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feelslksugar · 1 year ago

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𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 . . . this is an +18 work, any ageless blogs/minors will be blocked.

cw: +18, dddne, age gap (reader is 21-22 & james is 44), infidelity, breeding kink if you squint, unprotected sex, finger fucking (in the woods) slight dirty talk, slight daddy kink, kinda emotional??? kinda angry sex. yelling/fight. jealousy, tension. frankie being a weirdo. smoking, substance use, drinking. dubcon for a kiss. dramatic 😭. open ending (feeling evil). i probably missed a few tags, sorry! this is lengthy… enjoy :)

— married, trailer park trash james kelly who’s too old for you

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟐𝐧𝐝, 𝟐��𝟏𝟑

a frustrated sigh leaves your mother’s lips as she pulls the car up to the trailer, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. “okay…,” she begins, nearly breathless, parking the car as her back hits the seat in fatigue. “the rest of the shit will be here tomorrow, we’ll jus’… take care of these damn boxes now.” with a small nod, you stare at the trailer before you. this is your new home, your new life, and ultimately your future. “it’s kinda cute.” turning to look at your mom, you both giggle

“we could definitely make it our own,” she agrees, unbuckling her seatbelt to step out of the car. you follow, stretching your legs and readjusting your shorts as you look around. “let’s just hope these goddamn hillbillies don’t fuck ‘round with us, hm? i don’t need my favorite daughter hangin’ with some criminal—some crackhead.” your eyebrows raise, shaking your head in disbelief. “mama, ‘m your only daughter—and why would i ever? crackheads aren’t my type anyway… but i wouldn’t mind a pothead.” your mom snickers, opening up the trunk to grab a box. before you could move to help your exhausted mom, your gaze caught on a man standing outside his trailer across the ways, cigarette loosely hanging from between his lips—the lighter flickering aflame to light up the cancer stick.

flicking his wrist and shoving the lighter back into his pocket, the man’s head lifts to exhale some smoke, his eyes momentarily landing on little ol’ you. flinching, your gaze quickly shifts to the floor, suddenly fixated on each piece of gravel as your mother calls for you. grabbing a box, you walk to the trailer—to your trailer—to your home, rattling the screen door knob to get away from the sticky heat.

home sweet home!

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟑𝐫𝐝, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

“fuck,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut as you momentarily hop on one foot—attempting to ease the pain. “wearin’ flip flops out here isn’t a good idea, darlin’!” looking up, your eyes meet a beautiful blonde, petite frame hunched as she sat on the porch to her home. “‘m learning that…” you weakly reply, taking her advice as an invitation to get closer—to become familiar with your new neighbors. “so many rocks… it’s like a beach… but depressing? and not a beach—duh! because it isn’t sand.” awkwardly laughing, you give the woman a shy smile, taking in the way she pulls the cigarette from her lips to put it out.

“where abouts you from?” she asks, readjusting her way too big of a shirt for her—a man’s shirt. “‘m from north carolina, ma’am.” it sounds so weird rolling off your tongue, way too people pleasing and foreign. “and how are you likin’ the mountain state so far?”

you hum in thought, turning to look at your home, eyebrows slightly upturned. “it’s not bad,” your head turning to face her once more, a small smile adorning her face. sympathetic and friendly… okay. “much preferred an actual house… but… y’know.” the woman nods, dryly laughing, before perking up a bit. “oh!” she starts, waving her hands around as she spoke. “how rude of me to not introduce myself! i’m emily. livin’ in this ol’ beauty with my husband and his brother.” you nod back, mirroring her behavior as you gently chew on your bottom lip, remembering the man that was taking his own smoke break the day before.

he was beautiful, you thought to yourself. that was the first thing you could recall—before you shake away the feeling in embarrassment. a part of you hoped that was her husband’s brother.

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟓𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

turning the page of your book, you inhale from the cigarette hanging from your lips. the scratchy and burning feeling of the smoke fill your lungs with delight, your fingers reaching up to pull the ciggy away from your mouth. eyes following over the words of your current read, you put out the butt of your bad habit in your heart-shaped ash tray—clearing your throat quietly. the crunch of the gravel pulls you out of your escapism, your head tilting up to the tall figure in front of you.

you pull your bottom lip in between your teeth, looking up at the man through your lashes. the same man from a few days ago. the same man who stole your attention and who you may or may not have thought about in passing while in bed. “hi…?” you whisper, before repeating yourself a bit louder. crossing your legs, you fidget with the pages of your book as you took in his features. dark hair, stubble, beautiful blue eyes… lord, may He give you strength. “noticed you and your mom, i assume, moved in a few days ago,” the man began, extending his arm and flexing his hand.

carelessly eyeing his tattoos, your hand slowly reaches for his—large and stained with oil. you quickly tell him your name before he could finish his introduction, a shy smile adorning your plump lips. a rosy red flushes your cheeks, your hand lingering in his as the corner of the man’s lip twitches. “pretty name, doll. i’m james kelly.” james kelly… james… james. you tilt your head to the side, an all teeth grin forming as you put your long forgotten book to the side. “james,” it rolls of your tongue so prettily, smooth like honey. “it’s nice to meet you. ‘m glad to know i have such kind neighbors.”

james raises his eyebrows, smiling down at you. “oh yeah?” that alone made you want to melt into the porch stairs, your heart fluttering. “who’ve you met, doll? you should be careful.”

“well, i’ve met a real kind lady. her name is emily, i think she lives with you ‘n her husband…” you say, a lil’ ditzy as you look up at him with sweet, innocent doe-like eyes. “and what d’ya mean by that? careful of who?” james laughs, all deep and heavy as he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “so you met my wife.”

god fucking damnit. you force out a small giggle, looking to the side as you messed with your hair, nails delicately scratching along your scalp to play off your disappointment.

“well, listen… just be careful. there’s some people that live here that aren’t good to be around. some drug dealers and convicts—for serious shit.” nodding slowly, you latch on to every word james says, eyes meeting his once more. “if you want anythin’,” he pauses, almost as if he was contemplating what to say next.

“if you’re twenty-one… and you want anythin’, come to me. i don’t lace my shit, so you’ll only have good and safe bud.”

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟖𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

“honey,” your mom calls out, pulling your attention away from the window in your small room. there’s a very big chance you’ve been watching james work on a car outside. getting up, with plenty of reluctance, you drag your feet until you’re in the kitchen. “i’m going out tonight. probably won’t be back until, like, 2am?”

“where are you goin’?” you ask with a bewildered expression, observing how your mother reapplies a dark red lipstick. “out—well… yeah. i got a date,” she admits cheekily, swaying her hips in a playful manner as you scrunch your nose up. “can’t believe you’ve found someone here already.” she raises an eyebrow, smacking her lips as she grabs her purse. “you haven’t? no one?” you shake your head, shrugging—stiffly, your stomach twisting. “nope.” because even if you’re an adult, or if your mom didn’t pry in your private life, surely she wouldn’t approve of an already married man. “no—definitely not. i haven’t even really gone out, anyway… so…” giving you a short, unsatisfied ‘uh huh,’ your mom left you alone for the night, the trailer all to yourself.

thirty minutes is how long it took until you caved, wanting to see james again. to talk to him. a content sigh leaves your lips as you slide on your shoes, opening the screen door and lettin’ it slam behind you, walking across the small road to the sight for sore eyes you oh-so-wanted to drown yourself in. “hey, mr. kelly.”

james looks up from where he was crouching, squinting slightly as he took your presence in. you gracefully adorn your favorite slip dress—lacy and silky white, almost alike to an angel. “just james, doll. callin’ me ‘mr. kelly’ makes me feel old.” he says with an awkward laugh, standing up and setting down his wrench. you look up at him with a sweet smile, shifting slightly on your feet. “you’re not old at all,” you pause, tilting your head a bit, “james.” now he genuinely laughs, his gaze following your little movements.

“that’s flattering, sweetheart, but i’m sure i’m old enough to be your dad. what? you’re eighteen?” a scoff is forced out of you, your eyebrows furrowing. “no, i am not eighteen. i’m twenty-one… i’ll be twenty-two in december.” james hums, wiping the oil off his hands with a dirtied rag, fishing into his pocket to grab his pack of reds. “guess you’re a big girl,” he mumbles, letting the cigarette hang from his lips as he lights it. “so, why are you wasting your time on me, ms. twenty-one year old?”

your stomach twists into little bows as you watch him take a drag, blowing the smoke from such kissable lips. lips you want all over you. “well—” you clear your throat, hands moving to clasp behind your back. “i would like to buy off you.” james pulls the cigarette from his mouth, looking at you with curious eyes. “yeah?” you nod, your eyelashes fluttering as a smirk forms on his face. fuck, you were jus’ about done for.

“frankie!” james suddenly calls, observing how you flinch, your gaze moves to the door opening. james’ brother, maybe? doesn’t seem likely, they look nothing alike. or if they were… maybe james jus’ got blessed with all the good genes. frankie eyes you up and down, licking his lips as he extends a hand. “who’s this lil’ eye candy, jimmy?” you kept your hands behind your back, giving him an unimpressed look.

“hey frankie, shut the fuck up. give the girl a pre-roll.” james shakes his head slightly, mouthing an ‘i’m sorry’ as frankie rolls his eyes, handing you a pre-rolled joint—the paper cute ‘n pink. “this is adorable… y’all pre-roll these? in pink paper?” frankie grumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he gave you an explanation. “nah, emily rolls them for us. she’s good at just ‘bout anything. surprised james bagged such a great woman.” okay. you definitely regret asking.

quickly changing the subject, james nods at the joint in your hand. “it’s free, don’t worry about paying me.” before you could even get a word out, your lips parted to tell him you were definitely going to pay him, he gives you a small ‘have fun.’

you spent the rest of the night in a cross-faded daze—fantasizing about james and playing with your glistening cunt.

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

“do we have to go?” it’s so whiny, a clear indicator that you did not favor the idea of going to the trailer park cookout. your mom says your name in a stern tone, a warning to not fuck with her right now. not while she’s cooking. “if you wanna come back early, go ahead. but, and i mean it, sugar, you will be makin’ an appearance.” you shut your pretty mouth up, nodding in defeat as you walk to your room. james will be there, and as much as you didn’t want to put in the effort to go out, you decided to get dolled up. just for him.

an hour and a half later, you’ve surely done it. hair done up and curled, light makeup but a sultry red lip, and the perfect outfit to match just how good you currently look. a white milkmaid top, pinned to define your curves, paired with way-too-short jean shorts.

it goes unnoticed by james. you’ve been there for twenty minutes now, getting looks and attention from most but him. of course he’s all up in his wife’s space. of course—because they’re married. of course his eyes are only on her, laughing and kissing her forehead. you want to give up, rightfully so. until frankie calls your name, and you don’t know if you want to thank the weirdo or beg god to end your suffering. james’ eyes are on you now, and you swear your legs could give out. he looks like he’s drinking the sight of you, takin’ in every single inch while he slowly brings the can of beer to his lips to take a sip. starved. that’s how he looks.

you nearly trip as you walk over to them, your gaze set on james and james only. he reciprocates it, his attention now drawn away from emily as you greet them all with a timid smile. emily decides to greet you with a hug, kind as she was the first day you met her. you want to cry—you were a bad person. and what makes it worse is that you don’t shy away, hugging her back as she gently rocks you both side-by-side. “so good to see ya, girly. how’re you likin’ it here now?” you glance at james before nodding your head. “yeah, it’s been good.” your grin turns genuine, pulling away to look at her better. “it’s been real good.”

“yeah, yeah,” frankie says, “give me one too.” and you cringe, taking a few steps back. james’ hand moves to rest on your lower back, putting a stop to your backwards walking. “want a beer?” he asks you, a small smile on his face. you shake your head, leaning back a bit into his hand. “no, ‘m good. i need to take the car into the shop tomorrow.” emily smiles, talking with her hands again. “that damn shop is a gift from heaven! gosh, you know who you should ask for? jamie!” your eyes widen slightly, looking up at him through your lashes. and then it makes sense, because you have seen him work on cars outside his home. “oh, that’s perfect! then i guess i’ll be sure to ask for ‘jamie.’”

you hear james suck in a breath. his hand pulls away, leaving you surprisingly cold on a southern summer night.

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

you pull up to the auto shop, parking the car. yet you don’t move, your hands still on the steering wheel as you stare forward. “fuck me,” you breathe out in defeat, grabbing your purse and gettin’ out of the car to get this over with. your shoes click against the pavement as you walk to the door, swinging it open as a soft bell goes off in the shop. it was empty, an awkward tension in your shoulders as you wait in the front.

“james! front desk!” you hear from the garage, shifting on your feet in anticipation. you fix your hair briefly, body moving on its own to lean against the desk, back slightly arching to poke your bottom out. humiliating, you mentally criticize yourself.

james walks to the front with his lil’ work suit on, stained in oil and sweat as he catches sight of you. you’re looking down at the front desk, reading the random advertisements as james appreciates the sight of you in silence. it’s as if he’s admiring a delicate deer, too afraid to make a move to disrupt your comfort. so naturally beautiful. a moment passes… and another follows. until he realizes what he’s doing and shakes his head, rolling his shoulders as he walks up to you. “hey, doll.”

you look up at him with a sugary smile—nearly sickening—moving to stand up straight. “hi there, jamie. was told to ask for you.” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. moving closer, james looks down at you as his hand rests flatly on the front desk. “yeah? don’t worry sweetheart, jamie’s got you.” heart fluttering, you jus’ want to crumble to the floor, then and there—to be on your knees for him. fuck—you can do this. you bite down on your bottom lip, batting your eyelashes as you lean in closer. “you’re gonna take care of me?” james doesn’t know how to react, different parts of him tangled into a mesh of concerns and impulses, in multiple conflicting emotions. he forces himself to take a step back, raising his eyebrows as a perplexed smile graces his face.

“i got you, doll. let me take a look at your car, and we’ll go from there.” he said one hour ago. you sit, bored and lonely, on the couch in the front of the shop. you sigh, sneaking a glance at james working on your car, eyebrows pulled together and mouth set into a straight line. but you aren’t sneaky, james taking notice and giving you a small smile, before setting down his rag and walking back to the small, humid space.

“comin’ with bad news,” he says, resting his hands on his hips as he looks down at you. “your car probably won’t be ready for a few days… listen, i could give you a ride back home? maybe we could get somethin’ quick to eat?”

of course you say yes. a little too quickly for james’ comfort.

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟖𝐭𝐡

“jamie…” the sweet, needy sound tears a groan from his throat, eyes fluttering shut. his mouth hangs open as heavy, disheveled breaths leave his lips. “fuck, that’s it—“ james moves to grip onto soft hair, tugging slightly, thighs spread wide as the woman resting on her knees forced him undone. “doin’ so good for me, angel… yeah,” unable to control his movements, his head tilts back in pure bliss. she leans forward, kissing his tip as her hand moves with a mind-bending intensity.

“‘m doing good, daddy? wanna be good jus’ for you,” she whispers, her tongue teasing a wet line down james’ cock. he nods, letting out a breathy, borderline frustrated, laugh. “mhm—shit, you’re s’fucking dirty. it’s like you were made to be on your knees f’me.” she whimpers, her other hand attempting to ease her throbbing clit. “oh,” she whines, her face flushed and voice wanton. “need you… need your cock, jamie.”

james opens his eyes, practically forcing himself to look down at you, how utterly pathetic you appeared to be. the corners of his lips twitch, his head moving down to meet yours in a hot, messy kiss. he groans your name, his eyelids heavy as he watches you. “need me?” you nod at his question with a desperation that would otherwise be humiliating. “james,” you nearly sob.

“james… james—“

“jimmy!” his vision blurs as he wakes up, tired eyes met with his brother hovering over the couch. “what? having a good dream?” his brother asks, giving him an incredulous look. grumbling, james rubs his forehead—sweaty.

james takes a moment to come to, frankie already going on a rant about how much he needs to sell for sugar and ray. the first thing james wanted to do was kick frankie out and fix his current problem, hard and straining in his sweatpants. the second thing james wanted to do was run to the bathroom and vomit—the image of you on your knees, pretty and pure yet so fuckin’ smutty burning in his mind. your lips parted, your eyes wide and pleading, the way you moaned his name. it was wrong. it was sick—he was a sick man. it was unfaithful. yet he craved it.

james craves you.

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟐𝟑𝐫𝐝, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

“get off of me,” you slur, tripping as you push frankie aside. he curses, raising his hand in defeat when james opens the door, his face contorting in concern as he runs down the steps. “what the fuck is up with her, frankie?” he’s quick on his feet, moving to you to check for… anything. “is she drunk? high? did she take anythin’?” frankie could only shrug, eyebrows raising as he turns to see emily. she’s urgent as well, calling out, “is she okay?”

you flutter your eyes shut, your hand meeting your forehead in an attempt to ease the discomfort. the pain—that is only getting worse with their blabbering. “y’all…” you start, trailing off as you sway. james reaches to hold onto your arm—to steady you. that’s it, that’s all. the burn of your skin touching is nothin’. opening your eyes, you look between the three of them, your lips parting to tell them off. “please, and i mean no disrespect, shut the fuck up. my head is killing me… i jus’—i just wanna sleep.”

“i got her,” james is quick to wave off his brother and wife, his beautiful and caring wife, as if they were nothing. as if, in this very moment, you are the most important thing to him. you lean against him in your intoxicated haze, allowing him to guide you up and into your trailer. “is your mom home?” he asks, barely above a whisper, his breath tickling your ear and traveling down your body. you shake your head, a small ‘nuh uh’ leaving your kissable lips, the lips james dreamt about days ago.

he moves you to your room, rests you on the bed, and looks down at you with a face of apprehension. “doll,” he starts, his eyes focused on yours. “what happened?” a frown adorns your face—that goddamn angelic face of yours—and james takes a seat next to you, the mattress sinking under his weight. “you haven’t been ‘round… i mean—i mean you have been around. you jus’ haven’t been the most talkative… you’ve been ignoring my existence for days and i…” you trail off for a passing moment, your eyes sad and skin flushed. “i thought we became friends? after the shop… y’know, we opened up a lot. and i thought we became…”

james feels guilty. i mean, of course he does. how could he not when you look so pathetic? like you need to be taken care of. it makes james’ stomach sink. he can’t speak and it’s quiet—just the sound of some kids outside, playing in the distance. you look at him, eyes doe-like and pleading. pleading? for an answer, james wants to assume. he observes you, every single twitch and gesture. he watches the way you move closer to him, the way your hand meets his knee and rests there. “i’m sorry, doll. just because i was not really… present? i guess? doesn’t mean you had to go and ask someone else for shit. i know damn well you’re not just drunk. can smell the weed on you.”

“but why weren’t you ‘present?’ jamie, i miss you.” he doesn’t understand what horrific things he’s done in his past life to be in this position right now. his heart feels as if it’s failing, and your touch burns through his pants. you were so close. so fuckin’ close.

“i can’t stop thinkin’ about you.” it physically hurts james to say, his statement breathless.

but it sounds like church bells to you, like every prayer has been answered. and it shocks you, thoroughly—sobers you right on up. but you’re still a bit buzzed to gain the confidence that washes over you, that prickles your skin. you lean in, kissing him on the cheek, allowing it to linger. maybe not as confident. until james’ hands move up to cup your cheeks, his thumbs gently trace circles into your smooth skin, his face moving closer. your breaths mingle, his lips barely ghosting against yours, before closing the distance completely in a frustrated kiss.

you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as you let james take what he needs—to have control. it’s so much, too good, as his lips move against yours in a desperate need. you need him to take you there, to do anything and everything the man kissin’ you wants. it was open mouthed and messy—exasperated and yet so sweet, laced with care.

it was right.

until it wasn’t there anymore. until james stood up, animosity written all over his face, and walking away. he hates himself for this, guilt punching him in the face. his footsteps echo and the screen door slams shut, equivalent to the sound of your heart shattering.

𝐣𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟒𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

setting the curling iron down, you look in the mirror with a content grin on your face. a white, short summer dress flatters your body beautifully, adorned with jewelry and light makeup. you sure were a sight for sore eyes, and you’ll be damned if james doesn’t look your way. you walk to your room, sitting on the edge of your bed to slip your shoes on—deep into a thought. your mom left you to yourself tonight, rather spend the fourth of july with her new boyfriend… which gave you options. come back alone, come back with some random. come back with james. you scoff, shaking your head—“as if…”

but he kissed you.

sure, maybe that was over a week ago and maybe you haven’t spoken to james since. even so, whenever you look out your window, you see james and emily arguing—hear her frustratedly walkin’ off in an attempt to get the last word in, see james throw up his arms ‘n yell. it made you feel guilty, yet a twisted and horrible part of you was pleased. did she know? did he tell her? with a sigh, you force yourself up, unmindful of what’s to come—if anything will happen. you just want to see him again.

when you walk down the path to get to the open field, bonfire alight and stars twinklin’ in the sky, you’re met with an abundance of folk. dozens more compared to the cookout—and you wouldn’t be lying if you felt like turning around and being in the comfort of your bed for the rest of the night.

“hey, princess.” you turn quickly, your eyes meeting frankie. “ugh… what d’ya want?” asking without interest, you look around to see if james is anywhere near. “okay,” frankie starts slowly, crossing his arms. “at least pretend to be happy to see me? the fuck.” now you were crossing your arms, an annoyed look gracing your face.

“the fireworks are goin’ off in like twenty minutes.” emily interjects, like a blessin’, giving your shoulder a small squeeze. she gives you a quick smile, her face contorting into a indifferent expression. “guess it’s jus’ us tonight, girly.” and you want to scream because, “what do you mean?” emily sighs, fingers fidgeting with her stained shirt. “james told me he doesn’t feel well. gonna stay in for tonight. guess independence day doesn’t bring him much joy!” it’s supposed to be a joke. a poor one at that, but you laugh anyway. you pity her.

you hang around for ten minutes before you realize that you need to see him, to talk to him. that somethin’ deep down is telling you to fucking turn around and leave. you slip away quietly, frankie too busy getting high and emily drinking her emotions away. a part of you wants to join them, to forget about anything and everything on your mind. but your feet drag you back home, heart pounding to escape the confines of your body.

“james?” he’s sat on your porch, his head raising to look at you. he’s doing it again. devouring you—taking you apart—with his eyes, from your exposed legs to the top of your head. “what’re you—what are you doin’ here?” eyebrows knitting together, james stands up. “we need to talk, i think. i need to talk to you about…” he wasn’t going to finish it. the sentence. the obvious. the moment. you wordlessly walk past him, up the stairs, and opening the door—looking at him expectantly. it takes everything in you to not break down, to hold back every apology and fantasy that was embodied in james kelly.

and instead of stopping, you walk straight to your room. james follows slowly, shoulders tense and stomach twisting as he eyes you. you take off your jewelry, giving him a look that practically screams ‘go on, talk.’ the defeated man sighs, taking a step to reach your bed and sits down. “listen, doll—” and a sigh cuts through the thick air in your room, his tatted hand rubbing his face in frustration. “i’m sorry for kissing you. i’m sorry. shouldn’t have done that—i mean, i don’t know what i was thinkin’. you weren’t even sober.”

“i wanted you to.” and james readjusts on the bed, feet cemented to the floor under the burden of guilt—a weight keeping him down. “doll—you weren’t sober.” you turn to face him with a frown, your arms crossing over your chest. “you’re not hearing me, james. i wanted you to kiss me. i’m saying this now and ‘m completely sober. i wanted it and i want it again.” you walk up to him slowly, and james forces himself to stand, looking down at you with furrowed brows. “you don’t want this.”

“you can’t control what i want,” you retort.

“i’m not good for you, doll. i’m a criminal—“ you cut him off with an, “and?” he huffs, takes a step closer. “i’m too old for you.”

“you aren’t. ‘m an adult, jamie. i can make my own decisions for my own good.” but that wasn’t enough. james just had to keep talking.

“i’m married.”

“do you want me?” it’s blunt, simple, and so easy to answer. james lips part, his eyes intense and deep as he gazes into yours. your beautiful, glossy eyes. pleading, he observes. he takes note that you’re always speaking with your eyes, how you always ask him things without words. desperation seeps from the vessel of your soul—somehow too raw for the both of you.

“doll—” you cut james off, ask him again, tone quieter and more vulnerable.

“you shouldn’t ask me this.”

“do you think about me? think about touchin’ me? fucking me?” your throat starts to close up, your breathing labored and heart halting. “because i do… think about you all the time, jamie. you don’t understand.” it comes out whiny.

it breaks him.

james nods, because he does understand, and leans in to kiss you with an unrestrained ferocity. his hands, large and rough, find your hips, pulling you closer to him. your own hands fist at his shirt, inching him back towards the bed until he falls to a sitting position and you’re straddling him.

“please… please, jamie.” you implore against his lips, kiss open-mouthed and wet, heavy pants filling the trailer. “need you s’bad.” james’ hands grip at your dress, pushing it further up, his hands resting on the fat of your thighs. his mouth is quick to occupy itself on your neck, making a mess out of you already. you moan, high-pitched and needy, when james’ lips ghost your jaw. “is this your first time?” you shake your head, tugging your bottom lip in between your teeth. “don’t have a condom, sweetheart.”

“good… i’m on the pill.” his hands flex against your thighs, a groan slipping past his lips. you’re perfect. his perfect girl. it scares him—it really does, but he couldn’t care less in this moment. you were soaked for him, cunt begging for anythin’. you fumble with his belt, his eyes on you as you undo his pants with urgency. james kelly could come right now, completely untouched. and he could most definitely come with the way you handle him, his cock hardening as you pull it out of his boxers. “doll, you’re gonna kill me.”

with a breathy giggle, you pull your damp panties to the side, lifting up your hips to align yourself with him. “been thinkin’ about this,” you start, slowly sinking down on him—big and filling you up so well. biggest you’ve ever had. stretched out as james’ cock forces itself deep into your tight heat. “since the day i moved in…” james’ hands travel up your body, up to your shoulders, keeping eye contact as he pulls down the straps of your dress. “yeah?” you nod, moaning softly as you begin to move your hips.

“wanted you to bend me over the car… to fill me up.” james curses, biting down on his bottom lip as he mindlessly grips at your hips—his own movements meeting yours. “so fuckin’ dirty… first day here ‘n you already wanted some trailer trash, huh?” your moans were getting louder, pussy clenching down on him like a vice. like you were made to be taking his cock.

“you’re doin’ so good for me,” he whispers, mouthing at your jaw as your hips begin to stutter, tiring out but needing to chase after the heat spreading throughout your body. “my pretty girl… had dreams ‘bout you. like this, taking my cock.” you nearly see white from how hard you were squeezing your eyes shut, thighs twitching from being so close. “jamie,” you whine out, repeating it as if it was a prayer.

james watches you with hunger, with every moan and contort of pleasure painting your features, he took it in. worshipped it—worshipped you. the corners of his lips tug up into a fucked out, lazy smile. “c’mon sweetheart,” one of his hands leaves your hips, moves lower until the pads of his fingers fulfill the attention your clit begged for. “come f’me.” he mumbles against your jaw, “know you’re so close.” it almost sounds condescending, the way he enunciates it with his movements. and yet, out of your control, you fall apart against him. your body twitches and jerks, elation washing over your being with aggressive waves. you felt like you were going to cry, it was an out of body feeling.

james grips you in a way that keeps your body tight against him, using your pliable body to chase after his own ecstasy with your cunt. he thrusts up into you with eager movements—sloppy and fast. he has you whimpering, wanton and loud as he finally releases, filling up your spent pussy with his come.

you both hadn’t noticed the fireworks going off.

𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟏𝟓𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

“where are we going?” you watch as he buckles his seatbelt, a giddy smile adorning your face. he looks at you with an amused expression, pulling out of the gas station parking lot you decided to meet up at. discreet—a hidden affair that keeps you both choked up. “gonna go on a little drive.”

“i don’t think you understand how creepy that sounds.” he laughs, his eyebrows raising as he glances at you. “don’t be like that, doll. we’re gonna go somewhere you’ll like. trust me.” and you do trust him. forty minutes of music, talking, laughing, and smoking fills your heavy heart with a satisfying ease—momentarily lifting away the guilt that has eaten at your insides since meeting james. he slows the car down, pulling onto a small dirt road that sneaks into the woods, leading to a lake with a single dock. “oh my days!” you rush to unbuckle your seatbelt, getting out to just be. to be cradled in the forest’s arms and kissed by the scent of water and grass.

james follows, looking down at you with a fond smile. “told you.” and suddenly you’re suspicious, because even if you are his secret affair, you don’t want to be taken to places he’s brought emily. “how do you know about this place?”

“my mom used to take me ‘n frankie here.” he shrugs, adjusting his shirt as he saunters to the dock—wood croaking beneath his feet. you’re behind him, eyeing his shoulders and the back of his neck. “thank you. this is really pretty, jamie. like—it’s a dream. i’ve never seen a place so beautiful.” turning around to look down at you, james could only think of you as the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. it makes his heart stutter—a feeling he hasn’t had in a long while.

an hour passes with grace, you now comfortably lying on your stomach, turning the page of your book. james sits next to you, eyes tracing along the back of your thighs, until he was put to a stop by your dress. his fingers hover over the back of your knee, before lightly pressing down. you flinch slightly, forcing yourself to focus on reading, your face flushing at the sensation of his touch.

fingers leisurely trail a path up your thigh, coming to a halt at the hem of your dress. a beat. another. until you nod, knowing he was watching you, asking for permission. his fingers slip beneath your dress and wastes no time pressing against the wet spot that has been growing since you’ve gotten in the car with him. he isn’t a tease, james kelly. he’s a man that wants you moaning with jus’ a simple touch. wants you to start falling apart the second he has you.

he’s practically hovering over you, his free hand pressed against the wood as his fingers move slowly. you let out a shuddery breath, hips moving back against the sensation. “keep reading,” he tells you, and you’re already putty under his ministrations. you blink a few times, eyes attempting to find where exactly you left off—where you abandoned the story to indulge in your own. “james—” he hushes you, the pads of his fingers finding your panty-clad clit.

you’re reading. okay. words, words, words. james’ hand pulls away.

“why’d you stop?” eyes large ‘n sad, you turn your head to look at him. and you want to ask him for more, a second barely passing, before he’s telling you to lay on your back. you were a good listener, you—tossing your book to the side as you switched your position. his hand is quick to meet your skin once more, trailing up and up. until he was touching you again, movements slow yet s’much.

you were stuck in his web, but you don’t struggle—you wanted to get stuck. want to be consumed by him. “jamie,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut and hands fisting at your dress. spreading your legs wider for him, he whispers, “you like that?” you nod, breath caught in your throat. “talk to me, doll.”

“yes,” you stutter. his hand moves away, instead toying with the hem of your panties. your stomach was bursting with butterflies and those butterflies were being caught by james. you lift your hips when he pulls the thin fabric down, now abandoned around one of your ankles. james hums, tongue wetting his lips. “this all f’me?” he asks as his fingers rub through your folds, his digits coating with your desire. your lips part with a needy lil’ noise when two digits sink into your cunt, your thoughts replaced with a sexed fog.

“please… oh—” you’re unsure what you’re askin’ for, his fingers already moving with an uninhibited want. he wants to pull you apart like a neatly done bow on christmas day—unlacing the ribbon of your composure. have you messy and crying for him. and you were already doing so beautifully. “look at you,” he more or less coos, fingers pressing against places that made you twitch, clench, and squirm. “feels s’good, jamie.” you whimper out, back arching off the dock. james hums, a satisfied expression adorning his face. “yeah? want you to feel good. such a pretty pussy, doll.”

his words—his voice—alone begins to unravel you. leaving you close, more vulnerable. no man has ever made you feel this way, as if you were the last girl on earth and he was worshipping your existence, fulfilling your sense of agency. you clench around his fingers, long and calloused, the heat in your stomach spreading to the tips of your fingers and toes. he eyes you with an intensity that forces your own to shut, overwhelmed.

you come undone with a pretty, high-pitched moan—your limbs heavy and face flushed. he talks you through it, tells you how perfect you are, how lucky he is, and how good you were for him. all for him.

your heart flutters, full of warmth.

𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟒𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑

“please don’t say it,” you plead, your eyes glossy with tears. “i’m—” james runs his inked hand over his face. he’s frustrated, stomach aching at the sight of you so upset. because of him. he whispers your name, his feet moving to get closer to you. “i don’t know what to do anymore. i don’t think you understand—i told you i wasn’t good for you.”

“i want you, james. i wanna be with you, and—and just because emily caught—” he cuts you off, his hands talking with him. “emily knows because i told her. i wasn’t just gonna fuckin’ lead her on, i couldn’t do that.”

“but you could cheat on her for months on end?” you were letting your emotions get the worst of you, your eyebrows pulling together with growing anger. “you told her because you were guilty? that you were sleeping around with some what? with the new young, dumb girl who doesn’t know anything?”

“you’re putting words in my mouth,” he spits out, sitting on the edge of his bed. if it wasn’t for the fact that the trailer park was full of nosy, good for nothin’ gossipers, you would be yelling. a part of you was glad that kept your behavior in check. you didn’t want james to look down on you, you couldn’t handle anymore than this. “i told her because she doesn’t deserve this—” he waves his hands between the both of you. “she doesn’t deserve this. to be kept in the dark of her own husband’s doing.” you shift on your feet, pulse beating fast and a dreadful ache consuming you whole.

silence. an everlasting moment that brings you closer to either vomiting or bursting into tears. you can’t tell a part your own emotions. “then we can end it… i mean, if it’ll make y’all okay, or i guess to help fix your relationship. we can end… this. whatever it even is, at this point.” you pause for a moment, tongue wetting your lips. “isn’t that why you told me to come over?”

james looks up at you with eyes that speak so much more than his words ever could. it’s confusing, the way he looks. your bottom lip starts to tremble. “i know you love your wife, james. and it was extremely stupid of me to jus’ assume that…” you falter with your words, his hands reaching for yours. “assume what?” james stands up, chewing on the inside of his cheek, as if he’s debating what to do—what to say, if there’s even anything left that could be said.

there is. but you both won’t admit it. can’t.

his hand cups your cheek, thumb gently tracing along your bottom lip. you feel it, the tension. the tension that has been growing since you saw emily get into her car with a packed duffel. you lean in first, the distance closing and meshing into one. it’s a desperate kiss, a grasp at anything to answer so many unresolved issues, lingering questions that have clawed at your chests. your hands are quick to work at uncovering yourself, fabrics tossed and forgotten until you’re exposed. for him.

for him. for him. just for him—for you.

your back meets his bed in a warm welcome, james’ body meeting yours in a bitter goodbye. you moan, open-mouthed and urgent as he grips at your thighs. he has you spread apart for him, ready and willing. your bodies move against each other with an undying hunger, a thirst unquenched. james’ hips meet yours in rough thrusts, heavy breaths and moans drowning out unspoken convictions.

“oh god,” you cry out, your legs moving to wrap around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into his lower back. you dare look at him, truly look at him—and god, you want this to be the last sight you’ll ever see. james’ eyebrows were upturned, eyes shut in concentration, gritting his teeth. he was fucking you with not just his body, no, but with his mind too.

“i love you.”

and he slows down, eyes opening to meet yours. beautiful, deep blue eyes. “what?” a simple question that sounds so strained, his lips parted in near disbelief. you don’t want to repeat yourself, would rather pack up and leave and—“i think i love you, jamie.” he doesn’t say it back, his throat closing up as he looks down at you with so much conflict. it’s as if he’s in a constant battle within his own mind, it’s vulnerable how he wordlessly expresses that.

he starts to move again, more slow and deep than before. he hovers above you as if he’s protecting you from everything in the world, his hand moving to caress your cheek. james kisses you as if you were his source of oxygen, turning you nearly mindless as he knocks the breath out of you to take it for himself.

it’s humiliating how fast he forces you undone beneath him.

𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝟏𝐬𝐭, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟒

your mother, unaware and worried, stands outside of your room. she leans on the door frame, watches as you—for a lack of better words—rot in bed. “hey sugar, i made chicken ‘n dumplings. it’s in the kitchen, if you wanna maybe get up.” you give her a weak ‘thanks’ before she sighs. “alrighty! well, i took the evening shift today so i’ll be back in later tonight. love you, darlin’.”

“love you too, mama.” and she’s gone. you hear the creak of the door open and shut, her car, and then it’s silence. during these moments—since christmas eve—alone and kept between you and god or whatever’s out there, you think of the first day here. this wretched park. your miserable neighbors. how it all went to shit the second you noticed james. you wish to disappear, run away and start anew—a little dramatic, sure. but you were heartbroken. you haven’t seen james since that night, since you told him you loved—love—him.

you took notice that emily came back the day after christmas, her car parked outside. noticed how frankie would awkwardly hang around like a goddamn stalker, and when you’d peak out, he’d try to coerce you out by holding up a joint. it was hell on earth, forever in a constant struggle between repentance and humiliation. he didn’t say it back.

yelling… again.

“you goddamn cunt—fuck, james! frankie, go inside! leave the girl alone.” emily is yelling as she walks down the steps, heading straight for the car. but she turns around, james going after her. in a hurry to avoid seeing him, you stop looking, letting go of the curtain and sitting up on your bed. “oh shit,” you whisper, putting your head in your hands. “emily, can you please—”

“no! you’re unbelievable, james. you could’ve—with her—all—different! it’s on you! now i—nowhere— to go!” is what you hear, nervously chewing on your nails as you move to stand up. you pace, the small space of your room closing in on you with a crushing intensity that leaves you breathless. you ruined it all. you ruined everything.

all three of them now are going at each other. yelling. yelling. an all consuming thing that makes you want to scream. the folk here are probably enjoying this, you think to yourself in a pathetic attempt at easing your anxiety.

ten minutes pass of unintelligible arguing, only able to make out certain words and your brain filling in the rest to make sense of it all. and then it’s silence.

a knock, two knocks, and three. faint enough to where you could play off hearing things. loud enough to make your stomach drop—to make your heart pound hard enough you feel like it’s breaking your ribs. you walk to the door with weariness, your vision blurring with tears because you don’t know who it is. it could be emily, ready to rip out your earrings and publicly berate you. or frankie, being overbearing and disturbing… it’s unlikely, you debate with yourself. and james kelly—jamie. it could be james. but you haven’t seen him since the night you argued, told him you loved him. the night you awkwardly had to get redressed as james sat there silently, eyes avoiding yours, before you did the walk of shame—being rejected as the cherry on top.

you open the door, keeping the screen door as a barrier of some type, your eyes wide as cherry pies and heart halting.

“can we talk?”

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