teeth of God, blood of man

The marg you’re sipping on is tasting less like tequila and more like bad decisions. Horny decisions. Which is probably the alcohol if you’re being honest. It’s not like it’s helping your situation. You and Nick both know you can’t keep your hands to yourself after you’ve had a few. 

You’re blaming it on your boyfriend though, and maybe the fact your body has finally gotten its shit together since you’ve started birth control. The last few weeks have been utter hell. You’d been blessed with waves of nausea, an influx of whacked-out hormones, and a once-healthy libido that has crashed and burned like a plane shot out of the sky. The idea of being touched made you want to crawl out of your skin and bite his head off most days. 

You have to give Nick credit though. He’s a gem despite it all, patient and understanding even with his chaotic tour schedule and traveling. He’s taken your rejections on the chin without complaint, but you can tell it’s starting to get to him. 

He’s been on edge more than you’ve ever seen—the type of restlessness even weed can’t fix. It’s why you impulsively agreed to go to this pool party his friends threw together tonight for his birthday. The break from life stress and the change of scenery sounded like a good idea, plus he deserved catching up with friends he hadn’t seen in a while. 

Watching him hang out with old buddies is rewarding, but the wholesomeness ends there. You’ve stopped paying attention to the other women chatting around you long enough for the ice in your drink to melt. Your eyes are fixed on your boyfriend across the backyard, catching his flashy-ass watch and that diamond-studded earring. You almost hate how well his Italian ass pulls it off. His forearm flexes, showing off muscles under his summer tan, and with that week-old stubble he’d chosen not to shave, you’re absolutely feral. 

Sure, you can beg him to leave right now, but you still have a forty-five minute drive back, and that just won’t do. Your bathing suit is stimulating all the right spots just enough to make you aware, and the growing ache between your bare thighs is at a point that’s impossible to ignore. You’re not sure if it’s the risk of getting caught or the consuming need to have him, but you have to do something as soon as possible. 

As if Nick can sense your gawking, he looks away from his friend and meets your gaze across the backyard. A smirk pulls the corner of his mouth. You think about that mouth. Those pouty lips. His tongue on your… 

Fuck, your pussy is practically throbbing and he’s none the wiser. 

You stand up from the deck chair and slip away from the conversation, knowing they’ll barely notice your absence. It’s not like you’ve had much input in the past ten minutes anyway. Drink in hand, you meander over to your boyfriend while attempting to look cool and casual.  

But it’s less like a nonchalant stroll and more like the trajectory of a heat-seeking missile locked on target. You’re lucky everyone’s too drunk and distracted to pay attention. 

“Yeah, man,” Nick says after taking a sip from his Coors, “I can take a look at it for you if you want, but I’m kind of shit at driving manuals.”

The guy he’s talking to laughs, and Nick joins in. He introduced you earlier in the night but you’re not confident if it’s Brad or Chad, so you nod as your boyfriend welcomes you with his free arm. You believe it’s absent-minded, but he wraps it around your back like normal, pulling you in close like a claim. 

It has you melting against his frame, nuzzling in close. He smells like chlorine and the collar of his shirt is damp from his hair, but his body’s warm, still holding in the sun’s heat from earlier in the evening. 

It takes everything to give him the usual, respectful kiss on the cheek, but instead of resting your head on his shoulder afterwards, you bring your mouth to his ear and whisper, “I need you.”

A puff of air leaves his lips, and you consider nipping his earlobe for good measure. When he sees the wanton look in your eye, his own blow wide with shock. He scoffs as his brows jump, but he keeps his voice low and hushed, “Right now? Here?…Seriously?”

You’ve talked about being more spontaneous in your relationship, but it’s obvious you took him by surprise. It makes you doubt yourself. This isn’t something you normally do. Maybe this is a bad idea, you think. But the feeling doesn’t last because once you study that borderline-naive, deer-in-the-headlights look as his grip on you tightens, the last thing you want to do is back out now. 

You tip your chin, bringing yourself closer, and mumble against his lips, ”Upstairs bathroom. Ten minutes.”

Before he can respond, you pull away and turn back to the house without another word. 

Since everyone’s outside hanging around the pool, it’s easy to walk through the house to the upstairs hallway bathroom. And you’re in luck. It’s empty. But this is when you get that nervous, fluttery feeling in your chest. It’s one thing to tease each other with a fantasy, but actually going through with it is another. 

You should’ve told him five minutes. Ten is going to feel like an eternity. 

Instead of letting yourself overthink, you decide to freshen up at the vanity, which forces you to look at your reflection. You’ve spent the afternoon in the sun and it shows. Your hair’s a frizzy mess and your makeup is pretty much gone from water and sweat, revealing the slight sunburn on your cheeks and nose. You pull at your bikini and see the tan line already developing. 

Without makeup or a hairbrush, you resort to fingercombing through your hair and readjust your tits in your bathing suit. It’s not like you need to do much anyway. Nick’s seen you plenty of times barefaced wearing nothing but one of his Harley-Davidson shirts.

Then there’s a gentle rap of knuckles on the door. It startles you, but then you hear a muffled voice. 

“It’s me.”

You crack the door to find your boyfriend standing out in the hallway. Without a word, you grab his arm to yank him inside, attacking him with a hungry kiss, which pushes him back against the door, closing it. He struggles to keep up and laughs against your moving lips, but you’re impatient. You lick into his mouth for the first time in weeks, tasting him. Feeling him. He might be holding your waist, but he doesn’t fight your needy hands when you reach between his legs. 

“Goddamn, what’s gotten into you?” he jokes, breaking the kiss. 

“What? I can’t give you a birthday gift?” You giggle, dragging your mouth along his jaw as you feel the outline of him through his swim trunks. “You’re already hard.”

“Birthday, huh?” He starts to laugh again, but his breath catches in his throat when you squeeze him. You don’t give him the chance to regroup his thoughts either, and slip your hand inside his trunks and wrap your fingers around his length, making him groan. 

“Fuck, baby,” he sighs with a horny kick of his hips. 

You’ve missed this so much. The warmth of his hard cock in your hand. How responsive he is to you. The sweet, shy sounds he makes. As much as you want to keep touching him like this, he’s big, stretching out the material, which makes it impossible to fully stroke him.

Knowing you’re running out of time and that there’s a zero chance he’ll turn down a blowjob, you lower to your knees and thank the plush bathmat there to cushion them. He’s quiet as you tug his shorts and wiggle them down his hips until his cock springs free. You’ve almost forgotten what it looks like it’s been so long. You watch it twitch from his heartbeat before trailing wet kisses from his navel until your lips reach the base. Like many times in the past, he runs his fingers through your hair, but with the alcohol in his system, he’s rougher than usual, making you hiss. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, immediately softening his grip. 

“S’okay,” you say, looking up, apologizing in your own way for the last few weeks. His eyes meet yours, looking glassy and lust-blown. You bite your lip and give him a deliberately slow stroke. 

His lids flutter, but his focus stays locked on you and he teases, “Couldn’t wait to play with my cock, huh?”

It’s so hot when he talks dirty. You mouth up and down his shaft, making sure to use your tongue with every kiss. He’s doing a good job keeping his composure because he’s throbbing in your hand, and you consider praising him for it. “Wanted to make sure I got to before you had too much to drink tonight.”

He scoffs, “You’re never gonna let me live that one down, are you?”

“Never,” you tease, emphasizing it with a torturous swirl of your tongue around his cockhead.

“It was one tim—Ah! Fuck!” he gasps when you flick across that perfect spot under the tip. His fist locks in your hair and a groan rasps inside his throat. “This is fuckin’ crazy.”

You smile around him before pulling off, “You wanna back out?”

“Fuck no.”

You suck him back into your mouth, and it doesn’t take long to become reacquainted with every detail and vein. He’ll probably be happy with whatever you do, but you remember what he likes the most. 

“If you keep doing that, I'm not gonna want you to stop,” he warns. 

It’s so tempting to keep going. He always makes the prettiest sounds. Letting him finish in your mouth wouldn’t be a bad present, but you have other plans for him.

So does he, it seems. Nick barely lets you stand before kissing you, and walks you back to the vanity. After lifting you onto the counter, he drops to the floor obediently, hooks your bathing suit out of the way, and dives face first between your thighs. It’s what you’ve been imagining all night. Hot, wet and sticky. His perfect mouth on your cunt, pretty lips sealed around your swollen clit, eager tongue lapping through your folds. 

He’ll keep at it until your legs are shaking uncontrollably around his head, but you don’t want to risk missing out on what you really want. You weave your fingers through his thick, damp hair and pull at the roots, begging, “Fuck me now, Nick.”

The plea makes him stop—not that you’re worrying about that. But he pauses for a few seconds to catch his breath and the air clings to your tacky skin. He wipes his mouth on the inside of your thigh before standing on his feet. As he closes in between your open legs, you pull him into a kiss, and taste yourself on his wet, swollen lips. 

It might’ve been a few weeks since you’ve had sex, but he moves your body with practiced ease, like you haven’t skipped a day. The firm grip on your ass gives him the leverage to drag you closer to the edge of the vanity. It’s not the best position. You’re uncomfortable with the counter digging into your asscheeks, but you forget the pain the second his cock nudges against your pussy. 

You clutch onto him, gripping the fun-faded t-shirt, and wrap your legs around his waist. He rocks his hips forward slightly, nestling himself at your entrance, and you feel the sting of him already stretching you. Just when you think he’s about to push inside, he curses under his breath.

“What’s wrong?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t have a condom.”

You snort. Not that it’s something out of the ordinary for him to say. This is the point when he would start reaching for one. “Your dedication is sweet, babe, but I’m on the pill now, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles, and the tension releases from his shoulders until the realization sets in. No condom. The implication is heavy. New. “You sure?”

He’s right there, suede-soft and rock hard pulsing against your clit. Even if he hasn’t told you directly, you know his answer before you ask the question, “Are you?”

Nick nods with a hum and readjusts, coating himself in your wetness. He’s thick, so the first few thrusts are always the most intense. You do your best to relax as he works himself inside inch by inch. The first one nearly takes your breath away. It’s shallow, but when he rocks back for a second, he slides in a little deeper.  

You cry into his shoulder and dig your nails into his back as cants his hips for the third and he buries himself to the hilt. A low groan escapes him, “Fuck, you feel so good.” 

You kiss along his neck and whimper in agreement. Instead of the rubbery latex barrier, you feel only him. Warm. Silky. Real. The hard ridge of his cock hitting every perfect spot. Sex was amazing before, but this is addicting and you don’t know how you’re ever going back. 

He’s slow with his thrusts even though this is supposed to be a quickie, not that you’re complaining. “Holy shit,” he grunts, breathing heavily. “I feel like I’m gonna bust already.”

You search for his mouth, nose bumping along his stubbly cheek, giggling, “Such a way with words.”

He smiles, and you don’t have to see it to know how charming that crooked grin is. “Sorry...can’t help it.”

“Nick,” you breathe, coaxing him with a soft kiss on the lips, “I want you to cum in me this time.”

”W-what?”

You slide your hand up from his back and card your fingers through his hair, which gets his attention. Looking into his big, brown eyes, you tell him, ”Don’t you fucking dare pull out.”

Other than a moan, there’s no warning before his mouth crashes into yours, hot and unforgiving, giving you mostly tongue and teeth. Love drunk and sloppy. You squeal against his frantic lips, but it doesn’t stop the sharp snap of his hips or the way his fingers squeeze your ass. His pace changes suddenly, and his thrusts become deliberate. 

It’s intense. The stretch of his cock filling you up. The way he slams against your cervix. A part of you wishes he bent you over the sink so you could see his face in the mirror while he fucks you raw. What a sight that would be. You imagine it instead, remembering how he scrunches his nose and clenches his jaw. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he pants. 

It makes you feel alive. Desired. 

You try to muffle your sounds, but if anyone stood outside the bathroom door, there’s no doubt they could hear what’s happening. Did you even lock the bathroom door?

You drag your nails across the back of his head, scratching through the soft, buzzed hair, and whisper in his ear, “Keep talking.”

He slows and pauses, like he’s thinking, and huffs a nervous laugh. “What do you want me to say?”

His moments of shyness have always been endearing, but you need more. “Ask me whose pussy is this.”

You hear him swallow, and then he mutters, quiet and unsure. “Whose pussy is this?”

“Louder, baby,” you encourage with a kiss on the corner of his mouth.  

Something clicks as if you flipped the magic switch. The surge of confidence could be the alcohol, but he locks in, snapping his hips as he did before. When he says it again, there’s conviction in his voice, ”Whose pussy is this?”

”Yours,” you respond, digging your nails into the meat of his bicep. ”Make it yours.”

“Yeah?” He breathes, heavy and ragged, and presses his nose to yours. “Want me to fill you up, baby?”

You nod emphatically, but can’t hold back your whimper, which makes him smile. A cocky little grin. Grabbing your waist, he tilts your hips, and your thoughts suddenly flatline. Any fear of being caught vanishes, and he overrides your senses completely. His breathy groans in your ear, the musky scent of his skin, his puffy lips moving against yours, the slick glide of his cock moving inside you.  

“You feel so good,” you moan into his mouth. 

”C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he urges between grunts, “come for me.”

You’re not sure if it's the desperation in his voice or the way he’s fucking you, but within seconds, you’re there. Each thrust throws you closer to the edge. You’re not sure who comes first, but you squeeze around him like a vice grip as each wave of your climax rolls through you. 

“Oh, shit,” he huffs, shuddering. “Fuck, I, I’m—“

He cuts himself off with a sound you’ve never heard before, and instead of pulling out and filling a condom, he stays tucked deep inside you, keeping his promise. You feel his cock pulse, hard and heavy, and for the first time, he floods your pussy the way you wanted. He always cums so much. It’s already leaking out and he hasn’t moved.

As you come back down to earth, you caress his back and kiss him while he catches his breath. When he finally gets his bearings and withdraws from you, he makes sure to look down at the mess between your thighs. Normally you’d be too shy, but you spread them open wider, giving him a better view. 

“Wow.” he breathes.

”Happy Birthday,” you giggle, watching the awestruck look on his face. 

He laughs—that goofy one that you love so much. “Happy Birthday to me.”

His eyes flick up, meeting yours, and the intensity of the moment evolves into something deeper. You don’t need reassurance, but you ask anyway, “Do you like it?”