#pm94

It was 2:17 a.m. when you stirred in the dark bedroom of the apartment you shared with Porter. The city outside was quiet, the only light a faint silver glow from the streetlamp slipping through the half-drawn curtains. You had been together for three years—since you were both sixteen—and now, at nineteen, your lives were woven so tightly together that even in sleep you could sense when something was off with him.

Porter was awake. You felt it in the restless shift of his body beside you, the way his breathing kept catching, the subtle tension radiating off his 6'3" frame. He was on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, the sheets tangled low around his hips. And there, unmistakably, was the thick, rigid outline of his cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers. He was rock hard. Aching. And from the frustrated little sigh that escaped him, you knew exactly what was happening.

He couldn’t sleep because of it. And more than that—he couldn’t cum on his own. Never had. Not once in the three years you’d been doing this. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he’d wrapped his own hand around himself and stroked desperately while thinking of you, his body simply wouldn’t let go. It was like his nervous system was wired only for you. Your hands. Your mouth. Your pussy. Only you could take him over the edge. It had started as a shy discovery when you were teenagers figuring each other out, and it had become one of the most intimate, erotic truths of your relationship. He needed you. And you loved being the one who could give him that release.

You rolled toward him, your bare leg sliding over his thigh. Your hand found his chest—warm, smooth, the faint ridges of muscle from years of hockey training. “Porter,” you whispered, voice still husky with sleep. “Baby… what’s wrong?”

He turned his head, eyes opening in the dim light. Even half-lidded and frustrated, he was gorgeous—messy dark hair, strong jaw, that intense gaze that always softened when it landed on you. “Can’t sleep,” he muttered. His voice was low, rough. “Got this fucking boner that won’t quit. Tried to jerk off… you know how it goes. Nothing. My hand doesn’t work. Never does. I just… I need you, Y/N. At two in the morning like a fucking teenager. I’m sorry.”

You smiled softly, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Don’t apologize. You know I love taking care of you.” Your hand slid lower, under the sheet, and cupped the heavy bulge in his boxers. He was throbbing—hot, thick, the head already leaking enough pre-cum to soak the fabric. You gave him a slow, firm squeeze and felt him twitch hard against your palm. “Three years and I still know exactly what you need. Let me help, baby.”

He groaned, hips lifting into your touch. “Fuck… yes. Please.”

You kissed him properly then—slow, deep, unhurried. Your tongue slid against his, tasting the faint mint of toothpaste from hours earlier. He kissed you back with that familiar hunger, one big hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. The kiss deepened, turning wet and messy, the way it always did when he was this worked up. You could feel the tension melting out of him already, replaced by pure need.

Your hand kept stroking him through the boxers, slow and deliberate, twisting just the way he liked. You knew every inch of his cock by heart now—the thick vein that ran along the underside, the way the head flared when he was close, how sensitive that little spot just beneath the crown was. You’d learned it all over years of nights exactly like this: lazy weekends when you were still sneaking around at sixteen, stolen moments in his car, quiet evenings in this apartment once you’d moved in together. You knew what made his thighs tense, what made him curse and beg, what made him lose control completely.

You broke the kiss and started working your way down his body. Your lips traced his jaw, the strong column of his throat, the spot just below his ear that always made him shiver. You sucked lightly there, leaving the faintest mark—he loved wearing your marks under his jersey. Then lower, across his collarbone, down the center of his chest. You licked over one nipple, then the other, circling with your tongue until he arched and groaned your name. Your hand never stopped moving on his cock, squeezing and stroking in that perfect rhythm you’d perfected.

By the time you reached his abs, he was panting. You kissed every ridge, every dip, your tongue dipping into his navel. His skin was hot, a little salty from the faint sheen of sweat. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down. His cock sprang free—long, thick, flushed dark and shiny at the tip, curving slightly upward the way it always did when he was this hard. A bead of pre-cum welled at the slit and you caught it with your tongue, savoring the familiar taste of him.

“God, look at you,” you murmured, wrapping your hand around the base. Your fingers didn’t quite meet. “So hard for me. So perfect.”

Porter’s hand found your hair again, gentle but possessive. “Only for you. You know that. No one else has ever… fuck, Y/N, please.”

You didn’t make him wait. You leaned down and licked a slow, wet stripe from the base all the way to the head, then swirled your tongue around the crown, teasing the sensitive ridge. He hissed, hips jerking. You took the head into your mouth and sucked, hollowing your cheeks, your tongue pressing firmly against the underside. Inch by inch you took him deeper, relaxing your throat the way you’d learned to do over the years. You knew exactly how much he could handle, how to breathe through your nose, how to swallow around him when he hit the back of your throat.

You set a rhythm—slow and deep at first, bobbing your head while your hand twisted and stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach. Wet, sloppy sounds filled the quiet room. You pulled off to catch your breath, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock, and stroked him fast and tight, your thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke.

“Fuck, baby—your mouth,” Porter groaned, voice wrecked already. “So warm… so fucking good. I’ve been thinking about this all night. Couldn’t sleep because I needed to be in your throat or your pussy. Only you can do this to me.”

You hummed around him and took him deep again, gagging softly but pushing through because you knew he loved that little bit of struggle. Your free hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently, then sliding lower to press behind them the way he liked. He cursed, thighs spreading wider. You varied it—fast and enthusiastic, then slow and teasing, focusing on the head with tight suction and flicks of your tongue while your hand worked the shaft. You licked down to suck one ball into your mouth, then the other, before returning to his cock and swallowing him to the hilt again.

Your own arousal was building fast. Your pussy was soaked, throbbing, clenching around nothing. You shifted, pressing your thighs together for friction as you sucked him. He noticed—because of course he did—and reached down to cup your breast through your thin sleep shirt, thumb brushing your nipple until it peaked.

“Love how wet you get just from sucking me,” he panted. “My perfect girl. Been mine since we were sixteen and you still know my body better than I do.”

You pulled off again, stroking him with both hands now, twisting in opposite directions the way that always drove him crazy. “Because I’ve spent three years learning exactly what you need, Porter. I know how to make you feel good. I know you can’t cum without me… and I love that. Love being the only one who can get you there.”

He was close—you could feel it in the way his cock swelled in your hands, the way his abs tightened, the desperate little thrusts of his hips. His breathing was ragged, moans spilling out freely. You took him deep one more time, sucking hard, and felt him throb against your tongue. But you didn’t let him finish. Not yet. You wanted him inside you when he came.

You pulled off slowly, licking the head one last time, and looked up at him with wet lips and dark eyes. “Not yet, baby. I want you to cum in my pussy. Want to feel you fill me up.”

Porter groaned like he was in pain, but he nodded, trusting you completely. “Anything. Just… please. I need to be inside you.”

You stripped off your sleep shirt and panties in seconds, then climbed over him, straddling his hips. Your pussy—bare, slick, swollen—was hovering just above his cock. You reached down, wrapped your hand around him again, and dragged the thick head through your folds, coating him in your wetness. The head bumped your clit and you both moaned.

You did it again—slow, teasing grinds, letting the head catch at your entrance before sliding away. Porter’s hands gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your skin. “Tease,” he breathed, but there was no real complaint in it.

Finally, you positioned him and sank down.

The stretch was perfect—familiar, deep, exactly right. Inch by inch you took him, your walls fluttering and clenching around the thick intrusion until your ass met his thighs and he was buried to the hilt inside you. You both let out long, broken moans. He filled you so completely, the slight curve of his cock pressing right against that spot inside you that made your toes curl.

“Fuck… so tight,” Porter groaned, hands sliding up to your waist, then higher to cup your breasts. “So wet and hot around me. God, I love being buried in you.”

You started moving—slow at first. Deep, rolling grinds of your hips, circling so your clit rubbed against his pelvis on every downstroke. You leaned forward, hands braced on his chest, and kissed him again, messy and deep, while you rode him in that unhurried rhythm. His hands roamed everywhere—squeezing your ass, sliding up your back, pinching your nipples, pulling you down so he could suck one into his mouth.

You picked up the pace gradually. Rising up until just the head was inside, then sinking back down hard. The wet, obscene sounds of your pussy sliding on his cock filled the room—slick, filthy, perfect. You bounced on him, finding that angle that made stars burst behind your eyes every time he bottomed out. Porter thrust up to meet you, his hips snapping in time with yours, his hands guiding your movements.

“Ride me,” he panted against your neck. “Just like that, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock. You’re so good at this. Only you… only you can make me feel like this. I can’t cum without you—never could. Need your pussy, your mouth, your everything.”

You sat up straighter, hands on his chest for leverage, and really rode him—bouncing, grinding, rolling your hips in tight circles when you were fully seated. Your breasts bounced with every movement; he watched them hungrily, reaching up to play with them, rolling your nipples between his fingers. Sweat slicked your skin. Your hair stuck to your forehead. The bed creaked softly beneath you.

You leaned back, one hand braced on his thigh, changing the angle so he hit even deeper. Your other hand slid down to rub your clit in quick circles as you rode him. The dual stimulation was almost too much. Pleasure coiled tight in your belly, building and building.

“Porter—fuck—I’m close,” you gasped.

“Me too,” he groaned. “So close. Don’t stop. Please—make me cum, baby. Only you can.”

You rode him harder, faster, slamming down on him, clenching your inner muscles around his cock on every downstroke. The tension snapped. Your orgasm crashed over you in hot, pulsing waves—your pussy spasming and fluttering around him, your vision whiting out as you cried out his name. You kept moving through it, riding out every aftershock.

That was all it took for him. Porter’s whole body went rigid beneath you. His cock swelled and jerked inside you, and then he was cumming—hard, deep, endless. Thick, hot pulses of cum flooded your pussy, filling you up exactly the way you both needed. He moaned your name like a prayer, hips stuttering up into you, hands gripping your waist so tightly you knew there’d be faint bruises tomorrow. You kept grinding on him through it, milking every drop, until he finally went boneless beneath you, chest heaving.

You collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you sweaty and panting. His arms wrapped around you immediately, holding you close, still buried inside you as he softened. His cum leaked out around his cock, messy and warm, but neither of you cared. You kissed his chest, right over his racing heart.

“Better?” you whispered after a long minute.

“So much better,” he murmured, voice drowsy and sated. He kissed the top of your head. “Thank you, baby. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Three years and you still… you’re the only one. Always have been. Can’t cum without you—never could, never will. You’re it for me.”

You smiled against his skin, tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “I know. And I love it. Love being the one who takes care of you like this. Love you, Porter.”

“Love you too.” He tightened his arms around you. “Now I can actually sleep. You wore me out in the best way.”

You stayed like that for a while—connected, sticky, warm—until his breathing evened out and his hold loosened into the loose, trusting embrace of sleep. Carefully, you lifted off him, wincing a little at the loss and the mess, but you didn’t go far. You grabbed a towel from the nightstand drawer (you kept one there for nights exactly like this), cleaned both of you up gently, then slipped back into bed and curled against his side.

Porter pulled you in immediately, even half-asleep, tucking you under his chin. His hand rested possessively on your hip. Within minutes his breathing was deep and steady—the boner, the frustration, the insomnia all gone. You smiled in the dark, pressed one last kiss to his collarbone, and let sleep take you too.

At 2:17 a.m. he’d needed you. By 2:45 a.m. he was finally resting, safe and satisfied in your arms.

Just the way it had been for three years. Just the way it would always be.

You and Porter had been dating since high school, you were in the yearbook voted "mostly like to get married young." You and Porter had laughed it off because you wanted to graduate college first. When Porter got drafted by the Flyers you transferred colleges so you could be with him, he protested heavily because he didn't want you to do it, but you insisted and since your so stubborn he eventually caved and stopped arguing with you about it. Now that you've been in Philly for a bit Porter wants to marry you, which in hindsight is a bit crazy considering your young age but he feels ready.

"Are you sure about that?" Jamie asks perplexed at the fact Porter is asking his help to propose.

"Yes I'm one hundred percent sure I want to marry her" Porter replies.

"Your so young though" Trevor says.

"I know but I feel ready" Porter says.

"So how can we help?" Jamie asks.

Porter's plan was simple, Jamie's girlfriend and you were going to get your nails done and then when you came back Jamie, Trevor, and Porter would have decorated the house with your favorite flowers and then a trail of flowers towards Porter in your backyard.

When the day came for the proposal Porter was scared, you didn't notice that he was acting funny and if you did you didn't comment on it.

"Hey baby I'm going out with Jamie's girlfriend, I'll be back soon" You say as you peck his lips before walking out the door.

"I love you" Porter calls as you exit.

"I love you too" you say as you shut the door behind you.

Porter watches until your car leaves the driveway before texting Jamie and Trevor to come over now. When Jamie and Trevor arrive with the flowers Porter told them to get. They spend the next three hours decorating the house with your favorite flowers, about twenty minutes before you get back, Jamie's girlfriend is coming with you she knows about the proposal. Porter gets in place and waits at the end of the walkway of flower petals.

"You ready?" Jamie asks from his hiding spot.

"Yeah I am" Porter says.

"You got this bud" Trevor says.

"Babe I'm home, oh what's this" Porter hears you say as you enter the house.

"Just follow it" Porter hears Jamie's girlfriend tell you.

If takes a few minutes before you appear and come out the back door and meet Porter. Jamie's girlfriend goes and hides with Jamie before Porter clears his throat to begin his speech,

"Baby, I love you so much. Have since the day I met you freshman year in biology class and you dissected a frog no hesitation and I screamed cause it was gross" Porter laughs at memory causing you to giggle.

"I want to spend the rest of my life making you laugh like that" Porter drops to one knee, "So will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?

You nod through the tears of joy that have started falling, "Yes I'll marry you."

Porter puts the ring on your finger with shaky hands before standing and kissing you.

"Oh my gosh" you say before hugging him.

"I love you" Porter says.

"I love you too" You say.

Jamie's girlfriend comes out of her hiding spot with Jamie and you give them both a big hug, "Congratulations" Jamie says.

"Thank you" You reply.

"Thanks for your guys help" Porter says to Jamie, Jamie's girlfriend, and Trevor.

"Congratulations you guys" Trevor says before you hug him and he hugh fives Porter.

"You were in on this?" You ask Jamie's girlfriend.

"Yeah I was" She replies.

"Girllll" you say laughing before hugging her again.

"Now let's plan a wedding" Porter says.

"Not today we'll start tomorrow" you reply.

"Perfect" Porter says kissing you again.

"Okay gross enough guys" Trevor says.