#outer range smut

"Now's not a good time." "It's always a good time, Rhetty." "Don't call me that." He finally turned to face you, his arms crossing. You stepped closer to him, reciprocating the same body language - crossing your arms. "Your attempts at intimidating me are as good as your bull-riding skills, so that's not sayin' much." You flicked back his hat as you spoke. He grabbed your arm, "Don't fuckin' test me right now, sweetheart." You faltered a bit, his grip strong."You were starin' at me from across the field, did I make you mess up?" "In what world?" "Do I make you nervous, Rhett?" You'd step closer. "Quite the opposite." "Mhm, I bet." A smirk was plastered onto your face. You'd pull your wrist away from him, "Careful now, cowboy."

You'd step away, moving to walk off - feeling Rhett's eyes on you. When he suddenly wrapped an arm around your waist, practically pulling you back to him. You let out a noise of surprise as he kissed you.

You soon melted into the kiss, Rhett pushing you up against the side of his truck. Rhett forced his tongue into your mouth, tilting your head up to accommodate for the height difference between the two of you. The kiss was all teeth, tongue and spit. Pent up frustration coming through.

Rhett broke the kiss before opening the door to his truck, "Get in." "What?--" "I said get in, sweetheart. Need to fuck this out of my system." You'd settle into the truck without another word, watching as Rhett crawled in after you - closing the door behind him from any prying eyes.

He'd pull you into his lap, hands moving up the sides of you - you giggled a bit, taking off his hat. "Need to blow off some steam huh?" "Yeah and put you in y'r goddamn place, got quite a mouth on ya." "Want me to use that mouth?" "I want you to shut the hell up." Rhett wove a hand into your hair, tugging you into another kiss. Teeth clashing against each other, as he made work on your jeans as you shrugged off your jacket.

His mouth moved down to your neck, as he shoved down your jeans to your thighs. He bit into your neck, running his tongue over the bites as a silent apology. His calloused hand dragged down your body, slipping underneath your panties - thick fingers finding your clit.

He pulled back from your neck, resting his head back against the head rest as he watched your reactions eagerly. "There you go, bunny. Already so wet for me." He'd murmur, pushing two fingers into you with ease. He'd make work of you, moans spilling from your mouth as Rhett found that spot inside you almost immediately, fuck. "Yeah, right there? That feel good, doesn't it?" He tilted his head at you, the teasing evident in his voice. You couldn't voice your pleasure, so you just nodded - moans leaving you. Of course he'd be experienced, you wanted to feel his fingers inside you all the time if you could. Hips bucking against his hand as you rested your head against his shoulder, fucking his fingers into you as you practically rode his hand there in the backseat of his truck.

"I hate you." You let out a soft moan. "Yeah?" His palm was now grinding into your clit, your hand immediately going to his shoulder to stabilise you. Your orgasm found you quickly, he placed a hand around your waist - coaching you through it. Moans spilling from your mouth, Rhett moved to cover your mouth. "Shh, bunny.. you dont want people hearin' now?" As you came down from your high, Rhett pulled you closer, "You still got some more in ya?" "Can't leave you pent up now can I, cowboy?" Your hands made quick work of his belt, hands shaking slightly from your previous orgasm.

Rhett's hands covered yours, "I've got it." He chuckled, unbuckling his belt - tossing it somewhere else in the car. Unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down his thighs.

You'd notice the very obvious tent in his boxers, he was big. Bigger than you thought. You wondered if he'd let you suck it, atleast once - if this thing you were doing was going to continue. "You still with me?" "Mm-- mhm." You'd nod, fingers dragging down his abdomen to the bulge. You'd toy with the waistband, just for a few seconds - just to confirm that this is actually happening. Then your hand dipped beneath it, pulling down his boxers down to his knees.

His cock bobbed against his stomach, the tip already leaking pre-cum, a bit of it landing on his stomach. The tip swollen, red and angry.

"Condoms in the glovebox." Rhett murmured, a hand resuming it's spot on your waist as you turned around on his lap, your back now facing his front. Leaning over in the car into the front seat - adjusting yourself to open the glovebox, practically on your knees.

"You really need to clean out your glovebox." You mumbled fishing around it before finally finding a condom. You settled back into Rhett's lap, turning around so you were now facing him. He took the condom from you, ripping it before placing it onto his hard cock. "I didn't force you into my truck for you to complain more." A smirk on his face, as he placed his hands back to your hips. "All good?" You'd nod, "Gonna have to give me words, baby. Or did I make you cum that hard?" Another tilt of his head. "Yes-- god yes." "There we go.." He'd muttered.

Rhett's hands moved to the button up shirt you were wearing. You'd swat his hands away. "C'mon, not even a peak?" "Gonna have to pay extra for that." He'd simply pout, "I bring you into my very comfortable truck and I let you cum on my hand and you wont even let me have the pleasure of seeing your tits? Plain criminal." Rhett placed a hand to your cheek, his thumb dragging down your bottom lip. "C'mon, sweetheart... I'll make you feel so good." You let out a breath at his promise, "Fine. I'll hold you to that though." Then, a smirk, "Thank you," Rhett placed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, hands working at the buttons on your shirt - pushing it off your shoulders with your help. His hands expertly unclasping your bra, slowly pulling the straps off you. Placing kisses to your neck and collarbone as a thanks. He looked down at you, "Fuckin' gorgeous.." He'd mutter more to himself, cupping one of your tits - a cold thumb slipping over the perked nipple, earning a soft whimper from you. He took your nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling against the hard skin. You placed a hand into his hair, egging him on - pulling at the soft curls.

You could only imagine how his tongue would work between your thighs, you could only imagine a lot of things with his man who previously hated you sitting in front of you now sucking on your tits.

Rhett pulled back a string of saliva connecting his mouth to your tit, he looked up at you - a lopsided smirk on his face. "If I don't fuck you now, I am going to lose my mind." He placed his hands to your ass, pushing you further onto his lap. The tip of his cock grazing your soaked core, learning a groan from the both of you. "That makes two of us." You leaned forward, capturing him in another heated kiss as his strong hands directed your hips for you to sit down directly on his cock, feeling unbelievable full. The moan you let out soaked up by the kiss as he smirked against your lips. "Th're you go, bunny.. s' good, doing s' good just for me." Rhett muttered against your lips. You pulled back a bit, looking down at where you two were connected, Christ he was big. "You alright, baby?" Rhett placed a hand under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. He looked concerned, not a look you commonly saw on Rhett Abbott's face. "Y-Yeah.. you're just, it's big." You wanted to smack that egotistical smirk off his face, "Big, yeah?" He tilted his head. "Don't be a dick." "Well you're riding mine." You felt him twitch inside of you, earning a small whimper from you.

You took a moment to collect yourself, get used to the sensation of your enemy's cock buried to the hilt inside of you. "O--Okay, I'm gonna start moving." "Be my guest." Rhett leaned back as you started to move your hips, moving forward and back first - building the pace. "Jesus-- you're so tight.." He looked down to where the two of you were connected. You started to move your hips upward, Rhett's hands moving to wrap around your waist - hoisting him up for the two of you to be chest to chest, his own hips bucking up now meeting your rhythm.

"I hate you." You said between high pitched moans. "Hate you too, baby." You felt that sensation deep in your belly again, overstimulating yet soothing. Rhett knew that too by the way you were clenching around him. "Y' close, sweet girl?" His hand snaked between your two hot bodies to have his thick fingers work in circles against your clit. You could only nod with this new pleasure, head resting against his shoulder. His other hand moved to weave into your hair, tugging gently as he tsked. "Nah, bunny. Look at me when you cum, I wanna see it." Because of course he did, he wanted to see the girl that he argued with for years cum like it was her first time, because of him. Just needed that ego booster. Your mind was completely turned off at this point, your thoughts just filled to the brim with Rhett - in more ways than one. The way his dark blue eyes watched you, his thick fingers working against your swollen nub, and his cock pushing into you and filling you ever so deeper. Your mouth open as moans and whimpers poured out, if people didn't hear you before. They sure as hell did now. "C'mon, cum on my cock." That deep southern growl in his voice was the last thing you needed to tip over the edge, hands gripping as his chest as you came around him, earning a groan from him as you tightened. As you came down from your high, Rhetts hands caught you from falling into him, then you realised Rhett still hadn't cum yet. That fire still in his eyes, your cunt was overstimulated but a front row seat to Rhett Abbott being ruined by your pussy was too good to give up. He tightened his hands around your waist, switching your position for you to be laying down on the carseat. Rhett overtop of you as he fucked his cock into you, his face planted in his neck - peppering kisses there. You whined from overstimulation. "I know-- god, I know baby.. just.. give me a minute, okay?" His words muffled by your neck, you then weaved your fingers into his hair - deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine. Pulling his head back as you looked into his eyes, you saw the smallest amount of drool in the corner of his mouth, his eyes wide as his hips didn't let up, in fact fucking into you faster - but his hips soon faltered, with one last thrust he came into the condom.

“There's my pretty girl,” Rhett mumbled, finding you alone in the Abbott’s old barn opposite Red, an appaloosa, who was greatly enjoying the attention as you reached your hand over the stall door, rubbing between his chestnut coloured ears. You shouldn't have favourites, but this old charmer was definitely yours.

He takes you all in, sweeping his eyes over the pale yellow sundress, with straps tied flimsy around your neck Rhett was sure would come undone with one quick tug, and down to your worn in cowboy boots. Something about the dirt on them had the corners of his lips ticking higher. It was a reminder that your years in the city hadn't changed you completely. Inside your heart, you were still the girl who spent your summers cooling off in the lake, following Rhett and your brother through fields with grass stains on your knees, and sat in the stands at Rhett's first ever rodeo, hands covering your eyes so you wouldn't see him hit the ground after only being on the bull for five seconds.

“Foods nearly ready,” Rhett says, and you turned your head to flash him a smile, his heart skipping a beat every time you did. He was so lucky to have you and he didn't take that luck for granted. “Mom's tried making that salad you like.”

“With the strawberries in it?”

He nodded. “That's the one.” You gave Red one last stroke and turned to Rhett, who was already wrapping his arms around your waist. “Still not sure about that, by the way,” he says, pulling you closer.

You tip the brim of his hat back, uncovering his eyes and all the beauty within them. “That's because all you eat is meat and potatoes.”

“Hasn't done me any harm yet.”

“Yet,” you repeat back to him. “Even cowboys have to eat their greens.” Rhett chuckles, soft and light. “Did you get the fence fixed?” You wrap your arms around his neck, locking your fingers together.

“Nearly,” he grunts, his jaw ticking. The Tillersons would lie and say they had nothing to do with the snipped wire and damaged fencing, but Rhett knew it was them. “Dad wants Perry and me to go out and replace a few of the posts. Better they be done now before winter inevitably comes.”

“I can ask Ford to see if he can lend you a hand?”

Rhett shakes his head. “Your brother's got enough on his plate. When's Lilly due?”

Your eyes light up. “In six weeks.”

“Excited?” The question was unnecessary, Rhett could see it hanging off every feature, and he'd be lying if the smile you bore wasn't infectious. It tugs on the side of his mouth, forming a half-smile.

“Weren't you when Amy was born?”

“I was happy for Perry, but I sure as shit didn't know how to be an uncle.” His thumb strokes along your jaw and you tilt your head, melting into his soft touch. “Still trying to figure it out.”

Your lips brush lightly against his stubble jaw. “I'd say you're doing a perfectly good job at it. Amy loves you.” You go to step away from him, but his hands remain firmly on your hips, face scrunched up and mumbling something under his breath about not wanting to leave yet. “Rhett,” you giggle, shaking your head. “Come on, your mom probably needs some help with dinner.”

“Amy's helping her and Perry and Dad are grilling the steaks,” Rhett protests, walking you one stumbled step after another, moving you both further backwards into the barn. You squeal, laughing as you tighten your arms around his neck, nearly tripping onto your ass. And the barn stall feels hard behind your back as you finally make contact. “I haven't seen you all day,” he speaks in a low voice.

You shrug, nonchalantly. “I've been busy.”

“So I've heard. Guitar lessons?”

“Just the basic stuff.”

“You know she's going to hound Perry nonstop for a guitar, right?”

“I still have my first guitar,” you mumble, “she can have that.”

“They don't give awards out to nannies, you know?” Rhett teases, stroking his thumbs in slow circles up and down your sides.

“But I'd win them all if they did.”

Rhett chuckles. “Damn right, you would.”

His hand curls around the back of your neck, holding you still. His eyes are trained on you, with the briefest of smiles hugging at the edges of his lips. Nothing around you matters when he looks at you like this. And damnit was it too easy for you to get lost in those blue eyes.

They spoke a language you had been trying to learn your whole life.

“No one up at the house needs us right now,” Rhett says, lowering his voice to a tone that sends a shiver down your spine, your arms freckled with goosebumps. His hands slip down to grip your waist. “It's just you and me-”

“-and Red,” your smart mouth adds.

“Yes,” Rhett turns to the horse, who had turned away from you, no longer interested in who was in the barn if he wasn't receiving attention, “and Red.”

“Your mom will send someone looking for us, if we're not back in time to eat with everyone else.”

“I'll be done with you before that happens.”

Your hands slide down to his chest, your throat bobbing as you swallow hard. “Oh.”

He licks his lips, the thin upper lip parting from the bottom as he cracks a faint smile. “Oh,” he echoes you, adding a short chuckle to the end. He leans down, and his mouth finds yours. “Wanted to do that all fuckin’ day, doll,” he confesses, breaking the kiss just as quickly as it began.

He guides the tip of his nose down the column of your throat, his dick stirring in his wranglers as he breathes in cherry notes of your perfume. And you knock his hat off, tugging hard on his long hair, whimpering out into the barn as he greets your collarbone with a soft bite.

You go with a squeak, Rhett's hands gripping your hips harder and turning you to face the stall. The corners of your lips tick higher, hugged by a grin that knew exactly what was to come next.

This wasn't your first rodeo, and the risk of getting caught always made this hotter.

“Such a pretty dress,” Rhett drawls, nose buried into your neck, “on a pretty girl that I'm about to ruin.”

Taking a fistful of your dress, he hikes the hemline up, exposing the backs of your thighs to the elements of the barn.

He lifts his eyebrows. “Panties today?” Rhett only asks because the last time you wore this dress, you had simply ‘forgotten’ to wear them.

“You don't like them?”

“Oh, I like them, baby,” he replies, licking his lips with greed. His thumb traces over the white cotton and lace. “She always does look so pretty when you dress her up for me.”

He kicks your feet apart, widening your legs, and you submit fully to his control. You were going to do everything he tells you to, even if that did go against that fierce independence that's been a part of you for as long as you could remember. He bends your body and you turn your head so your cheek is pressing against the wood, straining your eyes so you can watch behind you.

Your breathing comes out choppy as he hooks his free hand into your panties, dragging them down just low enough to give him enough room. “Rhett,” you whimper, feeling him slide a couple of fingers between your legs. They leave an ache as he retracts his hands to give his fingers a quick clean.

“Already wet,” Rhett groans, his breath fanning across your neck. “Dirty girl. I haven't even started and you're dripping f'me.”

“Please, Rhett.”

He unbuckles his belt. “What do you want?”

“Anything,” you beg, “please, do something!”

“Gonna need you to be specific, princess.” Rhett moves his hand back between your legs, rubbing your clit in slow circles. He teases out faint whimpers and you almost forget his original questions. “What will it be? My fingers? Maybe my tongue?” He withdraws his hand again and you whine at the feeling of him gone. “Or could it be that you're desperate for my cock?”

A moan falls past your lips feeling the blunt end of his cock pressing against your pussy. “Yes. Fuck, yes. That, Rhett.”

“Say it,” he demands, continuing to guide his tip up and down the seam, your body jerking as it hits the little bundle of nerves. Wetness collects on the head and he jerks it down his shaft. “Say, I want your cock.”

“I want your cock,” you reply instantly, cheeks burning with warmth at how desperate you sounded.

“A little louder.”

“Rhett, please!” A whine rips from your throat. “I already said it!”

“I know,” Rhett chuckles, pushing into you with one hard thrust. The intrusion takes your breath, and you gasp and moan at the familiarity you feel as you stretch around him. It’s addictive. “I just like to hear you beg,” he says, speaking against the shell of your ear, “you always sound so pretty when you beg for it, doll.”

He draws back, hands on your hips to hold you steady, and he groans at the wet sheen left behind on his shaft. He slips back in, going in harder this time, slamming himself forward. Your hands shoot out, slapping against the wall, as he does it again, over and over, getting lost in all that was you.

“Rhett,” you moan. His name rolls so easily off your tongue. It was the sexiest thing he had ever heard.

“Doin’ so good for me,” he grunts, grabbing your chin and pulling you back to face him.

His mouth crashes down on yours, his tongue rolling across yours in dominance. You couldn't help but clench around him every time he took your mouth like this.

“And when you do that?” He breaks away, a guttural groan forcing its way past as his eyes roll back.

Quickly, your mind had become mush, and there wasn't much you could say other than “yes,” and “Rhett.”

“You gonna come, baby?” You nod, sobbing what was close enough to answer.

Satisfaction rolls through him, knowing he could turn someone who was so beautiful and smart into a sobbing mess. A pretty, sobbing mess. He grips your hips harder and picks up the pace, his cock repeatedly hitting the sweet spot that twisted and tightened the coil inside you.

“Touch yourself,” Rhett grunts, sliding one hand up your back and over the back of your neck. His hand curls, fingers moulding to the shape as he grabs at your throat, holding you in place. “Come with me.”

Your hand leaves the wall, getting lost between your thighs, as the other is trying to grasp at the wood. “Fuck,” you breathe out, your clit slick and swollen beneath your fingertips, rubbing it in fast circles, until the dam finally breaks. “Oh, my god…”

Rhett follows you, his body unable to hold off any longer as your pussy clenches his cock. He spills into you, your name floating off his lips like a prayer. “This is heaven,” he mumbles, heading falling forward, pressing into your neck as the last of him empties. “It has to be.”

You'd agree, but you were too breathless to find your voice.

He fixes himself back into his jeans and leans down, pulling your panties back up and smoothing your dress out. “How we doing this?” He asks, spinning you around to face him. “I'll distract my family and you sneak upstairs?”

“Not the most romantic aftercare I've received,” you laugh, “make sure to save me some of those rolls, though?”

He kisses your cheek. “If Perry hasn't already eaten them all.”

Rhett has grown into himself in a way that feels almost unfair, like time decided to be generous with him, slow and deliberate, polishing rather than eroding. It pressed in gently rather than dragging its nails.

The grey that once felt incidental and scattered now feels deliberate and lived in, threaded through his hair at the temples and carried into his beard like a punctuation mark; it’s claimed its place, silver streaks cutting clean lines through the brunet, mirrored in the beard he keeps neatly trimmed.

His shoulders are broader now—not showy about it, just solid, like a man who has learned how to carry weight without complaint. His face tells stories without ever asking to be read; fine lines crease at the corners of his eyes when he smiles—an easy, knowing smile, practised through his years. There’s something grounding about the way he stands: feet planted, spine relaxed, like he’s comfortable occupying space. His hands look different too—bigger than you remember, calloused in a way that speaks of real work, real repetition; hands that have fixed things, steadied things, held onto moments and let others go.

What makes him devastating isn’t just his physicality, it’s also the confidence that hums just beneath the surface. He fills the room without trying to. He doesn’t rush his words—he listens. When he looks at you, it’s direct, unflinching, not hungry but curious, like he’s fully present in his own skin. It’s impossible not to feel how powerfully that pull tugs at you now.

And then there’s you.

You left this place at seventeen with your mom, half-formed and restless, all sharp edges and longing. You come back at twenty-two carrying yourself differently—your body no longer tentative, your presence no longer asking permission. You’ve grown into your own gravity. You notice it in the way people do a double take, in how the town feels smaller around you, but you really notice it when Rhett looks at you.

It’s not the polite glance adults give to kids they’ve known forever, but a pause; it’s just a second too long. His eyes linger, flick briefly away, then return as if he’s recalibrating, updating an old mental picture that no longer fits. There’s something unreadable in his expression—surprise, maybe, recognition layered with restraint. You catch him watching you when he thinks you won’t notice, his gaze thoughtful and assessing, but undeniably aware, as though he’s registering that you’re no longer a memory tied to this town, no longer someone’s kid who left with her mom.

The air shifts in those moments. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but real. You stand taller without meaning to. He straightens too, rolls his shoulders back, runs a hand through that salt-and-pepper hair like he’s suddenly conscious of it. Older looks impossibly good on him—has given him depth, gravity, heat—but what sends a quiet thrill through you is realising that he sees you differently now, too. Not as the girl you were when you left, but as the woman you’ve become.

And here you are: thrown in the mix of a late summer BBQ, the sun sitting lower but no less insistent, heavy and gold as it presses itself into everything it touches. It’s the kind of heat that doesn’t blaze so much as linger—soaks into skin, into fabric, into the slow rhythm of the afternoon. The light feels thicker now, syrupy, clinging to shoulders and collarbones, catching on glass bottles and the edge of the garden fence. The air hums with it. Warm grass underfoot, and the hiss, pop and crackle of charcoal still alive on the grill, flames licking up around food that’s halfway ready, smoke curling into the sky. Cicadas buzz somewhere unseen, their sound stretching time until each second feels unhurried, indulgent. Sweat beads at the nape of your neck, slides lazily down your spine, and you don’t bother wiping it away; the heat makes everything feel a little softer, a little more permissive.

The garden is loud with late afternoon life—the clatter of plates, your dad laughing too hard at something someone’s said. You drift through it all in your yellow floral sundress, the fabric light and familiar against your thighs, the lace at the hem catching when the breeze moves through. The back dips low, daringly so, the sun warm against bare skin you’re suddenly very aware of.

You watch the way Rhett moves—the easy roll of his shoulders, the sure grip of his hand around a beer bottle, the way his thumb rubs absently at the condensation. You see him watching you, too; quick glances that linger just past polite, a tightening of his mouth when you laugh, and slow, deliberate sweeps of his eyes when he thinks you aren’t looking.

Rhett is there before you realise he’s moved.

“Food’s ready,” he says, close enough that his voice feels meant only for you, and then his hand finds your back—not possessive, not rushed. Just a skim, a guiding pressure along the line of exposed skin, fingers warm where they settle, where they stay. The contact is casual in intent, devastating in effect. Your breath catches anyway, sharp and traitorous, as though your body has recognised him before your mind has caught up.

You walk because he guides you to, because the world hasn’t stopped even if it feels like it has. His hand doesn’t move away. If anything, it lingers, the heel of his palm resting just above your waist, thumb brushing ever so slightly as you step forward. You feel seen in a way that has nothing to do with the crowd and everything to do with him.

You turn your head. Catch his eyes.

The sunlight hits just right, glinting off the silver threaded through his hair, warming the brown of his gaze. Your lashes flutter, instinctive, and something shifts. He steps forward then, subtle and sure, placing himself between you and the glare of the afternoon. The noise dulls. The space tightens. His hand is still there, grounding, deliberate.

For a suspended moment, it’s only the two of you.

You stare at him; he stares back. No rush, no words. Just the shared understanding of standing too close, of time folding in on itself. The BBQ goes on behind you—plates clinking, voices rising—but right now, it feels like you’re the only people in the world, held in that narrow strip of shade he’s made just for you.

For a beat longer than it should last, neither of you moves.

Then something in him tightens—jaw, shoulders, resolve—and he finally pulls his hand away, the sudden absence almost louder than the noise of the garden. You notice the way he shifts his weight, the way his jeans sit differently now, strained in a way that makes heat rush low in your belly before you can stop it. His reaction is unmistakable even without being named; it’s there in the careful distance he puts between you, in the control he’s forcing back into place.

Rhett drags a hand down his face, palm scraping over beard and mouth like he’s trying to wipe the moment away. He keeps looking at you while he does it—eyes dark, conflicted, held on yours as if turning away might be harder than staying. When he finally does break the stare, it’s abrupt and deliberate.

He turns and walks off without a word.

You watch him cross the garden, shoulders set, disappearing through the back door like he needs walls around him, like he needs to be anywhere you are not. A second later you see him at the foot of the stairs through the open doorway, taking them two at a time toward the bathroom at the top.

No one else notices. They’re too busy crowding the table now, laughing, reaching for plates, relief blooming that the food is finally ready. The moment swallows the distraction whole. You slip away just as easily, unnoticed, following the same path he took—heart hammering, sundress brushing your knees—quiet as you pass through the back door and into the house, where the air feels tighter, charged, like it knows exactly what you’re doing.

The key hooks by the stairs are a collection of heavy, forgotten iron. You don’t hesitate. Your fingers find the small brass key for the spare bathroom, the one that hasn’t turned in years. The metal is cool, a shock against your fevered palm.

The stairs are a gauntlet. Each step groans under your weight, a betrayal of your stealth. At the top, the narrow hallway feels narrower. The afternoon light from the window at the far end barely reaches here, leaving the air dim and close. The door to the main bathroom is shut.

You press your back against the wall beside it. Silence at first, then not.

A low, stifled sound. A choked off groan, the kind a man makes when he’s trying to keep the world from hearing. It’s followed by a hiss, sharp and pained with pleasure. Then the sound of skin on skin, a rhythmic, wet, slick noise—faster now, urgent. A sound you know, a sound that pulls an answering heat low and liquid inside you.

And then your name. Not spoken, not called, called, but a snarl, torn from the throat, raw and frustrated and full of a want so potent it vibrates through the wood of the door.

It solidifies everything—your resolve, your curiosity, the reckless momentum that’s carried you up here—and the key slides into the lock with a quiet and quiet noise. You turn it, push the door open, and slip inside in one fluid motion.

The bathroom is small, all white tile and chrome. The window is cracked, letting in a thin ribbon of golden air and the distant hum of the party. Rhett is braced against the sink, one broad hand flat on the porcelain, the other wrapped around himself.

He’s big. Thick. The shaft is a flushed, ruddy curve in his fist, the head a swollen, darker crest, glistening. Veins stand in stark relief under the skin. His knuckles are white where he grips himself. He’s fully dressed, jeans and belt open, pushed down just enough.

He freezes.

His eyes, wide and shocked, lock onto yours in the mirror. For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. He looks exactly like a man caught in headlights, every muscle locked, his face a mask of naked shock and something else—shame, maybe, but beneath it, a flare of something hotter.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, the words ragged. His hand doesn’t move from himself. He just stares at your reflection, his chest rising and falling too fast.

You don’t leave. You push the door shut behind you. The click of the latch is deafening in the small space.

“I heard ya,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel.

He closes his eyes, a long, slow blink, as if trying to reset the scene. When they open again, the shock is receding, burned away by a darker, more controlled heat. His gaze drops from your face in the mirror, travels down the reflection of your body in the yellow sundress, then back up. The hunger in his look is no longer hidden; it’s laid bare, acknowledged.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he says, but his voice is gravel, lacking any real force. His thumb moves, an involuntary stroke over the slick head of his cock. A drop of fluid pearls, clings, then falls. You watch its path.

“Y’said my name.”

He lets out a rough breath that’s almost a laugh. “Yeah.” He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t look away.

The air in the room is thick, humid with his scent—soap, clean sweat, and something muskier, sharper. Your own breathing feels shallow. You take a step forward. The tile is cool under your bare feet.

“Why did y’run?”

“Y’know why.” His jaw works. His fist tightens, then relaxes, a slow pump that makes your stomach clench. “Look at ya. Look at… this.” He gestures weakly with his chin, at himself, at the space between you. “I’m twenty years older than ya, kid. I used to fix y’bike.”

“I’m not a kid on a bike anymore.”

“No.” The word is heavy, final. His eyes drink you in again, and this time, they don’t shy away from the low cut of your dress, the way the fabric drapes over your hips. “Y’really not.”

Another step. You’re close enough now to feel the heat radiating from him, to see the fine tremor in the arm braced against the sink. You reach out, not for him, but for the faucet. You turn it on, let cool water run over your fingers. The mundane sound is absurd, electric.

“What were ya thinking ‘bout?” You ask, watching the water spiral down the drain.

He’s silent for so long you think he won’t answer. Then, his voice is low, stripped raw. “Y’back. That dress. The way the sun caught on y’skin where my hand was. The sound y’made when I touched ya. Like a—like a gasp y’were tryin’ to swallow.” His hand moves again, a long, slow pull from base to tip. “I was thinkin’ ‘bout how y’skin would feel under my mouth right there… how you’d taste. How you’d arch into it.”

Every word is a physical touch. Your knees feel weak. You turn off the water and face him, leaning your hip against the sink counter, mirroring his stance. The space between you is maybe two feet. It feels like nothing. It feels like a canyon.

“And what else?”

His eyes blaze. “Y’want the whole fantasy?”

“Yes.”

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I was thinking ‘bout turnin’ you round right there in the garden. Pushin’ that pretty yellow dress up ‘round your waist, seein’ if you were as bare and smooth as you looked. Holdin’ you still while I… while I just looked. While I touched. Until you were shakin’.”

A shudder runs through you, undeniable. Your nipples tighten against the thin cotton of your dress. He sees it. His nostrils flare.

“Y’killin’ me,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. He starts to move his hand again, a slow, torturous rhythm. “Y’should go back to the party.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know, kid.” He sounds resigned, agonised. “That’s the problem.”

You watch the motion of his hand, the way his foreskin slides, the wet gleam of his arousal. Your own body is responding, a throbbing ache building between your legs, a slick heat you can feel gathering. You want to touch him. You want him to touch you.

“Let me,” you say, the words out before you can stop them.

His rhythm stutters. “Let you what?”

“Help.”

He shakes his head, a sharp, pained movement. “No. This is—this is bad enough. You seein’ this. Me bein’… like this because of ya.”

“Because of me,” you repeat, and it’s not a question—it’s a claiming. You move then, closing the last of the distance. You don’t reach for his cock. Instead, you place your hand over his on the sink. His skin is hot, the bones of his knuckles prominent under your palm. You lean in, your lips beside his ear. “Then let me be part of it.”

You feel the full body tremor that goes through him. A low groan rumbles in his chest. His free hand comes up, cups the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. Not pushing you away. Holding you there.

“Look at me,” he rasps.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. The blue is almost black, his pupils blown wide. The silver in his beard glints in the low light. There’s no more conflict there, just a desperate, burning want.

“Y’sure?” The question is gritted out, each word strained.

In answer, you guide his hand from the sink, bringing it between you. You press his palm flat against your lower belly, over the soft yellow cotton. His hand is huge, warm, heavy. You hold it there, letting him feel the heat of you, the quick rise and fall of your breath.

A sound escapes him—part surrender, part triumph. His other hand, the one still wrapped around himself, goes still. He releases himself, and his now-free hand comes up to frame your face. His thumb strokes your cheekbone, a touch so tender it makes your throat tighten.

“Okay,” he breathes, and it’s the only permission you need.

He kisses you.

It’s not gentle. It’s a collision. His mouth is hot and demanding, his beard a rough, delicious friction against your skin. He tastes of beer and summer and a darker, more essential flavour that is just him. You open for him immediately, a moan trapped in your throat as his tongue slides against yours. The kiss is deep, consuming, a claiming that’s been pent up for years. One of his hands stays tangled in your hair, angling your head to take more of him, while the other slides from your belly to your lower back, pulling you flush against him.

You feel the hard, hot length of him press against your stomach, separated only by thin layers of fabric. The shock of it—the reality of his size, his arousal—sends a fresh wave of liquid heat pooling low in your belly. You whimper into his mouth, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. The cotton of his shirt is soft under your fingers, but the muscle beneath is iron-hard.

He breaks the kiss, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours. “Fuck,” he whispers, the word ragged. “I’ve thought about that. So many times.”

“Me too,” you gasp.

His hands move to the thin straps of your sundress. He hooks a finger under one, then the other, and slides them down your arms. The top of the dress loosens, the bodice gaping. He doesn’t pull it down, not yet. He just looks, his gaze dropping to the swells of your breasts above the line of your dress, to the hint of lace from your bra.

“Pretty li’l thing,” he murmurs. He leans down, his mouth finding the hollow of your throat. He kisses the spot, then licks a slow, hot path up the column of your neck. Your head falls back, giving him better access. His teeth graze your pulse point, and you cry out, a short, sharp sound.

“Shh,” he soothes against your skin, but there’s no real caution in it. He’s unravelling you, and he knows it.

His hands find the zipper at the side of your dress. He pulls it down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room. The fabric loosens. He pushes it down over your shoulders, letting it pool at your waist, held up by your hips. You’re standing in your bra and panties now, the afternoon light from the high window painting your skin in gold.

He just looks. His gaze is a physical weight, travelling over every inch of you—the curve of your breasts in the lace cup, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. His expression is one of pure, reverent hunger.

“Jesus,” he breathes again. He reaches out, his calloused fingers tracing the lace edge of your bra. He doesn’t unhook it. He just strokes the satin trim, his touch feather light, making your skin prickle with goosebumps.

Then his hands settle on your hips, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above the line of your panties. “These are a problem,” he says, his voice thick.

“They are?”

“They’re in my way.”

He hooks his thumbs into the lace waistband. He doesn’t pull them down. He just holds them, his gaze locked on yours, asking a silent question. You nod, a quick, desperate movement.

Slowly, so slowly, he slides the lace down your hips, over your thighs, letting them fall to the floor around your ankles. The cool air of the bathroom kisses your exposed skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his look.

He steps back, just half a step, his eyes drinking in the sight of you completely bare from the waist down. His breath leaves him in a rush. “Look at ya,” he says, almost to himself.

You feel exposed, vulnerable, and utterly aroused. A flush spreads across your chest, climbs your neck. You want to cover yourself, but you also want him to look forever.

He drops to his knees.

The sight is almost too much. Rhett, this solid, steady man, on his knees on the white bathroom tile in front of you. He places his hands on your bare hips, his touch firm, anchoring. He leans forward, and for one heart-stopping moment, you think he’s going to put his mouth on you. But he doesn’t. He presses his forehead against your lower belly, right above the neat thatch of hair. He just stays there, breathing you in, his warm breath fanning over your most sensitive skin.

A helpless sound escapes you. Your hands come down to his head, your fingers sinking into the thick, silver-streaked hair. It’s softer than you imagined.

“Rhett,” you whisper.

He lifts his head. His eyes are glazed, his lips parted. “I want to taste ya,” he says, the words raw and honest. “I want to feel ya come on my tongue. But if I start, I ain’t gonna stop…”

The denial is a physical ache. You nod, understanding, even as your body screams in protest.

“Then touch me,” you plead. “Please.”

A groan rips from him. He nods, once. He leans in again, but this time, he turns his head, nuzzling the inside of your thigh. His beard is a rough, incredible scratch against the tender skin. He places an open-mouthed kiss high on your inner thigh, his lips hot. Then another, closer. His breath is so close to where you need him.

One of his hands leaves your hip. You feel his fingers brush through your curls, a gentle, exploring touch. Then a single, broad fingertip strokes down your centre, through your slick folds.

You jolt, a gasp tearing from your throat. You’re soaked, drenched for him, and the proof is on his finger. He brings it to his lips, his eyes holding yours, and sucks it clean. His eyes flutter closed for a second, a look of pure pleasure crossing his face.

“Sweet,” he murmurs. “So fuckin’ sweet f’me.”

He returns his hand to you, this time with purpose. He parts you with two fingers, exposing the swollen, needy flesh beneath. You can feel the cool air on your most intimate parts, a shocking contrast to the heat building inside. He just looks, his gaze intense, studying you.

“So pretty here,” he says, his voice rough with wonder. “All pink and swollen f’me.” His thumb finds your clit, circling the hard, sensitive nub once, lightly. A bolt of pure pleasure shoots through you, making your legs buckle. His hands on your hips steady you.

“Easy, girl,” he says, but there’s a smile in his voice now, a dark, possessive pleasure.

He begins to touch you in earnest then, his touch both expert and reverent. His thumb rubs slow, firm circles over your clit, while two fingers of his other hand slide through your slickness, gathering your arousal, spreading it, teasing your entrance. He doesn’t push inside. He just plays, exploring the shape of you, the give of your outer lips, the flutter of your inner ones, the hard pearl of your clit under his thumb.

“Y’so responsive,” he murmurs, watching your face. “Every little touch… I can see it on ya.”

You can’t speak. Your world has narrowed to the points of contact: his hands on you, the tile cold under your feet, the ragged sound of both your breathing. Your hips begin to move of their own accord, rocking into his touch, seeking more pressure, more friction.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice a low rumble. “Take what y’need from me.”

His fingers slide lower, through your slick heat, and press against your perineum, the sensitive patch of skin between your entrance and your back hole. The pressure there, combined with the relentless circles on your clit, sends sparks shooting up your spine. Your moans are coming freely now, little broken sounds you don’t try to stifle.

“I can feel y’getting tighter,” he says, his own breathing growing ragged. “Are y’close? Come on, baby. Let me feel it. Let me see y’come.”

The endearment, the rough command in his voice, is what pushes you over. The coil in your belly snaps. Pleasure erupts, not in a wave but in a sharp, stunning burst, radiating out from your core, turning your limbs to liquid fire. You cry out, your hands clenching in his hair, your back arching as the sensations rip through you.

He keeps his thumb moving, gentling the pressure as you pulse around nothing, your inner muscles clenching and releasing in empty, aching waves. He guides you through it, his touch unwavering, until the last shudder passes and you sag, boneless, against the sink counter.

He stands up slowly, his knees cracking. He’s still painfully hard, his cock hanging out in the sweat-slick air, ruddy and leaking at the tip. He pulls you against him, your bare skin meeting the rough denim of his jeans. He holds you as you tremble, his face buried in your hair.

“Okay?” He asks, his voice muffled.

You can only nod against his chest.

He holds you for a long moment, both of you breathing heavily in the quiet bathroom. The sounds of the BBQ are still a distant murmur. Finally, he pulls back, his hands cupping your face. He kisses you again, softer this time, a slow, dragging kiss that tastes of you and him and shared secrets.

Your hand, which had been resting on his shoulder, slides down his chest, over the hard plane of his stomach covered by his thin white t-shirt. You don't look away from his eyes as your fingers trail lower through the coarse hair until you find the thick, hot length of him. You wrap your hand around his cock, your fingers not quite meeting around his girth, and he stands perfectly still, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth. His eyes lock on yours, dark and blazing. The skin is like hot velvet over steel, the prominent vein along the underside pulsing against your palm. You give him an experimental pump, your hand sliding easily through the slickness already gathered there.

“Christ,” he groans, his head dropping forward to rest against yours.

You tilt your hips forward, letting the swollen, slick head of his cock slide against your sensitive, swollen clit. The contact is immediate and overwhelming—a jolt of sensation that is almost too much after the intensity of your release. You let out a quick, choked moan at the slight overstimulation.

Rhett grits his teeth and hisses low between them, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, the word strained. “That’s it. Touch my cock, y’sweet li’l thing.”

You pump him, your fist moving in a slow, tight rhythm. His pre-cum is already a steady stream, coating your hand, making your movements slick and loud. It drips from your knuckles onto the white tile floor, some trickling onto the laced hem of your skirt. You watch his face as you work him—the clench of his jaw, the flutter of his eyelids, the way his mouth falls open on ragged breaths.

His hands, which had been resting on your hips, slip under your thighs. In one smooth, effortless motion, he hikes you up onto the edge of the sink counter. The porcelain is cold against your bare skin. He fits himself between your spread thighs, his body crowding you back against the mirror.

Now he’s pressed up against you, his cock sliding easily through your drenched folds, the broad, smooth head catching and dragging over you with every slight shift of his hips. The tip of him bumps against your entrance—not pushing, just teasing; a maddening, perfect pressure.

You buck your hips forward, seeking more, and he slips in.

Just the tip. Just that first, thick, stretching inch. But it was enough—enough to make you cry out, a sound of shock and sheer, overwhelming sensation. It’s a deep, filling pressure you didn’t even known you needed. You flutter wildly around the head of his cock, trying to sick him in. Rhett freezes, and a low, guttural sound tears from his chest. His hands tighten on your thighs, his fingers biting into your flesh. His eyes are squeezed shut, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding still.

“Jesus, kid,” he huffs out, the words shattered. “Y’feel… God, y’feel…”

He doesn’t finish; he doesn’t have to. You can see it on his face—the agonizing pleasure, the battle for control. You’re stretched around him, so full already from the tip; you can feel the throb of his heartbeat in the part of him buried inside you.

Slowly, so slowly it’s torture, he pulls back, the slick length of him dragging against your inner walls. The head of his cock pops free, and you both gasp at the loss. He presses forward again, just that same inch, seating himself once more inside of you.

“Just—just there,” he pants, his forehead damp with sweat. “Christ, just like that.”

He begins a shallow, rocking motion, sliding that first thick inch in and out of you. Each tiny retreat is a sweet loss; each return is a shock of filling pressure. Your hands scrabble at his shoulders, clutching the fabric of his shirt. Your hips rise to meet each minuscule thrust, your body begging for more even as your mind swims with how delirious Rhett is making you.

The air in the small room is thick with the scent of sex—your arousal, his musk, the clean, sharp smell of his sweat. The only sounds are the wet, slick slide of his cock against your folds, the ragged symphony of your breathing, and the soft, helpless sounds you can barely hold back.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice rough.

You force your eyes open, meeting his burning gaze, feral and possessive. He holds it as he rocks into you, that shallow, maddening rhythm never speeding up, never deepening.

“This is mine,” he growls, each word punctuated by a soft, slick push. “This heat. This tight, sweet li’l—fuck—this is all f’me. Isn’t it?”

You can’t speak. You can only nod, your vision blurring at the edges.

“Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasp out, “all yours, Rhett.”

He lets out a quiet, disappointed noise, tutting at you. “That ain’t what y’call me at night, ain’t it?” A slightly deeper thrust has you arching your back so sharply that you hit the back of your head against the mirror. “When y’got those fingers in this tight cunt, thinkin’ ‘bout me when y’come—what do y’call me, sweet thing?”

Your eyes roll back, jaw dropping open, a shudder running through your body. You clench tight around his cock, your slick dripping onto the counter below, the sounds obscene as Rhett starts pushing deeper and deeper inside you.

“Daddy—” You’re cut off as Rhett bottoms out, pressed in to the hilt inside of you, his balls slick against your ass and his thick, coarse hair catching on your clit. “All yours, daddy. It’s all yours. Ain’t nobody else I want in me.”

A ragged groan is his only answer. The shallow, teasing rocks are gone. Now, he pulls back, almost all the way out, until just the flared head remains, stretching your entrance. Then he pushes back in, a slow, relentless piston.

Each thrust is a deliberate, measured conquest. He sinks into you with a force that punches the air from your lungs, replacing it with a whip sharp whine you don’t recognise as your own voice. Your back is pressed against the mirror, your hands flat against the cool glass for purchase that isn’t there. Your breasts, still confined in your summer dress, bounce with the heavy, rhythmic impact of his body against yours.

There is no gentleness in this; it’s a claiming. Each drive of his hips grinds the hard plane of his pelvis against your clit, sending shock waves of blunt, building pleasure radiating outwards. You can feel every inch of him—the slight upward curve of his shaft rubbing a blissful, internal path, the swollen crown nudging a deep, sweet spot that makes you see stars. Your inner walls cling to him, gripping and releasing with each retreat, as if trying to keep him buried inside you forever.

“That’s it,” he grunts, his voice strained, sweat now plastering his shirt to the broad expanse of his back. “Take it. Take all of it. F’me.”

You’re babbling, a stream of broken pleas and affirmations. “Daddy, yes… please, more…” The words mean nothing and everything. Your legs, hooked around his hips, your heels digging into the muscle of his thighs, begin to shake. A coil of unbearable tension winds tighter and tighter in your core, a spring compressed to its breaking point. The visual of it is seared into your mind—the way his powerful hips work, the flex of his ass under denim, the glimpse of your joined bodies, slick and moving as one.

The orgasm doesn’t crest; it detonates.

It starts as a deep, internal clench, a ripple that becomes a quake. Your vision bleaches out, pure white static. A choked scream is locked in your throat as your body bows, taut like a bowline, held only by his iron grip on you. You feel a warm, sudden gush—not much, just a hint of release that slicks his next thrust—mixing with the wetness already there.

Your legs are trembling violently, your entire body twitching with the aftershocks. You go limp, your forehead dropping to his sweat damp shoulder, your breaths coming in ragged, wet sobs against his neck. You are boneless, spent, floating in a haze of shattered sensation.

Rhett pumps into you two, three more times, his rhythm faltering, his control utterly gone. On the fourth, he pushes in until the tip of him is pressed so deep inside you that you lose the boundary between your bodies; you don’t know where you end and he begins. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, a raw, animal sound tearing from him, teeth at the hinge of your jaw.

You feel it, the hot, sudden pulse deep inside, a thick spurt of heat that makes you gasp against his skin. His cock jerks and twitches within you, each violent throb accompanied by another scalding rush. It goes on and on, until you feel impossibly full, until the combined juices of your orgasm and his own begin to seep around his thick cock still buried within you, a warm trickle down your sensitive flesh onto the counter beneath you.

For a long moment he stays there, lodged inside you, his weight heavy and comforting, his breaths hot and ragged against your throat. The only sound is the drip of the faucet and the slowing hammer of his heart against your chest.

Then, with infinite care, he pulls out.

The sensation is a slow and slick, an empty drag that leaves you feeling hollowed out and profoundly used. You whimper at the loss, at the cool air hitting your overheated, soaked skin.

Rhett doesn’t pull away. Instead, he sinks back down, his knees hitting the tile floor with a soft thud. His hands, still rough but impossibly gentle now, spread your thighs wider where they dangle off the counter. His eyes, dark and sated but still blazing with a possessive fire, lock onto the mess he’s made of you.

You can’t look away. You watch, mesmerised, as he lowers his head.

His tongue, broad and hot, swipes through the mingled fluids leaking from you. A low, appreciative hum vibrates against you. He licks with a focused, thorough intensity, cleaning the streaks from your inner thighs, lapping up the combined taste of you and him from your swollen, puffy lips. Each pass of his tongue is both soothing and shockingly erotic, a tender reverence that contrasts violently with the pounding possession of moments before. He nudges his tongue against your still throbbing entrance, drinking deeply, until you’re quivering again, until you’re slick only with his spit.

He pulls back, his chin glistening. His gaze meets yours, and a slow, utterly satisfied smile touches his lips—a rare, unguarded expression that makes your heart clench.

“Mine,” he says again, his voice a hoarse whisper, as if tasting the truth of it.

“Yeah. All yours.” You breathe out, skin flushed with heat and sweat. Slowly, the noise and bustle of the BBQ outside trickles back in, and Rhett stands once more. He leans in to kiss you. It’s short and sweet, somewhat shy where he wasn’t not even a minute ago.

When he breaks the kiss, his expression is serious, conflicted again. “We can’t stay in here.”

You know he’s right. The world is right outside the door. You nod, stepping back shakily. You bend to retrieve your panties, your movements clumsy. He watches you dress, his eyes dark, his own need a palpable presence in the small room.

You straighten your dress, your fingers fumbling with the zipper. He reaches out and does it for you, his hands steady and sure, his knuckles brushing your spine. The touch sends a fresh shiver through you.

He tucks himself back into his jeans, doing up the fly with a wince. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to restore some order.

You look at each other in the mirror. You’re both flushed, dishevelled, marked by what just happened. The woman staring back at you looks different—softer around the edges, her eyes brighter, her lips swollen.

Rhett reaches past you, turns on the cold water, and splashes his face. He grabs a hand towel, dries off, then offers it to you. You press the cool cloth to your own heated skin.

“We go out separate,” he says, his voice back to its normal, low timbre, though it’s still rough around the edges. “Y’go first. I’ll clean up here, then I’ll come on down.”

You nod. It feels clandestine, dangerous. Exciting.

He steps close to you one last time, his hand on your arm. “This ain’t over,” he says, and it’s not a question. It’s a promise.

You believe him. You turn, your hand on the doorknob, and look back. He’s leaning against the sink again, but now he looks more in control, the storm inside him banked for now. His eyes meet yours.

ever since you’ve been hired rhett has driven you insane. like the time you and amy got ice cream with rhett on the rare occasion he came home early.

“you’ve got a little-“ you looked over at rhett, the gloss of licking ice cream on your lips. rhett nearly lost it at that sight. he proceeded to wipe off some remnants of ice cream by your lips, taking his thumb and then swiping the ice cream across your lips. you then licked your lips, slightly catching his thumb in the process.

or the time it was blazing outside so when rhett came back from ranch duties he found you, in jean cut offs and what was to him, the tiniest shirt ever in his kitchen.

you stood on your tiptoes struggling to put back the cereal from amy’s breakfast. “shit!” you almost fell over. “you need help with that?” you huffed in annoyance before rhett came behind you. close. the feeling of rhett pressing on you from behind made your heart beat quicken. rhett easily put the cereal back and bent down and whispered into your ear, “cute outfit.”

but as much as rhett drove you crazy, you drove rhett just as insane. it all started when rhett came home late, bruised and bloodied from yet another bar fight.

two rapid knocks awoke you from your nap on the couch. “hellooo?” you didn’t even notice rhett who was hunched over in the darkness, the sight of him made you jump back. “jesus rhett what happened? we gotta get you cleaned up perry’s gonna be back soon.”

which led to your predicament now. rhett sat at the dining table, black eye forming, gashes on his knuckles, while you rummaged in the pantry looking for the first aid kit.

“found it! now tell me what happened abbott.”

“nothin— just being stupid like usual.” his southern drawl even more prominent in his tiredness.

“yeah and embarrassing. pretty embarrassing to be cleaned by your nieces babysitter if you ask me.”

“not so embarrassing when she’s the prettiest thing you’ve seen.” you ignored his words, no idea with how to respond.

you bent down slightly, cleaning rhett’s face with an alcohol pad and blowing on the wounds when the sting got too sharp to rhett. the entire time rhett’s eyes followed you, and you tried not to burn up at the thought of being close to rhett like this.

“damn— you got a nasty one on your chin.” you struggled to find the right angle to clean it properly. finding yourself slightly dangling over rhett’s lap.

“yknow you can just sit down? it’s okay, you’re just helping me out.”

hesitantly, you straddled his lap, legs on either side of his muscular thighs. as you bandaged his wounds the tension between you two grew. your breathing becoming more erratic, your heart beating faster. what seemed like hours passed as you cleaned the blood off rhett’s face.

“okay all done now abbott. anything else?”

“kiss it better?” a silence ensued, you eyeing rhett curiosly.

“look im just joking sorry-“ before rhett could finish his sentence though you softly pressed your lips against his. rhett took the opportunity to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

it was a soft kiss, one that was meant to tease for all the times he’s driven you insane. it was now rhett’s turn to go crazy. your fingers found solace in rhett’s locks, pulling gently. you relished in the small grunts that left rhett’s mouth. then you pulled away from rhett, a small smile on your face.

“i think you’re all better now cowboy.” you pulled yourself off his lap, patting his shoulder. gathering your stuff and heading out the door and sending a message to perry that rhett was home and you were heading out for the night.

“so you kissed him and left? you didn’t fuck him? way better then me because if i was on rhett abbott’s lap-“

“okay shh stop!” you giggled at laila’s antics.

you and laila typically went drinking at the outskirts of wabang, where no one would recognize you and even knew that you were currently underage. no one questioned your fake id, or who you were.

you were a couple drinks in when the door swung open. it was rhett abbott. why wasn’t he at his usual bars? why on earth was he here at the same time as you?

“holy shit is that-“

“fuck we gotta hide laila!”

“we? girl it’s just you.”

you hid your face from the door, looking the other way. but rhett came your way and stood right next to you huddled over.

“a beer please.” rhett spoke to the bartender. rhett’s eyes traveled around the bar, where he then spotted you. well at least looked like you.

“is that…?” rhett let out a low chuckle. your head rose in embarrassment, and you turned around where you met his gaze.

“oh hey rhett… didn’t think i’d see you here.”

“didn’t think i’d see the eighteen year old here either.” you smiled awkwardly in response to rhett.

“don’t tell perry or cecila… please?” you slightly pouted at him. rhett laughed at you once more.

“i won’t. but i can’t have a pretty thing like you out at the bar like this. after this beer i’m takin you back home.”

you sighed. “fine abbott.”

laila giggled loudly next to you, before you hit her arm.

before you knew it rhett had finished his beer and was dragging you out of the bar. laila drove you here, and unlike you was of legal age to drink. she mouthed a “see you later!” as rhett walked you out the bar with his hand on your wrist. as you giggled a goodbye she made a lewd gesture, one that had you laughing in shock.

“you’re so lame abbott.”

“me? yknow what’s lame?”

“what’s lame?”

rhett bent down again to whisper in your ear. “kissing me and leaving.”

you blushed hard.

“it was just payback.” you struggled to meet his eyes.

“sure okay then.” he smiled lightly at you, getting into the truck.

the ride to your home wasn’t quiet as you thought it would be. you and rhett laughed about how you got here, and your fake id.

“you got a fake id? in wabang?”

you giggled heartily. “yep! mr. roy is quite the law breaker.”

rhett pulled up to your house.

“your folks home?”

“nah, they’re out. they’ll be gone for a couple days.” you gave it a thought before saying “wanna come in? my dad has an eight pack in the fridge.”

rhett chucked. “sure.”

you and rhett lounged on the tattered couch of your living room. beer’s in hand as you heartily laughed about rhett’s most recent encounter with the tillersons.

“stuck up cowboys— scum of the earth i tell you.” rhett seethed.

“they’re bad with girls too. luke tried kissing me one time, it was horrible.” you laughed recalling the awkward moment.

“oh really? would you say i’m the better kisser?” rhett scooted closer to you, impossibly close to your face.

“no idea, gonna need to kiss you again for that one.” you leaned in, giving rhett a small peck and pulling away. rhett whined in response, chasing your lips with such a hunger that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“sorry abbott. i gotta change first.” you got up from the couch, heading towards your bedroom. stripping off your shirt in the process and throwing it towards rhett.

rhett, like a lost puppy followed you to your room, quickly plucking you off the ground and locking your lips with his.

“can’t-“ he kissed your lips, “-keep” smooch “doing-“ smooch “this-“ he leaned his forehead against yours. smooch “to-“ smooch “me.”

“you drive me insane you know that right?”

“then show me abbott im right here.”

and like that he connected your lips harshly, making quick work to remove your bra and slide your skirt down. quickly he lifted you off the ground gently placing you on the bed.

“let me taste you baby cmon.” you moaned in response as he dragged you down the bed and spread your legs wide. with no warning he dove straight in, tongue flicking against your hole as he sucked on your clit.

“holy- rhett yes just like that!” his tongue was too good, too good to even think coherently. all you could think of was rhett and how good he was making you feel.

rhett slipped his hands down to the globes of your ass, squeezing it as he sucked hard. in response you whined louder, quickly feeling your high approach.

“cum- cumming fuck!” and with a shakey moan you let go, your legs tightening around rhett’s head like a vice. you rode out your high on rhett’s face, holding his head in place. the entire rhett groaned loudly, loving seeing you let go for him.

rhett rose from between your legs, face glistening with your cum. he quickly connected your lips.

“rhett— off— take your clothes off. please.”

“shh- of course baby.” he threw his shirt off and slid down his pants with ease. his cock sprung out and your mouth couldn’t help but water.

“fuck keep looking at me like that and i’m gonna cum untouched.”

“rhett hurry please. condoms are in my drawer.”

rhett quickly made light work of slipping a condom on then settling between your legs.

“wait—“

“what? what is it?”

“let me— let me ride you abbott. gonna show you how much i need you.”

rhett chuckled in response heading up the bed and leaning against the wall. he patted his lap.

“cmon just like yesterday baby. ride me like the cowgirl you are.”

“save a horse ride a cowboy eh?” you giggled. you lifted yourself up and slowly slid yourself down rhett’s cock. both of you moaning as you did so.

“cmon baby. i got you just ride.” and like that you quickened your pace. rhett’s tip hit your g spot just right as you sunk down each time. your tits jumped with each rise of your hips.

“fuck, can i suck on them baby?”

“yes-please rhett.” rhett brought you closer to him, and as you rode him he took a nipple in his mouth. with every suck from rhett you thrusted yourself down.

“yes rhett. keep doing that please— im so close.” you picked up the pace and rhett groaned loudly as you did so. when his hands wrapped around your ass, giving it a smack you moaned louder.

“again rhett! please!” he smacked again. you went impossibly faster. with another smack of his hand, you gushed around rhett. rhett came after, sucking on your nipples still. you pulled him off to meet his lips as both of you rode out your orgasms.

“fuck.” rhett said. you giggled in response.

“we should do this more abbott.” you left a kiss on rhett’s nose.

“mhmmm.”

————————

a/n: this smut scene made me 😵‍💫😵‍💫

hoped u like it! don’t forget to like and reblog if u did so. see u next time,

"You doin' alright?" he asked, softer in his curiosity while raising one hand to rest behind his head while you continued to rock diligently against the swell of his bulge. The wet patch on his jeans could have been from either of you, or perhaps both. It didn't matter anymore. He let you decide the pace, allowing the frantic grinding motion that was somehow still too slow and light. It was teasing. A taste. But the sight of your panties blooming with a slick wetness was enough to satisfy. "Hey," he tapped your hip when there was no reply except the squeezing grip on his abdomen where your hands were splayed. "C'mon, you alright?" He grasped your jaw with one hand, forcing you to lift your head. He was no doubt ensuring there was no regret with the shy demeanour that anyone would have noticed from the moment he had set his eyes on you. His fingers dug in just a little hard, almost mean. He stares at your face for a moment, his other hand gently caressing one of your thighs before creeping under the waistband of your thong. "Hmmm.... Yeah," you nodded slightly, leaning into his touch with eyebrows furrowed tightly and your lips part just a little while breaths left in short pants. "Fuckin' knees are aching."

A soft pat to your hip has you pressing down eagerly. It felt a little condescending, that connection of his hand upon your skin to get you moving quicker. Somehow it had carefully fed something within you, sleeping into the pit of your belly in a blooming warmth along with a desire to encourage the treatment. "Yeah?" he chuckled, keeping your face close enough that the soft breath was a shared expression. "That's part of the charm. C'mon," he coaxed, voice gaining a slight raspy tilt while his fingers pressed firmly into your hip while his pelvis pressed up against you, seeking out friction. There it was. The thick length of him kept behind a barrier of denim, the shape of it obvious and enough to force an excited thrum throughout your body; a flush of warmth creeping from the depth of your abdomen and all the way up your neck. It caught the next breath that was working it's way down your throat; grasping it cruelly before you could take it in. You wanted more of it. You wanted to feel every twitching inch until you were full. "That's it. Atta girl, keep going."

Your hands were still pressed firmly against his abdomen, feeling the warm muscle as it tensed underneath. His hips jolt occasionally, heightening that perilous sensation that had your pussy soaking the material of your panties. Every shift was a signal of just how much he was enjoying it. The thick bulge beneath denim straining against your and creating the perfect bump to settle upon and grind against with frantic, rolling hips. The crease on his jeans had a delicious rough texture. The slight ridge of his zipper and fly had become a jolting presence, you clit swollen and pulsing with a clenching heartbeat. A warm flush curled up in your chest, squirming and pushing against your organs until it started to rise to your cheeks. The world was electrifying; an invasion of static that rushed through. The tightening in your belly felt like a thousand stars were forming a tornado of bliss. "Rhett," your nails firmly press into his skin, drawing welts as you try to stay upright. The pressure was too sweet, the grinding motion almost slowed down completely for a split moment when it all became too much. Every breath was a short gasp, hips rocking in short, and slow, desperate motions as if to take in the exact feeling of denim beneath. It was almost painful, an overbearing feeling that made you jolt while chasing the growing warmth. It was tipping.

"There we go, that's it," Rhett kept one hand on your hip, a gentle guidance and chuckled at the way your mouth was half-parted with short breathes. "Good girl." He squeezed your jaw lightly, reminding you that he was holding you up with that simple pressure.

Shit. Of course he said that. "Fuck," You tumbled down the rippling sensation that was thrown over your body; the tingling feeling of heat that crawled up your neck until your head was wrapped in a numb state, clit throbbing, hips cantering in a last ditch effort to prolong the euphoria. Your eyes squeezed closed, trying to control your breathing while focusing on it all, as if to grasp it forever for those lonely nights back home.

"Good girl," he repeated, chucking when your hips jolted at the easy praise. The words sounded so sweet, so encouraging. A sharp sting landed on the curve of your ass, a blooming warmth erupting. You gasp sharply at the pull back into reality. "Asshole," You huffed, shifting slightly and sitting up straighter. There was no doubt that his hat was tilted a little too far forward on your head; a ridiculous sight, you were sure, but from the look on his face it seemed a delightful one. "You know what that does to me."

Maybe sometimes you exaggerated in your mannerisms, feigning surprise and disbelief every time a boy flirted with you or you laughed softly, blushing when you heard a dirty joke as if the possibility of imagining that didn't exist in your mind.

Oh you, always so adorable and helpful, you helped feed the animals, collected the eggs and helped in the kitchen, sometimes you even offered to carry the heavy alfalfa and tried to watch over the pigeon nests that were on the tin roof of your house despite your height.

But when you walked by that cowboy, your whole facade fell apart because with just one look, you two knew how naughty you really were. But that was a secret, of course. That cowboy wasn't very popular with many people. He was the kind of man who would take advantage of others, or the kind who always had that "all in control" and sarcastic attitude. And your family wouldn't let you get near him for anything.

Gosh, what would the townspeople say if they heard you screaming Rhett's name at night like an unhinged beast? It would be a calamity. Or seeing you "casually" walk past him in a sinfully short skirt only to have him dragged behind the barn? Oh no, God forbid!

No, no one could imagine that behind that sweet appearance hid an absolutely nasty girl, and that amused Rhett. He enjoyed imagining people's faces if they saw you riding him like a wild beast, uttering the filthiest things in his ear that shot out of your sweet little mouth like snake venom.

They also couldn't tell how you walked by him, savoring a lollipop and looking at him through your thick eyelashes, or how you bent over to pick a daisy to take to your mother, accidentally revealing your butt and your under-dress. Or how Rhett, clenching his jaw to contain himself, suddenly snapped and easily lifted you up to sit on the fence, kissing your neck and behind your ear, and how whenever that happened, you'd slyly ask him to please leave some slightly visible hickeys.

Only he knew the real you. And how many times has he laughed mockingly or rolled his eyes at you performing that absurd pantomime like a play where you played the role of a virgin, pure, and perfect girl.

"Why can't I wear a man's cowboy hat?" you asked, pouting.

Your older brother laughed modestly but sympathetically, shaking his head at his sister. As if she couldn't reason with something like that.

"That's a story for another day...or another life."

And Abbott couldn't help but remember all the times he had you on top of him just because of that hat rule.

His cerulean eyes darted from your tits to your face, unable to focus on one spot. He watched them bounce with each thrust you made on his cock, then looked at you, your proud smile lifting one corner higher than the other and your hand holding the hat on your head. His hat

"You are a very dirty girl, I wonder what others would say if they saw you like this right now, doll" He laughed between grunts as he felt your walls tighten.

You laughed sarcastically. "I don't care if I can keep riding you like this."

Your hips rocked back and forth as if you were riding a mechanical bull, following a controlled rhythm so you wouldn't tire. Rhett threw his head back and dug his fingers into your thighs and butt.

"Ngh Jesus doll, look at you taking me so well. But fffuck what will your family say about this?" he teases you because he knew you really didn't care otherwise you wouldn't be with him.

You leaned your body over him and grabbed the hair on the back of his neck, pulling it back. Rhett let out a guttural moan.

"Shut that pretty fucking mouth of yours unless you use it to eat my pussy, huh?"