#boyd fowler fluff

You considered yourself a hopeful person, a woman that believed in manifestation, karma, ‘whatever’s meant for you will find you’ and all that shit. You cruised through life as a survivalist, a mesopredator with opportunistic tendencies, someone who was willing to do anything to survive the wilderness of the world and win the long-lasting competition, while relying on let’s see what happens philosophy.

So, when the opportunity to marry Jordan arose, of course you took it, as it was never about love or devotion to either of you. For Jordan, it was always about keeping up appearances, and for you, it was about A) money; but especially about B) hoping that something good would come out of it, something that would get you further in life – another opportunity. It just never occurred to you that the opportunity would be of romantic matter.

Hate couldn’t quite cut the way you felt about all of them, and that included Jordan. Dan was the sleazeball of the group, they all were, but he held the scepter for sure. Cole had hated you since the moment Jordan introduced you, and you assumed it was because he was one of those guys who believed that their super-tight boyband was the planet Earth, and you were an asteroid responsible for its destruction. You quite liked Alex – not because he was better than Jordan or Dan, but because he wasn’t an active participant of that circle. He was a bit cynical, had a hard time keeping it together, so he was always sweating his ass off in a cheap suit elsewhere.

Obviously, they all wanted a piece of you – except maybe for Cole, but the rest of them looked at you like you were prey. Jordan didn’t mind at all, because he was too ignorant to even notice anything. He had decided a long time ago that you were only pretty enough to occasionally hang on his arm at his events, but you could never replace Emily. Thank fucking God for that.

But then there was Boyd. For a long time, you thought that you hated him too… well, you probably had, but you realized soon that he was the only one who wasn’t making your skin crawl when he called you sweetie or honey as he asked you to bring him some water. You realized that you were pretty quick to fulfill his wishes and too slow when others asked for something.

Boyd observed you. When you caught him staring, he never looked away like Dan. The only thing Dan cared about was your ass, removing his eyes from you as soon as you turned around, but Boyd waited until you locked eyes with him and then slowly and appreciatively dragged them over your figure, squinting when he reached your eyes again as if it would give him an X-ray vision that would allow him to see more of you. Every time you entered the room, he seemed to stop caring about whatever Jordan was saying and focused solely on you, making goosebumps erupt all over your body.

Boyd did make your skin crawl after all, but you loved that feeling when it was caused by him, despite how uncomfortable it was. Jordan was never capable of stirring such emotions in you, but that was okay, he wasn’t obligated to do so.

Jordan also wasn’t the one to notice that you started to dress down whenever the guys were around, that you started to wear a more expensive perfume, that you did whatever you could to get into Boyd’s proximity. Boyd noticed, and that was everything you wanted – at the time, at least.

How did you know he had noticed? He started to mirror your actions – wearing clean clothes, switching his uniform for button-ups unless he arrived straight from his shift, he added belts to his outfits and started wearing cologne. He would also always subtly touch the back of your knee – the softest brush of his fingertips against your skin when he was sat down and you’d just served him with a cup of coffee.

You saw an opportunity.

Boyd had a habit of never locking his car, so one day, when they wrapped up their get-together, you had been already waiting in the passenger seat of his ugly, yellow pick-up truck.

He literally stopped in his tracks when he noticed you through the windshield as he walked to his car, fidgeting with his car keys. He glanced over his shoulder, checking whether some of his buddies were around.

“What are you doing?” he asked, when he got behind the steering wheel.

“I need to pick some flowers for the house. Thought you could give me a ride.” You smiled.

He sniffed, his mustache twitching as he pressed his lips into a tight line, wheels turning in his head.

“Jordan know about that?”

You frowned. “He’s my husband, not my dad.”

Boyd laughed at you, his neck finally twisting to look at you with raised eyebrows as if to say seriously? “Isn’t he your sugar daddy?”

“Still. I make my own decisions. So, will you take me? Please?”

And Boyd just couldn’t resist you – sitting in his car like that, wearing a short skirt and a tight baby tee combined with that puppy look of yours. He couldn’t resist the way you said please to him; he simply wasn’t that strong, and he couldn’t pass on the opportunity to be alone with you. So, he started the car and drove you.

He wondered if Jordan would kill him for thinking about you like this. He didn’t think so. Jordan didn’t like to get his hands too dirty, that was mostly Boyd’s job. He’d lost count of how many people he had disposed of, but there was a time he thought he would eventually be disposing of you, too; that you’d become just another lock of hair in his binder.

He was glad it hadn’t come to that yet. But once it did, what would he do? Could he maybe be the one to prevent it from happening? Boyd bit his cheek, glancing at Jordan’s CD in the cup holders before he parked the car. Thinking.

“Why aren’t you wearing any underwear?”

Your breath hitched, hands hovering over your seatbelt you’d just unbuckled. How did he…?

“What?” you laughed. “I am wearing underwear,” you said defensively. But why? You weren’t wearing any. And Boyd was the reason. Why would you suddenly lie?

“I clean up dead animals. My nose is basically trained to pick up all sorts of smells,” he said, brows quirking as his lips formed a proud smirk.

“Shouldn’t it be desensitized, actually?”  

His expression stayed the same, knowing. “Answer the question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

For fuck’s sake, you wanted to smash your head against the concrete. You felt like you weren’t in control of your own words. What was happening to you? Were you suddenly scared of what he might do? Were you shy? You needed to get it together. You were supposed to be happy he called you out on it.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“No. I think you’re too in your head.”

“Too in my head? Should I check myself then?”

“You want to harass me? I’ll tell Jordan.”

“Like hell you will,” he chortled. “You’ve been bent on slutting yourself out for me the past couple of weeks.”

“Thinking a little too high of yourself, aren’t we? What if it was for Dan?”

Boyd burst out laughing. “Right.”

“Or Cole.”

“You hate Cole. You hate that he’s always taking up your precious space. I can see it in your eyes every time he enters the room.”

“Alex, then.”

He tilted his head at you, the corner of his mouth lifting up. “Alex is never around, for a change.”

Admittedly, you got wetter with each truthful argument he presented, and you were out of excuses. You were finally getting what you wanted. Stars were aligning. And you couldn’t think of doing anything better than reaching for Boyd’s hand and bringing it to your bare thigh, his fingers automatically spread out to cover as much of your skin as possible.

He seemed hesitant at first, eyes fixed on his unmoving hand and throat bobbing with a hard swallow. He remained still until you coaxed his hand up a little and his fingertips slipped underneath the hem of your skirt. Then, as if you flipped a switch, his fingers squeezed, creating soft dents in your skin.

You let your hand travel upward, gently skimming over his strong forearm, feeling all the different muscles that flexed with his movements as his whole hand disappeared under your skirt, his pinky finger bumping lightly against your bare center. He let out a shuddering breath at the feeling of your sticky juices coating his fingertip, then his face hardened into focus again, lips pursed as his eyes flicked to yours.

“Is this all for me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you get this wet every time I was around?”

“And every time I thought of you.” You shifted, trying to get him to touch you more.

“Do you get this wet for Jordan, too?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think I ever got this wet for anyone.”

You probably shouldn’t feed his ego like that, but the smirk Boyd gave you pushed the thought away.

“And what do you want me to do about it?” he asked, subtly moving his finger over your clit.

Your chin jutted towards the CD. “You listen to his crap, right?” This was the first and only time you’d ever say this. “Do what Jordan says.” Take it.

“He’s my friend, you know. I might as well drive back to the house and tell him what a whore his wife is.” Boyd emphasized the crude word by flicking his wrist and slipping his middle finger between your wet folds.

You leaned deeper into his space which caused your thighs to squeeze his hand tighter, essentially trapping it between your legs.

“Go ahead. Your word against mine. But a little warning? None of you are his friends. I guarantee you that as soon as the shit hits the fan, he’s only willing to save himself.”

To Boyd, that was old news; he wasn’t that naïve. Ever since Jordan became successful, he wasn’t afraid to use his narcissism and entitlement against others, and lately, Boyd’s patience had started running thin with him. Maybe jealousy had something to do with that. Not of his fame and wealth, no, but he was jealous that Jordan had a woman at home that he didn’t deserve in any universe.

Boyd withdrew his hand, nails lightly scraping against your skin in the process, and you thought for a moment that he’d throw you out of the car. Instead, the same hand made its way to your neck, squeezing just above your pulse points and keeping your face close.

If you had any patience left in you, you’d enjoy the way his pupils dilated and his hot breath bounced off your lips, but you didn’t. So you closed the gap and connected your lips with a little too much force that cause the glasses on his nose to shift. His hand around your neck relaxed for just a millisecond before squeezing again as he reciprocated the kiss.

During the kiss, you tried to climb over the console and into his lap a few times, but every time, he tightened his hold on your throat and held you down. Eventually, you whimpered out of sheer frustration and broke the kiss, pouting at him. Boyd fixed his glasses as he gave you an entitled smile, brushing his thumb over you lower lip.

“Are you gonna fuck him tonight?”

What kind of question was that? You couldn’t even remember the last time you had sex with Jordan.

“Maybe. Since you don’t seem interested.”

“Oh, I wanna fuck you,” he rebutted while his hand that had yet to touch you landed on his crotch to adjust himself as if to prove his point. Your eyes followed the motion. “Not in a filthy dead animal pick-up truck, though. You deserve better.”

The butterflies inside your stomach flapped their wings, and you felt your face soften. You wouldn’t peg Boyd for a gentleman.

“So you’ll take me to your place, then?” you leaned in again, eyes flicking to his lips as you bit yours, eager to kiss him again, but the reply he gave you wiped that smile off your face.

“No. I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

…What’s that supposed to mean?

He didn’t explain, just told you to stop pouting which only made you pout more.

What he meant was that you weren’t ready for the collection of toys he possessed, all the cuffs and ropes, nipple clamps, vibrators… You were beyond shocked when you saw all the tools, but more importantly, you became jealous and felt fucking stupid. How could you have been so naïve and thought that he wasn’t sexually active?

“Is that why you came onto me? You felt sorry for me?” His voice wasn’t hurt. Far from it. He was fucking ecstatic to unintentionally play you like that and get such a reaction out of you.

“I didn’t feel sorry for you,” you were quick to correct him. You wouldn’t fuck anybody who you felt sorry for.

“But you thought I wasn’t having sex, correct?”

Your silence was enough of an answer for him.

Boyd was and wasn’t gentle the first time he fucked you. His priority was to learn what made you tick, what your body liked and what your brain liked, what made you uncomfortable and what drove you absolutely crazy and desperate for him. He needed to improvise a bit, because you wouldn’t let him use the toys on you. You told him that that was just gross.

Restraints, you were okay with, but he was still careful to treat you almost like glass. You were young, and Boyd had known Jordan long enough to know that he wasn’t exactly confident when it came to sex. It’s not like you were a virgin, but Boyd could imagine just how far your experience went. So, he dipped a toe in first instead of plunging right in, choosing to tie your hands with his old tie instead of the ropes that were always ready at his bed, coiled around the wooden bedposts.

You were responsive, which made it a hell of a lot easier for him, too. Besides from that, it also made his cock throb – every little whimper, every twitch of your abdomen, every attempt of your thighs to close and shield your pussy from him. Fuck, he loved everything, and he loved when he got to hold you down with his bare hands. He loved building you up to your orgasm only to tear it away, repeating this over and over until you were crying and shivering, and he was out of breath and sweaty.

He did a number on you the first time, but it was nothing compared to the things he planned for you in the future. And he could see it in your eyes, too; that you wanted more, that you would let him do more. You were so fucked out of your mind that day, your pussy was so sore that he was afraid to touch it, and despite that, you clung to his body afterwards, desperate to preserve the feel of his body against yours.

Boyd wasn’t used to that. He had craved it, of course he had. But every woman he had ever got into his bed up and left right after the act. Not that he wanted them to stay, that option had never even crossed his mind; until you. He supposed it was a good thing, but there was a downside to it – he hated that at the end of the day, just a couple of hours after he’d ruin you, you were going to share a bed with Jordan.

Fucking fraud; he always just fucking blabbed and blabbed but never took his own advice.

He tried not to dwell on it too much while he drew circles into the skin of your shoulder, otherwise he was afraid he’d dig his fingernails just a little too deep.

Given Jordan’s disinterest in you, it was pretty easy to sneak around. You and Boyd had a lot of sex. You made him throw out all the toys, and using Jordan’s money, you helped him build a new collection, meant only for you. The toys helped you recognize Boyd’s mood – whenever he was in a good mood, he’d use them on you. If he was pissed, he’d use anything else but the toys, and that was when he was at his most dangerous.

But then the investigation started, Dan had been murdered, and Cole had disappeared. After that, Jordan limited his contact with Boyd and Alex, they didn’t meet at the house anymore, relocating to a place unknown to you. Jordan also had to cancel all his events, which made him snappier than usual and for the first time, because he missed his audience, he started controlling your life instead – deciding when and where you were allowed to leave the house, and if you did, you were always to be accompanied by one of his bodyguards. Don’t be fooled – it wasn’t for your safety; it was for his. He needed someone to keep an eye on you in case you decided to open your mouth and tattle away.

That meant that you didn’t get to see Boyd. On a few occasions, he was bold enough to come by the house, pissing Jordan off, naturally. But he needed to make sure you were okay.

He even managed to steal you away one day, for long enough time to explain to you that even though Jordan had selfish reasons to do all of this, you benefited from it too.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you asked angrily.

 “Well, someone killed Dan. Someone probably killed Cole. You could be next.”

“Or you.”

His reply was a scoff, making your eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh? That sounded pretty confident.” You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you kill them?”

“Excuse me?”

“I wouldn’t be mad if you had.” You shrugged and it just made him roll his eyes.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. Just…” He took a deep breath, taking a step forward and lifting his hands before he remembered where he was and dropped them back to his sides. “Just fucking hang on. I’ll figure something out. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it.”  

“I won’t.”

Well…

It got a little out of hand and one night, you and Jordan got into an argument, because you had managed to sneak out of the house. You only went for a walk, nothing else, but he lost it. And you lost it.

You were dumb enough to tell him you had been cheating on him, in the hopes he would throw you out. That he wouldn’t care. You fucking hoped he’d never let you back into that Goddamn house. As you tried to leave on your own, he caught up to you and used his strength to stop you. It didn’t click for you at first what he was doing, but once you realized that he was trying to pacify you, you fought back – kicking, scratching, elbowing him – but then there was a wet rug to your nose and mouth, and you fell into a deep sleep.

When Boyd got the call, he knew something was off. He fucking knew. Jordan had this drop in his voice, the tone of a strategist in what Boyd knew was a completely spontaneous situation. Boyd considered the option that he was just being paranoid, but he wasn’t going to rely on hope, and his karmic debt was a little bit too high. Jesus, he needed to stop listening to your bullshit. He grabbed his gun before he left the house and made his way to the abandoned camp.

Every time you let Boyd tie you up, you looked so fucking ethereal. He could never take his eyes off you when you were in his bedroom, offering yourself to him, free for him to use however he wanted. Just the thought of it made him hard, and oftentimes, when he was patrolling the neighborhood, he had to park the car in a secluded nook so he could jerk himself off to the mental image of your naked body sprawled on his bed.

This time? No dead animal had ever made him want to throw up so bad like the sight of you tied to a chair. He was expecting this though, wasn’t he? So, he needed to focus. He wasn’t even sure what had gone down between you and Jordan. You must have pissed him off, that’s for sure, but he didn’t know whether Jordan had a reason to be pissed at Boyd too. He needed to be careful.

“Jordan,” Boyd greeted, nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose before his eyes found yours, trying to assess if you were hurt at all. “What happened?” The question was directed at Jordan, but in reality, he wanted nothing more than to hear it from you. You seemed calm, all things considered, Jordan didn’t even have to gag you. Always such a good girl.

“See this pretty mouth on her?” Your husband gripped your chin, mockingly jerking your jaw like you were a puppet. “Apparently, she’s been using it to suck another man’s cock.”

Boyd’s eyes bored into yours and you gave him a subtle shake of your head. He doesn’t know it’s you.

“So, I thought, since she likes to be shared – right, honey? – That I’d give you guys a few rounds with her. Well, I mean… you and Alex. But Alex is too much of a pussy right now, and he skipped town. So, congratulations. She’s all yours.”

“…You want me to fuck your wife?”

Jordan scoffed. “My wife. A disrespectful bitch is what she is.” He tapped the back of his hand against your cheek. It was far from painful, but it still made you wince. “Come on, Boyd. I know all of you guys have wished for a piece of ass like that. I’m making it pretty easy for you, so take it. We’ll take care of her later.”

And there it was. Boyd knew this moment would come, but ever since you two started having an affair, it had just slipped his mind how dangerous Jordan truly was. Now he regretted that he didn’t get you out of the house before he let this happen.

Boyd nodded slowly before walking towards you. Jordan took a few steps back and prepared himself for the show. Fucking freak. You looked up at Boyd, with those big eyes that still somehow managed to sparkle, no matter the circumstances. He tried not to get too lost in them, because otherwise you’d both be fucked.

“I want her blindfolded.”

Jordan chuckled. “You sure you don’t want to see the tears?” he asked in a tantalizing voice as he took off his tie and threw it to Boyd who could only offer a small, strained laugh. But then he looked at you again and his nose flared, and his jaw clenched and you knew he was holding back.

Once he blindfolded you, as much as you tried to hide it, your breath became heavier and your nails dug into your palms. You didn’t want Jordan to know that you were scared – of him, of whatever might happen to you, of anything… You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. You flinched when you felt a hand caress the crown of your head, Jordan’s laughter bursting your ear drums despite how far he was. It was still coming from behind you, meaning Boyd was the one touching you. Good, that was good.

Another confirmation was when a set of lips pressed against yours, and your brain quickly registered the familiar sensation of his facial hair against the soft skin of your cupid bow. It made you relax a bit, but you didn’t kiss him back, as difficult as it was. God knows what Jordan would do if he found out that all this time, it was his friend who had been fucking his wife.

“Wow. Got no fight left in you, huh, honey?” Jordan taunted, before hissing, “I hope I finally fucking broke you.”

He wasn’t left wondering for too long, because Boyd reached into the waistband of his pants, swiftly pulling out his handgun and aiming at Jordan. He fired three quick shots, every single one of them startling you.

Everything was rushed after that. Boyd freed you and got you the hell out of there, never letting you even glimpse at the lifeless body.

That’s how you ended up here, tied up again, only this time, it had been done with gentleness and a sense of professionalism. You were high on your knees, your arms extended above your head and secured to the upper rails of his antique canopy bed with a rope that was also keeping your wrists together. He had the length of the rope precisely measured according to your height so that you were basically hanging from the ceiling, your body forced into a delicious stretch and prevented from lowering your ass to your heels.

Boyd figured that one out after the one time where you couldn’t handle the swats to your ass anymore and had the audacity to hide yourself from him. He thought that if you hadn’t been tied to the bed, he would have had to chase you around the house.

It was his favorite way to spank you, because this position gave him access to every inch of your body – to touch it, to admire it, to ruin it.

Smack.

Your body arched as pain surged through your body.

“How many was that?” Boyd’s breath tickled your ear before his lips softly touched the skin of your shoulder, a complete contrast to his rough hands.

Honestly, you had no idea. You’d lost count after 18, simply because you got tired of keeping up with the count and he hadn’t asked you in a while, so you just stopped. He’d been playing with you for too long.

You answered anyway, as confidently as you could. Nobody was stopping you from taking a guess. “Thirty-two.”

You heard a huffing laugh, your eyes squeezing shut at the sound as you braced yourself for impact.

Smack.

Fuck.

The rope around your wrists frayed your skin as your torso swung around, and you feared that you’d see blood trickling down your arms soon.

“Where did you learn how to count? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one here.” Boyd lashed your sore skin again, accompanied by a triumphant: “Twenty-five!”

The weight of his knuckles against your butt felt too heavy, even though it was just a brush, mindlessly traveling to your hips and back. He kissed along the column of your neck again. “I wanted to leave it at that, but evidently, you think you deserve more. So I’ll give you thirty-two.”   

He gave you five successive slaps, the thirtieth hit making your ass burn so much that you thought you would stop feeling that part of your body altogether soon. You didn’t let the sensitivity keep you from pressing yourself back against the rough material of his cargo shorts, the zipper irritating your bruised skin even more. Your neck also gave up on the support of your head, and you let it fall against his shoulder while his hands resumed their exploration.

They roamed over your sides, felt over your ribs until they finally settled on your breasts. Boyd pinched your nipples between his index and middle finger, rolling the pebbled peaks and giving them occasional tugs. You arched into him and closed your eyes, letting a happy sigh escape your parted lips.

His breath tickled your cheek as he spoke. “Remind my why we’re here.”

When you didn’t reply, too tired to think of the correct answer, you received another slap, only this time to your tit. It made your head snap upright as you gasped in shock.

“I almost got myself killed.”

“How?”

“I told Jordan the truth.”

“Yeah, and how did that work out for you?”

You shrugged, but it only reminded you of the ache in your shoulders. “Pretty well, actually. I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

He smacked your other breast, eliciting a sound between a gasp and a laugh.

“You think this is funny? You made me shoot my best friend.”

You snorted, right before his hand collided with your ass again.

You waited for the pain to subside before you unclenched your jaw and spoke. “I didn’t make you do anything. I was tied up, remember?”

“If you hadn’t decided to be a loudmouth, I wouldn’t have had to kill him.”

“You wanted to kill him– Can we not do this? We’re together, right? That’s all that matters.”

It was easy for you to say. You were just trying to manipulate him into fucking you already. That was all that was on your mind in that moment.

But really, instead of not taking the situation seriously, you should be thanking him, because he was the reason that you didn’t have to worry about anything other than him stuffing you with his cock. You knew he was carrying most of the weight of the situation, but that was on him. You told him you’d help him with the body, but he didn’t want to hear it.

And the fact that Boyd wasn’t in a rush even though Jordan was still rotting at the camp was turning you on.

“It’s not. You need to accept the consequences of your actions and apologize.”

A scowl appeared on your face. Apologize? For what? For speeding up the process?

“Did you listen to his stupid CD’s again?” You rolled your eyes at the possibility. “I thought I threw them all out. Or are you just pretending you don’t have a brain?”

Your body jolted with another slap. Thirty-two. Fucking finally.

“Apologize.”

“No!” you exclaimed incredulously. That’s when you heard the clanking of his belt. You shifted on your knees, hoping – fucking hoping – he wasn’t going to touch you with it. But you already knew you were dead wrong, and soon, as he wrapped your hair around his hand and yanked on it, he was whipping your ass and thighs with the leather until he saw bloody marks forming on the skin and your face was soaked with tears and snot.

“Are you sorry yet?”

You nearly sobbed. “Yes.”

“Well, let me hear it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“I’m sorry for almost getting myself killed. I’m sorry for making you kill your friend. I’m sorry for being stupid when you told me not to.”

You recoiled when he brought his palm to the tender skin to rub gentle circles there. “Good girl,” he said, giving you a kiss under your ear.

Boyd untied your wrists then and made you crawl to the foot of the bed on all fours while he stood in front of you. He cupped your chin, slipping his thumb into your mouth, and letting you twirl your tongue around it for a moment before hooking the finger behind your lower teeth and pulling you upwards until your face was level with his. You kissed him then, fingers curling around his neck as he shrugged his flannel off.

You enjoyed the taste of him, the way his soft tongue danced across yours. When your lips disconnected, he pushed you back down, positioning your arms to hang over the wooden footboard, the carved ridges digging into your armpits. He removed his shorts and boxers too, but not before taking ahold of his gun. His throbbing cock sprung free, bumping against his stomach as he grabbed a handful of your hair and guided your mouth forward.

You didn’t even wait for his command. Opening your mouth for him and swallowing him down was like second nature to you.

But he stopped you before you could do any of that and instead brought the gun to your mouth. Your blinked up at him.

He nodded, lips curling inwards, creating a tight line as if to tell you that you understood correctly. “Suck on the gun.”

“What?”

“Suck on the gun that killed your husband.”

Those words were the pushing force that convinced you to hesitantly wrap your lips around the barrel of the gun, a taste of metal and gun powder absorbing into your tastebuds as your tongue slid against the underside of the weapon.

“Thaat’s it, you fucking slut. You like that, huh?”

You made a sound of agreement, before you moved your head back and forth as if it were his cock that was currently in his hand as he tugged on it.

You frowned, focused on being mindful of your teeth, and you sure as fuck hoped he was being consciously careful too, because you didn’t want them to get knocked out. The metallic taste became more and more prominent with each slide of your soft tongue against the hard barrel, mixing with your saliva that made the gun shimmer under the bedroom lights.

Your focus was disrupted by the clicking sound as he took the safety off, and you couldn’t do anything but glare at him.

“You better hope my finger doesn’t slip. Don’t wanna be scraping your brains off the ground like roadkill. Are you scared?”

Your response was sliding the gun deeper into your mouth while maintaining eye contact with him, and you could see the flicker of pride in his eyes.

“God. Which fucking loony bin spat you out, hm? You’re so fucking sick.”

He clicked the safety back on before pulling the gun out of your mouth and throwing it into the heap of clothes, and then finally, he allowed you to taste his cock, stuffing your mouth full of it.

Once you relaxed your throat, Boyd rocked forward, pulling a gagging sound from you before the fist in your hair pulled you off him until only his tip was resting against your tongue. Your mouth stretched to accommodate more of him, letting him fill your throat until your nose was squished against his stomach.

Your nails scraped against the wood as you coughed around him, bubbles of spit making their way out through the corners of your mouth, your eyes fluttering closed as they stung with budding tears.

When he pulled out, you spurted out the spit that had collected on your tongue and ended up on your chin.

He set a pace then, rapidly snapping his hips against your face and fucking your mouth until you were gurgling around him and moans of pleasure fell from his mouth. Then he stilled his hips again, the head of his cock nestled deep against you vocal cords as he tilted your head a little.

“Look at me,” he ordered, but your gag reflex and eyelids teamed up against you. “Come on, babygirl,” Boyd cooed condescendingly when he saw you struggle, removing the hair that was sticking to your face. “Try to give it your best. Come on.”

You breathed in through your nose and stared up at him, your eyes brimming with tears that made your vision blurry. You could still tell that he was beautiful, though.

“Such a gorgeous, gorgeous girl. It would be a cryin’ shame if I had to dump you in a swamp.”

Boyd pinched your nose, restricting your intake of oxygen and your eyes fluttered shut once again when your brain started to slowly shut off. Your head span faster and faster with each passing second, your back twitching as if you were doing a cat-cow pose, but before you were completely gone, he released you and pulled his cock out of your mouth, your scalp stinging from his grip on your hair. You dry-heaved, trying to come to your senses from all the torture to your body.

The floor under you was wet – with tears, his precum, but mostly, it was the drool produced by your mouth. Strings of saliva hung from your lips until Boyd wiped them with his palm before squishing your cheeks together as he leaned down to kiss your shiny lips, cleaning his own precum away from your tongue.

“You can just say you couldn’t bear to lose me,” you rasped out once he finished licking into your mouth. You didn’t expect him to suddenly go all sweet on you, you knew what would follow. And as soon as you stopped talking, his wet palm collided with your cheek.

“Don’t get cocky now.”

You just grinned, because you had every reason to be cocky. Your boyfriend killed your husband for you, his childhood friend. Without hesitation. And if that isn’t a declaration of love, you don’t know what is.

You shuffled a little closer, and at the expense of your armpits, you started laying small kisses all around his cock – his thighs, along his happy trail, licking at his v-line, and eventually taking his balls into your mouth and suckling on them until he whimpered above you. You took the opportunity of free will and licked a fat stripe up the underside of his cock, following the thick vein all the way to the tip where you twirled your tongue in circles. Boyd grunted and tugged on your hair then, with a force that got you sitting high on your knees again, your hands instinctively shooting up to the one in your hair to get rid of the source of the pain.

His eyes glimmered as they danced across your face – your pretty lips, your pretty nose, those eyes that literally made him commit murder. Fuck, he was down bad, and if he hadn’t had a motivation to keep himself out of prison before, he definitely had it now. He couldn’t let anybody else fuck that face, and certainly not your pussy. If that ever happened, he swore he’d break out just to kill the asshole who touched you. You were his. End of story.

“It was pretty stupid of you, too, to shoot him like that,” you said, bringing him back to present.

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “It was necessary. Telling him that you were cheating on him was stupid. I think we established that.”

You shrugged, giving him a lopsided grin. “What can I say? Love makes you do stupid things.”

He didn’t full-on smile, but it was the wrinkles around his eyes, peeking from underneath his frames that gave him away. Before you could tease him about it, he shoved you and your back bounced against the mattress. You were reminded of the fire your ass was on. Boyd was quick and good at predicting, catching your hand that was already en route to your behind to sooth the pain, but he pinned it down next to your head, your other hand joining too as he hovered over you, glasses gone and revealing the rest of the freckles that decorated his face.

You lifted your hips with the intent of rubbing your pussy against his cock, but he jerked away, tightening his hold on your wrists. “Brat.”

“What? It’s not my fault I’ve been wet since you pulled the trigger.”

“You really get off on me killing someone?”

This time you lifted your head, your noses nearly brushing. “I get off on you killing Jordan.”  

He scoffed. “As I said. Sick.”

You giggled and let your head sink back into the pillow. Boyd decided to tease you then, peppering kisses all over your body. You felt the brush of his lips against your biceps, the crook of your elbow, your chafed wrists and your palms. He took his time kissing over your torso, your chest, your stomach that was especially sensitive to the bristles above his lips. He dipped his tongue into your belly button before licking a stripe up to your breast and sinking his teeth into the underside of your mound.

You played with his hair, auburn curls sticking out between your knuckles as you gently ran your fingers through them. God, but all this hair-pulling was always better when his head was framed by your thighs, and his tongue was lapping at your pussy.

“Boyd,” you whimpered as he kissed along your hips and to the crease between your leg and stomach.

“What do you want?”

“Eat my pussy.”

He gave a kiss to the top of your thigh before he spread your legs and kneeled between them. “You want me to eat your pussy?” he asked, leaning down and bringing his face closer to your center.

“That’s what I said.”

“Yeah?” his hot breath hit your folds, his lips were parted, eyes bored into yours, and he seemed like he was ready to dive in. When he was just a whisker away from kissing your cunt, he turned his head and sank his teeth into your thigh. You cried out, and after he let go of your skin, Boyd crawled up your body, folding you in half as your legs hooked around his arms, his cock brushing against your cunt.

“Say it again.”

“I want you to eat my pussy.”

“Again.”

He made you repeat it five times, until your cheeks were flushed and the confidence in your voice faded. Boyd knelt between your knees again, sitting down on his heels before he lifted your legs and pressed them together. He told you to keep your feet up, so he could kiss along your thighs, facial hair scratching against the patches of abrased skin and sending stinging sparks of pleasure through your body and into your clit. You loved every bit of it. He took his time, switching from one leg to another, but he wasn’t even trying to tease you this time. Your legs were his weakness, and he wanted to worship them.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before he finally spread your legs and threw your legs over his shoulders as he dipped his tongue into your glistening slit. Your eyes rolled back as soon as he reached your engorged clit, a sigh of relief escaping your mouth. It was absolutely electric, the way he flicked his tongue over your bud before taking it into his mouth and sucking, moving his head from side to side before he released you with a pop.

When he moved lower and stuck his tongue into your hole, his mustache created friction on your clit that made your pussy flutter, and your fingers curl into his hair, nearly pulling them out of their roots. He groaned against you, moving his tongue in and out of your weepy hole in a quick pace, fucking your cunt with the wet muscle and setting your stomach up for fireworks.

You whined above him, arching your back and making yourself look absolutely beautiful. He licked a broad stripe up to your clit again, shaking his head from side to side and making a noisy mess of your pussy before tugging the hood of your clit back to hit every single nerve ending as he rolled his tongue over it.

It made your whole body convulse, your knuckles threatening to tear through your skin as you gripped the sheets underneath you, the gasps getting caught in your throat. When he closed his lips around the exposed nub and suckled, you were done for.  Your stomach exploded, and you were cumming right into his mouth, covering his chin, his lips and his facial hair in your juices.

He didn’t ease up, and this time you brought your hands to his head to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge. You moaned out his name, begged him to stop, pushed on his forehead, clawed at his scalp and even tried to twist away, but he was too strong, too persistent. Eventually, he pulled away before you could cum again.

He let you think for exactly four seconds that he’d leave your overstimulated pussy alone, and then he was flipping you over and sliding his thigh under your stomach, propping up your ass on his leg as he inserted his thumb into you and quickly pulled another orgasm out of you by driving his thumb into you and rubbing your clit with the rest of his fingers.

His free hand was squeezing the flesh at your hip, his forearm against your back to hold your squirming body down. Your arms flailed around, trying to reach behind you and pry his fingers away from your waist, but that was futile, so you just held onto him, as he worked you through it, fluids spurting out of you like a fountain, wetting his hand and watch as well as the sheets, soaking everything through. Your screams, muffled by the mattress, didn’t stop until Boyd removed his hand.

You sere slumped over him, completely pliant as your chest heaved and stomach still twitched from the consuming orgasm. Fuck. You should have brought a towel. Boyd withdrew his thigh from underneath your body, and you extended your legs, laying yourself flat down on your stomach. He traced lines onto your back, letting you catch a breath.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled and turned your head to face him. “Just need a minute.”

Boyd brought his hand to your legs then, massaging them while avoiding touching the bruised skin. Half of his face was wet, mustache soaked, and his hair was a mess. You let your eyelids fall in appreciation of his digits working the knots out of your calves. He couldn’t resit though, bringing his finger to your quivering pussy and with the lightest touch swiping over the length of your puffy folds. You twitched away, of course, whimpering. He removed his finger but kept his eyes on your cunt.

“You know,” you murmured. “Jordan didn’t have a will. We’re sort of rich, now.”

He snorted. “That’s what you’re fuckin’ thinkin’ about right now?”

When he decided you got enough rest, he rolled you over onto your back and fucked you messily to sleep, pulling out just to lay you on your side and situating himself behind you before pushing his cock back inside you, using you to warm himself. You fell asleep like that, filled to the brim, cum leaking out of you the whole night.

you were snuggled in bed, you made him get new blankets, and sheets, and pillows. he has never slept so cozy in his life, his sweet girl and his new son in a big soft bed. that’s why when his obnoxiously loud ringer blares through the house, the first thing that comes out of his mouth

“motherfuc- boyd,” he answers, and his eyes aren’t even open yet; he lazily grabbed his phone off the nightstand, knocking his glasses into the flloor in the meantime. the scatter causes pope to sit up and wriggle from your sleeping grasp. you stir slightly, not waking up yet.

“sorry to call you this early. we have a gator that ate a rottweiler, not far from yours, then up on 14th street there’s a dead possum stuck inside a mailbox, and over by the school there’s a lady complaining about carcasses in her yard, it’s probably just a coyote but can you go check, after that you’re free.” his boss hangs up before he can even respond.

the only person in the entire world that gives him an ounce of respect is you. he looks over and pushes the hair from your face, little drool peeking out from your sleeping lips.you’re so delicate to him; he would never do anything to hurt you. he deals with dead things all day; you’re alive and well and all his.

“meep-“ boyd looks up, and pope drops his glasses into his comforter-covered lap

“woah!! that’s daddy’s baby, huh? no wonder i brought you home, good boy!! who taught you that, huh??” he scruffs his neck; pope purrs and leans into it, trying to squeeze in to loaf in his lap, delaying the inevitable. boyd loves pope dearly; having a living animal around that house that loves you dearly heals something in him.

“oh, don’t start that c’mon, let’s go eat.” he scoops up pope like a baby and takes him to the kitchen.

“i know mommy doesn’t like you to have this many shh.” he gives him two treats instead of one on top of his breakfast kibble (with a soup packet mixed in, and a few sardines on top)

“yer so spoiled, y’know that? sheetmetal to morning soup, you’re lucky!!” he leans down to give him his breakfast. he looks at the clock on the wall; no time to shower, just getting dressed and leaving.

he comes back to your shared room; you’re still asleep, but he can tell you’re starting to stir awake, gentle moving of your feet and the blanket is starting to shuffle, your hand peeks out from under, feeling for fur or flesh. he smirks with that stupidly cheeky smile and comes to your side of the bed, pulls the covers down gently to meet your open eyes

“good morning, daddy“ your arms immediately stick straight up, reaching for his neck.

“mornin', possum.” he leans down into your embrace; you smell so good, so clean and soft, also like sleep. he can’t get enough; he sticks his nose in your hair and breathes deeply, he could stay here forever, but he can’t, not until this afternoon anyway.

“i thought you were playin dead! my sweet girl sleeps too hard,” he says pulling back and smoothing your hand down, his calloused thumb coming to swipe your cheek, before he tells you

“daddy got called in, i won’t be long-“ he gently breaks the news to you.

you immediately start to pout, so sleepy you can’t really put your thoughts together, just so upset that he’s going to be gone for a few hours. before you throw a tantrum and cry, pope finishes his breakfast and plops on the bed, immediately snaking himself into your arms and flipping to show you his belly.

“ohh soup belly” you say, trying not to cry, your manicured fingers scratching through his onyx fur. pope knows you’re upset, and he makes sure to purr extra hard to help you calm down.

boyd smiles so hard; he’s so happy. his hand comes down with yours to rub stripes up your son’s fur-covered stomach. pope sticks his arms all the way up the wall above his head, sticking all of his paws straight out

“biiig stretch,” boyd chuckles, making you giggle too.

“it was your day off, daddy, i’m sorry for being bratty. just makes me sad when you leave in the morning. i don’t like when they’re mean to you,” you say softly. he nods and thinks for a few moments, your eyes still on pope; he’s asleep now, stretched out. you’ve never seen a cat so safe and cozy

“look at me,” boyd hums

you keep your eyes fixed

“look at me possum” he says again, this time a little firmer. his heart is broken that you think that expressing your emotions that’s you’re doing something wrong. you look up with tears in your eyes

“you weren’t bein bratty girl, just daddy’s sweet sensitive possum”

“i-im gonna miss you so much” you weep

“baby, i’ll be back this afternoon i’m not going to war!” both of his hands wrap around your jaw and he leans down to kiss you deeply, he pulls back

“you’re gonna lay down, i’m gonna put the tv on, pope is gonna protect you and i’ll be back before you know it. okay?”

“yes sir” you meekly nod and agree, he really knows how to make you feel better.

“good girl, gotta go get dressed now baby” he kisses your head and tucks you in, you peer over the covers watching him get dressed. he notices your eyes

“i know i know- i need to stop eating s’much. those brownies possum you gotta stop making those” he laughs as he puts his shorts on

“no you’re perfect daddy” you murmur under the covers not pulling it away from your mouth, only letting your eyes be seen. he has a keen ear, so he smiles

“you’re the perfect one-” he looks at the mirror

“maybe i should shave, go clean or something” he said that to get a rise out of you, the blanket shooting off and you sit up, you don’t say anything but shake your head no with the deepest frown known to man. he knows you love love love how he looks, you tell him daily. he slips the rest of his uniform on while you watch him, he loves how much you love him, he’s never had that before. everyone else sees him as this creepy weird guy who drives around in a truck talking to himself picking up unfortunate corpses. to you, he was boyd, daddy, your best friend, the recently new father of pope. you saw him in a completely different and pure light.

“i’m just teasin you possum i think you would kill me if i got rid of it” he comes over to your side of the bed again

“yes i would”

he faux gasps and scoops up pope

“would you let that happen to daddy? huh boy?” pope meows and shows his belly

“thank goodness i love your mommy too much and im a little scared of her” you both laugh, pope jumps down back into your embrace.

“you’re gonna be late daddy. your coffee cup is by the maker, i filled it up last night” you frown again, not wanting him to leave, the sun isn’t even up yet.

“thank you baby. quicker i go quicker i come back, i love you both” he kisses the top of your head, and coming down to kiss your lips.

“i love you more daddy”

“impossible!” he heads towards the bedroom door and you have popes little paw in your hand making him wave bye too. boyd head is thrown back and he giggles so hard, his eyes crinkle and you can’t even see them.

you lay back down and try to get cozy, sad for a little as you let sleep drift over you.

you wake up and stick your arm out, feeling for fur or flesh, to no avail. you pad your way to the kitchen to see pope sitting in the windowsill, he hears your steps and meows, turning his head back towards the window. you come closer and look in the yard, a bird had smashed into the window before you woke up and was flopping around in the yard, your heart immediately sunk. you run out the back door, grabbing a towel off the counter trying to quickly scoop it up, thankfully you always have your phone on you and call boyd

“hi possum! i was wonderin when you were gonna wake up! i’m on my way home, got you a drink and your favorite snacks baby.”

“boyd there’s a bird he’s not doing well he h-hit the house i-“ you start to tell him every detail and tripping over yourself

“slow slow down” he tuts softly, knowing you have a hard time with stuff like this.

“please hurry” you’re starting to breathe more shallow, starting to get really upset

“i’m right round the corner, bout to pull up kay?” he had been speeding since you first called him, so excited to finally be off. you say your byes and before you notice it he’s already running out the back door. you’re in the grass on your knees with the tattered towel wrapped around him. boyd had taught you enough to not get hurt, but he doesn’t like you doing what he does, that’s not for his little possum to deal with sad or scary stuff. he’s worried still

“are you okay??” he asks you before even investigating further.

“i’m okay, i just want him to okay” you start crying holding the bird with sad eyes in your hand, he’s alive, you can just tell he’s not doing well

“c’mere give em to daddy let me see” you gently hand him over

“he’s a mourning dove, you know how sometimes we hear the coo coo in the morning? that’s this little guy” he’s giving him the once over, doing his mental assessment.

“oh i see, he needs a little water, go in the bathroom under the sink there’s a box of my supplies, grab a little syringe and some water, can do you that f’me possum?” he’s speaking to you like you’re a nurse, and you’re so invested on saving this poor birds life you nod like you’re running from a trauma room and into the house. he’s praying on your naivety as he watches you round the corner out of sight. he knew there was no saving this bird, he gently and quickly put it out of its misery before tossing it over the fence and folding the towel. as you run out of the house with everything in your hands, he’s walking back towards the door.

“where did he go? is he okay?” you’re still shaken, looking around for the hurt creature.

“all better possum, you saved him!! such a good girl for calling me and being safe. i love you s’much let’s go shower” he gives you a big hug and kiss, and leading you back in the house.

you go to your shared bathroom to wash up and get yourself together, boyd squats in the kitchen, letting pope finally get his fill of all the smells from his day. he purrs and circles his boots, and licks all over. boyd opens his palms, and pope’s eyes go wide; he’s smelling a thousand smells and getting so excited