I. Michael "Robby" Robvinavitch .{SMUT}.
Contents: After a breakup Robby comes over to your house to drop some stuff off and you end up getting freaky on the counter. SMUT, p in v, (I don't know how to write short stories...)
It had been a couple of weeks since you and Robby ended things, again. The third breakup this month, and by far the ugliest. Youâd told him you hated him. Youâd packed up most of your things and hauled them back to your apartment, determined this time would stick. You both knew the truth, you werenât good for each other. Every conversation turned sharp, every disagreement became a wound. You pushed, he pulled. He pulled, you pushed. And yet, no matter how far you drifted, something invisible always tugged you back together, like a rope knotted tight around both your wrists. Holding you hostage to each other. It didnât help that you worked in the same building. The same floor. The same rooms, most days. Maybe this is why nurses shouldnât fall for doctors.
Youâre standing at the nursesâ station, finishing notes in a patientâs chart, when a solid warmth settles against your right side. A body. Familiar. Close. You donât need to look up to know itâs him. The scent of his cologne, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, your body recognizes it before your mind can protest. How could you not? Youâd memorized those details in the dark, in the quiet, in the space of his bed where you always seemed to end up, no matter how many times you swore you wouldnât.Â
His palm settles at the small of your back, warm, steady, possessive. The brush of his breath against your skin sends a ripple of goosebumps down your arms. To anyone watching, it would look innocent enough. A doctor leaning in to consult on a chart. Professional. Routine. But you know better. You can feel it again. That invisible rope tightening, tugging, drawing you back into each other. âHey,â he murmurs, voice low so youâre the only one that hears him. It sends shivers down your spine thinking of the whispers that would fill your ears while he was on top of you, while he was inside you being clenched by your tight cunt. You donât look at him. You keep your eyes on the chart, pen moving in careful, deliberate strokes as if your focus alone can keep you steady.
âI still have some of your stuff,â he says. âCan I drop it off after work?â
His thumb begins tracing slow circles against your lower back, absent minded but intentional enough to make your pulse stumble and your clit awaking at the familiar movement. You stop writing. Without turning your head, you lift your eyes to him instead, meeting those familiar chocolate-brown eyes. The ones that have undone you more times than you care to admit. The ones that would stare into you from between your thighs. You hold his gaze for a second too long before letting out a quiet, tired sigh. Letting a small moment of silence surround you for a moment.
âYeah. My shift ends at seven,â you say, forcing your voice to stay even, steady, like your heart isnât pounding hard enough to give you away. He glances off for a moment, like heâs trying to figure something out in his head. Then he looks back at you, a small smile tugging at his mouth. âMine ends at nine. Iâll probably be there around 10:45.â he says tilting his head to the side. You lick your lips without thinking, nerves tightening low in your stomach making your thighs clench slightly. His eyes drop instantly, tracking the movement. They linger there for a second too long before he straightens, stepping back into something that almost resembles professionalism. The loss of his hand against your back leaves you colder than you expect. âIâll see you then,â he says simply. And then heâs gone, walking down the hall toward his patients like nothing just happened. You tell yourself to look back at the chart. To focus. To breathe. But instead, you find yourself watching him go, your pulse quickening as the weight of it settles in. You just agreed to see him. Again.
When you open your apartment door, the quiet greets you like an exhale. You drop your keys into the bowl on the table by the entrance and sigh, kicking off your shoes and nudging them neatly against the wall. Your backpack lands on the small bench beside the table. Itâs only eight, but it feels much later. Youâd stayed behind to finish charting the patients who came in after lunch. Not long after Robby cornered you at the nursesâ station, a multi-car accident had flooded the ER. The chaos had swallowed the rest of your shift whole. Sirens, blood, shouting, controlled urgency. You hadnât complained though. The distraction helped. It kept your mind off him. Off the fact that he was supposed to come over tonight. You walk past the kitchen without turning on the lights and head straight to your bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you peel off your socks, then stand and tug your scrub pants down, letting them fall to the floor. You pull your top over your head and toss it into the laundry basket, leaving you in your bra and underwear. Your body aches from hours on your feet, shoulders tight, lower back sore, a dull throb behind your eyes from fluorescent lights and adrenaline crashes.
In the bathroom, you flip on the lights and step into the shower stall, turning the dial toward hot. Steam begins to gather as the pipes hum to life. You catch your reflection in the mirror while you wait, exhaustion written plainly across your face. Slowly, you unhook your bra and slide it off, then step out of your underwear, letting both fall into the hamper. The water is nearly ready.
The shower lasts longer than you planned. The ache in your shoulders makes washing your hair feel like a workout, and shaving your legs requires more patience than you have left. Mostly, you just stand there beneath the steady stream, eyes closed, letting the heat loosen muscles that have been clenched since noon. Thirty minutes later, you finally turn the water off and step onto the plush bath mat, wrapping yourself in a towel. You take your time blow-drying your hair, the warm air lulling you into something softer, quieter. When you dress, you skip the bra. Just an oversized sleep shirt and one of your favorite, most comfortable thongs. Itâs late. Youâre tired.
You toss the towel into the hamper on your way to the kitchen and open the fridge. Leftovers from last night win. Easy, familiar, low effort. You heat them in the microwave and carry the bowl to the couch, turning on one of your comfort shows. The glow of the TV fills the room as you let yourself sink into the cushions, letting someone elseâs drama distract you from your own.
Youâre halfway through the third episode when a knock at the door makes you freeze. You glance at the time. 10:45 p.m. Exactly. Of course heâs punctual, He never was late to anything. You set your empty bowl on the coffee table and stand, smoothing your shirt down instinctively as you cross the apartment. You undo the top and bottom locks and open the door slowly. Robby stands there with a cardboard box in his arms. You open the door wider to let him in, immediately noticing heâs changed out of his scrubs. Dark jeans. A clean shirt. He smells like fresh body wash instead of antiseptic and hospital air. He sets the box down on the table while you close the door behind him. âItâs some of your clothes,â he says, turning to face you. âAnd a few hygiene things. Didnât think youâd want to rebuy all that.â When he turns fully, youâre closer than you realized. Standing right in front of him. Looking up. He steps forward once. Then again. His hand settles on your hip, warm and steady. He moves until your back meets the wall, his arm lifting to brace above your head. The air between you tightens, charged and fragile all at once. And then youâre just⌠there. Staring at each other. Neither of you moving.
Robby leans in until his face hovers just inches from yours, close enough that you can feel his breath against your lips. âI canât stop thinking about you,â he confesses in a low, unsteady voice. âI canât get you out of my head.â His hand slides from the wall to the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently in your hair as he draws you closer. His mouth crashes against yours in a fierce, hungry kiss. You clutch at his shirt, your hands fisting in the fabric at his chest as you pull him nearer. The kiss is intense and breathless, charged with weeks of unspoken tension, sending a rush of heat through to your pussy. He threads his fingers into your hair and gently tugs your head back, breaking the kiss just long enough to search your face. A soft mewl slips from your lips at the sharp ecstasy along your scalp. His gaze is intense, unwavering, as if he needs to be certain youâre focused on him and no one else. âI only want you,â he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. âAnd I want you to only want me.â His mouth trails down to your neck, lips sucking, teeth grazing, leaving a path of small bruises along your skin. One of his hands slides from your hair to your hip joining the other, then lower, both hands settling beneath your thighs. When he taps lightly, you instinctively jump, and he gathers you up effortlessly.
Your legs wrap around his hips, arms circling around his shoulders as your fingers tangle in his hair. Suspended against him, you feel the steady strength in his hold, the charged air between you thick with longing. As he carries you deeper into your home, you become acutely aware of the firm heat pressed against you through the fabric of his jeans. The realization sends another rush of warmth through your body, your breath catching slightly. He doesnât slow, his grip steady and sure as he moves down the hallway, eyes dark and fixed on you. Every step feels deliberate, charged with anticipation, as though the world outside the two of you has faded away, leaving only the tension building in the space between your bodies.
He carries you into the kitchen and sets you down on the counter. The surface is cold against your skin, and the sudden chill sends a shiver racing up your spine. Before you can catch your breath, Robby is kissing you again. Itâs urgent, almost desperate, like heâs trying to memorize the feeling of your lips against his. Itâs as if every kiss might be the last, and he refuses to waste a single second. Your hands slip from his hair, trailing down over his shoulders and chest until they reach his jeans. Your fingers brush the buckle of his belt, hesitating for only a moment before beginning to undo it. The metal jingleing against itself. He exhales softly against your mouth, his right hand gliding from the side of your thigh in a slow, teasing path. His fingertips skim lightly over your skin, tracing upward until they hover at the edge of your thong, barely brushing the fabric and leaving a charged, electric tension hanging between you.Â
As your hand enters his pants, your delicate fingers leave a soft teasing trail from the base of his hard shaft. He groans softly against your lips, the sound low and unsteady, as your touch pulls him deeper into the moment. For a second, itâs like everything else disappears, the room, the noise, the world outside these walls. Itâs just the two of you breathing heavily into each other. His thoughts scatter, replaced by nothing but the heat of your body beneath his hands and the taste of your kiss.
His grip tightens slightly at your waist, breath turning heavier, his focus completely consumed by you. Your back arches as he presses into you with his thumb, he moves from your clit down to your opening, he hums as he feels the wet cloth. You remove your hand from his pants and lean back propping yourself on your elbows. Head falling back as you begin to move your hips rubbing yourself against him feeling that familiar tension in your womb. A moan bounces off the wall into Robbyâs ears when a flicker of something possessive flashes in his eyes. His hand tightens at your hip, stalling your movements, steadying you against the counter as he looks at you with blown pupils, somehow darkening his eyes. The intensity in his gaze makes your breath hitch and all you can do is squirm under his hold, but his grip is steady, firm at your waist, keeping you right where he wants you. The strength in his hands isnât harsh, itâs controlled. Deliberate, reminding you just how easily he can hold you in place.
âI canât let you take all the control,â he murmurs, voice low and edged with heat. His thumb resumes its slow path along your skin, but now itâs purposeful, teasing in a way that makes it clear he intends to set the pace. He leans in again covering your body with his, kissing you deeply, like heâs reclaiming the moment, like he needs to remind you that he can unravel you just as easily. You canât help but whine against him, needing more than he was willing to give you at the moment. âRobby,â your voice pitched higher than normal, âplease. I canât handle it anymore.â His fingers toy lightly with the edge of your underwear, dragging the fabric just enough to make your breath catch. The teasing is slow, intentional, like he knows exactly how close you are to unraveling and plans to keep you there. Your back arches off the counter, a helpless sound slipping from your throat. Every small movement of his hand sends another wave of heat through you, your finger nails ding into your soft palms as your ball your hands . He watches you closely, clearly aware of the effect heâs having. His touch lingers, slow and deliberate, drawing the moment out until your thoughts blur and all you can focus on is the maddening, electric tension building between you.
âI want you,â you breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them. They hang in the air between you, raw and unguarded. âYou have me,â he murmurs with a teasing lilt in his voice. His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as he leans in close, brushing his mouth just shy of yours without quite kissing you. The playful edge in his tone contrasts with the heat in his eyes, like he enjoys watching the way your breath stutters at his words. You let a frustrated groan throat and let your head drop back. âFuck Robby.â your voice is slightly raised and you hoped your neighbors couldnât hear you through the walls. âI want you to stuff your cock into my pussy and I want you to fuck me into this counter.â
He lets his hands fall away from you, the sudden loss of contact making the air between you feel charged and thin. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it up and over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. Your gaze drifts over him before you can stop yourself. Then he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and shimmies them down his hips, movements slow, like he knows youâre watching. Thereâs no rush now, just heat and anticipation building in the quiet kitchen. You watch as his cock springs out, proudly showing the angry pink tip. You canât help but watch as a single bead of precum runs down his entire length. When you look back up, he's looking down at you with that same teasing glint in his eyes, like heâs daring you to look away, and knowing you wonât.
His hands slide under your knees then pull to the edge of the counter, you squeal, being surprised by the sudden movement. Your hips bumping into his, it sends a shock from your clit to your nipples. He grabs the thin part of your thong and slides it over, the air makes your pussy cold when it mixes with the juices that are coming out of you. âYouâre so beautiful.â he says as he grabs his cock in his right hand, stroking himself a couple times before he rests the tip on your clit. You throw your head back when Robby starts to rub the tip through your folds, gathering the wetness pouring from your underestimated opening. Continuing his eye contact, he moves a little closer splitting you open, your body shutters when he cock invades you slowly. You feel yourself open up to him inch by inch until he reaches the back kissing the spongy donut at the end.
He's splitting you in the best way possible, your pubic mounds touch and you can feel his full balls resting against your ass. Sex is ruined for you, your cunt is molded to the shape of him, from the bulge of the underside muscle to thick vein that runs on top of his girthy dick. You hadn't had him like this in a couple of weeks, you can't describe the euphoria you feel. Nothing can even begin to compare to him, not your own fingers or the small dildo you had to rely since you last saw him.
Thereâs a deep groan that comes from his chest when you instinctively clench around his cock like you've done thousands of times. âFuck,â He says as he drags himself out slowly, watching the way your tight pussy clenches around him. âI missed this cunt.â Pulling his cock all the way out then looking up to watch your face as he slams himself back into you. Your face contorts from the intoxicating push and pull of his hips against yours that makes you see stars when you close your eyes. You canât help yourself, you're feeling so much that you take your right hand and place it on top of your mound. Placing a middle finger on each side of your clit, you begin moving your fingers in time with Robbyâs thrusts, your pussy fluttering around him milking his cock. There's a pressure building that starts from your lower belly making it's way through your entire body. Your hands start tingling, your legs start shaking uncontrollably without your permission and your breathing starts to falter. Robby feels a sudden spark at the base of his spine, electric awareness that makes his breath hitch. His hands digs more intensely into your hips, not to control, but to steady himself. His jaw flexes as he exhales slowly, eyes darkening as he looks at you like youâre the only thing anchoring him. For a second, everything narrows, the cool air of the kitchen, the faint sounds of the house. All fading beneath the pulse of heat running through him. âGodâŚâ he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, like he didnât expect the intensity of it. And then his gaze lifts back to yours, searching, wanting, completely locked in.
When he looks into your eyes, something inside you snaps, your breath catches, chest rising sharply as the intensity of his gaze sinks deep beneath your skin. The air feels thinner, charged, as if that single look has tied every nerve in your body into one aching point of awareness. Robby notices when you start rubbing your clit faster and matches the pace and intensity making you scream his name. You throw your head back as you feel the coil explode, cumming so hard Robby is having to put more effort to keep the steady unwavering pace of his hips. Your fingers find and curl around his wrists as he fucks your harder into the counter chasing his own high. Youâre clawing at his skin from the way he's overstimulating you. Robby can feels his balls tighten, rising close to his body, heâs knows he doesn't have much time before he fills up with his cum. He has an image of your fucked out expression with his cum dripping from your abused pussy onto the floor flash across his mind and it breaks him. He throws his head back, growls deep from his chest and slams into you knocking against your cervix, holding your hips tightly against his acting as a cork as the milky white seed paints your insides.
Thereâs a quiet stillness between you as you both stay there, breathing heavily, trying to steady your racing hearts. The world feels hushed, like everything outside this room has faded away. Robby turns his head to look at you, and the intensity from earlier has softened into something warm and vulnerable. A small, genuine smile curves his lips as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face. âYou are the most important person in my life,â he says quietly, his voice still a little breathless but steady with conviction. âI canât lose you. I want to work on us. I want to fight for us.â Thereâs no teasing now. No heat-driven urgency. Just honesty. His fingers lace gently with yours, holding on like he means every word.
You look up at him and smile softly, your eyes tracing every familiar line of his face, the curve of his mouth, the warmth in his eyes, the way his expression always softens when he looks at you. And in that quiet moment, you realize the truth has been sitting in your heart all along. You felt the same way. You wanted him fully, completely, and the thought of anyone else standing where he is now feels impossible. âMe too,â you whisper, your thumb brushing gently along his cheek. âThatâs what Iâve wanted this whole time.â He lets out a soft chuckle, relief and happiness tangled together, before leaning down to kiss you deeply, not urgent, not desperate, but steady and full of promise. The kiss feels different now. Grounded. Intentional. Thereâs no tension left between you, only something genuine and steady. Love that chooses to stay. Love thatâs willing to grow. You both know it wonât always be easy. But youâre willing to work for it. To fight for each other. To love each other the way you should have all along. And somehow, it all started after he fucked you into your kitchen counter, when you both finally chose each other for real.
