as you're typing in the address that you don’t know the house number. You know the street name, but the house number has disappeared from your mind completely. You type in four numbers and hope for the best. 

It’s a nightmare waiting for that car.

You do your best to ignore the stares at your over the top outfit and fight off any “hey, baby” that comes your way, and by the time the black sedan picks you up, you’re close to a panic attack. 

It takes another thirty minutes to get back to Sherman Oaks, and by the time he drops you off in front of a large, modern home that is most definitely not Dieter’s, your adrenaline has started to wear off. You’re a few blocks away, at least, but you recognize your surroundings. Shoes in hand, because you can’t take those heels anymore, you set off to find your way home, reciting the keypad code in your head. 

The house is so quiet. There’d been so much noise all night, and now everything’s silent. You swallow, throat tightening as you walk up to his room, wondering if he’d noticed you were gone at all. 

You’re not even sure if you have a right to be upset.

All he’d done was ask you to go to the premiere. He hadn’t said anything about you walking the red carpet with him, and you felt foolish now that you thought about it. Of course you wouldn’t have been a part of that. You’re no one. 

That shower for two he’d been so excited about wrenches its way into your mind, the water pouring over his fluffy hair and some faceless other woman. Sophie Neptune, the girl at the reception desk, Emmy—he could have any one of them. 

The door to his room is open, the bed still rumpled from that morning. He’d woken you up with the softest kiss he’d ever given you. It’s late, and you’re so tired, but you can’t sleep in there. It smells like him in there. 

There’s a guest room across the hall, clean and white and almost antiseptic compared to the owner’s suite. The mattress isn’t quite as soft, and your mascara leaks all over the white pillowcase as you let yourself sob against it, but that’s fine. You can’t feel him in here at all.

**

Emmy couldn’t find her outside, or at the hotel, or anywhere.

“The lady in the lobby said she wasn’t on the hotel room, so she couldn’t let her in,” Emmy’d whispered to him in the theater an hour into the show.

“Fuck. She was-I put her on the room, goddammit,” he’d said desperately. “I’ve gotta go, I can’t—fuck this, they can fine me, I don’t give a shit.”

He’d left and run across the street, dodging autograph seekers and photographers with the skill of someone who had plenty of reasons to move through the world unseen. Her purse was still in the room, along with her wallet and keys and that fidget toy she likes so much, and the little jacket she brought in case she got cold. He grabbed her belongings and checked his phone again, but there was nothing. Every call refused to go through. He couldn’t even get her location to show up. Too many people in one place clogging up the cell towers. 

The traffic’s awful, too. It takes hours to get back to his house, but eventually he’s able to find her location, and he lets out a long, slow breath when he sees she’s made it back. The driver tells him to have a good evening, but Dieter can barely hear him as he bolts from the car, throwing a hundred-dollar tip at him and racing to his front door.

“Peach?” He calls, spying her shoes on the floor next to the couch. She doesn’t answer, so he tries her real name, pulling off his jacket and shoes and the goddamn bowtie, throwing them all in a crumpled pile his stylist will for sure fuss at him over.

Nothing. 

Their bedroom’s empty, and she’s not in the bathroom. Dieter panics, checking the balcony and the pool and only calming down when he doesn’t see her floating face down. 

He’s just about to go check the sauna when he sees the closed guest room door. His heart lurches into his throat when he opens it and finds her there still in her dress, curled up with mascara stains all over the pillowcase and sideways tear tracks on her cheeks. Why would she sleep in here? As he slips into bed with her, part of him wants to let her rest, but the other part needs to know what happened. 

Curiosity wins. 

“Baby,” he murmurs. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

Her eyes flutter open, puffy and swollen. He smiles gently at her, and for a moment she looks like she always does in the morning—sleepy and soft and happy to see him. But he watches that joy fade from her features as she takes in her surroundings, and her eyes well up with tears. 

“Oh,” she chokes out. “Dieter, I’m so—I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened. I tried to go to the hotel and wait there and they told me I wasn’t on the room and then my phone wouldn’t work, and all I could do was get a Lyft, and I—all my stuff is at that hotel.” She babbles on, trying to explain, and he tries to ignore the sting in the back of his eyes. “I feel so silly. I got so upset over nothing.”

Dieter pulls her as close to him as he can, shushing her softly and kissing her forehead. 

“I have all your stuff, baby,” he murmurs. “You’re allowed to be upset. Will you come to bed and we can talk about it in the morning?”

She nods against his chest and lets him help her up; lets him lead her into their bedroom and unzip her dress. It piles around her feet, and he realizes with a sharp pang that they didn’t even get a picture. 

She’s quiet as he finds her makeup pads and wipes her face with them. 

“Why’d you go sleep in there?” He asks as casually as he can. She’s quiet for a moment. “Hurt to be in here without you. I was being dramatic,” she says. 

Dieter doesn’t know what to say, but it hurts that she’s downplaying her feelings. It hurts that she can’t just be completely honest with him.

He pulls her naked into bed with him, but just wraps himself around her, ignoring his cock for once. She melts into him and falls asleep almost immediately, and Dieter tries to do the same. 

He doesn’t want the conversation that comes tomorrow. If he stays awake, maybe the morning won’t arrive, and he can stay here in this limbo wrapped around her warm, soft body forever. 

**

You don’t want the conversation, either. 

The two of you dance around it all morning. He orders breakfast before you wake up, and in the kitchen you find him in an apron and boxers, removing the food from takeout containers and transferring them onto the bone china plates he rarely uses. 

He’s ordered your favorite Starbucks drink, and he carefully avoids talking about last night at all. 

“Dieter,” you murmur, reaching across the table to squeeze his gesticulating hand. “Are we gonna talk about what happened?”

He falters and nods, eyes growing so round you just want to apologize and tell him it won’t happen again and you’re so sorry for being so, so silly. 

But you want it to work with him, too.

“Can…can you tell me what happened on your end?” He asks, wincing like you’re about to land a blow to his pretty face. So you tell him, gently, about the discouraging sequence of events. You tell him you’d gotten confused—that when he asked you to be your date you thought it meant something it didn’t. 

“I guess I just didn’t realize I wouldn’t even be able to sit next to you. I thought…”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he insists. “You were supposed to be next to me the rest of the night.”

You nod. “I think we just didn’t communicate, or I misunderstood. I wish I’d known, you know?”

“Known what?”

“That I’d be so pushed away, I guess. I get that it’s obvious now, you’re supposed to be with your co-star, but I don’t know that much about these things. It…hurt a lot at the time. Feeling like no one.”

You’ve moved the conversation to the couch, cradling his head in your lap. He sits up and crawls onto your lap to hold your face in his hands. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like I was no one, Dieter. And I wasn’t ready to see you touching her like that,” you tell him. “I didn’t realize that was part of it.”

Dieter frowns, brows knit together. “I don’t…you know I’m an actor. You know that’s the PR,” he says. 

“I know. It just felt so…you spent all this time talking about me, and then when I wasn’t useful anymore for interviews you kissed all over your co-star.”

“It wasn’t like that! I wasn’t—I meant everything I said,” he argues. “I’m sorry, baby, but that’s business. That’s my job. We have to play it up; it’s marketing.” 

You don’t know what you’d wanted to hear, but that didn’t make you feel any better. 

“So I just have to suck it up?” You ask, not bothering to hide your disappointment.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” 

“That’s exactly what you’re saying, Dee.” You curl up against the couch, arms folded. “You wanted to know what happened. That’s what happened. And then I couldn’t get into the hotel room because you didn’t even put my name on it, and I looked so stupid in this dress all alone.”

Dieter kisses your cheeks and chin, pulling your hands to his chest like he’s trying to absorb you. “I can’t…I can’t change how things are done or what studios want me to do. But that won’t ever happen again. I won’t ever let you feel alone like that again.”

“I know you mean that when you say it,” you murmur. “And it’s not your fault. I just…don’t know if I can do that.”

Dieter stiffens. “Can’t do what? What do you mean?” 

You take a deep breath. “I mean…Dieter, this whole thing. I don’t know if I’m meant to do it. Like, celebrities date each other for a reason, right? Maybe this kind of thing just doesn’t work.”

“Baby,” he says, not bothering to keep the panic out of his voice. “Baby, no. You’re—no, we can do this together. We got through the whole press tour, remember?” 

You give him a watery smile. “I know. I know that. But when I saw you and Sophie standing together—I dunno, it made sense. I wouldn’t have looked right next to you. I would have looked ridiculous.”

“No,” he says, giving a fervent shake of his head. “No, you looked so beautiful. I’m such an idiot; I can’t believe—you have to believe me. I will never let that happen again.

“Dee,” you say, holding his thick wrists in your hands. “I believe you. It’s not just that. I’m not just, like, hungry for the spotlight or whatever. I don’t—like, I don’t know if can handle…I just…need some time, okay?”

It feels ridiculous to tell him you don’t know if you can deal with him doing so many projects. He’s an actor, and you signed on for this. You’d been so naive.  

You’re supposed to be here another week. You’d wanted to see him so badly, but now you need to think, and maybe talk to Taylor. Staying here with him in his big house is an illusion—that’s not what it’s really like. 

He’s close to tears when you leave the next day, begging you to stay just a little longer. He wants to make it up to you. You just don’t know how he can. You’re not even sure there’s anything to make up for. 

Things don’t always work out the way you want them to, no matter how much it breaks your heart to admit it. You kiss his forehead and tell him you love him because he needs to hear it. It’s not a breakup; you just need some time to think. 

“Think here,” he begs. “Think here, I won’t bother you, I’ll go get Delilah and fly her out here. And Taylor, too. Whatever you need.”

What you need is to be away from him. How are you supposed to focus when he overwhelms your senses like that? He’s so all-consuming—raspberry kush and CK All invading your lungs as you breathe him in, the whimpers you pull from his chest when you linger on his bottom lip, even the salty aftertaste of his collarbone on your tongue. 

He’s too much in all the best ways, and if you don’t leave him right now he’ll pull you back and what if you end up resenting him for it? What if it only gets worse?

“I’ll call you when I get home, okay? I promise,” you say as the car pulls into the driveway.

“Stay. Stay here, please stay here.” He presses his forehead against yours, nosing your cheek and taking a long, shaky breath. “You’re my home.”

His words knock the wind out of you. “Dee…” You murmur. He looks at your suitcase and then the car.

“You’re really gonna go?” He asks. You nod, tearing up. You tell him you love him, you promise to call him again, and then you leave. He stands at his door in a purple robe and watches the car disappear, and you wipe your eyes quickly. 

“Airport?” The driver asks. 

You nod and look away.

**

A week later, Dieter’s about to start another marathon interview session. His cardigan itches, his pants are too tight, he hates these fucking shoes. Sophie’s glaring at him as he stomps around, checking his phone every few minutes. 

“Do you have a meeting you’re late for or something?” She asks. “It’s gonna be a long day if you don’t chill out.”

He stops and glares back at Sophie, misdirected anger dripping from him. 

“Seriously, Dieter, what’s going on?”

He slumps down in his chair and rubs his forehead. 

“Girl stuff,” he pouts. 

“Again? Already?”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he says, trying to deflect, but Sophie’s always been good at seeing through him. 

“Seems like it is,” she says. “This the same girl you were so excited about a couple of weeks ago?”

He nods, scratching the side of his head, and gives in. “We had a fight the night of the premiere.”

“Oh, hon. Is that why she wasn’t there?”

He cringes. “She was there. She left before we got done on the carpet.”

And suddenly, Dieter’s telling her everything—the whole messy event, how she’d left him to think, how she’s been so quiet ever since. Even when she FaceTimed him it felt like he was a stranger to her. 

She sent the raccoon, though. Like clockwork. It had given him more hope than he cared to admit. 

Sophie listens, nodding her head in all the right places, emitting only a soft “aw” when he told her he’d begged his girl to stay. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he says, covering his face with his hands. “What if she’s right? What if it doesn’t work?”

Sophie sits back and checks her watch, nodding as if she’s decided there’s enough time to tell him what he needs to hear. “I’m gonna be totally honest, Dieter. If you told me this a couple of years ago when we were filming I’d have told you to let her go.”

He wilts, his hopes disintegrating into ash. 

“But,” she continues, and he perks up again. “You’re not that guy anymore. You spent half that press tour just waiting for her to call you. You didn’t even go out and hook up with anyone. And you weren’t inappropriate with me at all.”

“When was I ever—oh,” he says, quickly dropping his objections when he remembers his habit of hanging around her trailer like a tomcat before Steve visited the set and scared the shit out of him. He grins sheepishly. “Yeah. Sorry about all that.”

“I know you are,” she says, patting his arm. “I don’t know if that change is all yours or if you just love her that much, but it sounds like she’s had some kind of effect on you. And I don’t believe that we’re not meant to be with regular people or whatever. Steve’s an accountant.”

“He is?”

“He is!” 

“But you’ve been together since before, right?”

“Nope. We met at a Christmas party six years ago.” 

Dieter sits back and stares at her. A PA pops in to tell them it’s time, and Sophie flashes her brilliant smile.

“It can work,” she says. “But you have to talk to her about stuff. This is a weird business. If you’re kissing me for PR, you need to tell her beforehand.”

He scrubs a hand down his face, and the first interviewer comes in just as his phone dings. 

Good luck today! Love you. 🦝

Attached is a picture of the two of them in the bathroom at the hotel the night of the premiere, and her grin is so beautiful and soft. He’s not fully dressed, but it’s something. It’s something.

The interviewer notices his big, dopey smile. “Good news?” He asks.

“Fucking incredible,” he says. 

**

You’re miserable. 

You’ve spent a week trying to figure out what you’re supposed to be thinking about. He’d been away from you for six weeks, the longest he’d been gone so far, and you just left? After he begged you to stay? After he called you his home? Were you crazy? 

And now you don’t know what to do. He seems happy to hear from you, if cautious in the way he talks. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. 

After you sent him a good luck text, he sent a smiley face back, and you have no idea what that means. You try to keep yourself busy with anything—work, reading, collages. 

Weird that you find yourself Googling “celebrities that married normal people.”

Not that you expect to marry him or anything—the phrasing is just easier. That Pinterest folder full of wedding ideas isn’t for him specifically. It’s just a coincidence you made it three weeks after the first time you met him in person.

Matt Damon. 

Keanu Reeves.

Jon Stewart.

Jennifer Lawrence.

Sophie Neptune.

Sophie Neptune??

Sophie Neptune, 36, is married to Steve Parker, 40, an accountant.

Holy shit, what?

“Delilah, you’re seeing this, right?” You ask your dog who perks up at the sound of her name. She sniffs the phone, and lays her head back down. She has, unfortunately, not learned to talk. 

It took a few visits for Delilah to warm up to Dieter, but eventually she’d decided he was her human, too. The thought of her napping on his chest makes your heart ache. 

In the accompanying picture, Sophie’s in a red evening gown looking every bit the movie star, standing next to tall, husky man with a salt-and-pepper beard in a black tuxedo. He is, indeed, just a guy. 

You take to Instagram again because you need to know. You simply must know.

And there he is in her profile picture, a little blue checkmark certifying authenticity. She’s kissing his cheek. Sometimes he’s in red carpet pictures, and sometimes he’s not. Most of the time he’s in the background gazing at her like she’s the brightest star in the sky. 

You could have had a whole week with your own star, too. You lean back on your couch and stare at your aloe vera plant. 

He loves this stupid plant. He loves that you’ve kept this plant alive for so long. When you tell him they’re easy plants, almost impossible to kill, he waves his hand at you. 

“I’ve never kept anything but myself alive my whole life,” he’d said. “And you have a dog and a plant.”

“And you,” you’d reminded him. He’d wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

“And me,” he’d murmured.

Fuck. This is stupid. This is ridiculous. This is the worst decision you’ve ever made. 

How much are flights to L.A.? And how hard is it to get a seat for a dog? 

Dieter always took care of this. Every time. 

Fuck fuck fuck. 

It’s not cheap, and you have no idea how you’re gonna pay your credit card off, but you manage to find a flight that leaves at five a.m.

You’re running around your apartment trying to find clean clothes to pack for a couple of days—it’s as grand a gesture you swing, for now—when your phone rings. You check the time—almost midnight. 

It’s Dieter. A pit opens in your stomach, your insides swirling with anticipation—you don’t know if it’s the good or bad kind as you lift the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?” You ask, voice shaking. 

“Hey, peach,” he says in that soft, gravelly voice. “You at home?” 

“Yeah, I was just—”

But there are three knocks on your door before you can finish your sentences. Your heart leaps into your throat as you scramble to the door, not bothering the check the peephole. Delilah goes berserk, barking at the unexpected intruder. 

Dieter stands in front you, bags under his eyes and wearing a silver cardigan that is definitely not his. You pull him inside.

“You’re here,” you murmur. 

“I know,” he says. “I know you said you needed sp—”

“No,” you stop him, clawing at the cardigan and pulling him in for a kiss that he happily returns. “No, I was stupid, I didn’t need space. I just ran. I just got scared and I ran.”

“I should have—should have told you—I was stupid. I was so stupid—” He says, and you’re shushing him and he’s kissing you and Delilah’s still barking and you’re crying—why are you crying? “Oh, baby, no, don’t cry. I came to apologize.”

He cradles your jaw, kissing your cheeks and your forehead. You look up at him and laugh. “I was gonna come apologize to you, too.”

He knits his brow and shakes his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I bought a plane ticket for me and Delilah and we were gonna—I was, I mean—apologize. You know, like—like in the movies. Like this.” 

Dieter gives you a sheepish grin. “Really?”

“Really!”

Delilah jumps insistently on his legs.

“Say hi to her before she loses it,” you say. Your hands are shaking as he kneels to the ground and gives her a kiss on the head.  

“Hey, girl. I missed you, too. It’s good to see you,” he says gently. She licks his hand, pleased with the acknowledgment, and rolls over for belly rubs. “A little later, okay? I gotta talk to mama.”

You ignore the way he says “mama” in that sweet voice. Looking around, you see no bags. “Where’s your stuff?” You ask as he gets to his feet. 

His sheepish grin returns, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Didn’t bring anything. Nic let me borrow his jet.”

“Who’s Nic?”

“Nic Cage,” he says. “He owed me a favor.”

“And you used that favor to come see me?”

You don’t wait for him to answer. You know you need to talk, you know there are things the two of you need to work out, but you need to feel his mouth on yours. Dieter doesn’t resist at all when you pull him by his shirt collar and slot your lips between his. He just melts into you with a soft whimper. 

Dieter’s backing you into the bedroom and kicking the door closed, overwhelming your senses again, reacquainting himself with the way you taste and feel and smell. His hands sneak up your torso and peel off your shirt, and he groans at the sight of your bare breasts. He kisses down your chest, flicking his tongue around each nipple as he kneels down in front of you to pull your leggings off of you. 

Soft waves of hair slide easily between your fingers as he pushes his face between your legs and breathes, kissing your pussy through your already-damp underwear. You’ve been away from him for so much longer before, but this is different, like your body knows the last time he touched you could’ve been it. 

He slides your panties down your legs and stuffs them in his mouth, looking up at you through thick lashes with wide, brown eyes. 

You’re in charge. 

“Oh, baby,” you murmur, stroking his cheek. “You want that tonight?” 

He nods vigorously as you tug at his hair, pulling him back to expose his thick neck.

“Spit those out,” you say and he pouts, but does as he’s told. He dives toward your cunt, mouth open and tongue out, but you yank him back from that, too. 

“I’m in charge, remember?” You remind him. He nods and holds still, but stares at your pussy like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. “Get naked, and then get on your back and get comfortable. I’m gonna sit on your face and use your tongue to get myself off. And you don’t touch yourself until I say you can, yeah?”

He gives an eager nod and licks his lips as you let his hair go. He scrambles onto the bed, pulling his clothes off haphazardly and laying on his back, feet planted firmly on the mattress. His cock juts up, his head just peeking out of his foreskin, red and weeping. You crawl up his legs, kissing all the way up, unable to resist engulfing him with your mouth on the way up. 

He makes a noise like he’s been punched, gripping the sheets with his fists to hold himself still, but you pull off and giggle before he can really react. Shimmying the rest of the way up his body, you plant your knees on either side of his head. Dieter’s hungry eyes fall on your pussy again and you lower yourself to his soft, thick tongue. He moans as you start to move, curling his hands over your ass and digging his fingers into your cheeks. 

He feels so fucking good, running his big hands over you as you grind yourself on his mouth, your swollen clit bumping his nose every so often. His arm slides under your leg and he slips two fingers inside you, slapping your ass hard with his other hand. 

You want to fuss at him, tell him you’re using him, but it feels too good. Your hips buck faster, and every time he moans into you it pushes you closer.

“Come hard for me, baby girl,” he growls as he strokes your g-spot, muffled by your cunt. “Wanna drink from you. Gimme all of it. ‘M so fuckin’ hard. So fuckin’ hard, wanna fuck you so hard, please, missed your pussy so much—”

His pleas go straight to your cunt, your hips rocking back and forth so fast the headboard slams against the wall no matter how tightly you hold onto it. 

“Keep—doing—that—” You whimper, almost there, almost at the edge, almost where he wants you. Your vision goes white, ears ringing as your cunt pulses around his fingers. 

“Now. Now you can touch yourself,” you breathe as you come all over his face, his cheeks wet with you. He doesn’t move his fingers, just works you through it, murmuring obscenities about what a sweet fucking girl you are. His other hand wipes through the mess you’ve made on his face and moves to his cock, his arm jerking as your hips slow and your breathing evens out. He sticks his tongue back out, searching for your taste, and you move back. 

“Baby,” you giggle, and he looks up and smiles. 

“Too much?” He teases, licking his lips and stroking lazily at himself as you pull off of his fingers.

“Mmm.”

He’s still tugging at himself, and as beautiful as he is when he does this, you have other plans.

“Stop, please,” you say, and he obeys. He always listens so well. You crawl between his legs and look up, and he is the picture of debauchery—lips and chin and cheeks shiny with you, hair mussed from your fingers pulling his hair, breathing hard as he looks at you through those soft, heavy-lidded eyes. 

You press soft kisses to his shaft and he pulses against you, whimpering as you coat his cock in saliva and take him down your throat. 

His leg shakes as you drag your fingernails up and down his thigh, moaning at the way his cock bulges in the back of your throat. You pull off and smile at his whimper of protest, gazing up at him with your bottom lip in a teasing pout. 

“I wanna make you feel good, baby, so I want you to choose, okay?” 

“Okay,” he sighs, running his thumb over your cheek. You climb up and straddle him, dragging your dripping wet pussy over his cock and nosing his cheek.

“You wanna come in mouth? Or in my ass?” You whisper in his ear, grinning at the choked moan the second option pulls from him. Before Dieter, you hadn’t even thought of it. Now, though? Anything for him. He comes so hard every single time you let him, and you want to make him feel amazing. 

“Oh, fuck, baby, really? Really?” He asks.

“So the second one, then?” You giggle.

He looks at you with those big, brown eyes, frowning a little as he tries to figure you out. “Do you…are you sure? You want that, it’s not just—”

“Dieter, I like that. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t, yeah?”

He breathes out and kisses you again. “Fuck. Fuck, yes, okay. God, you’re so—I fucking love your tight little asshole. I love all of you—oh, fuck, yeah—”

He kisses you again and again, open-mouthed and wet until he pulls away and digs through your drawer for your lube and the bullet vibe. One thing he insists on is feeling you clench around him when you come. 

It’s almost gentlemanly. This is a vulnerable act for you, and he understands that. 

“I got this,” he murmurs, rolling you on your tummy and pulling you up by your hips. “I got you, peach.”

He drizzles the lube on his fingers to warm it, dipping his head and licking your rim first, and lets out a pleased rumble at your taste. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, and licks at you again. “Taste so fucking good.” 

Dieter pulls away and his fingers replace his tongue, rubbing softly and murmuring sweet nothings as he opens you up. You press the vibrator against your clit, whimpering at all the sensations happening at once. He slips a finger inside of you and waits for you to relax, repeating the process with more lube and the next finger. It doesn’t take much—it’s not your first time, after all. 

His cock is so much bigger than a finger, though. 

“Relax, baby,” he says. “Relax. You’re so fucking sexy, sweetheart. So good to me, letting me put my big fucking cock in your ass.”

You whine at him, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he slides into you with aching gentleness. He reaches around to squeeze your breasts, his big hands skating over your belly and mound and any soft part of you he can reach. 

Once he’s seated, you take a deep breath. “Gonna move now, pretty girl,” he says, and all you can do is nod. Your mouth drops open as he fucks into you, and you feel him everywhere as he mumbles at you.

He’s always a talker, but what spills from his mouth is less filth and more a declaration. It makes your pussy gush even more than his usual depravity.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby. Every single bit of you—so beautiful—so perfect—I’d give up everything. I’d give up everything for you. Wanna live between your legs, baby, please—please—gotta believe me. This sweet little ass is all mine, yeah—mine—” He grits out, possessive and pleading at the same time. You can hardly breathe with the vibe pressed against your clit, pulsing and wet and needy. Dieter’s movements are equal parts pleasure and pain as he stretches you out. 

“I need you, sweetheart. I need you so bad, I missed you so bad, Couldn’t—stop—thinking—about—you,” he pants. “You don’t understand how much I need you. Strangling my dick, baby, so fucking tight—oh, fuck, fuck I’m not—you gotta come. You gotta come for me, I gotta feel you—please, please, please-”

His begging sends you over the edge and you cry his name again, and he’s not far behind you. He blankets you with his whole broad body, skin damp and hot against yours, and he all but roars when he spills, nipping your earlobe as he throbs inside of you.

He whispers that he loves you over and over until he softens and pulls out, his seed spilling out and down your thighs. He dips his head between your legs again and looks.

He always has to look. 

“You’re so proud of yourself,” you giggle. “Did everyone before me put up with this?”

“Never gave a fuck about looking with them,” he says, rolling you over and running his fingers over your body. “Like seeing what I do to you.”

“Hey,” you say, pulling his chin to look at you. “I love you, too, Dee.”

His eyes cloud over as he takes a deep breath. “I’m—I’m sorry I didn’t explain everything.”

You kiss him again because you hate the sad look on his face. “I’m sorry I assumed.”

“No, look. Look, I should have told you. I said I’d show you off. I meant that. I don’t know what happened with the fucking seats, I’m so pissed about it. Everything got all fucked up. I know you don’t—I know you don’t believe me,” he says, his voice faltering, but you put your fingers to his lips. 

“I’m sorry I ran away and I’m sorry I didn’t let you apologize. I won’t ever do that again,” you promise. He nods and opens his  mouth, then closes it again like he’s fighting with himself about something. “What is it?”

“Can I just…if you…please just move in with me. I won’t ask you to quit your job, ever, and we can even keep your apartment here. Look, you can keep paying rent and Taylor can live here or something. And if you hate it, you can come back. And if you don’t, you can break the lease or whatever when we get married.”

Your mouth drops open just slightly at his tirade. “When we what?”

“When…you know? When we get…if we get married.” 

“You wanna get married to me?”

“I’ll marry you today, tomorrow, last week,” he says. “You’re it for me. There’s no one else.”

“You mean that?” You ask quietly. 

“I mean it so much. I love you. I love you so much. I’ll do whatever I need to do. I’ll stop doing all the drugs and I’ll take fewer projects and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

You sit up and stretch, and he looks up at you, anxiety etched on every line of his forehead. 

“I need a year,” you say. 

“A year?”

You nod. “A year. I want to keep doing it like this for a year. If it works—if it keeps working like this for another year—and we get through mostly unscathed, I’ll move in with you.”

Dieter grins and stretches out like a lazy cat. “We can do a year. I can do a year. A year is nothing when we’re gonna be together forever, you know?”

You smile at the way he says, earnestly and with no self-consciousness. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Exactly.”

“Okay. I can do that. And I—okay, then you—you have to understand where I’m coming from sometimes. And that—that sometimes it’s hard to be with me because of the whole famous thing. And there are some things I can’t control, but I’ll do everything I can to make you comfortable. Okay?”

“Fair enough,” you say. “That was good. The feelings you just expressed. That was really good.”

“Yeah? Really?” He says, grinning proudly. You pull him toward you, wrapping his long arms around your torso. 

“Really.” He settles his cheek on your chest, cradling your breast in his hand and wrapping his lips around your nipple. You bop his nose gently, but he ignores you. “You are insatiable.”

“Mmmm,” he murmurs. “Let’s go take a shower so I can eat your pussy under the water. And then we can cuddle.”

“I have a five a.m. flight to catch,” you giggle as he pulls you up and toward the bathroom.

“Oh, yeah. Well. Let me pay for those, okay?” You start to object, and he holds up his hand. “You also have to let me be your rich boyfriend sometimes.”

You roll your eyes. “All right, baby. Fine.”