Synopsis: after purposely making Chan jealous, you’re left to fall apart on just the tip—taunted, overstimulated, and utterly ruined by his slow, punishing control.
Your thighs ache from how long he’s kept you open, how long he’s kept himself just out of reach.
Chan’s barely touched you tonight. Barely kissed you. Barely even looked at you when he first came in ...just a tight jaw and that calm, dangerous silence that made your stomach twist. You thought maybe he’d let it go. Thought maybe he wouldn’t say anything.
But now? Now he’s between your legs, cock in hand, and you're wrecked...from his fingers, his mouth, and his patience that’s clearly not kindness.
“You thought you were being cute, didn’t you?” His voice is low, rough, words dragging like honey over broken ice. “Acting like I wouldn’t notice.”
You don’t answer. You can’t. Your throat’s tight, eyes glassy, lips swollen from all the whining. You’re already so sensitive, twitching under his every touch but it’s not enough. Not even close.
And he knows it.
He drags the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds, up over your clit and back down to your entrance. Every pass makes your hips jump, your fingers curl in the sheets.
“You want me to fuck you now?” he asks, smirking as you whimper and nod. “After the little stunt you pulled?”
“I'm sorry,” you whisper, but it sounds more like begging. “I need you, Channie, please.”
“You will get me, sweetheart,” he hums, lining himself up with lazy precision. “I told you I’d fuck you. Didn’t say how much.”
And before you can speak again he pushes in.
Just the tip.
The stretch is immediate—hot, unbearable but it’s barely anything. You clench around him, already needy, but before your body can even adjust, he stops.
Your eyes flutter open. “Wha… why’d you stop?”
Chan leans over you, his smirk lazy, dangerous. “That’s all you get.”
Your lips part in shock, a soft whimper escaping. “N-no, Channie—please—”
He draws back slowly, then pushes in again with the same shallow depth just enough to make your body twitch, your thighs shake.
“You think you get to act like that,” he murmurs, his tone smooth but sharp, “and I’ll still let you feel all of me?”
You don’t respond ...you can’t too consumed by the way he’s moving, maddening and precise, just the tip brushing your walls in those short thrusts.
His voice drops, darker now. “Batting your lashes at someone else. Laughing like I wasn’t there.”
Your face burns. “I didn’t—”
“You did.” His hips press forward, just a little deeper but not enough. Never enough. “And now look at you. Spread out for me. Crying for my cock.”
You whimper as his thumb finds your clit—barely touches it, just grazes it and your whole body jolts.
“Sensitive already?” he taunts. “And I haven’t even given you a real stroke yet.”
His pace stays slow. Shallow. Rhythmic. It’s torture your body clenching desperately, needing more but he gives you nothing. Just that thick, teasing pressure and his words in your ear.
“Is my tip not enough for you now, huh?” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin. “After the little show you put on?”
You gasp, fingers clawing at the sheets. “Please, Channie… I need all of you.”
He chuckles, low and dark, thrusting just deep enough to make your toes curl then pulling back out to the tip again.
“No,” he growls. “This is all you get. For being such a reckless little thing.”
Your back arches. The build-up is unbearable now, that slow grind of frustration and overstimulation coiling deep in your gut. You try to shift your hips to get more but he holds you down.
“Don’t even try,” he warns. “You’re not getting a single inch more.”
He starts moving just a little faster, the wet slide of him inside you obscene, his tip hitting the same sweet spot over and over.
Your thighs tremble. Your breaths turn ragged.
“Gonna cum from just this?” he taunts, low and satisfied. “From barely anything? That desperate for me?”
You’re nodding before you even realize it, vision swimming.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You are. You’re gonna cum like this. Look at you.”
The coil inside you finally snaps—hot, sharp, overwhelming.
You cry out, falling apart on just the tip, your cunt fluttering around him as your orgasm rolls through, too strong to hold back.
Chan doesn’t stop.“Shit—” he grits, his thrusts faltering as your tight walls milk him. “Gonna—fuck—”
He presses forward, still just barely inside, and you feel it...his cock twitching as he cums with a low moan, warm pulses spilling right at your entrance.
But even then, he’s not done.
He pulls out, slow and deliberate, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. Then his fingers slide down collecting the mess he left and drag it through your soaked folds, over your swollen clit.
You jolt. “Channie—!”
“Mm,” he hums. “Didn’t think my tip would break you.”
You can barely move, still twitching, but he leans in, voice a whisper against your jaw.
“Next time you want my attention,” he murmurs, rubbing lazy circles through the cum slicked over your clit, “just ask. No more games.”
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Pairing: chan x afab(female)!reader, non idol au, FWB to lovers
Synopsis: chan let's you break one of the rules of your arrangement, heck he might as well break them all.
Warnings: crack, mention of aphrodisiacs, suggestive, smut (for the first timee!!), tiny angst, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people!), oral rec. (f.), praise kink (m and f), chan confesses mid fuck, MDNI
A/n: this is my first smutttt hellaurrrr!!! I feel weird after writing it, please tell me what you guys think of it! Also this is basically my fic for chan's birthday!! Happy Birthday Chan!! I know I don't post birthday fics but since the idea came around the this time I decided to make it like that. If you have extra eyes for errors no you don't.
Now playing: Sugar on My Tounge by Tyler the Creator
You and Chan only had three rules when it came to your special relationship. Rule number one: no feelings. This was about stress relief, nothing more. Rule number two: no sleepovers. The moment either of you came, you showered, dressed, and left. No falling asleep in each other’s arms, no pretending it was something it wasn’t. Rule number three: never fuck in the candy shop. His shop was his livelihood, and neither of you wanted the walls that smelled faintly of sugar to hold that kind of memory.
The rules were simple, written in invisible ink between the two of you, but they existed all the same.
Your friendship with Chan had always been easy, the kind that drifted between long silences and loud laughter without any discomfort. You’d known him for years, back when his only dream was to make something that was his, something with his own name on it. When the candy shop opened, you were one of the first to step through the door, half-proud, half-exasperated, because only Chan would throw himself headfirst into shelves of sweets and call it a business plan.
Things had been steady for him until the breakup. She was beautiful, polished, sharp-tongued in a way Chan mistook for wit. For nearly three years, he tried to shape himself around her, only for her to throw it all back in his face one evening when she told him she was done. She didn’t cry, she just left, leaving him with a half-unpacked shop and a silence that rang louder than anything.
You found him days later, trying to pretend he was fine. He wasn’t. His eyes gave him away, always a little too red, his smile tugged at the corners like it was made of paper. He filled his time stocking jars and scribbling notes, but his shoulders were too tense, his voice too flat.
It was during one of your usual nights together with cheap wine, takeout cartons, a bad movie flickering on the TV, that you proposed the idea. He was slouched against your couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, muttering about how he hated the thought of starting over. You were tipsy enough to say it out loud, the words rolling off your tongue like they’d been sitting there, waiting.
“Then don’t. Just… use me instead.”
The silence that followed was heavy. He lifted his head, blinking at you as if you’d suggested something insane. You didn’t flinch. You leaned back into the couch, your voice steady, casual, almost daring him to argue.
“Friends with benefits. No strings. You need a distraction, I don’t mind being one.”
He studied you for what felt like forever, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. And then, finally, he nodded once. “No strings.”
The first time happened in your apartment. Clothes came off in a rush, teeth clashing, hands desperate. It wasn’t tender, it wasn’t romantic it was raw, and left you both breathing hard against your pillows. You didn’t talk about it afterward. He left, you showered, and by morning you were back to being friends.
That was how it stayed. His place or yours, always after dark, always under the weight of those unspoken rules. Sometimes he’d show up at your door without warning, sometimes you’d text him after a rough day, and within minutes he was inside you, fucking you like the world outside didn’t exist. When it was done, you’d gather your clothes, and leave without looking back.
The boundaries held. At least, that’s how you saw it. You didn’t cuddle, you didn’t stay for breakfast, you didn’t let your hands linger too long. You laughed with him the same way you always had, teased him, argued with him, carried on as if the nights never happened.
And it worked. The lines between you stayed neat and sharp, exactly where you wanted them.
Or at least, that’s what you believed.
---
The bell above the door jingled as you pushed it open, the kind of sound that had become familiar over the years. The shop wasn’t new anymore; it had grown into its own little landmark, a pit stop for kids with sticky hands and adults pretending they weren’t here for nostalgia. Bright shelves lined with jars and bags stretched out in neat rows, the air carrying that faint sweetness that clung to everything inside.
You stepped through, eyes flicking to the counter—empty. No Chan. You sighed, swinging your bag higher on your shoulder as you wandered between the aisles. Your fingers trailed lazily over the packets and boxes until you spotted a bright green bag of gummy worms. Without hesitation, you tore it open and popped one in your mouth, chewing as your eyes searched for him.
And there he was.
Bending at the caramel section “Golden Drizzle,” the ridiculous little sign read, no doubt his attempt at charm marketing, Chan was crouched low, stacking jars on the bottom shelf. His cap was pulled backward, the loose edge of his tank top revealing the line of his shoulder and the faint flex of his arm as he worked.
Grinning, you skipped down the aisle and, without warning, jumped onto his back.
“What the—” he jolted, hand flying out to keep a jar from toppling, but before he could spin around you leaned in close.
“Hey, Chris.”
The sound of your voice made him sigh, shoulders dropping, not with annoyance but with something softer, something resigned.
“Hey, baby.”
You slid off him with a laugh, leaning against the rack while shoving another gummy worm into your mouth. He stood, turning halfway, catching the crinkle of the torn packet in your hand. His brows rose.
“You know you’re gonna pay for that, right?”
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “With what? Cash? Card? Or cu—”
“Hey!” His voice jumped an octave, cutting you off, and his eyes darted toward the other end of the aisle where a mom was examining toffees with her kid. “Don’t say that in public!”
You burst out laughing, your chuckles spilling loud enough to earn a glare from the caramel jars. Chan rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at his lips, shaking his head like you were impossible. He stood, dusted his hands on his shorts, and began walking toward the counter. You followed, slipping easily into step beside him, your shoulder brushing his.
“So,” he asked, casual, “how was class?”
“The same boring shit,” you answered, popping another gummy into your mouth. “Yeah?” He pushed open the little gate behind the counter, moving smoothly into his space like he’d done a thousand times before.
You leaned against the counter, watching as he adjusted the register. “Professor droned on about supply chains. Like, do I look like I care about distribution centers in Ohio? Then the girl beside me kept clicking her pen like a machine gun. Drove me insane.”
He hummed, nodding, only half-listening but enjoying the way you filled the silence. “Sounds riveting.”
“Oh, totally life-changing. Best three hours of my existence.”
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he grabbed a handful of receipts and tucked them neatly into a drawer. Before you could keep rambling, the bell above the door jingled again and a small pack of kids came in, darting straight toward the shelves.
Chan slipped into shop-owner mode, ringing up purchases while offering half-hearted warnings about not running. You leaned on the counter beside him, watching the chaos unfold, when you felt his shoulder brush yours lightly.
His voice dropped, low, meant only for you. “I got a new batch yesterday.”
Your brows furrowed, and you leaned closer. “Yeah? What kind?”
“The tasty kind.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Chan, which kind?”
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he finished scanning a bag of chocolate coins for a kid, handed over the change, and only then turned his face toward you. His eyes gleamed with something that made your stomach dip.
“I got sex candy.”
Your gasp was so loud it earned stares from the kids at the counter. You froze, packet of gummy worms half-raised, then plastered on a bright smile, wiggling your fingers like nothing had happened. The kids squinted but took their candy and bolted out, bell jingling once more. The moment the door closed, you snapped your head toward him.
“You got sex candy?”
Chan nodded, lips pressed into a line that couldn’t quite hide the humor curling at the edges. “I don’t want to believe it either.”
“How?” you demanded, leaning forward, eyes wide. He dropped his elbows onto the counter, lowering his voice like he was sharing a dangerous secret. “Some distributor out of Seoul sent me a trial box. They look normal enough—gummies, lollipops, even chocolate bars—but they’re laced with…” he trailed off, tilting his head with mock seriousness. “Let’s just call it a chemical encouragement. Raises your blood flow. Fast.”
You blinked. “You mean…?”
“I mean they’re basically edible aphrodisiacs. Branded for ‘spice nights.’ Comes in all flavors, too. Grape. Strawberry. Mango passionfruit. I thought it was a joke until one of the guys in my supplier group chat admitted his girl nearly broke his bed after a lollipop.”
Your jaw dropped. “Chan.”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I’m not touching anything in this shop ever again.” He chuckled, deep and low, leaning in just enough for his shoulder to brush yours again. “Relax. I keep them in the back. Behind the boring bulk boxes. You’re safe.”
You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “Or maybe you’re just waiting to sneak one into my stash.” His grin widened, wolfish. “Would I do that?”
You shoved another gummy worm into your mouth, muttering through the chew, “Absolutely.”
He laughed so loud it bounced off the jars, his hand slapping the counter once before he shook his head, still grinning at you.
The day stretched itself thin, the sun hanging low through the shop’s front windows, painting gold streaks across the jars and wrappers. You’d stayed longer than you planned, drifting through aisles while Chan worked. Somewhere along the line, he’d roped you into helping him, though “helping” was a generous term, you spent more time wandering than actually stacking shelves.
Every time you passed something colorful, your hand shot out, snagging it from the rack before slipping it into your tote bag.
“Carried a box of fudge,” you called across the aisle.
Chan’s voice echoed back without looking up. “You paid for it?” “Nope.” You popped the p in your laugh. “Just carried it.” A few minutes later, you snagged a rainbow lollipop, waving it in the air as you made your way toward the counter. “Carried a lollipop.”
“Y/N…” His tone carried warning, but the amused kind, the one that curled around the edges of your name. Another pass, another scoop. “Carried a pack of mints.”
He straightened from behind a shelf, hands on his hips, eyebrows raised. “Don’t carry my whole fucking shop, will you?” You grinned, batting your lashes before plopping the mints into your bag. “No promises.”
By the time evening settled, you’d claimed half a dozen things, your tote heavier than when you arrived. Chan ignored it, or tried to, busying himself behind the counter as he counted through a neat stack of bills. The fluorescent lights hummed quietly overhead, the streets outside already dark.
You lingered at the counter, chewing the end of a gummy worm and watching him. The crease in his brow deepened as he counted, lips moving silently with the numbers.
“Channie…” Your voice came out soft, almost syrupy. He hummed, not lifting his eyes from the bills. You tilted your head, swinging your bag against your leg. “Channie.”
That got him. He turned, eyebrows raised. “What?”
You widened your eyes, pitching your voice into a babyish whine. “I wanna sit.”
He glanced at the empty stool by the wall. “Then sit.” You shook your head dramatically. “Not there.”
His gaze flicked back to you, then to the counter you were leaning against. His mouth curved. “You want me to carry you?” You nodded eagerly, pouting as you whined, “Yes.”
Chan groaned, the sound laced with a laugh, and let the bills fall back onto the counter. “You just want attention.”
“Guilty as charged.” He stepped around, his presence filling the small space between you and the counter. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing firmly into your sides as his eyes searched your face for a beat.
“Jump.” You obeyed, your feet leaving the ground for a split second before his strength caught you, lifting you easily and setting you down on the counter like you weighed nothing. “Thank you,” you sang, legs swinging gently.
“Yeah.” His voice was low, distracted. His eyes lingered—just for a moment—on your mouth before he tore them away, turning back toward the money like the numbers would anchor him.
You kicked your heels against the counter, watching him with your chin propped in your hand. His focus was sharp, shoulders squared, lips parted just slightly as he counted under his breath. For no reason at all, you found yourself smiling.
“You’re very attractive right now.”
He didn’t look up, his tone smooth, steady, like he was balancing both your words and the bills in his head. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm.” You tilted your head, studying him like he was something you wanted to taste. “And you know how that makes me feel?”
His lips quirked at the edges, still counting, still pretending his hands weren’t itching to drop the cash and reach for you again. “How?” Your smile grew wicked, and you leaned forward just slightly, voice dropping. “Horny.” That got him.
Chan’s hands paused mid-count, his mouth curving into a slow, dangerous smile. He didn’t glance up right away—didn’t need to—but the shift in the air was palpable, heavy, and hot.
The register clicked shut with a metallic snap, Chan sliding the neatly stacked bills into the drawer with the ease of habit. He exhaled, rubbed his palm over his face, then set the teller aside. You were still perched on the counter, swinging your legs like a kid waiting for candy, watching him move around his shop with that steady, deliberate grace.
He started with the backroom, door locked with a twist, handle rattled to double-check. The hum of the fridges followed, one by one clicking as he turned the key, sealing away the frozen stock for the night. You traced him with your eyes the whole time, the overhead lights catching the sharp lines of his shoulders, the casual roll of his sleeves to his elbows.
“Let’s try the candy,” you called, voice playful, cutting into the silence. From across the shop, he didn’t even look up. “The sex candy?”
You grinned, “Yeah.”
“I already locked the room, baby.”
“Then unlock it,” you countered, crossing your arms with a stubborn tilt to your chin. “Nah.” He straightened from the fridge, pocketing the keys as he finally walked back toward you. His footsteps echoed against the tile until he stood between your parted knees, his chest almost brushing yours as he looked up at you. “Your place or mine?”
“Here,” you said without hesitation.
His brow shot up, incredulous. “No fucking—”
“…in the candy shop,” you finished in sync, the corner of your mouth twitching into a grin.
“I know,” you added softly, fingers sliding over his shoulders. You leaned in, voice dropping with that slow, coaxing edge. “But I don’t feel like leaving. And you’ve been running around all day with stocking, customers, dealing with suppliers. You’re wound tight, Channie. Let me help.”
He scoffed, eyes narrowing. “Actually, I’m not stressed at all.”
“Chris,” you whined, dragging out his name, brushing your lips against the base of his throat, “please. Just for tonight. I promise.”
His hands found your thighs, warm palms pressing firmly as if to ground himself. He breathed out, a slow, ragged sigh. “I don’t know, Y/N…”
That made you stop teasing. You leaned back just enough to look at him properly, really look at him. The set jaw, the flicker of restraint in his eyes, the way his chest rose a little heavier when you stared. And then you kissed him. Soft, slow, testing.
For a beat, he resisted, lips barely moving against yours. Then his hand twitched, sliding higher up your thigh, and he gave in. You tugged his hair gently, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and he groaned low before pulling back abruptly.
“Y/N,” he rasped, breathless. “Stop.”
You held his gaze, then threw your hands up dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop.” With a little shove to his chest, you hopped off the counter, your shoes hitting the floor with a sharp clap. His shoulders slumped with a sigh as you headed for the door.
“Wait.” You froze, glancing over your shoulder. “What?”
Something landed in your hands with a jingle of metal. His keys.
“Lock them up,” Chan said, a smirk tugging at his lips despite his exasperation. “Don’t want anyone walking in on us and shit.”
A slow smile spread across your face as you curled your fingers around the keys. You turned back toward the glass doors, heart thudding, and slid the bolts into place one by one. The echo of each lock rang like a promise in the empty shop.
When you looked back, Chan was still standing at the counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that mix of resignation and want.
Your steps toward him were deliberately slow, teasing, like you had all the time in the world. Chan’s eyes tracked every move, arms folded, lips quirking at the corners. “Even if I hadn’t said no,” he murmured, voice low but tinged with amusement, “there was no way you’d leave without your tote. Especially with all the candy you stole.”
You raised a brow, chin tilting smugly. “Correction—I didn’t steal them. You were present when I took them.”
He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as if he should’ve seen that coming. “Whatever.” His grin deepened, then softened into something warmer. “Come here.”
You barely had time to quip back before his hands framed your cheeks, large palms hot against your skin. He pulled you in and crashed his mouth to yours. The force of it stole your breath, no gentle teasing this time, just Chan devouring you like he’d been waiting all day. A muffled sound caught in your throat, surprise bleeding into need as you melted against him.
“Fucking missed you all day,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough, before kissing you again.
“Aww—” you started, but the rest of it disappeared when his hands slid down, gripping your ass with a possessive squeeze. Before you could react, his arms hooked under your thighs, and suddenly you were weightless.
“Chan!” You yelped softly, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he held you like you weighed nothing. He didn’t break the kiss, didn’t falter just kept moving with you, lips hungry, tongue tasting, chest rumbling with a low chuckle when you pulled back just enough to murmur breathlessly, “Sheesh, we get it—you’re strong.”
“Damn right,” he muttered, amusement flickering in his eyes before he turned, lifting you higher and setting you down onto the cool surface of the counter. Your thighs parted automatically around him, tugging him closer, both of you panting slightly from the heat of it all.
When you finally pulled back, a string of breath between you, his gaze lingered on your lips, then flicked up to your eyes, dark and teasing. “You ever been fucked on a counter?”
Your grin was wicked, head tipping as you said sweetly, “Last year. October third. My kitchen. You were horny as fuck—and it was your birthday.”
Chan groaned, his head tipping back, teeth gritted in mock agony. “Don’t fucking remind me.”
You broke into laughter, the sound bubbling up until he pressed his forehead to yours to shut you up, his hands still firm on your thighs. “I’m serious,” he said then, voice dipping low, quiet, almost reverent. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”
The shift caught you off guard. His tone wasn’t playful it was soft, grounding, like a promise threaded into his words. You blinked at him, lips parting, and finally whispered back, “Okay?” Like you were unsure what he meant but willing to give yourself over to it.
Your hand came up, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. The simple gesture seemed to anchor him, his eyes locking onto yours, deep and searching. He looked at you like he was trying to memorize something only he could see.
“You okay, Chris?” you asked gently, curiosity flickering in your voice.
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned in and kissed you again slower this time, deliberate, his lips pressing into yours with the kind of heat that burned steady, not frantic. His hand slid up your back, the other holding your thigh, and when he pulled you closer into his chest, it was less about lust and more about need.
His hands were on you before your brain even caught up broad palms tugging at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one smooth motion. The air hit your skin, and then so did his mouth, warm and eager, lips finding the swell of your cleavage.
“God,” he muttered against your skin, voice low and almost reverent. His mouth latched onto one breast through the thin lace of your bra, sucking lightly until you arched into him with a sharp gasp. His hand smoothed down, fingers trailing along your stomach, grazing your waistband.
He lifted his head, lips shiny, eyes dark but soft when they met yours. “Can I take these off?” His voice had lost all teasing, all banter—quiet, careful, as though he was asking for more than just your skirt.
“Of course,” you breathed, the word almost a sigh.
And then your skirt was gone, peeled off in a swift motion, tossed somewhere into the dim corners of the shop. He eased you back onto the counter, his hands guiding, his body following until you were lying flat against the cool surface. His lips began a slow, deliberate path down your stomach, peppering kisses that grew closer to your panties, each one sending sparks of heat through you.
When he got there, his thumbs hooked into the fabric, tugging gently. “Did I make you this wet, baby?” His voice had dropped lower, thick with heat, and when he dragged your panties down your legs, letting them pool at the floor, you swore your pulse leapt into your throat.
He kissed just above your mound, then lower, lips brushing the sensitive skin of your thighs. “So pretty…” he whispered, reverent again. Another kiss, closer to your folds. “So perfect for me.”
“Channie,” you whined, impatience tugging at every nerve.
His eyes flicked up, hooded, mouth still hovering where you needed it most. “Tell me what you want, baby.”
“You already know,” you groaned, wriggling your hips, desperate for him.
“I do.” He smirked faintly, fingers squeezing your thighs as he held you steady. “But I want you to say it, Y/N.”
You let out a frustrated little humph, tugging his hair lightly, before whispering, “Want you to eat me out. Please.”
That single word had him groaning like you’d snapped the last of his restraint. He dove in, tongue immediately sliding up your folds in one long, slow lick that made your back arch off the counter. His lips latched onto your clit, sucking hard before pulling back to lap at you again, his tongue teasing through every slick curve.
Your moan spilled out raw, your fingers tangling tight in his hair as his hands pressed firmly into your thighs, holding you down like you might squirm away from the intensity. The wet, obscene sounds of him eating you out filled the quiet shop, his tongue moving in deep strokes before circling your clit again, switching between sucking and licking until your thighs trembled against his grip.
“Fuck, Chan—” you gasped, voice breaking as he moaned into you, the vibrations only winding you tighter. And still, between each lick and suck, he whispered praises against your skin. “So sweet for me… so good, baby… tastes like heaven…”
His words melted into the steady rhythm of his tongue, your nails scraping his scalp as he devoured you like he’d been starving all day. Chan’s tongue dragged one last, slow stroke over your clit before his hand slid lower, two fingers slipping inside you with no resistance. The stretch had you moaning, back arching, nails digging deeper into his hair as he curled them just right.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned against your cunt, voice muffled and full of hunger. “You’re dripping. You really wanted me to take you in the candy shop so bad?”
Your answer came in a broken whine, hips rocking into his hand, chasing every delicious drag of his fingers. He fucked you open steadily, tongue still flicking against your clit as his pace built, his jaw working greedily like he couldn’t get enough.
But the more he licked, the deeper he pushed, the messier it got, slick dripping down his chin, fingers curling as he slid in a third one. “So tight,” he rasped, breath hot against your folds. “God, Y/N, you’re so fucking tight and still swallowing me whole.”
Your thighs trembled, your moans climbing higher with every thrust, and he could feel it, the flutter, the clench, the telltale pulse that told him you were seconds away from falling apart. His lips wrapped around your clit again, sucking hard, and just as you reached for the edge, he pulled back. Fingers slipping out, mouth gone.
Your head snapped up, fury written all over your face. “What the fuck, Chan—”
He looked up at you, his lips slick, his chin glistening, chest heaving like he was the one being undone. His smirk was shameless. “What? You don’t want my cock?”
“At least let me cum!” you shot back, breathless, thighs still twitching.
“No.” His voice was sharp but low, firm. “I want to feel you cream my cock. And besides—” his eyes darted to the counter, then back to you, lips twitching— “I doubt we can even fuck on this thing. Too cramped.”
You pushed yourself up on your elbows, glaring down at him, and the sight of his wet lips only made you ache more. Without a word, you hopped down, moving toward the space inside the counter. He turned, confused, tugging at the buckle of his belt. “Where are you—”
But when he stepped in, trousers already loose around his hips, his words broke off into a groan.
“Y/N…” You were already on the floor, legs spread wide, fingers pulling yourself open for him, your slick glistening under the dim lights.
“You wanted to fuck, didn’t you?” you taunted, your voice a sweet lilt, but your smirk sharp.
“Don’t—” His jaw clenched, his cock straining against his boxers as he tugged them down.
“Don’t be like that.”
You only rolled your eyes, smiling as you tilted your head, voice dripping with tease. “Then come fuck me.”
He bit his lip hard, the sound in his throat more growl than groan as he yanked his shirt over his head, boxers shoved down in the same motion. His cock slapped against his stomach, heavy and flushed, and he dropped to his knees between your thighs.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss you, desperate, messy. His hand gripped your face, the other steadying himself on the floor as he devoured your lips. You tasted yourself on him, sweet and obscene, and the way he kissed you made your head spin.
When you pulled back just enough to whisper, “Please put your cock in, Channie,” it came out half-whine, half-command.
His forehead pressed to yours, his smirk melting into something hungrier. “How can I ever say no to you?” he whispered.
He grabbed the base of his cock, stroking once as he lined himself up to your entrance. His tip nudged against your folds, sliding through the slick, teasing your clit as his eyes locked on your face.
And then, with a low groan, he pushed in, stretching you wide until you were gasping, your nails clawing at his shoulders as he filled you.
The stretch was deliciously slow, his cock easing into you inch by inch until both of you were groaning in unison. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging tight as he filled you, the burn giving way to that sweet, toe-curling fullness.
“Fuuuuck, baby,” Chan gasped, voice ragged, his forehead pressing to yours as he pushed deeper, your walls fluttering around him like they were desperate to keep him there.
You kissed him hard, muffling your own whine, lips trembling against his as he finally bottomed out. Your thighs trembled around his hips, your whole body shivering at the feeling of him so deep inside.
He pulled back just enough to see your face, pupils blown wide, chest heaving. “Fucking love when you do that,” he groaned, his hips twitching forward once more like he couldn’t help himself.
“Channie—” you whimpered, arms wrapping around his neck.
He started slow, rocking into you carefully, his pace deliberate as if your body wasn’t already used to his size from countless nights of this. Still, each drag of his cock against your walls had you gasping.
“You’re always…so big,” you moaned, your voice breaking on the words.
His lips curved into a quick, smug grin even as his breath stuttered. “Thank you.”
But soon his restraint cracked. His thrusts grew sharper, harder, the sound of your wetness filling the quiet shop, obscene and perfect. He glanced down between your bodies, and the sight made his jaw slacken.
“Fuuuckkk,” he moaned, almost slurred, his voice dizzy with awe. His eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide, pussy drunk, completely lost in you.
You felt it, the way his rhythm turned needy, how every thrust seemed driven by instinct. So you met him, grinding your hips up into his with every snap forward. The impact made his head drop, his mouth spilling broken moans into your neck as he pressed closer, his chest flush to yours.
“Y/N…fuck—” he groaned, voice muffled where his lips dragged against your skin. His breath was hot, uneven, as he rutted into you with abandon.
Your legs wrapped tighter around him, locking him in, and your praises spilled out as naturally as your moans. “That’s it, Channie, so good…you’re so good, my love…” He groaned at your words, his own spilling back against your throat. “You’re perfect…so tight, so warm—fuck, you’re everything.”
Your lips met again, sloppy and desperate, tongues clashing as his thrusts grew rougher, his body weight pressing you into the floor. You swallowed each other’s sounds, moaning into each other’s mouths until he pulled back, burying his face in your neck again.
And that’s when you heard it. Low, almost like he didn’t mean for you to catch it. His lips moved against your skin, his voice a strained whisper meant for himself, not you:
“Come on, man up. Just fucking say it.”
Your brows furrowed, your body still rocking with his thrusts. You didn’t say anything just tightened your legs around him, your nails scratching down his back as if to ground him in the moment.
He groaned, the sound guttural, and drove into you harder, like he was trying to drown out whatever war was happening in his head with the sweet, relentless rhythm of your bodies colliding.
His pace grew ruthless, hips snapping into you with a rhythm that bordered on desperation, his breath hot against your skin as he buried himself deep. You clawed down his back, leaving angry red streaks he’d feel for days, but he only groaned into it, dragging his mouth back up to yours like he couldn’t stand the distance.
“Fuck, Y/N—” his voice cracked as he kissed you hard, teeth clashing, tongue tangled with yours, the confession spilling out between ragged breaths. “I fucking love you. Not just for this—” his hips slammed forward, making you gasp “not just for the way you feel. You’ve been with me through all my shit, and you never left. I love you. I love you so fucking much.”
You cupped his face with trembling hands, forcing him to look at you, and the sight made your heart twist, his eyes glassy, tears threatening but never falling, his lips parted as though saying the words hurt and healed him at the same time.
“Chris…” you whispered, stunned, but smiling even as your chest ached.
“I fucking love you, Y/N,” he rasped again, more broken this time, and you kissed him before the sound could shatter you both.
The kiss lit something wild in him his thrusts turned frantic, sloppy, like he was trying to brand you from the inside out, like if he could just sink deep enough you’d understand everything he couldn’t say. You gasped into his mouth, voice trembling.
“You gonna cum, baby?” you breathed against his lips.
His forehead dropped to yours, sweat slicking your temples together, and he groaned, “Fuck yes—fuck, Y/N. Do you want it inside?”
Your nails dug into his shoulders as you nodded, eyes dark with need. “Yeah. I want it.” His whole body stuttered, his hips faltering as though the words nearly undid him. “Shit—are you sure?”
You smirked up at him, teasing even through the haze. “Hasn’t it been your dream to knock me up?” He let out a broken moan, half laugh, half disbelief, fucking you harder. “That was one fucking time—”
You laughed too, but it died in your throat when a wave of heat tore through your core, dragging you right to the edge. He felt your walls fluttering around him and his groan deepened.
“Baby, please,” he begged, lips brushing yours. “Cum with me. Please—”
You clung to him, pulling his mouth back to yours as the both of you tumbled over the edge. Your climax ripped through you with a sharp cry, nails sinking into his skin as your body convulsed around his cock. The sensation pulled him with you, he cursed, stuttering deep, then let go with a guttural moan, spilling inside you as his lips devoured yours.
Your bodies shook together, mouths locked in desperate kisses, his hips jerking with aftershocks as his cum filled you. He whispered your name against your lips, still breathless, still trembling, until finally he sagged against you, chest heaving, his confession echoing in every frantic kiss and every pulse of warmth inside you.
Your lips were fused to his, deep and lingering, as the last tremors of your climax ebbed away. His weight pressed into you, his chest heaving against yours, until finally he broke the kiss, dragging his lips down to your neck. He mouthed at your skin like he couldn’t get enough, whispering between kisses.
“Are you serious, Chris?” you asked breathlessly, half teasing, half stunned.
His lips stilled against your throat, then he lifted his head, eyes blazing and wet. “I’m so fucking serious.” His voice was raw, guttural, stripped of every shield he normally carried. “I love you.”
He swallowed hard, his gaze darting like he was afraid of what he’d see on your face. “So… you feel the same? Or—shit—” He cut himself off, raking a hand through his damp curls, words tumbling out in a rush. “I know this was supposed to be no strings attached. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dumped this on you. If you don’t feel the same, I’ll understand.”
You cupped his jaw, forcing him to look at you again, your thumb brushing the sheen of sweat on his cheek. “Chris. Of course I love you, you idiot.”
His breath hitched, and you smiled softly. “I love you because you’ve always been there. Because you care even when you pretend you don’t. Because you make me laugh when I shouldn’t. And because…” you smirked faintly, “you never half-ass anything—not even this.”
For a second, his mouth opened but no words came out just a trembling smile, just relief softening every hard line of his face. He collapsed against you, pulling you close, both of you tangled together in the warm quiet.
After a while, he sighed, voice muffled in your hair. “I’m sorry I had to fuck my feelings into you.” You barked out a laugh. “Unbelievable.”
He laughed too, shaking against you, and you kissed his smile before he could say anything else. His grin softened into something tender, his hand brushing over your side. “Want me to pull out, baby?”
You gave him a look, smirking. “Yeah.”
With a groan, he sat up, slowly slipping out of you. His gaze dropped between your thighs, and the smug grin that spread across his face made you roll your eyes. Watching his cum spill out, he bit his lip. “One day,” he murmured darkly, “I’m gonna make that shit stay inside. Can’t be wasting my cum like that.”
You smacked his chest playfully. “Pervert.”
“Visionary,” he corrected with a grin.
“Help me get up, dickhead.”
Chuckling, he slid his arms under you and lifted you with ease, setting you on the counter again. He bent down to grab your clothes and his own from the floor, handing you yours before pulling his briefs and jeans back on. As you wriggled into your underwear, you glanced at the sticky mess on the floor with a raised brow. “So… how exactly are you going to clean up that?”
Chris tugged his shirt over his head, hair falling into his eyes. “I’ll come in early tomorrow and deal with it.” He winked.
You snorted, shaking your head as you pulled your top back on. Then, a wicked thought flickered across your mind, and you couldn’t resist. “Crazy thought though… what if you walked around your shop naked?”
He froze, staring at you with wide eyes. “Don’t even—”
The look on his face broke you, laughter spilling out until your stomach hurt, and eventually he gave in too, both of you laughing like idiots in the middle of the candy shop.
Chris watched you shimmy into your skirt, tugging your shirt over your head with that smug little smile that made his chest ache. He leaned back against the counter, arms folded, hair messy and lips still swollen from all the kissing.
“You’re not uncomfortable?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost cautious. You looked up while slipping your tote over your shoulder. “I am,” you admitted with a sly grin, “but you’re cleaning me up and giving me aftercare at your place, so I’m fine.”
His brows shot up, and he scoffed, pretending to be offended. “You’re not even letting me have a say in this?”
“Nope.”
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he grabbed his keys from the counter. “Unbelievable.” Then he moved to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open. The night air spilled into the shop, cool and thick with the scent of rain-soaked concrete.
You stepped out first, tote slung against your hip, and glanced up at the quiet street. The candy shop’s neon sign glowed faintly behind you, buzzing in the stillness. Chris locked up behind you, the jingle of keys loud in the empty night.
As you strolled toward his car, the faint click of your shoes echoing against the pavement, he called out, “Top three places I’ve done it.” You turned, brow arched, lips twitching into a smile. “But which number though?”
He grinned, catching up with you in long strides. “Always gonna be number one.” His voice dipped, soft but certain. “Because I confessed my feelings to the girl who made me believe in second chances.”
Your steps faltered just slightly, your eyes softening as your chest warmed. “Chris…” you breathed, your smile curling slow and genuine. “Thank you.”
He leaned down and kissed your cheek, lingering just long enough for you to feel the heat of him. “Don’t thank me, baby,” he murmured against your skin, pulling back with that boyish grin, “just let me take care of my girl tonight.”
He moved ahead to the car, pulling the passenger side door open with a small flourish, like a gentleman straight out of a movie. You slid inside, the scent of his cologne lingering on the seat, and watched as he closed the door with a wink before circling around to the driver’s side.
The engine hummed to life, headlights cutting through the night as he pulled away from the shop. His hand found your thigh almost immediately, squeezing lightly, like he needed the reassurance that you were really there. The city lights blurred past, but it didn’t matter you were wrapped in the kind of quiet that only belonged to the two of you, the kind that felt like the start of something new.
---
The bell above the door jingled as you stepped into the shop, the sweet smell of sugar and chocolate filling your nose instantly. Late afternoon sunlight cut across the counters, catching on the jars of candy like glitter. You spotted Chan right away, elbows resting against the glass counter, leaning down slightly with that warm smile he always reserved for kids. A gaggle of children stood in front of him, pointing at lollipops and chocolate bars, their faces pressed close to the display. He was patient, teasing them gently as they argued over flavors, his dimple flashing when one of them tried to haggle for “two-for-one.”
You leaned on the doorway for a second, just watching him, that swell of fondness rising uninvited in your chest. Then you stepped forward.
Chan looked up just in time to catch your eye. His whole face softened. “Hey, baby,” he said, the words easy and unbothered, like he’d been waiting to say them all day.
You grinned, walked around the counter, and without hesitation tilted your face up to kiss him. The kids in front of the counter immediately groaned in unison.
“Ewwww!” You and Chan broke the kiss, laughing into each other’s mouths, before turning back toward them.
“Hey, respect your elders,” Chan teased, pointing at them with mock sternness.
“Yeah,” you added, smirking, “this is what true love looks like.”
The kids groaned louder, one of them covering their eyes dramatically. You and Chan laughed again, bumping shoulders before he handed them their candy bags. “How were classes?” he asked, voice dropping into that gentle register he used only with you.
You shrugged. “Boring. But I survived.”
He smiled like that was enough for him, but before he could add anything, a young woman with a baby on her hip came up to the counter. You straightened, offering her a friendly “Hi,” while Chan slid into professional mode, ringing up her small basket of chocolates.
The baby started fussing, squirming in her arms, so the woman sighed and gently set the little one down on the counter. The baby immediately began crawling across the smooth surface, patting chubby hands against the glass, cooing as it explored.
You smiled politely, but as your eyes tracked the exact spot where the baby’s hands and knees slid across the counter, a slow wave of dread crept over you. Your stomach sank, your face twisting as the memory hit.
Oh. Oh no.
The exact place that baby was crawling… was the exact place Chan had you leaned back just last night.
The woman scooped her baby up again with a tired smile, thanked Chan, and left the shop. The bell jingled cheerfully behind her, the door swinging shut. You leaned close to Chan, lowering your voice into a sharp whisper. “Babe… you know what you had me on the counter?”
He smirked, still half-distracted by rearranging some candy bags. “Sheesh, baby, we can’t do it right now.”
You gave him a flat stare. “Really? Obviously, I know that. That’s not what I mean.”
He blinked at you, confused.
“You said I was dripping, right?” you pressed, your voice quieter now. That smug little grin spread across his face instantly. “Yeah. Made a mess too.”
You tilted your head toward the counter, eyes narrowing. “So… did you clean the counter as well?”
It took exactly two seconds for the realization to hit him. His grin collapsed, eyes going wide before darting to the exact spot you’d been staring at. He froze. His jaw tightened.
“That—was the baby on there?” he whispered, horrified.
You deadpanned, nodding once. “Yep.”
“Shit!” In a flurry of motion, Chan ducked beneath the counter, rummaging until he emerged with a spray bottle of disinfectant and a rag. He sprayed the surface aggressively, muttering curses under his breath as if trying to erase the memory from existence. The sharp citrusy scent of cleaner filled the air as he scrubbed like his life depended on it.
“Fuck me,” he groaned, still wiping furiously, his face contorted in disgust.
You leaned back against the counter, laughing so hard your stomach ached, covering your mouth to muffle it. “Oh my god, Chris, you should’ve seen your face!”
He shot you a glare over his shoulder, cheeks pink, before spraying another layer on the counter and wiping again with unnecessary force.
“Not funny, Y/N!” he grumbled, but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself.
“Oh, it’s hilarious,” you teased, doubling over with giggles while he tried and failed to look serious, scrubbing as if the counter might never recover.
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Summary: The boy who was always knocked out on your front porch decided it was finally time to give you a proper fucking after all the times you've cared for him.
Wc: 1.7k.
Genre: Smut, mdni.
Chris wasn’t someone who you’d expected in your life. One morning you woke up and there he was, collapsed on your doormat, head laying on the wall next to your apartment door. Come to find out, he actually lives a few doors down from you. He was coming home from some underground boxing match and couldn’t even make it to his door. It was now a common occurrence, every Sunday morning he’d be laying at your doorstep, asleep — expecting you to take care of his wounds. You being the kind person you were, you couldn’t help yourself. You would invite him in, sit him on your bathroom counter while you carefully iced his bruises and disinfected the small cuts he had. Conversation was blunt between the two of you, tension was high. Chris was almost holding his breath all the time and you couldn't help but have shaky hands as you cleaned his cuts with antiseptic.
Today was no different. It was Sunday morning, seven a.m. You’d been waking up earlier on Sundays, afraid of letting Chris sleep on your door mat for too long. You slid on a pair of slippers, walking yourself to the front door. You opened the door and peeked out to see Chris in his normal spot. You stepped out of the apartment, slightly closing the door behind you.
“Chris? Wake up.” You murmured, bending down a little to slightly push at his shoulder. He let out a deep groan, slightly shifting.
“Sweetheart? That you?” He voiced out in a deep, groggy, tone. Chris had developed this habit of calling you with the term of endearment. It was sweet but it felt so bitter to you.
“Yes, it’s me Chris.” You huffed out, annoyance imminent in your voice. “Now get up, I’m sure your cuts and bruises can’t be any worse than they were last time.” You spoke, sarcasm glazing your voice.
Chris let out a deep groan as his eyes fluttered open. He used the doorframe to support him as he got up. He towered over you by a couple inches, his dark brown eyes boring into yours. You grabbed his calloused hand, carefully leading him into the apartment. Chris looked around, taking in the familiar surroundings. He followed you to the bathroom, sitting down on the counter.
“Alright Chris, take off your shirt.” You instructed as you got bandages and antiseptic cleaner from under your counter.
Once Chris had his shirt off you began to look at his torso, a hand carefully placed on his shoulder as you did so. Your hands carefully ran over his chest and back, grazing over various bruises and cuts. He let out a hiss as your finger slid over an extremely sensitive bruise.
“Chris, you okay?” You asked quietly, pausing your movements. Chris nodded, looking up to meet your eyes.
“Yeah I’m okay.” He grunted out under his breath.
You continued your movements, before turning to grab a small cotton pad and the antiseptic, carefully pouring the liquid onto the cotton pad.
“Alright Chris, this will probably burn a little. You know the drill.” You murmured.
He took a deep breath in as you moved your hand to gently rub the cotton over the cuts on his torso. You then grabbed his chin in between your thumb and pointer finger, tilting his head towards you. You brought your hand up to disinfect the small cuts on his face — one by his lip, another on his cheek, and one right by his eye. You hadn’t expected his gaze to be so predatory, you could feel his eyes roaming over your face as you worked.
“Sweetheart…” He spoke in a low voice, eyes still on your face. You paused your movements.
“Yes, Chris?” You acknowledged him, voice slightly higher pitched out of nervousness.
“You look pretty like this.” He smiled a little, his hands drifting down to rest on your hips. He pulled you in between his legs. You froze.
“Chris…” You whispered. “What are you doing?” Your eyes were wide.
“Don’t worry sweetheart, a little sugar doesn’t hurt.” He whispered, grabbing the cotton pad from your hand and placing it down on the counter. Your breath hitched.
He then grabbed your hand, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your palm, then your wrist, then trailing up your arm before spinning you around. Chris had you sat on one of his thighs, face inches from yours.
“This okay, sweetheart?” He asked in a raspy voice, his breath hot on your neck. You nodded, looking over his face.
Chris leaned closer, lips just barely grazing against yours. He then kissed you, carefully enveloping your top lip in between his two. His hands roamed your body — sliding over your hips, waist, and back. The room was silent, all you could hear was the soft purr of the air conditioning and heavy breathing. You pulled back, looking him in the eyes — a flustered look on your face. In reality this romantic tension was only making the heat between your thighs grow. Chris only stared back at you, thumbs rubbing shallow circles into your hips. He was waiting for some type of reassurance, some type of indicator that this was okay, that he could continue.
“Baby?” Chris spoke in a quiet voice, softer than his usual tone. “Are you okay? Is this okay?”
You nodded, leaning in to envelope his lips again. His fingers dug deeper into your hips, leaving red marks on your soft skin — a stark contrast to his calloused hands. Chris’s hands moved to slide under the hem of your shirt, his cold hands brushing against the warm skin of your belly and sides. He pulled back, breathless, lips red.
“Come on, baby, let’s go to your bed. It will be more comfortable.” He spoke in a gentle tone, hopping off the counter. Chris grabbed your hand, leading you towards your bedroom which was only a few steps away. He gently laid you down on the bed. “Can I take this off?” He asked, toying with the hem of your shirt. You nodded, helping him slide you out of the shirt.
Chris’s eyes roamed over your now bare torso, staring at your tits for a more than necessary amount of time. “Baby, you’re so fuckin’ pretty.” He muttered under his breath. “Do you have protection here?” Chris looked around the room, pulling open your bedside drawer. To his surprise there was no protection in your drawer — no condoms or birth control. “Huh, no protection? Dirty girl.” He teased, voice getting a bit deeper. He turned back to the bed, before sliding off his shorts, leaving him in only his light grey boxers. You could see his bulge poking out of his boxers, it was big — prominent.
Chris brought his hands to slide your pajamas shorts off, revealing your hips and the rest of your thighs to his view. He took a moment to admire the light pink lacy panties you were wearing. “Fuck, Honey. Can’t wait to fuck your pretty little pussy.” He whispered in your ear. His hands rested on your hips, thumbs gently dipping inside the waistband of your panties.
Chris then carefully slid your panties down your legs, throwing them off somewhere to the side of the room. “You sure this is okay, Honey?” He asked, checking in with you one more time.
“Please, Chris, just do it already.” You gazed up at him with those “fuck me” eyes.
Chris let out a shaky breath. “Fuck, Baby, you cant just gaze at me like that and not expect me not to fuck you numb.” He quickly shoved his boxers down, his cock was long — one noticeable vein down the side, the tip was a pretty coral pink.
Chris pulled you closer to him, placing your legs on his shoulders. He slid his cock through your folds, spreading his pre-cum all over you. He lined himself up with you before slowly sinking into you. You let out a gasp as his thick length plunged deeper into you. Chris was big — bigger than he looked to the eye.
“You okay, sweet girl?” He hummed out quietly, stilling for a moment to let you adjust to him.
“Yeah, Chris. It just fills me up so good.” You breathed out. It wasn’t a lie either, he filled you up perfectly; tip just barely kissing your cervix.
Chris looked into your eyes one last time for confirmation before starting to resume his movements. “Fuck, Honey. Your little pussy is so tight and so perfect." He praised.
Your back arched, pussy clenching around him. His hips relentlessly slammed against your ass as he plowed into you. Chris was making you see stars, legs slightly trembling against his shoulders.
“Chris… I’m gonna cum.” You whined loudly.
“Fuck, Baby. That fast?” He grunted out, still slamming into you.
You nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist. You could feel your core tighten as his cock slid in and out of you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as your orgasm came crashing over you. A loud string of whines left your lips as Chris continued to fuck you through your climax. Chris pulled out with a deep moan before hot spurts of cum landed across your stomach.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, Sweetie.” He murmured, rolling over to get up.
Chris walked to your bathroom to grab a cloth from under the counter, before wetting it with warm water. A few moments later he came back to the room, gently wiping down your stomach, thighs, and in between your legs.
“There we go, Honey.” He whispered, helping you sit up.
Chris got you dressed before going to grab his own clothing. After slipping back into his clothes he walked towards the front door.
“Thanks, Sweetheart!” He called out before opening the door.
“Wait!” You walked towards the door to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’ll be back next Sunday?" You grinned.
“You know it, Love.” He smiled, patting your head before letting himself out.
You watched as the door shut behind him, a somber smile on your face. Never in a hundred years did you think this is how things would turn out.
