i’ll be there waiting

Your older brother just laughed from the passenger seat, already half-reclined with his boots on the dash like the years hadn’t changed a damn thing. The three of you had done this dance since you were kids—your parents driving the family car, Eddie’s van trailing behind loaded with tents and coolers and that ridiculous boombox he refused to retire. Your brother and Eddie had moved out to Chicago last year and missed the trip. This year the parents had finally waved the white flag. We’re too old for this, they’d said. You three can keep the tradition if you want.

So here you were.

Four hours of highway, two gas-station pit stops, and one argument about whether Dio or Iron Maiden was the superior soundtrack later, the van rattled off the paved road onto the familiar dirt track that led into the state park. The trees closed in overhead, filtering the late-afternoon light into green-gold shafts. You felt the same low thrum in your chest you’d always felt when the campground came into view—half nostalgia, half something sharper that had only started humming under your skin three years ago.

Eddie killed the engine. Silence rushed in, broken only by the tick of cooling metal and the distant cry of a hawk.

He twisted in the driver’s seat to look at you in the back. His hair was longer than last summer, curls escaping the bandana he’d tied around his head. A thin silver chain glinted at his throat. He still looked like trouble. He still looked like the boy who’d once dared you to eat a raw cricket and then laughed until he cried when you actually did it.

“Home sweet temporary home,” he said, voice low. “You gonna help set up or are you gonna stand there looking at me like I owe you money?”

You shoved the side door open harder than necessary. “You do owe me money, idiot.”

“Oh don't worry. I'll pay you back— with interest.”

Your brother was already out and stretching, cracking his back with a groan. “You two are exhausting. I’m grabbing the cooler before one of you starts the inevitable screaming match.”

Eddie hopped out after him, landing lightly despite the height. He caught your eye across the open doors as you both reached for the same folded tarp. His fingers brushed yours. Neither of you pulled away immediately.

The air between you felt charged the way it always did now—like static before a storm, like the second before someone said something they couldn’t take back. You’d spent years pretending the dislike was pure. It was easier that way. Easier than admitting that every time he smirked at you or called you by that stupid nickname he’d invented when you were fourteen, something low and hot twisted in your stomach.

Eddie tilted his head, studying you the way he studied guitar tabs—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing something he already knew by heart.

“You're quieter,” he said.

“You're louder.”

“Fair.” He tugged the tarp free and slung it over one shoulder. “C’mon. Sun’s gonna drop soon. Last thing I need is you bitching at me in the dark because we can’t find the tent poles.”

You followed him into the clearing you’d claimed for years, boots crunching over pine needles. Your brother was already staking out the flatter ground near the fire ring, whistling off-key. Eddie dropped the tarp and started unfolding the bigger tent with the easy efficiency of someone who’d done this a hundred times. You worked opposite him, feeding poles through sleeves, the familiar rhythm settling between you even as the unfamiliar tension hummed underneath.

Every so often your hands would meet again—passing a stake, smoothing a corner of fabric—and you’d both pause for half a second too long before pretending it hadn’t happened.

The sky was turning the color of bruised peaches by the time the tents were up and the cooler was cracked open. Your brother claimed the smaller tent without argument, already disappearing inside with a book and a beer. That left the bigger one for you and Eddie. Funny how life works out.

Eddie stood at the open flap, looking in at the two sleeping bags rolled side by side, then glanced over his shoulder at you. The fading light caught on the rings stacked on his fingers.

“You still snore?” he asked.

“You still talk in your sleep?”

A slow, crooked grin spread across his face. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He ducked inside without waiting for an answer, and the undercurrent between you pulsed once—hot, quiet, and very much awake.

The tent was dark and warm, the kind of close heat that only came from two bodies breathing the same recycled air. You’d fallen asleep facing the wall, sleeping bag zipped to your chin, determined to ignore the fact that Eddie was only a few feet away on the other side of the nylon floor.

Sometime past midnight you woke to the soft, rough sound of his voice.

Low. Thick with sleep. Your name. Almost a whisper.

“…not supposed to look at you like that… fuck… you're… goddamn…”

Your eyes snapped open. The words dissolved into an unintelligible mumble, then silence. You held perfectly still, heart thudding against your ribs, waiting to see if he’d say anything else. He didn’t. Just a quiet shift of fabric as he rolled over.

You stared at the dark ceiling for a long time after that, pulse still elevated, before forcing your eyes shut again and pretending you hadn’t heard a thing.

Morning came too bright and too early.

Your brother was already up and making noise outside, clattering the little propane stove. Eddie emerged from the tent looking like he’d lost a fight with his own hair, bandana shoved in his back pocket, last night’s black T-shirt wrinkled and riding up just enough to flash a strip of pale stomach when he stretched. He caught you looking and immediately smirked.

“Morning, princess. Sleep okay or did the spooky forest keep you up?”

You shoved past him toward the cooler. “Your talking kept me up.”

“I— I was talking last night?” Eddie looked like he'd seen a ghost— the color draining from his already pale face.

"Mhm. Big talk last night Munson."

"Unconscious me is not the same person as conscious me."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Your brother popped out of his tent looking just as rough as Eddie. "What'd he say this time?"

"This time?"

"Nothing. Fuck you guys— let's go do something."

The day unfolded the way these days always did with the three of you—sunlight, river, the easy rhythm of people who’d known each other too long. Kayaking came first. The three of you dragged the rented boats down to the water, your brother claiming the single and leaving you and Eddie to share the double. Of course.

Eddie took the back seat without asking, which meant he controlled the rudder and got the better view of everything in front of him. Including you.

“Try not to tip us,” he called as you pushed off. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Your reputation is already trash.”

“Rude. Chicago doesn't know my Hawkins reputation so… I'm like recycled trash now.”

"They should be warned."

The river was slow and glassy, edged with overhanging branches that scraped soft green fingers across the surface. You paddled in sync more out of muscle memory than cooperation, the kayak cutting clean lines through the current. Every so often Eddie would dig his paddle in harder on one side just to make the boat rock, laughing under his breath when you twisted around to glare at him. Water droplets clung to the dark curls escaping his bandana. His arms flexed with every stroke, veins standing out along the insides of his forearms. You hated that you noticed.

At one point he leaned forward, voice dropping so your brother—paddling ahead—couldn’t hear.

“You still do that thing where you bite your lip when you’re concentrating?”

You didn’t answer. Just paddled harder.

His quiet chuckle followed you down the river.

Softball happened in the open field near the campground after lunch. Your brother and Eddie claimed folding chairs and a cooler full of cheap beer like it was their sacred duty, while you ended up on a pickup team with a bunch of other campers. Eddie watched the entire time with the lazy intensity of a cat watching a bird. Every time you connected with the ball he’d holler something deliberately embarrassing—“That’s my girl!” or “Show ‘em how it’s done!”—loud enough that half the field turned to look. Your brother just shook his head and kept drinking.

By the time the game wrapped, the sun was sliding toward the treeline and the air had that golden, late-summer weight to it. People were already drifting toward the rec center at the far end of the campground. Strings of lights were being tested. A DJ was doing sound check.

You wiped sweat from your forehead with the hem of your shirt and found Eddie watching you again, beer bottle dangling from loose fingers.

“You gonna clean up for the dance or just show up looking like you lost a fight with a river?” he asked.

“You planning on actually dancing or just leaning against a post looking pretentious all night?”

He tipped the bottle toward you in a mock toast. “Depends. You planning on asking me?”

The words landed heavier than the teasing tone suggested. For a second neither of you looked away. The undercurrent that had been humming all day—ever since you’d woken up to the sound of your name in his sleeping mouth—tightened into something almost tangible.

Your brother clapped Eddie on the shoulder hard enough to make him sway. “If you two are done with the foreplay, I’m starving. Rec center’s got those shitty hot dogs and I want at least four before the music starts.”

Eddie finally broke the stare, flashing that crooked, dangerous grin.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes still half on you. “Wouldn’t want to miss the main event.”

The three of you headed back toward the tents to change as the first real notes of music drifted through the trees. The night was just getting started.

You changed in the tent with the flap zipped tight, the skimpy little dress clinging to your skin the second you pulled it over the bathing suit. The material was thin and soft, the kind that moved when you did, neckline low enough to make the heat feel intentional. Practical, you told yourself. If the night went the way these nights sometimes did—too many drinks, someone daring someone else—you could strip the dress and hit the water without a second thought. You’d done it before.

When you stepped out, the campground lights were already glowing through the trees.

Eddie was leaning against the side of the van with a fresh beer, one boot kicked up behind him. He took a long drink, eyes tracking you from the moment the tent flap opened. He didn’t even try to hide it. The look dragged slow—over the bare stretch of your thighs, the way the dress sat on your hips, the line of your collarbones—before he finally dragged his gaze up to your face and smirked like he’d caught you doing something illegal.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, voice low. “You trying to start a riot or just ruin my night?”

Your brother snorted from where he was tying his shoes on the picnic table. “She always looks like that. You’re just dramatic.”

Eddie didn’t look away from you. “I’m observant. There’s a difference.” He pushed off the van and circled you once, slow, like he was inspecting merchandise. "You’re gonna make the soccer moms clutch their pearls.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, adjusting the thin strap on your shoulder. “You look like you got dressed in a thrift store during a blackout.”

He grinned, all teeth. “And yet here you are, still looking.”

Your brother stood, clapping his hands together like the world’s most oblivious referee. “Alright, children. Rec center. Hot dogs. Bad music. Try not to kill each other before we get there.” He was already walking, completely missing the way Eddie’s eyes kept dropping to your mouth, your legs, the place where the dress ended.

The three of you cut through the trees toward the glow of the gazebo. Strings of bulb lights crisscrossed overhead, casting everything in warm gold. A DJ booth had been set up under the roof, speakers already thumping something upbeat and slightly too loud. Picnic tables had been pushed aside to make a dance floor, and the bar was stocked with drinks. The smell of grilled hotdogs and firewood permeated the air.

Eddie kept pace beside you, still talking.

“I’m just saying, if you trip in those shoes I’m not carrying you. I’ll point and laugh. Publicly.”

“You’ve carried me before.”

“That was different. You were twelve and had a scraped knee. Now you’re—” He gestured vaguely at all of you, words failing him for half a second. “Anyway. Don’t expect chivalry.”

Your brother laughed, already peeling off toward the bar. “He’s so full of shit. He once carried a drunk girl two miles because she lost a shoe. Remember that, Eds?”

“I remember you never shutting up about it,” Eddie muttered, but his eyes were still on you.

You reached the bar first. Ordered something with a fancy fruity name, and took a long swallow. The burn settled low in your stomach. Perfect.

Eddie opened his mouth—probably to say something else annoying, something that would sound like an insult and land like a touch—but you were already turning away.

“I’m dancing,” you said over your shoulder. “Try not to miss me too hard.”

You didn’t wait for an answer. Just slipped into the growing crowd under the lights, drink in hand, the skimpy dress brushing against your thighs with every step. Behind you, you could feel the weight of his stare like a hand on the back of your neck.

Your brother was already laughing about something. Eddie wasn’t saying a word.

You danced alone at first, letting the music pull you under the string lights. The beat was heavy enough to feel in your ribs, the kind of song that made hips move without permission. Your drink was already half gone. The skimpy dress clung and shifted with every turn, the bathing suit underneath a thin secret against your skin. People watched. You didn’t care.

Then a pair of hands settled lightly at your waist.

You glanced back. Tall. Broad shoulders. Easy smile. Dark hair falling into his eyes. Attractive in that clean, summer-camp way—nothing like the chaos you were used to. He didn’t ask. Just matched your rhythm, body slotting in behind yours like he’d been waiting for the invitation.

You let him.

It started casual. Then it wasn’t.

His hands slid lower, fingers spreading over your hips, guiding you back against him. You rolled with it, spine arching, the thin fabric of the dress the only thing between his chest and your back. The music thumped louder. Someone whooped nearby. His breath brushed the shell of your ear when he leaned in, and you tipped your head just enough to give him more space. Your bodies moved together—slow, dirty, deliberate. Thighs brushing. Ass grinding back against the hard line of him. Every shift of your hips made the hem of the dress ride a little higher.

Across the open floor, past the shifting bodies and the glow of the lights, Eddie stood frozen near the bar.

Your brother was already three drinks past functional, leaning heavily against the table and laughing at nothing, plastic cup waving in the air as he tried to tell a story to some poor stranger who kept nodding politely. He hadn’t even noticed you yet.

Eddie had.

His jaw was locked so tight the muscle jumped under the skin. One hand crushed the neck of his beer bottle; the other was shoved deep in the pocket of his jeans like he needed to keep it contained. He watched the stranger’s hands on your waist, watched the way you moved against him, watched the flush climbing your throat. His eyes were dark, almost black under the string lights, and the easy, mocking expression he usually wore had been scraped clean off his face.

He looked like he wanted to put his fist through something. Or someone.

You caught the stare over the random guy’s shoulder and held it for a second too long—just long enough to see the pure, boiling jealousy flash across Eddie’s features before you turned back into the dance. The stranger’s hand slid higher under the side of your dress, fingertips grazing the edge of your bathing suit bottoms, and you didn’t stop him.

Eddie’s bottle hit the bar top hard enough that your brother finally glanced over, still grinning drunk and clueless.

“Dude, you good?”

Eddie didn’t answer. He just kept staring at you like he was two seconds from crossing the floor and starting a fight.

Your brother swayed hard enough that he had to plant a hand on the nearest picnic table to stay upright.

“I’m done,” he announced, voice thick and cheerful. “Gonna pass out before I embarrass myself more. You two… don’t kill each other.” He pointed vaguely between you and Eddie, already turning toward the path that led back to the tents. “Love you, mean it, goodnight.”

Eddie moved before you could answer.

His hand locked around your upper arm—hard, fingers digging in just shy of bruising—and he yanked you away from the stranger mid-song. The guy made a confused noise, but Eddie didn’t even glance at him. He was already hauling you across the grass after your brother, jaw tight, boots loud against the packed dirt.

“Let go—”

“Shut up and walk,” he bit out.

You twisted in his grip. “Eddie—”

“Your brother’s hammered. We’re making sure he doesn’t face-plant in a ditch. Move.”

The walk back was silent except for your brother’s off-key humming and the occasional stumble that made Eddie’s grip on you tighten even more. By the time the tents came into view, your arm was throbbing under his fingers. Your brother crawled into the smaller tent without protest, mumbled something about breakfast, and was snoring within minutes.

The second the zipper closed, Eddie’s hand slid from your arm to your wrist. He didn’t let go. Instead he turned and started walking—fast, purposeful—toward the river path instead of the tent you were supposed to share.

“Where the hell are you—”

“Quiet.”

You dug your heels in. “Eddie, what the fuck is your problem?”

He spun on you so fast you nearly collided with his chest. Up close his eyes were wild, the jealousy still burning hot behind them. “My problem? My problem is watching some random asshole put his hands all over you like he had the right. My problem is you letting him.”

“I can dance with whoever I want—”

“Get in the kayak.”

You blinked. He’d already dragged one of the rental doubles halfway into the water, the plastic hull scraping against the pebbles. The river stretched black and quiet under the moonlight, the current lapping against the bank.

“Are you insane? It’s the middle of the night—”

“Get. In.”

You should have said no. You should have turned around, walked back to the tent, zipped yourself in and pretended none of this was happening. But the anger rolling off him was magnetic, thick enough to taste, and the curiosity that had been coiling low in your stomach all day flared hot. You’d never been good at smart decisions where Eddie Munson was concerned.

You stepped into the kayak.

He pushed off hard, climbing in behind you in one smooth motion, paddle already in his hands. The boat rocked once, then settled as the current caught it. Trees closed in on either side, blocking out the last of the campground lights. The only sound left was the soft dip of the paddle and Eddie’s heavy breathing at your back.

He didn’t speak again until the music and the lights were far behind you.

When he finally did, his voice was low and rough and right against your ear.

“You and me are gonna have a conversation. And you’re not getting out of this boat until I say so.”

The paddle cut through the black water in hard, angry strokes. You could feel every one of them in the way the kayak jerked forward.

“You’re being a fucking child,” you snapped over your shoulder, arms crossed tight under your chest. The dress stuck to your skin in the humid night air. “Dragging me out here like some jealous boyfriend when you’re not even—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Eddie’s voice was low and sharp. “You don’t get to decide what I am right now.”

“Oh my God.” You twisted further, nearly tipping the boat. “You don’t get to manhandle me in front of half the campground because some guy danced with me. I can do whatever I want.”

“You were grinding on him.”

“So?”

“So I wanted to break his fucking hands.”

The words hung there, raw and honest. You faced forward again, jaw clenched, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction even as something hot twisted low in your stomach. The river narrowed. Trees leaned in closer on both sides, their branches forming a dark tunnel overhead. The current slowed. Up ahead the water opened into a small, secluded pool half-hidden by a curve of rock and thick underbrush—a private little grotto the three of you had found years ago and somehow never told anyone else about.

Eddie drove the kayak onto the muddy bank hard enough that the hull scraped loud in the quiet. He was out first, boots splashing, then turning to offer a hand you deliberately ignored. You climbed out on your own, nearly slipping, and stalked over to the old fallen log that had served as a bench for years. The wood was cool and damp under your thighs when you sat, arms still crossed, staring hard at the dark water instead of him.

Eddie dragged the kayak further up so it wouldn’t float away, then planted himself directly in front of you. Close. Blocking the moonlight.

“Look at me.”

You didn’t.

“I said look at me.”

You tipped your head back just enough to give him the most unimpressed stare you could manage. “What, Eddie? You dragged me all the way out here to lecture me about dancing? Congratulations. Message received. Can we go back now?”

His hands flexed at his sides. “You’re being a fucking brat.”

“And you’re being a controlling asshole. We’re even.”

He let out a short, disbelieving laugh that had zero humor in it. “You let him put his hands under your dress.”

“Barely.”

“I watched him.”

“Then maybe you should’ve danced with me instead of standing there looking at me like you had some moronic invisible claim over me.”

That landed. His eyes flashed. He took one step closer so his boots nearly touched yours, looming over where you sat on the log. The air between you felt thick, charged, like the second before lightning.

“You want me to dance with you?” he asked, voice dropping into something quieter and more dangerous. “That what this is about?”

You rolled your eyes and looked away again, pure brat, even as your pulse hammered in your throat. “I want you to stop acting like you own me when you don’t. That’s what this is about.”

Eddie exhaled hard through his nose. He didn’t move back. If anything he leaned in another inch, the scent of beer and sweat and the metal of his jewelry filling the small space between you.

“Keep pushing, sweetheart,” he murmured. “See what happens.”

You stood up from the log like he hadn’t just threatened you, like the air between you wasn’t thick enough to choke on.

“I’m swimming back,” you said flatly, already reaching for the hem of the dress. “You can sit here and be pissed by yourself.”

The thin fabric peeled up and over your head in one motion. You balled it up and tossed it into the kayak without looking, left standing in nothing but the little bikini you’d worn underneath. The night air kissed every newly bare inch of skin. You took one step toward the water.

Eddie moved faster.

“No the fuck you’re not.”

His hand shot out and caught you by the upper arm again—harder this time, fingers digging in as he yanked you back against him. The motion was rough, careless with anger, and his studded bracelet snagged the loose string at the back of your neck. The bow came undone with a soft, final slip. The triangle cups of the top fell forward instantly, baring your tits to the cool air and to him.

Everything stopped.

Eddie’s breath left him in a punched-out sound. His eyes dropped and stayed there, locked on the soft weight of your breasts, the tight peaks of your nipples already tightening under the sudden exposure and the heat of his stare. For one suspended second he just looked—hungry, furious, wrecked—before the last of his restraint snapped clean in half.

He hauled you fully against him and crushed his mouth to yours.

The kiss was all teeth and heat and years of denial. His tongue shoved past your lips like he was trying to punish you with it, one hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head exactly where he wanted while the other arm banded tight around your waist, pinning your bare chest to the front of his shirt. You could feel the metal of his rings cold against your spine, the hard line of his cock already pressing against your stomach through his jeans. He kissed like he hated how much he wanted it—deep, messy, wet—nipping at your bottom lip hard enough to sting before sucking it into his mouth.

“Fucking knew it,” he growled against your lips between kisses, voice wrecked. “Knew you’d taste like this. Knew you’d be this soft. Goddamn tease—”

His hand left your hair only long enough to shove the ruined bikini top the rest of the way off your arms, then he was back, palm dragging up your side to cup one bare breast, thumb scraping roughly over the nipple. The sound he made when you arched into the touch was pure filth, low and broken.

He walked you backward until your calves hit the log again, never breaking the kiss, never letting more than an inch of space exist between your bodies. When he finally tore his mouth away it was only to drag it down your jaw, teeth scraping the sensitive skin beneath your ear as he spoke right against it.

“You let that asshole put his hands on what’s been driving me crazy for three fucking years. You’re lucky I didn’t bend you over the bar right there.” His fingers pinched your nipple, sharp enough to make you gasp. “Still might bend you over. Keep being a brat and find out.”

You shoved at his chest even as your back hit the log again, still trying to keep the upper hand.

“Get off me—”

Eddie only laughed, low and mean, and used the grip he already had on you to force you down. One hard push at your shoulders and your knees hit the damp earth with a soft thud. He stepped in close, boots bracketing your thighs, and the sound of his belt buckle coming undone was obscenely loud in the quiet grotto. Zipper next. Then he shoved his jeans and boxers just low enough to free his cock.

It was already hard, thick, the head flushed dark and shining at the tip. He wrapped one hand around the base and tapped the heavy weight of it against your cheek, smearing a streak of precum across your skin.

“Open.”

You tipped your chin up and gave him the most venomous look you could manage from your knees. “I swear to God if you shove that in my mouth I’m biting it off.”

Eddie’s eyes flashed. His free hand tangled in your hair and yanked your head back just enough to make your scalp sting. “Do it. See what happens when you try.”

He didn’t wait for another threat. The blunt head of his cock dragged across your lips once, twice, then he pushed forward. You opened on a sharp inhale—half protest, half something hungier—and he slid over your tongue in one long, relentless stroke until the head bumped the back of your throat.

“Fuck—there it is,” he groaned, both hands now fisted in your hair. “Knew that smart mouth would feel perfect wrapped around me.”

He didn’t ease in. He fucked your throat like he’d been thinking about it for years—short, punishing thrusts that made wet, filthy sounds every time he bottomed out. Spit slicked down your chin. Your eyes watered. Every time you tried to pull back even an inch he held you tighter and pushed deeper, hips rolling with zero patience.

“Look at you,” he panted, staring down with dark, glassy eyes. “On your knees in the dirt for me after all that attitude. Letting some random fucker put his hands on you and now you’re choking on my cock like a good little slut. That what you needed? Someone to shut you up properly?”

You glared up at him through wet lashes, still trying to be defiant even with your lips stretched wide around him. The threat of your teeth was still there; he felt it, and it only made him groan louder and thrust harder.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he warned, voice rough. “You bite me and I’ll bend you over that log and spank your ass red before I fuck you. Try me. Please. I’ve been dying to.”

His hips snapped forward again, burying every inch. The wet heat of your mouth, the way your throat fluttered around him, the bratty fire still burning in your eyes—it all pulled a broken, filthy stream of words out of him as he used your mouth without mercy.

“God, you’re soaking the front of those little bottoms already, aren’t you? I can smell how wet you are from here. Fucking hate how bad I want you. Hate that I’ve jerked off thinking about this exact view for three goddamn years. Take it. Take every inch like the mouthy little bitch you are.”

Eddie’s rhythm turned short and brutal, hips snapping forward with no more pretense of control. His fingers tightened hard in your hair as the first pulse of his orgasm hit, thick and hot, flooding your tongue and the back of your throat.

“Fuck—swallow it—take it—”

You didn’t.

The second he started to pull back you dragged your teeth along the sensitive underside of his cock—not hard enough to break skin, but sharp enough to make him hiss and jerk. Then you shoved him the rest of the way out with your tongue and spit.

Everything he’d just pumped into your mouth landed wet and messy across the front of his jeans and the base of his still-twitching cock. A long, shiny strand connected your bottom lip to him for a second before it broke. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and looked up at him, eyes pure challenge.

“Oops.”

The sound Eddie made was almost a snarl.

He hauled you up by the hair and the arm so fast your knees left the ground. In two strides he was sitting on the log and you were face-down across his lap, the rough denim of his jeans scraping your bare stomach and the soft insides of your thighs. One of his hands pinned both of your wrists at the small of your back; the other yanked the soaking bikini bottoms down to mid-thigh, baring your ass completely to the night air.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” His voice was low, shaking with leftover pleasure and fresh fury. “Had to push. Had to spit my come all over me like a spoiled little brat who wants to get punished.”

The first slap cracked across your right cheek hard enough to make the sound echo off the water. The sting bloomed hot and immediate. You jerked, but his grip on your wrists only tightened.

“Count.”

You stayed silent on pure principle.

The second slap landed harder, lower, catching the sensitive crease where ass met thigh. Your breath punched out of you.

“I said count, sweetheart.”

“One,” you forced out through gritted teeth, still trying to sound defiant even as heat flooded between your legs.

“Good girl.” Another sharp crack. “That’s two. You’re gonna feel every single one of these when I finally fuck you. Going to remind you what happens when you act like you don’t belong to me.”

His palm came down again and again—steady, deliberate, spreading the burn across both cheeks until the skin felt swollen and throbbing. Between strikes he dragged his fingers through the mess of slick already coating your inner thighs, collecting it and smearing it higher, teasing your entrance without giving you anything.

“Look at this,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Dripping down my leg already. You did this on purpose. Wanted me to lose it. Wanted me to bend you over and make it hurt.”

Another slap, harder than the ones before. You couldn’t stop the broken sound that left your throat.

Eddie leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear while his hand soothed roughly over the hot, stinging skin he’d just punished.

“We’re not even close to done. You’re going to take everything I give you tonight. And you’re going to say thank you when I’m finished. You're mine now. Thought I didn't notice your little crush on me? Made it fuckin' obvious you brat.”

You twisted against the iron grip he still had on your wrists, cheek pressed to the rough bark of the log, ass burning. The words came out sharp and breathless.

“I don’t belong to you.”

Eddie’s hand stilled for half a second on the hot skin of your cheek.

“You’re just my brother’s annoying best friend. That’s all you’ve ever been. Some loud, chaotic asshole who made fun of me for years. Why the fuck do you think you get to act like you have some claim?”

He didn’t answer with words at first.

Two fingers slid between your thighs from behind, parting the slick folds of your pussy with zero warning. You were soaked—embarrassingly, shamelessly wet—and the sound his fingers made dragging through it was filthy in the quiet. He stroked slow, deliberate, gathering your wetness and spreading it up to circle your clit without ever giving you real pressure.

“You want to know why?” His voice was low, almost conversational, even as his fingers kept teasing—gliding, pressing, never quite pushing inside. “Because I’ve watched you grow up into the exact kind of trouble I can’t stay away from. Because every time I saw you, you got louder and meaner and hotter and I had to sit there pretending I didn’t want to bend you over the nearest flat surface.”

He finally pushed one finger into you, just to the first knuckle, then pulled it back out to smear more slick over your clit. Your hips jerked despite yourself.

“Because three years ago you turned eighteen and started looking at me like you wanted me to ruin you, and I started jerking off to the idea of it every single night. Because I hate how bad I want you. Hate that some random guy got to put his hands on you tonight while I stood there hard and furious. Hate that you’re still trying to pretend this—” he pushed two fingers into you in one smooth stroke, curling them just right, “—isn’t already mine.”

He fucked the fingers into you slow and deep while he talked, the wet sounds loud between every sentence. His thumb stayed on your clit, rubbing tight, mean circles that made your thighs shake.

“You’re my best friend’s little sister. You’re a fucking brat. You’re the last person I should want. And I still can’t stop. So yeah—I think I get to claim you. Because the second you opened that smart mouth for my cock you stopped being just his sister. You became mine to punish. Mine to tease. Mine to fuck until you stop lying about how much you want it.”

He scissored his fingers inside you, stretching, then curled them hard against that spot that made your whole body jolt.

“Keep telling yourself I’m just the annoying best friend. I’ll keep proving you wrong with every dripping inch of this pussy.”

“Fuck you.”

The words came out rough and breathless, half muffled against the bark.

Eddie laughed—low, dark, delighted.

“Already planning on it, sweetheart. Thanks for the invitation.”

He hauled you up off his lap like you weighed nothing. One second you were face-down across his thighs; the next he had you bent over the log proper, chest and cheek pressed to the cool wood, ass in the air, bikini bottoms still tangled around one thigh. He kicked your feet wider with his boot, shoved his jeans lower, and notched the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance.

No more teasing.

He slammed in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

The stretch burned—perfect, overwhelming—and the sound that tore out of you was pure punched-out need. Eddie groaned like he’d been stabbed, hands clamping hard on your hips hard enough to bruise.

“Jesus—fuck— so goddamn tight.” He pulled almost all the way out and drove back in harder. “This what you needed? My cock splitting you open after you spent all night acting like you didn’t want it?”

He set a relentless pace immediately, hips snapping forward with wet, filthy slaps that echoed off the water. Every thrust shoved you further up the log; every retreat left you clenching around nothing for half a second before he filled you again. His rings dug into the soft flesh of your hips. The metal of his belt buckle slapped against the back of your thigh with every stroke.

“Look at you taking it,” he snarled, one hand sliding up your spine to fist in your hair and yank your head back. “Bent over a log in the middle of nowhere, dripping down your thighs for your brother’s best friend. You hate me so fucking much, don’t you? Hate that I’m the one who gets to wreck this pussy.”

He changed the angle, folding over your back so his mouth was right at your ear, breath hot and ragged while he kept pounding into you.

“Feel how deep I am? That’s three years of wanting to shut you up just like this. Three years of watching you strut around in those little outfits, mouthing off, pretending the tension wasn’t eating us both alive. Now you’re stuffed full of me and still trying to act tough. Doesn’t work when you’re this wet, baby. Doesn’t work when your cunt keeps sucking me back in like it never wants me to leave.”

His free hand snaked around your hip and found your clit, rubbing tight, mean circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation made your knees buckle; only the log and his grip kept you upright.

“That’s it—take it. Take every fucking inch. Gonna fill this bratty little pussy up so full you feel me dripping out of you the whole ride back. Gonna make sure every time you sit down tomorrow you remember exactly who you belong to when you stop lying.”

He fucked you harder, faster, the wet sounds of your body taking him almost obscene. His voice never stopped—filthy, continuous, pouring into your ear while he used you like he’d been dying to for years.

“Fucking perfect. Fucking mine. Say it or don’t, I don’t care—your cunt already did.”

“I’m not—fuck—I’m not yours,” you managed between broken breaths, the words barely coherent with every brutal thrust still punching them out of you.

Eddie snarled and brought his open palm down hard across your already stinging ass.

“Say it.”

Another sharp slap. Then another. The wet sound of his hand meeting your skin mixed with the filthy slap of his hips.

“Say you’re mine.”

“No—”

He spanked you again, harder, the burn blooming white-hot just as he drove particularly deep. Your whole body clenched around him and he felt it—felt how close you were, how your cunt was starting to flutter and seize.

He pulled out completely.

The sudden emptiness made you cry out in pure frustrated rage, hips pushing back chasing him, empty and throbbing.

“What the fuck—”

“You don’t get to come yet.” Eddie’s voice was wrecked but steady, almost cruel with control. He stepped back just far enough to sit on the log, jeans still shoved down his thighs, cock slick and shining with your wetness, standing hard against his stomach. He looked at you like he had all the time in the world. “Not until I say. Not until I’m looking at your face while you fall apart on me.”

He patted his thigh once.

“Get over here and sit on it.”

You stayed where you were for a defiant second, chest heaving, ass burning, pussy aching and neglected. The refusal was still on your tongue.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, completely unimpressed by the brat act now.

“I wasn’t asking. Climb on my cock and ride it until you come. I want to watch every second of it. Want to see exactly what you look like when you finally stop pretending you hate this.”

He wrapped a hand around the base of himself and stroked once, slow, showing you how wet you’d left him.

“Now, sweetheart. Before I change my mind and leave you empty for the rest of the night.”

You glared at him for one more stubborn second, then gave in.

Climbing into his lap felt like surrender and you hated how much your body wanted it. You straddled his thighs, one hand on his shoulder for balance, and reached between you to line him up. The second the thick head of his cock nudged your entrance you sank down in one long, shaky slide until he was buried to the hilt again.

Eddie’s head tipped back on a deep, satisfied groan.

“There she is,” he murmured, hands settling on your waist like they’d always belonged there. “Knew you’d give in. Look at you—sitting on my cock like you were made for it after all that ‘I’m not yours’ bullshit.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust or to sass him. His boots dug into the dirt for leverage and he thrust up hard, burying himself even deeper from this new angle. The shift dragged the head of his cock directly across that perfect spot inside you and white sparks exploded behind your eyes. A broken, helpless sound tore out of your throat.

Eddie grinned like the devil.

“Ohhh. There it is.” He did it again—short, powerful upward snaps of his hips that punched the air out of your lungs every time. “Found the spot that makes the brat shut up, huh? Look at your face. You’re fucking melting.”

He kept the pace merciless, hands gripping your hips to pull you down to meet every thrust so you took him to the base again and again. The new angle was devastating. Every upward drive rubbed relentlessly against the place that made your thighs shake and your thoughts scatter. You tried to stay upright, tried to keep some scrap of defiance, but he could feel every flutter and clench of your cunt and he used it against you without mercy.

“That’s it—ride it. Use me. You’re soaking my jeans, dripping down my balls, and still trying to look pissed. Adorable.” His voice was pure smug heat. “You’re putty. Completely fucking ruined for anyone else after this. Gonna feel empty every time something that isn’t my cock tries to fill you.”

One hand slid up your spine and fisted in your hair, forcing your back to arch so he could watch your tits bounce with every hard thrust. His eyes were dark and triumphant, locked on your face, drinking in every broken expression he dragged out of you.

“Go on. Keep glaring at me while your cunt milks my cock like it never wants me to stop. I can do this all night. Can keep you right here, full and shaking, until you finally admit what we both already know.”

He thrust up particularly deep and ground against that spot until your vision went white at the edges.

“You’re mine when you’re on my cock, sweetheart. And right now you’re exactly where you belong.”

Eddie never slowed.

He kept driving up into you with that same punishing rhythm, the thick drag of his cock hitting that devastating spot over and over until your thighs trembled on either side of his hips. One hand left your waist and shoved between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit immediately. He rubbed tight, relentless circles—no teasing, no mercy—while the other hand slid up your chest and wrapped around your throat.

Not gentle.

His fingers flexed, cutting off just enough air to make every thrust feel sharper, deeper, more overwhelming. The pressure at your neck, the relentless friction on your clit, the heavy stretch of him filling you again and again—it all crashed together into something white-hot and unbearable.

“That’s it,” he growled, eyes locked on your face as your mouth fell open. “Take it princess."

Your body seized.

The orgasm ripped through you so hard your vision blanked. You clenched around him like a fist and then you were squirting—hot, uncontrollable pulses of wetness that soaked his cock, his jeans, his thighs. The sound was filthy, wet, unmistakable. You shook through it, choking on the air he allowed you, cunt spasming wildly around every deep thrust he kept forcing into you.

Eddie laughed, low and utterly wrecked with triumph.

“Holy shit—look at you. Fucking squirting all over me. Knew this bratty little cunt would make a mess the second I choked you properly.” He fucked you straight through it, never letting up, dragging the climax out until you were sobbing for breath and still clenching around him in helpless aftershocks. “So pretty when you come. So fucking loud. Everyone downriver probably heard what I do to you.”

His hand stayed on your throat, the other still working your oversensitive clit in mean little circles that made you jerk and whimper. He was close—you could feel it in the way his thrusts turned short and brutal, in the way his cock swelled even thicker inside you.

“Gonna fill you up,” he panted against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “Gonna pump you so full of me you’ll feel it leaking down your legs the whole way back to camp. Marking what’s mine. Every time you move tomorrow you’ll remember exactly who owned this pussy tonight.”

He slammed up one final time and came with a broken, guttural sound, burying himself to the hilt as he pulsed deep inside you. Hot, thick ropes of come flooded your cunt, overflowing around his cock with every residual throb. He kept you pinned there, hand still loosely around your throat, hips grinding in slow circles like he was trying to push it even deeper.

“Fuck… yes. Take it. Every drop.” His voice was pure satisfied filth. “That’s my come inside you now. No one else’s. Just mine.”

He didn’t pull out. Just stayed buried, breathing hard, thumb stroking almost absently over the side of your neck where his fingers had pressed while he watched your face with dark, cocky satisfaction.

Your legs barely held you when you pushed off his lap.

The second you stood, everything between your thighs felt swollen and oversensitive and wet—his come already starting to slip out of you and trickle down the inside of one leg. Your knees wobbled hard. You took one unsteady step and nearly pitched forward into the dirt.

Eddie caught you by the waist before you could fall, hauling you back against his chest with an arm banded tight around your middle.

“Get off me—”

“You’re gonna face-plant, genius—”

“I said get off.” You shoved at his arm until he let go, then spun on him, still half-naked, hair a mess, lips swollen, the evidence of everything he’d just done to you streaked down your thighs. The anger hit all at once, sharp and shaky and too big for the quiet little grotto.

“If you liked me for that long—three fucking years—why did it have to be like this?” Your voice cracked on the last word and you hated it. “Why couldn’t you just be normal about it? Talk to me like a person instead of acting like a jealous asshole and dragging me out here to—to punish me? You didn’t have to be mean. You didn’t have to be so fucking—”

Eddie stayed seated on the log, jeans still open, watching you with that same dark, unreadable expression. He didn’t look sorry. If anything he looked like he was fighting a smirk.

“You liked it.”

The simple, cocky certainty in his voice made your face burn hotter than the spanking had.

“I—yeah, but—” You stammered, caught between the truth and the residual fury still sparking under your skin. “That’s not the point, you dickhead. You didn’t have to do it like that. You could’ve just… said something. Instead of losing your shit and treating me like some toy you finally got to break.”

Eddie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, still looking up at you with that infuriating half-smile. A bead of sweat tracked down his temple. His voice came out quieter, but no less certain.

“You’re right. I could’ve been normal. Could’ve asked you out like a gentleman and taken you to dinner and held your hand.” He tilted his head. “But that’s not what either of us wanted, is it? You didn’t melt for polite. You melted when I was mean. When I made you take it. When I refused to let you keep pretending there was nothing here.”

He stood slowly, towering over you again, and reached out to tuck a tangled strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.

“I was jealous. I was angry. And you came so hard you soaked me to the skin. So maybe stop yelling at me for giving you exactly what you’ve been begging for with every look and every smart-ass comment for three years.”

“Just take me back to camp.”

Eddie looked at you for a long second, then simply nodded.

You both dressed in silence—your dress pulled back on over the still-damp bikini, his jeans tugged up and zipped with a wince. The kayak rocked as you climbed in first, settling on the front seat without looking at him. He pushed off the bank and started paddling, the only sounds the soft drip of water from the blade and the distant chorus of frogs.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did you.

Halfway back the river widened again, the current slow and glassy under a sky packed with stars. The campground lights were still a distant glow around the next bend. Eddie lifted the paddle out of the water and let the kayak drift. The sudden quiet felt heavier than the arguing had.

You glanced over your shoulder. He was staring up at the sky, profile silvered by moonlight, curls messy from your hands. When he finally spoke his voice was quieter than you’d heard it all night.

“Were you really mad at me?”

The question sat between you, stripped of the earlier swagger and heat.

You turned back around, watching the dark water slide past. “Kinda.”

Eddie exhaled. The paddle rested across his thighs. For a while the only movement was the gentle rock of the boat.

“I tried being nice,” he said eventually. “More than once. You never looked at me twice.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk.

“First time was the summer you turned eighteen. I asked if you wanted to come with me to the record store in town. You said you already had plans and walked off. Called me a jackass. Next year I tried again—offered you the aux cord on the drive up, told you to put on whatever you wanted. You handed it straight to your brother and put your headphones in.” His laugh was soft and self-deprecating. “Every summer I found some stupid little way to be less of an asshole around you. And every summer you treated me exactly the same. Annoying. Loud. Your brother’s best friend. Background noise.”

He dipped the paddle once to keep the boat from spinning, then let it rest again.

“So yeah. I stopped trying to be normal. Being mean at least made you look at me. Made you fight back. Made you feel something. Even if it was just wanting to punch me in the face.” The water lapped quietly against the hull. “Guess I figured if I couldn’t get you to like me the regular way, I’d take whatever version of your attention I could get.”

The stars above the treeline were absurdly bright. The night air smelled like wet earth and pine. Somewhere far behind you the rec center music still thumped faintly, a whole different world.

Eddie waited, paddle still, giving you the space to answer or not.

You stared at the dark water for a long time before the words finally came out.

“I’ve liked you forever.”

The admission felt huge in the quiet. Behind you, Eddie went completely still.

“I just… always thought you were only being nice because of my brother. Like it was some obligation. Keep the little sister from feeling left out so everything was easy. You were always around, always loud, always there, and every time you did something decent I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That you were just stuck with me.” You let out a short, disbelieving breath. “So I kept you at arm’s length on purpose. Acted like I couldn’t stand you so it wouldn’t hurt when I was right.”

The kayak drifted another few feet. A soft breeze moved through the trees on the bank.

Eddie set the paddle down across the hull with a quiet clatter.

“Jesus Christ.”

You risked a glance over your shoulder. He was staring at you like you’d just rewritten the last several years of his life in one sentence. The cocky mask was gone. What was left looked almost young.

“You’ve liked me,” he repeated, slow, testing the words. “This whole time.”

“Yeah.”

“And I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

“I wanted to not stand you.”

Eddie dragged both hands down his face and let out a laugh that was half groan. “We’re idiots.”

“Complete idiots,” you agreed.

“I spent years being an asshole on purpose because I thought it was the only way you’d notice me, and you spent the same years freezing me out because you thought I was only nice out of pity.” He shook his head, curls bouncing. “Do you understand how stupid that is? We could’ve been doing this—” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, at the kayak, the river, the lingering ache between your legs, “—years ago.”

You turned fully on the seat so you could face him. The boat rocked. Moonlight caught the silver of his rings and the still-flushed look on his face.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “We really could’ve.”

Eddie held your gaze for a long moment. The anger and the heat from earlier were still there under the surface, but something softer sat on top of them now—wonder, maybe. Relief. A little bit of awe.

He picked the paddle back up, but he didn’t start rowing yet.

“For the record,” he said, voice low, “it was never because of your brother. Not once.”

The night felt different after that. Quieter. Fuller. The stars overhead seemed closer somehow, and the water carried you both forward without either of you needing to fill the silence right away.

The kayak scraped onto the shore near the campground docks. Eddie hopped out first and offered a hand; this time you took it. Your legs still felt a little unsteady, and the evidence of everything that had happened at the grotto was a secret, sticky reminder with every step.

The walk back through the trees started quiet, then cracked open into something lighter.

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “You’re still an asshole, for the record.”

“Yeah, but I’m your asshole now. Big promotion.”

You snorted. “Don’t push it.”

Eddie grinned sideways at you, the same crooked, troublemaking smile he’d worn for years, only now it landed differently. “I’m just saying. For someone who spent the whole night insisting she didn’t belong to me, you came awfully hard when I treated you like you did.”

“Shut up.”

“Made a mess all over me and everything. Very convincing ‘I hate you’ performance.”

You shoved him lightly in the ribs. He caught your wrist and didn’t let go, threading his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. His rings were cool against your skin.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice dropping into that lower register again as the tents came into view. The smaller one was still zipped tight; your brother was clearly dead to the world. “We’re doing that again. Maybe not the dragging-you-into-the-woods part… or maybe exactly that part. Haven’t decided yet.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t pull your hand away. “You’re impossible.”

“And you like it.” He lifted your joined hands and pressed a quick, smug kiss to your knuckles. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”

The campground was quiet except for the distant leftover music from the rec center and the soft rush of the river behind you. Somewhere in the big tent your sleeping bags still waited on opposite sides of the floor.

Eddie glanced at them, then back at you, eyes warm and wicked under the string lights.

“C’mon,” he said, tugging you forward. “We’ve got a whole tradition to keep ruining.”

You followed him into the dark, still holding his hand, the night air cool against your flushed skin and the future suddenly looking a lot less like an argument and a lot more like trouble you actually wanted.

this was the fifth time now. and every time, much to your fucking dismay, just got better and better. to outsiders, a group of gossiping girls, he came across as the stereotypical cocksure guy who thought he knew everything about how to please a woman. thought he was incredible in bed, when in reality he lasted ten seconds and couldn't find a woman's clit even with a diagram in front of him.

the unfortunate truth was he was the exact opposite. he took pathetic amounts of pride in the way that he was able to push all of your correct buttons, fuck you until you were begging and crying for him. you weren't dumb, either, you knew you weren't the only one (heaven knew skills like that didn't just befall him), but he had a way of making you feel like you truly were.

in the back of the cruiser, splayed out on the leather interior, he runs his damp mouth over your neck, biting and sucking at your sensitive skin as a wandering hand slides into the unbuttoned waistline of your jeans.

"shit, you want it, hon?" he groans, his eyes rolling back into his head when his fingertips meet lace, damp and hot. your thighs squeeze his wrist, clamp it in place, unsure of whether it's a desperate plea to get him to keep going or to move away.

and he's so quick, with how he makes you fall apart on his fingers. uses a rough hand to press down on the swell of your tummy to get you there quicker, knows how much you love the pressure when he's two fingers deep and swiping your clit over and over again.

he grins when you fall apart, this violent thing. like a predator that caught its prey and got exactly what it wanted, and you've never felt more wanted in your fucking life, than you are when gator tillman is looking at you.

he strips you both from the waist down, goes to loom over you with that fucking ugly white tank top on and you're practically ripping it off of his torso, needing to see what lay beneath.

he's smug about that, too.

but he's just so nice to look at. toned in a way only a runner could be, clearly spends little time in a gym but the muscle is there, thick hair on his chest and running down his torso.

gorgeous. despite the ugly personality.

he fucks the first inch into you and you're clinging onto the leather seats as if you'll be able to scramble for any sort of purchase on them. he's just so fucking big. difficult to take even still.

you're moaning despite yourself, wanton and lax, arching your back and silently begging for a bit more.

"jus' breathe a little, yeah?" gator's words land like bullets, he's smirking down at you like he finds it amusing, the way the breaths are being snatched from your lungs like this, "you can take me, hon. you've done it before, you're so good."

"good, i'm good." you gasp, head thrown back as he slides another inch or so into you, bullying his way in, and despite how wet you are, your body still jerks back from him slightly, not fully welcoming the intrusion. he's just so much.

"where'd ya think you're goin', huh?" he grabs at your hips, hoisting you back the inch that you jerked, his cock sliding back inside you and stealing the air from your lungs once more.

it feels so much better the second time.

and you can't help it, the moan you let out at the intrusion. he's so deep, sodeep, sosodeep.

it's all-consuming. his presence over you, the way he steals even the most basic of body functions from you, the way he buries himself inside of you and takes root like he fucking belongs there.

"gonna fuck you real good now, yeah? i'll take good care of you." his words are soft as he begins rolling his hips, hands roaming down your torso and slithering back up again to land on your tits.

and he's not even thrusting properly yet, good lord. he's pulling out a few inches just to rut back into you again, short, snappy thrusts to let you know he's still settling in to your tight heat.

it's so much. he's so much. it's embarrassing, the way you still act when he starts up, how long it takes you to begin accommodating him.

"god, can't, fuck. fuckfuck, can't do it, god-" you gasp, nails biting into gator's biceps, and you don't miss the way he hisses out a breath.

"yeah, you can." gator coos, all sweet as syrup as he runs a hand down your cheek, a gentle caress before his calloused fingers wrap around your throat instead, just lightly applying pressure.

he tilts his head at you, a quiet 'this okay?' spoken in the damp air, and you nod. because of course you do. so, he leaves his hand on your neck, so large it engulfs you, continuing to squeeze your flesh gently, avoiding compressing your airways.

"like this?" he asks quietly, the only time so far that he's sounded unsure, but his sharp thrusts in and out of you let you know that it's not affecting him negatively. "so wet, fuckin' easy for me."

you nod again, unsure of what it is you're nodding at, moaning when his cock drags along your front wall and begins sliding against your g-spot dead on with each snap of his hips.

you know you're making a mess. can feel the way your fluids drip down your ass and pool on the leather seats below you, leaving a puddle that is sure to be sizeable. you also know gator will want to take a picture of the aftermath to store on his phone, no doubt spreading his fingers over your cunt to show you off to the camera.

you clamp down involuntarily on his cock at the thought and he hisses, squeezing your neck ever so slightly, causing your eyes to roll all the way back into your skull.

"aw, you like that?" gator asks, smirking now with those pearly white teeth of his, vicious and almost sinister, "want more, hon?"

you nod, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes and dampening your temples. he applies a slightly tighter pressure to the sides of your neck, and you can feel every press of each finger to your skin, knowing already that you'll bruise in the shape of his fingertips.

"crying for me, baby?" he teases, thrusting into you with this reckless abandon now, like he's on a mission, "don't worry, not gonna stop 'til you let it all go, hon. keep cryin', fuck, keep cryin', know you're close."

you are. so, so close. body wound tight like a coiled spring as he uses you, spreading you impossibly wider. you can't keep your teary eyes off of his frame, unable to stop yourself admiring the constellation of moles and freckles that spatter over his neck and torso. he's so pretty, so pretty when he's fucking you rough.

the leather of the seats cling to your sweaty skin, every window in the cruiser fogged up with how much heat you're producing. he's fucking you so hard, there's no way that a passerby wouldn't know or see what was happening. if anything, that makes the burning in your gut worse.

"feels s'good," you moan, a little guhh noise escaping your dry mouth, "can't- can't-"

"i got ya, hon. just take it," gator grunts, and he - he fucking spits onto his fingers, rubbing his pointer and middle with his thumb to wet them, as if you even fucking needed it to get you there. then he's taking those spit-damp fingers down to your clit, circling it with precise movements.

"oh, fuck," you cry, spine going taut as your body basically tries to jerk fully away from him, toomuch toomuch, "gator, m'gonna. oh fuck, fuck, fuck."

you're hiccupping, crying big fat crybaby tears because it's just so, so good. too fucking good.

and it's too late, his calloused fingertip catches on your clit just right and the pressure building in your gut erupts violently. your legs dig into the base of gator's spine and force his cock further into you as you cum, mouth open in a high-pitched wail.

"that's it, feel so good baby, god that's it-" gator's grunting, fucking you in sharp thrusts through your peak, hips becoming sporadic as he hurtles towards the edge, "fuckin' tight, christ. m'fucking cumming, uhh-"

you feel it. every pulse of his cock in your swollen, used pussy. overstimulated and raw all over when he collapses on top of you unceremoniously, but you take the weight willingly, immediately burying both hands in his hair and soothing him.

it's a long while you lie like that for. or maybe it's really only a few minutes, you're not sure you can tell the difference with how out of it you are.

this was the fifth time now. and every time, much to your fucking dismay, just got better and better. to outsiders, a group of gossiping girls, he came across as the stereotypical cocksure guy who thought he knew everything about how to please a woman. thought he was incredible in bed, when in reality he lasted ten seconds and couldn't find a woman's clit even with a diagram in front of him.

the unfortunate truth was he was the exact opposite. he took pathetic amounts of pride in the way that he was able to push all of your correct buttons, fuck you until you were begging and crying for him. you weren't dumb, either, you knew you weren't the only one (heaven knew skills like that didn't just befall him), but he had a way of making you feel like you truly were.

in the back of the cruiser, splayed out on the leather interior, he runs his damp mouth over your neck, biting and sucking at your sensitive skin as a wandering hand slides into the unbuttoned waistline of your jeans.

"shit, you want it, hon?" he groans, his eyes rolling back into his head when his fingertips meet lace, damp and hot. your thighs squeeze his wrist, clamp it in place, unsure of whether it's a desperate plea to get him to keep going or to move away.

and he's so quick, with how he makes you fall apart on his fingers. uses a rough hand to press down on the swell of your tummy to get you there quicker, knows how much you love the pressure when he's two fingers deep and swiping your clit over and over again.

he grins when you fall apart, this violent thing. like a predator that caught its prey and got exactly what it wanted, and you've never felt more wanted in your fucking life, than you are when gator tillman is looking at you.

he strips you both from the waist down, goes to loom over you with that fucking ugly white tank top on and you're practically ripping it off of his torso, needing to see what lay beneath.

he's smug about that, too.

but he's just so nice to look at. toned in a way only a runner could be, clearly spends little time in a gym but the muscle is there, thick hair on his chest and running down his torso.

gorgeous. despite the ugly personality.

he fucks the first inch into you and you're clinging onto the leather seats as if you'll be able to scramble for any sort of purchase on them. he's just so fucking big. difficult to take even still.

you're moaning despite yourself, wanton and lax, arching your back and silently begging for a bit more.

"jus' breathe a little, yeah?" gator's words land like bullets, he's smirking down at you like he finds it amusing, the way the breaths are being snatched from your lungs like this, "you can take me, hon. you've done it before, you're so good."

"good, i'm good." you gasp, head thrown back as he slides another inch or so into you, bullying his way in, and despite how wet you are, your body still jerks back from him slightly, not fully welcoming the intrusion. he's just so much.

"where'd ya think you're goin', huh?" he grabs at your hips, hoisting you back the inch that you jerked, his cock sliding back inside you and stealing the air from your lungs once more.

it feels so much better the second time.

and you can't help it, the moan you let out at the intrusion. he's so deep, sodeep, sosodeep.

it's all-consuming. his presence over you, the way he steals even the most basic of body functions from you, the way he buries himself inside of you and takes root like he fucking belongs there.

"gonna fuck you real good now, yeah? i'll take good care of you." his words are soft as he begins rolling his hips, hands roaming down your torso and slithering back up again to land on your tits.

and he's not even thrusting properly yet, good lord. he's pulling out a few inches just to rut back into you again, short, snappy thrusts to let you know he's still settling in to your tight heat.

it's so much. he's so much. it's embarrassing, the way you still act when he starts up, how long it takes you to begin accommodating him.

"god, can't, fuck. fuckfuck, can't do it, god-" you gasp, nails biting into gator's biceps, and you don't miss the way he hisses out a breath.

"yeah, you can." gator coos, all sweet as syrup as he runs a hand down your cheek, a gentle caress before his calloused fingers wrap around your throat instead, just lightly applying pressure.

he tilts his head at you, a quiet 'this okay?' spoken in the damp air, and you nod. because of course you do. so, he leaves his hand on your neck, so large it engulfs you, continuing to squeeze your flesh gently, avoiding compressing your airways.

"like this?" he asks quietly, the only time so far that he's sounded unsure, but his sharp thrusts in and out of you let you know that it's not affecting him negatively. "so wet, fuckin' easy for me."

you nod again, unsure of what it is you're nodding at, moaning when his cock drags along your front wall and begins sliding against your g-spot dead on with each snap of his hips.

you know you're making a mess. can feel the way your fluids drip down your ass and pool on the leather seats below you, leaving a puddle that is sure to be sizeable. you also know gator will want to take a picture of the aftermath to store on his phone, no doubt spreading his fingers over your cunt to show you off to the camera.

you clamp down involuntarily on his cock at the thought and he hisses, squeezing your neck ever so slightly, causing your eyes to roll all the way back into your skull.

"aw, you like that?" gator asks, smirking now with those pearly white teeth of his, vicious and almost sinister, "want more, hon?"

you nod, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes and dampening your temples. he applies a slightly tighter pressure to the sides of your neck, and you can feel every press of each finger to your skin, knowing already that you'll bruise in the shape of his fingertips.

"crying for me, baby?" he teases, thrusting into you with this reckless abandon now, like he's on a mission, "don't worry, not gonna stop 'til you let it all go, hon. keep cryin', fuck, keep cryin', know you're close."

you are. so, so close. body wound tight like a coiled spring as he uses you, spreading you impossibly wider. you can't keep your teary eyes off of his frame, unable to stop yourself admiring the constellation of moles and freckles that spatter over his neck and torso. he's so pretty, so pretty when he's fucking you rough.

the leather of the seats cling to your sweaty skin, every window in the cruiser fogged up with how much heat you're producing. he's fucking you so hard, there's no way that a passerby wouldn't know or see what was happening. if anything, that makes the burning in your gut worse.

"feels s'good," you moan, a little guhh noise escaping your dry mouth, "can't- can't-"

"i got ya, hon. just take it," gator grunts, and he - he fucking spits onto his fingers, rubbing his pointer and middle with his thumb to wet them, as if you even fucking needed it to get you there. then he's taking those spit-damp fingers down to your clit, circling it with precise movements.

"oh, fuck," you cry, spine going taut as your body basically tries to jerk fully away from him, toomuch toomuch, "gator, m'gonna. oh fuck, fuck, fuck."

you're hiccupping, crying big fat crybaby tears because it's just so, so good. too fucking good.

and it's too late, his calloused fingertip catches on your clit just right and the pressure building in your gut erupts violently. your legs dig into the base of gator's spine and force his cock further into you as you cum, mouth open in a high-pitched wail.

"that's it, feel so good baby, god that's it-" gator's grunting, fucking you in sharp thrusts through your peak, hips becoming sporadic as he hurtles towards the edge, "fuckin' tight, christ. m'fucking cumming, uhh-"

you feel it. every pulse of his cock in your swollen, used pussy. overstimulated and raw all over when he collapses on top of you unceremoniously, but you take the weight willingly, immediately burying both hands in his hair and soothing him.

it's a long while you lie like that for. or maybe it's really only a few minutes, you're not sure you can tell the difference with how out of it you are.

this was the fifth time now. and every time, much to your fucking dismay, just got better and better. to outsiders, a group of gossiping girls, he came across as the stereotypical cocksure guy who thought he knew everything about how to please a woman. thought he was incredible in bed, when in reality he lasted ten seconds and couldn't find a woman's clit even with a diagram in front of him.

the unfortunate truth was he was the exact opposite. he took pathetic amounts of pride in the way that he was able to push all of your correct buttons, fuck you until you were begging and crying for him. you weren't dumb, either, you knew you weren't the only one (heaven knew skills like that didn't just befall him), but he had a way of making you feel like you truly were.

in the back of the cruiser, splayed out on the leather interior, he runs his damp mouth over your neck, biting and sucking at your sensitive skin as a wandering hand slides into the unbuttoned waistline of your jeans.

"shit, you want it, hon?" he groans, his eyes rolling back into his head when his fingertips meet lace, damp and hot. your thighs squeeze his wrist, clamp it in place, unsure of whether it's a desperate plea to get him to keep going or to move away.

and he's so quick, with how he makes you fall apart on his fingers. uses a rough hand to press down on the swell of your tummy to get you there quicker, knows how much you love the pressure when he's two fingers deep and swiping your clit over and over again.

he grins when you fall apart, this violent thing. like a predator that caught its prey and got exactly what it wanted, and you've never felt more wanted in your fucking life, than you are when gator tillman is looking at you.

he strips you both from the waist down, goes to loom over you with that fucking ugly white tank top on and you're practically ripping it off of his torso, needing to see what lay beneath.

he's smug about that, too.

but he's just so nice to look at. toned in a way only a runner could be, clearly spends little time in a gym but the muscle is there, thick hair on his chest and running down his torso.

gorgeous. despite the ugly personality.

he fucks the first inch into you and you're clinging onto the leather seats as if you'll be able to scramble for any sort of purchase on them. he's just so fucking big. difficult to take even still.

you're moaning despite yourself, wanton and lax, arching your back and silently begging for a bit more.

"jus' breathe a little, yeah?" gator's words land like bullets, he's smirking down at you like he finds it amusing, the way the breaths are being snatched from your lungs like this, "you can take me, hon. you've done it before, you're so good."

"good, i'm good." you gasp, head thrown back as he slides another inch or so into you, bullying his way in, and despite how wet you are, your body still jerks back from him slightly, not fully welcoming the intrusion. he's just so much.

"where'd ya think you're goin', huh?" he grabs at your hips, hoisting you back the inch that you jerked, his cock sliding back inside you and stealing the air from your lungs once more.

it feels so much better the second time.

and you can't help it, the moan you let out at the intrusion. he's so deep, sodeep, sosodeep.

it's all-consuming. his presence over you, the way he steals even the most basic of body functions from you, the way he buries himself inside of you and takes root like he fucking belongs there.

"gonna fuck you real good now, yeah? i'll take good care of you." his words are soft as he begins rolling his hips, hands roaming down your torso and slithering back up again to land on your tits.

and he's not even thrusting properly yet, good lord. he's pulling out a few inches just to rut back into you again, short, snappy thrusts to let you know he's still settling in to your tight heat.

it's so much. he's so much. it's embarrassing, the way you still act when he starts up, how long it takes you to begin accommodating him.

"god, can't, fuck. fuckfuck, can't do it, god-" you gasp, nails biting into gator's biceps, and you don't miss the way he hisses out a breath.

"yeah, you can." gator coos, all sweet as syrup as he runs a hand down your cheek, a gentle caress before his calloused fingers wrap around your throat instead, just lightly applying pressure.

he tilts his head at you, a quiet 'this okay?' spoken in the damp air, and you nod. because of course you do. so, he leaves his hand on your neck, so large it engulfs you, continuing to squeeze your flesh gently, avoiding compressing your airways.

"like this?" he asks quietly, the only time so far that he's sounded unsure, but his sharp thrusts in and out of you let you know that it's not affecting him negatively. "so wet, fuckin' easy for me."

you nod again, unsure of what it is you're nodding at, moaning when his cock drags along your front wall and begins sliding against your g-spot dead on with each snap of his hips.

you know you're making a mess. can feel the way your fluids drip down your ass and pool on the leather seats below you, leaving a puddle that is sure to be sizeable. you also know gator will want to take a picture of the aftermath to store on his phone, no doubt spreading his fingers over your cunt to show you off to the camera.

you clamp down involuntarily on his cock at the thought and he hisses, squeezing your neck ever so slightly, causing your eyes to roll all the way back into your skull.

"aw, you like that?" gator asks, smirking now with those pearly white teeth of his, vicious and almost sinister, "want more, hon?"

you nod, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes and dampening your temples. he applies a slightly tighter pressure to the sides of your neck, and you can feel every press of each finger to your skin, knowing already that you'll bruise in the shape of his fingertips.

"crying for me, baby?" he teases, thrusting into you with this reckless abandon now, like he's on a mission, "don't worry, not gonna stop 'til you let it all go, hon. keep cryin', fuck, keep cryin', know you're close."

you are. so, so close. body wound tight like a coiled spring as he uses you, spreading you impossibly wider. you can't keep your teary eyes off of his frame, unable to stop yourself admiring the constellation of moles and freckles that spatter over his neck and torso. he's so pretty, so pretty when he's fucking you rough.

the leather of the seats cling to your sweaty skin, every window in the cruiser fogged up with how much heat you're producing. he's fucking you so hard, there's no way that a passerby wouldn't know or see what was happening. if anything, that makes the burning in your gut worse.

"feels s'good," you moan, a little guhh noise escaping your dry mouth, "can't- can't-"

"i got ya, hon. just take it," gator grunts, and he - he fucking spits onto his fingers, rubbing his pointer and middle with his thumb to wet them, as if you even fucking needed it to get you there. then he's taking those spit-damp fingers down to your clit, circling it with precise movements.

"oh, fuck," you cry, spine going taut as your body basically tries to jerk fully away from him, toomuch toomuch, "gator, m'gonna. oh fuck, fuck, fuck."

you're hiccupping, crying big fat crybaby tears because it's just so, so good. too fucking good.

and it's too late, his calloused fingertip catches on your clit just right and the pressure building in your gut erupts violently. your legs dig into the base of gator's spine and force his cock further into you as you cum, mouth open in a high-pitched wail.

"that's it, feel so good baby, god that's it-" gator's grunting, fucking you in sharp thrusts through your peak, hips becoming sporadic as he hurtles towards the edge, "fuckin' tight, christ. m'fucking cumming, uhh-"

you feel it. every pulse of his cock in your swollen, used pussy. overstimulated and raw all over when he collapses on top of you unceremoniously, but you take the weight willingly, immediately burying both hands in his hair and soothing him.

it's a long while you lie like that for. or maybe it's really only a few minutes, you're not sure you can tell the difference with how out of it you are.