haileyˎˊ˗

following her around the mall like two lost pups, both hands occupied by endless shopping bags as she bounces from one store to another, the sound of her newly bought kitten heels echoing through heeseung and jake’s ears whilst their eyes are glued to the back of her pink little miniskirt swishing around, barely covering a thing. geez, such perverts! (˶˃𐃷˂˶)

and then comes their favorite part of the day. their hearts practically leap out of their chests when your eyes catch a glimpse of their your favorite lingerie store, dragging them inside cluelessly to ask for their opinions as you naturally did with all the other stores, questioning them on which color looks good on you the best. their hungry gaze trailing your every move almost going unnoticed by you.

and who are they to say no when you ask them to join you in the dressing room to help? you might be an airhead, but you’re not that stupid to not notice them ogling you the entire day. plus, you think they deserve a little treat for putting up with you and your shopping addiction. so when they tower over you from the front and the back, trapping you between themselves, all you can do is let out a pleased hum as jake kisses you rough on the lips, not wasting a second while his slender fingers play with your hardened nipples through the lace bra he had picked out minutes before.

“look at her jake, such a pretty mess for us already..” heeseung mumbles before pressing a soft kiss against your neck. his hands slid down your bare waist, knee in between your thighs and pressed against your soaked core, making you mewl against jake’s lips.

you then decide that shopping with these two will be your favorite part of the week from now on.

taglist is open 🫐 : @jakeycakeys @justpassingdontworry @beomgyuafterdark @ja4hyvn @taelvvrzz @cicadarequiem @kienhawon @jinniepilled @eczlipse @wxnizz @cupcakeangel9 @yuudaiinhs @xysza. @lcvemonth @acaibowl37 @jjujjukeukeu @sinmiedoalamor @jjuhoonn @inadazeee @naiasayo @thvgia @melfresita-ruri2 @beljakovina @vpsided0wn @meyesthethird @hrtmyfeeling @inkniki @nota10butadefinite8 @yoonaaas @dearmiau @oiosoobin @kpopsmutty69 @eyekonsavage @uninvited690 @jxngwons-pinkyy @gojosdickkissesmycervix @rikisfattestfan @ilovethezaza @xoheedeung @kristynaaah @idxyxeyra @tinygladiatorworm

TAGLIST @saramcnd @antonfixed @jvngwonism @antonpegger2000 @megamatt43 @nctspersonaltherapist @love4yubin

“Fuck,” you whispered, voice breaking, as your eyes fluttered shut and your mind fed you the same filthy fantasies it always did. In them, Jake was every bit the cocky bastard you imagined him to be—towering over you, smirking with that lazy confidence, telling you to spread your legs wider so he could see just how ruined you were for him.

You could practically hear his voice:

“That’s it, baby. Show me how wet you are.”

A guttural moan fell from your lips. Your fingers trembled as you sank them deeper, sliding between your folds until you were massaging the swollen, throbbing knot of nerves that made your back arch off the mattress. Every movement sent sparks racing up your spine, and you chased the friction like a fucking addict—because that’s exactly what you were: addicted to the thought of him.

Your other hand fumbled for your phone, nearly dropping it on your face in your clumsy rush. The screen glowed to life, and you immediately opened that private folder. The nerve-wracking thrill of seeing your own explicit videos made your pulse throb.

Your finger hovered over the most recent one for half a second, heart hammering. Then you pressed play.

Instantly, the room filled with the ragged sounds of your recorded moans. On the screen, you were splayed out, hips rolling in a shameless rhythm as you fucked your own fingers like your life depended on it. The memory of that moment made your cheeks burn, but it also made you fucking wetter.

“Jake… please… fuck—” your recorded voice whimpered, your cheeks flushed and your tits bouncing with each thrust of your own hand.

The real you let out a choked noise, clit pulsing under your insistent fingertips. You drove them harder against your flesh, trying to match the frantic pace you’d seen in the video. A filthy squelch echoed in the room, your soaked folds giving you away, and you bit your lip to stifle a cry.

God, you were so damn desperate. It made you feel dirty as hell—and yet, you couldn’t stop. In your mind, you pictured Jake looming over you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. He’d probably sneer down at you, that smug grin twisting his gorgeous mouth, telling you how pathetic you looked, cumming all over your own damn fingers just for him.

“Such a fucking slut,” you imagined him saying, and your body convulsed.

You rammed your fingers harder against your slick heat, each drag of your knuckles sending you spiraling higher. Your recorded moans continued to play on loop, mixing with your real ones until you couldn’t tell which was which. Every muscle in your body tensed, bracing for the orgasm that was cresting in your gut like a tidal wave.

“Jake,” you whimpered. It was a half-sob, half-prayer. “Jake, oh God—”

And then it hit.

Your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and wrenching. Your hips jerked off the bed, your thighs squeezing around your hand so tightly you could barely move. A harsh, broken sound tore from your throat as your body locked up, wave after wave of bliss rippling through your core. You ground your fingers against your clit one last time, milking every second of the high until you thought you’d black out.

Finally, you collapsed, trembling, onto the mattress, breath sawing in and out of your lungs. Your vision blurred with unshed tears from the sheer intensity. Slowly, the quivering in your limbs began to subside, and you eased your damp fingers from between your legs, wincing at how oversensitive you already were.

For a moment, all you could do was lie there, the sticky remains of your orgasm coating your inner thighs, your mind still buzzing with echoes of Jake’s name. You felt disgusting, you felt euphoric—you felt alive in a way that made you crave more.

But reality crashed down the second you glanced at the time on your phone. Fifteen minutes until class started.

“Shit,” you whispered, bolting upright so fast your head spun. Your legs wobbled when you tried to stand, a dull ache centered between your legs reminding you of just how hard you’d gone. You grabbed the first hoodie you saw, yanked it over your head, and fished around for a pair of rumpled jeans from the floor. There was no time to shower, no time to even catch your breath.

As you dashed out of your room, the remnants of your orgasm still clung to your thighs, a humiliating reminder of why you were late in the first place. You couldn’t help but picture what Jake would say if he ever found out the real reason you stumbled through that lecture hall door every day, hair a mess and cheeks still flushed from your obscene morning routine.

He’d probably smirk, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Couldn’t get enough of me, huh?”

The thought made your cheeks flare with shameful heat as you tore across campus, trying not to trip over your own feet. You’d never let him find out—you were certain it would kill you. Yet, a tiny voice in the back of your mind wondered what it would be like if he did know. If he whispered filthy praise in your ear about how you were always late because you were too busy drenching your sheets for him.

Your core clenched at the mental image, and you forced yourself to shove it down. There was no time for daydreams—you were late enough as it was, and your professor was already on the verge of losing his patience with you.

Still, no matter how many times you told yourself you couldn’t keep doing this, you knew you would.

Tomorrow morning, you’d wake up soaked again, thighs trembling, and you’d inevitably plunge your fingers back into that slick warmth while moaning Jake’s name. The filthy cycle would continue, and you wouldn’t be able to stop it, because nothing else felt as good as imagining him breaking you into a moaning, dripping mess.

As you reached the lecture hall, panting and disheveled, you couldn’t help but wonder: what if—just what if—Jake Sim ever saw exactly how bad you had it for him?

But that was a thought for another day, another dirty, mind-shattering morning.

Because you both knew: this wouldn’t be the last time you came undone at the mention of his name.

-

You were already a mess when you stumbled through the lecture hall doors, breath ragged and heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. You were late. Again. The professor’s disapproving glare followed you as you practically crashed into your usual seat in the back row, muttering a hastily whispered apology under your breath.

God, you probably looked like you’d rolled straight out of bed—which, let’s be honest, you basically had. Not that you’d been sleeping. No, you’d spent your precious morning minutes rubbing out a frantic orgasm, fueled by thoughts of Jake Sim and all the ways he could ruin you if he ever laid a hand on your needy, desperate body.

Your clit still throbbed with the memory.

You tried to steady your breathing, force your mind to focus on the lecture happening around you. But your professor’s words were just a dull roar in your ears. You caught phrases like “group project” and “semester-long assignment,” but your brain refused to process them, still half-fogged from the wave of pleasure you’d torn out of yourself not fifteen minutes ago.

Then the professor called your name.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze just in time to see that he was pairing you off with someone. The rest of the class fell silent, heads turning toward you as you awkwardly cleared your throat, cheeks warming under the sudden attention.

“Jake Sim,” the professor said, scanning the attendance sheet. “You and Jake will be partners for the entire project.”

Your entire body stiffened.

Jake Sim.

Jake fucking Sim.

Your clit gave a punishing pulse at the mere mention of his name, so strong it sent a hot jolt of need straight through your core. You barely managed to swallow a gasp, thighs clenching under the desk as if that might calm the ache.

Across the room, Jake lifted his head. He had been taking notes, or maybe doodling—hell if you knew. He looked up when he heard his name, and his eyes flicked briefly over to you. He didn’t seem particularly surprised or amused. He just…nodded. Like it was no big deal.

Meanwhile, you sat there, completely frozen, trying not to let your face betray the fact that your cunt was literally fluttering at the prospect of spending hours—hours—with him on this project. Your mind spun with a million frantic thoughts: how were you supposed to look him in the eye when you had fingered yourself that same morning while moaning his name?

You almost wanted to run.

But there was nowhere to go, and the professor’s gaze was still locked on you, waiting for some sign of acknowledgment. So you forced a nod, swallowing hard, your pulse thundering in your ears.

When class finally ended, you practically bolted up from your seat, gathering your things in a clumsy rush. All you could think about was escaping before you did something mortifying—like spontaneously combusting from the intensity of the situation.

But you weren’t fast enough.

Jake Sim stood waiting for you in the aisle. You noticed, with a sinking sensation in your stomach, that he was even taller up close, shoulders broad under that signature hoodie, a slight quirk to his full lips as he watched you fluster about.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but clear in the post-lecture murmur. “Guess we’re partners, huh?”

Your heart just about crawled up your throat and died there. You couldn’t form coherent words. Instead, you let out some pathetic sound halfway between a squeak and a cough.

Jake’s brows rose a fraction, and that quirk at the corner of his lips deepened. “You okay?”

No. Absolutely not. Your palms were sweating, your cheeks were on fire, and your core was still buzzing with the aftereffects of your morning orgasm. Knowing he was so close—close enough to smell the faint hint of laundry detergent clinging to his hoodie—nearly made your knees buckle.

“Uh, yeah,” you managed, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “Just—tired.”

“Tired,” he echoed, giving you an appraising once-over. “Rough morning?”

You swallowed, a traitorous flush creeping up your neck. He had no idea just how rough.

“Something like that,” you muttered, pretending to rummage in your backpack to avoid meeting his gaze.

Jake shrugged. “Well, we should probably figure out a time to meet up for the project. Professor wants a proposal next week.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, so…normal. Meanwhile, your head was spinning because you were about to be in a room alone with him, studying economics, while your body screamed for him to fuck you senseless.

“Uh, yeah,” you repeated, feeling like a malfunctioning robot. “We…should definitely do that.”

God, you wanted to slap yourself. Could you be any more awkward?

Jake tilted his head, brown eyes flicking over you again, a subtle curiosity in his gaze. “How about tomorrow? Afternoon?”

Tomorrow. That meant you had less than twenty-four hours to get your shit together—to not end up a quivering puddle of arousal at his feet. Less than a day to build up some sort of immunity to his existence.

But you nodded anyway, because what else could you do? “Sure. Works for me.”

He gave a little smile, just a quick curve of his mouth, but it was enough to make your stomach tighten painfully. “Cool. I’ll, uh—text you, I guess?”

“Yeah. Text. Right.”

Your tongue felt leaden and stupid, and your heart hammered wildly against your ribcage. You wondered if he could hear it—wondered if he’d notice the pulse beating in your throat or sense the way your entire body vibrated with the memory of your morning orgasm.

But Jake just nodded again, hands sliding into the pockets of his hoodie. “See you tomorrow, then.”

He turned and left, effortlessly blending into the crowd of students filtering out the door. You stood there like an idiot, your mind replaying the conversation, analyzing every second for hints of pity or amusement on his part.

He didn’t seem weirded out. Didn’t seem suspicious of why you were so…flustered. He’d probably forget about you the moment he headed to his next class.

Meanwhile, you?

You tried to breathe, leaning heavily against one of the desks as you clutched your notes to your chest. Your thighs pressed together, a pitiful attempt to quell the ache that refused to leave you alone. It was as if your body recognized him on some primal level and refused to let go of the fact that he was standing right in front of you.

He had no idea how badly you wanted him—no clue you literally jacked off to his name almost every morning, that you were always late because you were too busy chasing orgasm after orgasm in a delirious haze of lust.

Well, now you’d have to fake it—pretend that you were normal, that you weren’t some perverted mess drooling over him in secret. You just hoped you could keep it together, especially once you were locked in a study room together, going over spreadsheets and supply-demand curves while your body screamed for something entirely different.

And worst of all, you had the sinking feeling that tomorrow’s routine wouldn’t be any different. You’d probably still wake up, still stroke your throbbing clit to the thought of Jake’s voice, Jake’s hands, Jake’s cock…

But maybe, just maybe, you’d manage not to be late this time.

Fat chance.

-

Studying with Jake Sim was a fucking nightmare—in the filthiest, most torturous way possible.

He had this infuriating habit of showing up in the laziest outfits imaginable, usually some combination of sweatpants and a hoodie. You might’ve thought the casual attire would make him look approachable or less intimidating, but it only did the opposite. He wore those gray sweats like a second skin, settling into his chair with an ease that bordered on sinful. His legs spread obscenely wide, claiming space that shouldn’t be his to claim.

The hoodie was somehow worse. It clung to his broad shoulders, emphasizing the sharp line of his collarbones and the solid build of his chest. And since he always—always—rolled his sleeves up to the elbows, you were treated to the tantalizing sight of his forearms: faint veins tracing a path over lightly tanned skin, muscles shifting whenever he flexed his fingers or picked up a pen.

It drove you insane.

Every time he tilted his head in thought, his hair would slip across his forehead, drawing attention to the dark, intense eyes beneath. Sometimes he licked his lips—absently, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it—and every time it happened, a low, pulsing heat rippled through your stomach.

But the worst part? Jake had a thing for tits.

You first noticed it in the little stuff: the way his gaze drifted south whenever you leaned over your notes, the split-second hesitation in his voice if your shirt happened to be cut too low. His eyes would flick to your chest, then dart away so quickly you’d think you’d imagined it—except the slight tension in his jaw proved otherwise.

He tried to hide it. Tried to keep himself polite and focused on the assignment, but the more you studied together, the more obvious it became. He had to physically force himself not to stare, clenching his jaw or gripping his pen with a little too much force whenever your shirt shifted in just the right way.

Eventually, you decided to test him.

One night, you showed up at his place wearing a tight little tank top—no bra underneath, of course. The fabric hugged your curves, thin enough that your nipples peaked through whenever the room got too cold. You pretended to be completely oblivious, scrolling through your laptop as though there wasn’t a very obvious reason Jake’s gaze kept snagging on your chest.

His reaction was immediate. The second you walked in, his eyes darkened, pupils dilating as they betrayed his interest. He coughed, cleared his throat, and busied himself with the project notes, but he couldn’t hide the subtle tremor in his voice when he asked, “So, um, ready to start?”

You dragged a chair up to the small desk, taking care to sit opposite him so he’d have an unobstructed view. For a while, you both pretended to work—typing away, sorting through textbooks, exchanging random facts about supply and demand. But every time you spoke, his attention drifted down, no matter how hard he tried to stay focused on your face.

Your heart pounded every time you caught him looking. Desire coiled low in your belly, and your nipples tightened beneath the thin fabric, practically begging for him to notice. Your entire body thrummed with this heady mixture of confidence and need, and you couldn’t help but push it further.

“Ugh, it’s so hot in here,” you sighed dramatically, arching your back to stretch. The movement sent your breasts straining against the tank top, and you saw Jake’s jaw clench, the tendons in his neck standing out as he forced himself not to stare directly at you.

He tried to keep his cool, but his next words came out more clipped than usual. “I can open the window.”

You shrugged, letting the straps of the tank top slide a fraction of an inch down your shoulder. “Nah,” you said, voice laced with feigned innocence. “Don’t worry about it.”

The tension in the air was palpable, an almost electric charge crackling between you. Your thighs pressed together beneath the desk, desperate for some kind of friction. You could practically feel his gaze lingering on your chest when you looked away, fueling that simmering warmth between your legs.

Finally, Jake snapped.

“You do that shit on purpose, don’t you?” he muttered, voice pitched low and tight enough to send shivers skittering down your spine.

You fought the smirk threatening to curve your lips. Your stomach flipped with excitement and arousal. “Do what?” you asked, feigning obliviousness, even though your heart was about to hammer out of your chest.

He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking to the tank top that was barely containing your chest. “You know what,” he ground out, then made a visible effort to calm himself, dragging his gaze to your face.

It took everything in you not to let out a triumphant laugh. You could see the frustration warring with desire in his dark eyes, saw the way his fingers curled into fists as if he had to physically restrain himself. There was a fine tremor in his forearms—those fucking forearms—that made your insides clench with a perverse satisfaction.

Your own arousal pulsed, nipples practically aching as they brushed against the fabric. There was this suffocating urge to crawl into his lap, to press your tits against his chest and see just how fast you could break that composure. But you held back. Because that wasn’t the plan. Not yet.

“I’m just trying to study,” you said, tone as sweet as sugar, batting your eyelashes in an overdone performance of innocence.

Jake’s stare hardened, and for a moment, you thought he might say something brash—something that would make the air sizzle. But he merely set his jaw, took a long, measured breath, and turned back to the notes.

“Right. Study,” he mumbled, jaw working like he was trying to chew through nails.

You bit your lip to smother a grin, your pulse still thrumming in your ears from the pure, uncut tension between you. Your nipples were so stiff they practically throbbed; you had to shift in your seat to accommodate the constant, nagging ache in your core.

Nothing else happened that night—no heated kisses, no tangled limbs—but it didn’t need to. The filth was already there, simmering beneath every glance, every roll of his shoulders, every suppressed flick of his gaze toward your tits. You could sense the unspoken hunger radiating off him like heat waves, matching the relentless heartbeat pounding in your own chest.

And that was more than enough to leave you soaking by the time you finally left.

-

You woke up with a pounding need at the base of your spine. It was deeper than usual, an ache that gnawed at you relentlessly, demanding satisfaction. The worst part? You already knew exactly who you were going to picture to take the edge off:

Jake Sim.

Every nerve in your body thrummed with anticipation, remembering the way he’d looked at you during your last study session—eyes flickering from your face down to your chest, jaw clenched like he was fighting some internal battle. You’d left his dorm with slick thighs and your mind racing, your entire body aflame.

Today, you wanted to push your usual routine even further. Your fingers alone wouldn’t cut it. With your teeth worrying your bottom lip, you slipped out of bed and rummaged through your nightstand until your hand closed around the small, discreet vibrator you’d impulsively bought a few weeks ago. It was sleek, silicone-coated, made for exactly the kind of play you were craving.

You bit back a trembling sigh and grabbed your phone, propping it against a pillow at the foot of your bed. The little red light began to blink, capturing you in all your messy, unmade-bed glory—hair tangled, cheeks still carrying the warmth of sleep, and a fiercely determined look in your eyes.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whispered, half to yourself, half to the imaginary version of Jake you conjured whenever you got off.

But you didn’t hesitate. You shed your oversized T-shirt, tossing it aside to expose bare skin. Your nipples peaked in the cool air, and you ran a hand over one breast, giving it a light squeeze before trailing your palm down over your stomach. You settled into the pillows, propping your hips up slightly so the camera had a perfect view.

“Jake,” you murmured, letting your thighs fall apart, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your free hand teased your clit, already slick with arousal, while the other clutched the vibrator. The buzzing anticipation in your veins intensified as you clicked it on, feeling the soft hum rattle against your palm.

Normally, you’d sink it straight into your cunt, but today, you were craving something more depraved. Your breath hitched at the thought of that taboo stretch you barely ever indulged—your ass. The mere idea of Jake guiding it inside you, watching you squirm as you took it deeper, was enough to send a fresh gush of heat through your body.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, heart hammering as you angled the toy behind you. “Jake, I want you…want you here.”

Carefully, you smeared your own wetness over the silicone, letting your middle finger gather some of the slick so it’d slide in smoothly. A gasp broke from your throat the moment you pressed the vibrator’s tip to that tight ring of muscle—just the tiniest bit of pressure made your nerves light up like a live wire.

You couldn’t help the shameless moan that echoed off your bedroom walls. Even though it was just the tip, the sensation had you delirious. You spread your cheeks with one hand, guiding the buzzing silicone in a fraction of an inch, your body tensing and then relaxing around it. A ragged whine tore from your lips.

You could almost feel Jake’s hands there, big and warm, whispering filth in your ear:

“Relax. You can take it. Just like that—fuck, look at you…”

Your other hand found your clit, rubbing messy circles that turned your moans into broken sobs of pleasure. Each slow push of the vibrator inched deeper, stretching you in a way that made your eyes roll back.

“Nngh—Jake, please,” you babbled, voice shaking as you tried to push it just a bit further. “Wish it was your cock…wish you’d pin me down and shove it all the way in…”

You couldn’t hold back. The pressure and vibration melded into something explosive, your clit throbbing under your frantic fingertips. Every muscle in your body coiled tighter, lungs seizing as you hovered on the precipice. The camera recorded it all—the sweat beading at your temples, the flushed curve of your cheeks, the wet, filthy sounds filling the room.

Then it hit. Your orgasm came crashing down, ripping a strangled scream from your throat. Your legs shook, your ass clamping around the toy, your cunt pulsing in sympathy. You writhed against the sheets, half-blinded by the force of it, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming relief.

It felt like forever before you could breathe again, the buzz in your nerves slowly receding. You eased the vibrator out, wincing at the hyper-sensitivity, then stopped the recording with a trembling hand. On the screen, the thumbnail showed a glimpse of you with your mouth open in a silent cry, body arched off the bed, pure rapture etched on your face.

Fuck. If Jake ever saw that…

But there wasn’t time for guilt or second thoughts. A glance at the clock made your heart plummet—it was late, and you had to scramble to get to class before your professor threatened to fail you for tardiness. Again.

You only managed a quick wipe-down, barely rinsing the toy and tossing it in a drawer, before you yanked on clothes and sprinted out the door, phone still warm in your pocket from the video you’d just recorded.

The lecture hall was already half-full when you snuck in. You found your seat, cheeks still hot from both the run across campus and the memory of the vibrator filling your ass less than an hour ago. You avoided Jake’s eyes completely, which was easy because he was focused on the front of the class—though you could still feel the tension that seemed to magnetize you whenever he was close.

Throughout the lesson, your mind wandered, replaying the moment of penetration, the hum of the toy, the fantasy of Jake’s hands gripping your hips. You clenched your thighs under the desk, wishing you could burn the images out of your head.

Little did you know, in just a few hours, your world would implode in the filthiest way imaginable.

That evening, you met Jake for a study session in his dorm. The room was small but cozy, a lived-in space with a single bed in the corner, textbooks piled on the floor. He greeted you at the door, wearing a fitted T-shirt that stretched across his shoulders in a way that made your pulse flutter.

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside so you could walk in. “Let’s try to knock out the rest of the research tonight.”

You nodded stiffly, mouth dry. You were always too aware of him—his scent, the way the muscle in his jaw worked when he concentrated, the slight furrow of his brows. It didn’t help that you’d spent your morning taking a vibrator in your ass, moaning his name like you were possessed.

You settled at the small desk with your laptop, while Jake sat on the bed flipping through a shared Google Doc on his phone. The tension was thick enough to taste. Sometimes you swore you caught him watching you from the corner of his eye, but every time you glanced over, he was scrolling or typing, expression neutral.

After about twenty minutes, the soda you’d chugged on your way over came back to haunt you. You needed the bathroom—badly.

“I’ll be right back,” you muttered, closing your laptop’s lid but not fully locking it. Nerves and bladder pressure made you forget the simplest precaution: you’d left a minimized window open from transferring your new “vibrator video” into your private folder.

Jake just nodded. “Sure. Down the hall, last door on the left.”

You slipped out of the dorm, heart still fluttering, mind on autopilot. The hallway was dimly lit, and you disappeared into the bathroom, exhaling a relieved sigh once the door clicked shut.

Alone in the room, Jake glanced at your laptop, noticing the faint glow beneath the lid. Curiosity—mixed with something deeper—bubbled in his chest. He’d been suspecting something was up with you, ever since you arrived late looking thoroughly wrecked every morning. The tension you carried around him was obvious, and he’d caught glimpses of…subtle clues.

With a swift move, he lifted the laptop’s lid. The screen flickered back to life, revealing a folder half-tucked behind your research notes. A folder labeled something simple, but ominous: “Private.”

He should’ve stopped. Should’ve told himself it was none of his business. But a stubborn, electric thrill spurred him to open it. A series of video files stared back at him, each with a plain name—things like “Vid001,” “Vid002.” And the most recent one? Time-stamped that morning.

His heart thudded. He clicked on it.

What loaded made his blood run hot.

You. Naked. Bent back on your bed with a vibrator in your ass, face scrunched up in a mix of pain and pleasure as you eased it deeper. The audio kicked in, and Jake’s eyes went wide when he heard your moans:

“Jake…God, I want you so deep in me…wanna be stretched by your cock…”

His pulse roared in his ears. The image on the screen was so explicit it felt like a punch to the gut. You whimpered, back arched, your hand working your clit with desperate speed, all while the vibrator buzzed between your spread cheeks. And the filthy things you were saying—how you wanted him to shove it all the way in, how you wished it was his cock instead of cold silicone.

Jake’s cock twitched in his pants, heat pooling low in his gut. He watched, transfixed, as your face contorted in a mind-blowing orgasm, your body jerking, thighs trembling. You were screaming his name through it all.

A low, shaky exhalation left his lips. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Sure, he’d suspected you had some kind of thing for him, but this? This was on another level. You were a wrecked, filthy, ass-play-obsessed mess, and all of it was for him.

He paused the video at the peak of your orgasm, hand nearly trembling with adrenaline. Blood pounded in his ears, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Part of him wanted to keep watching, to see every second of your depravity, but he had to be quick. You’d be back any minute.

With an almost reverent care, he closed out of the folder and gently lowered the laptop’s lid. Then he dragged in a ragged breath, trying to get his heart rate under control.

His mind raced. You were a shy presence at times, stumbling over words, blushing whenever he looked at you too long. Yet behind closed doors, you were filming yourself stretching your ass with a vibrator, moaning his name like he was the only person in the world.

Jake could barely contain the predatory thrill that coursed through him. He tried to shove the arousal down, adjusting his position on the bed so he didn’t look painfully hard if you walked in that second. But there was no ignoring the fact that everything had changed.

You had no idea what you’d just handed him, and Jake was more than ready to see how you’d squirm now that he had proof of just how desperately you wanted him.

-

You barely made it through class without combusting.

Your skin felt too hot, every nerve in your body on edge, a lingering burn still coiled between your thighs from the morning’s routine. As if that wasn’t bad enough, every time Jake so much as shifted in his seat, your body reacted—trained by weeks, months, of late mornings spent getting yourself off to the very thought of him.

And then, class ended.

The moment you stepped into the hall, still shaken, still barely holding it together, Jake was waiting for you.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking infuriatingly calm while you felt like you were on the verge of collapsing. His dark eyes flicked over you, a slow drag, lingering just long enough to make your stomach tighten. He wasn’t just looking at you—he was studying you, examining you, as if piecing together a puzzle that had finally clicked into place.

A slow curl of heat unfurled in your belly. Something about the way he held your gaze, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, made you feel exposed. Laid bare.

Something was wrong.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, breath uneven as you tried to keep your face neutral. “What?” you asked, attempting to sound indifferent, but your voice betrayed you, cracking slightly on the single word.

Jake didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch, dragging his tongue over his lower lip in thought. His fingers twitched against his arms where they were crossed over his chest, and his gaze dipped lower—not just over your body, but like he was seeing straight through you.

Your stomach clenched. He knew something.

“Didn’t sleep well?” he finally asked, voice deceptively casual.

Your heart lurched. He was playing with you.

You forced yourself to scoff. “What are you talking about?”

Jake hummed, tilting his head slightly, and your stomach sank at the knowing glint in his eyes. You felt yourself locking up, body screaming at you to flee, but it was too late.

“I wonder…” he mused, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Is that why you’re always late?”

The world tilted beneath you.

Your throat closed, fingers twitching at your sides, because he didn’t say it like an accusation—he said it like a revelation.

Jake took a step closer, and you swore your knees almost buckled.

“You’re always late,” he murmured, voice smooth as sin, laced with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours as he leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Always looking like you’ve just been fucked.”

Your breath hitched. Your pulse roared in your ears.

“What—” Your voice barely worked, caught between panic and something even deeper—something raw, electric, dangerous.

Jake’s lips curved, dark amusement flashing across his face. “You get off before class, don’t you?”

Your entire body went up in flames. Your thighs clenched so tightly that you swore he could see it, see the way his words wrecked you from the inside out.

Jake didn’t wait for you to answer. He already knew. He had proof.

The realization crashed into you like a truck. The video.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your laptop. The folder. The fucking recording from that morning.

The vibrator. The way you moaned his name. The way you begged for it to be him.

Jake had seen it.

Oh my god.

He had fucking seen it.

A low chuckle vibrated from deep in his chest, his lips twitching upward at the sheer horror that must have been written all over your face. His eyes darkened, filling with something lethal, something triumphant.

And then came the final blow—the words that shattered you, sent that familiar ache between your legs into something unbearable.

“You could’ve just asked me to help, baby.”

Your stomach dropped. Your knees almost buckled.

You were done for.

The world tilted on its axis. Everything else around you—the bustling students, the muffled sounds of conversations, the faint scraping of chairs against tile—blurred into meaningless background noise. All that existed was him. His smirk. His words. The absolute certainty in his voice that left no room for denial.

Your mouth opened, some kind of weak protest forming on your tongue, but Jake moved closer, shutting you down before you even had a chance to breathe. His presence was overwhelming, his body heat radiating off him like a furnace, his scent—clean, musky, laced with something so distinctly him—filling your senses, making your knees weak.

“You get off before class,” he repeated, softer this time, almost teasing, like he was savoring the confession he had yet to hear from your own lips. His voice dropped lower, becoming something dark, possessive. “And you think about me when you do it, don’t you?”

Your lungs seized. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

Jake tilted his head, studying you, watching the way your fingers twitched at your sides, the way your lips parted in a silent gasp, the way your thighs pressed together instinctively—as if that would do anything to stop the inevitable, the brutal ache between your legs that he had just made ten times worse.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” His voice was smooth, dripping with mocking confidence, because he knew you couldn’t.

Your brain scrambled for an escape. For an excuse. For anything that might get you out of this, because if you admitted it—if you said it out loud—there would be no turning back. You’d be his. Completely. Utterly.

Jake was too close now, his breath fanning over the shell of your ear, his tone taunting. “What is it, baby?” His fingers ghosted along your wrist, not quite touching but close enough to drive you insane. “Cat got your tongue? Or are you too busy thinking about the way you spread your legs for me every morning?”

Your breath left you in a shattered gasp.

You shouldn’t have reacted. You knew better. But your body betrayed you—your thighs clenched harder, your nipples tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, your entire core clenched around nothing, desperate for the friction you had been denying yourself all class.

Jake saw it. He saw everything.

He chuckled, voice dark and satisfied. “Oh, you really are a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your body burned.

Jake smirked. His fingers—strong, veined, perfect—finally reached you, just the barest brush of his knuckle against the inside of your wrist, but it sent a violent shudder through you.

And now, he fucking knew it.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said smoothly, turning away like he hadn’t just left you a trembling, soaking mess in the middle of the hallway.

-

You spent the entire day in a state of absolute wreckage.

After Jake’s confrontation in the hallway, after his words had wrapped around you like a noose, you had barely functioned. Your thoughts were a mess, your body useless, stuck in a constant loop of shame, arousal, and anticipation. He had seen it. He had seen you—spread out, stuffed full, moaning his name like a desperate, filthy thing. And now, tonight, you had to face him again.

Your stomach flipped violently as you stood in front of your bathroom mirror, gripping the sink, forcing yourself to take slow, measured breaths.

You had to get it together. You had to act like you weren’t already falling apart before you even stepped into his dorm.

But the problem was—you were. You so were.

The moment you let your mind wander, it all came rushing back. Jake’s voice, low and taunting. His gaze, dark and knowing. The way his fingers had hovered so close to your skin, how he had whispered filth into your ear like he already owned you.

And now, tonight, he would.

Your breath shuddered. Your thighs clenched.

You couldn’t go to him like this, already weak and needy. You needed to take the edge off, just enough to think clearly, just enough to face him without completely unraveling the second he looked at you.

Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts before you could think twice.

You sighed, the relief instant as your fingers slid through the ridiculous mess between your legs. You were soaked, soaked, had been all day. It was humiliating, how little it took. The heat, the tension, the memory of him catching you—it had left you dripping, thighs sticky and aching since the moment he walked away from you in that hallway.

But tonight, you needed more than your fingers.

Your eyes flicked to the cool bathroom sink, and your breath hitched.

You turned around, hands bracing against the counter, angling yourself just right before slipping your fingers behind you, dragging them through your folds from the back, teasing your entrance in a way that made your legs tremble.

A gasp ripped from your throat as you pressed two fingers inside, stretching yourself open while your hips rocked forward, grinding your clit against the cold, smooth porcelain. The sensation was overwhelming—the deep, slow stretch inside you paired with the delicious friction against your swollen, aching clit.

“F-Fuck,” you whimpered, forehead pressing against the mirror as you humped the sink, fingering yourself deeper, imagining it was Jake standing behind you, one big hand on your hip, the other sliding down between your legs to keep you in place while he filled you up.

Your breath came ragged, hips stuttering, thighs quivering as you rode the edge, grinding your clit down harder, fucking your fingers deeper, thinking about how Jake would hold you still, how he’d groan against your ear, whispering, “You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your stomach tightened, the orgasm coiling, building, about to—

And then your phone buzzed.

You froze.

Your heart stopped. Your stomach plummeted. Your fingers stilled immediately, guilt crashing over you in suffocating waves.

You scrambled for your phone, unlocking it with shaking hands.

Jake: Don’t. Touch. Yourself.

Your blood ran cold.

You swallowed, staring at the text, heart pounding as another one came through.

Jake: You’ll do that when you’re here.

Your breath left you in a shaky exhale, thighs clenching involuntarily at the absolute authority in his words. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could only sit there, fingers still buried inside yourself, aching, trembling, waiting.

Then—

Jake: And when you get here? You’re going to show me just how much you need it.

Your entire body shuddered.

Your clit pulsed beneath your untouched folds, but you didn’t dare move. Not now. Not when you were seconds away from finishing, and Jake had just ripped that privilege away from you.

Another text buzzed onto the screen.

Jake: If you’re even a second late, I’ll make you wait even longer.

You swallowed a whimper. You had to go. Now.

Your legs felt like they barely worked as you stumbled up from the sink, heart hammering, stomach twisting into knots of frustration, anticipation, arousal so thick you could choke on it.

You had no idea how you were going to survive this night.

-

You hesitated outside Jake’s door, hands clammy, thighs pressed together so tightly it almost hurt.

Your body wasn’t over it.

Not even close.

The bathroom incident had left you on the brink, your body still buzzing, still needy, still aching for something you weren’t allowed to have until you stepped inside. You could still feel it—the cool sink against your clit, the way your own fingers had stretched you open from behind, the way Jake’s texts had snapped you back to reality at the worst possible moment.

And now you were here.

You wiped your palms on your thighs, forced yourself to breathe, forced yourself to knock even though every part of you screamed run.

The door opened almost immediately.

Jake stood there, leaning against the frame, one hand braced above his head, the other resting casually in the pocket of his sweatpants. His eyes raked over you, scanning your body like he already knew what kind of state you were in.

Like he could smell it on you.

You swallowed hard, barely holding back a whimper.

“Come in.”

His voice was smooth, deep, dripping with something dangerous. He stepped aside, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze past him. The second you moved, his hand brushed against your lower back—a simple touch, barely even there, but it felt like a brand.

Your breath hitched.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You were alone with him now.

The air felt thick, suffocating, charged. You could hear your own pulse pounding in your ears, the faint sound of your breath coming in quick, uneven puffs. Your nerves were a mess, anticipation tangling with embarrassment because—

You knew why you were here.

And so did Jake.

You took a shaky step forward, barely processing the way Jake moved behind you. Slow. Calculated.

“So,” he murmured, the heat of his breath suddenly right at your ear. “Are you gonna tell me how close you were?”

Your entire body seized up.

He wasn’t touching you—not yet—but his presence alone was suffocating, pressing against you like a heavy weight.

You licked your lips, swallowed hard. “W-what?”

Jake chuckled.

“Don’t play dumb, baby.” His fingers ghosted over your hip, just enough to make you tremble. “I told you not to touch yourself. And yet…”

You sucked in a breath as his other hand trailed up, dragging two fingers over your exposed throat, pressing just lightly enough that your head tipped back on instinct.

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Your thighs clenched.

His touch was barely there but it was too much. Too much, because you were already soaked, already aching, already at the point where you’d do anything—

But he wasn’t giving it to you.

Not yet.

Instead, he pressed his fingers just a little more firmly against your throat, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look at him. His dark eyes held yours, and the corner of his mouth curled.

“Be honest with me.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling between your thighs.

Jake’s fingers brushed down your throat, slow, teasing, until they rested just beneath your collarbone. His thumb dragged lower, just barely dipping beneath the neckline of your shirt.

You could barely breathe.

You shouldn’t have been this turned on just from a few words. Just from the way his thumb traced your skin, from the way he was looking at you like he already owned you.

But then he leaned in, so fucking close, lips just barely brushing against your ear as he whispered—

“How close were you when I told you to stop?”

A whimper escaped you before you could stop it.

Jake groaned, low and satisfied. His fingers tightened, just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your body scream for more.

“I bet you were close.” His breath was hot, his tone mocking. “I bet you were right there, fingers dripping, about to make a mess of yourself.”

You bit your lip hard enough to sting, trying to stop the truth from slipping out.

Because if he knew the full truth—if he knew what you’d actually been doing—

Grinding against the bathroom sink, rubbing your clit against the cool porcelain like some desperate, shameless thing—

You’d die on the spot.

Jake must have sensed it. Felt it. Because his fingers curled against your chin, tilting your face up. His eyes searched yours, his smirk deepening, his voice dropping even lower.

“What else?”

Your pulse skipped. “W-what?”

His lips nearly brushed yours. “You were doing more than just touching yourself, weren’t you?”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Your silence was a dead giveaway.

Jake chuckled, dark and knowing. His grip on your chin tightened. “Tell me.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I—I…” The words got stuck in your throat.

His smirk widened. “You’re gonna say it out loud, baby. Or I’ll make you.”

Your breath shook, your entire body on the verge of collapse. You wanted to fight it, wanted to pretend you still had some dignity left, but Jake’s gaze was relentless.

And he wouldn’t let you go until you gave him what he wanted.

A deep, humiliating heat spread over your body as you finally whispered, “I—I was…grinding against the sink.”

Jake inhaled sharply, his entire body going still.

His grip on your chin tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might snap. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—just processed what you’d just admitted.

Then, slowly, so deliberately that it made your stomach flip, he let out a low, dark chuckle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his free hand flexing at his side. “That’s what you were doing?”

You nodded weakly, shame pooling in your stomach.

Jake exhaled through his nose, his jaw clenching, and suddenly, his hand slid from your chin to your throat, holding you there—not squeezing, just keeping you still.

“You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Jake smirked, something dangerous flashing in his gaze, something calculated.

“You’re gonna show me,” he murmured. “Later.”

Your breath hitched.

“And I’m gonna take a video.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

Jake sat back on his bed, legs spread wide, leaning against the headboard with an ease that only made the situation worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it. His hoodie was gone, discarded somewhere in the room, leaving nothing but smooth, bare skin, the sharp lines of his collarbones, the toned muscles of his chest, and the faintest trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

But what really ruined you was the bulge straining against the soft fabric of his grey sweats.

It was… big. Heavy. Obscene. The kind of size that made your stomach clench with something dangerously close to desperation. He wasn’t even touching himself, wasn’t even adjusting—just sitting there, watching you like he had all the time in the world.

And then he did something that made your breath stutter.

He reached over to his nightstand and grabbed his phone, unlocking it with a single flick before tilting his head at you, smirk lazy, expectant.

“I’m filming this,” he murmured, voice dripping with authority. “Start stripping.”

Your stomach flipped.

Your body burned.

You should have hesitated—should have felt embarrassed, should have tried to argue—but the only thing you felt was a deep, thrilling pulse between your legs.

You didn’t even question it.

Your hands moved before your brain caught up, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt, peeling it up slowly, dragging it over your stomach, higher, teasing yourself as much as you were teasing him. The air felt thick, charged, electric as you bared more skin, the camera recording every second.

Jake hummed approvingly. “Good girl. Keep going.”

The shirt hit the floor. You reached for your shorts next, hooking your thumbs into the waistband, dragging them down inch by inch, knowing exactly how much of a show you were giving him.

By the time you stood before him, stripped down to nothing but your soaked panties, Jake’s smirk had sharpened into something dangerous.

“Lose those too,” he ordered, tilting the phone slightly to capture your every movement.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t stop.

You slid your hands down, curling your fingers beneath the waistband, peeling them down agonizingly slow, letting the fabric drag over your thighs before stepping out of them completely.

Now you were bare.

Jake exhaled through his nose, pleased. His free hand dragged over his own thigh, fingers flexing, his grip tightening the moment you stepped forward, fully exposed, completely his.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded. “Let me see what you do when you think about me.”

You obeyed instantly, trailing your fingers over your stomach, your thighs, your hips—everywhere but where you needed it most. Your breath came in slow, teasing gasps as you let your fingers finally slip lower, grazing your clit, a sharp whimper escaping as you made contact with the aching heat between your legs.

Jake groaned, the sound low, filthy.

“Louder.”

You whimpered, fingers pressing deeper, moving slower, dragging the pleasure out just to tease him, just to see how long he’d let you keep control.

“Louder,” he said again, voice darker this time. “I want to hear every filthy little sound you make.”

Something inside you snapped.

You moaned. Loudly.

Then again. And again.

It was like you couldn’t stop. The moment the first shameless, desperate noise slipped past your lips, your mouth wouldn’t close, your voice wouldn’t stop spilling every thought you had.

“Jake—fuck—I think about you all the time—”

Your fingers slid deeper, your hips rocking into the pressure.

“I think about your hands, how big they are, how rough they’d feel on me—”

Jake let out a low, ragged groan, his fingers twitching against the bed.

“I think about your mouth, how you’d ruin me with it, how you’d hold me still and make me take it—”

Your breath hitched as you spread your legs wider, rubbing yourself faster, your mind a mess of filth.

“I think about your cock,” you gasped, your fingers slick, sliding in and out shamelessly. “How big it is, how you’d stretch me open, how you’d fill me so fucking deep—”

Jake exhaled sharply, his jaw locked, his knuckles turning white against his thigh.

Then, in an instant, he moved.

You barely had time to react before his hand wrapped around your throat, gripping firm, dominant, unrelenting as he dragged you forward. Your breath caught, a choked gasp escaping as he pulled you right into his lap, forcing you to straddle him, the heat of his body pressing against you.

His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel it.

“Stop pretending,” he growled, his breath hot against your lips, his other hand pushing between your thighs, feeling how soaked you were. “You want to act like a shy little thing? Like you’re so innocent?”

His fingers dragged through your slick, making you tremble, making you whimper as your hands gripped his shoulders for support.

“Enough of that.” His thumb pressed against your throat, tilting your head back, his gaze dark, dangerous. “Start acting like the filthy little slut you actually are.”

Something in you broke open.

You whimpered, thighs clenching, your fingers digging into his skin as your hips rolled forward, grinding against his sweatpants, against the huge, heavy bulge pressing against you.

Jake groaned, his grip on your throat flexing, his lips twitching into something darkly amused as you completely fell apart for him.

“There she is,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted.”

Your mouth ran wild, the words spilling before you could stop them—

“I want you to ruin me, Jake—”

You rocked against him, panting, desperate, his hand tight in your hair now, keeping you in place, making you take it.

“Want you to spread me open—make me take every inch of you—”

Jake groaned, low and wrecked, his hands gripping your hips, holding you against him as you rubbed yourself raw against his cock, soaking his sweatpants with how desperate you were.

You did exactly that.

You pulled your fingers out, spreading your slick between them, before shifting positions—

Turning around.

Bending over.

Spreading yourself open for him.

A sharp, gritted curse came from behind you.

Jake’s fingers flexed against his thigh, his entire body going rigid as he took in the sight before him—your ass up, your fingers teasing at your entrance, the shameless, dripping mess you were making of yourself.

He let out a slow, heavy breath, one that sounded so ragged, so fucking strained, that you almost moaned just from hearing it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, voice low, wrecked.

And that was the moment you knew.

Jake was going to destroy you.

Jake let the silence stretch, let the weight of his gaze sink into you, let you feel just how much he was holding back—barely.

You were still bent over in front of him, still spreading yourself wide, still waiting, dripping, panting, desperate, while he sat back and took his time.

His voice, low, rough, taunting:

“You think this is how I’d fuck you?”

Your stomach plummeted.

Jake exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his jaw before shaking his head, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.

“That’s cute, baby,” he murmured, shifting forward until you could feel his heat against you, his presence looming over your back, his breath hitting your spine.

But then—

He grabbed your hips, both hands firm, controlling, and yanked you back against him. Your breath hitched, a choked gasp slipping from your lips at the sudden contact—your bare, slick heat pressing against the thick, hard outline of his cock.

Jake groaned, low, deep, wrecked, his fingers tightening, his chest heaving as he held you there, perfectly still, completely at his mercy.

“First mistake,” he muttered, voice rough against your ear. “You wouldn’t be in charge of how fast or slow I fuck you. That’s my job.”

A shudder ran through you, your hands clenching against the sheets as Jake’s grip ground you against him, making you feel every inch of his cock through his sweatpants.

“Second mistake?” he continued, dragging his fingers over the curve of your ass, featherlight, teasing. “You think I’d let you touch yourself first?”

Your breath caught as his hand moved lower, closer, his touch just barely skimming over your soaked entrance, not enough, not even close, just a tease.

His fingers—elegant, veined, strong—dragged through your slick, gathering it, smearing it over you, spreading you open, making you tremble.

“I’d have you like this first,” Jake murmured, voice silk and gravel, his breath hitting the nape of your neck as his fingers teased, circled, prodded, but never gave you what you needed. “Dripping. Begging.”

His fingers brushed over your tight, untouched entrance, slicking it up with your own mess, and you whimpered, hips jolting forward on instinct, trying to escape the sensation—

But Jake just chuckled.

“Oh?” His tone was mocking, amused. “That got your attention?”

Your whole body seized, heat flaming through your spine, burning at your core, because—

He was still teasing your ass.

Just barely, just the pad of his fingertip, smearing your slick in slow, lazy circles, pressing, nudging, teasing, but not pushing inside.

And he wasn’t letting you run from it.

His free hand pressed into your lower back, keeping you right where he wanted you, keeping you spread, exposed, open.

“You think about this too?” he murmured, voice dark, edged with pure sin. “You think about my fingers stretching you out?”

Your throat closed, your body burning, your breath hitching in a desperate, humiliated whimper, because—

Yes.

Yes, you did.

Jake chuckled, pleased, tilting his head as if piecing it all together.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, his fingertip pressing just a little more insistently, not pushing in yet, just teasing, just threatening to. “You should’ve seen yourself.”

Your pulse pounded.

“I bet you don’t even know how messy you looked,” he continued, mocking, condescending. “Whimpering, drooling all over your pillow, fucking yourself open for me.”

Your entire body jerked, because you knew exactly what video he was talking about.

Jake just laughed under his breath, slow, deliberate, dragging it out.

“I don’t even think you knew what you were saying, baby,” he murmured, voice almost affectionate, like he was reminiscing. “Kept whining about how you wished it was my cock stretching you open, stuffing you full.”

A wrecked, desperate moan tore from your throat before you could stop it.

Jake groaned, low, pleased.

“There it is,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

His finger pressed harder, circling, coaxing, never giving you enough—just teasing, just pushing your body past what it thought it could take.

His other hand moved.

His fingers found your clit, pinching, rolling, flicking over the swollen bud with zero mercy.

You gasped, your legs nearly giving out, your moan high, broken, utterly wrecked.

Jake groaned at the sound, his own restraint hanging by a thread, but he wasn’t done yet.

“Stick your tongue out,” he ordered, voice deep, commanding.

You barely had time to process the words before your mouth obeyed, tongue slipping out, slick and needy, desperate for whatever he’d give you.

Jake exhaled through his nose, satisfied.

He shoved his fingers inside your mouth.

You whined, head tilting back as he pressed deeper, letting you taste the salt of his skin, letting you soak them, letting you understand exactly what he was about to do.

“Suck,” he murmured, and you did, your lips wrapping around his fingers, your tongue laving over them, your moans vibrating through your chest.

Jake cursed under his breath, his cock twitching hard beneath his sweatpants, his control hanging on by a fucking thread.

He pulled his fingers out, slick, wet, dripping with your spit.

And then he shoved that same finger inside you.

Your whole body jerked, your breath stuttering, your mind blanking completely as the wet stretch burned, as your body took him, clenched around him, pulled him deeper.

Jake groaned, his free hand slamming onto your lower back, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.

“God,” he muttered, voice strained. “Look at you.”

His finger slid deeper, fucking into you, spreading you open, filling you slowly, deliberately, ruining you.

“You were made for this, weren’t you?” he murmured. “Made to be filled.”

Your moans shattered, your legs trembling, your hands gripping the sheets, your whole body unraveling under him.

Jake just smirked, watching you come apart.

“That’s okay, baby,” he murmured, his lips curling against your ear. “I’m gonna make sure you take it better than that next time.”

Your stomach dropped.

Next time.

Jake just smirked.

“Oh,” he murmured, voice lethal. “And don’t forget—I’m filming the next one.”

Jake had had enough.

Enough of teasing, enough of waiting, enough of holding back while you squirmed, while you whimpered, while you dripped all over yourself without him even needing to try.

Now he was going to ruin you.

His fingers slid out of you slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch of the slick drag, letting your body clench around nothing, aching, desperate for more.

You whined, shifting, pushing back instinctively, chasing friction, but Jake’s hands were already on you, pushing you down, flipping you onto your back in one smooth motion.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was on you.

His grip locked onto your thighs, spreading you wide, forcing your legs apart so you had no choice but to bare yourself to him completely.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

Jake exhaled slowly, his eyes dark, hungry, his gaze locked onto the messy, dripping heat between your legs.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself, his fingers flexing against your thighs, holding you open like you belonged to him.

Your stomach flipped. Your breath hitched. Your body throbbed.

“Be a good girl and show me how bad you want it.”

Your brain blanked.

You knew what he meant. Knew he was testing you. Knew he wanted to see if you were still pretending, still holding back, still playing shy when you were already dripping for him.

He would stop.

He would kick you out.

His voice was low, slow, unforgiving when he spoke again. “If you don’t act like the whore I know you are, I’m gonna stop. And I’m gonna make you leave.”

Your breath shattered.

The weight of his words hit you like a slap to the face.

No more hesitation. No more nerves. No more pretending.

Your whole body flushed hot, heat spreading from your cheeks down to your core as you swallowed your pride, swallowed your shame, and did exactly what he asked.

You let your thighs fall even wider, your hands sliding down your stomach, past your hips, until your fingers spread yourself open for him, letting him see everything.

Jake’s breath left him in a ragged curse.

“That’s it,” he muttered, almost to himself. “There she is.”

His mouth latched onto you immediately, tongue dragging through your folds, hot and wet and messy, licking up every bit of slick that had spilled from you since he started his torment.

You screamed.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands, pulling, gripping, holding on for dear life as Jake ate you alive.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core, making your hips buck, making you writhe beneath him.

But Jake was ready for it.

His arms hooked under your thighs, locking them over his shoulders, his hands gripping your hips tight, pinning you down as he worked you over with his tongue, messy and relentless, like he was trying to drown in you.

“Oh my fucking—Jake—”

You gasped, sobbed, choked on your own moans, because he wasn’t just licking you,

He was devouring you.

Sucking, flicking, rolling his tongue over your clit, dipping lower to fuck you with it, groaning into you every time your walls fluttered around the slick muscle.

Your body twitched, overwhelmed, shaking under the pressure of his grip, the raw, unrelenting pace of his tongue.

He was merciless.

No teasing. No holding back.

Just Jake, consuming you, controlling you, wrecking you.

Your thighs tensed, your stomach tightened, your breath coming in short, sharp, desperate gasps, and Jake fucking felt it.

He knew you were close.

So he got mean.

He pulled away just enough to whisper against your swollen, drenched folds—

“Make a mess of my face, baby.”

Your stomach dropped.

He sucked your clit into his mouth and flicked his tongue over it hard.

Everything snapped.

Your whole body bowed, your mouth falling open in a silent scream, your vision blurring, blanking, as pleasure slammed into you, violent and unforgiving.

You came hard, your body convulsing, your legs trying to snap shut around his head, but Jake just held you there, kept you wide open, kept his tongue right where you needed it, licking you through it, dragging it out until you were a shaking, sobbing mess beneath him.

When it finally became too much, when your whimpers turned into soft, wrecked sobs, Jake eased up, pressing slow, teasing kisses against your oversensitive clit before finally pulling away.

Your chest heaved, your skin flushed, your whole body buzzing, as you blinked up at the ceiling, completely wrecked, ruined, destroyed.

Jake sat back, grinning, his lips and chin shiny, slick, messy with you.

His voice was smug, satisfied, when he finally spoke.

“That’s my girl.”

You were still panting, still trembling, your body wrecked from the brutal pace of his tongue. But Jake wasn’t done with you yet.

Not even close.

Before you could recover, before you could even think, his hands were on you again, flipping you onto your stomach with zero effort, pressing his weight down against you, his body hot, heavy, overwhelming.

You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt it,

The thick, hot length of his cock pressing between your thighs, dragging through your slick, coating himself in the mess he’d made of you.

Your whole body shuddered.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, voice dark, dangerous. “You ready for me, baby?”

You barely managed to nod, your hips tilting up, your back arching, offering yourself up to him in the filthiest display of submission.

Jake groaned, his breath shuddering against your shoulder.

“Yeah, you are,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’ve been ready for me since day one.”

Your breath hitched when he pulled back, when you felt him shift, when you felt him line himself up,

You felt it.

The thick, heavy weight of his cock sliding between your folds, dragging over your clit, teasing your entrance, spreading you open inch by inch, but not pushing in yet.

You whimpered, a wrecked, frustrated sound, trying to push back, trying to take him, but Jake’s hands were on your hips immediately, holding you still.

“Not yet,” he murmured, voice taunting, smug. “You feel that?”

Your whole body tightened as he dragged himself over your entrance again, so close but still not giving it to you.

“Feel how big I am?”

You nodded furiously, eyes blown wide, unfocused, needy, trying to breathe through the overwhelming feeling of his cock stretching you open already before he was even inside.

Jake chuckled, one hand leaving your hip, gripping the thick base of himself, dragging the fat, swollen head against your entrance over and over, smearing your slick across his length.

“Bet you thought about it, huh?” he murmured, his free hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you further into the mattress. “Bet you imagined how deep I’d be.”

A wrecked, whiny little moan tumbled from your lips.

Yeah. You had.

And now you could feel it.

Jake was thick. Heavy. Long enough that you knew he was going to ruin you completely.

The head of his cock was flushed a deep, angry red, already slick with precum and the mess you’d made of yourself. A thick vein ran down the underside, pulsing against your entrance as he dragged himself over your folds again and again, teasing, taunting, letting you feel every single inch of what was about to wreck you.

Your thighs shook, your hands fisting the sheets, your whole body fighting to stay still.

Jake smirked.

“Want it that bad?”

You nodded frantically, whimpering, pressing back against him, desperate to be filled.

Jake groaned, low, dark, lethal.

He spat directly onto your asshole.

Your whole body jerked violently, your breath choking out of you, a sharp, desperate gasp breaking from your throat at the filthy, messy sound of it.

Jake chuckled darkly, rubbing the wetness into you with his thumb, spreading it over your tight entrance, teasing, circling, smearing it with your own slick.

“Thought about this too, huh?” he murmured, pressing just the tip of his thumb against it, making your thighs tremble, making your stomach flip, making you whine.

But he didn’t push in.

No—he dragged his spit-slicked thumb down, tracing it between your folds, pressing it against your clit in a slow, taunting rub just as he finally—

Pushed inside.

Your mouth fell open in a wrecked, silent scream, your entire body going taut, because Jake didn’t ease in.

He split you open.

A long, low groan rumbled in his chest, his fingers tightening on your hips, his breath shaking as he forced you to take every inch.

“Fuck, baby,” he hissed, his voice strained, wrecked, strained as he buried himself to the hilt. “So fucking tight.”

Your fingernails dug into the sheets, your legs shaking, your breath completely gone, because the stretch was unbearable, overwhelming, perfect.

Jake didn’t move right away.

He let you feel it.

Feel how deep he was, how full he made you, how there was no more space inside you for anything else but him.

He pulled back, 

And slammed back in.

Your whole body jolted forward, a sharp, shocked moan spilling from your lips as Jake set a brutal, punishing pace immediately.

“You’re gonna take it like a good little slut, yeah?” he growled, his voice low, rough, filthy. “Gonna take it just like you do in those videos?”

You sobbed, whimpered, nodded frantically, barely able to form words, barely able to breathe.

Jake groaned, watching you fall apart, watching you drool all over his cock, watching your mouth fall open in perfect, wordless pleasure.

He leaned down, teeth grazing your ear, his pace never faltering, pounding into you so deep you saw stars.

“Push back on it,” he ordered.

You barely even registered the command—just obeyed immediately, rocking back against him, meeting every thrust, taking him like you were made for it.

Jake growled, his grip tightening, watching the way his cock slid in and out of you, watching the way you took every inch, watching the way you spread yourself open for him completely.

“Good girl,” he gritted out, sweat dripping from his temples, his breath ragged. “That’s it, baby. Show me what a good little whore you are.”

His fingers slid back down, toying with your clit, rubbing it in tight, filthy circles, his thrusts getting harder, deeper, meaner.

Your vision blurred.

Your body shook violently.

“Jake—fuck—I can’t—”

He chuckled darkly, leaning over you again, his lips brushing your ear as he ruined you completely.

“Yes, you can.”

“Be a good girl and come all over my cock.”

Your whole world shattered.

The air in the room was thick, heavy with the scent of sex and sweat and everything filthy you’d just done.

Your body was still shaking, your limbs still boneless, every nerve still buzzing from the way Jake had just completely, utterly wrecked you.

His hands were on you again.

Gentle.

You barely registered the shift at first—too dazed, too exhausted, too blissed out to notice the way Jake’s grip had softened, the way his rough, dominant touch had turned into something careful, careful, careful.

You blinked, still coming down, still floating, as Jake slowly eased himself out of you, hushing you immediately when you whimpered at the loss.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now, a stark contrast to the filthy, merciless way he’d been talking to you minutes ago.

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

Because Jake sounded different.

You barely had time to process it before he moved, scooping you up effortlessly, pulling you into his lap like you were the most precious fucking thing in the world.

Your stomach flipped.

“Jake—”

“Shh.”

His lips brushed your forehead.

Your heart skipped. Your breath caught.

Because Jake had kissed you.

For the first time. But not on your lips.

Not yet.

His hands rubbed slow, soothing circles over your back, his voice a quiet murmur against your skin. “Are you okay?”

You blinked at him, completely thrown. Because what the fuck?

Where was the cocky, filthy-mouthed Jake who had just spent the past hour ruining your entire existence?

Where was the smug, insufferable bastard who had made you beg for it, who had spat on your ass, who had laughed while you drooled all over his cock?

Because the guy holding you now? Was someone else entirely. His hands were warm, steady, grounding. His gaze was soft, searching, real.

Your lips parted, still stunned, but before you could say anything, Jake let out a quiet, almost nervous chuckle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at you. “I should’ve kissed you first.”

Your breath hitched.

Jake exhaled, shaking his head. “Before all of that.” His fingers traced light, delicate patterns up and down your spine. “Didn’t want the first time I kissed you to be during sex.”

Something in your chest ached. You didn’t know what to say.

Because this wasn’t what you expected.

Jake had spent weeks taunting you, teasing you, pushing you past your limits— Now he was holding you like he never wanted to let go. You swallowed, watching him carefully, studying him, trying to understand.

“Why?” you whispered.

Jake’s lips curled into a small, almost sheepish smirk.

His fingers found your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“Because I wanted it to mean something.”

Your entire body stilled. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Jake held your gaze, serious now, voice soft but firm.

“I don’t share,” he murmured.

Your stomach plummeted.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Jake tilted his head, his fingers sliding up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, so gentle, so intimate, so fucking real.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he continued, his voice low, steady, certain. “I don’t want you fucking anyone else.”

Your breath shuddered. Jake’s eyes flickered down to your lips, slowly He finally kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Consuming.

And just like that, you knew you were done for.

-

Jake’s words from that first night still haunted you.

“You’re gonna show me later.”

You were.

The bathroom lights were dim, the mirror already fogging up from the heat of the room, but none of that mattered. Not when Jake was standing behind you, one hand gripping your hip, the other holding his phone, recording every filthy, desperate second.

Your palms were pressed against the edge of the sink, your body bent forward, the cold porcelain digging into your clit as you grinded against it, mimicking exactly what he had caught you doing before.

Only this time, Jake was fucking you through it.

His cock dragged in and out of you, slow at first, deep and deliberate, splitting you open, making you feel every thick, devastating inch as you rocked your hips forward, rubbing yourself against the sink just like you had before he ever touched you.

Now, Jake was watching.

Now, Jake was inside you.

His breath was hot against your neck, his free hand trailing up your spine, fingers pressing between your shoulder blades, pushing you further down against the sink, making you spread your legs wider, making you take more of him, making you completely his.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice wrecked, low, approving, his free hand digging into your hip, holding you exactly where he wanted you. “Just like that. Just like you did for me before I ever fucking touched you.”

Your moans were high, gasping, desperate, bouncing off the tile walls, growing louder and louder as Jake’s thrusts grew faster, sharper, filthier.

“Look at yourself,” he growled, angling the phone so you could see the reflection—see the way your face was contorted with pleasure, see the way your tits bounced with every thrust, see the way his cock disappeared inside you, stretching you wide, filling you completely.

You locked eyes with him through the mirror, and something snapped.

A slow, wicked smirk curled on your lips, and suddenly, the whimpering mess you had been was gone.

You arched your back further, pushing your ass back against him, grinding onto his cock, fucking yourself onto him even harder, your mouth spilling filth without hesitation.

“You see that, baby?” Your voice was thick with sin, sultry and commanding. “See how good your cock looks inside me? Stretching me open like I was fucking made for it?”

Jake groaned, dark and wrecked, his grip tightening on your hips.

“Oh, you like that?” you cooed, deliberately clenching around him, making him hiss through his teeth. “Like watching me fuck myself on you?”

He gritted his teeth. “Jesus Christ.”

“Thought about this for so long,” you purred, rolling your hips. “Thought about you taking me like this—filming me—showing me what a good little slut I am for you.”

Jake cursed under his breath, his thrusts growing harder, faster, deeper, his control shattering as he pounded into you, forcing you against the sink, making you feel every fucking inch.

“You wanna keep talking, baby?” he gritted out, his hand snaking up to grip your throat, making you hold his gaze in the mirror. “Or do you wanna fucking come?”

Your moan broke, your whole body trembling, your legs shaking violently.

“I—I want both,” you gasped, a shameless, breathless mess. “Wanna come all over your cock while you fucking record it. Wanna make the dirtiest fucking video for you—so you can watch me fall apart over and over—”

Jake groaned, his restraint snapping completely.

His hand slid between your thighs, rubbing you mercilessly, his cock slamming into you faster, harder, filthier, and before you could even process it—

You were screaming, your orgasm ripping through you violently, your whole body convulsing, shaking, breaking apart.

Jake got every second on video.

-

Jake liked to smoke weed after long days.

He liked to do it while wrecking you.

The air was thick with smoke, the room hot, hazy, suffocating in the most intoxicating way. You were sprawled out on his bed, your thighs spread wide, your wrists pinned beside your head as Jake’s tongue dragged lazy, filthy circles over your clit, lapping at you with zero urgency, completely unbothered by how fucking desperate you were getting.

In his free hand? A joint.

Burning slow. The smoke curling through the air, weaving between your tangled bodies, seeping into your skin, into your mind, into your bones.

Every nerve in your body was on fire. Every slow, teasing flick of his tongue felt magnified, every inhale he took deepening the fog that was swallowing you whole.

You moaned, squirming, your fingers digging into the sheets as your hips lifted, chasing his mouth, trying to get more, but Jake just chuckled darkly, pinning you down, refusing to let you take control.

He lifted his head slightly, blowing a long, slow stream of thick, warm smoke over your drenched, swollen clit.

Your body jerked violently, a sharp cry breaking from your throat, the sensation too much, too overwhelming, too fucking filthy.

“Fuck—Jake—”

He groaned, lazy, satisfied, licking his lips before dragging his tongue through your folds again, so slow, so teasing, so fucking unbearable.

“Sensitive, baby?” His voice was thick, taunting, dripping with amusement. He took another deep inhale from the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs, letting his fingers slide through your wetness, teasing, circling, rubbing—but never giving you enough.

He exhaled another thick, slow drag of smoke, letting it roll over your heat, watching as the wisps curled around your trembling thighs, your stomach, your completely wrecked, ruined body.

A wrecked, filthy moan spilled from your lips.

Jake smirked against your inner thigh, watching you twitch, tremble, shake, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly, watching the way your fingers clawed at the sheets, desperate for more.

“You like that, baby?” he murmured, his fingers sliding deeper, pressing inside you so fucking slow, dragging against your walls, curling just right.

You whimpered, back arching off the mattress. “Yes—fuck, yes—”

Jake hummed approvingly, the sound low and sinful, his lips dragging over your inner thigh, nipping at the soft flesh, teasing, taunting.

He did something unholy.

He brought the joint down,

And pressed the burning tip directly to your clit.

It didn’t hurt—it was barely a graze, the heat of the ember just close enough to send a violent shockwave of pleasure-pain through your entire fucking body.

You screamed, your legs snapping closed around his head, but Jake just growled, gripping your thighs and spreading them wide again, forcing you open for him.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted, bringing the joint back to his lips for another slow, deep pull. “Keep those legs open, baby.”

Your chest heaved, your mind spinning, every part of you hypersensitive, overstimulated, teetering on the fucking edge.

Jake watched you, eyes blown, hungry, dark, as he reached between your thighs again, his fingers finding your swollen, overstimulated clit, rubbing messy, lazy circles, smearing your slick, keeping you right there, right on the brink.

He exhaled another cloud of smoke, letting it roll directly over your heat.

Your moan broke, a sharp, wrecked sob, your body tensing, shaking, fighting the unbearable pressure building inside you.

“Oh, baby,” Jake mocked, his voice thick with sin, his fingers never stopping, never slowing. “You’re gonna fucking come just from this, aren’t you?”

You nodded frantically, whimpering, writhing, your whole body fighting to hold itself together.

Jake’s lips twitched, his cock straining against his sweats, his own control slipping as he dragged the joint over your soaked folds, rubbing the tip against your clit, watching you jerk, watching your legs tremble, watching you fall apart for him.

You said it.

Your voice was high, wrecked, desperate.

“Please, Daddy.”

Jake froze.

He let out a deep, low groan, something dark flashing in his eyes. His grip on your thighs tightened, his body tensed, his restraint snapping completely.

His voice was rough, strained, wrecked beyond recognition.

“Say that shit again.”

You whimpered, grinding against nothing, teetering right on the edge of something violent.

“Please, Daddy,” you repeated, voice syrupy sweet, dripping with sin. “My pussy wants a hit too it needs it. Need you to make me come so fucking hard I forget my own name—”

Jake growled, his entire body shuddering, his control obliterated.

He took another slow inhale,

He pressed the joint back to your clit, the heat searing, shocking, sending a violent shudder through your entire body.

Your legs spasmed, your stomach tensed, and suddenly you were gushing, soaking his face, his chest, the sheets beneath you, every single muscle in your body seizing as you squirted all over him.

Jake groaned loudly, his hand gripping your thigh bruisingly tight, his tongue lapping up the mess you made, drinking you down, humming against your dripping folds like he’d just found his new favorite way to get high.

Jake took the joint, still damp from where he’d pressed it against your soaked heat, brought it back to his lips, and took one final, slow hit.

His exhale was slow, deep, pure sin as he looked down at you, wrecked, spent, twitching beneath him.

He leaned in, grabbed your jaw, and kissed you.

Filthy. Deep. Destroying.

Smoke still lingered on his tongue, on his breath, invading your lungs, intoxicating you more than any drug ever could.

His teeth tugged at your lower lip, his hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

And as he pulled away, leaving you breathless, ruined, completely fucking gone, he grinned against your lips, voice nothing but a low, wrecked murmur.

“Bet you taste even better than the high, baby.”

-

The bathroom was already steaming, condensation rolling down the glass shower door, the air thick with humidity—and the sounds of Jake fucking you senseless.

Your body was pressed against the glass, the cool surface a stark contrast to your feverish, flushed skin, your nipples dragging against it with every brutal thrust, leaving streaks of your desperation across the fogged-up surface.

Jake’s hands were everywhere—one gripping your hip tight enough to bruise, the other wrapped around your throat, holding you in place, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

Fucking lethal.

“You wanted this, huh?” he growled, his breath hot against your ear, his cock slamming into you from behind, deep, ruthless, unforgiving. “Wanted Daddy to take you like this?”

You whimpered, your forehead pressing into the glass, your nails scraping uselessly against it, because you had no control over anything anymore.

Jake wasn’t just fucking you. He was owning you.

His hand on your throat tightened, forcing you to lift your head, making you stare at your own fucked-out reflection in the glass.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone condescending, filthy, dripping with amusement. “You see yourself, baby?”

Your mouth hung open, your lips puffy, swollen, wrecked, your body shaking with every deep thrust, your nipples dragging against the slick surface of the glass, leaving desperate little streaks with every movement.

Jake chuckled darkly. “So fucking dumb for me, huh?”

You tried to speak—tried to say something, anything—but all that came out was a wrecked, helpless little sob.

Jake groaned, his free hand sliding down, gripping your jaw, forcing your head back, forcing you to keep looking.

“You wanted to fuck me in the shower?” he mocked, his hips snapping forward, burying himself so deep you saw fucking stars. “Now you can barely even stand.”

Your whole body convulsed, your walls clenching tightly around him, and Jake felt it.

Felt how fucking wrecked you were.

Felt how close you were.

And he wasn’t having it.

Not yet.

His thrusts suddenly slowed, the brutal, relentless pace shifting into deep, slow, torturous rolls of his hips, dragging his cock out of you so slowly, before slamming back inside.

You sobbed, the glass fogging up from your panting, helpless gasps.

“Oh, you don’t like that, baby?” he taunted, his grip on your jaw tightening, his thumb pushing into your mouth, forcing it open. “Thought you wanted Daddy to fuck you. What happened, huh?”

You whimpered around his thumb, your tongue lapping at the rough pad, sucking instinctively, needing something to hold onto before you fucking lost your mind.

Jake groaned, his pace picking up again, faster, harsher, filthier, his cock hitting deep, devastating spots inside you that made your legs buckle beneath you.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, high, gasping little cries that bounced off the tile walls, mixing with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the shower running, the heavy panting of both of you completely fucking falling apart.

Jake leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, his hand on your jaw sliding down, wrapping fully around your throat.

“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” he murmured, low, dark, dangerous.

You nodded frantically, whimpering, your hands bracing against the glass, leaving messy little fingerprints in the condensation.

Jake groaned, watching you lose yourself, watching the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled, the way you fucking fell apart for him.

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmured, his thrusts turning erratic, ruthless, brutal, perfect. “Come for me.”

Your whole body snapped.

A shattered, broken moan spilled from your lips as your orgasm slammed into you, your walls clenching, pulsing, milking him, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you.

Jake cursed, his grip tightening, his own breath shattering against your ear as he thrust into you a few more times, then he buried himself deep, groaning through gritted teeth, coming inside you, his body tensing, shaking, completely fucking wrecked.

The only sound left in the room was your panting breaths, the steady patter of the shower, the faint creak of the glass as your bodies pressed against it, spent, ruined, completely fucking gone.

Jake’s hands slid to your hips, his grip softening, pulling you back against his chest, wrapping his arms around you as his forehead pressed against the back of your neck.

A quiet, breathless chuckle escaped him. “Damn, baby.”

You laughed, weak, fucked-out, completely ruined.

“Next time,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You’re riding me.”

-

Jake had never been gentle.

Not really. Not when it came to you.

Because you pulled something reckless, desperate, uncontrollable out of him.

Tonight was different.

The candles flickered softly, the scent of warm vanilla filling the air, mixing with the faint traces of Jake’s cologne on his sheets. The playlist he made for you played quietly in the background, soft, slow, achingly sweet.

Jake was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

His hands were slow, careful, reverent as he traced your body, fingertips ghosting over your bare skin, leaving shivers in their wake.

He hovered over you, his gaze heavy, intense, the way he always looked at you when he was about to ruin you.

Tonight, he was going to love you.

“Happy one month, baby,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours, soft, teasing, unbearably tender.

Your stomach flipped, your chest aching, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him down, needing more.

Jake chuckled against your mouth, letting you kiss him, letting you taste the slow, burning affection behind every drag of his lips.

“You always so needy for me, huh?” he teased, grinning against your mouth, teasing but soft, always so soft.

You pouted, fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, slower.

Jake groaned, his body pressing into yours, his warmth wrapping around you, completely engulfing you.

And when he finally—finally—pushed inside you, it was the slowest thing you’d ever felt.

A sharp gasp slipped from your lips, your head falling back as Jake’s body sank into yours, inch by inch, stretching you, filling you completely.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath uneven, wrecked, completely lost in you.

You clenched around him, your thighs tightening around his hips, pulling him deeper, needing more,

But Jake just smirked, shaking his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw.

“Not rushing tonight, baby,” he murmured, voice low, gentle, soothing, but firm. “Gonna take my time with you.”

Your chest ached, your breath shaking, your fingers sliding down his back, gripping onto him, holding him close.

Jake moved slowly, agonizingly so, rolling his hips into yours in long, deep strokes, his body pressed flush against you, his lips tracing every inch of your skin.

It was everything.

The way he whispered against your lips, soft, teasing, murmuring about how perfect you felt, how much he loved being inside you.

The way he kissed you between every word, slow, messy, deep, like he needed you to feel every bit of how much he wanted you, adored you, fucking loved you.

The way his hands caressed your body, memorizing every inch of you, fingertips dragging over your waist, your ribs, your thighs, like he needed to burn you into his skin.

It was soft.

It was overwhelming.

It was Jake, giving you every single piece of himself.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, voice thick, wrecked, raw, his lips pressing against your temple, your cheek, your jaw, before finding your lips again.

And when he finally—finally—pushed you over the edge, it was like drowning.

Your orgasm hit slow, deep, all-consuming, your whole body melting into his, your fingers gripping his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to this earth.

Jake followed right after, burying himself deep, shuddering, groaning into your mouth, completely fucking lost in you.

When you were spent, ruined, completely wrapped up in him, he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away. Didn’t let you go.

Instead, he cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek, soft, tender, adoring.

He kissed you.

Slow. Lingering. Perfect.

“I Love you,” he murmured, lips still pressed against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped.

Your breath hitched.

When you whispered it back, Jake smiled against your mouth.

-

Jake had been staring at you for a full ten minutes.

Not subtly. Not in passing. Full-on, pouty-lipped, arms-crossed, lovesick puppy-dog-eyes staring.

You had noticed, of course—you always noticed when Jake was desperate for attention—but you had been trying to see how long he would hold out before cracking. You scrolled through your phone lazily, sipping from your water bottle, pretending to be completely oblivious to the fact that your boyfriend was sulking next to you like you had just broken his heart.

A deep, dramatic sigh.

You smirked, tilting your head just slightly to catch him in your peripheral. Sure enough, he was still pouting, still glaring at you like you had done something terrible.

You raised a brow. “What?”

Jake let out another, even heavier sigh, rolling onto his side to face you, his arms curling around your waist, pulling you against him like you were his last source of oxygen.

“You haven’t kissed me yet,” he muttered, muffled against your shirt.

You blinked. “What?”

Jake lifted his head, his expression pure devastation.

“You haven’t kissed me,” he repeated, dead serious.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up in your throat. “Jake—”

“Jakey,” he corrected, pointing to his cheek expectantly.

You bit your lip, eyes glimmering with amusement, but leaned in anyway, pressing a soft, slow peck to his cheek.

Jake let out the happiest sigh, his lips curling into the softest, sweetest little smile, eyes fluttering shut like he had just been granted salvation.

“Mmm,” he hummed, squeezing you tighter. “Better.”

You shook your head, laughing softly, trailing your fingers through his hair, but before you could pull away, he was tilting his chin up, tapping his other cheek.

“Missed a spot.”

You rolled your eyes, but indulged him, pressing another gentle kiss to his other cheek.

Jake sighed even deeper, his hands tightening around your waist, his grin growing even wider.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing his face into your neck, breathing you in.

You bit your lip, heart melting at how soft, sweet, and completely in love he was. Jake had his moods—he could be cocky, insatiable, dominant, but this? This was your favorite.

He nuzzled against you, sighing softly. “You know, I’ve been thinking about our wedding.”

Your breath hitched. “Oh?”

Jake just nodded, his smile so content, so blissful.

“Yeah. I’ve got it all planned out,” he mused, tilting his chin up expectantly again.

You smirked. “What?”

Jake pointed to his lips.

You giggled, leaning down, kissing him slow, savoring the soft little hum he let out, the way his fingers curled tighter into your sides.

When you pulled away, he was grinning like an idiot.

“Okay, so,” he started, eyes glimmering. “It’s gotta be on a beach. You in some flowy-ass dress, looking like a literal angel.”

You smiled at the thought, pressing another kiss to his temple.

Jake sighed, eyes slipping shut for a moment, his body completely relaxed, completely wrapped up in the idea.

“And our honeymoon?” he continued, his voice getting even softer, even dreamier. “Bora Bora. Or the Maldives. Somewhere I can keep you in bed for a whole week.”

You gasped, swatting his chest playfully. “Jake—”

“Jakey,” he corrected again, glaring immediately.

You sighed dramatically, leaning down and pressing a peck to his nose.

Jake sighed, so blissed out he could barely speak for a second.

“God, I love you,” he murmured, pressing tiny kisses to your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach.

You smiled against his skin, your lips still ghosting over his temple. “Love you too.”

Jake hummed, shifting so he could press his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your back.

“You know,” he started, his voice lower, softer, full of something even deeper. “I was thinking three kids. Two boys, one girl.”

You smiled. “Oh yeah?”

“Or,” he continued, grinning, “what if we get twins? Like, one of each?”

You kissed his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jake huffed, tugging you closer, burying himself into your warmth. “Not ridiculous. Just in love.”

He closed his eyes, sighing. “You’re gonna stay home, right? Take care of the house, the kids, let me take care of you?”

Your chest tightened. “You’d be okay with that?”

He snorted, pulling back to look at you like you had lost your mind. “Baby, I’d love that. I’d spoil you rotten.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Think about it,” he murmured, his voice turning lower, teasing. “You, waiting for me when I come home, wearing one of my shirts, telling me how much you missed me.”

You felt hot all over.

He smirked. “God, you’d be the best little housewife.”

You pressed your face into his chest, flustered, overwhelmed, completely wrapped around his finger.

Jake just laughed, holding you so tight, so safe, so his.

“And the house?” he murmured, squeezing your waist. “We need something big, but cozy. A huge kitchen—‘cause I know you love to cook. A fireplace, maybe? A backyard for the kids. A big-ass bed so I can keep you all to myself.”

You whined, squeezing your eyes shut. “Jake, stop.”

Jake grinned. “Jakey,” he corrected one last time, tapping his lips.

You rolled your eyes but leaned down anyway, kissing him slow, soft, deep.

He sighed into it, his fingers curling into your hair, holding you there, kissing you like he had all the time in the world.

And when you pulled away, breathless, hearts pounding, he whispered against your lips, “You’re gonna marry me.”

Your chest ached.

You couldn’t wait to. “Yeah, Jakey. I’m gonna marry you.”

-

The morning had started innocent enough.

At least, as innocent as waking up naked and tangled with Jake Sim could be.

You were supposed to get up early. You were supposed to go to class on time for once. But then Jake shifted, his warm, bare skin pressing into yours, his breath heavy against your ear, his hand already sliding between your thighs before you were even fully awake.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured, raspy, teasing, completely unbothered by the fact that you were already running late.

You lost all track of time.

Jake didn’t need to touch you to ruin you.

Sometimes, all it took was his voice.

“You’re not gonna make it to class, are you?” he mused, low and smug, his lips brushing against your ear.

You shuddered, squeezing your eyes shut as you pressed your thighs together, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to just his words.

Jake chuckled, shifting so he was propped up on one elbow, looking down at you like he was already planning how much worse he was going to make it. Slow, teasing, torturously confident.

“You always do this,” he murmured, tracing lazy patterns along your stomach. “Pretend you’re gonna leave. Act like you’re strong enough to walk away from me.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the sheets, your chest rising and falling too quickly.

Jake smirked. He noticed.

“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice was taunting, almost sympathetic. “Already shaking and I haven’t even touched you yet?”

You exhaled sharply, squeezing your legs tighter together.

Jake tsked. “Oh, sweetheart.”

His hand ghosted down, his fingers dragging over your hip, down the outside of your thigh, barely there, completely teasing.

“You’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, biting your lip, refusing to answer.

He hummed, shaking his head. “So easy for me.”

You turned your head, hiding your face against the pillow, but Jake wasn’t having that.

“Look at me,” he murmured, low and firm, the kind of tone that made your stomach flip.

You hesitated, but turned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were dark, heavy, filled with pure amusement.

“There’s my good girl,” he murmured, running a finger down your cheek, his voice turning softer, but still full of that unbearable smugness.

You swallowed, trying to keep your breathing even, but Jake could see right through you.

“You don’t wanna go to class,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your jaw, so soft, so slow. “You wanna stay right here, let me ruin you all over again.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets.

“Say it,” he coaxed, his hand sliding lower, his mouth hovering just above yours. “Tell me you’d rather be late.”

Your lips parted, your breath shaky.

Jake smirked, running his nose along your cheek, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth.

“You wanna be good for me, don’t you, baby?”

You whimpered, your resolve crumbling.

And that’s all it took.

Jake chuckled, shifting over you fully, pressing you back into the mattress.

“That’s my girl.”

-

By the time you both finally dragged yourselves out of bed, you were already doomed.

Jake smirked as you struggled to stand on shaky legs, his grip on your waist firm as he steadied you, smug as ever.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured, biting his lip as he took in the mess he had made of you.

You shoved him, grumbling under your breath as you pulled on your sweater, knowing full well that no amount of adjusting was going to hide the way you looked thoroughly ruined.

Jake didn’t even try.

He pulled on the first hoodie he could find, rubbing a hand through his already-mussed-up hair, his lips still swollen from kissing you senseless.

By the time you actually left, you were beyond late.

Your professor narrowed his eyes immediately.

Jake grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders like it was no big deal, guiding you to your seats with zero shame, zero regret.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” your professor said dryly, crossing his arms, glancing between the two of you.

You swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah, sorry,”

Your professor raised a brow. “You both look… disheveled.”

You felt your entire body heat up, shifting in your seat as Jake just smirked.

“Must’ve been the wind,” Jake said smoothly, kicking his feet up under the desk, looking completely unbothered.

Your professor wasn’t convinced.

He squinted, glancing at you, then at Jake, then back at you.

“Uh-huh,” he said slowly. “The wind.”

Jake grinned wider.

Your professor exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

You nearly collapsed in relief, but Jake?

Jake was having way too much fun.

He leaned over, whispering in your ear, his voice low, teasing, smug.

“Baby, I think we’re getting too obvious.”

You resisted the urge to kick him under the desk.

From then on, every time you and Jake showed up late to class, looking like an absolute mess— Your professor just sighed, shook his head, and looked the other way.

fin.

-