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vin-taege · 4 days ago

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you don't go to parties | 1

Summary: Erik meets you at a flower shop, of all places. After asking for some help with a tattoo design, he thanks you with more than just a tip.

Genre:��smut, fwb to lovers

Pairing: fwb!Erik Campbell x f!reader

Words: ~4.3k

CW: unprotected sex (stay safe irl!), mirror sex, semi-public sex?? (they fuck in the bathroom while Erik's boss is outside) (oops spoiler alert??), no proper aftercare (bear with me, he improves in time i swear)

Note: no angst yet! just a smutty first meeting with erik :) if you want to be added to the tag list, just shoot a comment.

Parts: prologue | 1

It started with a tattoo commission.

Erik had no idea where the fuck to start with flower language. His client, some fresh graduate, wanted a “positive bouquet that strongly adhered to floriography.” Whatever that meant. It wouldn’t have been much of a big deal, if it weren’t it being a rush client. The pay was bigger, big enough that he didn’t want to reject it. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t complain about it either. That’s how he found his way to your flower shop.

He didn’t care much for flowers, thought they were pretty, and respected them enough not to trample daisies growing on pavements. Rarely did he actually stop to pay close attention to them. But now, standing by your storefront, he felt like a kid again, tending to the garden with his mother.

Through the big glass windows, he found an assortment of vibrant blossoms arranged so carefully. Not a hint of wilt was found in any of them. “The Bloom Room” was painted on the glass in white flourishes. A bit cheesy, but aren’t all flower shop names? After readjusting his leather jacket, Erik pushed open the door, a tinkling bell announcing his arrival.

“Hi, welcome to The Bloom Room, where our flowers give you extra power,” your voice started cheery, yet ended like an automated response. It almost made Erik laugh, knowing the lifeless customer service voice all too well. He was still distracted by the flower displays when he walked over to you.

“Oh, hi!” you chirped.

When he sensed that he was being spoken to directly, he finally brought his eyes over to you. He was stunned on the spot. He expected you to look more… covered in bows and swallowed by puffy skirts. You were a flower shop employee after all.

Instead, ink covered your arms. Small tattoos, much like his, flowed through the expanse of your skin. A forest green apron wrapped around your waist, covering your black halter top. A half-filled vase was propped on the table in front of you. Next to it were half a dozen ungroomed roses. You were delicately holding one by the stem, a pair of pruning shears in your other hand.

Why had Erik never been here before? If he knew this flower shop was hiding someone like you, he would’ve brought flowers every day. He’d give them to his mom, maybe Julia, maybe even display them in the parlor, even if his boss would grill him for it. He knew he had to have you—and he didn’t even know your name yet.

It took a second try for you to snap him back to reality. He blinked once. Twice, like he was waking from a dream. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, what can I do for you?” you giggled. Erik slipped his cocky mask right back on. He didn’t want to make a fool out of himself.

“I’m not… sure if this will make sense,” he cleared his throat. “This is going to sound so stupid, but would you happen to know anything about floragraphics?”

You smiled at him. There was no hint of teasing to it, despite his blunder. It showed only unbridled excitement. He could practically see you buzzing. “Floriography? Yeah, you’re in luck! I know more than a thing or two.”

After trimming the rose stem you were holding, you set your tools down, bringing your full attention to him. You untied your apron, setting it down neatly on the table. Erik let his eyes give you a poorly veiled once-over. You pretended not to notice, ogling him as well. He was hot, in the teenage dirtbag way. His eyes had a look to them that made it seem like he was constantly judging everyone, but they were also gorgeous, like a gleaming ocean.

You led him to a high table, the kind where you can either sit or stand. You told him to wait for a bit before disappearing into the employee room. Seconds later, you reappeared, holding a thick coffee table book. The spine was creased from use, with some small bookmarks sticking out from the pages. He watched patiently as you skimmed the pages, catching glimpses of highlighted packages and sticky notes with what he presumed was your handwriting wedged into the folds.

“You sure I won’t be a bother?” He fidgeted with his ring. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

You snorted, waving to the empty shop. “It’s not a particularly busy day. And hey, I can’t pass up any excuse to talk about flowers. What do you need it for anyway?”

Erik explained his situation to you. You perked up when he mentioned that he was a tattoo artist. In such close proximity, you couldn’t help but indulge yourself in peering over his tattoos. Aside from his arms, you could see the tips of ink jutting out from underneath the collar of his shirt. You couldn’t help but think where else he had gotten them. Feeling flustered, you waved those thoughts away. There was a more important task at hand.

The tenseness in his shoulders evaporated when he realized that you weren’t going to talk down to him. Instead, you were helpful, pointing at flowers and giving basic explanations that he understood, but didn’t make him feel stupid. He felt relieved that you weren’t condescending, even going so far as to explain a brief history of flower language to him. Your eyes were sharp with focus, mind running a million miles with ideas.

Fleeting touches led to a slight build-up in tension that both of you were trying to brush off. Whenever you would turn a page, he’d smooth it down, resulting in your fingertips barely touching. When you were deep in explaining something, you’d turn your head only to find him staring intently at you. He was forward in his attraction, though subtle. Above everything else, he was genuinely listening to you.

“We could pair some jasmines and geraniums, then use baby’s breath as filler,” you motioned to a vase on the other side of the store. “That’s a way to communicate pure love without relying simply on roses. Did your client mention anything else?”

“No, but god, I wish she did. I swear, it’s always the vague ones who are the pickiest.” Erik groaned, taking a break from taking down notes on his phone to rub his eyes. You laughed, the sentiment hitting you all too well.

“I know. It’s always, ‘just make something pretty,’ and then they’ll freak when you don’t give them the exact arrangement they had apparently been visualizing,” you shook your head.

“Tell me about it. If I didn’t love my art so much, I would’ve walked a long time ago.”

Your eyes flickered to his arms again. “Any of those come from you?”

“Oh, these old things!” His eyes upturned in delight. He pointed to a small coffin on one arm, a simplified skull underneath it. “These were from a slow Tuesday. Free-handed them before the boss could come back from his bar break.”

He gestured towards a bigger piece, a more realistic skull with horns on it. “This one was inked by a friend, but the drawing’s all mine.”

“They look cool. But two skulls, really?” You arched a brow playfully.

“Okay, in my defense, I thought that I could do them better the second or third time around.” He laughed at your teasing. You made a mental note that he said third—wherever else could he be hiding the last skull? Before your mind could wander further, he wiggled his eyebrows. “And hey, I showed mine, so now you show yours.”

“What a gentleman,” you rolled your eyes. Still, you obliged, turning to your side to angle your arm better. You gestured to the lilies blossoming on your forearm. Their stems were tied together by a thin ribbon, their tapered ends falling on top of your wrist. You watched as he took in every line, every detail.

His gaze travelled from your wrist to your shoulder, up your neck, then finally, your eyes. “Pretty.”

There were so many questions sitting on his tongue. How you ended up in this line of work, if the shop was yours, what the lilies meant—but those would have to wait for another time. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly. Subconsciously, he leaned closer to you. Like a magnet, he pulled you in, close enough to feel his hot exhale.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me,” you whispered.

“And what if I was?” He held your gaze like a challenge.

As much as it pained you, you tore your eyes away from him. They flickered to the top corner near the back of the store. “Cameras. Not here, not now.”

“Ah, always so business-forward. Well, it’s a good thing I’m looking to purchase.” He surprised you. He never said anything about an actual purchase. Truthfully, you didn’t mind just talking to him about plants all day.

“Mr…?” you trailed on, cocking your head to the side. You haven’t even gotten his name yet.

“Campbell. Erik Campbell.” He grinned as you introduced yourself. He said your name twice, rolling it around his tongue. Savoring it.

“Mr. Campbell, if it would be more convenient,” you paused, waiting for him to catch on. “—I could also do deliveries.”

His eyes brightened. “That would work better for me, yeah. Life drawing has always helped me anyway.”

The shop felt hotter, stuffier, as Erik scrawled his shop’s address onto a sticky note. A flicker of recognition washed over you when you read the street’s name. You’ve been there before, passing by the neon-red front but never having gone in. Would you have met him earlier if you had gotten your helix done there instead?

“—And I’m gonna need your number.” You rang him up, smoothing over some details fairly quickly. Passing over a pen and paper, you looked at him expectantly. He raised an eyebrow at you, partnered with a lopsided grin. “For delivery purposes.”

“Yes, of course,” he started writing. He added under his breath, “For delivery purposes.”

“I’ll drop it off after 5 pm? That’s when my shift would end.”

“That’s perfect. I usually leave around nine anyway. How much is the rush fee?”

“It’s fine,” you waved him off. He furrowed his brows at you, opening his mouth to argue. You quickly cut him off. “Rush fees only apply when there are other orders beforehand. At this time, I don’t have any backlogs, so I don’t need to charge you.”

“Thanks for your help,” he whispered your name. Even if you’d be seeing him again, a part of you didn’t want him to leave yet. “I’ll see you by six?”

────୨ৎ────

Red light bathed you when you stepped into Erik’s shop. A small bouquet lay in the crook of your elbow. The flowers were properly bloomed, fitting next to each other like jigsaws, their stems joined with a red ribbon to match the geraniums.

There was an overall sharpness to the place. Silver metal chains hung from the fans, their tail ends leading towards a leather couch in the waiting room. As you sat down, jewelry winked at you from the glass display cases lining the registrar. In the midst of it all, your soft flower petals lay in a protective cocoon of kraft paper.

The buzz of a tattoo gun stopped. A voice came from the back of the shop. Its words were garbled, but it was loud enough for you to recognize it as Erik’s. Two pairs of footsteps came closer until Erik emerged from the dividing curtain, a man following behind him. Freshly wrapped koi fish swam on his calf.

His eyes immediately lit up when he saw you. You smiled at him, waiting as he finished up with the payment process. When the door closed behind the customer, Erik was quick to slide onto the couch. His knee touched yours, a bit too intentionally.

“Wow,” he whistled lowly, looking at the bouquet. It tugged at your heartstrings how carefully he took the flowers from you. He admired them for a couple of seconds before looking back at you. “How do I not make them die?”

You burst into a fit of laughter, with Erik chuckling alongside you. “I’m serious. I don’t want to kill them overnight. You’d think I was a murderer and then you’d never see me again.”

“I mean, with how you’ve decorated the place, it’s not the first time I’ve thought of that,” you joked when you managed to compose yourself.

“Hey!” Erik nudged you lightly with his knee. The two of you resettled into an eased silence. Then, he put a hand on your knee. It didn’t feel suggestive, more like light touching between two friends. “But really, I want to preserve your work as long as I can.”

You hummed thoughtfully, nodding at him. “Find a clean container. Don’t overfill it; about halfway is already good. Replace the water every day, and make sure none of the leaves are submerged. Oh, and don’t forget to trim the stems.”

“Trim them, how?” Erik’s blue eyes pierced you, like the rush of a needle breaking skin. He was still paying attention to what you were saying, but his focus was slowly derailing. He kept glancing at the lilies on your forearm, at the patchwork tattoos on the opposite arm.

“You have any scissors?” You tilted your head towards the back of the shop, hidden behind a sheer, black curtain. Erik grunted in confirmation, holding a hand out for you to take. He led you to his work station.

The scent of strong antiseptic wafted in the air, mixing with faint hints of leather and smoke. Erik wheeled a steel cart out of the way, sidestepping an adjustable chair for clients. He only let go of your hand to rustle through some drawers. He opened them one by one, muttering to himself as he searched. Wrapped needles, ink supplies, clamps. After digging around a drawer filled with stencil paper, he finally procured some scissors with a joyful “Aha!”

You grabbed the scissors and the bouquet from him, looking around the area. “Okay, now we need somewhere we could make a mess.”

“Bathroom?” he suggested. You squinted at him, a small grin creeping on your face. He laughed, holding his hands up as if he were surrendering. “Seriously, we can trim them in the sink.”

“Okay, Mr. Campbell, whatever you say,” you rolled your eyes, still smiling at him.

“Hey, I highly value art in any form—including the art of flower arrangement.”

“I’m so touched.”

You squeezed into the bathroom with him. Like his work station, it was spotless. You hadn’t pegged him for a neat freak, especially not after seeing his shaggy hair. Still, there were lots of other oxymorons in his existence, and you had an urge to discover each and every one.

Erik closed the toilet seat, perching on it as he leaned over the sink. The door hadn’t been fully shut, a small line of everything else outside visible through the crack. You deftly untied the bouquet, Erik helping you out by folding the paper you’ve discarded.

“Okay, so see these leaves towards the bottom? We’re gonna get rid of these. Then, for the stems, cut them at a 45° angle about an inch from the bottom. If you don’t trim these, your flowers won’t be able to eat.”

A charged silence washed over the room as Erik watched you trim the stems. Only the sounds of the scissors snipping away occasionally broke through it. When you were down to the last three flowers, Erik draped his hand over yours. You stilled, looking at him in your periphery.

He slid into place behind you, his back pushing the door fully shut. You leaned back, lightly pressing your ass against him. Through his jeans, you could feel him half-hard, his cock twitching in response to the friction. He took the scissors from your hands, letting you hold out the flowers for him.

“Like this?” He cut the stem, grinding into you. His free hand anchored his body to the sink, slipping just around your waist.

“Yeah,” your voice came out high-pitched. You cleared your throat, tilting your head so you could look at him through the mirror. “You should try getting a better grip, though.”

“How about now?” He moved his hand, splaying his fingers over the front seam of your jeans so he could press you impossibly closer to him. Your breathing grew heavier, head leaning back into his shoulder. The scissors clattered in the sink as Erik let go, mixing with cut-up stems and the rest of the flowers.

His hand wandered up to your halter top, cupping your breast through the built-in pads. You panted, “You could get rid of those, too.”

Erik growled into your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto the skin. He tugged the neck ties loose from your nape, pulling the fabric down to unveil your chest. His hands over the mounds for a moment, the slightest tinge of hesitance overtaking him for a moment. “Tell me to stop any time you want to.”

“Erik, for fuck’s sake,” you sighed, frustratedly undoing the button of your pants. At your eagerness, his hands flew to shirk the fabric off you. The denim fell to your ankles, followed by sticky cotton panties.

A hand cupped your heat, while another palmed at your breast. Erik’s clothed dick, now fully erect, slotted in between your cheeks. His fingers played with your nipple, twisting and pulling until the bud peaked. Slipping a finger in between your labia, he smeared your wetness, coating your clit with it.

You moaned softly, heading lolling forward. His breath was on your neck, heavy, imposing. He abandoned his hold on your breast in favor of your chin. Grabbing you by the jugular, he gently lifted your head to face the mirror again. “Can you be a doll and look?”

Your cheeks burned—having to see yourself fall apart like this. It’s like Erik has touched you before with the confidence he had. Your heavy breathing, the occasional slip of a whine, they all went straight to his head. Receptiveness fuelled him like fire licking up gasoline, two fingers rubbing figure eights on your clit.

After what felt like too long, Erik slipped his slick-coated digits in you. Gasping, you arched your back into him. His grip on your chin was unrelenting, holding your head in place as he scissored his fingers in you.

“Gotta get you nice and ready for me, yeah?” His voice dripped with sin. Choked up on the pleasure, you nodded, making him chuckle darkly at your incoherence. “I haven’t even properly fucked you yet.”

“So do it, Mr. Campbell. You haven’t given me my tip yet,” you managed through gritted teeth. You tried your best to grind back on him, struggling when he pinned you to the sink.

The start of a whine rumbled in your throat when Erik pulled his fingers away from you. Metal clicked behind you, followed by the soft rustle of fabric. Erik’s cock rubbed against your ass, the head smeared with pre-cum. Even when you can’t see it, you can imagine how red it must be from being barred behind those tight jeans. It was hard, thick by the feel of it, too.

“I’ve got your tip right here,” he grunted, guiding his cock into your entrance. An unexpected coldness made you shiver, thighs tensing.

“What the hell is that—?” you started to ask, getting cut off when Erik penetrated you without warning. You readjusted your grip on the sink, your knuckles turning white with your grip.

“Prince Albert. Hurt like a bitch when I got it, but it’s so fucking worth it if it makes you sound all pretty,” he grinned.

He fucked you slow and deep at first, letting you savor each inch he buried in you, topped off by the ball of his piercing grazing the spongy spot that made your mind melt. The hand that wasn’t gripping your chin held you by the waist. By tomorrow, bruises of his fingerprints would mark the flesh, joining the live bites he left on your shoulders and neck.

“Need m-more,” you whined. Erik had half the mind to tease you. But then he saw your glassy eyes, your lips parted, fogging up a small patch in the mirror. Then he thought of how sweet you were, how giddy you had been to talk about your flowers. How easy it was for him to reduce you to this mess of sensitivity, gushing around his cock, making it easier for him to fuck you within an inch of your life.

His pace picked up. Skin slapping on skin filled the tight space. Your moans grew louder, amplified within the four tiled corners of the bathroom. A coil was tightening in your lower belly, getting wound up each time Erik hit that fucking spot.

“E-erik…” you gasped, struggling to form words. Your brain was filled with static, short-circuiting the more Erik thrusted.

“Taking me so well, doll. Do you need anything, hm? You getting close?” he teased, voice laced with fake concern. “Poor doll. You can barely get a hold of yourself.”

Out of nowhere, Erik froze. The suddenness of it all jolted you, his loosened grip letting you partially turn to get a glimpse of him. You opened your lips, about to protest, when he clamped a hand over your mouth. He shushed you, his head turned to the door.

In the terse moment of stillness, you finally figured out what made him stop.

“Erik? Where the hell are you?”

It was a man’s voice. Faint. Heavy boots plodded nearer to the back of the shop. “Erik?! You better not be drinking my alcohol again, you fuck.”

“Shit, it’s my fucking boss,” he whispered to you. Whatever curse you threw at him was muffled by his palm. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Just—can you ignore him for a second?”

Slowly, Erik rutted into you again. He kept one hand on your mouth, another wrapping around you to rub your clit. He had to change tactics, going for a quieter pace. Reangling his hips, he thrusted into you in quick bursts, abusing your spot.

The presence of his boss looking for him outside was overshadowed by how deliciously he fucked you. Your heart pounded in your ears, wanting nothing more but to cum, but also praying you wouldn’t be too loud when you did.

“Come on, doll. Wouldn’t wanna get us caught fucking like animals in a bathroom, right? Cum for me, that’s a good girl.” Erik urged. You sobbed, head falling into the mirror with a quick thud. His words undid the little restraint you had left.

You came hard around him, walls clenching and spasming, coaxing his own orgasm out. A broken moan fell into the cusp of his palm. He sank his teeth into the base of your neck, groans drowned by your flesh. He eased you off your highs with a few sloppy thrusts, before stilling inside you.

Both of you panted hard. The bathroom grew unbearably hot now, sweat making stray hairs stick to your face. You whined at the emptiness when Erik pulled out. His cum, mixing with your own, had started to drip down your thighs.

“Sorry.” He looked at you apologetically. He reached over for the toilet paper and handed it to you. Shakily, you smiled at him, starting to clean yourself up. He nodded to the door. “I’m gonna sort things out. I’ll come get you when we’re in the clear, okay?”

“Go ahead. I wouldn’t want you to get fired.” Your voice was hoarse, though a lightness in your words was still apparent.

Erik gave your wrist one last squeeze before he slid outside the bathroom, the door behind him clicking shut.

When you finished making yourself decent again, you decided to tidy up the place. After trimming the remaining flowers, you threw the cut-off stems in the little waste basket. The cold water you had splashed onto your face helped cool you down. By the time Erik had knocked on the door, it was as if nothing unholy ever happened. The marks from your tryst begged to differ.

“Hey,” he said sheepishly, poking his head in. When he fully entered, he was holding a clear pitcher. You side-stepped, letting him fill it up just the way you told him to. “I got him to fuck off by saying that I’d close up.”

“My hero,” you fluttered your eyelashes exaggeratedly, making him laugh. You placed the flowers gently in the makeshift vase, following him back to the front of the shop. His hair was still messy—in the unintended mess way. The tip of his belt wasn’t even slipped into the buckle. Hopefully, his boss didn’t notice.

“Thanks for…” Erik gestured to the space between you. “Everything. All of it.”

You chuckled lightly, hand pressing against the glass door. He handed you your purse, moving to rub his neck after. You winked at him, “I am to please.”

The door was halfway open when he caught up to you. “This won’t be a one-time thing, right?”

“Do you want it to be?” you raised an eyebrow.

For a moment, you could almost see the gears in his head spinning. Finally, he shook his head.

“I mean… I would love to show you the final design. In case there’s any inconsistencies.” He cleared his throat. “I take pride in my work.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, a wolfish grin on your face. “I’ll see you soon then, Mr. Campbell.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

tag list: @fallout-girl219 @borissidechick

#erik campbell #erik campbell x reader #final destination #final destination 6 #final destination: bloodlines #fd: bloodlines #erik campbell smut #erik campbell imagine #richard harmon

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vin-taege · 4 days ago

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SEATED ALL DAY AND NIGHT

Toxic till we die

18+ sneak peak part 2

Story:

You though falling for your best friend would be a slow,quiet ache.Instead,it hit like a car crash-messy,loud, and impossible to walk away from.

Part 1

Have you ever felt like you were never the first choice?

Always the second. Always the one standing still, quietly waiting for someone--anyone--to finally pick you. To finally see you. But they never do.

So, you take what you’re given. A pat on the back. A half-assed hug. A kiss on the cheek. A hand on your hip that lingers a little too long, a little too firm, and not at all enough.

That’s exactly how Erik made you feel.

You’d been best friends since the old emo days in high school,sneaking around, smoking on the school rooftop, partying until you had to lie to your parents that you were “studying” in the library for that super important test.

For a while, it was just you and him against the world.

Then came the summer before senior year. You got sentenced to an all-girls camp to “supervise” your little sister as a counselor. Erik? He landed a gig at a tattoo studio downtown, being hot and rebellious and entirely too unreachable.

You used to spend your nights desperately hoping for a sign,any sign,only to hear his voice complaining about work and laughing about dumb clients, while you melted on the other end of the phone.

When you got back, he was waiting for you on your front porch. You launched yourself at him like a koala, wrapping around him, drowning in that cologne-smoke combo you missed way more than you should’ve.

And that... that was the year everything got royally, epically, heartbreakingly fucked.

You fell for your best friend.

And you knew it was going to hurt like a bitch.

After that too-short hug, he dropped the bomb. He had a girlfriend now. Some girl from the tattoo shop. Two years older. Wore leather. Probably had great eyeliner.

You forced out a “CONGRATS YOU FUCK” loud enough to mask the sound of your heart cracking like cheap china.

Days passed in a haze. You felt like you missed your one chance to tell him. But what would it have changed? He didn’t see you like that.

Sure, he said you were hot…but hot isn’t pretty. Hot is a shot. Pretty is the whole goddamn sunset.

And you? You were just a sad teenage girl bleeding emotions and listening to Lana Del Rey on repeat while crying on your period.

Every once in a while, you’d catch a glimpse of the old Erik,usually between breakups,when he felt like yours again. Just two idiots lying on the hood of his busted Jeep, watching stars and pretending life didn’t suck.

“I think I want to have my first kiss,” you said out of nowhere, making him choke on air.

“Oh my god, are we really doing this again?” he propped himself up on one arm, giving you that look.

“Last time you said that, you called me at 2AM to pick you up from that frat party because ‘the guy gave you serial killer vibes.’”

You giggled. “HE DID HAVE RED FLAGS, OKAY.”

“YEAH, IN HIS ROOM. Peach, he was a Chiefs fan.”

You both burst into laughter.

“I’m serious!” you said, wiping a tear. “It feels like everyone’s making out and exploring things and I’m just over here getting FOMO for sex.”

“That’s just FOMS,” he smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You froze. Your breath caught in your throat. His fingers lingered. His eyes sparkled like trouble.

“You’re pretty,” you whispered, too drunk on the moment to take it back.

He gave you a soft smirk. “Nah. Nothing compared to you.”

He leaned down to kiss your cheek, his lips hovering dangerously close.

“That’s the first time you’ve called me pretty, you know,” you murmured, sadness curling around your words like smoke.

He brushed your jaw with tattooed fingers. “Come on. I must’ve said it before.”

You popped your lips, dragging his gaze down. “Are you seriously gaslighting me right now?”

He chuckled and pulled you into his chest. “You are pretty, Peach.” He kissed the top of your head.

You tilted your face up. Too close. Too intimate. Your heart was doing cartwheels.

“How pretty?” you teased, smirking.

“Very.”

A kiss on the forehead.

“Fucking.”

A kiss on the bridge of your nose. You giggled.

“Pretty.”

And then, his lips barely brushed yours. Just a breath. Just enough to set your soul on fire.

“Show me then,” you dared.

And Erik kissed you. Really kissed you.

Hot. Soft. Desperate. His lips moved like he’d been waiting too long, and his hands found your waist, he dragged you onto his lap like it was his job.

You started to grind on him instinctively, your hips moving with a mind of their own. His hands roamed up and down your thighs, pulling whimpers from your throat.

He took the opportunity to slip in his tongue, and holy shit, who gave this man the right to kiss like that?

You pushed the thought of him kissing anyone else out of your mind. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, chest to chest.

You grinded once more and-oh-there it was.

Hard. Insistent. Real.

He whimpered, and it was the sexiest fucking sound you’d ever heard. You could die now. Happy. Satisfied. Wrecked.

You broke the kiss, panting, your forehead resting on his.

“How was I? For a beginner?” you gasped.

His grip on you tightened. “Brilliant,” he said with a sigh. “Good girl.”

Your body short-circuited. Praise kink? Activated.

Your face went red-hot. You buried your head in his chest.

“Don’t say that,” you whined, embarrassed.

“Oh? I see now,” he smirked, lips traveling down your neck.