girls, will you please take the wheel?

“Excuse me?” you asked, and he smirked a little, like he was in on some joke you weren't, then stepped forward so he was even with you.

“Asked if ya need a hand pickin' somethin' out,” he said.

You gave him a once over. He was standing to your right, and you could tell right away he wasn't an employee at the store—he had on a tactical vest, pouches galore, with camos and a thigh holster, complete with the gun. There was a radio clipped to his shoulder and a toothpick sticking out from between his lips.

“Do you work here, or...?”

“Nah,” he replied. “Deputy Gator Tillman, ma'am,” he said, turning and offering his gloved hand for you to shake it. Tentatively, you took it. The leather of his glove was warm.

“So you take protect and serve seriously then,” you observed, and the smirk grew more pronounced.

“Protect, sure. Ain't too much fer the service side... but I c'n make an exception for a doll like you.”

You scoffed, then realized he still had your hand in his. You tried to pull it back, but he held onto you. With no other recourse, you halfheartedly muttered, “Don't call me doll.”

He stepped closer, and you smelled his cologne, mixing with gunpowder and leather. “Well, what should I call ya then?” His thumb traced over the inside of your wrist, and you looked up to meet his eyes.

&&

Gator's truck wasn't the most comfortable you'd ever been in, but you still managed to contort yourself against the passenger door to the backseat, one leg lifted up with your foot pressed against the driver's seat, the other against your chest as you held it up and out of the way for him.

He was tall, too tall to be hooking up with you in his car, but then again, it wasn't like you were going to bring him back to your place and he'd told you, with just a little bit of cheek, he was technically still on duty so he couldn't really take too long.

His hands were splayed out on your thighs, practically your ass, holding you open as his tongue laved over your pussy, slicking you up with his spit and then leaning in, sucking at your clit and your folds, making you squeal a little each time he pulled at your clit with his lips, tugging at it, harsh and wet.

Your hips jerked up as his mouth moved a little lower than you'd expected—his tongue flitting over your asshole just briefly, but he didn't comment so neither did you. He returned to fucking you with his tongue, so maybe he'd just misjudged—

Ok. He did it again, slower this time. You squeezed your leg tighter to your chest and looked down at him, and his eyes did flick to yours before he covered your clit with his mouth, letting his tongue trail over it slow, teasing you.

“Stop,” you said.

He pulled off, licking at the corner of his mouth, your arousal shining his lips. “Stop what?”

“Teasing,” you said. “I thought you—were on the clock.”

Gator chuckled, ignoring you and just lowering his face back down between your legs. He slid one of his hands up your thigh to the back of your knee, pushing your leg further to the side so it was off your chest and against the back of the seat, spreading you even wider apart for him, and you sighed in pleasure, letting your eyes slip closed, as he licked into your slit again, pulling away just to—

Mouth at your ass again.

Your eyes snapped open and you craned your neck down to look at him. This time, he didn't try to hide it or feign like it wasn't intentional. He turned a fraction to the side, placed a wet kiss to your ass cheek, and then looked up at you.

“Y'like that kinda thing?” he asked, nonchalant as anything.

You swallowed—you weren't against it, but it wasn't something you'd had done to you all that often. So you shrugged. “It's fine.”

Gator laughed—actually laughed—and leaned down again, not putting his mouth on you again, but obviously preparing to. “Allow me t'change yer mind, doll.”

“Don't call—” you started to say, and then he was tonguing your ass properly, and you couldn't have spoken even if you'd wanted to.

&&

Things escalated from there. You'd hook up with Gator once every week or two, then gradually more frequently. He would pay attention to your pussy, enough to get you off, enough to have you trembling as you knelt over his face, or as he sank into you from behind, below, missionary—he didn't care, any position was Gator Tillman's favorite. But he always, always, came back to your ass. Whenever he had his mouth buried in your folds, he would move however fleetingly to your asshole, tasting it and moaning against you, his face pressed into your crack.

You were starting to like it too, just because of how much he did, and when you felt him press the pad of a finger against your puckered rim, his eyes meeting yours with a desperate question that you weren't sure if he would—or even could—verbalize, you just nodded to him and inhaled sharply as he eased the tip in, stretching you on his finger.

What had started as casual sex became something neither of you really wanted to name. You were fine having him call you “doll” rather than “girlfriend,” and you weren't sure if he was the type to be monogamous anyway—nor were you, at least not with someone like Gator Tillman. He was good for a good time, and that was all you expected from him.

It wasn't dating, but if he brought you for breakfast sometimes after spending the night because it was too late after his shift ended to drive home, what was the harm?

It wasn't dating, but if he'd started to text you to ask if you needed anything when he was picking up lube and rubbers from the pharmacy for your next tete-a-tete, and you told him to grab you a some tissues and nail polish remover, what was the harm?

It wasn't dating, but if he'd started texting you “gm doll” whenever he woke up at the crack of dawn for his early shifts, and seeing them made you smile before you'd even brushed your teeth or had your morning tea, what was the harm?

The sex was good—getting better every time, actually—and with his fixation on your ass you knew that the next logical step—because everything you two would do in bed could only lead to one place:

“Whaddaya think about me fuckin' ya there?” Gator asked, and your affirmative response had opened the floodgates.

He fucked you good before, but having an entire new part of your body now available to him would set him off almost every time. If you were both insatiable previously, going at least two rounds before he conked out on your throw pillows or you said you had to be up early for work in the morning, introducing anal into your sex life was both a blessing and a curse. Because you liked it well enough, but what really turned you on was how desperate Gator was for it. He would fuck your pussy and then change condoms and fuck your ass, or sometimes, if he was feeling particularly debaucherous he would start in your ass, watching you writhing beneath him, rubbing your clit and your slit before pulling out, slide on a new, clean rubber, and drill into your pussy, bringing you to orgasm before using your own arousal coating his length (and a healthy drizzle of lube) to slide back home into your ass, the tight heat overwhelming him so he would fill the condom with his hips against your backside, balls pressing tight to your spasming cunt.

And that sustained him—and you—for a pretty decent amount of time.

You still weren't dating—there was no rhyme or reason to your hookups, no pattern, and you'd seen him kissing other girls in the bar from time to time, on nights when you'd told him you already had plans with your girlfriends. There was a guy at work who had invited you for coffee, and you'd accepted.

But both you and Gator kept each other in your back pockets, for a rainy day, a last resort—someone who knew your body and what you liked just as well as you did. Something kept secret for just two.

&&

He came over one night, dropped by after his shift with a quick and easy text: u up?

You were—rapping with a couple of your friends about the coffee date that Jimmy from Accounting had taken you on, telling them how utterly dull he'd been. Gator's text had been—well, perfectly timed. You ended the call with your friends and went to take the world's most thorough shower in the 15 minutes you had until he arrived.

It was late. He hadn't just gotten off work—you could tell because he smelled like cigarettes and whiskey, though it wasn't on his breath, just his clothing. You opened the door for him and he was on you instantly, mouth against yours, kissing you as you let him in.

“Tired of all these townie bitches,” Gator said, mumbling as you staggered backward with him to your room, him trying to tug off the flimsy camisole top you were wearing over a pair of boyshort undies. “Ev'ry single one'em just callin' me a freak for tryin' to get it in 'round back, y'know?” he asked, licking the seam of your lips.

“Were you just—with someone else?” you asked, a slight note of panic to your voice.

“Fuck no,” Gator said. “Went t'the bar for half a minute 'nd gave the fuck up. Half'em got a nice ass just like you but they all know we're hookin' up.”

You looked at him, unperturbed, because that's all it was—hooking up.

“You're so bold, Gator,” you teased, bringing it back to the other thing he'd said. “Just asking outright for anal now?” He winced at the word, because for all the times he'd ever fucked you there, neither of you had never really once said it aloud.

“I ain't sayin' all'at,” he said, moving his hands to your hips.

“You stopped just trying to eat it right away then?” you needled him, and he squeezed your sides.

“Worked on you,” he said, huffy, and you laughed.

“They don't know what they're missing,” you said, and he pulled you closer, kissing you before tucking his face into your shoulder, sucking at your neck before lifting away, just enough not to muffle himself, as he spoke.

“Guess I don't either.”

You tilted your head toward him, not quite sure what to make of it. Lifting a hand to smooth over his hair, you leaned into him, because he was holding you tight to him now. “What's that?”

“Ain't never done it myself,” he said, and you stiffened up, because... that was new. Maybe he had drunk some whiskey before driving over to yours—that didn't quite seem like a sober admission.

“You mean an—” you started to say, and he cut you off.

“Yeah, 'swhat I mean,” he said. “Been thinkin' about it a lot.”

You pulled back to stare at him, and even though he tried to keep you close to him to avoid making eye contact, to avoid you looking at him while he was saying this, confessing this, you fought against his grip to enable yourself to look at him.

“For yourself,” you said, not quite a question.

“That a problem?” he countered, just this side of angry, and you quickly shook your head.

“No, it's—Gator, it's fine,” you said, knowing that Gator Tillman, toxic masculinity in human form, sheriff's deputy macho man extraordinaire, was probably having a very serious internal battle about whether it was ok for an ostensibly straight man to want to feel what it was like to get fucked in the ass.

“Easy f'r you ta say,” he said, and you just sighed.

“You know it feels good for guys, right? Like... better than it would for me,” you said, changing tack.

He narrowed his eyes at you, quirking an eyebrow. “How's that?”

A smirk played at your lips, and one anatomy lesson later, Gator was slightly more open to the idea.

That is to say, he wanted to bring you to a sex shop and pick out something to try together.

&&

He made you keep the lights off. Which was fine, because the first thing he wanted you to try, you could do by feeling your way with fingers and tongue.

Which you did.

It took you long enough to convince him to bend over the side of the bed, because he'd nixed propping himself up on all fours straight away and you figured this way he could hide his face from you—which you could tell he wanted—and also rut his cock against the sheets if he needed the friction.

You put your hands on his the backs of his knees, sliding them up and feeling him shudder as your cool skin moved over the curve of his ass, and then you were spreading him apart, just a little.

“I'm gonna touch you now,” you said, giving him enough notice, or so you hoped.

He grunted in response, so you leaned in and let your tongue trace over his balls, just to let him know you were there. He didn't say anything, but you saw his ribs expand, saw the huge breath he let out after.

Gently, and trying not to be too eager—you were determined not to fuck this up for him, because no matter how much he protested you understood that this had to be a huge fantasy for him—you trailed your tongue up from his sac and over his perineum, finally dipping into the slight pucker of his hole.

His hips kicked, first away from you and then back, and you saw him cling even harder to the duvet, gathering it up into his arms beneath him as he took a deep breath and held it.

You pressed a soft kiss to his hole, then pulled back “Breathe,” you said. “Trust me.”

It seemed for a second that he wouldn't listen, but then you saw his back begin moving again with each in- and exhale, and you skimmed your hands up to his hips to try and help ground him. For—well, for Gator, he was handling this exceptionally well.

You leaned in to him again, licking a stripe over him, and smiling a little to yourself when he loosed a short whine, trying to cover it up by pressing his face into the comforter, but not managing it. You did it again, and again, teasing him with the tip of your tongue before you were finally able to curl the wet muscle inside of him, and a moan was punched out of his lungs, his hips fucking into the sheets.

“Come here, baby,” you murmured, not quite meaning to use the pet name but—oh well, it was out there now. You tugged him back by the hips, reaching around his thigh to take hold of his cock, stroking him off as you delved into his ass with your tongue, shallowly fucking him with it and moaning yourself as he fucked the ring of your fingers.

“Jesus fuckin' Christ,” Gator mumbled curling his hips forward into your hand and then back into your mouth, not able to decide what he wanted to focus on, so wrapped up in it that he gasped suddenly as his orgasm hit him out of nowhere, spunk shooting to stain your bedsheets, rolling down the side of your mattress in thick globs as he finished, his hole tensing up around your tongue, his cock pulsing in your hand.

You pulled back from him, your hands lingering against his thighs as you watched him melt into the bed, his face buried in the covers.

“Y'ok, kid?” you asked, and he huffed a short, unamused laugh.

“I'm fuckin' peachy,” he mumbled, and you pushed yourself up to your feet, slapping one of his cheeks.

“Peachy is right.”

“No pun in-fuckin'-tended,” he insisted, but you just laughed and moved to sit beside where he was still laying, prone on top of your bed.

“You already said it,” you said, rubbing at his shoulder.

“Whatever,” he said, pushing his face back into the comforter still bunched up in his arms, before he turned to look up at you. “You ain't never told me it felt that good.”

You scoffed. “I let you keep doing it,” you said, smirking. “You think I'd let you do it if I didn't like it?”

He went mum, turning away from you but instead of hiding his face, he rested his chin atop the duvet. There was a lull, a quiet minute where neither of you said anything, your hand just rubbing at his back. You could feel how tense he was, and how it melted away slowly at your touch.

“Can we do it again?” he asked, forcing the words out, like he thought he was supposed to feel ashamed but didn't.

“Now?” you asked, but he shook his head.

“Nah,” he said. “Gonna return the favor.” He pushed himself up, the smirk you were used to on his lips now. “Bend over, doll.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to avoid grinning, then crawled onto the bed on all fours, a position you had no problems with. You rested on your elbows, ass up in the air, as Gator moved to kneel behind you, taking both of your holes with his tongue, reveling in your sweet cries and soft whimpers.

&&

The butt plug and vibrator were old news by the time Gator was ready to move on to your strap. You two were still defining whatever was going on between you as casual, even though you'd curved Jimmy every time he'd approached you at work, and Gator had altogether stopped frequenting the bar, because he—supposedly—had been designated as off the market.

“I didn't realize that we were so infamous,” you said, leaning into the passenger side window of Gator's truck, taking the iced tea he'd stopped to get you on the way.

“Prob'ly because you can't be discreet for shit,” he said, gesturing at you. “Ya didn't need t'meet me outside.”

“Maybe I like people seeing us together,” you said, smirking. “It's doing wonders for my clout, belonging to a Tillman.”

“Y'don't belong to me,” Gator said, but his voice wasn't as strong as it usually was, and before you could answer he shut off the ignition of the truck and climbed out, leaving it parked on the curb outside your place and rounding the hood to get to you. You stood up straight, watching as he opened the passenger door and rolled the window up.

“Well yeah, but they don't know that,” you said, watching the muscles in his back flex as he closed the window, and then slammed the door shut.

“Y'got an early mornin' tomorra?” Gator asked, segueing into a totally different topic, one you'd expected when he'd texted to ask if you wanted to hook up. Because you were still calling it—whatever it was—hooking up.

“Bank holiday,” you said, “I'm off.”

He eyed you for a long moment before a smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, ain't that work out perfectly.”

You sipped your tea, leaning your head a little to the side. “What's that?”

He stepped closer to you, waiting for you to lower the giant cup of iced tea before he let his lips brush yours, a short-lived kiss shared between you. “Thought maybe t'night we could...try out that nice lil' thing I bought ya.”

Your eyes widened, but your heart fluttered in your chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Y'wanna?”

“Yeah,” you said, practically running back to your door, Gator's heavy boots audible behind you. Once you were inside, your iced tea sat sweating on your coffee table, forgotten, as you both made your way to your bedroom. His hands were on you the second you crossed the threshold, curving your back against his front as he kissed your neck, arms wrapped around your waist as he held you.

“Gonna give it to me good, right doll?” he asked, and you felt yourself shudder at how gravelly his voice was, how deep—and how open about liking it he'd become since he'd just let himself want it.

“Guess we'll see,” you said, trying to slip out of his grasp, but he just clung to you.

“Nuh uh,” he said, groping your tits as he kissed your temple. “I know ya will.”

“Gator...” you sighed, and he chuckled, gave you one final kiss, and then released you.

While you crossed to your dresser, digging around in your pajama drawer, he busied himself removing his shirt and pants, leaving his jeans and t-shirt in a pile next to the door to your room. He perched himself on your bed, watching as you pulled out the dildo—small, to start, not too thick and not too long—and then the harness, the leather and metal hardware clanking against the top of your chest of drawers before you turned back to look at him.

“Sorry, am I taking too long?” you asked, smirking as you picked up the toy and the harness, then crossed to your bedside table, opening the top drawer of that as well.

“I wasn't gonna say shit, but now that you mention it...” he joked, and you threw a handful of condoms at him, simply because that was what you had to pelt him with at that moment. “Damn, how many times you think I can bust a nut?”

“You're disgusting,” you said, but even as you did, you were stripping your clothes off just the same, taking off everything as he watched, rubbing two condoms together between his fingers just to have something to do with his hand.

“Yeah, I can tell yer really turned the fuck off right now,” he quipped, eyeing you as you fit the toy into the o-ring, stepping into the harness and tightening it around your hips.

“Keep talking and I will be,” you said, moving to kneel on the bed across from him. “What do you want first?”

He let his eyes dip down from your face to the toy jutting out from between your legs, not speaking right away, but you didn't rush him or call him on it. You let him take his time—as into it as he'd come to be, this specifically was still new.

“Want ya k—kissin' on me while ya open me up,” he said, moving to lie perpendicular to where you were kneeling, his head on your pillow, flat on his back as he reached down his body to push his underwear down. This time, you watched him, and you could see he was already half-hard just from anticipation.

You swallowed thickly but nodded, crawling over to him and settling down beside him on your knees, snapping open the cap of the lube you'd taken from your drawer and drizzling it onto your fingers, smearing it over them. He was staring up at you, lips already parted, wanting your kiss, and you bowed your back to put your mouth on his while you reached down with your lubed-up hand and slotted it between his legs.

Gator sighed, making a small noise in his throat as your fingertips moved down between his ass cheeks, feeling for his hole—you found it after a brief moment, then focused your touch on it, rubbing at his rim. He lifted his hips up into your hand, and once you were able to crook a finger inside of him, he groped at your thigh, squeezing your leg as you worked deeper into him, gently, gradually.

“Smallest fuckin' hands in the world,” Gator said, though you knew he wasn't complaining; he was just needy.

Instead of responding, you pulled your finger out and pressed against him with two, easing the tips inside of him; he stretched easily, taking them both in with no resistance, and you licked into his mouth, letting your tongue slip against his before you pulled away, fucking him as deep as you could.

“Feel how easy that was?” you asked. “Trained you so good for me. Taking me so well, Gator.”

He suppressed the whine when you said it, but not when you scissored your fingers open, and then he was lifting his hips up into your hand again.

“Want one more, baby?” you asked, and his eyes met yours at that goddamn pet name again, but he was nodding, fervid, so you kissed him again and slid your fingers out of his greedy hole. You straightened up, muttering to just wait one minute, it wouldn't even take that long, and you squeezed more lube onto your fingers, prepping three of them to enter him this time.

You shifted yourself over a little, rubbing his thigh with your dry hand as you pressed your ring and index fingers against his hole, pushing them into him and parting them enough to let your middle finger moved into him too, and then he was sucking in breath after breath, whispering for you to come back, because he needed you up close. Needed you back, close, please, doll—

Of course, you obeyed, working your hand in between his shaky thighs as you sucked his lower lip into your mouth, kissing him deeply as he curled an arm around your waist, holding you, stroking his fingertips over your spine. You stayed as such for a few more moments, until he broke the kiss, glanced down his body at his hard prick, leaking onto his stomach, then up at you.

“Think ya got me all good,” he said, and you nodded, easing your hand out from between his legs. You pulled away from him but made sure to keep your clean hand in contact with him as you moved, because it would make him feel better, but you also didn't want to not be touching him in some way. You settled in between his legs, pulling his thighs on top of yours, spreading him out for you. First thing you did was roll a condom onto the toy, and then you reached for the lube again, pouring a liberal amount onto the dildo and slicking it up and down the length. Gator watched you with rapt attention, and then you sidled closer, propping his thighs up on yours, and leaning over him a little.

“Ready?” you asked, and he met your eyes with a curt nod, and you smoothed your hands over his thighs. “Gator.”

“Yeah,” he said, “ready.”

You curled your hips forward, letting the tip of your cock brush over his entrance, and he inhaled sharply before reaching a hand down to fist his cock, stroking himself already before you even moved into him. You pushed in, the head just barely breaching him before he was groaning below you, his eyes staring straight up into yours.

“I'm right here,” you said, moving your hand from his thigh to his stomach, rubbing over the little roll he had and he just nodded again, trusting you to do him right—in every meaning of the phrase.

You rolled your hips into him slowly, pushing in every inch of the toy until you were fully seated, and then he was lifting his hips up against you, his hand stilled around the base of his cock, twisting it a little from side to side.

“Feels good,” he admitted, and you nodded. He reached for your hand with his, and you let him take it; he laced your fingers together and you pulled out about half way, fucking back into him slowly, intentionally, and he was putty in your hands. You fucked into him, steady and firm, wanting him to feel the drag.

“Doesn't hurt, right?” you asked, looking down to the sheets for where you'd dropped the lube bottle, in case he wanted more.

“No,” he said, “no, 's—'s good.” He took a shuddering breath. “Feels good.”

You pressed your palm against his, fingers still tangled together, as you leaned against him a bit more, fucking into him watching as he started moving his hand over his cock in time with your thrusts. Your pussy was throbbing with the feeling of it, tingling a little around the strap that was pressing against you between your legs. The friction was nice, but you were getting off on Gator getting off on this.

“Fuckin' damn it,” he said, absently, curling his thumb over the head of his cock, teasing the slit as you pounded against him, not too hard, not too fast, the soft sound of your hips meeting his ass barely enough to cover his murmurings.

“You like it, Gate?” you asked, and he nodded, mussing his hair against your pillow, lips smacking as he swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing around words he didn't want to release. “Want more?”

“N-no,” he said. “No, this is—it's—it's perfect, just—just like this.” He spoke and then loosed a sigh, and you continued at your same pace, same rhythm, your clit desperate for attention but this wasn't for you, not yet. Gator needed you to keep going just as you were, so you did. You noticed when he started moving his hand faster, flicking his wrist each time he neared the head, until he was crying out your name, over and over, your hips still fucking against his, your cock resting inside his ass as you ground against him, his orgasm rippling through his body, his release landing on his stomach and his chest, white streaks that he dragged both of your hands through, rubbing them into his skin, sticky and thick.

You waited for him to open his eyes and look up at you; they were wet at the corners, and he gave you a half-smile; he looked entirely fucked out.

“Doll,” he said, and you smirked. “Think ya might be almost as good as me.”

You laughed out loud, and he grinned, still worn out but keyed up at the same time, his cock chubbed up but softening.

“Gimme that thing,” he said, unsticking his hand from yours, where his semen had joined your palms together, and gestured at the dildo still buried inside him.

“What?” you asked, bemused.

“Said, gimme that,” he said, pushing himself up on his elbows, his back and neck arching so he could watch as you pulled back and out of him, your hands on his thighs to hold him still as you worked your way backward, taking care not to move too fast.

You unbuckled the harness, wordlessly watching as he plucked another condom from the bunch you'd thrown at him before, then held his hand out, blatantly wanting you to slip the dildo from your strap and hand it to him. You did so, removing the toy from the harness, and he removed the used condom from it, rolling another one on and then giving you a sidelong look.

“Fuck you waitin' for? Lie down,” he said, looking at the empty space on your bed beside him. “I'm fuckin' spent; don't mean I ain't gettin' you yours.”

You bit your lip, then rolled onto your side, moving to lie down next to him; he wasted no time in pressing the toy, wrapped in a fresh new rubber, between your thighs. Spreading your legs for him, he notched the head against your slit and pushed in; you were so wet and ready, he was able to fuck you with it right away, the sounds of it moving in and out of your cunt loud, lewd, heady.

“Gator,” you sighed, as he fucked you damn good with the dildo, hard and fast the way you liked when he was actually on top of you; his wrist slapped against your thigh as he moved the toy into you, and he kissed your shoulder, your chest, up to your mouth as you lowered a hand between your legs to get your clit.

“Yeah, that's right,” he said. “Go 'head, touch yerself, make it real wet, doll, make it feel real good.”

“It does,” you whined against his lips, chasing his mouth as he moved away to kiss your neck again, your chest. “B-baby,” you implored him, and he returned to you, letting you kiss him again, your mouths moving together as your hips twitched. He was moving the dildo into your tight heat the exact same way he fucked you, and you were way closer than you realized, just from fucking him—god, he'd let you fuck him and it had gotten you almost all the way there.

“Ya close?” he whispered against your lips, and you nodded.

“I'm—so close, Gator, please—please—”

“Go on, let go,” he said, breathing in your sighs and whines, your exhales on his cheek, your short puffs of breath as he drilled the dildo into your pussy.

“Gonna,” you said, and left it at that, because it was all you could really get out.

Gator just kissed you again, sucking your lip between his, as you circled your clit with three fingers, feeling the pad of each rub over it in turn, and finally, you felt the warmth spread outward from between your legs, your body coiled up and then releasing, coming on the toy, Gator's hand holding it deep inside for you to clench down on, your fingers still moving over your clit to draw it out, and then you were half-sobbing against his lips. He pulled the dildo out of you, drawing a loud moan from you as he did, and then your hands were scrabbling over his skin, slicking his upper arm with your arousal as you pulled him down on top of you, his weight grounding you again as you kissed him, and he kissed you back.

Fuck being casual, fuck pretending this wasn't something more—if the whole damn town thought you were together, maybe you should both just get over it and be together. The little flurry in your chest was back, and this time, you weren't going to ignore it.