#krysfwns

I don’t even have to ask what happened. I never do. We both know it’s his dad again.

Without saying anything, I step aside so he can come in. He storms past me, shoulders tense, fists still curled like he’s ready to swing at someone else. I close the door quietly and follow him into the kitchen.

“Sit,” I say softly, already grabbing the first aid kit from the cupboard.

Joey drops into one of the chairs at the table, legs spread wide, staring at the floor with that dangerous look in his eyes. His chest is still rising and falling fast. He’s vibrating with rage.

I wet a clean cloth and stand between his legs, gently tilting his chin up so I can clean the cut on his lip. He winces but doesn’t pull away.

“You’re gonna need stitches for this one,” I murmur, dabbing carefully. “And your knuckles look bad too.”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps breathing through his nose like a bull, eyes distant and furious.

I keep my voice calm and steady as I work. “Breathe, Joey. It’s over now. You’re here with me.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “Yeah. Real fucking comforting.”

I ignore the sarcasm and start cleaning his split knuckles. His hands are shaking with leftover adrenaline. I can feel how tightly wound he is — like one wrong word and he might explode.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” I say quietly, blowing gently on his knuckles to ease the sting. “You don’t have to hold all this shit in until it comes out like this.”

Joey’s eyes finally snap up to mine. They’re dark, angry, and a little wild.

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” he snaps, voice low and rough. “That my dad’s a piece of shit? That I wanted to kill him tonight? That I’m so fucking tired of this?”

His voice cracks at the end, even though he’s trying to hide it. I keep cleaning his wounds, slow and gentle, trying to be the calm in his storm.

“I know, baby,” I whisper. “I know.”

I lean in and press a soft kiss to the uninjured part of his forehead, then move to clean the cut above his eyebrow. He’s still breathing hard, fists clenched on his thighs, but he lets me take care of him.

I finish cleaning the cut above his eyebrow and reach for the plasters in the first aid kit. Joey stays quiet while I carefully place one over the wound, my fingers gentle against his skin. The anger is still rolling off him, but it’s starting to mix with something else — that heavy, restless energy he gets when he’s this worked up.

I move on to his knuckles, placing small plasters over the worst of the splits. As I’m leaning over him, his hand suddenly drops to my thigh, palm sliding slowly up the bare skin under the hem of my shorts.

“I like these,” he mutters, voice low and rough. His fingers squeeze my thigh possessively, thumb brushing the inside.

I pause what I’m doing and look at him. “Yeah?”

His eyes are dark as they drag slowly up my legs, lingering on the shorts I’m wearing — the tiny black ones he’s always liked. His hand keeps moving, sliding higher until his fingers slip under the fabric, gripping my ass.

“Yeah,” he says, almost a growl. “Too fucking short. You wear these when you know I’m coming over?”

There’s still anger in his voice, but it’s shifting now, turning into that dangerous, hungry tone I know so well. His other hand comes up to my waist, pulling me closer between his spread legs. He’s getting handsy fast — fingers digging into my skin, breath hot against my stomach as he leans in.

I try to stay focused, pressing one last plaster onto his knuckle. “Joey…”

He doesn’t let me finish. His hand squeezes my ass harder, pulling me flush against him as he looks up at me with those stormy eyes.

“You always try to fix me,” he says, voice rough. “Patching me up like I’m not completely fucked. And you stand here in these little shorts acting like I’m not gonna lose it.”

His fingers slip further under my shorts, brushing against me teasingly. I can feel how hard he already is through his jeans as he pulls me even closer.

“Joey, you’re still bleeding—” I start, but he cuts me off by pressing his face against my stomach, kissing the skin there hotly.

“Don’t care,” he mumbles against me, nipping at my skin. “Need you.”

“Joey,” I say, a little breathless as his hands keep squeezing and pulling at me. “My mam’s gonna be home from work any minute now.”

He lets out a frustrated sound, almost a growl, and pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are still dark with that mix of rage and want.

“Okay, so we go up to your room,” he says, already starting to stand up like it’s decided.

I put my hands on his chest to slow him down. “My room’s being repainted. You know that. There’s dust sheets and paint cans everywhere.”

He freezes for a second. Then I watch the frustration boil over.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters angrily. He stands up fully, towering over me, jaw clenched tight again. The anger that had started to shift is flaring back up — not at me exactly, but at everything. At the situation. At not being able to have me the way he wants right now.

He storms over to the kitchen window and yanks the blinds shut with more force than necessary, plunging the room into a softer, dimmer light. When he turns back around, his eyes lock on me with that intense, predatory look.

Before I can say anything else, he’s on me.

In one swift movement, Joey grabs my waist, spins me around, and bends me over the kitchen table. My chest presses against the wooden surface as he kicks my legs apart. I gasp at the suddenness of it.

“Joey—” I start, but he cuts me off by pressing his hard cock against my ass through our clothes, grinding into me roughly.

“Table’s fine,” he growls against the back of my neck, one hand fisting my hair while the other yanks my shorts and panties down in one rough tug. “I don’t give a fuck where we are.”

His hand slides between my legs, fingers finding me already wet. He lets out a low, satisfied sound and pushes two fingers inside me without warning, curling them deep.

“Always so fucking wet for me,” he mutters, voice rough and angry. “Even when I show up like this.”

He pumps his fingers hard and fast, bending over me so his chest is pressed against my back. I can feel how furious he still is — the way he’s using my body to let some of that rage out.

Joey’s fingers are still buried deep inside me, pumping hard and fast as he leans over my back, breathing heavy against my neck.

“Tell me you want this,” he growls, voice low and rough. His fingers curl perfectly against that spot inside me, making my knees weak. “Tell me right now or I stop.”

“I want it,” I gasp immediately, pushing back against his hand. “Please, Joey. I want you.”

That’s all he needs.

He pulls his fingers out and I hear the sound of his belt and zipper. Seconds later I feel the thick, hot head of his cock pressing against my entrance. He rubs it up and down my soaked folds, teasing me for just a moment before he grips my hips hard and thrusts in deep in one rough stroke.

“Fuck—” I moan loudly, gripping the edge of the table as he fills me completely. He’s so thick, stretching me open in that perfect, almost-too-much way.

Joey lets out a deep, guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt. “So fucking tight. Always so good for me.”

He doesn’t give me time to adjust. He starts fucking me hard and deep right away, hips snapping against my ass with every brutal thrust. The table creaks loudly under us as he pounds into me, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip so tight I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow.

“Take it,” he grunts, voice wrecked with anger and lust. “Take every fucking inch, baby.”

I’m moaning loudly with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the kitchen. He’s fucking me like he’s trying to get all that rage out through my body — deep, punishing strokes that hit exactly where I need him.

Joey leans down over me again, chest pressed to my back as he keeps railing me. “This what you wanted?” he growls against my ear. “Me coming over bleeding and pissed off just so I can fuck you like this over your kitchen table?”

“Yes—” I cry out, pushing back to meet his thrusts. “Fuck, Joey— harder.”

He lets out a dark, satisfied sound and gives me exactly what I asked for. His hips slam into me even harder, faster, the table shaking underneath us. One of his hands slides around to rub my clit in tight, rough circles while he keeps fucking me senseless.

“Joey— wait,” I gasp between moans. “I wanna see you.”

He slows down for a second, then pulls out completely. I turn around quickly and sit on the edge of the kitchen table, spreading my legs for him. Joey steps between them immediately, eyes dark and intense as he looks at me.

He grabs my thighs, yanks me to the very edge of the table, and pushes back inside me in one deep thrust. I moan loudly, wrapping my arms around his neck as he starts fucking me again — slower this time, but still so deep and hard.

We’re face to face now. His forehead presses against mine as he thrusts into me, our breaths mixing. I pull him into a messy, desperate kiss, tongues sliding together as he keeps moving inside me.

“I love you,” I whisper against his lips between kisses. “You know that, right?”

Joey groans, hips snapping harder like he’s trying to shut me up, but I keep going.

“You’re worth so much more than this,” I breathe, voice shaking every time he thrusts deep. “More than the shit your dad puts you through. You’re not him, Joey. You’re so much better than him.”

He kisses me harder, almost angrily, like he’s trying to distract me. But I can feel the way his rhythm falters for a second, the way his grip on my thighs tightens.

“You deserve better,” I continue, moaning when he hits that perfect spot again. “Fuck— you’re so deep— I can’t— I love you so much. You’re not worthless. You’re not what he says you are.”

Joey lets out a frustrated sound, burying his face in my neck as he fucks me harder, like he’s trying to lose himself in my body.

“Quit making it depressing,” he mutters against my skin, voice rough. But I can tell my words are getting to him. His thrusts are still hard and deep, but there’s something more vulnerable in the way he’s holding me now.

I cup his face with both hands, forcing him to look at me while he keeps fucking me. My voice keeps breaking from how good he feels.

“I mean it, baby. You’re worth everything. You’re not your dad. You’re not the fights. You’re not the anger. You’re mine. And I love you even when you show up bleeding and pissed off.”

Joey’s eyes look glassy for a moment. He kisses me again, deep and messy, hips still driving into me relentlessly. I can feel how much he’s affected even if he won’t say it.

“Shut up,” he groans, but there’s no real bite to it. He fucks me harder instead, like he’s pouring all the things he can’t say into every thrust.

My phone starts ringing on the kitchen counter.

I glance over and see my mam’s name on the screen. My eyes widen.

“Joey— shit, it’s my mam—”

He doesn’t stop. If anything, the risk seems to make him thrust harder, a dark little smirk tugging at his lips as he keeps fucking me deep and steady.

“Answer it,” he murmurs against my ear, voice low and filthy. “Don’t want her getting suspicious, do you?”

I reach for the phone with a shaky hand and swipe to answer, trying to sound normal.

“H-hey Mam,” I say, voice a little too breathy.

Joey chooses that exact moment to hit that perfect spot inside me. I bite down hard on my lip to stop myself from moaning.

“Hey love,” my mam says cheerfully on the other end. “Just at the shop. Do you want anything? I’m getting milk and bread.”

Joey’s hips snap forward particularly hard and I have to cover my mouth with my free hand for a second.

“I’m— I’m good,” I manage, voice strained. “Just… whatever you usually get is fine.”

Joey leans down and sucks on my neck, one hand still gripping my thigh as he keeps thrusting into me slow and deep. I can barely think straight.

My mam continues, completely oblivious. “Oh and is Joey coming around anytime soon? I can pick up some cans of Coke for him — I know it’s his favourite.”

I nearly moan out loud. Joey lets out a quiet, amused huff against my neck and starts fucking me a little faster, like he’s enjoying this way too much.

“Yeah— yeah he’s… he’s here actually,” I say, trying so hard to keep my voice steady. “You can—you can get the Coke if you want.”

Joey’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as he buries himself deep, grinding against me. I shoot him a glare, but it turns into a silent moan as he hits that spot again.

“You alright, love?” my mam asks. “You sound a bit out of breath.”

“I’m fine!” I say quickly, a little too loud. “Just… moving some stuff around in the kitchen. The painting stuff, you know.”

Joey grins against my neck and reaches between us to rub my clit with his thumb, making my legs shake. I have to bite my fist to stay quiet.

“Alright well I won’t be long,” my mam says. “See you soon, love.”

“See you,” I manage before quickly hanging up.

The second the call ends I let out a loud, broken moan.

“You’re such an asshole,” I gasp, slapping his shoulder weakly as he keeps fucking me.

Joey just laughs lowly, looking way too pleased with himself as he grips my hips and starts pounding into me harder again.

“Couldn’t help it,” he murmurs, kissing me messily. “You sound so pretty trying to hold back those moans for your mam.”

He grabs my hips harder and starts fucking me with deep, punishing thrusts, like the phone call only made him more desperate.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, forehead pressed against mine. “Almost got caught because of me and you’re still dripping down my cock.”

I moan loudly, wrapping my legs tight around his waist as he rails me on the kitchen table. The table shakes with every hard snap of his hips. I’m still sensitive from earlier, but the intensity feels so good it almost hurts.

“Joey— fuck— right there,” I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

He kisses me messily, all tongue and teeth, while pounding into me without mercy. One of his hands slides between us to rub my clit again, fast and rough.

“Gonna cum for me again?” he growls against my mouth. “Want to feel you squeezing me when I fill you up.”

I nod desperately, already feeling another orgasm building fast. “Yes— I’m close— don’t stop—”

Joey fucks me harder, the sound of skin slapping skin loud in the kitchen. His breathing is ragged, sweat dripping down his neck as he chases his own release.

“I love you,” I whimper, barely able to get the words out. “I love you so much.”

That seems to break something in him. He buries his face in my neck, thrusting deep and frantic.

“Fuck— I love you too,” he groans, voice strained. “So fucking much.”

The words push me over the edge. I cum hard around him, crying out his name as my pussy clenches tightly. My whole body shakes, legs locked around him as pleasure crashes through me.

Joey follows right after, groaning loudly as he buries himself deep and cums inside me. His hips stutter, cock pulsing as he fills me up, holding me tight against him like he never wants to let go.

We stay like that for a long moment — him still inside me, both of us breathing hard, bodies trembling. He presses soft kisses to my neck and shoulder, the anger from earlier finally starting to fade into something softer.

After a while he pulls back just enough to look at me, thumb brushing my cheek.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, voice rough.

I nod, still catching my breath. “Yeah… you?”

He’s everywhere at once. Tall, broad, powerful strides eating up the ground even as the rain tries to slow him down. His jersey is plastered to his back, dark with water and mud, clinging to every line of muscle across his shoulders and down his arms. The wet fabric makes the movement of his body impossible to ignore — the flex of his biceps when he catches the ball, the shift of his back when he drives forward, the way his thighs power through the tackle that just sent an opponent sliding across the grass.

He shakes the rain from his hair like a dog, brunette strands sticking to his forehead, and I catch the flash of his grin even from here. That Kavanagh grin. Cocky. Focused. Alive.

The referee blows the whistle again. Two minutes left on the clock. Tommen is up by four but the other team is pushing hard, desperate. Johnny claps his hands once, sharp and loud, calling out instructions to his teammates over the roar of the rain and the crowd. His voice is hoarse, raw from shouting all match, that Irish lilt cutting through the storm like it belongs there.

He lines up for the scrum, shoulders squared, legs planted wide in the mud. The muscles in his neck strain as he waits. When the ball comes back out, he’s already moving — explosive, fast, dodging one tackle and driving straight through another. Someone tries to take him down but he stays on his feet, boots digging into the slippery grass, rain streaming down his face. He offloads the ball at the last second and keeps running, supporting the play like he always does.

My heart is hammering in time with the crowd’s roar. Water drips from my lashes but I don’t blink. I can’t. Not when he looks like this — soaked, dirty, unstoppable. The rain keeps pouring, turning the floodlights into hazy halos around his frame every time he sprints past. His chest is heaving when he slows for a moment, hands on his hips, scanning the field. Even from this distance I can see the rise and fall of his ribs under that drenched jersey.

He glances toward the sideline, scanning faces until his eyes find mine. For half a second his expression softens, just barely, and he mouths something I can’t hear over the rain and the noise.

Then he’s back in it, charging forward again as the final plays unfold.

The final whistle blows sharp and loud, cutting through the storm. The crowd erupts. Tommen wins. The boys are shouting, slapping each other on the back, jumping in the mud like kids even as the rain keeps hammering down. Johnny is right in the middle of it, that big grin breaking across his face as he gets pulled into a group hug, his soaked jersey riding up when he lifts his arms.

I stay put on the sideline, watching them celebrate for a few minutes before the team starts heading off the pitch toward the changing rooms. The floodlights make everything look hazy and golden through the rain. I pull my hood tighter and start walking toward the car park, boots splashing in puddles.

It feels like forever before the lads start trickling out. Some are still buzzing, hair wet, bags slung over their shoulders. Then I spot him.

Johnny comes out in a fresh black hoodie and grey joggers, his kit bag hanging off one shoulder. His hair is damp and messy, a few strands sticking to his forehead even after the shower. His cheeks are still flushed from the match, and there’s a small cut on his lip that wasn’t there before. He looks ridiculously good — tired, happy, and completely unbothered by the rain that’s still falling.

His eyes find me immediately. That soft little smile appears again as he walks straight over, long legs eating up the distance.

“There’s my angel,” he says, voice rough and low from shouting all game. He drops his bag at his feet and pulls me into a quick hug, one big arm wrapping around my shoulders. He smells like fresh shower gel and rain. “You stayed the whole time even in this pissin’ weather?”

He pulls back just enough to look down at me, thumb brushing a raindrop off my cheek. His hand is warm.

“C’mon, baby. Let’s get you out of the rain.” He nods toward his car a few spaces away, already reaching for his keys. “I’m parked right over there.”

Johnny pops the boot and tosses his kit bag in before opening the passenger door for me. The rain is still coming down hard, drumming loudly on the roof of the car as I slide into the seat. He jogs around to the driver’s side and drops in with a heavy sigh, shaking rain from his hair like he did on the pitch.

The second the doors are shut, the noise of the storm dulls a little. It’s just us, the wet windows fogging up already, and the smell of rain and his fresh shower gel filling the small space.

I don’t even give him a chance to start the engine.

I lean over the centre console, one hand sliding up his thigh as I press my lips to the side of his neck. His skin is still warm from the shower.

“I’m so proud of you,” I whisper against his throat, voice low and breathy. My mouth trails up to that spot just under his ear. “You were so fucking hot out there, baby… running through all those tackles like nothing could stop you.”

Johnny lets out a surprised little laugh that turns into a quiet groan when I suck gently on his neck. His hand comes up to the back of my head, fingers threading through my damp hair.

“Angel…” he murmurs, voice already rougher.

I keep going, kissing and nipping at his neck while my other hand tugs at the waistband of his grey joggers, pulling them down just enough to slip my fingers underneath. His abs tense under my touch.

I feel him twitch under my fingers as I stroke him slowly through his boxers. The rain keeps pounding on the car roof, louder now, like it’s trying to drown out the sound of his breathing getting heavier.

Johnny’s head tips back against the seat, one hand gripping the steering wheel tight.

“Fuck,” he rasps, that accent thicker than usual. “You’re gonna kill me.”

I don’t hesitate. I tug his joggers and boxers down just enough to free him, wrapping my fingers around his thick cock. He’s already half-hard from my teasing and grows fully hard in my hand within seconds, hot and heavy.

Johnny’s eyes widen, glancing out the foggy windows.

“Shit, baby— there’s still people around,” he mutters, voice strained as he looks toward the car park where a few lads and families are still walking to their cars through the rain. “Someone could walk right past—”

“So?” I whisper, leaning down further, lips brushing the head of his cock. “Let them.”

I take him into my mouth without another warning, sinking down as far as I can in the tight space. Johnny’s hips jerk up instantly, a low, broken groan ripping from his throat.

“Fuck— angel,” he hisses, one hand flying to the back of my head, not pushing but gripping my hair like he needs something to hold onto. “You’re so fucking bad…”

The rain is hammering harder on the roof now, almost loud enough to cover the wet sounds of my mouth working him. I bob my head slowly at first, swirling my tongue around the tip every time I pull up, tasting the clean skin mixed with the faint salt of him. Then I take him deeper, relaxing my throat, letting the tip brush the back of it.

Johnny curses under his breath, thighs tensing under me. His free hand grips the edge of the seat so hard his knuckles turn white.

“Baby… Jesus Christ,” he groans, voice all rough and wrecked. “You’re actually gonna do this right here?”

I hum around him in response, the vibration making his cock twitch against my tongue. Outside, I can vaguely hear voices and car doors, but it only makes me suck him harder, faster, one hand stroking what my mouth can’t reach.

I don’t stop. I keep sucking him deeper, faster, my hand twisting around the base while my tongue works the underside of his cock. The car feels smaller, hotter, the windows completely fogged up now from our breathing and the rain still pounding outside.

Johnny’s head is thrown back against the seat, mouth open, chest rising and falling fast. His fingers tighten in my hair, not controlling me, just holding on.

“Fuck— baby, I’m— nghhh,” he whimpers, the sound so pretty and desperate it makes me moan around him.

I take him all the way down again, throat tightening, and that’s what breaks him.

“Angel— shit, I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, voice cracking. “I’m— fuck, I’m cumming—”

His hips stutter, thighs shaking, and then he’s spilling down my throat with a broken whimper that sounds like a sob. “Oh my fuck.” His whole body jerks with every pulse, low, helpless little sounds falling from his lips as I keep sucking him through it, swallowing everything he gives me.

He’s panting hard when it finally slows, chest heaving, fingers trembling in my hair. A soft, wrecked little whine leaves him when I gently lick him clean, his cock twitching at the oversensitivity.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” he breathes out, voice hoarse and shaky. His hand slides down to cup my jaw, thumb brushing my swollen lips as I sit up. His eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed dark.

So I’m pushing it.

I lean over and laugh at something Patrick said, placing my hand on his arm a little longer than necessary. The skirt rides up my thighs as I shift, and I don’t bother fixing it. I can feel Johnny’s stare burning into the side of my face.

“Patrick, you’re so funny,” I say, smiling up at him sweetly, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. “I don’t know how you come up with this stuff.”

Patrick grins, clearly enjoying the attention, completely unaware of the tension. “Ah, you know me, I’m hilarious.”

Johnny is sitting across from us, jaw tight, hands clenched on his thighs. He’s been trying to talk to me privately since I got here — soft apologies, those big blue eyes looking all guilty. But every time he gets close I brush him off and go flirt with someone else.

I cross my legs the other way, letting the skirt ride up even higher. Johnny’s eyes drop to my thighs for a second before he looks away, breathing through his nose.

“Baby,” he says quietly when there’s a lull in the conversation, leaning forward. “Can we talk for a minute?”

I tilt my head, giving him an innocent look. “About what?”

He swallows, voice low so only I can hear. “I said I was sorry. I hate fighting with you.”

I shrug, turning back to Patrick with a bright smile. “Anyway, what were you saying about the party last weekend?”

Johnny’s hand flexes on his knee. I can see the way his shoulders are tense, that golden boy control starting to fray. He’s been so sweet all day — apologising, checking on me, doing that soft thing he does when he knows he messed up.

But I’m still mad. And I look good in this skirt. And I know exactly how to push his buttons.

Patrick says something else and I laugh loudly, leaning into him again. Johnny stands up suddenly, running a hand through his hair.

“Come with me.”

His voice is low, but I can hear the strain in it. I don’t move. Instead I raise an eyebrow and turn back to Patrick, acting like I didn’t hear him.

Johnny takes a slow breath. I can see the way his shoulders tense up.

“Baby,” he says again, this time more authoritative. His voice drops lower, that rugby captain tone coming out — calm but impossible to ignore. “Come with me. Now.”

The room is still loud around us, but the way he says it makes something flutter in my stomach. I hold his gaze for a second, pretending to think about it, then roll my eyes dramatically and stand up.

“Fine,” I mutter, voice dripping with attitude. I smooth down my tiny skirt (making sure it doesn’t actually cover much) and walk past him without looking back.

Johnny follows me out of the living room and down the hallway toward his bedroom. The second we’re away from the group I can feel the shift in him — he’s angry, but it’s that frustrated, hurt kind of angry. The kind that comes from hating when I’m mad at him.

He closes the door behind us, not slamming it, but firmly enough that I know he’s trying to keep his cool. When he turns around, his blue eyes are stormy.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, voice rough but still soft at the edges. “I’ve said sorry like ten times today. I know I fucked up yesterday. I hate fighting with you.”

I cross my arms, leaning against his desk, still feeling bratty and stubborn.

“Maybe I’m not ready to forgive you yet,” I say, tilting my head. “You were being a dick yesterday. And now I’m supposed to just get over it because you’re giving me those sad golden retriever eyes?”

Johnny runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely distressed. He steps closer but doesn’t touch me, like he’s scared I’ll pull away.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I was stressed about the match and I took it out on you. That was shit of me. But baby… this?” He gestures at me in the short skirt, the flirting. “You’re killing me. You know I hate when you’re mad at me. I’ve been apologising all day because I can’t stand it when we’re like this.”

He looks so sweet even when he’s angry — a big, broad rugby boy who’s secretly a softie for his girlfriend. It makes it harder to stay mad, but I’m not ready to drop the attitude yet.

I shrug, looking away from him. “Maybe you deserve to feel a bit shit after yesterday.”

Johnny lets out a frustrated breath and steps even closer, towering over me. His hand comes up like he wants to touch my waist but he stops himself, clenching his fist.

“I do feel shit,” he admits, voice low. “I hate this. I hate when you’re like this with me. I just want my girl back.”

I tilt my head, looking up at him through my lashes with a small, challenging smile.

“Maybe you have to earn my forgiveness,” I say sweetly, voice full of fake innocence.

Then I turn and walk over to his bed, sitting down on the edge of it. I cross my legs slowly, letting the tiny skirt ride up even higher on my thighs as I lean back on my hands. The position makes my chest push out a little and I know exactly what I’m doing.

Johnny’s eyes follow every movement. His jaw clenches again as he watches me, that mix of frustration and want clear on his face.

He takes a slow step closer, hands flexing at his sides like he’s trying not to reach for me.

“Baby…” he says, voice low and strained. “Don’t do this.”

I blink up at him innocently, swinging one leg a little. “Do what? I’m just sitting here. You wanted to talk, right?”

Johnny runs a hand down his face, clearly fighting with himself. He’s still angry about the argument, still annoyed that I’ve been bratty and flirting with Patrick in front of everyone… but he’s also my sweet Johnny. The one who hates when I’m upset with him. The one who’s been apologising all day because he genuinely feels bad.

He stops a few feet away from the bed, eyes flicking down to my thighs and then back up to my face.

“You’re being a brat on purpose,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat in it. Just that frustrated fondness he gets when I push him.

I shrug, biting my lip to hide a smile. “Maybe. Or maybe you just have to work a little harder to make it up to me. You were mean yesterday, Johnny. I think I deserve to be spoiled a bit.”

He lets out a long breath and steps closer, now standing right in front of me. He’s so tall like this, broad shoulders blocking out some of the light. His hand twitches like he wants to touch my leg but he holds back.

“I know I was,” he says quietly, eyes soft even though his jaw is still tight. “I hate that I made you feel like that. I’ve been trying to make it right all day.”

I look up at him, still sitting on his bed with my skirt barely covering anything, and tilt my head.

“Then keep trying,” I say, voice light and bratty. “Because I’m not convinced yet.”

Johnny’s eyes darken as he looks down at me. He’s clearly torn — part of him wants to stay sweet and keep apologising, the other part is getting more and more frustrated with my attitude.

He leans down slightly, one hand bracing on the bed beside me, bringing his face closer to mine.

“You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?” he murmurs, voice low.

I smile up at him sweetly. “Mhm.”

Johnny looks down at me for a long second, something shifting in his eyes. Then he leans in and kisses me.

It’s soft at first — sweet, almost apologetic. But I don’t kiss him back right away, staying stubborn even as his lips move against mine. He doesn’t push. Instead he trails his mouth along my jaw and down to my neck, kissing that exact spot he knows makes my knees weak.

“You look so good tonight,” he murmurs against my skin, voice low and warm. “This skirt is killing me, baby. You wore it to torture me, didn’t you?”

I stay quiet, acting completely unbothered even though my pulse is racing. I tilt my head slightly to give him better access, but otherwise keep my expression neutral.

Johnny’s hands slide up my sides, gentle but sure, as he keeps kissing and sucking lightly on my neck — exactly the way I like it. He knows my body too well.

His fingers find the hem of my top and slowly start lifting it. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, voice full of that sweet sincerity that makes it hard to stay mad. “Even when you’re being a little brat… I can’t get enough of you.”

He pulls my top off and drops it on the floor. His hands run over my waist, thumbs brushing my ribs as he leans in to kiss my collarbone.

“Missed touching you,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Missed my girl.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying my hardest to look unaffected as he reaches behind me and unclasps my bra. He slides it down my arms, eyes darkening as he looks at me.

“Fuck… you’re perfect,” he breathes, leaning down to press slow, open-mouthed kisses across my chest. “So pretty for me.”

His hands are gentle but confident as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my skirt, slowly sliding it down my legs along with my panties. I lift my hips to help him without thinking, still trying to act like none of this is affecting me.

Johnny straightens up a little, looking at me fully naked on his bed. His eyes are soft and hungry at the same time.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick. “My beautiful girl. I hate when we fight. I just want to make you feel good.”

He leans back in, kissing my neck again, hands sliding up my thighs as he gently spreads my legs.

I stay quiet, breathing a little faster but refusing to give him the satisfaction of a moan or reaction. Even though every kiss and touch is exactly what I’ve been craving.

He gently pushes me further up the bed and lays me down on my back. He settles between my legs, hands sliding up my thighs as he looks up at me one more time.

Then he leans in and starts eating me out.

His tongue is warm and slow at first, licking long stripes through my folds before focusing on my clit. He knows exactly how I like it — the pressure, the rhythm, the way he occasionally sucks gently. It feels so good my stomach tightens, but I force myself to stay still. No sounds. No movement. Just quiet breathing as I stare at the ceiling, pretending I’m completely unaffected.

He keeps going for a while, getting more focused, more desperate. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open as he works his tongue deeper. I can feel how much he’s trying to get a reaction out of me, but I stay stubbornly silent.

After a few more minutes he pulls back, breathing hard. He crawls up my body until he’s hovering over me, blue eyes searching my face.

“C’mon, baby… please,” he murmurs, voice soft and a little desperate. “I know you can feel it. Let me hear you.”

I keep my expression neutral, looking up at him like nothing’s happening.

He lets out a frustrated little breath and kisses me deeply while his hand slides back down between my legs. Two of his fingers push inside me easily — I’m soaked even if I won’t admit it — and he starts curling them against that perfect spot while his thumb rubs my clit.

At the same time his mouth moves to my neck, kissing and sucking the exact places he knows drive me crazy. His fingers work steadily inside me, deep and skilled, while he whispers against my skin.

“Please, baby… stop being stubborn. You’re so wet for me. Let me make you feel good.”

I try to hold out. I really do. But the combination of his fingers and his mouth on my neck is too much. A small, involuntary whimper finally slips out of me.

He freezes for half a second, then I feel him smile against my neck.

“There she is,” he breathes, sounding relieved and a little smug. His fingers start moving faster, curling harder. “That’s my girl. Don’t hold it in.”

Another soft moan escapes me as he keeps going, kissing my neck while he fingers me deeper. My hips finally twitch against his hand, the bratty act starting to crack.

My hands finally move, reaching up to grip the hem of Johnny’s shirt. I tug at it impatiently and he sits up just enough to let me pull it over his head, tossing it somewhere on the floor.

The second it’s gone I can’t help staring.

His abs are right there — hard, defined, flexing a little every time he breathes. But it’s his arms that make my brain short-circuit. Those thick rugby biceps. The ones that look even bigger when he’s hovering over me like this. I reach up and run both hands over them, squeezing, feeling the solid muscle under his warm skin.

God. His biceps.

I dig my fingers into them, almost greedily, as he leans back down and keeps fingering me. Every time he moves, those arms flex under my palms and it makes me even wetter. I can’t stop touching them — sliding my hands up and down, squeezing the thick muscle, watching the way they tense when he curls his fingers deeper inside me.

“You’re obsessed with them,” Johnny murmurs against my neck, a soft little laugh in his voice. He flexes on purpose just to tease me and I let out a quiet, needy sound.

“Shut up,” I breathe, still gripping his arms. “They’re… distractingly big.”

He smiles against my skin and keeps working his fingers inside me, slow and deep, while I keep my hands locked on his biceps like I can’t let go. Every flex, every shift of his body makes them tighten under my fingers and it’s driving me crazy.

Johnny kisses my neck again, voice low and warm.

“You can keep holding onto them, baby. I like when you get like this.”

I squeeze harder, thumbs brushing over the solid muscle as another soft moan slips out of me. His fingers feel so good, but those arms… fuck. I could stay here just touching them for hours.

Johnny kisses me once more, deep and slow, then starts trailing his mouth back down my body. He takes his time — pressing soft kisses over my collarbone, between my breasts, down the centre of my stomach — until he’s settled between my legs again.

This time when he leans in and starts eating me out, he doesn’t hold back.

His tongue is focused and hungry, licking through my folds before sucking my clit into his mouth. One of his thick arms wraps around my thigh, holding me open, and the sight of that bicep flexing against my skin makes me moan louder than I mean to. I reach down and grip his other arm, fingers digging into the solid muscle while he works me with his mouth.

“Fuck— Johnny…” I breathe, hips twitching against his face.

He hums against me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine, and doubles down. His tongue moves faster, alternating between long, firm strokes and tight circles around my clit. Two of his fingers slide back inside me, curling perfectly while he sucks harder.

I’m holding onto his arm like an anchor, feeling every flex of his bicep as he eats me out. It only makes everything hotter. My thighs start shaking around his head and I can’t keep quiet anymore — soft, broken moans spilling out of me with every movement of his tongue.

Johnny doesn’t stop. He keeps going, relentless and skilled, like he’s determined to make me fall apart. His fingers thrust deeper, tongue working my clit in that exact way that always ruins me.

The pressure builds fast. My grip on his arm tightens as my stomach coils tight.

“I’m— fuck, I’m gonna cum—” I gasp.

He doesn’t pull away. He just sucks harder, fingers curling, and I break.

My orgasm hits hard, thighs clamping around his head as I cry out his name. Waves of pleasure crash through me while he keeps licking me through it, drawing every last shudder out of my body. My fingers are still digging into his bicep, holding on like I might float away.

When the last tremors finally fade, Johnny presses a soft kiss to my inner thigh and looks up at me, lips shiny, eyes dark and satisfied.

Johnny crawls back up my body and settles over me, resting his weight on his forearms so he doesn’t crush me. His hair is a mess and his lips are still shiny. He looks down at me with that soft, hopeful expression he gets when he knows he’s done something right.

“So…” he says, voice low and a little teasing. “Am I forgiven?”

I pretend to think about it, still trying to look mildly annoyed even though my legs are shaking and I just came hard on his tongue.

“I suppose,” I mutter, looking off to the side like I’m still pissed.

Johnny’s eyes go wide in fake shock. He gasps dramatically, hand flying to his chest.

“You suppose? After all that? My poor heart.”

I can’t help the tiny smile that breaks through, but I quickly school my face again. He leans down and kisses me softly, then rests his forehead against mine.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too,” I whisper back.

Then I clear my throat and push lightly at his chest. “Right. I was actually interested in that story Patrick was telling me… so I need to get back.”

Johnny blinks at me, then lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh as I start sitting up. I reach for my clothes and start getting dressed again — bra, top, then the tiny skirt. He’s still kneeling on the bed watching me, looking half amused and half possessive.

When I stand up and try to fix the skirt, Johnny reaches out and tugs the hem down a little lower himself. He clicks his tongue against his teeth and shakes his head.

“Feely shouldn’t get to see all that,” he mutters, eyes dark as he looks at my thighs. “That skirt’s for me. Nobody else.”

I roll my eyes, but my stomach flips at the possessive edge in his voice. I lean in and give him one more quick kiss before heading for the door.

“Don’t take too long,” I say over my shoulder, still playing it cool. “Wouldn’t want people thinking you were busy apologising.”

Patrick is sitting at his desk, guitar in his lap, strumming random chords and scribbling in his notebook. His hair is messy, wearing that old t-shirt that’s a little too tight on his shoulders. He looks hot. He always looks hot. That’s not the point.

The point is he hasn’t looked at me properly in the last forty minutes.

I let out a loud, dramatic sigh. Nothing. He keeps strumming.

“Patrick,” I say, voice already edged with irritation.

“Hm?” He doesn’t even look up. Just writes something down and tries another chord.

I sit up on the bed, crossing my arms. “You invited me over, you know. I cancelled plans to come here and you’re just… doing this.”

“I’m working on something,” he mutters, still not looking at me. “Give me like ten more minutes.”

Ten more minutes. That’s what he said thirty minutes ago.

I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. “You always do this. Every single time I come over it’s the same shit. You’re either out with the stupid farm animals, doing school work, or playing your guitar like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

He finally glances over at me, but it’s quick and dismissive. “Babe, I’m literally right here.”

“Right here ignoring me,” I snap back, my tone turning bitchy. I stand up and walk over to his desk, leaning against it so he has to acknowledge me. “You always invite me over and then act like I’m just background noise. I’m not one of your fucking chickens, Patrick.”

He sighs and sets the guitar down, but I can tell he’s still half in his songwriting brain. “I’m not ignoring you. I just have stuff to do.”

“Stuff that’s more important than me?” I shoot back, raising an eyebrow. I know I sound bratty. I don’t care. I’m annoyed and horny and bored and he’s sitting there looking stupidly hot while paying me zero attention.

Patrick runs a hand through his hair, looking a little frustrated now. “That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.” I cross my arms tighter, glaring down at him. “I’m literally here in your room, wearing the shorts you like, and you’d rather play guitar than touch me. Cool. Really cool.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, then just shakes his head and picks up the guitar again. That makes me even madder.

“Wow. Okay. Keep strumming then,” I say, voice dripping with attitude. I walk back to the bed and flop down on it dramatically, turning my back to him. “I’ll just sit here like a good little girlfriend and wait for you to remember I exist.”

I hear him sigh behind me. Good. Let him sigh.

I’m not sad. I’m pissed. And the longer he keeps ignoring me, the brattier I feel myself getting. If he wants to play guitar so bad, maybe I’ll just start touching myself right here and see how long he can keep pretending I’m not the most important thing in the room.

I let out another loud, exaggerated sigh, making sure he can hear how bored and annoyed I am. When that gets zero reaction, I sit up and yank my jumper off, tossing it onto the floor dramatically.

Patrick finally glances over from his desk, eyebrows raised. “What are you doing?”

“I’m hot,” I say, deadpan.

He looks genuinely confused. “It’s the middle of winter.”

I stare at him for a second, then let out a sharp, bitchy laugh.

“No, Patrick. I’m hot because I’m horny,” I snap, voice full of attitude. “You won’t fuck me. You won’t even pay the tiniest bit of attention to me. So I’m gonna have to deal with it myself.”

Before he can respond, I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it off in one smooth motion, dropping it on top of my jumper. I’m now sitting on his bed in just my bra and shorts.

Patrick’s eyes drop straight to my chest.

His gaze locks on my tits immediately. I watch the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard. He’s always been obsessed with them — he can never keep his hands or mouth off them when we actually get to that point. And right now? He’s staring like he forgot what a guitar even is.

I smirk, feeling a rush of satisfaction at finally getting his full attention.

“See something you like?” I ask, voice sweet but dripping with bratty sarcasm. I arch my back a little, pushing my chest out more. “Too bad you were too busy with your stupid guitar to notice earlier.”

Patrick’s hand tightens around the neck of his guitar. He looks torn — part of him still wants to keep writing, but the other part (the much louder part right now) is completely focused on my tits.

“Baby…” he starts, voice already getting that needy edge I love when he’s wants something he knows he's going to be denied.

I cut him off, tilting my head. “Don’t ‘baby’ me. You had your chance to pay attention to me. Now I’m just gonna take care of myself.”

I reach behind my back and unclip my bra, letting it slide down my arms and drop onto the pile of clothes on the floor. My tits are fully exposed now, nipples already hard from the cool air and the rush of finally having his attention.

Patrick’s eyes go wide. He sets the guitar down so fast it nearly falls over, then stands up and starts walking toward me.

“Nuh uh,” I say immediately, holding up one hand.

He stops in his tracks, blinking like he can’t believe what he just heard.

“Nuh uh?” he repeats, voice cracking a little in disbelief.

I lean back on my hands, tits out, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah. Nuh uh. You don’t get to come over here now just because I took my bra off. I’m taking care of myself since my boyfriend clearly finds no interest in me tonight.”

Patrick looks genuinely distressed. He takes one more step forward and then slowly sinks down onto his knees right in front of me, hands resting on my thighs as he looks up.

“Baby, no… I’m sorry,” he says quickly, voice soft and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. I’ve just been in my head with the song and—”

I cut him off, tilting my head as I look down at him kneeling there. “You always do this, Patrick. You invite me over and then act like I’m just some decoration in your room. You spend more time with your guitar and your chickens than you do with me. It’s annoying. And it makes me feel like shit.”

He swallows hard, still on his knees, looking up at me with those big pleading eyes. “I’m sorry. I fucked up. I didn’t realise you were feeling like that.”

I reach down and run my fingers through his messy hair, tugging lightly so he keeps looking at me. “You did fuck up. You’ve been a really bad boyfriend tonight. I’ve been sitting here bored and horny, practically begging for your attention, and you kept choosing your stupid notebook over me.”

Patrick’s breathing picks up. He leans into my touch, pressing his cheek against my thigh like he needs the contact.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs again, voice quieter now. “I’ll do better. Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything.”

I smile down at him, still playing with his hair. “Anything? That’s a dangerous thing to say when you’ve been neglecting me for the last hour. Maybe I should just touch myself right here while you watch. Since you suddenly care so much.”

He shakes his head quickly, eyes wide and desperate. “Please don’t. I want to touch you. I want to make you feel good. I’ve been an idiot. I’m really sorry.”

I smile down at him sweetly, still running my fingers through his messy hair like I’m petting a needy puppy. “Aww, look at you… already on your knees begging. That’s cute, baby. Real cute.”

Patrick’s cheeks flush pink as he stares up at me, breathing faster. He looks so pretty like this — wide eyes, flushed face, completely focused on every word I say.

I lean forward a little, letting my tits hang heavy right in front of his face. “You’ve been such a bad boy tonight, haven’t you? Ignoring your sweet girlfriend while she’s been sitting here all wet and needy for you. Poor thing… you must feel so guilty.”

He nods quickly, swallowing hard. “I do. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Shhh,” I coo softly, pressing one finger to his lips. “You had your chance to talk when you were playing your guitar instead of paying attention to me. Now you’re going to listen like a good boy.”

Patrick’s eyes flutter at the words. I can see how hard he already is in his sweatpants.

I cup his jaw gently with one hand, thumb stroking his cheek. “That’s it… look at me. Such a pretty face. And it’s all mine, isn’t it? Even when you try to ignore me and act like your little songs are more important.”

“Yes,” he breathes, voice shaky. “It’s all yours. I’m yours.”

I hum happily and lean back again, spreading my legs a little wider so he’s kneeling between them. “Good boy. Now tell me… how are you going to make it up to me? Because I’ve been so neglected, baby. My poor pussy’s been aching for you and you were too busy strumming away to even notice.”

Patrick looks like he’s melting. His hands slide up my thighs, gripping them gently like he’s scared I’ll pull away.

“I’ll do anything,” he says desperately. “I’ll eat you out for as long as you want. I’ll let you use my face. I’ll fuck you however you want me to. Please… just tell me what to do.”

I let out a soft, amused laugh and tug his hair again, a little firmer this time. “Mmm, listen to you. So eager to please now that my tits are out. You’re so predictable, baby. One look at my tits and suddenly you’re this sweet, obedient boy on your knees for me.”

I stroke his hair gently, almost lovingly, while my voice stays soft and teasing. “You’re lucky I’m nice enough to let you make it up to me. Because I could just ignore you the way you ignored me. Touch myself right here while you watch and don’t get to taste anything. Would you like that, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head fast, looking genuinely panicked at the idea. “No, please. I need you. I need to touch you. I need to make you feel good. I’ve been bad… I know I have. Let me fix it. Please let me fix it.”

I bite my lip, watching him beg so prettily. He looks so desperate, so soft, so completely under my control right now. I love him like this.

“Poor baby,” I coo, voice dripping with fake sympathy as I cradle his face with both hands. “You’re so hard already, aren’t you? Just from kneeling here and apologising to me. My sweet, neglected boy… come here.”

I guide his head forward until his face is pressed between my tits. Patrick lets out a shaky moan, immediately kissing and nuzzling them, like he’s been dying for it.

“That’s it,” I murmur, stroking his hair. “Show me how sorry you are. Maybe if you’re good enough, I’ll let you taste how wet you made me.”

Patrick whimpers softly against my skin, sucking gently on one nipple as his hands squeeze my waist. He’s completely gone — no more guitar, no more notebook, just him being soft and needy and mine.

Patrick whimpers against my skin, sucking harder on one nipple as his hands grip my waist tighter. I can feel him trembling slightly between my legs.

I pull his head back gently by the hair so I can look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, lips shiny, and his eyes are already starting to look glassy.

“Aww, baby,” I coo, thumb brushing his bottom lip. “Are you getting upset? You know I love when you get all teary for me.”

He nods, breathing shakily. “I’m sorry… I’ve been so bad. I missed you. I missed touching you. Please let me make it up to you. I’ll be so good. I promise.”

His voice cracks a little at the end and I see the first tear slip down his cheek. That does something filthy to me. Heat floods between my legs as I watch another tear follow the first.

“Mmm, there they are,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss the tears off his cheeks. “My pretty boy crying for me. You know how wet that makes me, don’t you?”

Patrick lets out a broken little sob, more tears falling as he looks up at me with pure desperation. “Please… I need you. I need to taste you. I need to be inside you. I’ll do anything. I’m begging you.”

I smile down at him, feeling powerful and so turned on by how wrecked he already looks.

“Beg a little more for me, sweetheart,” I say softly, still cradling his face. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want to eat your pussy,” he chokes out, tears streaming down his face now. “I want you to sit on my face and use me. I want you to ride me. I want you to cum all over me. Please, I’m so sorry for ignoring you. I’ll never do it again. I swear.”

He’s properly crying now, voice shaky and needy, and it’s making me throb. I love him like this — so soft, so submissive, so completely mine.

I lean down and kiss him deeply, tasting the salt of his tears on his lips. When I pull back, I stroke his hair gently.

“Such a good boy when you cry for me,” I praise. “Get on the bed, baby. Lie on your back.”

Patrick scrambles up immediately, wiping at his eyes as he climbs onto the bed and lies down, watching me with wet, hopeful eyes.

I stand up slowly and hook my thumbs into the waistband of my trousers. I push them down my legs along with my panties, stepping out of them so I’m completely naked in front of him.

Patrick’s eyes rake over my body, another soft whimper leaving his mouth as he sees how wet I am.

I climb onto the bed and slowly crawl over him, positioning myself so I’m hovering just above his face. My knees are on either side of his head, and I’m looking down at him between my thighs. Patrick’s eyes are locked on my pussy, breathing fast and shallow, lips parted like he’s starving.

He immediately lifts his head, tongue out, desperate to taste me.

I pull back just out of reach and smack his cheek lightly.

“Uh uh,” I say sternly, voice sweet but firm. “What do you think you’re doing, baby? So eager and greedy. Did I say you could lick yet?”

Patrick whimpers, dropping his head back onto the pillow. “No… I’m sorry. I just— I really need you.”

I smile down at him, stroking his hair gently. “I know you do, sweetheart. But you don’t get to just take what you want after ignoring me all night. You wait until I say. Understand?”

“Yes,” he breathes, eyes glassy. “I’m sorry. I’ll wait. Please let me taste you.”

I lower myself just a little, so my wet pussy is barely brushing against his lips. I can feel his hot breath against me and it makes me shiver. Patrick lets out a desperate noise, hands fisting the sheets beside him as he fights the urge to pull me down.

I hover there for a long moment, teasing him, letting him feel how wet I am without giving him what he wants.

“You’ve been such a bad boy tonight,” I coo, rocking my hips very slowly so my pussy just barely grazes his mouth. “Making me wait… making me feel neglected. Now it’s your turn to be patient.”

Patrick is trembling underneath me, eyes pleading. “Please… I’ll be good. I promise.”

I finally lower myself fully onto his face, smothering him with my pussy.

Patrick moans loudly against me the second his tongue makes contact. He starts licking me eagerly, messily, like he’s trying to make up for everything. His tongue slides through my folds, circling my clit, then pushing inside me.

I grip the headboard tightly with both hands, biting my lip as pleasure shoots through me. It feels fucking incredible — warm, wet, desperate — but I keep my voice steady.

“Mmm… it’s okay, baby,” I say, even though my thighs are already shaking. “You can do better than that.”

The second the words leave my mouth, Patrick doubles down. He groans loudly into my pussy and starts devouring me like a man starved. His tongue moves faster, more focused, sucking on my clit before fucking me with it. He’s making the filthiest, wettest sounds, completely lost in eating me out.

I moan loudly, gripping the headboard harder as my hips start grinding against his face.

“Oh fuck— that’s it,” I gasp, no longer able to keep my cool completely. “Just like that, baby. Use that pretty tongue for something useful.”

Patrick whimpers loudly beneath me, the vibrations sending sparks through my whole body. He’s eating me out with everything he has — sloppy, eager, and completely focused on making me feel good. His hands come up to grip my thighs, pulling me down harder onto his face like he wants to drown in me.

I’m losing it. My head falls forward, forehead resting against the headboard as I ride his face, moaning and cursing under my breath.

“Fuck, Patrick— right there, baby. Don’t stop. You’re doing so good for me now.”

He moans even louder, the sound muffled by my pussy, and keeps going. His tongue is relentless on my clit, sucking and licking in perfect rhythm. I can feel myself getting close already, thighs trembling around his head.

I look down at him between my legs — his eyes are wet, cheeks flushed, completely smothered by me — and it only turns me on more.

Patrick keeps going like a man possessed.

His tongue is everywhere — licking long, slow stripes through my folds, then flicking rapidly against my clit before sucking it into his mouth. He’s making the most obscene, wet sounds, moaning and whimpering into my pussy like eating me out is the best thing he’s ever tasted.

I’m gripping the headboard so hard my knuckles are white, hips grinding down onto his face as I chase the pleasure.

“Fuck— yes, baby,” I moan, voice breathy. “You’re so good at this. Such a talented little mouth when you actually try.”

He doubles down even more at the praise. Two of his fingers slide into me suddenly, curling perfectly against that spot inside while his tongue keeps working my clit. The combination is devastating. Wet, filthy sounds fill the room as he fingers me deep and fast, sucking hard on my swollen clit.

I’m shaking. My thighs are clamped around his head, but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it makes him more eager. He’s devouring me — sloppy, hungry, completely lost in it. His free hand grips my ass, pulling me down harder so he can bury his face even deeper.

“Oh my god, Patrick—” I gasp, head falling forward. “Right there— don’t stop, baby. You’re gonna make me cum.”

He moans loudly against me, the vibrations pushing me closer. His fingers curl again and again while his tongue flicks perfectly on my clit. He’s so fucking good at this — like he was made to eat pussy. Desperate, skilled, and completely addicted to the way I taste.

I can feel it building fast. My legs start trembling uncontrollably, stomach tightening as the orgasm crashes into me.

My whole body seizes up as I cum hard on his face. I cry out, grinding down against his tongue while waves of intense pleasure rip through me. Patrick doesn’t stop for a second. He keeps licking and sucking, drinking up every drop like he’s starving for it, moaning loudly the entire time.

I ride his face through the whole thing, thighs shaking, moaning his name over and over until I’m completely spent. When the last aftershocks finally fade, I lift myself off his face slightly, looking down at him.

Patrick is a mess. His face is shiny and wet, lips swollen, eyes glassy and teary. He’s panting hard, looking up at me like I’m his whole world.

I stroke his soaked hair gently, still breathing heavily.

I’m standing in the middle of the big hotel suite they gave us for the shoot. The rest of the boys have already gone off for soundcheck, leaving just me, Niall, and the quiet hum of the air conditioning. He’s lounging on the big cream-coloured couch like he owns the entire building, one leg bent up on the cushions, wearing a simple white t-shirt and black joggers. His hair is still a bit messy from whatever he was doing earlier, that signature blonde quiff slightly flattened on one side.

“Relax, love,” Niall says with that warm Irish accent, flashing me a small, easy smile. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

I let out a nervous laugh and adjust the strap of my camera bag on my shoulder. “Sorry. This is… kind of a big deal for me. I’m still pretty new at this whole thing.”

He nods like he understands, even though I doubt he does. He’s been doing this for years now — stadiums full of screaming fans, constant cameras in his face. Meanwhile I’m trying not to throw up from the pressure of not messing up these shots.

I lift the camera and take a few test shots from across the room, trying to steady my breathing. The shutter clicks softly. Niall watches me for a second before he starts moving naturally again, picking up his guitar from the side of the couch and strumming a few quiet chords. God, he looks so comfortable in his own skin. His fingers move easily over the strings, calloused from years of playing, and every now and then he glances up toward me with that boyish half-smile.

“Better?” he asks between chords.

“Yeah… thank you,” I mumble, stepping a little closer. I crouch down to get a lower angle, focusing on the way the afternoon light coming through the huge windows hits the side of his face. Click. Click. The shutter sounds way too loud in my own ears. My heart is still racing. This is Niall Horan. Actual Niall Horan. And I’m alone in a hotel room with him trying to take natural-looking candids while my palms are sweating so badly I’m scared I’ll drop the camera.

He sets the guitar down after a minute and leans back against the couch, stretching his arms up behind his head. The movement makes his t-shirt ride up just a bit, showing a sliver of skin above his joggers. I quickly look away and focus on framing the shot around his face instead.

“You’re doing great,” he says softly, almost like he can read how nervous I am. “Just pretend I’m not famous or whatever. I’m just some lad from Mullingar.”

I snort despite myself. “That’s a bit hard when you’re literally Niall Horan.”

He laughs at that, bright and genuine, head tipping back against the couch. I catch the shot immediately — the way his eyes crinkle, the little dimple that appears. It’s a good one. Maybe even great. My nerves settle just the tiniest bit.

I lower the camera for a moment to adjust the settings, trying to buy myself a few seconds to calm my racing heart. When I look up again, Niall is watching me more closely. His head is tilted slightly, that easy smile still playing on his lips, but there’s something different in his eyes now — softer, a little more curious.

“You’re really nervous, aren’t you?” he asks quietly, voice lower than before.

I swallow hard and nod, cheeks heating up. “Yeah. Sorry. I know I’m probably making this weird.”

“You’re not,” he says, shaking his head. He sits up a little straighter on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s actually kind of cute.”

My stomach flips. Cute. He just called me cute. I quickly lift the camera again to hide behind it, snapping a few more shots as he runs a hand through his messy blonde hair. But this time when the shutter clicks, the air in the room feels… heavier. Thicker.

Niall leans back again, stretching one arm along the back of the couch, his t-shirt pulling tight across his chest. I catch myself staring a second too long at the way the fabric clings to his shoulders before forcing my eyes back to the viewfinder.

“Keep going, love,” he murmurs, that Irish accent wrapping around the words. “I don’t mind.”

I move closer, crouching in front of him to get a tighter shot of his face. He doesn’t look away. His blue eyes stay locked on mine through the lens, and for the first time since I walked into this suite, I feel like the camera isn’t just a shield anymore. It feels like it’s disappearing between us.

He bites his bottom lip for a second, then releases it slowly. My finger presses the shutter almost on instinct. Click.

“You have really pretty eyes,” he says suddenly, so casual it almost doesn’t register. Almost.

I freeze, camera still raised. “What?”

Niall smiles, small and a little shy, but there’s a spark in his gaze now. “Just saying. Hard not to notice when you’re this close.”

My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it. I slowly lower the camera into my lap, no longer pretending to take photos. The room feels warmer. Smaller. The afternoon light coming through the windows catches on the side of his face, highlighting the light stubble on his jaw and the way his lips are slightly parted.

He leans forward just a little, elbows still on his knees, bringing him closer to where I’m crouched.

“You can come closer if you want,” he says softly. “For the shots, I mean.”

I know I should say something professional. I know I should keep this shoot on track. But the way he’s looking at me right now — patient, interested, a little too warm — makes my mouth go dry.

I shift forward on my knees without thinking, now only a couple of feet away from him. The scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of hotel shampoo hits me, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

Niall’s eyes drop to my lips for half a second before flicking back up to meet mine.

“Still nervous?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, unable to lie.

His smile turns a little crooked.

Niall leans forward even more, closing the distance between us until his face is only inches from mine. His eyes drop down to the camera still resting in my lap.

“Tell me about this,” he says softly, nodding toward it.

I blink, confused. “What?”

He smiles, that gentle, crooked one that makes my stomach twist. “The camera. It’s fascinating. Tell me about it.”

I look down at the camera in my hands, fingers tracing the edge of it nervously. “Um… it’s a Canon EOS 5D Mark III. Pretty standard for this kind of work. Good low-light performance, which is useful for candids like—”

I don’t get to finish.

Niall leans in and kisses me.

His lips are softer than I expected, warm and gentle as they press against mine. For a second my brain completely short-circuits. Then reality hits.

I pull back sharply, eyes wide.

“What the fuck?” I whisper, heart hammering against my ribs.

Niall doesn’t look sorry. He stays close, blue eyes locked on mine, that small smile still playing on his lips.

“Relax, angel,” he murmurs, voice low and soothing. His hand comes up slowly, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s alright.”

I stare at him, breathing fast, my mind spinning. This is Niall Horan. I’m on a job. I should not be doing this.

But the way he’s looking at me — calm, patient, wanting — makes something in my chest give way.

I lean back in.

This time when he kisses me, I let him. His mouth moves against mine, slow and sweet at first, then a little deeper as his hand slides to the back of my neck. I feel the warmth of his breath, the faint taste of mint on his tongue, and the way his thumb gently strokes the side of my throat.

My fingers tighten around the camera in my lap like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. Niall kisses me like he has all the time in the world, like we’re not in a hotel room that could be interrupted at any moment.

And for the first time since I walked in here, the nerves in my stomach start to feel like something else entirely.

Niall’s hand slides from the back of my neck down to my waist. Without breaking the kiss he tugs me gently forward, pulling me up off my knees and straight onto his lap. I straddle him on the couch, my thighs settling on either side of his hips as our mouths move together, slower and deeper now.

We stay like that for a while, just kissing. His hands rest on my hips, thumbs brushing small circles through my shirt. My fingers are in his messy blonde hair, gripping softly as I tilt my head to kiss him better. He tastes so good it makes my head spin.

That’s when I feel it.

He’s hard underneath me, the obvious bulge in his joggers pressing right against the heat between my legs. The realisation makes me whimper quietly into his mouth. Niall smiles against my lips like he knows exactly what I just noticed.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark and a little dazed. Then, in one smooth movement, he wraps his arms around my back and stands up, lifting me with him like I weigh nothing. I let out a surprised sound and wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me across the room toward the big hotel bed.

He lays me down gently on the mattress, hovering over me as he kisses me again, deeper this time. My heart is racing so fast I feel dizzy.

“Niall…” I breathe when he moves to kiss my jaw. “Anyone could walk in.”

He chuckles softly against my skin, the sound low and warm. He pushes himself up and walks over to the door, twisting the lock with a quiet click. When he turns back around, that signature cheeky grin is back on his face.

“Better?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he walks back to the bed.

Then hes back on the bed, kissing me again.

Niall keeps kissing me slow and deep for another moment before his mouth starts to wander. He trails his lips along my jaw and down to my neck, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses against my skin. A soft sigh escapes me as he finds a sensitive spot right under my ear and sucks lightly.

His hands slide under the hem of my shirt again, this time pushing it higher, fingers brushing over my stomach. My breath catches.

He sits back on his knees between my legs and slowly lifts my shirt up and over my head. I instinctively try to cover myself with my arms the second the fabric is gone, suddenly very aware of every flaw I’ve always been insecure about.

Niall pauses, eyes softening as he looks at me.

“Hey,” he says gently, reaching down to pull my arms away from my chest. “None of that, angel. Let me see you.”

I bite my lip, cheeks burning hot as I let him move my hands to the sides. He takes his time looking at me, blue eyes dark and appreciative, and the way he’s staring makes my stomach flutter in a completely different way.

“Fuck… you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

He leans back down and starts kissing my neck again, slower this time, like he’s trying to distract me from my own thoughts. His hands explore my newly exposed skin — warm palms sliding up my sides, thumbs brushing just under my bra. Every kiss on my neck sends little sparks down my spine, and I can’t help tilting my head to give him more access.

“You don’t have to be shy with me,” he whispers against my throat, voice low and rough. “Not when you look like this.”

He nips gently at my collarbone and I shiver underneath him, my hands coming up to grip his shoulders. Even though I’m still self-conscious, the way he’s touching me — like he can’t get enough — is making it harder and harder to care.

Niall’s mouth stays on my neck as his hands slide around to my back. He unclasps my bra with practised ease and slowly pulls the straps down my shoulders. I feel exposed as the fabric falls away, but he doesn’t give me time to overthink it. He leans down and kisses across my chest, warm lips brushing over the newly exposed skin, making me arch into him with a shaky breath.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs against me, voice thick.

He sits back for a second and reaches behind his neck, pulling his own white t-shirt off in one smooth motion. My eyes widen at the sight of him shirtless — toned chest, defined abs, and that perfect V-line disappearing into his joggers. He looks even better in person than in any photo I’ve ever seen.

Niall smirks when he catches me staring, but doesn’t say anything. Instead he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my trousers and slowly tugs them down my legs, taking my panties with them. I lift my hips to help him, heart racing as the cool air hits my skin. He tosses them aside and runs his hands up my bare thighs, eyes dark.

Then he stands up just long enough to push his own joggers and boxers down. My breath catches hard when his cock springs free.

Holy fuck.

It’s huge. Long, thick, and already fully hard, curving slightly upward. The sight of it makes my thighs press together instinctively. Niall notices my reaction and lets out a low, amused chuckle.

“Alright?” he asks, voice rough as he reaches into the pocket of his discarded joggers and pulls out a condom. He holds it up, looking at me carefully. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, angel. Tell me if you want to stop.”

I swallow hard, still staring, then nod quickly.

“I want this,” I whisper. “Please.”

He tears the wrapper open and rolls the condom on, stroking himself once before climbing back over me on the bed. The weight of him feels incredible as he settles between my legs again, his hard cock pressing hot and heavy against my inner thigh.

Niall leans down and kisses me deeply, one hand cradling the side of my face.

Niall kisses me hard one more time before he reaches between us and lines himself up. The thick head of his cock presses against my entrance, and I tense up, nerves spiking again.

“Easy, angel,” he murmurs, voice low and cocky. “I’ve got you.”

He pushes in slowly, stretching me open inch by inch. A broken moan escapes my throat as he sinks deeper. He’s so big it borders on too much, the pressure intense and overwhelming.

“Fuck…” Niall groans, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “You’re so tight, baby. Taking me so well already.”

He bottoms out with a deep thrust and stays there for a moment, letting me adjust. Then he starts moving — slow, deep strokes that make my back arch off the bed. His hips roll against mine in a steady rhythm, the wet sound of skin meeting skin mixing with the heavy rain still falling outside.

“Look at you,” he says, voice dripping with smug confidence. He can clearly tell how nervous I still am and it’s only making him cockier. “All shy and nervous when you walked in here with your camera… and now you’re spread out under me taking every inch like a good girl.”

I whimper at his words, fingers digging into his back. He leans down closer, lips brushing my ear as he thrusts harder.

“Yeah, that’s it. Moan for me, angel. Let me hear how much you love this big cock stretching you out.”

His pace picks up, deep and relentless. Every thrust hits that perfect spot inside me, making my toes curl. He knows exactly what he’s doing and the smug little smirk on his face shows it.

“Never thought the cute new photographer would be this wet for me,” he teases, voice rough. “Been thinking about fucking you since you started blushing behind that camera. Now look at you… falling apart already.”

He grabs one of my legs and hooks it higher around his waist, driving even deeper. I cry out, overwhelmed by how full I feel.

Niall keeps fucking me deep and steady, hips snapping against mine with that cocky rhythm. Every thrust is deliberate, like he’s enjoying how overwhelmed I am.

“Such a tight little pussy,” he groans against my ear. “You’re squeezing me so fucking good, angel. Taking my cock like you were made for it.”

I’m a mess underneath him, moaning softly with every deep stroke, when suddenly—

Knock knock knock.

A sharp knock echoes through the hotel room.

“Niall! You in there? We’ve been waiting ten minutes, mate. Soundcheck starts soon!”

It’s one of the managers, voice clearly annoyed through the door.

Niall freezes for half a second, still buried deep inside me. Then a wicked grin spreads across his face. He quickly slaps a hand over my mouth, eyes sparkling with mischief as he calls out.

“Yeah, I’m here! Just finishing up with the photographer. Give us two minutes!”

The second the words leave his mouth, he starts fucking me harder. Deeper. Meaner.

My eyes roll back as he drives into me with rough, punishing thrusts, the bed creaking quietly under us. I moan desperately against his palm, the sound muffled but still loud in my own ears.

The manager’s voice gets sharper through the door.

“Niall, I’m not joking around. We need you downstairs right now. The rest of the boys are waiting and we’re already running behind schedule. Open the door.”

Niall’s jaw clenches. He’s clearly getting annoyed now, but instead of stopping, he starts fucking me even harder. His hips snap forward with rough, punishing thrusts that make the headboard knock against the wall. I can’t hold back the loud, broken moan that rips from my throat even with his hand still clamped over my mouth.

“Fuck off, mate!” Niall calls out, voice strained and irritated. “I said give us a minute!”

I’m practically screaming against his palm now. Every hard thrust sends white-hot pleasure shooting through me. He’s so deep, so rough, and the risk of the manager standing right outside only makes it more intense. Tears are running down the sides of my face from how overwhelming it feels.

The manager sounds properly angry now. “What the hell is going on in there? Niall, open this door right now!”

Niall doesn’t slow down. If anything, his annoyance makes him fuck me harder, deeper, faster. The wet slap of skin on skin is loud in the room. My muffled screams are getting louder and more desperate as he rails me without mercy.

“Nothing! We’re busy!” Niall shouts back, voice rough with both irritation and pleasure. “Just fuck off for five minutes, yeah?”

I’m losing control completely. My legs are shaking violently around his waist as he pounds into me. His hand is the only thing keeping my loud moans from echoing through the entire hotel hallway. Every brutal thrust makes my eyes roll back, my body jolting on the bed.

The manager bangs on the door again. “What’s that noise? What the fuck are you doing in there, Niall? I can hear… Jesus Christ, are you serious right now?”

Niall lets out a frustrated groan, still thrusting hard and deep. “I’m busy! Go away!”

I’m practically sobbing with pleasure against his hand, body trembling as he fucks me like he’s trying to punish me and the manager at the same time. The angle is perfect, his cock dragging against that spot inside me over and over until I feel like I’m going to explode.

Finally the manager lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine! Just… finish whatever the hell you’re doing and get downstairs straight away. I mean it, Niall. Two minutes max.”

“Got it!” Niall calls back, voice tight.

The second we hear footsteps walking away, Niall rips his hand off my mouth.

“Oh my god—” I gasp loudly, finally able to breathe. My voice cracks as another moan rips out of me. “Niall— fuck!”

“That’s it, angel,” he growls, voice dark and cocky. He grabs both my thighs and pushes them back toward my chest, folding me in half as he fucks me even harder. “Let me hear you now. Scream for me, baby. Let it all out.”

I do. I can’t help it. Loud, broken moans and cries spill from my mouth as he destroys me. The bed is creaking loudly, the headboard slamming against the wall with every brutal thrust. Niall is panting, sweat dripping down his chest, that cocky smirk still on his face even as he rails me senseless.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he groans, eyes locked on where his thick cock is disappearing inside me. “Taking me so deep while someone was right outside. You liked that, didn’t you? Dirty little thing.”

I’m nodding desperately, practically sobbing with how good it feels. “Yes— Niall— please—”

The pressure inside me builds impossibly fast. Niall’s relentless, deep thrusts combined with his filthy words push me right over the edge. My whole body suddenly seizes up, thighs shaking violently as a powerful orgasm crashes through me.

“Oh my god— Niall!” I cry out, voice breaking.

It’s an out-of-body experience. My vision whites out for a few seconds, ears ringing, every muscle in my body tightening and releasing in waves of intense pleasure. I’m gushing around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets beneath us as I tremble and moan helplessly.

Niall groans at the feeling of me pulsing around him. “Fuck, that’s it, angel. Good girl— cum all over my cock.”

Before I can even come down from the high, he suddenly pulls out of me, leaving me clenching around nothing. I whimper at the loss.

“On the floor,” he orders, voice rough and urgent. “Now.”

I slide off the bed on shaky legs and drop to my knees in front of him. Niall quickly pulls the condom off his throbbing cock and starts stroking himself hard and fast, but I lean forward and wrap my hand around him, taking over.

“Fuck yes,” he hisses, looking down at me with dark, hungry eyes.

I stroke him quickly, twisting my hand just how he seems to like it. Niall’s breathing gets heavier, hips jerking into my fist. His hand comes down to grip my hair tightly.

“Open your mouth, dirty girl,” he groans.

I obey, tongue out, looking up at him. With a loud, broken moan, Niall cums hard. Thick ropes of cum land across my face — on my cheeks, lips, and tongue. Some of it drips down my chin onto my chest.

He’s still panting when he reaches down with his thumb, scooping up some of his cum from my cheek. He pushes it slowly into my mouth.

“Suck,” he commands softly.

I wrap my lips around his thumb, tasting him as I clean it off. Niall watches me with a satisfied, filthy smirk.

“Look at you… such a dirty fucking girl. Covered in my cum on your first day on the job.”

I’m still kneeling there, breathing hard, when he glances down between my legs. A small puddle has formed on the floor beneath me — I’m still dripping from how hard I came.

“Messy girl,” he murmurs, almost proud. He helps me up gently and kisses my forehead. “Go clean yourself up in the bathroom, angel. Take your time.”

While I’m cleaning my face and thighs in the bathroom, Niall starts getting dressed again. When I come out, he’s pulling his t-shirt back on, looking a bit more composed but still flushed.

He walks over and pulls me into a soft kiss.