#(rhett)

You had never liked going out in weather like this–not out of fear of course, it was just a little bit of rain, but it was more because of the mess that came afterward. Damp jeans, boots caked in mud, soaked hair, and sticky skin. And the inevitable guilt of calling Perry to haul Rhett and you home if the both of you overdid it. Which often happened when the both of you went out together, because there was something about being in each other's company that made the hours slip away unnoticed and the beer refills blur into a haze of multiple glasses.

So when those first droplets hit glass, Rhett didn’t hesitate to pivot your plans. He turned off the main road and ducking into a nearby gas station, with the rain hammering the tin awning above the pumps. Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of old coffee and freezer coolant. He had grabbed a six-pack from one of the fridges, the cardboard cold and slick against his palm as he paid and rushed back to his truck to make his way to your place. He had checked his phone to see if you had messaged but there wasn’t anything from you, or from any of his girls that assumed his night would be free for him to come over–which was a relief.

He drove slowly down the rain-slicked road, with the tires hissing against the water that pooled in shallow dips along the asphalt. The wipers kept their steady, rhythmic scrape, but the storm blurred the world into shifting shadows and the soft gold that scattered over the droplets from the streetlamps that he drove beneath.

Your street curved off from the main road, it was narrower and lined with a few old trees that bowed under the weight of the downpour, their leaves trembling with every gust of wind. The gravel driveway to your place was a little muddy, with puddles gathering in the ruts, but as he eased the truck in, the headlight steeped over the pale shape of your bungalow–small, a little weathered, but warm-looking against the storm.

The siding had been painted white years ago, but in the rain it gleamed silver, beads of water were chasing each other down toward the flowerbeds you’d let go wild this season. A single porch light glowed amber, catching the slick shine of the wooden steps and the faint sway of the two mismatched rocking chairs you had thrifted from a yard sale last spring that you had begged Rhett to carry. The porch roof kept the worst of the rain off them, but he couldn’t help but smell the damp scent of wet wood, and warmed soil.

Rhett parked beside the steps of the porch, killed the engine, and grabbed the six-pack from the passenger seat. The cardboard was already damp from the rain, but the cold glass of the bottle bit into his fingers as he exited the cab and jogged up the steps. The sound of rain on the roof almost deafening him now that he was up close. He gave three quick knocks before pushing the door open, knowing you never locked it–which was something he had given you grief over more than once.

”Y/N! It’s just me,” He called, stepping inside.

The shift in temperature was immediate, as the warmth of your place wrapped around him like a blanket. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and butter–like something had just been baking recently–layered over the softer, constant scent that he could only describe as you…Sweet cotton, almost close to candy, he never could put his finger on what it was that you used that made you smell this way, but he knew that you carried it everywhere you went. The living room opened right from the door, cozy and mismatched which always made him feel like he had stepped into somewhere safe. The honeyed wood floors creaked faintly under his boots, a faded quilt was tossed across the back of the corduroy couch, and the coffee table you owned was scattered with paperbacks and a couple of half-melted candles that you lit whenever someone was over. The rain outside made the light inside feel richer, and the golden glow from your floor lamp pooled warmly across the room.

From the kitchen, he heard the faint clink of glass on your counter before you appeared. Your oversized t-shirt hung loose over your frame, the thin cotton dipping off one shoulder and brushing high on your thighs. Beneath it, he caught the outline of soft, pale shorts when you moved. Your hair was a bit messy, and your skin had a slight sheen that told him you had been near the heat of the stove–or you were washing dishes.

When your eyes landed on him, then on the six-pack in his hand your mouth curved into that slow, easy smile he had always liked a little too much.

”Oh, you know me so well, Abbott,” You complimented, padding toward him, your bare feet sticking against the hardwood, “And…You got my favourite.” You joked, taking the pack of beer from his hands. The cardboard bent against your nimble fingers, as beads of condensation began to run down over your knuckles, dripping onto the floor. Rhett’s grin deepened, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

”I knew you wouldn’t have wanted to go out,” He commented, voice warm and low over the soft percussion of rain against the roof, “So I figured we might as well make the most of it…And we won’t have to call Perry.” You huffed out a little laugh as you turned back toward the kitchen, hips swaying a bit, drawing Rhett’s eyes to the hem of your shirt, right where the skin of your thighs disappeared beneath the fabric.

“That’s true. I don’t think he would be a happy camper if he had to drag his ass out of bed to come get us in this weather.” You replied, while ripping open the cardboard. Rhett shrugged out of his jacket and hung it carefully by the door, the thud of his boots following closely behind as he stepped out of them, placing them on the mat so the water wouldn’t bleed into the wood. Droplets of water still clung to the ends of his pushed back, light brown hair, darkening it slightly, while a few of them tracked down the line of his neck and disappeared into the collar of his shirt.

You walked over to him, handing one of the dark brown bottles over, keeping one for yourself. You clinked glasses.

”To staying in,” You said, and the corners of his mouth twitched again–like he liked the sound of the idea more than he should’ve.

The evening settled into the easy cadence you’d known for years. The couch’s corduroy fabric was warm beneath you, the quilt tucked around your legs as the two of you swapped stories about the week. Every so often, you’d glance at the window, the rain blurring the outside world into shadow and streaks of light.

At some point, you flipped through the channels until you landed on a movie you’d both seen before. By then, you were each three beers in, the bottles standing like little sentinels on the coffee table. You shifted closer to him, drawn by the heat rolling off his body, and the faint scent of cedar and rain that was still clinging to him, creating this nice little bubble of warmth around him. His arm slipped over your shoulders easily–without a hint of discomfort–the weight of it was solid and familiar, but the slow drag of his thumb against your arm wasn’t–at least not in the way it felt tonight, especially with how it made you feel like he was causing heat to spread all over your skin any time he moved.

About halfway through the film, something between the both of you shifted. You couldn’t pin down what it was or how it happened–maybe it was the low buzz of alcohol, or the fact you hadn’t been touched in a month, or the way his laugh seemed to curl low in your stomach tonight, making it do somersaults in on itself. Whatever it was though, it coiled in the space between you, threading heat into every brush and every breath either one of you took.

You shifted against him slightly, a subtle movement that felt like more than just comfort-seeking. It was as if your body was testing the limits of how close you could get without it being obvious–though Rhett noticed, even if he didn’t catch on right away.

Your eyes began to wander, becoming hyperaware of him in a way you hadn’t been in years–maybe ever. Beneath the thin white cotton of his t-shirt, you could see the shadowed shape of his dark bull rider tattoo pressed faintly against the fabric, the ink stretching and shifting with each slow breath he took. The shirt clung in places where the rain from earlier still lingered in the fibers, outlining the lean muscle earned from long hours of ranch work–shoulders that rolled easy when he leaned back, and arms corded with slight definition from roping, hauling, and riding.

His chest rose and fell with the kind of measured slowness that came when he was comfortable, but you could see the faint tension in his posture now, the way the muscles along his side pulled under his shirt. Your gaze drifted downward almost without your permission, catching on the pale stretch of skin peeking out from where his t-shirt had ridden up throughout the night. It was warm-toned from the summer sun, faintly freckled, with a few light brown hairs that stopped just above the waistband of his jeans. The sight made something in your stomach pull tight, and your fingers itched with the ridiculous urge to touch it–just to see if the skin there felt as warm as it looked.

While you were busy taking him in, Rhett was doing the exact same to you. His gaze kept dropping to your mouth, lingering there longer than he should have, tracing the curve and fullness of your lips like he was memorizing them for his dreams. Then his eyes flicked lower, catching the edge of bare skin where the wide neck of your shirt had slipped further down, exposing the slope of your shoulder and the soft line of your collarbone. His thumb brushed over your arm again, and this time he noticed–really noticed–the smoothness of your skin under his fingertips, and the way it seemed to almost hum with heat.

Something in him twisted hard, and he didn’t know what to call it. Lust, maybe. Or the realization that he had wanted you far more than he had ever let himself admit, and now the moment was just…Here, pressing itself into the quiet space between you.

For half a second, he honestly wondered if he had fallen asleep during the movie and was dreaming the whole thing. Because you–warm against him, smelling faintly of that sweet cotton scent he could never quite place–felt too much like something he had made up in his head on long, restless nights. And if it was a dream, then it was cruel in how vivid it was–the heat of you seeping into him, the soft give of your body under his arm, the subtle weight of your hair brushing his shoulder…It was tortuous in a way.

Your fingers had begun to trace lazy, aimless paths over the soft cotton of his shirt, following the dips and curves of his ribs without really thinking about it. But when your gaze slid up, locking on his face–so close now you could count every little faded freckle, and every dark lash that framed that impossible shade of blue of his irises you knew the air between you had truly changed for good.

The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, heavy with the yeasty smell of beer and a very light tracing of mint–something that was distinctly Rhett in every way, and it made your pulse stutter in your throat. You’d never been this close to him without some joke between you, without the shield of playful distance, but now…Now there was nothing to hide behind. It was just the two of you with the movie echoing in the background and the pelting of rain echoing throughout the room.

His eyes flicked down to your lips–it was quick, but enough to be noticeable and send a hot flush racing up the back of your neck. Your throat went dry, and the words you had been half-forming crumbled before they could escape out between the both of you.

He didn’t seem to be having the same problem though. His voice broke the thick, molten silence, low and edged in silk–something that was unmistakable, “What’re you lookin’ at with all that lust?”

The deep rumble of his words vibrated under your hand where it rested against his chest, sending a little shiver through you. And when his other hand found the small of your back, rough fingers splayed wide and warm through the thin cotton of your shirt, it felt less like an idle touch and more like a quiet claim. Your lips parted, and the simplest truth slipped out before you could second-guess it.

”I’m looking at you…” You replied. His brow twitched, not in disbelief, but like the words hit somewhere just beneath his sternum, kick starting his heart, making it thump just a little harder. The corner of his mouth lifted slowly, and his thumb began to lazily drag against your back, each stroke coaxing you closer without actually pulling you toward him.

“Yeah?” He murmured, leaning in just a hair, enough that his nose nearly brushed yours, “And what exactly do you see, hm?” You swallowed hard, the golden lamplight catching in his hair, throwing warm glints over the drops still clinging there. You didn’t answer right away–maybe because you were still trying to remember how to breathe, or maybe because you were thinking about how easy it would be to just close the space and press your mouth to his.

His tongue swept slowly over his bottom lip, the subtle movement catching the lamplight in a way that made your throat tighten, and your stomach turn. You followed the motion without meaning to, your eyes locked there as if you could feel the damp trace from across the breath of space. His hand left your back, his warm fingers trailing upward until they curled gently around the back of your head, fingertips disappearing into your hair. The weight of his touch was deliberate–not forceful, nor hesitant–just enough to keep you a mouth away.

A small, crooked smirk tugged onto your lips, and you lifted your head ever so slightly.

”I see a cowboy who looks like he’s about to kiss me,” You murmured, you sounded so daring in those moments even though your mind was screaming at you to retreat. You didn’t understand what was coming over you, but when you heard him let out a low, amused huff, you thought he was going to pop the bubble of sweetness and flirtation, to reveal the truth of what was happening. But then he smiled a bit.

”Guess I shouldn’t keep you waitin’, then.” Before you could say another word he leaned in, closing the final inch of space with a slow, certain press of his lips to yours. It was small, almost tentative at first–like he was tasting the moment before fully committing–but the warmth of it seeped into you instantly, stealing the air from your lungs. His lips were soft but sure, the faint drag of stubble brushing your skin, and the heat of his breath spilled into the little space between kisses as he pulled back just far enough to search your face for any sort of hesitance. Your lips parted, your chest rising and falling faster than you wanted to admit.

Your gaze broke from his briefly, as you swallowed, the motion tight in your throat, and then surged forward again–closing the gap on your own terms this time. Your lips met his more firmly, your nose brushing his as you shifted closer, the fabric of your shirt whispering against his when your body pressed to his chest.

His hand at the back of your head flexed slightly, deepening the kiss, and you felt a low, involuntary sound rumble out of him–half a groan, half a sigh, muffled between your mouths. The sound alone made your skin prickle with heat. You moved without thinking, your knee brushing his thigh as you shifted until you could climb onto his lap. The couch dipped under the change in weight, your thighs bracketing his hips. The position pulled you closer still, the press of your bodies aligning so that you could feel every slow inhale he took.

The kiss turned molten without either of you meaning to–it was still slow, but deeper now, lips parting slightly, the faint taste of beer lingering as your tongues brushed in a fleeting, electric touch. His thumb stroked the nape of your neck as he kissed you again and again, each one lingering just long enough to make the next feel inevitable.

Your hips rolled in a slow, deliberate drag against him, the rough denim of his jeans catching just enough against the center of your shorts to make your breath stutter. Beneath you, you felt him–hardening against the press of your body–and the small, needy sound that escaped you was matched perfectly by a low groan from his chest. The two of you broke apart for just a second, panting lightly against each other's lips. His blue eyes locked on yours, heavy-lidded and heated, before his mouth curved in a knowing smirk.

”You like how that feels?” He murmured, you breath hitching in your throat as you reached up to cradle his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing lightly along the warm stubble on his cheeks, feeling the subtle flex of his jaw beneath your touch, “You like what you’re doin’ to me?” He added, his words edged with that lazy, dangerous drawl that always managed to tangle something deep inside you.

Before you could answer, he leaned up, pressing a soft kiss just below your jaw–right where your pulse jumped against him. Your breath caught, and your spine arched as you tilted your head back, baring your neck to him in a wordless invitation.

”Didn’t know I wielded so much power over Casanova Abbott,” You teased, your voice breathy despite the playful lilt. You felt his lips curl into a smile against your skin, the faint tickle of his breath before his teeth grazed you with a teasing nip at the column of your throat.

”I’m a simple man,” He mumbled into you, his words vibrating against your flesh. A soft laugh escaped from your mouth, though it dissolved into a shiver as your fingers slid into his light brown strands of hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. You rocked your hips forward again, harder this time, pressing yourself more firmly against him. The friction made both of you gasp, his hands gripping your hips for a moment as if to steady himself before they began to wander.

His mouth trailed lower, following the path your shirt left bare–placing kisses that were wet and slow, lips brushing over the slope of your shoulder before dipping lower to catch the top edge of your collarbone between his teeth, earning a sharp gasp from you. He licked over the spot to soothe it, the heat of his mouth branding your skin as his hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt.

His calloused fingertips grazed your ribs first, feather-light, tracing upward until they flattened against the warm skin of your back. He pulled away just enough to meet your gaze, the heat there flickering with something softer–checking in, giving you the chance to stop this if you wanted to. Thinking that maybe you would come to your senses.

”Can I take this off?” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. You didn’t hesitate, nodding immediately.

”Yeah,” You breathed. His hands squeezed your sides, before shimmying the shirt upward with slow, careful movements, his knuckles grazing the sides of your breasts as the fabric rose. The way his gaze never left your face made the air feel even heavier between you.

The shirt cleared your head in one smooth motion, the soft cotton tossed carelessly to the side. His eyes dropped instantly, and for a moment, he just looked at you.

The warm lamplight painted your bare skin in gold, making the gentle curves and lines of your body look almost unreal. His gaze caught on your breast–supple and full, the cool air in the room having already drawn your nipples tight. They strained for attention, and the sight made something low in his throat break free, a sharp swallow following as if he was trying to find a little bit of self control before touching you.

His hands came up first, broad and calloused, tracing lightly over the soft swell of each breast. His fingertips skimmed over the sensitive peaks, just enough to make goosebumps race across your skin. You shivered, arching subtly into the warmth of his touch, a quiet hum escaping you as his thumbs brushed slowly back and forth over your hardened nipples.

”Rhett…” You breathed.

”That’s it…” He murmured, the praise almost to himself, “Lookin’ so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He slid his hands down from your breasts to your hips, his palms heavy and warm as they settled just above the waistband of your black cotton shorts. His thumbs pressed in gently, coaxing your body forward. You obeyed without thinking, rolling your hips against him, dragging yourself over the thick ridge in his jeans. The movement pulled a deep groan from him, his eyes flicking back up to yours with a heat that made your stomach tighten.

Then he leaned in.

His tongue swept slowly across one taut nipple, warm and wet, and the sudden contrast from the cool air made your breath catch. His mouth closed over you fully, sucking deep until his lips pulled at you with an obscene wet sound. A soft gasp escaped your throat, your head tipping back slightly as his tongue worked against you, swirling and lapping before dragging over the peak in slow, deliberate circles. When his teeth caught gently, nipping just enough to send a quick sting through you, you jolted and gripped him tighter–one hand tangled in the back of his hair, tugging until he groaned around you, the other anchoring at the strong side of his neck.

“Fuck–” He breathed against you, hot and wet, “ Could stay here all night.” His voice vibrated through your chest as he sucked again, harder this time, pulling another sharp gasp from your lips. His spit was already slicking your skin, drooling past the swell of your breast as he pulled off just to lick it back up. Then he moved to the other, his mouth closing over it immediately, sucking until his cheeks hollowed. The wet sound was filthy in the quiet room, made filthier by the faint moan that broke free from your throat.

“Look at you rockin’ against me like you can’t help yourself,” He rasped between sucks, guiding your hips with firm pressure from his hands. “Gettin’ me harder with every fuckin’ move.”

You ground into him harder, hips rolling in a rhythm he set with the push and pull of his hands on your sides. His mouth never stopped–licking, sucking, letting his spit drip and smear until your nipples were slick and shining in the lamplight. Every time he nipped, he soothed after, lapping gently with his tongue, murmuring low, ragged praise against your skin. Your grip on his hair tightened with every wave of heat that shot down your spine, and his head tilted into your pull like he craved it, groaning into your chest.

His hands slid down from your sides, palms spreading wide as they cupped over the curve of your ass. The hardness of his grip was almost searing, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. He squeezed then shifted you against the unyielding line of his cock again. The movement wrung a sound from you that was half gasp, half moan, your thighs tightening instinctively around his hips. The rough denim caught against you in just the right way, sending little shocks up your spine.

“Rhett…” You breathed, but it came out sounding more like a plea than you intended.

He groaned low in his chest, still working you over him with steady pressure, his mouth dragging hot and wet over the tops of your breasts before he pulled back just enough to look at you.

Something bold sparked in your voice before you could stop it–words spilling out in a low, breathless tone. “If you’re trying to ruin me, cowboy, you’re doing a damn good job.” His brows ticked up, the corner of his mouth curling into that dangerous, knowing smirk you’d seen when he was about to win a bet. He gave your ass another squeeze, leaning in so his voice hit low against your ear.

“Is that what you want? Hmm?” He murmured. You nodded immediately, not trusting your voice, the need clawing up your throat too strong to disguise. That was all it took. He stood, shifting his weight so easily it was like you weighed nothing, then adjusted until your back hit the couch cushions. The quilt beneath you bunched slightly, the fabric warm from where you’d been sitting together.

Rhett’s gaze dropped as he reached down between your legs. The heel of his hand pressed first, then his fingers followed, rubbing over the damp patch already soaking through your shorts. The contact made your hips jerk without permission, your breath hitching hard.

“Didn’t know you were so sensitive…” He drawled, his voice low and edged in heat. His fingers worked a little harder over the wet fabric, the friction maddening. “You always get this wet when I’m close to you? Or is this all from grindin’ on me like the needy girl you are?” You arched your back a little more, your head tipping back into the cushion as heat pooled hot and insistent between your legs with the pressure he was placing against your core.

“Don’t tease me, Rhett…” You shot back, your voice breaking just enough to make his smirk widen.

That toothy grin appeared, wicked and smug, before he murmured, “Whatever you say.”

In one swift motion, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugged them down, peeling the fabric away from your thighs before tossing them off to the side. The cool air hit your skin, making you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the molten weight of his gaze.

He shifted lower, pressing his broad shoulders behind your thighs to push them up and open until you were spread wide for him. His eyes drank you in–every inch, every detail–like he’d been starving for the sight.

The first kiss landed just above your hipbone. The next pressed into the soft skin of your inner thigh. He worked his way in with maddening patience, his mouth warm, lips soft but purposeful. Every place he touched was everywhere but where you needed him most. Your hips shifted restlessly under him, trying to angle yourself toward his mouth, chasing the heat of his lips. When he still didn’t give you what you wanted, your hand slid down, threading into his hair with a firmer grip.

“Rhett…” You warned, tugging until his head tipped back just enough for your eyes to meet. “I said don’t tease.” He let out a small, breathy laugh, the kind that sent a ripple of anticipation through your body.

“Okay…Okay,” He said, voice dipping into something rougher. “I won’t tease anymore.” The moment the words left his mouth, Rhett sank lower, dragging the heat of his breath over the bare skin between your thighs before pressing his mouth to you like he’d been starving for it. There was nothing tentative about it–his lips sealed over you, tongue pushing deep through your folds before flattening and dragging upward in a slow, filthy stroke that had your hips jolting up from the couch cushions.

“Fuck…” You hissed, your voice sharp and breathless as your fingers fisted in his hair.

Rhett groaned into you, the sound vibrating against your swollen clit as his tongue swept another hard circle over it, then dipped down again to lap messily at the slick heat pouring out of you. He didn’t care about finesse–he wanted you to soak him, wanted to drown himself in your taste. Every wet lick and suck came with a deep, hungry noise that told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

“Goddamn, you taste good,” He rasped against you before sealing his mouth over your clit again, sucking until your thighs twitched against his ears. “Don’t you fuckin’ move–lemme eat you like I’m supposed to.” Your hips had a mind of their own, rocking up into his face, chasing the obscene slick sounds between you. He met you with equal force, tongue pushing harder, nose brushing your mound as he buried himself deeper, one arm locked under your thigh to keep you open for him. His other hand pressed firmly into the top of your hip, guiding your rhythm so you ground against his mouth exactly how he wanted.

You could barely get the words out between shaky breaths. “Rhett…Fuck…You’re so good at that–oh, my god–” That earned you another low, pleased groan that thrummed against your clit, his tongue circling and flicking with a fervor that had your vision hazing at the edges. Your hand clenched tighter in his hair, pulling, but he only groaned louder, sucking harder like your desperation was the fuel he needed.

Then his free hand left your hip, sliding down between your legs. Two thick, calloused fingers pressed to your entrance, stroking through the mess he’d made before pushing into you, slow but firm until you clenched around the intrusion.

“Jesus–look at that,” He muttered against you, his voice rough and muffled by your skin. “So fuckin’ tight for me, drippin’ all over my face. You like that? Like my fingers inside you while I eat your pretty pussy?” A choked moan ripped out of you as he curled those fingers just right, his tongue still working relentless circles over your clit. Your hips rolled up helplessly into him now, the wet slap of his mouth on you obscene, your arousal slicking down his chin and over his knuckles as he pumped into you. Your thighs started to tremble. Your breath came in sharp, high whines. You were twitching under him, barely able to keep your body still.

“Rhett…Holy fuck, I’m gonna cum,” You gasped, your voice breaking as your nails dug into his scalp.

“Yeah, you are,” He growled, sucking harder and curling his fingers again, stroking deep and fast as your body seized up around him. “Cum for me, make a fuckin’ mess all over my mouth.” It hit you fast, heat detonating in your core before ripping outward, your back arching off the couch as you cried out. Your thighs clamped around his head, but Rhett didn’t slow–if anything, he groaned into you, dragging his tongue through the pulsing ache and sucking you through every aftershock.

When you finally started to come down, shaking and gasping, he didn’t stop until he’d licked up every bit of slick he could get from you. His mouth was wet and shiny, chin slick, lips swollen as he pulled his fingers free and shoved them between his own lips. He sucked them clean, groaning low in his throat at the taste.

“Been missin’ out on this the whole time?” He murmured, smirking as he licked his bottom lip. “Should’ve done this sooner.”

You didn’t even think–you reached straight for his belt, yanking it open with a clink, dragging the zipper down as his cock strained visibly against the dark denim. He helped, shoving his jeans down his hips with quick, impatient tugs, and peeled his shirt over his head in the same movement.

The lamplight caught on his skin, painting lean muscle in gold. You’d seen him shirtless before, but not like this–not with his chest flushed and rising fast, freckles scattered across his shoulders, the deep shadows of muscle carved from work and riding. Your eyes dragged lower, catching the obscene outline straining against his boxer briefs, and your mouth went dry with want. All you wanted was to get your hands on him.

He leaned over you, bracing one palm beside your head as the other cupped your jaw, his lips brushing along your neck in a slow, hungry trail. His mouth found yours again, wet and deep, his taste mingling with your own as you slid your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.

You wrapped your fingers around him–hot, thick, and pulsing hard in your palm–and felt him groan into your mouth, his hips jerking forward into your grip like he couldn’t help it.

Your hand worked around him in a slow, deliberate stroke, your palm fitting perfectly around the thick weight of him. He was hot and hard, the velvet skin stretched tight over his erection, pulsing faintly in your grip. You felt him twitch when you tightened your fingers just a little, your thumb grazing along the ridge before gliding up to smear the bead of pre-cum over the flushed tip. Rhett broke from your mouth on a groan, his forehead tipping briefly to yours.

“Not fair that you get to tease and I can’t…” He breathed, voice gravel and heat. You hummed in mock sympathy, letting your lips brush his in a soft, teasing kiss.

“It’s payback, actually.” Your voice was low, almost smug, even as your hand gave another languid twist at the top, thumb dragging in slow circles across the sensitive head. His jaw flexed, his breath hitching when you squeezed him again.

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, Y/N.” You let the teasing drag on for one more slow stroke before your fingers hooked under the waistband of his boxer briefs. You pushed them down over his hips, the elastic snapping lightly against his skin before he took over, shoving them the rest of the way down and kicking them off. They landed somewhere on the floor with his jeans, forgotten.

His erection pulsed, the head red and swollen like it was begging to be seated inside you. He was huge, and you were kind of pleased that the rumors were true, even though you never really paid attention to them. Rhett had got around with a lot of people who mingled within your social circles, so it wasn’t much of a surprise seeing that he was this big.

He leaned forward, bracing one hand on the armrest above you, while his other cupped your jaw again, kissing you deeply–open-mouthed and messy, like he couldn’t get enough. While his tongue slid against yours, he released your jaw and let his hand drop between you, curling around his cock to guide himself.

You felt the blunt, hot head drag between your folds, the slick heat of you coating him instantly. He moved slowly at first, gliding along your clit before dipping down to your entrance, pressing in just enough to make you gasp before sliding back up to tease you again. Your eyes locked on his, your breath catching when he did it a second time

”Rhett…” You breathed, your voice somewhere between a plea and a warning. He smirked faintly, his forehead pressing to yours.

“You’re so fuckin’ turned on,” He rasped, dragging through your one more time before lining himself up properly, “Want you to look me in the eyes while I’m inside you, Y/N.” You held his gaze, feeling the stretch start as he pushed in. He sank deep in one slow, steady thrust until his hips met yours, filling you completely. The heat and size of him stole your breath, your nails already digging lightly into his shoulders.

“Fuck–” You gasped, your voice breaking. “You feel so good, Rhett…Filling me up like this.” He groaned low in his chest, his arm sliding beneath your neck to cradle you, holding you close as he pulled out and thrusted back in hard. The sound of your bodies meeting echoed under the steady drum of rain outside, joined by the mingled moans spilling from both of you.

You scratched down his back in a slow drag, your nails leaving faint, stinging trails that made him grunt against your ear. His mouth found your collarbone, biting down just enough to make you gasp before sucking over the sting, his breath hot against your skin.

“Take it, Y/N.” He muttered, his voice rough and uneven as he thrust into you again, deeper this time, “Take all of me.” Your thighs tightened around his hips, pulling him closer, forcing him to bottom out with every snap forward. The pressure built fast, his pelvis grinding against your clit with each deep stroke, the slick sounds between you growing wetter and filthier.

“Rhett…God, don’t stop,” You moaned, your hands gripping him harder, one sliding up to tangle in his hair and pull his face back up to yours. You kissed him messy, breathing into his mouth between moans. “You’re perfect…Fuck, you’re so perfect.” He groaned into the kiss, thrusting harder now, the couch creaking beneath you as his arm under your neck tightened, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“Gonna make you cum for me…Feel you squeeze around me.” Your head tipped back, your voice breaking on his name as the pleasure surged up and spilled over. You clenched hard around him, your back arching into the support of his arm as your orgasm hit–hot, intense, and unrelenting.

Rhett cursed low and harsh, his hips snapping faster, harder, chasing his own release as you pulsed around him. A moment later he groaned deep in his chest, shoving himself all the way in and holding there as he came, spilling into you in hot, thick waves.

He stayed buried inside you, breathing ragged against your jaw, his weight pressing you into the couch as the last pulses of pleasure worked through you both. You felt him dripping out of you almost immediately, the slick heat of him sliding down you.

Neither of you moved for a long moment, but you had known that everything had changed between the both of you.

————————

The morning after your hookup, Rhett had cooked you breakfast. You remembered distinctly because you were expecting him to have slipped out before sunrise to get back to his place so that he could start the day’s ranch work with his father like nothing had happened. You knew his routine, he had told you that’s what he normally did with the girls he hooked up with, so you thought you were going to get the same treatment.

Instead, the quilt from the couch was still draped around your shoulders when you stirred awake, with faint clatters and the low scrape of a spatula echoing through the living room. You pulled the quilt against you as your legs swung over the edge of the couch, hunting blindly on the floor for your shorts and t-shirt. The soft cotton felt cool when you pulled it over your head, the familiar shape grounding you as you padded barefoot toward the smell of bacon and coffee.

The air was warm and thick with the scent of eggs, smoky meat, and–faintly under it all–the cinnamon sugar of the leftover buns you’d made two days ago, the same ones Rhett had devoured like they were his last meal. Now the smell mingled with that golden morning light, sunlight pouring hard and bright through the east-facing kitchen window so that you had to lift a hand to rub the grit of sleep from your eyes before you could see him clearly.

”What’re you still doing here?” You asked, your voice scratchy from the dryness in your throat, curiosity knitting through your words. When your vision finally adjusted, you had to pause. He was standing at the stove in nothing but his jeans, the button still loose at the waistband, bare back and shoulders catching the light. Every freckle, every line of muscle, every fresh mark you’d left last night–faint red crescents of your nails along his shoulder blades, the bruise-dark bites at the curve of his neck–were on full display. He glanced over his shoulder at you, a flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Just makin’ you some breakfast,” He said, flipping the last strip of bacon onto a paper towel-lined plate. “Thought we could also talk about last night as well.” You let out a groan–not entirely from exasperation, if you were being honest it was more from the dread of the impending conversation that was coming–and made your way to the table. Sitting down slowly, your thighs and hips still sore from the way he’d driven into you, each step last night’s heat ghosting faintly through your body.

“What do you want to talk about?” You asked, leaning back against the chair as you watched him work. Rhett didn’t answer right away, focused instead on plating up breakfast. He divided the eggs, bacon, toast, and cinnamon buns with a precision that almost felt deliberate, then set one plate in front of you and one in front of himself. The silverware clinked lightly as he handed you a fork and knife before sinking into the chair across from you.

“Well…” He started, eyes flicking from his plate to yours, then finally settling on you, “I just wanted to make sure we’re still okay. I know sex can make friendships awkward and stuff, and I wanted to check in.” His tone was careful, almost tentative, but there was weight behind it–like he was bracing for an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted.

You picked up a piece of bacon from your plate, the warm strip still glistening faintly with grease, and took a quick bite. The salt and smokiness bloomed over your tongue, rich and satisfying, before you chewed and swallowed.

“We’re fine…” You said at last, your tone casual even though your fingers were idly fiddling with the strip of bacon like it was buying you time. “It was really good, actually.” Rhett let out a little laugh at that, a smile breaking across his face as the faintest blush spread over his cheeks. The sunlight from the kitchen window caught in his hair, giving him that warm, haloed look you hated noticing.

“Yeah? You liked it?” He asked, his voice pitched somewhere between cocky and genuinely curious. You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair with a shake of your head.

“Don’t let that boost your ego. You already knew this, I’m pretty sure.” He shrugged like the admission still pleased him anyway, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

“I did,” He agreed, spearing a forkful of eggs and shoving them into his mouth, chewing slowly, “But it’s high praise comin’ from you.” You took another bite of bacon, letting the crunch give you a moment before arching a brow at him.

“Why?” You asked.

He hummed around his next bite of toast, swallowed, then replied, “’Cause you’d tell me the truth if I wasn’t. Most of the girls I get with just don’t wanna be mean, and while they probably aren’t lying you couldn’t know for sure. Y’know what I’m saying?” You nodded, the faintest smirk pulling at your lips. A beat of silence passed between you, the only sounds were the faint clink of silverware against ceramic and the low hum of the fridge. The quiet wasn’t awkward–more like it gave your thoughts too much room to move around. Inevitably, they drifted back to last night: the weight of his body pressing you into the couch cushions, the way his mouth had claimed yours like he was starved for it, the easy way his hands had guided you wherever he wanted you.

The memory of his voice in your ear–low, rough, coaxing you apart for him–lingered like an echo in your bones. How careful he’d been at the start, how quickly it had shifted into something hotter, heavier, until you were sure the two of you had crossed a line that neither of you could walk back from.

Rhett Abbott, for all his recklessness, had been deliberate with you. He’d read you, adapted to you, made sure every touch was angled toward your pleasure until you were unraveling in his hands. He was…A rare lover. And sitting across from him now, with the smell of bacon and coffee curling through the warm air, that truth felt dangerous in ways you didn’t want to examine too closely.

“You look like you’re caught in your thoughts…Everythin’ alright?” Rhett’s voice cut through the haze in your head, pulling you back into the kitchen. You blinked, your fork still hovering above your plate, and licked your lips before meeting his gaze.

”Just thinking about last night.” You admitted, not bothering to sugarcoat it. The smirk that bloomed on his face was of pure joy–lazy, confident, and just a little smug even.

”…You want to do it again, don’t you?” A laugh slipped from you before you could stop it, the sound light but edged with truth. You sighed, leaning back in your chair.

“Yeah, kind of…Maybe without the beer in my system I’ll be able to give you some constructive criticism if I find anything wrong with what you’re putting down.” He let out a little huff of air, shaking his head a bit.

“Hmm…Okay. I’ll bite. Should I be prepared for this to be a more…Regular thing then? Like a friends-with-benefits arrangement?” You tilted your head, lips quirking up a bit.

”We don’t have to put labels on it…But I guess it would be classified as that.” He nodded once, like he’d just made some private agreement with himself, and took a few more forkfuls of eggs before pushing back from the table. The chair scraped lightly against the floor as he stood, still chewing.

With his mouth half-full, he mumbled, “Let’s do it in the shower, so afterwards we can wash up.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face, nor the way your pulse quickened in anticipation. “What a perfect idea.”

———————

Over the course of time, the arrangement became easier to manage. Easier in the sense that you’d learned the rhythms of it–his texts that came in late, sometimes not until the moon was already high; the way he’d slip into your space with that lazy grin, smelling faintly of cologne and hay and whatever bar he’d been at before ending up here. Easier in the sense that you stopped pretending it was anything more than what it was: a steady outlet for your sexual frustration, a guarantee that whenever you needed to be touched, Rhett would give it to you the way only he could.

But “easier” didn’t mean simple.

Because of course, putting yourself into the situation of consistently having sex with Rhett Abbott only made you want him more. It wasn’t even just the sex–though God, that was enough to ruin you all on its own–it was the way he moved through your space like he belonged there, the casual little acts that felt almost domestic if you looked at them sideways. Stealing sips from your coffee. Grumbling at your leaky faucet before crouching down to fix it. Turning up your porch light without being asked when he left late at night.

You’d known going into this there was a risk your feelings would grow teeth. You’d known, and you’d told yourself you could control it. And maybe you did, for a while. You came to terms with the fact that this–half-warmth, half-distance–was all you could get from him. That he wasn’t yours to keep.

It didn’t mean you weren’t jealous, though.

Especially when you’d see him leaning against the fence at the rodeo, smiling at some girl you didn’t know, or when he’d disappear for a week with vague excuses as to why he couldn’t come over to hook up. You swallowed it down, every time, because that was the deal. No questions. No claims. Just a friendship with sex involved.

That was until everything came to a head one night.

You were sprawled across your bed, body still loose and heavy from the second round Rhett had wrung out of you–and himself. The sheets clung damp to your skin, the scent of sweat and sex clinging to the air. He was stretched out beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest still rising and falling in that slow, sated rhythm you’d grown addicted to.

That was when his phone buzzed.

It was nothing at first–just the vibration against the nightstand. But it kept going, the screen lighting up and catching the corner of your vision. You weren’t even trying to look, not really, but your gaze caught on the preview of the message anyway.

“Had so much fun with you on our date. Can’t wait to do it again.” Followed by a winking emoji.

Your body went ice cold.

You stared at the words until they blurred, the crack in your chest starting small and splintering deeper with each beat of your heart. You’d known–of course you’d known–that he had other women. But seeing it there, stamped in glowing letters beside another girl’s name while you were still catching your breath from letting him have every inch of you… That was different.

It made your lungs feel too tight.

You turned yourself away from him before he could lower his arm and see your face, before he could read the flicker of hurt you couldn’t quite smother.

Your eyes fixated on the darkened window. The moonlight bled pale through the thin curtain, just enough to catch the reflection of your own face–flat, unreadable if only because you were trying so hard to keep it that way.

Behind you, the mattress dipped as he rolled onto his side. You heard the faint scrape of his palm over the nightstand, then the muted thump of him finding his phone. A swipe, the soft buzz of a new notification opening, and then the light, rhythmic taps of him typing. Your stomach sank with every one.

The sound of it–his thumbs dancing over glass like it was the most natural thing in the world–felt louder than your own heartbeat. Louder than the blood rushing in your ears.

You stared harder out the window.

A quiet click announced the phone locking again, followed by the low sigh that escaped him, unbothered, almost lazy. The same sigh you’d heard after he finished, like the evening was tying itself up neatly in a bow. Except now, all you could think about was how he couldn’t even wait to be away from you to message her back.

The truth hit sharp and cold–you’d truly become this outlet for him. A body that would take him in, no questions, no claims, no hesitation. And maybe that had been fine when you told yourself you were in on the deal, but now…Now it felt like something uglier. Something that stuck to your skin, that settled like grit in your chest.

You thought about the other girls. The ones who had been just as warm in his hands, just as breathless under his weight, before being shuffled off into the quiet blur of his past. You’d told yourself you were different–your friendship, your history, it gave you a leg up. But that shame crept in anyway, curling tight in your ribs, whispering that you were just another name on his list. Another warm body to fill the space until someone else caught his attention.

You were still deep in that spiral when you felt the shift in the bed. The rustle of sheets. Then the slow, inevitable slide of his arm across the mattress until it curved around your waist, drawing you back toward him. His chest pressed to your spine, his breath warm against the shell of your ear.

You groaned–not from comfort–and rolled your shoulders forward, trying to ease his arm away without saying anything. He hummed, amused, like it was a game.

“Hey…What’s wrong? You don’t want me to touch you now?” His voice carried that joking lilt, the kind that usually made you smile. Tonight, it grated.

He moved in again, trying to mold himself against your back, but you pushed forward once more, muttering, “Stop, Rhett.” Something in your tone made him freeze. The lightness bled right out of him. You could feel the pause, the way his body went still behind you.

“What happened?” He asked after a beat, quieter now, no tease in it. “What did I do?” His voice was careful, but there was a weight in it–like he already knew the answer wasn’t going to be something he liked. You bit your lip hard, trying to swallow the sting building in your throat, but it broke anyway, your voice quiet and unsteady.

“I think we need to end this.” The words hung there, heavy and bitter. The bed shifted almost immediately as Rhett’s arm slid off your waist. The absence of his touch left a strange cold along your skin.

“What?” His voice was sharp in its disbelief, like he was sure he’d heard you wrong, as he leaned over you. “Wh–Y/N…Are you crying?” You clenched your eyes shut, swiping your palms over your cheeks quickly, like it would erase the heat there.

“No,” You lied, your voice breaking on the single syllable.

“Bullshit.” His weight shifted again, and you felt the dip of the mattress as he sat up fully behind you. “What the hell’s goin’ on?” You turned onto your back, staring up at the ceiling instead of meeting his eyes, your chest tight enough to hurt.

“I just…I can’t do this anymore.” Rhett’s jaw worked, his brows pulling together.

“Do what anymore?”

“This,” You said, waving a hand vaguely between you. “The sneaking in, the sneaking out. Pretending it’s nothing.”

“That’s the deal we made,” he shot back instantly, like that settled it.

“Yeah,” You replied, sitting up now, the duvet slipping from your shoulders. “But I didn’t think the deal meant you’d be answering other girls while you’re still in my bed.”

His expression flickered–guilt, then irritation–but he recovered fast, his voice taking on an edge, “You knew I wasn’t just with you.”

“Knowing and seeing it are two different things, Rhett,” You snapped, heat rushing to your face. “Seeing it while I can still feel you inside me basically is–God–it’s humiliating.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re makin’ it sound worse than it is.”

“Worse than it is?” Your laugh was sharp, humorless. “You want me to spell it out? You fuck me and then text her. Right after. Like I’m just–just some stop along your route before you move on to the next one.”

“That’s not fair,” He muttered, but it didn’t have much bite.

“No, what’s not fair is you acting like I’m supposed to be fine with it. Like my feelings are something I can just turn off because you don’t want to deal with them.” He straightened at that, some of his frustration bubbling up to the surface.

“I never promised you more than this, Y/N. You agreed–hell, you were the one who said no labels.”

“I know what I said,” You fired back, “But maybe I thought I could handle it. Maybe I thought we meant more than you treating me like a convenient lay.” His jaw tightened, and for a second he almost looked hurt–but then it hardened into something defensive.

“You’re twistin’ it. You think I just show up here because I’m bored? You think I’d keep comin’ back if it was just about gettin’ off?”

“Wouldn’t you?” You replied back without missing a beat. “Seems to be working out pretty well for you.” He shook his head, standing now like he couldn’t sit still under the weight of the conversation.

“You’re puttin’ words in my mouth.”

“I’m putting reality in front of you,” You snapped, matching his rise by getting onto your knees, letting them dig into the mattress, “You can’t have it both ways, Rhett. You can’t keep me here, keep touching me, fucking me, and then act like I’m nothing to you the second you leave.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, pacing a step toward the dresser before spinning back toward you.

“Then what do you want me to say, huh? You want me to say I’ll quit seein’ other people? That I’ll just…Stop my whole life ‘cause you caught a glimpse of a damn text?” The heat in your chest spiked.

“No, Rhett. I want you to admit that this isn’t just nothing to you. That maybe I’m not just another name on your list.” He froze at that, like you’d landed a hit–but then he blinked, shut it down, and looked away.

“I can’t do that,” He said finally, voice low, guarded. You stared at him, the answer slicing through what little hope you had left.

“Right. Because that would mean risking something real.” You scoffed.

“That would mean messin’ up what we already got,” He corrected, but there wasn’t much conviction behind it now, throwing in the towel, knowing that he couldn’t save this.

“What we’ve got is already fucked, Rhett. You’re just too scared to admit it.” His eyes snapped back to yours, anger flaring now, masking whatever was underneath, trying to bury the feelings that were laid on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out from his mouth.

“And you’re too damn stubborn to take what’s in front of you. I’m here, aren’t I? I keep showin’ up. Doesn’t that mean somethin’?”

“Not if you’re showing up for everyone else, too.” That landed, and you saw his jaw flex hard, his mouth opening like he was going to say something–something that might’ve cracked this whole thing open–but then he shut it again, exhaling sharp through his nose.

“Fine,” He said at last, voice clipped. “If you want to end it, we’ll end it.” You blinked, your throat tight.

“Just like that?” You asked in complete disbelief. He shrugged, but his eyes were too bright, too restless for it to be casual.

“Just like that.” The silence after was suffocating. Everything seemed to be louder in those moments, the sound of your breathing, the humming of your porch light outside, the sound of your heart beating in your ears–everything was amplified. He grabbed his jeans off the floor, yanking them on quickly, and putting his shirt on.

”Guess that’s settled, then.” You said, without looking at him. He stood there a moment longer, like he might change his mind, like he might say something–but instead he just grabbed his phone and shoved it into his pocket before heading for the door.

The slam rattled the frame.

And just like that, you were left on your own

——————————

After the argument, you and Rhett didn’t see each other for two months. You didn’t text. You didn’t call. Sometimes you’d pass by each other in town–at the feed store, in the grocery aisle, out by the rodeo grounds–but you didn’t so much as nod in each other’s direction, and it was mostly you enforcing that, Rhett practically went along with it and didn’t even try.

Perry had called once, asking what was going on, his voice carrying that brotherly mix of concern and curiosity. You’d given him vague answers, just enough to keep him from pressing too hard, but not enough to hide the truth. He was able to piece it together anyway–just from the way you dodged his questions, the way your voice thinned when Rhett’s name was even hinted at.

To say it was hard not seeing Rhett would be an understatement. Beneath the lust, beneath the sex, it had been your friendship that paid the steepest price. That quiet, unspoken thread of companionship between you had been ripped clean in two, and the absence of it was something you felt in the marrow of your bones, and throughout your days you spent without him.

You didn’t go out much during those two months. Not because you couldn’t face him–though the thought made your stomach churn–but because you weren’t ready to see him smiling at someone else the way he used to smile at you. You stayed in, buried yourself in work, let the nights pass you by in the same quiet humdrum rhythm.

But one evening, something in you snapped. Or maybe it wasn’t a snap–maybe it was just a slow, stubborn decision to stop sitting in your own self-pity. You showered, pulled on a pair of jeans that hugged your hips just right, a black corset shirt, and your cowgirl boots, and decided you’d go have a drink somewhere that wasn’t your kitchen.

That’s how you ended up at The Iron Hide.

The Iron Hide wasn’t much to look at from the outside–just a squat, weather-beaten building on the edge of town, with a faded sign that swung slightly in the evening breeze. The neon beer light in the window flickered like it was tired of doing its job, and the front steps sagged a little in the middle from years of boots stomping their way inside.

But inside…Well, inside was a different kind of world.

The air was warm and smelled of whiskey, cigarette smoke, and the faint tang of spilled beer that had seeped into the old wooden floorboards decades ago. A low hum of conversation rolled through the dim space, punctuated now and then by bursts of laughter or the crack of pool balls colliding from the back corner. The walls were lined with weathered photographs of rodeo champions, autographed in fading ink, alongside crooked shelves stacked with trophies that had long since lost their shine.

The bar itself was a long, scarred stretch of oak, its surface etched with the ghostly rings of a thousand drinks past. Behind it, bottles caught the warm amber glow from the overhead lights, their glass faces glinting like treasure. A jukebox near the dartboard played something slow and old–steel guitar sliding lazily through the speakers–and it set a kind of syrupy pace to the night.

It wasn’t glamorous, and it wasn’t trying to be. It was the kind of place where people came to drink without pretense, to let their voices get loud and their boots scuff up the floor without caring. The kind of place where you could disappear into the noise and the shadows if you wanted to, and that’s exactly what you planned on doing.

You asked for a gin and tonic without hesitation, craving something sharper than beer, something that would bite back when it slid over your tongue. The bartender–broad-shouldered, with hands as steady as a surgeon’s–had nodded and reached for the bottle of Tanqueray without a word, the faint clink of ice tumbling into the glass followed by the bright fizz of tonic. He topped it with a wedge of lime and slid it toward you with a practiced ease.

“Open a tab?” He’d asked, his voice a low hum against the background chatter.

“Yeah, thank you,” You’d replied, fishing your debit card from the worn leather of your wallet. His fingers brushed yours briefly when he took it, not lingering, just enough to let the cool air close in again as he stepped toward the register. With your drink in hand, you turned on your heel and took in the room. The air had that electric warmth of a bar in full swing–a rolling hum of voices layered with bursts of laughter, the clatter of cue balls from the pool table in the back, the jukebox murmuring a different song that sounded like the other guitar ballad you heard when you walked in from somewhere near the wall. Boots thudded against the scuffed floorboards, denim brushed denim as people moved past one another, and the glow of low lights made the amber in whiskey glasses gleam like honey.

You’d barely taken a sip of your drink when you caught the movement out of the corner of your eye–a man stepping out from the cluster by the dartboard.

He was cute in that easy, boyish way, with sun-browned skin and light brown hair that curled just slightly at the ends just where it met his shoulders. His jaw was square but softened by the warmth in his smile, a smile that revealed the faintest crookedness in one of his front teeth–something that only made him look more approachable. He had that same cowboy posture you knew too well: shoulders broad, stance loose but balanced like his boots had been worn into the earth a thousand times. The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened when he smiled at you, a little lopsided and genuine. He looked like an off brand version of Rhett, and maybe that was what made you enamoured by his approach.

“You play?” He asked, nodding toward the dartboard.

You laughed softly into the rim of your glass. “Not well.”

“That’s alright,” He said, tipping his chin toward the board again. “I could use a partner, good or bad…What do you say? Wanna play?” The gin fizzed pleasantly down your throat as you smiled back at him.

“Sure.” He led you over, the space by the dartboard tucked into a cozy corner of the bar where the light hit warmer, pooling golden on the wood-paneled wall. A few empty beer bottles lined the narrow shelf nearby, and the floor was marked with the faint scuffs of boots pivoting toward the board. He handed you a dart, his fingers brushing yours as he did.

“Alright, so…Show me what you’ve got.” You squared your shoulders, set your feet, and took aim. The dart wobbled pitifully through the air and landed nowhere near the center. You let out a groan, laughing despite yourself.

“Yeah…That’s about what I expected,” You said, shaking your head. He chuckled, stepping in closer.

“You’ve got the aim of a drunk raccoon. Here, let me show you.” You smirked, feeling the faint warmth of the gin starting to loosen you.

“Be my guest.” He moved behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him at your back. His hands were warm when they settled lightly over your hips, guiding you a half-step into what he clearly thought was a better stance.

“Feet a little farther apart,” He murmured, voice low but easy. One hand slid along your arm, fingers curling gently around your wrist as he lifted it into position. “Elbow up, eyes on the bullseye. Don’t overthink it–just breathe and let it go.” You let him guide you, your back brushing his chest every time you adjusted your weight. His palm lingered on your hip a second longer than it needed to, but you didn’t mind–it was light, teasing, and you weren’t in the mood to swat him away.

“There you go…That’s much better,” He said when you released the dart. It landed closer this time, and you let out a pleased hum.

“Guess you’re a good teacher,” You teased, glancing at him over your shoulder. He gave you that crooked smile again, the kind that lit his eyes from within.

“Guess you’re a good student,” He replied.

“Well, if you’re this good at teaching,” You said, voice dropping just enough to lace the words with suggestion, “I can only imagine what else you’re good at.” It made his grin widen, his teeth flashing under the golden light, and he leaned in just a touch–close enough that the faint scent of leather and whiskey clung between you. You laughed softly, taking a step back toward the shelf lined with empty bottles, your hips brushing his briefly as you reached for your drink. The lime caught your bottom lip on the next sip, tart and fresh over the lingering gin.

And that was when you felt it–the prickling sense of being watched.

From across the bar, in the amber haze of everything, Rhett’s eyes were on you. He was watching from his place at the far end of the bar, half in shadow, his eyes followed every inch of you with an intensity that made your skin warm even before his gaze traveled lower. He took in the black corset top–how the lace trim framed the curve of your chest, how the snug boning hugged your waist like it had been made for you. His stare lingered at the bare strip of skin it left when you shifted, then dipped down over the dark denim painted over your hips, the way the seams clung and pulled perfectly over the swell of your ass when you bent slightly to retrieve a dart.

It was enough to make his jaw tense. His throat went dry, and the only cure he could think of was the burn of a beer. He ordered one without taking his eyes off you, lashes lowering briefly when the bottle hit the counter in front of him. He took a long swallow, the bitter, cold liquid doing little to cool the heat thrumming through his chest.

The laughter–that damn laugh–cut through the bar’s chatter, threading past the clink of glasses and the hum of the jukebox like it was the only sound in the room. He’d heard it a thousand times before, always up close, always with him being the reason for it. It hit something raw in him to hear it now, spilling out for someone else.

God, he’d missed it.

He’d missed you.

Missed the easy way you used to lean into him without thinking, the subtle curve of your smile when you were trying not to let him see he’d made you happy. Missed the little things–the smell of your honey shampoo, the way you curled your fingers around the neck of your beer bottle, the softness in your voice when it was just the two of you. He’d spent two months pretending he could live without it, without you, and now here you were, a few feet away, lighting up for somebody else.

His lashes fluttered in frustration as his fingers flexed loosely around the bottle neck. Every instinct in him bristled watching the guy step closer behind you, his palm ghosting over your hip to adjust your stance, his mouth tipping toward your ear as if he had the right to get that close. Rhett could feel the muscles in his shoulders tighten, his pulse pressing hard against his collar.

The guy tossed another casual comment in your ear, earning himself another laugh, and Rhett’s grip on the bottle tightened. The jealousy wasn’t just a flicker–it was a slow burn, thick and choking, something he could taste as bitter as the beer in his mouth. He wanted to shove the guy back, plant himself in his place, and remind you–remind both of you–exactly who used to be the one making you look like that.

When you finally glanced up from the dartboard, scanning the bar as you reached for your drink again, your eyes landed on his.

The noise of the room faded in an instant.

Your chest stilled mid-breath. His hand stopped halfway to his mouth.

The air between you seemed to thicken, the distance suddenly too small and too wide all at once. His gaze locked onto yours–blue and sharp, but undercut with something deeper, something unguarded.

It wasn’t just jealousy there.

It was longing.

And the second your eyes met, you both felt it–like a wire pulled taut between you, humming with everything unsaid, everything you’d tried to leave behind. Rhett’s fingers flexed once more around the neck of the bottle before he lifted it, his gaze still locked on you as he took a long, slow pull. When he set it back on the bar, it wasn’t with the kind of idle patience that let things slide. No–this was the deliberate, measured sort of movement that said he’d already decided to act.

He pushed off the barstool, boots heavy against the warped floorboards, and made his way through the press of people without once breaking eye contact. He moved the way he always had–shoulders squared, head tipped just slightly forward, like there was nothing in his way worth slowing down for. By the time he reached you, that boyish curl to his mouth had been replaced by something sharper, tighter.

The dartboard guy straightened slightly, like he could feel the shift in the air before Rhett even stopped beside you.

“Didn’t know you have taken up darts, Y/N,” Rhett drawled, his voice warm in tone but edged like a blade. His eyes flicked over you, from the corset top to the way your hand still curled around the lime-studded rim of your glass, before landing on the man beside you. “Guess you’ve got yourself a teacher.”

The guy gave a polite little grin, clearly trying to keep things easy. “She’s a quick learner.”

“Mm.” Rhett’s gaze didn’t leave him now. “She’s always been good with her hands.” It was subtle, but the air seemed to pull tighter between the three of you. Your pulse kicked hard in your throat. The man’s smile faltered just slightly, his eyes darting between you and Rhett like he’d stumbled into something he hadn’t been warned about.

“Uh…Do you two know each other?” Rhett’s jaw ticked.

“Yeah. We know each other.” The weight in those four words was impossible to miss, and from the way the guy’s brows lifted just a fraction before smoothing back down, you knew he’d caught on.

“Well,” He said after a beat, stepping back a half pace, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” His gaze flicked to you–apologetic–before returning to Rhett. “Or step on anyone’s toes.”

“You didn’t intrude on anything, nor did you step on anyone’s toes…Right, Rhett?”

Your words came out smooth, but the steel underneath was unmistakable. You tilted your head just enough to let the glare catch him head-on, the kind that forced him to meet it or back down.

He didn’t back down–not right away. His mouth twitched like he wanted to argue, like the drawl on his tongue was already curling into something sharp. But then…You saw it. That fractional change in his eyes, the stormy blue softening just slightly, the crease at his brow easing. He knew. Knew he’d stepped over a line. Knew this wasn’t his territory anymore–not in the way it used to be. A faint sigh slipped from him, barely audible over the clink of glasses and low hum of the bar.

“Yeah… yeah. No, man, you weren’t stepping on anything,” Rhett said finally, the words clipped but not unkind. “I just came by to say hello. Haven’t really seen her in a while, so…Y’know, thought I’d pop in.” The dartboard guy smiled, catching none of the barbed edges that passed between you and Rhett.

“Oh, you guys should catch up then! I gotta go back to my friends anyways.” He hesitated a moment, then turned to you with that easy grin. “Could I get your number before I go though?” Your stomach tightened–not because you didn’t want to, but because you could feel Rhett’s gaze burning into the side of your face, like heat from a stove. You flicked your eyes toward him, just long enough to see the muscle in his jaw tighten, before you turned back with a smile that was just a little too sweet.

“Yeah, sure.” He dug his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to you. You typed your name and number slowly–deliberately–the screen tilted just enough for Rhett to see the letters appear. His eyes followed the movement like every tap was pulling something taut inside him. The guy took the phone back with a grateful nod.

“Thanks. I’ll text you later. Night, Y/N. Night, man.” Rhett gave a short nod, but his eyes didn’t leave you, even as the guy disappeared into the crowd. You took another slow sip of your gin, set it down on the shelf, and finally turned fully toward him.

“Well,” You started lightly, “If you wanted to ruin my night, congratulations. You nailed it.” Rhett’s brows pulled together, his jaw ticking as he stepped closer, the smell of cedar, wood and the faint bite of beer threading between you.

”Didn’t come over here to ruin your night.”

“Could’ve folded me,” You shot back.

“I just wanted to talk, Y/N. That’s all.” His voice dropped low, but the heat in it still crackled. “And he was here…So I got defensive.” You crossed your arms tight across your chest, nails biting into your skin.

“See, this is where I point out that you have absolutely no fucking right to be defensive over anything that involves me. Especially with everything that happened the last time we saw each other.” Rhett let out a sharp scoff, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you.

“What? Like when you decided you wanted to call our arrangement off and then cut me out of your life completely? Huh? Is that it?” Your jaw clenched, pulse pounding in your ears.

“Don’t twist this around on me–”

“I’m not twistin’ anythin’!” His voice was rising now, enough to catch a few curious glances from nearby tables. “You ended it. You walked away.”

“And you let me!” You fired back, heat rushing into your face. “You didn’t even try, Rhett. You just allowed it to happen like it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothin’!” His hand shot through his hair, restless. “Goddamn, it was never nothin’ with you.” The air between you was so tight it felt like if you moved wrong it would snap. The crowd, the music, the clink of bottles–it all blurred, just the two of you locked in the push and pull.

“Then why didn’t you say something?” Your voice cracked on it, but you didn’t care. “Why didn’t you fight for me?” Rhett’s eyes darted away, his throat working.

“We’re not going to argue about this here…” He muttered, already stepping back, “Let’s go outside.” You hesitated for a moment, then followed.

The cool night hit your skin as soon as you pushed through the door, the muffled thump of the jukebox fading behind you. The gravel crunched under your boots as Rhett led the way toward the side of the building, away from the yellow porch light spilling over the entrance. It smelled like a mix of flowers and cheap cologne that many of the patrons probably sprayed on before entering the bar. It was almost headache inducing.

Once Rhett got you to the parking lot area on the side of the building, he turned then, with his jaw tight, and his hands flexing open and closed like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“You want the truth? You wanna know why I didn’t fight for you that night?” His voice was rough, too low for anyone passing to hear but sharp enough to cut through the thick air between you.

“Yes,” You said, the word hitting the space like a dare. “I do.” He stepped closer, not enough to touch, but enough that you could see the strain etched deep into his face.

“Because I was afraid.” His voice cracked–not much, but enough to make your chest pull tight. “Afraid that if I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me. That you’d think I was just sayin’ whatever you wanted to hear so I could keep sleepin’ with you.” Your breath caught, but he didn’t stop, he just grew more emotional and shaky.

“I’ve had feelin's for you for a long damn time, Y/N,” Rhett said, each word landing heavily against your chest. “Long before we ever crossed that line. You’ve been in my head, in my life, in everythin’ I do, and I didn’t know how to handle it without screwin’ it up. I figured if I asked for more, if I told you how bad I wanted you…You’d realize you didn’t feel the same and that’d be it. No friendship and no you…” The gravel crunched as he shifted closer, his voice dropping further, rawer.

“So I settled. I took the friends-with-benefits deal because it was the only way I could keep you close without riskin’ losin’ you completely. I told myself it was enough, even when it wasn’t. Even when every time I left your place I had to fight the urge to turn back and tell you I wanted all of it. Not just the nights we spent together. Not just the sex. All of you, Y/N.” You wanted to say something back, but it was as if Rhett couldn’t stop everything that was coming out of him, it was like he was talking as if it could be the last conversation the two of you would ever have and he needed to get everything out on the table.

“That night you ended it…I was gonna tell you. I’d been sittin’ on it for weeks, workin’ up the guts. But you were already hurt. You were lookin’ at me like I’d wrecked somethin’ important, and I figured if I said it then, you’d think I was lyin’ just to fix what I broke.” His eyes searched yours, raw and open and glazed over with a film of tears. “I didn’t want my feelings for you to sound like some cheap apology…”

You stood there frozen, staring up at him, the night air tightening against your skin while his words sank in. Two months of silence and hurt sat between you like a canyon, but you couldn’t find your voice to answer him. Your pulse was roaring in your ears, your throat locked up around all the things you’d wanted to say but never had the chance to.

Rhett’s jaw flexed, his gaze dropping briefly to the gravel at your feet before he dragged a hand across his eyes, quick and rough, as if to scrub the shine away before you could catch it.

“Y’know what…” His voice was low, splintered. “I’m sorry. I’ll just–” He gestured vaguely toward the bar, like he was already pulling himself back together, “I’ll just go back inside and you can go–”

“Fuck it,” You cut in, sharp and breathless. Before he could blink, you grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down to you. Your mouth crashed into his with months’ worth of pent-up frustration and want, the kiss hot, greedy, messy from the start. His answering groan rumbled straight into you, and then he was kissing you back like he’d been dying for it–because he had.

His hands found your face first, thumbs pressing to your jaw as his mouth moved over yours with a hunger that left no space for air. Then he stepped in, crowding you back, every line of his body fitting against yours until the rough brick wall of the bar pressed firm against your spine. The cold bite of it only made the heat between you flare brighter.

You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into the hard muscle there as his hips pressed flush to yours. He broke from your lips just long enough to drag his mouth along your cheek, his breath ragged, before finding your mouth again in another bruising kiss. Between them, his words spilled against your lips, warm and desperate.

“So…Does this mean…You feel the same?” You let out a quick, breathless laugh, your forehead tipping to his as you caught his bottom lip between your teeth in a playful nip.

“Yes,” you said, the word low and certain. “I feel the fucking same.” That grin–God, you’d missed that grin–flickered against your mouth for half a second before his lips were on yours again, deeper this time, his hands slipping down to grip your hips like he couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or pin you right there forever. You kissed him back until your lungs ached, then pulled away just enough to pant against his mouth, your voice still heated but edged with warning.

“But if you ever fucking do this to me again,” You breathed, your hands fisting in his shirt to keep him close, “I’m going to roundhouse kick you to another planet, Abbott.” His laugh came low and rough, warm against your lips.

“Fair enough…” He murmured–right before claiming your mouth again. The kiss turned messy fast, teeth clashing softly, tongues sliding, every drag and pull dripping with all the times you’d almost reached for your phone and didn’t. His breath mingled with yours, fast and uneven, his chest rising hard against you. One broad hand braced on the wall beside your head while the other slid down the curve of your back, fingers pressing in as though he was staking claim. When his mouth tore from yours, it was only to trail down your jaw and into the hollow beneath your ear, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp.

“Missed this…Missed you,” He muttered against your skin, his voice rough, frayed at the edges. His lips dragged lower, finding the slope of your neck, sucking deep enough to make your knees soften under you.

You clung harder to his shoulders, rolling your hips forward without thinking, chasing the friction like your body had been starved for it. His answering groan vibrated through you, and then both hands were on your hips, rocking you against him in a slow, filthy grind that made the wall at your back feel even hotter.

Your breath hitched when his palm skimmed under the hem of your top, calloused fingers brushing your bare skin like he was already memorizing it again.

“God, Y/N…” He breathed, kissing you again–deeper this time, like he could swallow every sound you made. The heat spiked between you, sharp and consuming, and you knew if you let this go on against the wall you’d lose every shred of control. With a sharp inhale, you broke the kiss, your lips swollen, your breath ragged.

“Take me to your truck,” You said, the words low but edged with command.

His eyes–bright, wild, and blown dark with want–searched yours for a beat before the corner of his mouth lifted, slow and dangerous. “Yes, ma’am.”

His fingers found yours, rough and warm, threading between them tightly. He pulled you away from the wall, cutting a direct line through the gravel lot, boots crunching with each long, unhurried stride that belied just how tight his grip was. The yellow spill from the bar lights faded behind you as he led you toward the darker stretch of the back lot, where the silhouettes of a few trucks loomed in the shadows.

His was waiting at the far end, the familiar dent in the fender catching the faint light. He yanked the handle and swung the door open for you, his hand steady at your back as you climbed in. The second your boots cleared the step, he was right there–shutting the door behind him with a muffled thunk–already reaching for his belt.

You were ahead of him, fingers flying to the button of your jeans, tugging the zipper down with the kind of urgency that made your knuckles brush the hard plane of his stomach when he leaned in. The leather strap of his belt slid free with a sharp hiss as he shrugged out of his shirt in the same motion, tossing it blindly into the back seat. His jeans followed, pooling around his boots until he shimmied out of them, leaving him in nothing but his dark boxers–already tented and straining.

“C’mere,” He murmured, reaching for you before you could shove your jeans all the way down. His big hands gripped the waistband and dragged them over your hips, taking them completely off you, leaving you in just your black lace underwear, then his hands slid up, curling over the edge of your corset.

“Let’s get this fuckin’ thing off,” He muttered, voice thick with want, his fingers working fast at the tiny hook-and-eye closures down your back. “Been thinkin’ about takin’ it off since I laid eyes on you tonight.” You could feel the heat of his breath against your neck as each clasp came undone, slow enough to make you squirm, until the last one slipped free. The boning eased against your ribs, and he shoved it down your arms with a quick, hungry tug. The corset landed somewhere in the backseat with his shirt, forgotten instantly.

His gaze dropped, and he swore low under his breath like the sight of you bare made his knees weak.

“Goddamn…” His voice was rough as his hands came up, palms cupping your breasts with a reverence that didn’t match the hard throb of urgency in him. “Missed these…Missed the way they feel in my hands, in my mouth…” He ducked down, his mouth already on you before you could respond. The first kiss landed high on the curve of your left breast, hot and lingering, followed by another, and another, his stubble scraping deliciously over your sensitive skin. He worked his way in slow arcs, peppering kisses that grew wetter, more urgent, until his tongue was circling your nipple.

“Perfect…Fuckin’ perfect,” He whispered against you, the heat of his mouth sucking one peak deep while his other hand kneaded the other breast in his palm. “God, I dreamed about you… woke up hard thinkin’ about this mouthful.” You tipped your head back, a shaky breath escaping when he sucked harder, letting his teeth graze you just enough to make you gasp. He groaned at the sound, like it poured straight into his blood.

“Yeah…Missed those little noises too,” He rasped, dragging his lips across your chest to worship the other breast, his tongue swirling in slow, filthy circles over the tightened peak before sucking deep again.

“Oh my god…Rhett.” You gasped. His free hand left your breast and dropped lower, tracing down the slope of your stomach until his thumb hooked into the waistband of your underwear. He didn’t ask this time–he just slipped his hand beneath the lace, his knuckles brushing your mound before his fingers found you hot and slick.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” He breathed, his forehead briefly pressing to your sternum as if he had to steady himself. “Missed this even more… Missed feelin’ you like this, all ready for me.” His middle finger slid through your folds, parting them before circling your clit slow and deliberate. The heel of his palm pressed into you while his finger dipped lower, sinking inside with an easy push. You clenched around him instantly, and he let out a low, guttural groan.

“That’s it… that’s my girl,” He said, curling the finger just right before sliding another in to join it. “Grippin’ me so tight, like you’re tryin’ to keep me.”

”Fuck Rhett…I missed your fingers so fucking much.” You moaned out, your hips rolling into his hand, chasing each curl and thrust of his fingers. The pleasure made you bolder, as your own hand slid down between you until you found the thick, hot outline of him. Your palm cupped him through the heat of his boxers, and you felt the way his breath hitched, his rhythm faltering for just a second before he recovered–fingers curling inside you with more purpose, like he needed to remind you who was setting the pace.

“Mmm…You’re already so fucking hard for me,” You murmured, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Just from feeling me around your fingers, huh? Not even inside me yet and you’re leaking for it.”A low, ragged laugh rumbled out of him, his head tipping against your shoulder like the words hit deep.

“You think I haven’t been fuckin’ hard since the second I saw you tonight?” Your hand flexed over him, giving a slow, teasing squeeze that had his hips pushing into your palm without him even thinking about it.

“Maybe I like watching you lose it a little,” You whispered, dragging your nails lightly along the length before rubbing your palm over the wet patch forming at the tip. “Maybe I want you messy before I even let you inside me.” His jaw clenched, a low groan spilling out against your neck as his fingers worked faster, the wet sound between your thighs making your toes curl.

“Careful, baby…You keep talkin’ like that, I’m gonna flip you over and fuck you until you forget your own name.”

“Mmm,” You hummed, your hand sliding along his shaft again, slower this time, just enough pressure to make him twitch. “Big words for someone who’s about to make me come all over his hand.” He chuckled darkly against your skin, his thumb pressing harder into your clit, circling in tight, deliberate strokes.

“Oh, you’re gonna do that whether you like it or not,” He rasped. “Gonna soak my fingers just like you used to…God, I’ve missed feelin’ you gush for me.” Your breath caught on a sharp moan when he curled his fingers again, hitting that perfect spot deep inside, your hips rolling harder into his hand.

“Rhett…Fuck…Right there…”

“That’s it,” He coaxed, his voice dropping lower, more urgent. “Come on, pretty girl. Show me how bad you missed me. Mess me up.” The heat coiled tight in your stomach, and with a few more strokes, you broke–your thighs trembling as your climax ripped through you, wet heat spilling over his fingers. You gasped, clutching at his shoulder with one hand while the other squeezed him reflexively through his boxers.

“Jesus Christ,” He growled, slowing his fingers just enough to let you ride the aftershocks. Then he pulled them free, holding them in front of your face for a heartbeat, watching your chest rise and fall. “Look at that,” He murmured, his voice thick with heat. “Drippin’ for me like no time’s passed at all.” Before you could catch your breath, he brought those glistening fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low groan that made your pulse spike all over again.

“Goddamn…I needed that taste,” he said, licking the last of you from his knuckles, “I’m gonna eat you out when we get back to your place…But right now? I need to fuck you.” Your hand stilled on him, your thumb still resting against the thick head under the fabric. His words sank deep, and the look in his eyes–hot, wild, certain–made it impossible to think of anything else.

“Then what the hell are you waiting for?” You breathed.Rhett’s grin was slow and dangerous, a glint in his eyes like he’d just been handed the exact thing he’d been dying for. His big hands slid down your hips, curling under the lace at your hips before tearing them down your legs. The delicate fabric caught briefly on your thighs before he ripped them away and tossed them blindly into the dark backseat. He didn’t even watch where they landed–his eyes were locked on the glistening heat between your legs, his jaw working as if he was holding back from devouring you right then.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” He muttered, his thumbs brushing over the tops of your thighs before pushing his own boxer briefs down. They hit the floor in a heap, freeing the thick, flushed length of him–veined, heavy, slick at the tip. He wrapped a hand around the base, pumping once as he looked at you with that molten, knowing stare.

“C’mere,” He said, low and rough. “Come sit on my lap.”

You didn’t hesitate. Your knees braced against the seat, your palms flat on his shoulders as you swung a leg over, straddling him. The heat of his bare cock brushed your slick folds instantly, pulling a shudder from both of you. His hands clamped hard to your hips, holding you there, making you feel him before you even sank down.

“That’s it…My girl,” He rasped, tilting his head back to drink in the sight of you above him. “Look at you–wet and ready to fuckin’ take me.”

You leaned in close, your breath hot against his mouth, and let a slow trail of spit drip past your lips into his. He groaned deep, catching it with his tongue, swallowing like it was the only thing he’d been starving for. His fingers dug into you harder.

“Jesus Christ,” He growled. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.” You grinned, tangling your fingers into his hair and giving a sharp tug. His groan cracked into something darker, his eyes blowing wide as you used the leverage to tilt his head back and press your mouth to his. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, sloppy and devouring, your hips already starting to rock against him.

He broke away just long enough to guide you down–one hand still gripping your hip, the other steadying his cock at your entrance. The stretch as you sank onto him was obscene, every inch forcing your thighs wider until you were fully seated, your clit flush to the coarse hair at his base.

“Ohhh, fuck–” You gasped, your nails dragging over his shoulders.

“That’s it… Take all of me,” he murmured, his palm sliding up from your hip until it wrapped gently but firmly around your throat. The pressure was enough to make you swallow hard, your pulse thrumming against his thumb. “So fuckin’ tight…You were made for this.” You rolled your hips once–slow, grinding–and his head fell forward against your shoulder with a guttural groan. His hand on your throat squeezed just a hair tighter, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you aware of exactly who had you like this.

“Fuck…You feel perfect,” You panted, pulling back just enough to slam down on him harder. “God, Rhett–been thinking about this every fucking night, fuck all I’ve wanted was you.” That lit something feral in him. Both hands clamped to your ass, and the sharp crack of his palm meeting your skin made you gasp and clench around him.

“Yeah?” He rasped, spanking you again, the sound filthy in the confined cab. “You like that? My good girl likes it when I spank her?”

“Mhm—” You moaned, biting your lip before leaning forward to spit into his open mouth again. His tongue met it halfway this time, swallowing with a low, filthy laugh before kissing you deep, his hips thrusting up into you so hard the truck rocked on its shocks.

“Goddamn, look at you ridin’ me like you own me,” He groaned, his hands guiding your hips to slam down faster. “So fuckin’ gorgeous–so fucking deseperate, but only for me, hm?”

“Only for you,” You gasped, your hand sliding back into his hair, pulling hard enough to drag another groan from deep in his chest.

“Good girl,” he panted, his mouth latching to your neck, sucking until your skin burned. His hand returned to your throat, thumb stroking lightly over your jaw as you bounced on him, the wet slap of your bodies and your mingled moans filling the cab.

“Rhett…I’m so close,” You whimpered, your nails biting into his shoulders.

“Then cum for me, baby,” He ordered, his voice molten and ragged. “Wanna feel you gush all over me–make a mess, pretty girl. Let me have it.” His hips drove up harder, faster, his free hand spanking you once more, and the heat in your core snapped. You came hard around him, your vision sparking, every muscle trembling as you cried out his name. He cursed, slamming you down onto him as his own release tore through him, spilling hot and deep inside you.

You stayed there for a long moment, your breath hitching against his mouth, your pulse still pounding from the aftershocks. The truck smelled like sex and sweat, the windows fogged so thick you couldn’t see the parking lot lights anymore. Rhett’s forehead rested against yours, his breaths hot and uneven, his hands still holding you like he wasn’t ready to let go.

You lifted one hand, threading your fingers into the damp hair at his temple, then smoothing your palm along the line of his jaw. His stubble rasped softly against your skin, grounding you. You tilted his face just enough to see him fully–the flushed cheeks, the blown pupils, the sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Fuck…” Your voice cracked, raw and quiet in the small space. “I missed you so much.” Something in his expression flickered–like your words landed somewhere deep and tender. His jaw worked once, but instead of speaking right away, he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as though your hand was the only thing keeping him steady. When he opened them again, the heat was still there, but softer now, laced with something he didn’t bother to hide.

“I missed you too,” He murmured, voice rough. “More than I ever thought I could.”

His thumb traced over the back of your hand where it cupped his face, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize the feel of you there. You leaned in and kissed him again–gentler this time, lingering–before resting your forehead to his. The quiet between you was warm, unhurried, almost fragile, but it didn’t feel empty.

After a moment, Rhett gave a low, steady exhale and let his hands slide up your back, holding you tighter against him.