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Andrew “Pope” Cody who is perfectly fine just watching his girl dance at the club with her friends. He’s not much of a dancer, but he loves watching you lose yourself in a song, glossed lips pulled up into a smile while moving your hips from side to side. It was a Saturday night in downtown San Diego, and the weather is warm and breezy. All the guys (mostly Craig) were determined to get Pope out for a fun night, so they proposed making the forty minute drive down from Oceanside for a more lively shot at the club scene. This leads to you invite your girlfriends, two of whom Craig’s already charmed his way into dancing with. Deran, Adrian, and J are at the bar taking shots with the rest of your friends. Pope is a couple seats away, arms resting on his thighs, posture rigid while he watches you. Drinks you in.
You don’t mind that Pope doesn’t dance with you, because the bigger treat is what he’s going to do to you when you get home. So you let him watch, manspreading and mesmerized by you at the bar. “Agora Hills” by Doja Cat comes on. You squeal in excitement, jumping up and down and clapping. Pope’s only familiar with her because you’ve played her in the truck a few times before. He once caught shit from the guys for a week because “Go To Town” was playing one day when you’d gone with him to pick them up from a job. You are clearly having the time of your life now as the music floats through the speakers, bass boosting over the sea of people yelling to hear themselves over it.
‘Who that man with the big strong hands, on her ass in the club with the paps?’ Baby, that's you
You get a boost of confidence from the tequila racing through your body, so you begin dancing over to where he’s sitting. You’re mouthing the words to the song, gesturing at him and giggling. Soon you’re standing between his legs, turning so your back is pressed against him. You grind your ass against the front of his jeans to the pace of the song. You spin back around to face him, beaming with what only he knows as a mischievous look in your eyes. His hands reach tentatively for your waist, his chest rising up and down in shallow breaths. You lean forward so he can better hear you.
“You can touch me, Andy. Don’t have to be shy,” you coo. You love how he looks like he’s barely holding it together. Like it’s taking him every morsel of self restraint he has not to scoop you up, and take you home to fuck the ever living shit out of you. This wasn’t exactly his scene. Sure, he drank with the guys but he never got shitfaced. And when he was a little shitfaced, he got aggressive. And he’s been trying to keep you safe from that part of him. Like tonight, he was only having a beer or two. He never does shots or any heavy shit when he’s out with you. He has to be locked the fuck in - to protect you, of course.
God, he hopes you know how much he loves you. How he’s been watching every guy in here look you up and down, in his head about what kind of sick fucking thoughts they were having about you - his baby. How he’ll break the legs of any twat here tonight if they even try to breathe in your direction. How he’s holding your sparkly clutch in one hand, and your drink in the other to ensure no shithead frat boy does anything funky to it. You look like a dream in the tiny pink dress adorning your body, pulled together with silver strappy heels and matching diamonds he had gifted you after the last job.
He presses your clutch against his bulge, which is actively growing at the sight of you dripping in jewels he got you. The necklace alone was over $18,000. There certainly wasn’t a motherfucker your age in here that could gift you that kind of luxury. ‘This is why you need a big, mature man like me, angel. The boys your age don’t know how to handle pussy like yours,’ he always tells you. And you love when he shows that confident side of himself, because it isn’t often.
Kissin' and hope they caught us, whether they like or not. I wanna show you off, I wanna show you off. I wanna brag about it, I wanna tie the knot
You’re moving your hips around in circles, holding his gaze while you dip down lower and lower until you’re eye level with his cock. Then you move the same, slow pace back up. During ‘I wanna tie the knot,’ you hold your left hand out to him, wiggling your ring finger for emphasis. He uses the chance to grab your wrist and pull you flush to him. He grabs your left hand and presses it to his lips while staring into your eyes.
“Are you having fun, honey?” You nod your head up and down eagerly. “You okay? You thirsty? Here, I got you some water. Humor me and drink some, yeah?” He hands you a cup of ice water. You accept, knowing he’s just looking out for you. And it’s not that you’re drunk. No, you’re just happily buzzed. But you humor him anyways because you love how he takes care of you. You drain the cup in three big gulps. He actually smirks a little, pleased with himself because he knows you so well.
Boy, you're the one, you're the only man. Me and you on my OnlyFans. Holy cow, you're the Holy Trin.’ Hold me down when a hole need dick
As most of us know, it’s not a night out with the Cody boys without some bullshit happening. Only in this case they don’t start it. Anddd enter the obnoxious wolf whistle that comes from behind you. You turn around anxiously at the unwanted attention. You’re not a fan of confrontation, and this isn’t going to go anywhere good. Pope steps down off the barstool and puffs up his chest.
“Damn baby, why don’t you leave your dad here and come home with me? Come hop on this dick, huh? How ‘bout it?” Your cheeks burn beet red and your face scrunches in disgust. Pope takes one look at how uncomfortable he’s made you and before you can tell him to leave it, he’s swinging at the guy. Craig and Deran both lunge forward and pull him back before he can do any damage. He’s breathing erratically and his eyes are burning holes through the guys’ skull.
“Come on man, you’re on fucking parole. Relax.” Craig is trying to talk sense into him while they struggle to hold him back. J has to run over to help. For as shaken up as you are, your pussy can’t help but flutter at the fact he’s able to give not two, but three grown men a hard time restraining him. You walk up to him and press a hand to his chest. His gaze flickers back and forth between you and the douche bag, finally settling on you.
“Come on Andy, fuck that guy.” You lean in closer so the others can’t hear you. “We both know whose dick I’m sucking on the ride home tonight.” You press a sweet kiss to his cheek. “Take me home and make love to me, handsome.” You can see in his eyes that you’ve got him. And whether it’s out of insecurity or pride or both, you don’t know - but as you’re walking out of the club this man grabs your ass cheek and kneads it to the point your dress slides up above the fat of it. So he’s literally walking out in front of everyone with your bare ass cheek hanging out in one of his hands. Meanwhile the fucker that was catcalling you is staring slack jawed, his friends jeering and busting his balls about how he was rejected by you for an older man.
The night ends with Pope fucking you doggy, shoving your face deep into the mattress. He’s gripping your hips in his strong hands and snapping his own against the plushy fat of your ass, grunting while he watches it jiggle. Your toes are curling and you’re crying into the sheets, clawing and pulling at them.
“F-fuck. Looked s’pretty tonight. You dancin’ for me?”
“Mhmm,” you muffle into the bed. He wraps a hand in your hair and picks your head up.
“Uh-uh, can’t hear you baby. Come on, tell me who you were dancin’ for,” he grumbles.
“Y-you! You, Andy. Was only dancing for you. Don’t want anyone but you,” you whine.
“Yeah? Jus’ me? Tell me again, angel. Say you want only this cock for the rest of your life.”
“Oh god yes!!! Yes Andy, want your cock inside of me forever. Nobody could ever fuck me like you, fuck!”
“That’s right baby, nobody is ever goin’ to take care of you like I do. Nobody.”
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