#actually don't

"I'm not. I'm simply getting ready."

"Can't you just stay home? You can go out another time."

"I never get a chance to go out with my friends. One night. You can handle one night, can't you?" you questioned gently, your tone softening to one you might use to coax a child into behaving.

Straightening, you turned to him finally, your gaze locking on those sad puppy dog eyes that he knew you had a soft spot for. One glimpse of those big azure eyes blinking at you, and you were a goner. But it wasn't going to work on you this time.

Reaching up, you framed his face with your palms, thumbs sweeping softly over the crest of his cheekbones. He leaned into your touch, his head suddenly feeling heavier in your hands. Reeling him in, you planted the softest kiss to the tip of his nose, then lower, near the corner of his mouth.

"I'll be back in an hour, and then I'm all yours again," you explained, your fingers snaking up the nape of his neck and curling into his dirty blonde hair.

Holland studied your features, his pupils widening slightly and a distant haze settling in his gaze as it flickered over your face. Back when you first started dating, he'd get that same look in his eyes. At first, you thought it might be the alcohol coursing through him, but you eventually came to the conclusion that it was the look of adoration.

Taking a strand of your hair, he twirled it around his pointer finger. "Damn, you're so pretty. Have I told you that?"

You couldn't stop the smile that graced your lips, completely enamored. "A couple times."

"I should really tell you more often. Yeah. You know what?" he began, his free hand finding the curve of your waist and tugging you closer. "If I don't compliment you at least once a day…no…once an hour, feel free to hit me upside the head."

Knowing full well that he was just trying to get you to stay home, you giggled, light and airy, as you closed the distance. Your gaze dipped to his mouth, once, twice, before you spoke, your lips grazing his.

"You're cute…it almost makes me want to forget this whole dinner, slip off this dress, and let you have your way with me…" Your voice was dripping with sweet seduction, and it only deepened the insatiable hunger in his darkening gaze.

Tongue darting out, you traced his bottom lip, tasting him. His breath caught, eyelashes fluttering. As soon as he attempted to capture your tongue, sucking it into his mouth, you pulled back. Grunting, he followed, which only made you duck away from his attention.

"Almost," you repeated, stopping him with a single digit pressed to the center of his lips. "I'm still going."

"Why?" he whined, the word muffled slightly from your finger. "Don't tease me like that, sweetheart."

You tried to wiggle out of his hold, attempting to put the finishing touches on your outfit, but he was quicker. He caged you in, effectively trapping you against the vanity, fingers curling around the edge of the table.

"Holland, I don't have time for this."

The expression in his eyes wasn't hunger anymore; it was pure desperation. "Please."

You rolled your eyes, but it was devoid of irritation. Drawing in a steady breath, you tried not to get sucked into his little act, like every other time. "Don't you have a case to solve or something?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "The one where my girlfriend is neglectin' me."

"I'm not, and you know it."

"You make me wanna take up smokin' again."

"You never even stopped."

"I haven't smoked in two hours. That's a big deal for me," he insisted, raising his eyebrows, causing his forehead to crease. "Maybe I was secretly plannin' to quit, and I was gonna surprise you. Did you ever think about that? But, now the surprise is ruined, so it's not even worth quittin' now."

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say, big boy," you said evenly, still unconvinced, as you lightly patted his side.

Holland's arm curved around your waist, pressing into you, molding his hips to yours. You instantly felt him—the hard outline of his dick against your lower stomach. A warmth suddenly spread through you like wildfire, the space between your thighs heating from the contact.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" he asked eagerly. "Don't leave me like this. All worked up because I can't handle how fuckin' sexy you look in that damn dress."

Hot breath fanned across your flesh before his warm lips brushed your neck. They trailed lower to the center of your chest and over your clavicle before his fingers traced up your side, eliciting goosebumps. He slid the strap of your gown off your shoulder, slowly dragging it down your upper arm.

Your hands were in his hair, gripping the strands as his mouth moved languidly along your bare chest. With quickened breath, you managed a whispered, "Holland," which only made his hips press harder into yours. Then, he was shifting, holding you in place with one strong arm as he rolled his hips once, measured, testing.

One of your hands lowered, clutching the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt. You didn't know if you wanted to draw him closer or push him away, so your palm just stayed there, unmoving. "We can't," you murmured, though it didn't sound very convincing.

The backs of his fingers skimmed your arm as they traveled down your body. They eventually slipped under the hem of your dress, the tips flirting with your thigh. The digits danced over your skin, drawing idle patterns on your thigh until he reached his desired destination. A pair slid down the center of the damp spot on your panties, your knees wobbling slightly as he caressed your clothed clit with the most delicate touch. One hand migrated to his shoulder, nails digging in for balance.

Holland lifted his head, leaning into your ear, and clicked his tongue. "We can't have you leavin' the house like this. You'd be sittin' at dinner with that poor pussy throbbin'. Never claimed to be a good man, but 'm not that cruel. Lemme take care of you, sweets."

Teeth nipped at your earlobe as his fingertips swirled around the sensitive bud. You were practically trembling from how aroused he was making you. It only took six little words, adding that nickname, and those wandering hands, and dinner with your friends was the farthest thing from your mind.

He could feel your perseverance crumbling as your neck craned back and the way you held him close. You may wear the pants in this relationship, but you were weak for this man. And, dammit, he knew it because he was grinning against your ear like an idiot.

With the grip you had on his hair, you gently pulled him back so you could look him in the eyes. He blinked at you, feigning innocence. Arching a brow, you tilted your head, silently calling him on his shit.

"Fine," you surrendered, and you could almost see the mental fist pump at the forefront of his mind as his eyelashes fluttered in relief. You put a single chiding finger in his face. "You'd better be quick, or so help me, Holland Aaron March…"

Grabbing a hold of your finger, he brought it to his lips, kissing the tip. "I'll be so good for you, I promise." He ended it with a small smirk, which could only mean mischief.

Regardless, your hands fell to his belt, immediately slipping the leather from the loop. The sweet sound of metal clanking filled the room as you freed the belt from your grasp and moved to unclasp his dress pants. Your thumbs hooked into the waistband, yanking them down unceremoniously.

His fingers wrapped around your wrists, gingerly pulling them away. "Hey," he whispered, warm palms finding your hips instead. "Lemme do the work, sugar. I gotcha."

Taking a handful of the fabric around your hips, he scooted it up your thighs, bunching the soft material just below your waist. He hoisted you up, setting you down gingerly on the edge of your vanity, the surface cooling your heated flesh.

Holland's hands traveled over your plump thighs, prying your legs apart to settle between them. He got a glimpse of your lace black panties, and ran his tongue over his bottom lip before drawing it in between his teeth. A finger drifted up the inner part of your thigh, lightly grazing the edge of your underwear.

You shook your head, but you couldn't stop the smile from spreading across your lips. "I'm gonna need you to focus there, cowboy."

"Oh, 'm focused." His eyes never wavered from between your legs, still admiring the way the lace looked against your skin.

Sighing, you placed a manicured finger under his chin, forcing his gaze up. Then, you wrapped your calves around the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer. "More fucking, less gawking."

Finishing the job you started, he slid the band of his boxers down slightly. Just enough to slip his hand down the front and fish out his hardened cock. The angry, red tip came into view, precum beading at the slit. His thumb swept over it, gathering the milky substance, and stroking his cock a few times.

He bent towards you, his mouth inches from yours. "Yes, ma'am," he rasped before his lips locked on yours.

The kiss was full of urgency and need, teeth clashing and mouths greedily moving against each other. He tilted your head back with the grip he now had on your jaw. All at the same time, his tongue slipped between your lips as he moved your panties to the side. He licked into your mouth, his tongue gliding over yours in a dance of passion. Every crevice of your mouth was claimed by him.

The head of his dick skimmed through your slickness before you eventually heard the wet slap of him tapping his shaft on your soaked pussy. You gasped into his mouth as he nudged your entrance, and he swallowed the sound. His long exhale was echoed by your sharp inhale at the slow push of him expanding your already clenching hole.

Holland invaded all your senses. The mild scent of smoke that remained on his clothes filled your nostrils. The faint taste of whiskey and fervor on his tongue. The way his touch surrounded you. And his partial-moan, partial-whimper that spilled from the gap between your joined lips, reaching your ears, and sending a chill down your spine as his hips came forward.

He moved with an unhurried ease, as if time itself were endless, though it wasn’t. Still, you felt no urge to rush him when the way he filled you felt so right. Everything did with him—especially these moments of intimacy. It was like that satisfying, mechanical click of a car door locking into place. Or the last piece of a puzzle, slipping perfectly into its space.

Fingers dug into your ass while he adjusted your position on the table, scooting you closer to the edge. And then he was moving, grinding deeply as he bottomed out. The tuft of hair below his belly button tickled your lower stomach as your pelvis kissed his.

Finally, he came up for air, gazing down at you with a wild glint in his eyes. Your combined heavy breaths fanned out across your swollen lips. The air between you was charged with tension, and you drank it in as if your lungs ached for oxygen.

He wished time would freeze. That the clocks, hanging on the walls, would stop ticking. That the world would cease from spinning. Because the way you looked at him, as if he'd done something good, something worth remembering, made his heart quiver beneath his ribcage. He wasn't even ashamed of the thrill that surged through his veins—the same way electricity would ride on a wire.

No words were exchanged, but he felt the way you squeezed him and knew you needed him. And without hesitation, he’d give you anything you wanted.

Pulling back, he eased out of you, then thrust back in forcefully. Your breath hitched, clinging to him like a lifeline.

"Fuck me," you cursed lowly, tipping your chin back.

"'m gettin' there," he teased, rolling his hips to emphasize his statement.

He set the pace, driving in with a vigor that surprised even you. His thrusts started shallow, a small mercy for how quickly he plunged through your plush walls. Momentarily releasing your hip, he reached for the bottom of his white tank top and lifted it until it gathered around his midsection. His gaze lowered to where you were linked, watching how he slipped in and out of you.

"Look how good you're takin' me," Holland said, and it almost sounded like disbelief hidden in his voice.

"My sweet girl always takes me so well, though, doesn't she? Like you were fuckin' made for this. Like you were made for me," he rambled, eyes flicking up to you. He looked like a lost puppy who finally found its way home. And that alone worked wonders for your ego.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your lips slightly parting, as he searched your features for reassurance—a natural recurrence that you were used to by now. Always finding solace in your comforting words—the kind that assured him that he did deserve you. That he deserved to be happy.

Though this time, when you tried to speak, the words wouldn't come. Suddenly, your mouth went dry, because how could you embed it into his very bones that there was nothing to worry about here, in this room, where it was just the two of you. That there were no expectations for him to amount to because you loved him just the way he was.

Fuck.

You loved him.

When had you figured that one out? It seemed like it had been stirring in your chest for quite some time. You'd only been together for…what? Two months? You'd been in longer relationships than this, and that thought had never once occurred to you in any of them.

Swallowing thickly, one of your hands drifted over his shoulder, down to the lump in his shirt pocket. You withdrew the pack of Marlboro Reds, along with the lighter that was tucked safely at the bottom.

"What're you…?" he managed before you cut him off with a flip of the top of the small box.

"I need a cigarette," you answered, extracting one of the burnt orange-tipped sticks before placing the pack back in its original spot.

He huffed out a laugh. "But you don't smoke."

"Well, I do now," you urged.

"Sure, when you smoke in the house, it's alright, but when I do it, it's like I've committed a grave sin," he complained, mostly to himself.

"Shh…" you soothed, before positioning the filter end between your lips and flicking the spark wheel on the lighter until it ignited. You brought the steady flame to the end of the cigarette, watching as the pale paper kindled, tiny embers flaking off. Inhaling deeply, your eyes rolled back, enjoying the way your throat burned from the smoke.

Holland's movements slowed as he observed you through half-lidded eyes. Your gaze fixed on his again as you took the small tube from your lips, blowing out the cloud from the side of your mouth. The smoke swirled in front of your features, floating above your head until it dissipated into the air.

"I don't remember saying stop," you murmured bluntly, fanning away the remaining smoke hovering in front of your face.

Staring dumbly at you, he eventually blinked, picking up his pace again. "Fuck, you just…look so…sexy," he growled, his tone full of awe.

With glittering eyes, you gave him a lopsided smile, absolutely charmed by his smitten expression. That only made his hips jerk forward, deepening the penetration. You mewled, clutching his bicep with a startling strength.

"That's my good boy," you praised, the heels of your feet digging into the backs of his thighs. Your back bowed as he hit that sweet spot repeatedly, causing that pressure to build more rapidly. "Just like that. Don't stop."

Through the haze in your mind, you took another lengthy drag. The flickering blaze briefly illuminated the sharp lines of your face. The second time, it made your lungs twist with discomfort, and your throat felt raw. You pulled the cigarette away, cupping his jaw and hauling him in.

"Open that mouth, pretty boy," you calmly commanded, voice strained from the effort of holding the smoke in.

Obeying, he did as you said, even if his eyebrows creased from confusion. You breathed out a heavy plume of smoke into the cave of his mouth. It bloomed, escaping into the little gap between you, and he immediately sucked it in, as if it were life-sustaining air. He moaned, and it sounded more like a whine, not from the smoke, but the action itself. You caught sight of the arousal swimming in his gaze, eyes dilating to the point that he almost appeared high.

"Holy shit," he grunted pitifully, his hips stuttering and that vein in his neck sticking out painfully. "Do you realize how hot that is?—hmm—I don't think you realize how hot that is—ughhh— Nearly made me cum right then and there."

You snorted softly, amused, but he just kept going. "'m gonna have wet dreams about that. Hell, 'm gonna constantly daydream about that, and walk around with a fuckin' hard on like a pathetic loser."

"Like I don't make you do that anyway," you joked, pressing the lit end of the cigarette into the table, extinguishing it. Holland shrugged, nodding gently to agree with the truth in your words. Your grin only deepened.

Then you leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "C'mon, baby. Make me come on this pretty cock. I want that to be the only thing on my mind at dinner."

He exhaled raggedly, his forehead falling to your shoulder momentarily. One hand flattened firmly to your stomach, thumb wandering down to clit as the other was slung around you, cradling the back of your skull. He lifted his head and let it fall to yours, noses nudging one another.

With renewed purpose, he rutted into you. You cried out instantly, the tip of his cock bumping against your cervix, and causing the pleasure to rise, quick and piercing. And it only intensified when his thumb began rubbing in tight, sensuous circles on your swollen bud. The sound of skin colliding reverberated as he pounded into you harder and harder.

The vanity wobbled, rocking helplessly into the wall behind you with a horrible crashing noise. With the combination of the wooden legs creaking and the rhythmic thump of it slamming against already chipping plaster, you almost thought the table would fall out from under you. It wouldn't be the first set of furniture to end up destroyed by your rough activities. And it certainly wouldn't be the last.

A few makeup products tumbled from the table amongst the chaos—a mascara wand hitting the floor and a tube of ruby lipstick following right after. It didn't stop him, and frankly, it only spurred him on more.

"Holland," you squealed, rouge-polished nails, slithering under his layers of clothing and clawing at his toned back. "There you go, buck those fucking hips. You're doing so good for me."

He whimpered brokenly, panting against your lips. His mouth grazed your top lip, a weak attempt at a kiss, but he was too lost in pleasure to fully focus on giving them the attention he wanted. His cheeks were flushed, muscles tensed, and his jaw ticked from the energy it took to make this last as long as possible. But it seemed like he was fighting a losing battle.

"Yeah," you chirped with a lilt to your voice. "You like that, huh? You like it when I praise you. Does my pretty boy need to be talked through it? Tell me you need it. Tell me you need me."

"I— I need it. Need you," he stuttered, eyes squeezing shut. "Fuck, 'm gonna— Please, tell me— I need to— Ahh—"

"Oh, baby," you cooed. "You're so close, aren't you? Can't even talk properly, poor thing."

He didn't answer; he couldn't. The only sounds that escaped his mouth were half-moans and a string of curses. The head of his dick continued to bully your G-spot until your cunt clamped down around him, then you were moving with him. Your hips rolled desperately, lewd noises slipping from your parted lips.

"I'm right there," you whined loudly. "Come with me. Let me see you come, baby. I wanna see how desperate you are for me. How desperate I make you."

"Sweetheart—" His voice cracked on a whimper as his hips slammed into yours, spurts of warmth flooding your pussy. His wrecked expression—eyebrows tilting upward while his face contorted in pure bliss—made your cunt flutter on instinct. Your head felt light, vision blurring briefly as your orgasm coursed through you. His legs trembled from exertion at the same time that your thighs began to twitch.

Your walls pulsated around him as he emptied the last of his release into you, your pussy practically milking him as his movements turned sluggish. Foreheads pressed against one another, you breathed in each other's air. Your arms wrapped snugly around his neck, kissing his damp hairline, and then the tip of his nose as your forehead settled back against his. Silence fell over you as you both reveled in the quiet intimacy.

It only took him a few seconds to regain his bearings before leaning back, mouth opening. "Wish we could stay like this. Wanna stay wrapped in your warmth," he whispered, voice weak.

A confession lingered on his tongue as he stared at you, one you wouldn’t even need to interrogate him to hear. “I— I lo—”

He was interrupted by the doorbell, quickly followed by three sharp knocks. You glanced toward the sound before turning your attention back to him. You almost urged him to finish his admission, but decided against it, the calm moment already broken.

Sighing, you inclined back, your hands dropping to the wood below you. "Welp, that's them."

Holland glanced down, panic washing over his features at the sight. Cum leaked from pussy, dripping onto the tabletop with comedic timing. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

He pulled out of you with a hiss, hands waving frantically as he tried to figure out what to do. Bending at the waist, he scrambled to tug his pants up, struggling to clasp them. "Wait there," he choked, dashing out of the room. "I'll clean you up."

Laughing, you leaped down from the squeaky vanity. "Don't worry about it," you muttered as you shifted your panties and adjusted your dress. "I don't mind the subtle reminder."

Crossing the room, you snatched up your heels and wandered out the open door. You hadn't noticed that he stopped in his venture to the bathroom, now leaning against the doorframe, arm propped up on the wood. A smirk graced his lips, cocky as ever. His palm slipped awkwardly, practically toppling over, then he righted himself once more as if nothing had happened.

"Yeah? You want me to fill you up until all you can feel is me?"

You snorted. "You're cute."

He scoffed lightly, brows knitting together. "That wasn't supposed to be cute. It was supposed to be…Oh, never mind."

Someone shrieked outside, banging on the door again. "Babe, come on," one of your friends slurred. It seemed they had already started drinking without you. "Or you're gonna have a hell of a time catching up with us."

"Okay, I gotta go," you said, rushing over to plant a kiss on his cheek, leaving a faint trace of lip gloss behind.

"Have fun," he mumbled. "Don't drink too much."

On your way out, you glanced over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow. "That's rich coming from you."

"Just…" he paused, processing his words. "Give me a ring if you need a ride home."

"Alright," you breathed, twisting the knob of the front door. "I love you."

The words were out before you could stop them. They hovered there, floating in the space between you, before his brain eventually registered what you just said.

"What?" he croaked with wide eyes.

"Nothing," you insisted too quickly, then slipped out the gap, slamming the door behind you.

You honestly wish you could've admired the shock on his face for a moment longer, but you'd deal with the repercussions of your words when you returned home.

Hopefully, that would consist of fewer clothes and uncorking a bottle of red wine.

Maybe that was why your 'girls' night' ended sooner than expected.

i'm so sorry, i need that pathetic man so bad, like fucking oxygen...all of my vocal stims have been holland march related...mostly "how stupid do you think i am? i gotta license to carry motherfucker."

*sigh* oh, to be in a room with ryland and holland