Michaela🩵

he's got his head between your thighs before you can even try to ask him what's wrong. he found you lounging in bed with a book, nothing but one of his shirts on. he didn't even bother to discard his work clothes before he was on you.

he's licking heavy stripes through your folds, a finger working little circles on your clit to get you nice and soaked for him. he wants to taste you, drink you up. you're the closest he can get to holy nectar; better than any glass of whiskey he could dream of.

after a few minutes, he's got you soaked. he's adjusted. his big hands have pulled your thighs over his shoulders. he's fucking his tongue in and out of your tight little hole, the moans escaping you only fueling his desire. he's working you with some sort of objective in mind, one far beyond a simple orgasm. you're not quite sure what it is, but as his nose bumps against your clit, you realize you don't even care.

he's like this for what feels like hours. he barely comes up for air, barely speaks, but you can feel his hot breath as he pants against your flesh, making out with those lips paying no mind to the way you've gushed over his face multiple times now. you're so sensitive at this point that every time he moans against you, your thighs twitch, your hips buck, and you're starting to taste salt as tears drip from your eyes to your mouth.

it's only when you're crying that it's too much, that you need a break; your hands fisting in his hair and tugging, that he pauses for a moment. he comes up panting, your slick dripping down his chin and onto his collar.

"jesus fuck, harvey," you pant, breathy and shaky. "are you okay?"

"better now," he pants, chest heaving. the frown he walked in with has been replaced by an almost blissed out smile.

"let me take care of you, at least," you offer, pushing yourself to sit up. after spending so much time going down on you, he must be hurting from need.

"i'm all good, baby," he grins breathlessly, a little bashful. that's when you glance down and notice a large wet stain on the front of his slacks.

"harvey, as hot as that is, those pants were like, $600," you remind him, amazed that he was able to come untouched. he must've been needier than you realized.

You didn’t know where you stood on the spectrum of sexuality and sensuality. You had never felt the touch of a man, yet you were no saint. You owned toys, you read erotica and watched porn when the mood struck. Most of all, you liked the part of yourself that refused to wait for a man to drop out of the sky before you could feel pleasure.

Your friends had plenty of experience with men and you were happy for them but you simply preferred to stay in control of your own.

For a long time that had been more than enough. You could take care of your own needs in under five minutes with the cheapest vibrator on the market or with your fingers in ten if you were worked up enough. Dildos had never done it for you, no matter the material, the shape, the length or the width, they left you feeling little and never brought you to orgasm. That fact had left you uneasy about the idea of sex with a man. You hoped that when it finally happened, penetration would feel good, you'd make sure of it, but a quiet fear lingered. Were you numb?

Still, you felt no rush to enter a relationship just to test the theory. You had watched enough friends tumble into messy entanglements and then ignore every piece of advice you gave them. 

Why would they listen to you, right? But after all, coaches never played…until tonight.

You sat around the crackling fire, thoughts drifting. You had come camping for a few nights to get some distance from your usual life and step down from your unpaid role as couple’s therapist to your friends. The first evening, Dean and Beau had set up camp near yours. They were university students like you, barely a year older, friendly and easy to talk to. 

You had fallen into hiking and kayaking together with surprising comfort and now the three of you sat around their fire, the night air cool against your skin while the flames threw warm light across your faces. Since this whole trip was an experiment and a chance to push your own limits…why stop at flirting?

“Are you two…?” Your question trailed off as you gestured between them. You sat in the middle, each of you in your own camp chair.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “Best friends…Not that he isn’t a good-looking guy.” He motioned toward Beau. “Look at him.”

Your gaze slid to Beau. He smiled, a little shy and sweet, clearly less bold than Dean. Still, the firelight traced the strong line of his jaw and the breadth of his shoulders.

“He’s right,” you said quietly.

Beau nodded, cheeks warming. “Uh, thank you.” He took a sip from his soda can. “Only one of us is Six Flags, though.” He grinned and Dean laughed.

You looked between them, lips curving despite yourself. “Six Flags? What does that mean?”

“He’s a ladies’ man,” Beau explained. “They come for the ride and then leave.”

“And I’m okay with that,” Dean added, raising a finger as if to make the statement sound more sincere.

You nodded slowly, eyes returning to Beau. You lifted your half-empty soda can in his direction. “And what kind of ride do you offer, handsome?”

Both of them turned their full attention to you, lips parting.

“Offer?” Beau repeated, voice low.

You hummed in confirmation, letting the moment stretch. The fire popped softly as crickets filled the silence between your words. “Just seeing if I could get two-for-one access tonight.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose as a slow, interested smirk tugged at his mouth. Beau’s gaze darkened as he set his can down on the ground beside his chair. The easy conversation from earlier fell away, replaced by something heavier and charged.

Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, firelight dancing in his eyes. “That’s a bold ask, sweetheart.”

You held his stare, pulse quickening. “Think of it as an experiment…I figured the woods were a good place for it.”

Beau glanced at Dean and immediately caught the eager look on his face. Dean looked about two seconds away from saying yes on the spot. Before he could, Beau cleared his throat.

“Hey, man. Can we… talk for a minute?” He asked, the last part tilting up as he motioned away with his head.

Dean blinked, then shrugged as he stood. “Sure.” Before he took a step, he turned and flashed you a quick smile.

Beau stood next and walked a short distance away from the fire as Dean followed, far enough for a private conversation but still in your line of sight. You kept your eyes on them, heart beating faster. You did not know what you were thinking, but you wanted this to happen. You wanted the overwhelming feeling of several hands on your body at once. The idea of sex without commitments felt like the perfect answer to your questions tonight. You wanted to try the real thing and the mere thought of being greedy enough to take both of them was making you awfully wet.

Beau crossed his arms. “Did I understand her right? She actually wants both of us? Like…at the same time?”

Dean grinned, nodding eagerly with his hands on his hips. “Sounded pretty clear to me.”

“What if she asks us to kiss?” Beau pressed, voice low but urgent.

Dean turned his head and looked straight at you. Your eyes were locked on them, curious and steady. Beau followed his gaze, then dropped his eyes lower. Dean was already visibly hard, the outline clear against his pants. Spending the past few days with you had been fun, and you were undeniably pretty.

Beau smacked him right on the cock with the back of his hand.

Dean doubled over with a groan, hands flying to cover himself. “Fuck, dude! The fuck was that for?”

“Can you focus for a second?” Beau hissed, eyes returning to Dean’s folded-over posture.

Dean straightened up slowly, still wincing but laughing under his breath. “One of us clearly is. Come on, isn’t this what we came here for? You wanted spontaneity. This is as spontaneous as it gets out in the woods.”

Beau rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back toward you. “We take this to the grave, right? No matter what happens. And if it gets too weird, we can always take turns instead of… everything at once. It’ll be her choice. I’m big on communication.”

“So am I,” Dean said easily. “But I’m not worried about ‘weird’. I have no issue seeing your dick, man. I’m a hockey player. I shower in rooms full of them and I can tell you that eventually your eyes start to wander.” He reached over and gave Beau a firm pat on the shoulder. “It’s not ‘if,’ it’s ‘when’… and that time comes pretty soon.” He nodded, eyes tracing Beau’s worried face.

Beau looked down at himself. He was getting hard too, though it was not nearly as obvious as Dean’s situation. Still, a flicker of doubt crossed his face as he wondered if size would be an issue once things got started.

Dean caught the look instantly. “Comparison is the thief of joy, my friend.”

Beau let out a short laugh despite himself, the tension easing a little. Dean’s grin returned, cocky and sure.

“I can show you a nude right now so there’s no surprises,” Dean added, his grin spreading wider.

Beau groaned. “Size isn’t all there is. It’s how you use it.”

Dean chuckled, nodding. “That’s my boy.”

During the conversation they had not noticed you stand and walk closer. When their eyes finally left each other and found you, you were only a couple of steps away.

“Don’t worry, guys. I don’t think we’ll hit max capacity of my tent tonight.” You smiled as you walked toward your tent without looking back. Both of their gazes followed your steps, matching smiles spreading across their faces.

“I think I just came in my pants,” Dean sighed.

“I’ll go first then,” Beau said, patting Dean’s chest. “You should start getting used to coming second…or even third.” He started walking after you. A second later, Dean followed.

The air inside the tent was thick with the scent of nylon and the musk of three bodies humming with anticipation. You sat there, trembling slightly, heart hammering against your ribs. 

You hadn't told Beau or Dean that this was your first time, that the dildos you’d tried in private had left you feeling cold and empty, leaving you with a nagging, terrifying fear that you were somehow broken. You didn't know if you could actually feel pleasure but as you looked at them, the desperation to find out outweighed the fear.

The clothes had been discarded in a frantic heap, leaving you all in just your underwear. The space was cramped, which only added to the intensity, forcing your skin to brush against theirs at every turn.

Beau, always the sweeter of the two, had laid back first. He looked up at you with soft, wanting eyes as you climbed over him. You straddled his hips, settling your weight down so your core pressed firmly against the hard line of his cock, separated only by the thin fabric of his boxers and your own underwear. When you started grinding against him, you gasped, eyes widening slightly. He was warm and pulsing beneath you, the thick ridge of his erection rubbing right against your clit with every roll of your hips. 

You began to rock yourself on him, moving in a slow, experimental rhythm. The friction of his clothed cock sliding against you sent sparks through your nerves, a sensation so vivid it almost made you cry out.

Dean was right behind you, kneeling and straddling Beau’s thighs to get closer. He was a wall of heat against your back, his confidence radiating off him in waves. His large hands reached around, sliding up to capture your clothed breasts. He squeezed and massaged them firmly, his fingers kneading your flesh while he leaned in to bury his face in the crook of your neck. He nipped at your skin, teeth grazing your pulse point, sending shivers racing down your spine.

Your hands rested on Beau’s chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms as you moved while his hands locked onto your hips, fingers digging in to help guide them, pushing you down harder onto him with every roll. 

Whenever Dean got close enough, pressing his front to your back eagerly, you could feel the hard, thick length of his cock pressing firmly against your ass, a promise of what was coming.

The feeling of being sandwiched between two men, the weight of them and the heat of their breath created an overwhelming sensation. You weren't close to coming yet but the tension was already building, in a new coil of heat tightening in your lower belly that you had never experienced before.

Dean’s hands moved, fingers hooking into the strap of your bra. With a swift, confident motion, he flicked the clasp and peeled the fabric away, exposing your breasts to the dim light of the tent.

Beau let out a low groan at the sight of your breasts spilling free, hips bucking upward instinctively. He looked up at your chest, eyes glazed with lust and breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Fuck," Beau choked out, his voice strained. "You're so beautiful...It’s gonna make me cum."

He tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you closer as you ground down against him. He held back, fighting the urge to come in his underwear while the two of you moved in a desperate, sweaty rhythm.

Dean stayed pressed behind you, mouth hot on your neck and shoulder, kissing and biting softly as his hand slipped around your waist and slid slowly beneath the waistband of your panties. 

His fingers found your slick folds and immediately began drawing slow but firm circles over your clit, the sudden direct touch making you moan loudly into the space. 

Meanwhile, his other hand stayed cupped around your breast, thumb brushing across your nipple in time with the movement of his fingers, forcing pleasure to surge through you from both angles. 

Your hips lifted on instinct. Breathing hard, you reached down between your bodies, slipped your hand into the waistband of his boxers and wrapped your fingers around his thick, heated length. You pulled him free, stroking him once from base to tip as his breath hitched sharply.

You then hooked a finger into the side of your soaked panties and tugged them roughly aside, exposing your dripping pussy completely to him. 

Dean chuckled low against your neck. "Taking initiative, I love that…Beau here likes spontaneity."

Holding Beau’s cock steady, you lined him up at your entrance and slowly sank down onto him. 

The stretch was immediate and intense. A broken moan and gasp escaped your lips as his warm, bare cock pushed inside you, filling you inch by inch. It truly was nothing like your toys, he felt alive, hot and so much fuller than you had imagined. You kept sinking until you were fully seated in his lap, walls fluttering and clenching around him then releasing in ways no toy had ever made them do. "Holy fuck," you breathed.

"Nothing holy about this," Beau answered, voice rough. "Get to riding."

You laughed shakily as Dean’s laugh vibrated against your skin. "And here she thought you were the sweeter one."

"Please," Beau added, smiling up at you and the word made your lips part around another curse.

Dean’s hand left your breast and slid up to the back of your neck, pressing you forward firmly until your chest was flush against Beau’s, nipples brushing his warm skin with every breath. The new angle pushed you deeper onto Beau’s cock, drawing a shared moan from both of you.

Behind you, Dean rolled his hips, grinding the hard, clothed length of his cock between your ass cheeks. The thick ridge of his erection, still trapped in his boxers, dragged slowly, applying steady pressure against your most sensitive area. He matched every roll and lift of your hips as you rode Beau, thrusting in perfect sync so that every time you sank down onto Beau’s cock, Dean’s pressed firmly against your ass.

His fingers never stopped their steady circles over your swollen clit, slick and fast now, pushing you higher with every stroke. The sensation of being filled by Beau while Dean ground against you from behind left you trembling between them, caught in a rhythm that grew steadily more desperate.

"Tell her again," Dean said, grinning. "I’m pretty sure her pussy will thank you for your manners."

Beau’s hands settled on your waist, guiding your drags up and down his length. "Ride me, sweetheart. Nice and slow so you can feel every inch."

You kept moving and each time you rose, Dean’s dry thrusts pushed you forward again, the fabric of his boxers catching and dragging against sensitive, wet skin. The tent felt smaller with every breath and shift of bodies while your knees slid over your sleeping bag as you found a rhythm, Beau’s cock stretching you as Dean’s fingers kept your clit puffy and throbbing.

Beau’s grip tightened as he grabbed handfuls of ass. "Fuck, you feel so good…so tight around me."

"She’s dripping down your cock already. Keep talking to her, Beau…she likes it." Dean grinned.

Beau’s voice stayed soft even as his hips failed to lift to meet you halfway. "You’re doing so well…taking me so deep. That’s it, let Dean play with that pretty clit while you fuck yourself on me."

Dean’s fingers pressed firmer, faster and your moans broke into something higher. The combined sensation from Beau filling you and Dean’s cock grinding against your ass while his fingers worked your clit, made your thighs shake. You rocked harder, chasing the feeling you’d never found with silicone.

"That’s right," Dean murmured. "Use us. Show us how you want it."

Beau’s hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "You can go faster if you need to, it’s all yours to take."

You did. The wet sounds of your pussy taking him fully grew louder inside the small tent. Dean’s dry thrusts grew more insistent, the head of his cock catching on the thin fabric of your panties with every roll of his hips as your clit pulsed under his fingers, every circle sending sparks up your spine.

Beau’s breathing turned ragged, eyes fluttering shut. "You’re squeezing me so tight…Fuck, don’t stop."

Dean’s hand pressed firmly on the delicious curve of your spine…Fuck, he wanted to lick along it. "She won’t…not until she comes all over your cock. Right, beautiful?"

The words hit you harder than you expected. Your hips stuttered for a moment, then resumed their frantic rhythm, chasing the edge that had always stayed just out of reach with your toys. 

Beau’s hands gripped your waist, steadying you as you rode him and Dean’s fingers never faltered on your clit, circling with relentless pressure. The three of you moved together in the cramped tent, bodies sliding against each other, hot breaths mingling in the thick air while the quiet night outside faded completely.

Beau pulled you into a deep, searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he met every desperate roll of your hips, which you were greedy for. You rode him harder, walls clamping down tightly around his thick shaft with every downward plunge. The wet, filthy sound of your bodies meeting filled the small space as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in your core, centered beneath Dean’s skilled fingers.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, violent and overwhelming. Your back arched sharply, pressing your chest harder against Beau’s as your hardened nipples dragged across his heated skin. The kiss broke with a wet gasp as a loud, broken moan tore from your throat. 

Your pussy spasmed hard around Beau’s cock, milking him in powerful, rhythmic pulses while pleasure tore through every nerve in your body.

You were so drenched that your juices coated his length and dripped down onto his balls, the slickness becoming too much. With one final, shaking shudder, Beau’s cock slipped out of you with a loud and obscene wet pop. You slumped forward against his chest, gasping for air, your empty pussy visibly twitching and pulsing in the open air between your spread cheeks.

Dean, who had been watching the entire spectacle with dark, predatory hunger, let out a low hiss. Seeing your walls contract and flutter had pushed him past the point of restraint. He snatched his hand away from your clit, the sudden loss making you whimper in protest and in one fluid motion, he shoved the front of his boxers down, freeing his thick, rigid cock. 

He leaned forward, lined the swollen head against your soaked entrance and began pushing in.

You let out a loud, shocked moan against Beau’s lips, your eyes widening at the sudden heavy intrusion. Beau had been long and smooth, gliding easily along your walls, Dean was thicker and the wait had made him even harder. He was ridged and pressed firmly against every sensitive spot as he moved. He stretched you to your absolute limit, forcing your walls to open around his girth as he sank deeper.

Beau reached down with both hands and gripped your ass cheeks. He spread them wide, fully exposing your dripping pussy to Dean’s relentless push, the new position leaving you completely open between them.

Dean gave a few slow, careful thrusts at first, testing how your body responded while it was still vibrating from your orgasm. The waves hadn’t faded, instead, they continued pulsing around his cock with every shallow stroke, drawing a deep groan from his chest.

You whined, a high and needy sound escaping your throat. Dean rested his forehead against the back of your neck for a moment, breathing hard, before he straightened up again on his knees.

“Fucking glorious, right? So warm,” Beau murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Dean chuckled, the sound vibrating through your spine. “She’s still cumming from your cock, dude.” He paused, his voice softening even as it stayed dominant. “I’m not hurting you, am I, sweetheart?”

You shook your head gently, breath coming in short, jagged gasps. A powerful wave of relief washed over you. You weren’t broken or numb, you could feel everything, every ridge, vein and throb of their cocks inside you. The sheer intensity proved you were more than capable of this kind of pleasure.

Dean’s arm wrapped around your waist and hauled you upright, pulling you off Beau’s chest and holding you tight against him in a firm bear hug, your back flush to his front. Your skin burned where it pressed against his.

“Do me a favor and wrap that pretty hand around Beau’s cock,” he whispered hotly against your ear.

He began to thrust in earnest, each powerful stroke driving deep and pushing fresh wetness out around his thick shaft. You melted back into him, head falling against his shoulder as a full-body shudder ran through you.

“Come on, be a good girl,” Dean murmured, voice rough with passion.

He looked down at Beau’s cock lying hard and twitching against his stomach, shiny and dripping with your juices. The swollen head glistened under the low light while a thin string of your slick stretched from your pussy to Beau’s skin every time Dean pulled back and slammed in again.

Your hand reached down on instinct, fingers wrapping around Beau’s slick, hot length, feeling it pulse strongly in your palm. You stroked him slowly at first, spreading the wetness up and down his shaft while Dean fucked you steadily from behind, the three of you locked together in the cramped tent.

You guided the broad head of Beau’s cock firmly against your swollen clit and the drenched opening of your pussy. Every time Dean slammed his hips forward, driving his cock deep into you, the force pressed your pelvis down onto Beau’s shaft. The friction was electric, a constant, slippery grind that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves. You whimpered, head tossing back against Dean’s shoulder anew as pre-cum and your own slick lubricated the filthy contact.

Beau’s chest tensed beneath you, his muscles rippling as he fought for control. “Ugh, fuck,” he moaned, the sound vibrating through your thighs. You let out a breathless chuckle between your moans, fingers digging into his skin to keep his cock pressed tight against your throbbing clit.

“You guys…do this often?” you gasped, voice trembling as Dean’s thrusts grew more urgent, hitting your cervix with blunt, satisfying thuds.

“We can, if you call us,” Beau answered instantly.

Dean let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated against your back. “Took the words right out of my mouth,” he said, teeth grazing the shell of your ear before he gripped your waist tighter and pulled you back harder onto his cock.

The pace changed, becoming a relentless, kinky assault on your senses. Dean began to rotate his hips, grinding his cock deep inside you while you continued sliding against Beau’s tip. The wet, slapping sound of skin meeting skin filled the tent, mixed with the heavy, intoxicating scent of sex and musk. You were drowning in it as pleasure built into a towering wave that stripped away your ability to speak. You could no longer form words, all that left your lips were high, needy moans and broken whimpers.

As you lost the ability to talk, the men took over. Their voices became low and praising as they talked about you like a prize, describing exactly how your tight walls squeezed Dean and how your clit pulsed against Beau.

“Look at her,” Dean groaned, his breath hot on your neck. “So fucking wet for us. I can feel her twitching around me, trying to suck me dry.”

“She’s perfect,” Beau rasped, his eyes locked on your blissed-out face.

Suddenly, Beau sat up, his movement fluid and hungry. He lunged forward and wrapped his mouth around one of your stiff nipples, sucking hard while his tongue swirled around the sensitive peak. At the same time, his hand reached up to massage your other breast, kneading the soft flesh with a firm grip. The combination of Dean’s deep pounding from behind, the constant friction on your clit and Beau’s hungry mouth on your breasts pushed you right to the edge.

Your back arched sharply, toes curling. “Fuck…I’m gonna cum,” you wailed, your internal muscles clamping down violently around Dean.

“Hold it,” they both commanded in unison.

The sudden order snapped you out of your haze for a split second. They didn’t stop moving, if anything, Dean slowed to a torturous, shallow grind, teasing the entrance of your womb, while Beau kept his cock pressed firmly against your clit. They went right back to their seductive murmurs against your skin, praising how your body trembled and how desperately you were leaking for them. They kept you hovering right on the precipice, denying your release and stretching the tension until your entire body hummed like a live wire, trapped in agonizing, wet ecstasy.

The friction continued, a relentless, slippery torture. The sheer amount of lubrication, a hot cocktail of your soaking wetness and their pre-cum, made every movement smooth and loud. 

As you ground desperately against Beau, the slickness became so intense that his cock suddenly slid from your clit and glided effortlessly toward your entrance.

You gasped, eyes widening in shock as you felt the broad, blunt head of his cock press firmly against your opening, right beside where Dean’s thick shaft was sliding in and out. He didn’t push inside but the overwhelming pressure of two cocks fighting for the same tight space was too much and the dam broke. 

You screamed, body convulsing in a violent, crashing orgasm. Your walls clamped down hard on Dean in rhythmic, desperate pulses, milking him with every spasm. You whined and moaned, voice breaking as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking and breathless.

The intensity of your climax triggered both men. Beau, feeling the frantic pulsing of your pussy against his sensitive head, let out a raspy moan into your nipple. His body stiffened as he erupted, thick ropes of hot cum shooting across your drenched pussy and mixing with the mess already coating your inner thighs.

At the same moment, the crushing grip of your orgasm pulled Dean over the edge. He let out a low, animalistic growl and buried himself as deep as possible, filling your womb with heavy, pulsing loads of cum. He kept thrusting slowly and heavily, pumping every last drop deep inside you while your body continued to shake between them.

Eventually, Dean slowed and pulled out with a wet, suctioning sound. The sudden emptiness left you feeling sensitive and open. 

You collapsed forward onto Beau’s chest as he lay back down, breathing hard against the crook of his neck. 

Your skin was warm and glistening with sweat and seed…And just as you started to relax, Beau reached down and delivered a sharp, loud smack to your ass.

You whined, the sting sending a fresh spark through your exhausted nerves while Dean groaned, voice thick with lingering lust as he stared at the sight of you. 

“How’s it looking?” Beau asked, glancing at Dean, who seemed completely mesmerized by your lower body.

Dean leaned in, eyes tracking the way their mixed cum and your wetness dripped from your swollen and still pulsing folds. “Like an overfilled twinkie,” he muttered.

The absurd comment shattered the tension and all three of you dissolved into tired, breathless laughter. You propped yourself up slightly, lifting just enough to capture Beau’s lips in a deep, lingering kiss. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as you tasted the salt and heat of everything you had just done.

“You might not be Six Flags,” you whispered against his lips, a playful glint in your eyes, “but they should make you employee of the month.”

Beau grinned triumphantly and surged up to reclaim your mouth, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass firmly, kneading the flesh.

“Hey…how come I got no kiss?” Dean’s voice drifted from behind you, mock-offended.

You didn’t bother to look back, too focused on Beau’s tongue sliding against yours but you had to pull back. “You came inside me,” you murmured breathlessly. “Don’t be greedy.”

You sank back into the kiss, feeling Beau’s chest rumble with a chuckle.

“Few more minutes and I’ll come on it too,” Dean whispered, voice low and promising as you felt Beau grin against your lips.

You had never seen men as the answer to much of anything, least of all your pleasure. So maybe the next thing you would acquire wouldn’t be a boyfriend, but a nice, realistic, warming and throbbing dildo to add to your collection… and perhaps a couple of phone numbers to call on those nights when your toys needed charging.

You were having an exceptionally difficult time not thinking about that night.

Three days had passed, which was long enough for embarrassment to settle in and for common sense to reappear, for you to convince yourself that perhaps your memory had exaggerated certain details. Maybe the tension hadn’t been quite as intense as you remembered, maybe the look in Dean’s eyes had meant less and maybe the entire thing had only felt significant because it had been built on months of denial.

The problem was that every time you tried to convince yourself of that, reality immediately disagreed.

You didn’t regret it and judging by the steady stream of texts sitting unanswered in your phone, Dean didn’t either but you couldn’t answer him…shouldn’t.

Every single vibration in your pocket made your stomach tighten before you even looked at the screen. His messages ranged from annoying to shameless to surprisingly genuine, each one making it harder to maintain the distance you’d spent months carefully constructing. So you avoided him, the rink, the locker room and every hallway he regularly occupied.

You had already cut your time around the team nearly in half, showing up long before practice began or lingering hours after everyone else had left. It wasn’t sustainable and you knew it, because sooner or later people would notice, the players would definitely notice and your godfather?

Your godfather noticed everything, that thought alone made your eye twitch.

Whenever your personal life became complicated, you always retreated toward certainty, toward things with rules, deadlines and clear answers, meaning you buried yourself beneath coursework. Exam season was approaching fast enough to justify the obsession and soon most of your days were spent hidden in forgotten corners of the library, surrounded by textbooks, highlighters and half-empty coffee cups. It was easier there and safer.

At least it should have been.

Instead, you found yourself staring at pages without absorbing a single sentence as words dissolved into memories and paragraphs transformed into flashes of Dean sitting across from you in his room and the unbearable awareness of each other hanging between you from the second you’d climbed through that window.

You squeezed your pen harder as a line of ink dragged crookedly across your notes.

Some stubborn part of you still admired the restraint the two of you had managed that night. After months of wanting, avoiding and pretending, things could have spiraled much further than they had but another part of you, one you tried very hard not to acknowledge, resented that restraint entirely because taking the edge off hadn’t solved anything. 

It had only confirmed what you’d spent months trying not to admit. This wasn’t temporary and it wasn’t a simple crush, it was attraction that wouldn’t simply go away.

“Psst.”

Your pen continued moving automatically across the page. You focused on the music playing through your headphones and on the sentence in front of you…Well, you actually just tried to focus on literally anything except your own thoughts.

“Psst.”

You frowned. The sentence you were copying suddenly looked wrong, very wrong. Your eyes scanned it again and half the words were misspelled while the other half appeared to belong to entirely different paragraphs. You stared at the mess in genuine disbelief because never in your entire life had you been this distracted.

Suddenly, a tiny paper ball landed directly on top of your notebook.

You blinked slowly at it before looking up. The library stretched quietly around you, rows of shelves creating narrow aisles in every direction. Several students nearby were already looking annoyed, though at what exactly you couldn’t tell.

You pulled one side of your headphones off and only heard silence, then…“Psst!”

This time you heard it clearly and your head turned toward the source. You watched as two thick books moved apart on a shelf several rows away to reveal a familiar face squeezed between them.

It sported a grin, dimples and far too much confidence…Dean. His eyes lit up the second he realized you’d spotted him and his grin somehow grew wider. 

You stared at him as he stared back but neither of you moved, then Dean lifted a hand and gave you an absurdly enthusiastic little wave through the gap between the books and your stupid heart betrayed you, because after three days of successfully avoiding him everywhere else on campus, the last place you’d expected him to find you was your hiding spot and judging by the victorious look on his face, he knew it.

Reluctantly, you pushed your chair back and stood. The legs scraped softly against the library floor, earning another irritated glance from a nearby student which you ignored. Your notebook remained open on the desk with highlighters scattered around it and headphones abandoned beside a coffee that had long since gone cold. For a second you considered grabbing your things and making a run for it until you looked through the gap in the shelves again.

Dean was still standing there, grinning and entirely too pleased with himself…which ultimately made you regret getting up at all.

Weaving through the rows of books, you kept your pace quick and your expression carefully neutral. Dean watched your approach openly, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatshirt, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had just spent several minutes terrorizing an entire section of the library.

The second you reached him, your voice dropped into a furious whisper.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to get your attention.” He nodded as though the answer should have been obvious as the grin remained firmly in place.

You stared at him. “Yeah, I think you got everyone’s attention.”

His smile only widened. “Mission accomplished then.”

“Dean.” You lowered your voice even further. “What do you want?”

“Hmm.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, extending his fingers one by one as though consulting a very serious list. “Let’s see. I’d like you to talk to me. I’d like you to text me back. I’d also like you to stop hiding from what we did.”

“Shh!” The sound came out much harsher than intended and before he could continue, your hand covered his mouth. You grabbed his sleeve with your free hand and dragged him farther between the shelves, away from the study tables and unsuspecting students trying to finish their assignments.

The last thing you needed was Dean casually announcing your personal business in the middle of the library.

“Keep your voice down,” you hissed.

His eyes danced with amusement above your hand.

“We didn’t do anything.”

His brows shot upward as he started speaking into your palm. You felt the vibration of the words before realizing exactly what position you’d put yourself in and your hand disappeared from his face so quickly it almost looked like you’d been burned.

Dean inhaled dramatically.

“You demonstrated it just now,” he informed you. “Except your fingers were sweeter and wet too…you also forgot the part where you kissed the back of your hand afterward and then vanished off the face of the earth.” 

You folded your arms. “If you need a sequel to the second half, feel free to call action right now.” You tilted your head slightly. “I’m excellent at improvisation.”

You watched every stage of his suffering pass across his face in real time. Disbelief, then annoyance…followed by resignation and mild murderous intent…but still, no regret. By the end of it, Dean physically looked like he was restraining himself from rolling his eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Sucks, cause it sounded like one…maybe try smiling a lot less.”

Dean exhaled heavily through his nose before grabbing your forearm and steering you away from the shelves.

You barely had time to protest before he was guiding you toward the nearest side exit.

“Wait, Dean–”

“Nope.”

“Dean.”

“It’s still ‘no’.” 

The emergency door opened with a metallic click and cool air rushed in from the stairwell beyond, only then did his hand settle briefly against the small of your back as he ushered you through ahead of him.

“You’re hilarious, by the way,” he said dryly. “Have you ever considered stand-up comedy?”

There wasn’t a single trace of amusement in his voice.

You smiled teasingly. “Could never make a bigger joke than you.”

The door swung shut behind both of you with a heavy thud and silence followed. The stairwell was empty, stone walls echoing faintly with distant footsteps from other floors.

Dean stopped on the landing and stared at you. “You really are a pain in my ass.”

“Then what are you doing here?” You descended several steps instinctively, creating distance before he could close it.

Dean followed to remain close. Then he continued farther down until he stood a few stairs below your position. For once, the difference in height disappeared, you found yourself looking directly into his eyes without having to crane your neck.

You crossed your arms tightly across your chest, only then did you notice what he’d done. He wasn’t standing there accidentally, he had positioned himself between you and the lower exit.

The realization earned him a narrowed look which he promptly ignored completely.

“I’ve been thinking.”

You groaned theatrically. “Oh, great. The world’s ending.” His eyes closed briefly so you continued anyway. “I can’t spell basic words anymore and Dean Di Laurentis has finally managed to make two brain cells rub together. Truly historic.”

“Well.” A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “One of us has to keep the ship from sinking.”

“I think you can stop…I’m a great swimmer.”

Dean pointed toward you. “See? That.”

“What?”

“That thing you do to deflect. Can you stop for five seconds? Jesus.”

You looked entirely too pleased with yourself while Dean looked entirely…too tired. The words weren’t harsh, if anything, they sounded exhausted. He planted his hands on his hips and looked away briefly before returning his attention to you.

The smile had faded and so had the teasing. For the first time since he’d appeared in the library, he looked genuinely nervous. His jaw shifted once, then again like he was carefully choosing every word before saying them.

“We fucked up, Dean.” The words came out quieter than you intended, stripped of most of their bite by exhaustion. You tightened your arms across your chest and leaned back slightly against the railing beside you. “I’m trying to go back to normal.”

“Well, it’s not working.” Dean shook his head.

The grin he’d been carrying around since ambushing you in the library was far gone. His hands dropped from his hips, frustration slipping through the cracks of his composure. He looked at you for a long moment before speaking again, searching your face like he was trying to find the version of you that hadn’t spent the last three days dodging him.

“You being mean right now, it’s…” He exhaled heavily through his nose. “It’s not helping, okay?”

His eyes stayed fixed on yours as you forced yourself to hold the gaze. That had to be safer because looking anywhere else felt dangerous while looking lower felt…even worse.

The memory of his bedroom was already doing enough damage without additional help.

“I’m not looking,” you said quietly.

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched despite himself and the growing tent in his pants. “I’d rather you didn’t…it’s getting embarrassing."

His voice softened noticeably but the next sentence only made your face twist further.

“Didn’t know it was that hard cleaning cum stains out of dark fabric.”

“Dean.” You looked genuinely horrified. “Can we not talk about it?”

His expression changed from amusement to disbelief so quickly it almost gave you whiplash. 

“I can’t!” The words bounced around the stone stairwell loudly. He ran a hand through his hair afterward, visibly frustrated with both the conversation and himself. Three days of unanswered messages, three days of avoidance and three days of pretending nothing had happened had clearly pushed him well past whatever limit he’d been trying to maintain.

Your stomach dropped and your eyes widened. “Did you tell someone?” You stepped down another stair before pointing an accusing finger directly at him. “Dean, I swear if you–”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” The interruption was calm but immediate. Dean held both hands up briefly before letting them fall again. “I talked to you about it.” His brow lifted slightly. “Which you would’ve known if you’d read my texts.”

“I told you texting me would get you blocked.” The reminder sounded weaker than you had meant for it to, mostly because both of you already knew it hadn’t happened.

Dean smiled a slow, smug smile that made you regret opening your mouth. “I’m not blocked.”

You blinked as your brain immediately began searching for a response, something clever and perhaps devastating…but unfortunately Dean moved faster.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out his phone. Your stomach sank instantly as you watched him unlock it, type something with alarming speed, then hit send.

The silence lasted all of two seconds, then your own phone vibrated inside the back pocket of your jeans and merely a second later came the familiar notification sound.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Do you wanna get that?”

You glared at him. “Probably my godfather,” you replied, refusing to acknowledge the obvious. “I’m having dinner at his place tonight.”

“Mm.” Dean nodded slowly, lips pressed together as though he was physically restraining a comment. Then he reached toward you, the movement was casual until his hand stopped midway when your voice cut through the stairwell.

“I could push you down these stairs.” There wasn’t a shred of conviction behind the threat, Dean noticed that much.

“You’d do anything for an excuse to kiss me better.” His response came just as quiet, just as effortless.

Before you could even formulate a comeback, his fingers slipped into the back pocket of your jeans. The movement was so smooth and familiar that it made your pulse stumble as he pulled your phone free while maintaining unwavering eye contact the entire…fucking…time.

The bastard was smiling and you hated that specific victorious smile…or at least you hated that you didn’t hate it.

He tapped the screen awake and immediately began scrolling through the notifications crowding it. His grin widened when he noticed the top message was from him…and so was the one beneath it…and the one beneath that.

Dean tilted the phone slightly toward himself. “Well, look at that.” His eyes flicked upward. “Did they remove the block button?”

“Relocated, I believe.”

“Mm.” The hum lingered in his throat as he continued looking at the screen before finally lifting his gaze back to yours. The amusement was still there but beneath it sat something softer. “Didn’t try very hard, did you?”

“And you would know all about ‘hard,’ wouldn’t you?” You tilted your head slightly as you threw the comment back at him. The smile tugging at your mouth made it clear you already knew exactly what reaction it would get.

You didn’t need to look anywhere below his face to know you’d landed the hit.

Dean’s eyes narrowed.

You watched him inhale slowly through his nose and let the breath back out with visible restraint, shoulders rising and falling once beneath his sweatshirt. Then, without breaking eye contact, he slipped your phone into the front pocket of his jeans, far away from your reach and so that grabbing it back would require getting entirely too close.

The fact that he looked completely satisfied with himself afterward only made it worse but both of you knew you were stubborn enough to leave it behind and buy another one out of spite if necessary, which meant the gesture had absolutely nothing to do with the phone.

“I have a proposition.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Do you, now?” The words came out smooth and teasing as you shifted your weight against the stair railing. “Is that what all those texts were about?”

A grin spread across his face, the one that usually meant he was about to say something deeply unnecessary. “I was texting you about how sweet you sound when you’re not making smartass comments every five seconds.” The grin widened.

“What can I say?” You shrugged. “Been spending too much time around you.”

“Not nearly enough.” The answer came too quickly like he’d been thinking it for days.

For a brief second, his eyes dropped to your mouth before returning to your gaze. The movement was small enough that most people would’ve missed it but you didn’t and neither did your pulse.

The silence stretched long enough for him to notice and for your breathing to betray you. That’s when Dean smiled to himself, victorious and deeply infuriating to you.

“You like plans,” he continued. “Rules…lists and color-coded schedules. So I’m here with a plan.”

You groaned dramatically. “Does this plan include fixing that fuck-awful interview you gave the other day?” 

Hope actually crept into your voice, you still couldn’t understand how he’d managed to perform so badly. You’d written the questions and he’d picked the ones that would be asked, then somehow he’d stood in front of the camera and acted like he’d never spoken to another human being before.

Dean looked genuinely offended. “They usually go better when there’s someone else behind the camera asking them.”

You stared at him and he stared right back, neither of you budged.

“What? Are you hard of hearing? Should I have asked them to speak louder?” you finally asked.

His grin returned. “Been hearing just fine.” He paused. “I’ve just been distracted lately.”

You closed your eyes briefly, he just couldn’t help himself. “What is your plan, Dean?”

The question came out flatter this time, because every second this conversation continued, your imagination became increasingly unhelpful. The enclosed stairwell wasn’t helping either, nor was the fact that Dean had somehow positioned himself close enough to matter while still maintaining enough distance to pretend he wasn’t doing it intentionally.

“It’s simple.” His hands slid into his pockets and his shoulders relaxed. The expression on his face said he believed he’d just solved a major international crisis. “Once is an accident, twice is coincidence…and three times is a pattern.”

You already hated where this was going but Dean continued anyway. “Which means we can screw up twice and still be fine.”

For a second, you simply stared at him, then you laughed in his face, a sharp sound that bounced off the stone walls around you.

“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘don’t jump to conclusions’?”

His grin remained firmly intact. “Maybe.”

“Because right now it feels like you backflipped into one.” You pointed at him. “Several, actually…and I thought skating was your thing.”

Dean looked entirely unapologetic, the smile threatening at the corner of his mouth told you he was enjoying this far more than he should have and unfortunately, the fact that you were smiling too made it very difficult to claim otherwise.

Dean nodded reluctantly and the eye roll still came anyway. He knew perfectly well you were right. His argument had several holes in it, most of them large enough to drive a truck through but he wasn’t ready to abandon it yet.

“It still makes sense,” he insisted. “Think about it.”

“No, you think about it.” You folded your arms tighter across your chest. “We’ve technically already fucked once…remember?”

His entire face twisted and a dramatic sigh left him as he looked away toward the stone walls, blowing out a breath through pursed lips before turning back to you.

“That’s–” He pointed vaguely between the two of you. “That was a sample.”

You blinked. “A sample.”

“Yes.” The confidence alone nearly made you laugh. “You don’t walk into an ice cream shop and immediately buy a whole cup of some new flavor,” he explained, gesturing with his hands as though this was a perfectly reasonable comparison. “You sample it first.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Or at least stare at it through the glass deciding if it’s worth the commitment...which was what we did.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Who’s the ice cream in this scenario?”

A grin spread across his face so quickly it almost looked painful. “I lick spoons clean when I’m done.” He nodded once, entirely pleased with himself. “You’ll figure it out soon.”

“Dean.” His name came out as a warning.

Dean immediately raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.” But the grin remained. “The saying applies to penetrative sex.”

You continued staring.

“And maybe some of the other stuff too,” he added. “But then the numbers start adding up really fast and–”

“That’s just greedy.”

“I thought so too.” He nodded in agreement as the conversation stalled.

The teasing was entirely gone and the stairwell grew quiet again. Somewhere several floors below, a door opened and closed while distant voices echoed briefly before disappearing.

Dean glanced down at his shoes as you watched him. He looked back up a second later and found your eyes already on him.

The sight alone softened something in his expression. “What do you say?” The question was quiet and careful.

You exhaled slowly and looked away first, turning toward the window beside the stairs. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass, casting pale strips of light across the stone steps.

“The off-limits thing wasn’t my idea.” Your voice was softer now. “And it’s fucking ridiculous.”

Dean nodded without hesitation. “I agree.”

“And so’s this.”

“I agree with that too.”

That earned the smallest smile from you, when you looked back at him, neither of you spoke for a few seconds. The silence felt different, it was less defensive, the fragile sort that appeared whenever honesty slipped into the conversation by accident.

“But?” Dean asked it before you could stop yourself from smiling.

“But,” you echoed, it made his attention sharpen quickly. “I guess I could entertain the thought for a little while.” His grin appeared before you’d even finished speaking and you rolled your eyes. “I mean, I should probably give you credit.”

Dean straightened slightly. “For?”

“Allegedly using whatever’s underneath all that hair.”

His smile widened instantly as he teasingly tilted his head, lowering his already soft tone. “Just promise you won’t pull too hard.”

You laughed. “Only if you promise to make it worth my while.” The answer came with a smile neither of you bothered hiding.

Dean nodded firmly as the confidence returned, his brows lifted. “A kiss to seal the deal?”

The hopeful look accompanying the question was almost embarrassing…almost.

You stepped down one stair, then another while Dean’s attention followed every movement and by the time you stopped, barely any distance remained between you.

You were close enough to notice the faint stubble shadowing his jaw and to see the way anticipation had already settled behind his eyes. You held his gaze the entire time as your hand slipped into the front pocket of his jeans.

Dean’s breath caught, the reaction was so clearly involuntary that it made your mouth twitch. Your fingers searched briefly before finding what you’d come for, the phone…and nothing else but still, they grazed the tip of his hardening cock, feeling it twitch in its restrained state before you wrapped your hand around the phone and slowly pulled it free.

“I think,” you said quietly, lifting the device between you both, “you need to find something better to do.”

His eyes dropped briefly toward your mouth before returning to yours. “Nothing better than you.”

For a moment neither of you moved but eventually, you carefully stepped back, one step…then another and one more as the distance returned slowly.

You watched Dean remain exactly where he was, looking up at you with entirely too much confidence and not nearly enough concern for his own well-being.

Shaking your head, you turned toward the library door. “See you around, Di Laurentis.”

You pushed the library door open without looking back, already stepping into the familiar hush of turning pages and whispered conversations.

Behind you, Dean let out a quiet breathy laugh. “Oh, yes you will.”

The confidence in his voice followed you through the doorway and you hated how easily it made you smile.

Once must be an accident…

The first time happened at the training center, which was undeniably your first real act of rebellion.

The building had mostly emptied hours ago. Practice was over, meetings were done and the endless stream of athletes, trainers and staff had long disappeared into the night. Only a handful of overhead lights remained on, casting warm pools of light across the otherwise dark hallways. The polished floors reflected every movement, every shadow and sound, including yours.

Your laughter echoed loudly through the corridor as you walked beside your godfather, bouncing off the high ceilings and glass office walls. It was the sort of laugh that came easily around him, unfiltered and familiar after decades of shared history.

He shook his head as he laughed too.

“You were such trouble,” he said. “And I knew it would only get worse the second you started walking.”

You shrugged dramatically. “You still keep me around. I’d say you’ve had plenty of years to fix it and decided not to.”

“That was my first mistake.”

“Probably.”

He snorted. The smile never left his face as he circled an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer for a brief side hug. The gesture was automatic, practiced through years of scraped knees, school events, birthdays and every other milestone in between.

“Nobody else around here benefits from nepotism quite like you do.”

Your laugh burst out immediately. “Wow.”

“Hey, you know it’s true.”

“You actually said it out loud. That’s…wow.”

That only made him laugh harder. “You’re good at what you do,” he continued. “You’re passionate about it. You work harder than most people in this building and half the ideas the department uses come from you.”

“Aw.”

“Besides,” he added casually, “I apply a family discount to your paychecks.”

You gasped so dramatically that he nearly stumbled laughing. Pushing him away, you stared at him in mock horror. “Are you serious?”

His head tipped back as the sound of his laughter filled the hallway. “Your college housing is free,” he reminded you. “You could move in with me and your aunt tomorrow and be a ten minute drive from campus…I also paid for your car.”

You opened your mouth to speak but he kept going. “You have a weekly allowance too…What exactly are you struggling with here?”

“How about that family discount turns into a promotion with benefits?”

His grin widened. “You mean more money.”

“It’s the only language you speak.” You pointed at him. “Don’t act surprised.”

He scoffed. “I speak plenty of languages.”

“No. You speak hockey and money.”

“That’s two.”

“Barely.” You continued walking together, your footsteps echoing softly through the corridor. “If I start calling you Coach Jensen in front of the guys instead of all the ridiculous nicknames I gave you growing up,” you offered, “would that help my chances?”

“Oh, never that.” His response was immediate as genuine horror crossed his face and you laughed. “No amount of money is worth that.”

“See? Promotion worthy answer.”

“Not happening.” He shook his head.

The two of you continued down the hall, passing framed team photographs and championship banners hanging behind glass displays. Most of them had been there for years. Some of them included players who were now professional athletes and others included kids he’d coached before you’d even started high school.

Then his expression softened slightly. “The rest of that money’s invested, by the way.”

You glanced over. “What money?”

“The money you’re constantly trying to get out of me.”

“Oh.”

“It’s sitting in an account collecting interest.” His shoulder bumped yours lightly. “It’ll do you a lot more good when you finally leave the nest.”

You grimaced. “Who says I’m ever leaving?” His brows lifted in curiosity so you continued. “Nepotism’s nice,” you informed him. “It’s comfortable…It offers a very soft life.”

That earned a quiet chuckle as he looked at you for a moment, observing and thinking, though it wasn’t difficult to guess where his thoughts had gone. The subject had come up before, of the assumptions and the advantages that came with being connected to him. 

You’d spent years hearing variations of the same concerns.

He cleared his throat. “Nobody giving you a hard time about that?” The question was casual but the concern underneath wasn’t.

You shook your head. “Your boys are good.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “I’d say they’re nicer than most people give them credit for.”

His expression softened. “And outside this building?”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure many people even know.” Then you smiled slightly. “And if they do, I don’t really care.”

His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“I mean it…I’m a grown woman. I can handle someone being annoying.”

The look he gave you said he wasn’t entirely convinced. “You’re still my kid…you’re still my responsibility.” You looked away first because the sincerity always got to you.

“If something happens,” he continued, “you come to me. I don’t care who it is.” He pointed down the hallway as if the guilty party might suddenly appear. “Anybody gives you trouble, I deal with it.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Especially if it’s one of my players.”

Your heartbeat picked up immediately for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with the conversation. You focused very hard on the floor as you walked. “Right.”

“You hear me?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Unfortunately, all you could think about was Dean, about stairwells, text messages, plans and about how catastrophically this conversation could go if Coach Jensen ever discovered what had been happening.

“You give really good fake-dad speeches.”

He snorted. “Fake?”

“Adoptive.”

“That’s better.”

You hesitated. “Hypothetically…”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at you and you instantly regretted the choice of words.

“Uh-oh.”

You chuckled. “There’s no uh-oh.”

“There’s definitely an uh-oh.”

“I just…” You paused, “You mean that in a ‘if someone hurts me’ way, right?”

There was absolutely no hesitation in his voice. “I’ll decide when the time comes.”

It did absolutely nothing to ease your concerns but before you could respond, he glanced down at his watch. His expression changed instantly as he stopped walking and patted one pocket, then another and finally his jacket.

“Crap.”

You stopped too as he checked all of his pockets again individually. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot my keys in my office,” he said, already patting down his pockets once more for good measure with a quick, irritated exhale. “We’re running late and I’ve got to make a call. I wanted to do it in the car.”

“Make your call,” you replied, already stepping backward down the hallway. “I’ll go get them.”

He hesitated only a second, eyes still scanning his pockets as if willing the keys into existence.

“It might take a while. Twenty, maybe thirty minutes. Should I call you an Uber and just cancel the whole dinner?”

“No way you’re getting out of it,” you said without slowing down. “I’ll wait. I’ll just use your printer to get some work done so I can sleep in tomorrow. Call me when you’re done.”

His brow lifted slightly. “So you’re the reason I’m constantly out of ink.”

You shrugged as you kept walking. “The library charges thirteen cents per color page. I’m not made of money…color coding saves lives.”

A quiet scoff followed you down the hall. “No color coding for my favorite goddaughter. Can you imagine?”

“It’s criminal,” you called back.

He finally pulled out his phone, already thumbing through it. “Keep your phone close,” he added without looking up, voice slipping back into that habitual coaching tone. “Or you’re walking home.”

“Yes, Coach,” you replied with a lazy salute over your shoulder before turning fully toward his office.

His muttering faded behind you as he scrolled, already pulled into whatever chaos lived on his screen. You kept moving through familiar corridors, passing framed team photos and closed doors, the building quieter now than it had been all day. He had always been like that, always halfway inside something else, phone never truly out of reach, his attention constantly split between ten different responsibilities. You’d grown used to it long before you ever realized what it meant for you.

You pulled your phone out while walking, scrolling through the documents you needed to print, checking formatting and margins out of habit as you turned the last corner. The office door came into view at the end of the hall, slightly ajar.

You pushed it open enough to slip inside and nearly jolted out of your skin when two hands landed at your hips, pulling you in before your brain even caught up. Your head snapped to the side so fast your hair whipped across your cheek, breath catching hard in your throat before your eyes locked onto Dean standing right behind you.

He lifted a finger to his lips in a quick, silent shush, then guided you further inside with an ease that made your stomach drop for a second, nudging the door shut behind you with his foot.

“You motherfucker,” you hissed the moment the latch clicked and turned to face him. “I watched you leave.”

Dean’s grin was immediate, infuriatingly relaxed. “I was waiting for you in the parking lot.”

Your eyes narrowed in the dim office light as it settled properly around you. The space smelled like paper, coffee and the faint sterile edge of hockey equipment that never fully left anything he occupied. The desk behind you was cluttered, a laptop still open while folders lied stacked slightly unevenly near the edge.

“Oh, fantastic,” you muttered. “That’s not creepy at all.”

He stepped closer, still smiling. “You came to practice tonight.”

“Wow,” you replied flatly. “Anything else, Sherlock?”

His hands tightened at your hips again as he started guiding you backward without hesitation. The motion was slow, controlled, like he already knew exactly where this was going and had no interest in pretending otherwise.

“You look beautiful,” he added.

You rolled your eyes, but the words still landed. You were wearing a light summer dress. You’d kept a blanket wrapped around your shoulders during the game earlier, tucked into the rink seating, ignoring the cold while Dean had spent half the period barely paying attention to the puck.

“Yeah,” you said, voice quieter now as your back hit the edge of the desk. “I know.”

The realization of where he’d led you hit a second too late, making your breath catch again.

The desk pressed into your ass as your hands hovered uncertainly near the surface. You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself as logic tried to catch up with instinct.

“Dean,” you started, firmly. “We don’t have time for this…You hear me? There’s no time to test the waters.”

“Good,” he simply said and with a sudden, decisive movement, he hoisted you up onto the table, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off his body. “I mean to taste them.”

Your eyes widened instantly. “I’m serious. He could walk in.”

“I heard you out there. We both know he’s incapable of walking and holding a professional phone conversation at the same time,” Dean said without hesitation, his tone annoyingly certain as he adjusted your position on the desk. “I’ll be fast.”

Your eyes narrowed immediately, hands bracing lightly on the edge of the desk as papers shifted beneath your palms, sliding just enough to remind you how fragile this situation actually was despite the confidence in his voice.

“I’m not walking out of here half-pleasured,” you decided flatly, holding his gaze so he understood you weren’t joking, not even slightly.

Dean didn’t even blink. “Who said you are?”

That answer only made your expression tighten further.

“Oh, so you’re just magically going to figure me out in…” you glanced down briefly at your phone screen, thumb hovering over the time without thinking. “Fifteen minutes?”

A slow, confident exhale left him.

“You’re not the only one good at observing, Hawkeye,” he said, eyes locked on yours as if the rest of the room didn’t exist at all. His hands moved again, gathering the fabric of your dress with controlled ease, the motion unhurried but so intentional that it made your breath catch slightly despite yourself.

The desk creaked faintly beneath your weight as he leaned in closer.

“Ice isn’t the only thing I’m fast on.”

He stepped closer between your thighs, his presence overwhelming and absolute. He didn't break eye contact for a single second, his gaze heavy and knowing as he reached down. You felt the sudden, firm hook of his fingers into the lace of your panties as he pulled them down slowly, the fabric sliding over your skin with an agonizing pace.

"I want you quiet," he murmured, voice a low, dangerous vibration that seemed to settle right in your gut. A smirk played on his lips. "I know how hard that is for you, so...try your hardest."

The arrogance of it sparked a flare of defiance in you. Even as your heart hammered against your ribs, you managed to bite back, "I know how to stay quiet."

Dean’s grin widened, sharp and predatory. Without a word, he bunched the fabric of your panties into a tight ball in his fist and in one swift motion, shoved them into your open mouth. The taste of your own scent and the sudden fullness of the fabric gagging you caught you off guard, forcing your jaw open and stifling any further retort.

"Just a precaution," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "I'm keeping those after."

He sank to his knees between your legs, the movement fluid and confident. You stared down at him, chest heaving as the feeling of being gagged for the first time sent a jolt of raw, forbidden electricity through your nerves. It was humiliating and exhilarating all at once, stripping away your voice and leaving you completely vulnerable to whatever he decided to do next.

Dean leaned in, breath hot against your inner thighs before his mouth found you.

The first touch of his tongue was a revelation. He didn't fumble or guess, he hit your clit with a precision that made your entire body jerk while a muffled, desperate sound died in the back of your throat, trapped by the fabric in your mouth. He knew exactly where to go, his tongue swirling in a tight, wet circle that sent a wave of heat crashing through you.

It was toe-curling, an intensity of pleasure you hadn't known was possible. He began to suck, his lips creating a firm, vacuum-like seal around your nub, pulling it deep into his mouth. The sensation of the wet, sliding friction of his tongue combined with the rhythmic pressure of his suction was overwhelming.

You felt your face heat up, your eyes fluttering shut as you lost yourself in the sheer sensory overload. Every flick of his tongue felt like a lightning strike, vibrating through your hips and settling deep in your core. The contrast was maddening, between the silence forced upon you by the gag and the loud, screaming pleasure echoing in your mind.

Driven by a sudden, primal need for more, your hands flew to his head. You gripped his hair, fingers digging into the strands to pull him closer, wanting to fuse your body to his mouth. Dean noticed the second you grabbed him and a low hum of satisfaction vibrated from his throat and directly into your sensitive flesh. He leaned into the pressure, increasing the pace, tongue working with a relentless, expert rhythm.

He was sucking you with a hunger that matched your own, his mouth wet and warm, creating a sloppy, sliding sound that filled the quiet of the room. You could feel the moisture coating you, the slickness of his saliva making every stroke of his tongue feel even more immersive.

As you sat there, gagged and trembling, you hated how right this felt. You hated that the agonizing wait, the teasing and the verbal sparring had all led to this exact moment of surrender. The confidence he radiated and the way he took control without a shred of doubt, was intoxicating. You were trapped in a cycle of intense anticipation and shattering satisfaction, your body humming like a live wire, desperate for a release that he was intentionally, cruelly delaying.

Dean didn't let up for a second, his tongue becoming a weapon of pure pleasure. He shifted his angle, pressing his face deeper into your pussy, nose brushing against your folds as he focused entirely on your clit. He began to use the flat of his tongue, delivering long, slow and wet strokes from the bottom of your opening all the way up to the peak of your nub, coating you in a thick layer of saliva that made every movement slide with effortless, slick friction.

The sensation was agonizingly perfect. You felt your thighs tremble, your muscles twitching involuntarily as he alternated between those broad, sweeping licks and sharp, pinpoint flicks of his tongue. He was playing you like an instrument, knowing exactly how to build the tension without letting you break. Every time you felt yourself tipping toward the edge, he would slow down, swirling his tongue in a teasing, lazy circle that left you whimpering into the fabric of your panties.

The gag in your mouth felt heavier now, the taste of yourself mixing with the heat of your breath, turning your muffled moans into desperate, nasal whines. Your head fell back, eyes rolling back as you focused on the wet, sloppy sounds of his tongue working between your legs.

He suddenly increased the intensity, tongue hardening and darting rapidly against your clit in a blurring rhythm. It was a relentless assault of pleasure, a rhythmic drumming that sent sparks flying behind your eyelids. You gripped his hair even tighter, knuckles lightening, pulling his face harder against your pussy, almost begging him with your body to never stop.

He responded by sucking you back in, lips creating a tighter, powerful seal that pulled your clit between his teeth. He sucked with a rhythmic, pulsing force and it soon felt like it was drawing the very soul out of you. You could feel the constant vibration of his throat as he let out a low, muffled growl against your skin, his confidence radiating through the sheer dominance of his technique.

You were floating in a sea of heat and wetness, your entire world narrowing down to the point where his mouth met your flesh. You were drenched, your own juices mixing with his spit, making the encounter sound wet and filthy.

He teased you, pulling back just a fraction of an inch to let the cool air hit your wet skin before diving back in with a sudden, deep lick that made you gasp into the gag. He was prolonging the torture, savoring the way your body shook under his control. He knew you were desperate, knew you were hovering on the precipice of something shattering and he took a sadistic pleasure in keeping you right there, suspended in a state of pure, unadulterated arousal.

Dean soon felt you trembling, body vibrating with a tension that had become almost unbearable. He knew you were balanced on a razor's edge and with a predatory glint in his eyes, he finally decided to push you over. While his tongue continued to swirl and flick against your swollen clit, he slid two fingers deep into your soaking wet pussy.

The sudden intrusion nearly broke you. The feeling of him filling you, stretching your tight walls while his tongue relentlessly hammered your nub, was an overload of sensation that shattered your composure. Your shoulders began to shake, chest heaving as you fought for air through your nose. Your eyes forced shut, the world disappearing into a haze of white-hot pleasure and you bit down on the fabric of your panties with everything you had, jaw aching as you muffled screams of ecstasy into the gag.

He didn't let you fall yet. He kept you right there, at the agonizing precipice of orgasm, fingers curling inside you to hit your G-spot with rhythmic, punishing precision while his mouth worked in a wet, sloppy frenzy. You were trapped in a loop of pure erotism, hips bucking wildly against his face, body begging for the release that he stubbornly denied you. For what felt like an eternity, you hovered on the brink while your muscles twitched and your mind screamed for the end.

Then, the sharp, intrusive ring of your phone pierced through the silence of the room.

The sudden shock of the sound, combined with the peak of the stimulation, was the final trigger. Your body snapped. You let out a muffled, guttural shriek into the gag as a violent orgasm ripped through you. Your walls clamped down hard on his fingers, pulsing in rhythmic waves of intense pleasure that made your toes curl and your back arch. Your eyes flew open, wide and glazed, looking down at the vibrating phone on the desk as you shuddered through the climax.

Dean stayed right there, slurping up every drop of your juices, tongue licking the cream from your folds with a greedy, satisfied sound. He continued to suck and lick even as the waves subsided, ensuring he tasted every bit of your release.

Slowly, he pulled back but he left his two fingers buried deep inside you. He stood up tall, looming over you, his expression one of complete enamourment. He watched you breathe heavily, chest heaving as he continued to move his fingers in and out of your dripping hole in a slow, teasing slide that reminded you exactly who was in control.

With shaking fingers and trembling legs, you reached up and pulled the damp fabric of your panties from your mouth, pulling out the gag. You didn't pick up the call. Instead, with a shaky hand, you typed a quick text back. "I'm coming."

Dean leaned over, reading the screen and let out a low, dark chuckle. "Yes you are," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

He finally withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, maintaining intense eye contact as he lifted them to his mouth and licked them clean, savoring the taste of you one last time.

"You're such an asshole," you breathed, voice raspy and exhausted. You hopped down from the desk, legs feeling like jelly and looked around for your bunched-up panties. You swore you had left them on the desk just a second ago.

Dean opened his opposite palm, revealing the lace fabric gripped in his hand. "Told you I'm keeping them," he said with a smug grin. Then motioned toward the door with his head. "Go, before he comes looking."

You grabbed your phone and found your godfather's keys, turning to leave but just as you reached the door, his voice stopped you, dripping with a mix of mischief and dominance.

He licked his lips, "I made sure to get all of it but don't walk too fast...just in case."

He grinned, knowing exactly how drenched you were. You didn't say a word, face heating up as you opened the door and finally stepped out. Behind you, Dean stood in the center of the room, breath heavy and staring after you with the biggest, hardest erection of his life as the scent of your sex still clung to his skin.

“There you are.”

Your godfather’s smile appeared the second you stepped into view, warm and completely unaware as he pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against. The overhead lights cast long shadows across the now-empty lobby, the training center nearly silent around you aside from the distant hum of ventilation and the occasional echo of a door closing somewhere deeper in the building.

“Ready for dinner?”

You forced a smile onto your face and tossed the keys toward him before he could look too closely at you. The metal jingled through the air before he caught them one-handed, only then did you trust yourself to speak.

“Is it bad that I’m craving takeout?”

He laughed and as far as you could tell, he wasn’t suspicious but the sound made guilt twist somewhere deep in your stomach. 

“Not bad at all.” He slipped the keys into his pocket as you finally reached his side. “We’ll save the dinner for next week.”

You nodded quickly. “That sounds good.”

The two of you headed for the exit together. Your godfather reached the door first, holding it open as cool night air rushed inside, carrying the scent of damp pavement and freshly cut grass from the athletic fields beyond the parking lot.

You stepped outside and the darkness felt refreshing against overheated skin.

The parking lot stretched ahead under pools of yellow light, mostly empty now except for a few scattered vehicles belonging to coaches and staff members working late.

Your eyes immediately found his car.

“Coach!”

The voice hit like a gunshot and your entire body locked before your mind forced it to turn around…and there he was.

Dean jogged out of the building toward the two of you, sports bag slung across the front of his body in a position so intentional it almost made your eye twitch. His hair looked slightly messy too but the fact that he could still look this comfortable after what you’d done made you want to throw something at him.

“Di Laurentis.” Your godfather stepped aside to lock the doors behind everyone. “Five more minutes and you would’ve been spending the night with the cleaning crew.”

Dean laughed the same laugh he used with coaches, professors, reporters and strangers. “I fell asleep after practice.” His eyes landed on yours and the smile on his face shifted almost imperceptibly as he reached up and pushed a hand through his hair fixing it.

You nearly choked.

“It was an…accident,” His gaze lingered on yours, the sweetness in his voice was subtle when he spoke again. “Hi, Y/n.”

“Hey.” The answer came out remarkably normal considering you suddenly remembered exactly what he’d looked like less than twenty minutes ago.

“Accidents happen.” Your godfather finally finished locking the doors and turned back toward you both. An arm settled comfortably around your shoulders. “You did good at practice today,” he told Dean. “Go get some real rest.” Then he looked down at you. “We could drive you.”

“No need.” You spoke up far too fast, making both men look at you instantly.

Shit.

You forced a smile as you watched Dean’s mouth twitch.

That fucking asshole…

“Yeah,” he agreed before anyone could think too hard about it. “I’m good.” His sports bag moved slightly against the front of his jeans and you swore you almost saw him wince. You looked away before things could get worse. “Night.”

He began backing toward his car, slowly, eyes lingering on you every chance he got.

“Night,” your godfather answered. Then his arm tightened around your shoulders as he steered you toward the car.

The conversation immediately changed to something entirely different, his voice filling the space between your thoughts as he launched into yet another debate about ordering pineapple and pepperoni pizza.

You groaned automatically as he laughed.

The parking lot stretched ahead beneath the lights as the two of you walked away and despite your best efforts, you could still feel Dean’s eyes on you from somewhere behind.

That might have been the greatest accident to ever exist but then again…

Coincidences had always been better.

It wasn’t often that you skipped parties. As exhausting as college could be, you firmly believed it was supposed to be filled with shared experiences, stupid stories, regrettable decisions and memories people laughed about years later. If your friends were going somewhere, you usually went too, even if you only stayed an hour before disappearing home.

Tonight was the exception.

Jules had handed you the keys to the boys’ house earlier that afternoon. You’d let yourself in without knocking, music already blasting through your headphones and immediately claimed a stool at the kitchen island.

The house seemed and looked unusually quiet, there was no shouting and no hockey game playing on the television.

You spread your work across the countertop and got comfortable.

Most of your evenings had been spent reviewing PR material for the upcoming week. Social media calendars, engagement reports, interview clips and promotional content. You frequently collaborated with Jules to make sure everything the team posted felt consistent, professional, and aligned with the image Briar Hockey wanted to project, at least, that had been the plan. 

Instead, you found yourself checking your phone every few minutes because your roommate had a guy over again. The arrangement had seemed like a great idea when you’d first arrived at college. Living with a roommate felt like one of those essential university experiences everyone was supposed to have. It built character and created memories, now it mostly created scheduling conflicts.

If you couldn’t go home yet, you might as well be productive. Gathering the notes Jules had asked you to leave in Logan’s room, you pushed yourself off the stool and headed upstairs.

The music in your headphones swelled as you climbed and your body immediately followed the rhythm.

One hand trailed along the railing while your hips swayed unconsciously with the beat. You sang lyrics you couldn’t actually hear over the volume, completely off-key and blissfully unaware of it. You made the stack of papers bounce lightly against your thigh as you moved through the hallway, turning the familiar walk into a private concert attended by absolutely nobody…or so you thought.

You stepped into Logan’s room without hesitation and the notes landed neatly on his desk.

You turned toward the door again, still moving with the music, shoulders rolling gently with the rhythm while your fingers slid absentmindedly over your own arms and down your sides as you spun once, completely caught up in the song.

Until you looked up…and screamed. The sound tore itself out of your throat before you could stop it.

Your entire body jumped and your soul practically left through your mouth as Dean stood in the doorway, motionless and watching with a towel hung low around his hips, damp skin still glistening from the shower. His hair looked darker wet, strands falling across his forehead as tiny droplets continued disappearing down the side of his neck.

You ripped the headphones off so fast they nearly flew across the room. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted slowly as he pointed at himself. “What is my problem?”

“Yes!” Your hand pressed against your chest where your heart was still attempting to escape. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” The reminder came accompanied by an entirely unhelpful grin. “Nice moves, by the way.”

Your eyes narrowed while adrenaline still surged through your veins. “Fuck you.”

His grin widened. “I might start begging you to.”

You groaned loudly and pushed past him, unfortunately, instead of leaving the house entirely, your feet carried you directly into his room and Dean followed.

“What are you even doing here? There’s a party tonight,” you asked as you dropped onto the edge of his bed.

“I was studying.”

“Naked and wet?” You questioned.

“I was in the shower.” He added flatly, “Which you would’ve heard if you weren’t surgically attached to those headphones.”

You rolled your eyes. Then, somehow, the room grew quieter, the two of you looked at each other long enough for your breathing to gradually settle into the same rhythm and for Dean’s attention to drift toward the headphones hanging around your neck.

“What’s so special about them?”

You glanced down. “The headphones?”

“The obsession.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth. “It isn’t the headphones.” You removed them and turned them over in your hands. “It’s the music.”

Dean remained where he was, listening.

“If you find the right song,” you continued, “it can completely change where you are.” Your fingers traced absent patterns along them. “It can take a boring walk and make it feel important. Turn studying into something less miserable and make a random day feel cinematic.” Your smile softened. “It just makes everything better.”

Dean tilted his head. “Better?”

You nodded. “Sexier.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Sexier?” The amusement in his voice made you regret using that word…only slightly. “Does it work with everything?”

You swallowed. The question felt harmless but the way he asked it didn’t. “What’s everything?” you asked carefully.

Dean held your gaze for another second before nodding toward the headphones in your hands. “Put them on.”

His voice was quiet and patient, entirely too interested in whatever reaction he thought he was about to get.

You slid the headphones over your ears and the world instantly shifted. The sudden surge of music drowned out the ambient noise of the room, isolating you in a cinematic cocoon of sound. The bass thrummed through your skull, vibrating in your chest, turning the reality of the room into a silent movie where only the visuals mattered.

Dean stepped directly in front of you, his presence commanding and heavy. Because you couldn't hear him, your entire focus narrowed onto his face. He leaned in, his expression a mixture of hunger and playful dominance. He didn't speak or if he did, the music swallowed it but he carefully mouthed the words, “Watch me...read my lips.”

A shiver raced down your spine. You nodded, your heart hammering against your ribs in time with the beat of the song. His hands moved slowly, reaching for the towel wrapped around his waist. Before he moved it, he paused, gaze locking onto yours, silently asking for consent.

You nodded again, breath hitching.

The towel pooled at his feet in one fluid motion. You sat perched on the edge of the bed, your eyes immediately dropping to his cock. It was semi-hard, thick and pulsing slightly, with a neat trim of hair at the base that only made the sight more visceral. You watched, mesmerized, as the blood rushed to it, the shaft thickening and lengthening right before your eyes, straining upward as he sensed your gaze.

Driven by a sudden, desperate need to be bare before him, you began to undress. You kept your eyes locked on his hardening length, the visual of his arousal fueling your own. You kicked off your shoes, the friction of the carpet against your soles a distant sensation compared to the heat radiating from him. You peeled away your pants and slid your shirt over your head, leaving you exposed. Without a bra, your breasts were fully revealed, nipples already peaking from the chill and the anticipation. Finally, you reached for your panties.

As you slid them down your thighs, Dean reached out, his fingers twitching as if to snatch them away, a callback to his possessive streak. You quickly shook your finger ‘no’ with a small and defiant smile playing on your lips. He chuckled, though you only saw the vibration of his chest and the crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

He began to crawl toward you, his movements predatory and slow. You retreated, crawling backward into the center of the bed, the soft fabric of the sheets sliding against your skin. He followed, closing the gap until your head hit the pillows. You remained pinned by his gaze, holding intense eye contact as he loomed over you.

Then, his touch arrived.

His fingers began to graze over your naked body in a light, agonizingly slow exploration. He traced the line of your sternum, the sensation sending electric sparks through your nerves. When his hands reached your breasts, he cupped them firmly, thumbs rolling your nipples between his fingers. The friction was exquisite. You gasped, your back arching instinctively but the sound of your own moan was lost to the music, leaving you in a vacuum of pure sensation.

Dean, however, heard it. He saw the way your throat tightened and heard the muffled sound of your pleasure and the sight of your vulnerability made him even harder. He leaned down, capturing one nipple in his mouth. The heat of his tongue and the sharp tug of his suction sent a jolt of lightning straight to your core. He switched to the other side, lips wet and demanding, swirling around the peak of your breast until you were writhing beneath him.

As your back arched off the mattress, you felt your pussy clamp shut around nothing, the internal muscles pulsing with a desperate, empty longing. You were slick, the heat between your thighs becoming an ache that demanded to be filled. Dean must have seen the way your hips tilted, the way your thighs trembled, because he shifted his weight.

He slid two fingers deep inside you in one smooth motion. You let out a sharp whine, your head tossing back against the pillows. The feeling of him filling you, the stretch and the sudden friction, was overwhelming. He began to move his fingers in a rhythmic, curling motion, hooking them upward to hit the sweet spot.

Your focus remained obsessively on his face. You watched his lips, searching for a word, a command, a promise…anything, but he remained teasingly silent, refusing to kiss you, denying you that final point of contact. Your eyes fluttered, the pleasure threatening to pull you under into a blackout of bliss but you fought to keep them open, desperate to read his lips, to stay connected to him through the only channel left.

Your legs twitched open wider, inviting him in, body humming like a live wire. He curled his fingers deeper, increasing the pace, the wet sounds of his intrusion lost to the music but felt vividly in every nerve ending. You were hovering on the precipice, the tension building into a towering wave but he kept you right there, on the edge, breathless and begging, with no release in sight.

Until he leaned closer, his body a heavy, radiating heat between your thighs. His fingers continued their relentless work inside you, curling and sliding in  rhythmic friction. You looked up at him, vision slightly blurred from the intensity and your lips parted.

"Fuck me louder," you breathed, the words barely a whisper, lost to the thumping bass of the music in your ears. “I know just how much you like to hear me sing.”

He saw the desperation in your eyes and the way your hips were bucking upward. He moved, pressing the raw, blunt tip of his cock directly against your clit. The sudden, direct pressure made you whine, a high-pitched sound that vibrated in your own throat but remained unheard by you.

In one swift, decisive motion, he withdrew his fingers. For a heartbeat, there was a void, a cold, empty ache and then his lips ghosted over yours, a teasing promise of what was coming as he lunged forward, pushing his thickness into you in one powerful thrust.

The stretch was immense. You felt your pussy walls scream and then surrender as he bottomed out, burying himself to the hilt. A synchronized groan escaped both of you, the sound muffled by the collision of your mouths as you finally, desperately, kissed. The sensation of him filling you completely for the first time was an explosion of tactile data, you could feel every vein, the heat of his shaft and the way your internal muscles clamped tight around him in a shocked, welcoming grip.

The kiss became messy and hungry, tongues clashing and swirling as you fought for air and dominance. Your body struggled to adjust to his size, your pussy walls twitching and pulsing rhythmically around him, trying to mold themselves to his shape. Your nails dug deep into his sides, leaving red crescents in his skin as you anchored yourself to him.

He began to move.

He pulled back nearly all the way, almost slipping out, before slamming back in with a force that rattled your teeth. You couldn't hear the wet, slapping sounds of your pelvises colliding or the guttural groans he was making into your mouth but you felt them. You felt the vibration of his voice in his chest against yours and you knew with absolute certainty that you were both making insane, primal noise that would have filled the room.

The sensory deprivation heightened everything to an unbearable degree. Because you were blind to the sound of the world, the physical sensations became hyper-focused. Every slide of his cock felt like a lightning strike. You didn't know if it was the hypnotic rhythm of the music or the agonizing anticipation of the last hour but the sex was transcendently good.

Dean broke the kiss to dive back down to your breasts, latching onto your nipples and sucking them hard, the sharp tugging sensation mirroring the deep rolling thrusts of his cock. His large hand slid down, gripping your ass cheek with bruising force, lifting and tilting your pelvis to change the angle of penetration.

The change in position allowed him to hit your G-spot with every single plunge. You felt as though you were going to shatter into a thousand pieces. Your face twisted, eyes rolling back in a mask of pure, unadulterated pleasure, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream. The visual of him, his muscles straining, his face tight with lust and the sight of his hips slamming into yours, combined with the feeling of being completely impaled, pushed you further and further toward the edge.

He was relentless, driving into you with a rhythmic, punishing pace that left you breathless. You were a prisoner to the music and the friction, trapped in a loop of exquisite torture where the only thing that existed was the feeling of him stretching you open and the sight of his hunger. You were hovering on the precipice again, the tension building into a towering, unstable wave but the release remained just out of reach, leaving you desperate for more.

Dean stopped the linear slamming and began to employ rolling thrusts, grinding his pelvis in a slow, circular motion that smeared his cock against every sensitive ridge of your vaginal canal. The friction was agonizingly perfect, a swirling pressure that stoked the fire in your gut until it became a roaring blaze.

You were unraveling. Your head thrashed against the pillows, mouth wide and gasping, emitting a torrent of raw, uncontrolled moans and whimpers. You couldn't hear the volume of your own voice but you saw the look of satisfaction on Dean's face. He was drinking in the sight of your undoing, the knowledge that while you were trapped in a silent world of bass and rhythm, your voice was filling the room. To him, your desperate cries were a symphony, a private concert of pleasure that belonged solely to him. He loved that you were oblivious to how loud you were, how completely you had surrendered your dignity to the sensation of him.

The tension reached a critical mass. Your internal muscles began to seize, clamping down on his shaft in involuntary spasms. You felt a sudden, electric snap deep within your core and then the dam broke.

It was the longest, most delicious orgasm of your life. It didn't hit like a wave, it hit like an earthquake, shattering your composure and sending jolts of white-hot electricity radiating from your clit to your fingertips. Your body arched, spine curving off the bed as you locked your legs around his waist, trying to pull him even deeper. Your eyes rolled back into your head, leaving only the whites visible as you drifted into a void of pure, sensory overload.

He sensed the climax gripping you and used it, fucking you right through the peak. He drove into your pulsing walls with a ferocious intensity, his cock sliding through the flood of your release. The combination of your orgasm and his relentless pace pushed him over the edge. 

With one final, guttural surge, he buried himself to the absolute hilt, pinning you to the mattress as he erupted. You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pulsing deep inside you, filling your womb with a searing warmth that seemed to anchor you back to reality.

The world slowly began to refocus. 

The two of you remained locked together, chests heaving in a synchronized rhythm as sweat glued your skin together. The noise in your ears was still there, the music continuing its steady beat but the physical intensity had changed into a heavy, languid glow.

Before he let his weight collapse onto you, Dean reached up. His fingers brushed your hair as he carefully slid the headphones off your ears.

The sudden influx of sound was jarring. The room rushed back in, the distant hum of the house, the rustle of the sheets and most prominently, the ragged, heavy sound of your shared breathing. The noise was intimate, raw and echoing.

As the sound of his labored exhales hit your ears, you felt a fresh wave of arousal ripple through you. Your pussy, still tight and sensitive, gave a series of rhythmic, needy throbs around his softening cock, making Dean let out a low, shaky breath against your neck.

It probably took the two of you twenty minutes to finally peel yourselves away from each other and even then neither of you moved very far. You lay side by side beneath tangled sheets, staring up at the ceiling, shoulders barely touching whenever one of you moved. Every muscle in your body felt pleasantly heavy, as though simply sitting up would require far more effort than either of you were willing to spend.

Unfortunately, being comfortable didn’t stop either of your brains from working.

If anything, the silence only gave them more room.

You found yourself thinking about how this could possibly happen again eventually. At the same time, another part of you was already trying to figure out how to stop it from happening a third time. The contradiction would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so hopelessly obvious.

You truly believed this was your “twice”, your glorious coincidence.

Beside you, Dean let out a long sigh before finally breaking the silence.

“Would you say it counts if we don’t move?”

Your chest shook with tired laughter. “If you want a positive answer, you might want to ask the Mormons.”

Dean groaned. “So no.”

The room fell quiet again and for several seconds neither of you spoke.

Then your eyes widened slightly. “Wait.”

Dean turned his head toward you as you continued staring at the ceiling while thinking through the idea.

“What if we don’t orgasm?”

“No.” The answer came so quickly you almost laughed again. Dean didn’t even need time to consider it. After everything he’d experienced over the past hour, the suggestion wasn’t remotely tempting. “No, absolutely not…I can’t do that. I won’t survive it.”

You smiled toward the ceiling. “It’s good that you’re finally admitting how greedy you are.”

“I’m not that greedy.”

“You absolutely are.”

Dean scoffed.“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It usually is.”

A grin tugged at his mouth despite himself. “Maybe it resets every month.” His voice sounded thoughtful now.

You turned your head toward him. “What does?”

“The count.” He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling as though presenting serious scientific evidence. “Maybe there’s a monthly reset and every month we get two new chances.”

You stared and Dean shamelessly stared right back. “I’m serious, what day is it?”

You suddenly burst into laughter as you ran both hands down your face, though the sound still echoed softly around the room.

“We are in so much trouble.” Your voice came out muffled behind your palms.

Dean couldn’t keep his eyes away from you and the smile that appeared was lazy, warm and entirely too satisfied for someone supposedly worried about consequences and patterns.

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

You peeked at him through your fingers and rolled your eyes as he laughed quietly to himself before settling deeper into the mattress.

“But sure…I’ll get back to you on that,” he said. “Sometime after my brain starts working again.”

Unfortunately for both of your very optimistic interpretations of statistics, neither of you had started counting at the right place. The truth was that you’d been sampling this relationship for months before the night you climbed through his window.

With every lingering conversation, stolen glance, every excuse to stay five minutes longer and every hallway, stairwell, empty office and late-night text message, the line had been moving long before either of you admitted it existed and those had merely been milestones along a road the two of you had already been traveling for a very long time.

This was your third…the very last piece of the pattern, which meant there was no stopping this anymore. 

The only thing left to do was keep it hidden for as long as possible, hoping the secret survived longer than your self-control had.

After all, mathematics had never really been your forte but public perception certainly was.