#cf!jp

So, there you were, trapped in the hazy familiarity of his bedroom, just one week before graduation. You were lying on your back, pinned beneath him. The friction was already starting to burn, a delicious, agonizing pressure that made your head spin.

"James!" you cried out, your voice cracking as the sensation intensified. He froze instantly, his jaw clenched, his eyes darting to yours in panic.

"What? Did I hurt you?" he rasped, his breath hitching as he pulled back slightly, his cock still pushed just enough into your pussy to make you ache. "I'm not even fully inside yet, is it too much?"

You shook your head violently, your hands sliding down to grip his hips, locking him in place. You didn't want him to leave; you needed this. "No," you gasped, your voice trembling. "Just give me a moment. Don't pull out, just stay there."

You needed a second to adjust, to let your body accept the stretch of him.

You hadn't realized that this moment was inevitable all along. You had viewed your singleness as a strange coincidence, but the reality was far more calculated.

Whenever a guy dared to get close, to ask for your number or lean a little too far at a party, James was always there, lurking. He'd whisper a ruinous rumor in the locker room, pay some girl to act as a clingy, fake girlfriend just to keep the competition occupied, or simply corner the poor bastard in a dark hallway, his knuckles bruised and his eyes cold as he delivered a violent warning.

He had dismantled every potential threat to his claim, all while maintaining the mask of the supportive best friend. He had spent years ensuring that by the time you reached this night, the only dick that would ever be inside you, the only person who would ever lay claim to your body, was him.

He had gone through the motions of dating, cycling through girls who were initially drawn to his quiet intensity, but every single one of them eventually hit the same immovable wall; you.

He never gave them a chance to compete. The second a girl started to notice the way he looked at you, or the way he prioritizes you over everything else, the countdown began. Whenever they dared to ask for a shred of boundaries, whenever they timidly suggested that maybe, just maybe, he should push you aside, create some distance, or stop being so codependent, he would dump them without a second thought.

When you'd sit on the floor of his room, nursing a beer and listening to him recount another breakup, you'd offer sympathy, feeling bad for his string of "failed" relationships. He'd shrug, looking away with that melancholic expression, muttering, "She just wasn't the one," or "We weren't compatible. She didn't get me." You bought it every single time, convinced he was just unlucky.

Because of this, he had remained a virgin himself, not that it bothered him. He was willing to wait, keeping himself pure for the only person he actually wanted to ruin.

You give him a nod. Your hands shift, digging your nails slightly into his shoulders, anchoring him as your breath hitches in your throat.

"You sure?" James whispers, his voice strained, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Yeah," you manage to choke out.

He gulps hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he stares down at you. "Okay, baby," he murmurs, his tone dropping. "Just let me know if it's too much."

You nod again, your body feeling eager. He begins to press forward. You feel the slow, steady stretch of your pussy as he slides deeper, filling every inch of you, his movements slow and controlled, yet laced with a desperate intensity that makes your head swim.

The sensation is overwhelming, an invasion that forces your body to accommodate him, stretching you in ways that feel painful and incredible right.

Your nails dig deep into the hard muscle of his shoulders, your grip so tight you're sure you're leaving welts behind.

"Fuck!" you gasp out, the word tearing from your throat.

His jaw tightens until the muscles jump, and he lets out a groan. He stops moving for a second, his weight heavy and solid against you, his eyes locked onto yours.

He doesn't move, giving you a second to process the overwhelming, aching fullness, and for him to process the reality of his very first time as well. He stays perfect still, his body trembling with the massive effort it takes to hold back his own hunger. His forehead drops until it rests against yours, his hot, ragged breath ghosting over your skin as he closes his eyes.

"God," he rasps, his voice a broken, needy sound that vibrates directly through your chest. "You feel so good."

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, dilated, and fixated on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you look.

You can feel his pulse against your inner walls. You're stretched, filled, and entirely at his mercy. He shifts his hips just a fraction, a slow, torturous grind that sends a fresh wave of pleasure and ache through your belly, and he watches your face, tracking every flicker of emotion, every gasp, and every sign that you are finally, truly his.

“Ah!”

He brushes a stray lock of hair away from your forehead with a trembling hand, his soft touch lingering against your cheek.

"I've got you," he whispers, his voice thick and reassuring.

But for all his devotion, he's as inexperienced as you are, and his movements are tinged with nerves. He's just the guy who has dreamed of this, and he's terrified of breaking you. He tries to pull back, but he's slightly clumsy, his hips hitching in a jerky, uncertain rhythm as he misjudges the angle.

"Shit, sorry," he breathes out, a flush climbing up his neck. He stops. "Is that... is that okay? I'm trying, I just… fuck."

He looks so earnest, so vulnerable in his attempt to be careful, that it makes your chest ache. He rests his forehead against yours again, his breathing ragged, trying to find his rhythm while his body fights his own desire.

You let out a soft, broken whimper, your hands fluttering against his back, trying to guide him. The sensation of his movements, though hesitant, was overwhelming.

"James," you managed to gasp, the name barely a breath, your eyes searching his face as you tried to find the words to tell him he was doing fine.

"'I'm here," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly hum against your neck. He adjusted his grip, his palms framing your face. "I'm still here. Just... just breathe with me, okay? We'll figure this out together."

He tried to push again, but he was still clumsy, his hips knocking against yours in a way that felt slightly off kilter. You felt another groan build in your throat, a long, keening sound that slipped out as he found a more sensitive spot.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he hissed, freezing in place again, his face flushed with panicked concern. "Did that hurt? I'm sorry, I'm just so... I'm so fucking nervous."

You shook your head, your hair splayed out against the pillow and let out a moan.

"Don't stop," you whispered, the words barely audible.

"You're sure?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

"Just... just move," you whined, your voice turning into a high, desperate plea. You reached down, your fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

James let out a ragged, unstable breath, his control clearly fraying. "Okay," he grit out, his voice trembling. "Okay. If you say so."

Every time his cock slid in and out, you let out a series of disjointed whimpers and soft moans that only fueled his confidence. He was learning you, your body, your pace, your limits.

He groaned as he found a better rhythm, his movements becoming less tentative and more rhythmic, though he still kept his eyes locked on yours, searching for any sign that he was doing it right.

"God, you're so warm," he whispered, his voice breathless and ragged. "Are you okay? Tell me if it's too much, I can stop, I just… I need to make sure you're okay."

You couldn't answer with words anymore. Every time he slid into you, you felt like you were unraveling. You wanted him closer, deeper, but he kept pausing, checking on you.

"Jamie," you sobbed, a pathetic, needy sound, your hips arching instinctively against him.

"I know, I know," he soothed, brushing a damp strand of hair from your eyes. "I'm right here with you. We're doing this together, right? Just you and me."

"Mhm," you whined.

"You're doing so good, baby," he murmured, his breath hitching as he felt your body tightening around him, a reflex that nearly made him lose his composure entirely. "Just breathe. I've got you. I’ve always got you."

He started to move with a little more confidence now, his hips grinding against yours with a heavy, deliberate friction. It was possessive and hungry, yet every single movement was wrapped in that protective tenderness he’d perfected.

“Faster.” The word was a desperate plea that tore through the quiet tension of the room.

"Faster?" he repeated, his voice rougher, more feral.

He didn't pull out to adjust or check on your comfort this time. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with a strength that felt like it could leave a permanent mark. He began to move, the friction shifting from exploration to a punishing rhythm.

"Like this?" he growled, the words vibrating against your collarbone as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

You let out a sharp, high-pitched cry, your head thrashing against the pillow as the rhythm began to snap your composure. You felt stretched, and yet you were clawing at his back, silently demanding more. Every time he slammed into you, his cock hit you with a force that made your vision blur, the sensation spreading from your center to your entire body.

"You're mine," he breathed, the words barely audible over the wet sounds of your bodies. He kept his eyes fixed on yours, watching the way you broke apart beneath him.

"Tell me," he demanded. "Tell me you want me to keep going."

"Don't stop" you whimpered, your voice cracking as the pressure built toward something explosive. You couldn't think; you couldn't rationalize the way his hips moved against yours with such singular, ruthless intent.

The pace he was setting was frantic and breathless, a jarring contrast to the gentle start he'd insisted on. Every time he drove into you, the friction sent jolts of pleasure from your stomach to your toes. You were arching against him, your world narrowing down to the friction of his skin against yours and the weight of him pinning you down.

Suddenly, he stiffened, his breathing turning into ragged gasps. He pulled back slightly, his eyes wide, his body trembling as he hovered on the brink.

"I'm gonna cum," he rasped, his voice cracking. "Should I pull out? I don't want to mess this up… I don't want to make a mess of you."

The thought of him leaving you now, felt like a physical blow. Without hesitation, you hooked your legs around his waist, locking him into place.

"Don't you dare," you hissed, your voice desperate and commanding. You didn't care about the consequences; you just needed him to stay buried deep inside.

A dark triumphant glint flickered in his eyes and he let out a growl. He stopped trying to pace himself, slamming into you one last time with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs.

You felt him stiffen, his muscles locking, and then his cum flooding your insides. His cock pulsed and twitched, rhythmically milking every drop as he buried his face in your neck, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

James didn't move, staying buried deep within you, his chest heaving as he slowly began to return to reality. He rested his weight on his forearms, looking down at you.

"God, James," you whispered, your voice raspy, your body still humming from the shock of it. "That was so good... really."

He let out a chuckle. The corner of his mouth quirked up, but it didn't reach his eyes, which remained fixed on yours. "Yeah?" he murmured. "Do you like it?"

You nodded, biting your lower lip, the lingering ache between your legs reminding you of exactly what had just happened. You felt a wave of shyness wash over you, a sudden realization of the intimacy of the position, the way he was still filling you.

Frowning, your hand dropped to the brass doorknob. You gave it a gentle twist, expecting it to hold firm, but with a soft click, the latch gave way.

An amused huff escaping your lips. He probably hadn't even realized he'd left the door unlocked when he came home. Figuring he was slumped over his desk with his headphones on, or zoned out in front of the television, you pushed the door just enough to slip inside.

You stepped into the apartment, kicking off your shoes and holding the takeout bag carefully so the containers wouldn't rattle.

"James?" you called out softly.

The apartment was messy in that unique way that only James could manage.

Then, cutting through the quiet, a low, strained sound down the small hallway leading to the rooms. Another sound drifted down the corridor, undeniable moans spilling out from his bedroom, muffled only by the distance.

The thought crashed through your mind. "What if he's with someone?"

Your chest tightened painfully. Of course, life had moved on. While you had been drowning in work, surviving on text messages and desperate to claw back a shred of normalcy, James had his own life, his own routine, his own private world. The realization hit you, you were just his best friend dropping by uninvited, completely oblivious to the fact that he was busy.

You squeezed your eyes shut, mortification burning hot beneath your skin. You needed to turn around right now, slip back out the front door, and pretend you had never come.

Suddenly, James' voice rang out from down the hall again, breathless and desperate.

And right on the heels of it, he groaned your name.

Your body moved before your rational mind could grab the reins, your feet carried you across the living room and down the corridor. The door to James' bedroom was slightly open.

The sight inside made your breath catch violently in your throat.

James was sitting on the edge of his unmade mattress, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his hair damp with sweat. His pants were shoved down past his hips, bunched around his thighs, leaving his erection completely exposed.

His right hand was wrapped firmly around his shaft, pumping in erratic, frantic strokes from base to tip, pre-cum glistening at the weeping slit. His wrist moved with urgency, every friction drawing a wet, slick sound from his grip that made your stomach flip.

In his other hand was his phone.

You stared, paralyzed, as your eyes flicked from his bucking hips to the device in his grasp. The screen displayed a picture of your face.

James threw his head back. His hips jerked forward into his fist, muscles straining taut across his stomach and thighs.

"God..." he choked out, his voice practically begging. He was using you as his fantasy, stroking himself while calling out your name like a prayer.

Your fingers tightened so hard around the takeout bag that the cardboard crinkled sharply in the quiet apartment, but you couldn't pull your gaze away. Every stroke of his hand, every glistening bead of pre-cum smearing along his shaft, and every gasp that tore from his throat hit you.

Seeing James like this unlocked something feral deep inside your chest.

The friction of your underwear suddenly felt too tight. Your breath hitched, shallow and trapped in your throat, as a shiver rolled down your spine, leaving you damp and aching for a friction you couldn't give yourself right there.

You were supposed to turn around, to slip back out the door, pretend you never saw this, and text him tomorrow like nothing happened.

Instead, your free hand drifted slowly down, pressing flat against the front of your jeans as a shuddering sigh slipped past your lips. And before you could blink, James' head snapped toward the doorway.

His eyes locked instantly onto yours through the gap in the door. For a fraction of a second, absolute horror flashed across his face. He froze, his dick still exposed before his brain caught up with his body.

"Fuck," he choked out, his voice cracking violently as a wave of panic and shame hit him. He scrambled backward, fumbling wildly with the waistband of his sweatpants, dragging them up his thighs and yanking them into place with frantic, clumsy haste. "I didn't-I didn't know you were coming."

Except he knew you were coming, in fact, this moment had been planned.

While you had been drowning in stress and burying yourself in work over the last few weeks, James had wormed his way into the confidence of your closest girl best friend, playing the role of the worried friend. Under the guise of just wanting to check on you, he had convinced her to feed him every single detail of your schedule.

Your friend thought she was just venting to a fellow friend who cared. But James had weaponized every piece of intelligence, he knew you wanted to surprise him with takeout, and he purposefully let his apartment door unlock just to trap you.

He let out a ragged breath, his chest still heaving as he stood up from the bed, closing the distance between you, masking the triumphant satisfaction humming beneath his skin.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, husky register as he stopped just inches away from the door, looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes. "I guess... I just missed you a little too much."

You forced your voice to stay steady. Keeping your gaze locked on the collar of his shirt rather than his eyes, you gave an awkward, defensive little shrug.

"It's okay, James, I'm the one who arrived uninvited," you said, offering an apologetic smile as you raised the takeout bag. "Just tell me where I can leave this, and I'll get out to let you finish."

A predatory shadow of a smile touched the corners of his mouth, gone before you could register it, replaced by the picture of pure innocence.

He closed the remaining distance between you, reaching out to gently pluck the plastic bag from your trembling fingers. He tossed it carelessly onto his desk.

"Are you leaving already?"

"Yeah," you muttered, stepping back. "I didn't want to interrupt you."

"No, baby, you could never," he murmured.

Before you could take another step, his hands shot out, catching you by the waist. With a pull, he dragged you straight against his body.

The impact knocked the breath right out of your lungs. Through the thin, soft fabric of his sweatpants his length was still rigid, throbbing hard against your stomach.

The searing friction sent a fresh, dizzying wave of heat flooding straight to your center, making your knees instantly weak.

"You don't have an idea of how much I've been missing you," he murmured, his breath warm against the crown of your head as his hands slid slowly down your lower back, pressing you even tighter against him.

The heat of his body radiated straight through your clothes, and with every movement, the hard ridge of his cock rubbed against you.

"I miss you too," you whispered against his chest, your fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his shoulders to steady yourself as your knees threatened to give out completely.

You tilted your head back, looking up at him. Your eyes were wide and luminous, holding all the raw ache of the weeks you'd spent apart, silently begging for something you were too proud to ask for out loud.

James caught the look instantly. His eyes darkened because he knew he had you right where he wanted you.

Slowly, deliberately, his thumb reached up to trace the line of your jaw.

"You're killing me," he whispered, his voice dropping to a rough rasp against your skin before his head dipped down to capture your lips.

The collision of your mouths wiped away every trace of hesitation. James groaned into the kiss, his lips parting yours with authority that left you gasping. His tongue swept inside your mouth, tasting you with a frantic heat. He kissed you like a man dying of thirst, his hands sliding down from your waist to grip the curves of your ass, lifting you so your hips locked flush against his.

Through the layers of fabric, his cock slid right against your soaked pussy, parting your lips and grinding deep into your aching slit. You let out a muffled, desperate whimper right against his mouth, a shiver racking your frame as your core pulsed.

"God, you're so wet," he rasped against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you.

He backed you up against the hallway wall, the cool plaster contrasting with the heat radiating off his skin. His hands moved between you, fumbling eagerly with the button and zipper of your jeans, tearing them open and dragging them down your hips along with your underwear.

The cool air hit your bare skin before James’ hot palms replaced it, cupping your ass cheeks and lifting you so your legs wrapped around his waist.

You locked your ankles behind his lower back, gasping as your bare, dripping pussy slid directly against his sweatpants.

"Please," you breathed out, your fingers tangling frantically in his hair, tugging at the strands as an overwhelming wave of heat flooded your lower belly. "James, please, I need it, I'm so fucking empty."

"I know, baby, I know," he muttered, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he hooked a thick finger down the waistband of his sweatpants, freeing his cock.

The shaft sprang free, hot and slick with pre-cum, radiating a pulse that you could feel before he even touched you. He grabbed his dick, stroking himself twice to coat the head before pressing the blunt tip against you. The friction of his skin sliding over your sensitive folds made your eyes roll back, a loud moan ripping straight from your throat.

James drove his hips forward, burying his cock deep inside your pussy in one stroke.

You cried out, your back arching hard against the wall as he filled you completely, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. He held you tight against him, his hands gripping your flesh hard enough to bruise, pounding into you scrambling every thought in your head.

"Fucking hell," James panted, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he buried himself deeper. "You feel so good... did you miss me this much, huh? Were you touching yourself thinking about my cock inside your cunt?"

"Yes… oh god, yes, James, right there!" you sobbed out, your nails digging into the muscles of his back.

As his cock hammered relentlessly inside your walls, a sudden, acute wave of realization cut through the fog of your pleasure.

He wasn't just good, he had gotten terrifyingly good.

Back when you had last been together, before the crushing weight of graduation and life pulled you apart, James had been eager, a little frantic, and wonderfully enthusiastic. But this? This was the work of a man who had spent weeks rehearsing every single angle, every friction point, and every subtle shift of weight needed to unravel you. Every driving thrust hit a depth you didn't even know you had. He knew your body better than you knew yourself right now.

"Don't you dare zone out on me," James growled into the shell of your ear.

He hooked his arms tighter underneath your thighs, lifting you a fraction higher before slamming his hips up into you.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice utterly intoxicating.

You forced your watering eyes open to meet his gaze. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated with a possessive hunger that made your core clench involuntarily around his dick. He watched you fall apart under him.