changeover || art donaldson x reader ; patrick zweig x reader
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Word Count: 7.2k
Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex x2, fingering, f!recieving oral), drinking, pining after people you canât have, a dash of reader x tashi, sprinkles of patrick x art, porn WITH plot
Summary: your âcasualâ fling with art isnât working for you anymore, which sucks because you probably love the guy. enter a freshly heartbroken patrick to take your mind off of things.
FALL 2006
You knew exactly why Art Donaldson refused to acknowledge that you were an item. You could see it clearly across the roomâ the way you were cast to the shadows while he followed Tashi around like a lost puppy. Â
It made sense, even if it made your chest ache. Tashi was gorgeous, and was acing her classes, and was going to go pro soon and become a beautiful, all-American sports icon. And you were just some girl heâd met because he needed help understanding the reading for class.Â
Youâd known each other for months by thenâ hooking up, going on dates that âwerenât dates,â spending most of your time together. And you stayed firmly in the no-labels zone. But you werenât bitter. It was totally fine, being treated like a girlfriend in all but name.Â
Art laughed and leaned into Tashi. It was totally fine.
You were nursing a beer in a red solo cup and trying your best to look friendly and approachable. The only reason you were even at the party was because Art had brought you, so you shouldâve felt grateful. You shouldâve been having fun.
But just as soon as youâd arrived, heâd slipped away with a promise to be right back. It had been over an hour, so it seemed like you had very different definitions of right back.
âLooks like your boyfriend stole my girlfriend.â You turned to see Patrick, tanned from his time on tour. He was only going to be at Stanford for the weekend before taking off for a challenger a state over, which meant he needed to capitalize on any chance to spend time with Art and Tashi.Â
Unfortunately, youâd both been ditched.
âArt isnât my boyfriend,â you said pointedly, maybe a little too quickly.Â
Patrick knew better. The last time he came to visit, heâd interrupted a pseudo date night between the two of you (which was a nice way of saying he walked in on the two of you in Artâs dorm while his best friend was was knuckles deep in you). The rest of that night wound up being spent passing around mixed drinks made with cheap vodka and whatever you could get from the nearest vending machine. You overheard the itâs casual, nothing serious conversation theyâd had through the ajar door while you bought more Powerade and Red Bull in the hall.Â
But you were being so understanding and cool about that.Â
Patrick narrowed his eyes slightly. âReally?â The corner of his mouth tugged upwards for a moment before he wrapped his lips around a beer can. He tried to hide it, but you saw.Â
You chewed on your lip, stomach twisting with nerves and curiosity. He was probably just messing with you, trying to get your thoughts all muddled up about Art because it was fun. Still, you couldnât help but ask the burning question echoing through your mind. âDid Art say something to you? About us, I mean.â
The question felt pathetic. A stupid, desperate girl begging to know if the guy she liked felt the same way.Â
Patrick shrugged, leaning against the wall bearing the portraits of the ghosts of frat brothersâ past. âNot directly. But youâre here together, right? And heâs still seeing you.â
âI guess,â you replied with a huff, embarrassment burning hot in your chest.Â
âIf youâre worried about Tashi, donât be,â Patrick said, sparing a glance in her direction. When you looked towards Art, and the way he was smiling and laughing and looked so natural beside her, a frown turned your lips. Patrick nudged your arm and offered a smile. âHey, Iâm serious. Nothingâs gonna happen there. Trust me.â
It shouldâve felt nice. A total reassurance from the person who knew Art best. But it did nothing to quell the turmoil twisting in the pit of your stomach. Because if he really did feel that way, why was he over there with her?
Tashi Duncan. So beautiful, radiant, and perfect that she had total control over two men. Your paths didnât cross much, outside of Art, and that was rare since he liked to keep you two apart.Â
But there was a part of you that knew that Tashi wouldâve been able to make you melt with one look, one smile, one word. You wanted to experience what Art did. You wanted to know what Patrick knew, and what Art was jealous of. Or maybe you wanted something of your own too, something to keep Art out of.Â
âI need another drink,â you said suddenly, meeting Patrickâs gaze. âDo you wanna come with me?â Patrickâs eyes flitted quickly towards Tashi, where she bantered with Art and the rest of the tennis team.Â
There was something in his expression you found incredibly familiar. That pang of jealousy. The ache of not belonging just right. The look was gone quickly, replaced by a toothy smile. âSure. I could use something stronger.â
ââ
An hour later, Tashi left with Patrick, and Art quickly decided to take you back to his own dorm.Â
His lips were insistent against yours, kissing you hungrily, completely dissonant to the delicate way he tugged down the zipper of your dress. His fingers were warm where they brushed along the line of your spine. His tongue brushed against yours, tasting of beer and mint gum.
âWhat were you doing with him?â He murmured against your lips just as he peeled off the cheap, bodycon dress youâd gotten from Forever 21. It was tossed across the room, to be lost in the mess of practice duffles and empty water bottles and dirty laundry. The only time he parted his lips from you was to lift you onto his bed and slot himself between your thighs.Â
His tongue licked into your mouth possessively, claiming you as his from the inside out. You gasped as one of his hands kneaded your breast, panting open-mouthed against his lips. âWho?â You managed weakly, your mind completely blank except for Art, Art, Art. And maybe a tiny voice in the back of your head that was still thinking about the Tashi of it all.
âPatrick.â His voice was soft against the tender skin of your jaw. âI saw you two talk, then you disappeared for, like, an hour.â His teeth nipped gently at your pulse point as he nuzzled against your throat, awaiting your answer.Â
So he had been watching? He was with her, but he was still thinking about you. It made your heart flutter. You moaned softly as his hand slid between your thighs, teasing you through your panties. âGetting drinks,â you managed feebly. âFuck, Art, I canât concentrate while yââ
You gasped at the feeling of his fingers slipping beneath the band of your panties, teasing you with delicate touches. âJust drinks? For an hour?â
A strangled gasp escaped you as fingers slick with your arousal met your clit. When your eyes opened in surprise, you found Art staring right back. His touch was relentless, flooding your senses with pleasure as he demanded an answer. âWe were in the living room,â you managed between soft pants and moans. âHe was telling me about theâ godâ about the tour.â
Artâs expression flickered slightlyâ a tiny furrow forming between his brows. Was it doubt, or possessiveness, or anger? Before you could figure it out, his lips were against your throat, your panties were pushed to the side, and he was easing two fingers inside of your cunt.
âFuck,â you cried out, grasping onto his shoulders. French manicured nails scratched at the pastel-colored polo he woreâ why was he still wearing his clothes? Soft, keening moans slipped past your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. Every thought of him preferring Tashi or him leading you on slipped from the front of your mind as his thumb rubbed at your clit.
With a free hand, you palmed him over his pants, relishing in the way he panted against your warm skin. You made quick work of the button of his jeansâ you knew your way around him like the back of your hand. He was warm, pulsing in your delicate grip when your hand slipped beneath the band of his briefs. Slick at his tip with need.Â
He moaned against your pulse point, nuzzling against you as you began to jerk him off in time with each pump of his fingers.Â
âYou smell like him,â he groaned, nose pressed to the spot just beneath your ear as his hips bucked into your fist with a new sort of desperation. You didnât have to ask who he meant. His tongue slipped out, lapping at you briefly before sucking a bruise into the delicate skin there.Â
His fingers flexed so they brushed against the sweet spot within you. Your eyes rolled back and a sob of pleasure clawed its way from your throat. âNeed you,â you pleaded, equal parts a thoughtless cry and a demand.
And who was he to deny either of you that? A pitiful whine escaped your lips when he slipped his fingers from within you and moved your hand from him. He stood to clumsily pull off the rest of his clothes at the same time that you quickly shimmied off your panties and tossed them to the side.
âYouâre so fucking sexy,â he groaned as he joined you back on the bed, slotting himself between your legs. You were so pliant and sweet beneath him, looking up at him with adoring doe-eyes and a pretty smile on your spit-slick lips. He shouldâve been perfectly content.
As he parted your thighs, stroking his dick as he lined himself up with your entrance, he wondered if Tashi and Patrick were doing the same exact thing at that same exact moment. He could imagine it clearlyâ Tashi, splayed out on her bed, and Patrick right at home between her thighs; sinking in, faces contorting with pleasure. Before he could stop himself, a soft moan slipped past his lips at the mental image.Â
Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he sheathed himself within you, and he buried his face into your neck. Fuck. You really did smell like Patrick. The shitty Axe body spray that was supposed to smell like chocolate, and the lingering scent of cigarettes.Â
You moaned prettily, pussy squeezing him like a vise. Manicured nails scratched against his back, delicate enough that the marks would probably disappear by that time the next day. He was so used to Patrick lounging shirtless around their hotel rooms after tournamentsâ severe-looking scratch marks looking like angel wings against his pale skin. He always wore them like a badge of honor the night after he snuck off with some pretty girl heâd set his sights on. Thatâs how you know youâre doing it right.Â
Why was he thinking about Patrick?
He tried to lose himself in youâ in how pretty you were beneath him, the sweet words falling from your lips with each thrust. Feels so good, Art. âM so close already. Gonna make me cum.Â
When he looked down at you, your mouth hung open, lips shiny with spit, begging to be kissed. His mouth met yours messily and you both moaned into the kiss. He moved a hand between your thighs, rubbing at your clit as he bullied his cock into your inviting cunt.Â
You came with a string of moans and expletives that made the person next door bang on the wall out of annoyance. Art had to pull out as soon as he felt you start to squeeze around him. All it took was a few clumsy strokes and he was spilling onto your stomach with an almost embarrassing whine.Â
You both lay there catching your breath and cursing the shitty air conditioning in the dorm. He wiped the mess of cum off of your stomach with an old tee shirt that was hanging off the side of his desk and tossed it to the side to be dealt with later.
âYouâre so gross,â you mumbled with a tiny laugh, reaching down to grab your underwear from your floor. After you pulled them back on, you watched him dig through a pile of clothes in a papasan chair for a passable pair of pajama pants. An amused smile played on your lips at the sight. âDo I need to buy you a hamper?â
He held up a pair of pajama pants to examine them, shrugged, and pulled them on. âI have one, itâs just full.â A boyish grin spread across his lips as he crossed the room towards his dresser. He tossed a random tee shirt from the drawer in your direction and climbed on the bed, grinning down at you. âSee? I have clean clothes.â
You laughed as you pulled the shirt over your head, then turned on your side to face him. His eyes flickered from your face, down to the shirt, then back. You wrinkled your face in confusion and peered down at the shirt.Â
âWhat? What does it say?â You asked with a laugh. You held it out, squinting to make sense of the graphicâ faded and upside down. Finally, your eyes lit up in recognition. âOh! I thought you were more of a Maroon 5 and Justin Timberlake guy. Iâve never even seen a Blink-182 CD in your stuff before.â
Art cleared his throat and shrugged, thumbing the bottom of the tee shirt absentmindedly. âI went with Patrick a few years back.â
A smile turned your lips. âItâs sweet that you two are such good friends.â You reached over, brushing his curls from his forehead. He turned, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. âDid you and Tashi have fun tonight?â The insecurity in your words was palpable.
Art shrugged. âA partyâs a party, yâknow?â He leaned into your touch, letting you play with his hair. âJust lost track of time. I wonât run off on you next time.â
You chewed your lip shyly. âI think itâd be nice for the three of us to hang out sometime,â you said, watching his expression to gauge his reaction.Â
âCâmere,â he said with a tired smile, effectively avoiding your suggestion. When he pulled you against his side, he nuzzled his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder. His breath tickled with each exhale, which made you squirm, but every so often heâd place a chaste kiss on the skin there and youâd forget why you wanted to ask him to move.
In the morning, when you woke up to his alarm clock blaring a local radio station, you realized it was the first time heâd let you stay the night.Â
SPRING 2007
After your second drink, you decided that Art Donaldson had hung you out to dry for the last time. Well, probably the last time.Â
Most likely not the last time.Â
Knowing yourself, youâd be clinging to his side like a lost puppy in a few weeksâ time, if you even had the dignity to give it that long. The second his attention turned to you again, you knew youâd be absolutely relishing in the special affection he always gave you when he was experiencing Tashi-related withdrawal.
You were so stupidly in love (or in lust, or in whatever) with him that youâd accept just about anything he could throw at you.Â
No labels, just casual? Fine. Ignoring you all night then conveniently remembering you exist when heâs horny and ready to go back to his dorm? Whatever. Youâre game.Â
Youâd gone to every match, watched a few practices. Helped him study for exams, let him borrow the notecards youâd painstakingly written over the course of the semester. Jesus, you even wrote a few essays for him when his schedule got crowded and he just couldnât manage.
All you asked in return was a date to a stupid formal, and he ditched you last minute for Tashi. Again. And you couldnât even get pissed about it without feeling guilty, because sheâd fucking gotten injured and it wasnât her fault that the guy you were into was carrying a torch for her instead.
âYouâve been staring down the Reeseâs Pieces for the last five minutes.â The familiar voice startled you from your sulking. The world filtered back in suddenlyâ the blaring music, the smell of cigarettes and pot, the chatter of people wandering in and out of neighboring dorms. When you turned, Patrick Zweig was leaning against the vending machine beside you, carrying a large Tennis bag and backpack on both of his shoulders. âDo you need five bucks?â
âShouldnât you be with Tashi?â You asked, brows furrowed with confusion. âI heard about her match. I just figured that youâdâŠâ You trailed off as you noticed the thinly veiled kicked-puppy expression he wore. âOh.â
He swallowed and nodded. âYeah, thatâs⊠itâs over. Did you want the Reeseâs, or not?âÂ
âNo,â you shook your head and laughed. âI just neededâŠâ you trailed off. What was it you needed, again?
You needed Art. A date to the formal. You needed to feel desirable and cared for. You needed him to get his head out of his ass and just fucking commit. You needed to tell Art to fuck off and find another groupie. You neededâŠ
âAnother drink?â Patrick suggested.
You nodded eagerly like thatâs what youâd been thinking all along. âYes. Another drink.â You paused, glancing at his bags. âDo you want to drop your things in my room first? My roommate is in Iowa, or something. She wonât mind.â
Your dorm was decorated in shades of pink and green, with a ruffled bedspread and faux fur pillows and blankets. You bent down to retrieve two bottles of Smirnoff Ice from a mini fridge. Patrick did his best to look away like a gentleman would.Â
Well, he did his best. It wasnât exactly his fault that his options were to look at your tight jeans or the bulletin board above your desk that was essentially an Art Donaldson shrine.Â
Pretty pink push pins held up a photo of the two of you after one of his matches, both beaming at the camera. Then there were little notes heâd written you in his boyish scrawl. Tickets to movies youâd gone to see and tickets to his matches.Â
âHere,â you said, drawing his attention back to you, thankfully in an upright position. Youâd already popped the bottle caps off the radioactive blue drink you handed him. You were chewing your lip shyly, sweetly. âItâs kind of pathetic, isnât it?â
âWhat?â He took a drink and nearly grimaced at the sweetness. After he finished it, heâd need to go find something stronger.
You sighed and took a long drink yourself. âI dunno, the whole⊠thing. Art.â You absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your shirt. âI mean, what girl with any self-respect lets a guy just screw her for months with no commitment?â
âMaybe self-respect is overrated.â He laughed and stepped closer. âFull disclosure? I only came here hoping that I could fuck someone and spend the night in their dorm. Free booze was a plus.â
âWeâre in the same boat then,â You said, gazing up at him through your lashes. âWeâre both jilted lovers who need a distraction.â
You tilted the bottom of the bottle up, chugging down the contents. When you were done, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and rolled your neck out. âBottoms up,â you said with a coy smile. âLetâs find something stronger.â
ââ
An hour later, something by the Pussycat Dolls was blaring through a set of speakers in a darkened common area. You were the fun kind of tipsy, where you started to care less about everyone else and just found yourself buzzed in that light, easy kind of way. You danced to the beat without a care in the world while Patrick sat on the arm of a couch and nursed his beer.Â
His eyes were glued to your body as you moved, almost hypnotic beneath the red Christmas lights that had been stapled around the ceiling. Your shirt had ridden up, revealing a sliver of stomach that you either didnât notice or didnât care to cover up.Â
The only thought running through his head? Art was a fucking idiot.Â
You glanced over at him and nodded for him to join you. He didnât move, so, not one to give up, you joined him over on the couch. When he went for a drink, you tipped up the bottom of the beer can and forced him to finish it, even as it spilled past his lips and down his chin.Â
âThanks,â he deadpanned, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.Â
With a pleased smile, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the middle of the room to dance.
He shook his head as you tried to make him danceâ your hands on his hips, pushing and pulling and trying and failing to make him move. âNo, no. I donât dance,â he explained, as firmly as he could stand to be.
âBecause you canât? Or because you think youâre too cool?â You asked, raising a brow. He rolled his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. âCâmon, if you dance, Iâll tell you a secret.â
That did make him laugh. âWhat are you, five?â
With a shrug, you took his hands into yours and moved them to your hips. There was a hesitance in his touch, at first. But then his fingers splayed against exposed skin, and you were so warm. Your hips began moving to the beat beneath his hands. âSee? Weâre dancing,â you said, peering up at him through long lashes.
You looked genuinely victorious when he finally started dancing⊠kind of. It was less of an action and more of an acceptance. It had been abundantly obvious since the moment he walked into your dorm room that you wanted to end the night with him. Maybe it was because you thought it would hurt Art, or maybe it was because he was there and he was feeling the exact same things you were.
Heâd done his best to resist out of some lingering sense that he could repair things with Tashi, and the hope that maybe Artâs spite would fade and theyâd be friends again.
Despite skipping the whole college thing, Patrick wasnât an idiot. He knew better. The second Tashi fell on that court, both of those doors slammed in his face.
And you were so close to him that he could smell the liquor on your breath. And Victoriaâs Secret body spray. Mostly the liquor, though. He was barely moving, but youâ you were something else. Hips moving against the thigh heâd slotted between your legs, arms trailing up his chest so you could sling them around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly closer. Even though you were grinding against each other like two horny middle-schoolers at their first dance, heâd had enough to drink that he didnât really give a fuck. When he moved his hands from your hips to grab your ass, you gasped and laughed like it was the best thing in the world.
Your body moved so effortlessly that anything he could have possibly done wouldâve looked clunky and clumsy. He groaned when you brushed against him just right, and he could tell by your smug expression that you knew exactly how you were affecting him.Â
You leaned in, chest to chest. âCan I tell you the secret now?â You whispered, lips brushing against the line of his jaw. He swallowed hard and nodded. âI think itâd be a bad idea for us to fuck. Weâre both in a bad place.â
âMhmm. Bad idea,â he echoed. He wanted to reach out and grab your jaw, to tilt your face up and kiss you. One of your hands had slipped beneath the hem of his (Tashiâs) shirt, just barely teasing the skin there. It made him shiver and lean into the heat of your touch.
âBut I still want to.â You sounded so earnest, so needy. Like youâd take anything heâd give you and thank him for it. âWe can use each other to feel better, right? Just a nice, warm body and a rush of dopamine.â
It was exactly what Patrick had come to the fucking dorm ranger for. To feel wanted and desired. For someone to look at him like he wasnât actively failing at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at.Â
But he was good at other things.
You guided him through the crowded hallway, way more packed than they had been before youâd started dancing. It was getting later, more people were falling for the siren song of R&B and beer. You were a siren of a different makingâ with much more dangerous consequences than a hangover.
It almost felt wrong to be back in your innocent, frilly little dorm with the intention of fucking your brains out. But the looks you were giving him were enough proof that he wasnât the only pervert. Before you could get too far, he pinned you up against the door, displacing a dry-erase calendar in the process.Â
You glanced down, eyes flitting towards the hearts around tomorrowâs date, anticipating the formal that Art had flaked on. Without looking back, you kicked the dry-erase board out of the way, a problem for later.Â
His lips met yours in a messy clashâ teeth knocking slightly until you found a rhythm with each other. Patrick Zweig kissed like heâd been at war for fucking years and had just returned home. He kissed like he had crawled out of the desert and the only promise of water could be found on your tongue.Â
Youâd never been kissed with that level of need and desperationâ that desireâ and you fucking loved it. The taste of his tongue licking into your mouth, the rumble of a moan against your own lips.
His hands were moving beneath your shirt, pushing it up as he went. A pretty whine slipped past your spit-slick lips as he squeezed your tits over your bra. Your hands stayed busy undoing his jeans. He moaned into your mouth when your fingers barely brushed against the bulge through the denim.Â
âThat feel good?â You teased, practically breathing the words into his lungs as you slipped your hand into his boxers. He groaned in response as your hand wrapped around him and pumped slowly. There was something addicting about his needâ you relished in the pulse of him, warm and bucking into your grip. And you wanted more. You wanted to be the one to make him come undone. âTell me what you want me to do.â
His head fell back slightly as you brushed your thumb along his tip, the movement accompanied by another soft groan. The way you peered up at him with an earnest need to please made hot desire thrum within him.
âYou could start by taking these clothes off,â he said, fingers roaming to tug at the strap of your bra. You started to move, slipping your hand from his boxers. Then you stopped.
âYouâre not gonna help?â You asked coyly, goosebumps forming where his fingers trailed along your side, teasing at the band of the bra.Â
That made a tiny smirk turn at his lips. âDoes Art help?â It shouldnât have turned him onâ that little flash of longing for Art in your eyes. But it did. You nodded, shifting slightly to encourage more of Patrickâs touch. âLift your arms.â
As easy as anything, you obeyed. No banter, no push and pull for control. It was so different than what he had with Tashi (who he shouldnât have been thinking about), and he couldnât help but wonder if thatâs how it always was for you and Art (who he shouldnât have been thinking about either).Â
He tossed your shirt to the side and moved a single hand to the clasp of your bra, undoing it with a quick movement that heâd perfected at sixteen. Painstakingly slow, he pushed each strap down your arms, until it fell at your feet and exposed your tits to the overzealous AC of the Stanford dorms.Â
Your nipples pebbled in the cool air, and his mouth watered in a near-Pavlovian response to the sight. His hands moved back to your chest, so he could thumb over the sensitive buds and relish in the way you shivered.
The wood of the door was cold against your shoulders as you arched into his touch. Manicured nails fumbled with the button to your jeansâ you twisted and shimmied them off before kicking them to the side.
Before you could react, he picked you up and carried you over to the bed. A grin played at your lips as he practically dropped you onto it, making a decorative pillow fall to the floor.Â
âIt was only, like, five steps,â you said with a laugh. Patrick shrugged and made quick work of his clothes. You sat up on your elbows to watch him shuck off his pants, then awkwardly hop on one foot at a time to remove his shoes and socks.
When he finally joined you on the bed, he was clad only in his boxers, which were sporting an almost comically large tent. He positioned himself over you, that shit-eating grin ever present on his face. âCan I go down on you?â
You laughed lightly in disbelief. âAre you serious right now?â
He nodded. âAs a heart attack.â He nuzzled against your jaw teasingly. âCâmon, lemme make you feel good, okay? I live for this shit.â
You giggled, pushing his face away. âYeah. Fuck. You can.â
He trailed his lips down your jaw, then your sternum. He stopped only briefly to suck each nipple into his mouth, making you squirm and arch into him. Your hand moved into his hair, and he moaned against your tit as you tugged slightly.Â
You watched him kiss down your stomach and peel your panties down your legs with his teeth through half-lidded eyes. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he slowly kissed up one leg.
The sight made your stomach flipâ the sheer desire of it all. Your mind flickered to Tashi, as it seemed to do more and more. Tashi got this same sight, felt the same lips on her skin, and heard the same groans and pants. You couldâve laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all. At that moment, with Patrick on top of you, you were closer to Tashi than Art could even dream of.
A tap on the inside of your thigh was his wordless way of telling you to open up for him, to get out of your head and come back to earth. Your tummy fluttered as you spread your legs more and he slotted himself there with an arm slung across your stomach.Â
âFuck,â he said lowly, peering up at you. âYou get this wet from just kissing?â
Heat burned in your cheeks at his obvious amusement, but you could tell he loved how responsive you were. His tongue traced you from your hole to your clit, making you cry out and twist your fingers into his curls. Quick, teasing flicks against your clit made your thighs tremble and squeeze around his shoulders. You were so fucking sensitive that it made him want to tear you apart.
It was messyâ a sloppy mix of his spit and your arousal as he made out with your pussy. His nose brushed against your clit as he nuzzled deeper into you, moaning as his fervor was rewarded with more of your juices spilling onto his tongue.Â
There was no method or precision to it, even though you were quite sure he couldâve had you coming undone beneath his fingers in no time at all. Patrick relished in every tiny reactionâ in feeling your thighs around his head and your fingers in his hair. Relished in the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of your slick smeared across his face.Â
Your back was arching off the bed, nails digging just shy of painfully into his scalp.Â
He opened you up with one finger, then a second. Your cunt accepted the intrusion with ease, like you were made for it. For him. He crooked his fingers just so and you cried out pathetically. He pressed there, constant and firmly and your fingers tugged harder on his hair, moans increasing in pitch as your breaths came in pants.Â
âIâmâ Iâ fuckââ words failed you as his lips formed a seal around your clit and he sucked, making spots dance across your vision. In the absence of words, all you could manage were fucked out sobs and pitiful little whines.
Slick walls fluttered around his fingers, and your clit pulsed against his tongue. You were so easy to get worked upâ a toy for him to wind up and set into motion. You came with a moan that wouldâve made a weaker man cum inside of his boxers, your cunt spasming around the intrusion of his fingers.Â
When he sat back and cleaned his fingers in his mouth, you were watching through half-lidded, hazy eyes. Tiny pieces of hair were plastered to your face and forehead, and you gave a breathless giggle as you looked up at him.Â
âHoly shit,â you said with a grin as he shucked off his boxers and kicked them off somewhere across the room.Â
âFeel good?â He asked, and pressed a kiss to your hip bone. You nodded wordlessly, feeling dizzy with need. âGonna give me another one?â
âYeah,â you said breathlessly, peering up at him with wide eyes. The tip of his nose was shiny with your arousal, which made warmth spread across your cheeks. With a sheepish laugh, you reached up and wiped it away with your thumb. There wasnât much you could do about the mess on his mouth and chin. âYouâre all messy.â
He kissed you slowâ leaving his tongue against yours, making you taste yourself mixed with his spit. It was less of a kiss than a series of slow laves of his tongue against yours. It felt dirty, and a little gross, but you couldnât help but relish in it. Youâd never kissed Art like that, wouldâve never even dreamed of it. Patrick was an entirely different animal.Â
You stayed like that for a whileâ just completely lost in the feel of him warm on top of you, grinding his cock against your cunt as he planted messy kisses to your lips.Â
âCondom?â He mumbled the words against your lips when he finally grew impatient.
âMhmm. Bedside table.â
He fumbled inside the drawer, grabbing glasses cleaning wipes two seperate times before he finally found a foil packet in the bottom of the drawer. Â
He held it between two fingers, an amused smile playing on his lips. âYou sure thisâll fit me? Iâm bigger than Art.â
You rolled your eyes. âNot by that much.â
âWhere it counts, though.â His smirk was smarmy as he tore open the foil with his teeth and rolled the condom down his length. He spat in his hand and stroked himself as he peered down at you, like he hadnât quite decided how he wanted you yet.Â
âTurn over,â he finally said with a pat to the meat of your thigh. You did as he said, almost hesitant as you turned over and settled onto your forearms, arching your back slightly. âDoes Art ever fuck you like this?â
He held the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you with the tiniest amount of pressure. You took in a shaky breath and shifted, eager for more that he wasnât going to give you yet. âDo you have to bring him up right now?â
No. He knew he really didnât, but he couldnât help himself at the same time. The thought of his Art in this same bed with you made it all so much hotter for him. He wanted to know how Art had fucked you, he wanted every detail burned in his brain. He wanted to be better, or maybe just be there with the two of you.Â
It had gotten close. Once. Art was definitely fingering you under a blanket while the three of you watched a movie on his laptop across the room. Patrickâs thigh was touching yoursâ he could feel the way your muscles tensed and shook as Art played with you. He was close enough to hear the hitch of your breath.Â
And if that hadnât been enough to give it away, Artâs stupid fucking smirk and the obvious way his arm was moving would have.
He didnât do anything then, but maybe he shouldâve.Â
âIâll take that as a no.â He was slow as he sank into you, inch by inch. It couldâve been the position, or maybe his cocky bravado was completely founded, but he did feel bigger than you were used to. A soft moan was punched from your lips when he was finally buried to the hiltâ your breath came in soft pants as you adjusted to the feeling of him.Â
With your face pressed into your pillows, each breath you took flooded your senses with the smell of Artâs cologne. You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as your thoughts were overwhelmed with him.
âShit, youâre fuckinâ tight,â he groaned. His fingers dimpled your skin where he held onto you. He moved one hand to rub the base of your spine in a way that could probably have been tender, on another day. You moaned pathetically into the pillows. âWhat? You need something?âÂ
One shallow, teasing thrust made your toes curl. âMore,â was all you could manage.
âCan you take it?â Patrick cooed, smugness was practically dripping from his tongue. âBecause I can go slow if you needââ
âYouâre such an asshole. Just fuck mââ
A rough snap of Patrickâs hips cut you off suddenly. You cried out, grasping onto the bedspread feebly as he began to fuck you in earnest.Â
Each thrust made the cheap, university-provided bed frame slam against the wall. The decorations you had hung up rattled, threatening to tumble right onto the floor and shatter, but neither of you even noticed. The moans slipping past your lips were pornographic.
But the sounds escaping you were nothing compared to the noises Patrick was making. Art had made an off-handed comment, once, about how much of a slut Patrick could be. You hadnât really seen why until you got to hear the desperate, debauched noises he could make.
You slipped a hand between your thighs to rub at your clit and the feeling stole the air from your lungs. Your eyes rolled back, ass jiggling in time with each thrust.
Through it all, the memory of Art in this bed clung to you. Art, burying himself in the soft, wet heat between your thighs, flushed down to his chest and panting softly. His hungry kisses, melting sweet on your tongue like cotton candy. The whines that slipped past his lips, better than the prettiest music you could imagine.Â
With each brutal thrust of Patrickâs cock into you, he punched out soft ah, ah, ahs from your lips. In your head, you just heard Art, Art, Art. Maybe thatâs what you meant to say.Â
You were probably in love with him. You were fucking his best friend. And it wasnât even that simple. Patrick and Art and Tashi and somewhere between it all, you lingered. It was a giant clusterfuck of feelings and lust that youâd somehow tangled yourself inside of. Wanting someone so much, you want whoever has them just as badly.Â
Maybe everything wouldâve been a lot cleaner if youâd just locked the four of you into a room and stayed until every bit of tension had been fucked out. The idea of it all made you moan softly into the pillows.Â
Patrick pulled you up suddenly, back flush against his chest as he continued to fuck into you. One hand grabbed at your jaw, turning you so he could press his lips to yours again, and the other squeezed at your tits. His mouth did a perfect job of muffling your moansâ Patrick relished in feeling your pretty whines vibrate against his lips.Â
âYou feel so fucking perfect.â His words made heat flutter through you. âNeed tâ feel you cum again. You have it in you, yeah? I can feel it.â
You nodded, eager to please. Pleasure was lapping at every nerve, lightning-hot. Your fingers rubbed faster at your clit as he pounded up into you. The whines escaping you were pathetic as your body crawled closer and closer to the edge.Â
âClose,â you gasped out. Patrick licked into your open mouth, kissing you sloppily as you set a punishing pace on your poor, oversensitive clit. âSo closeâ f-fuckââ
Your orgasm hit you suddenly. You clawed at his arm with your free hand, desperately seeking purchase as euphoria pulsed through your veins.Â
âThatâs it,â he groaned, his breath hot against your jaw. âFuckâ squeezinâ me so tight I can barely moveâ godââ
Your eyes were half-lidded as he worked you through it, rhythm only just beginning to falter as his finish approached. He pushed you back onto your stomach, manhandling your hips so your back was arched just like he wanted.Â
You were reduced to whimpers and whines by the time he finally cameâ buried as deep as he could get, grip bruising on your hips. A few shallow thrusts were all he could manage before he pulled out, collapsing on beside you.Â
You were catching your breath while he disposed of the condom in the cute trash can beside your bed, filled with gummy snack wrappers and broken pencils and old class notes. It felt like sacrilege. He laid back down, and you pulled a throw blanket over the two of you.Â
With his head against the pillows, you wondered if he could also sense the phantom of Artâs presence there in the bed. Somewhere between you, forcing distance.
âSo, when do you leave for your next tournament?â You asked. Unconsciously, you reached out to play with his hair, the same way you did to Art in times like these. âSoon, I bet. You usually donât stay long.â
âTrying to get rid of me?â He asked, a tiny smile playing at his lips. His chest was still heaving with exertion.Â
You shook your head. âI donât want to get rid of you, Patrick.â He melted into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.Â
In the morning, youâd wake up squished against Patrickâs side with the taste of sugary alcohol on your tongue. When you picked up your phone to see three missed calls from Art, it was easier to pretend that you hadnât seen them at all.
thanks for reading :) if you enjoyed, please lmk by sending an ask, or whatever you wanna do <3
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For A Good Time Call! || Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+)
Word Count: 14.6k
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Phone Sex Hotline Operator!Reader
Warnings: SMUT (phone sex, m & f masturbation (including pillow humping & sex toys), f!receiving oral sex, p in v sex), language, idiots in love, mutual pining, porn WITH plot
Summary: In the Summer of 1985, Steve's social standing is at an all time low. In an act of sheer, pathetic desperation, he calls a phone sex hotline. Little does he know, his dream girl from the hotline is just an escalator away.
Steve Harrington wasnât the kind of guy who did this. He repeated it in his head as he scribbled down the phone numberâ fed straight to him from a local late-night advertisement. For a good time call!
It didnât take a genius to figure out what that meant. And he wasnât exactly able to ignore the way his dick twitched in his boxers as the commercial showed pretty girls twirling phone lines around manicured fingers, pretty smiles on their faces, eyes sultry and staring right through him.Â
Plus, he wasnât actually going to call. He was just⊠keeping the number for his records. Heâd just put it in his Rolodex and forget about it.Â
A week later, and he decidedly hadnât forgotten about it. In fact, with the house empty and playboys not cutting it, itâs all he could think about.Â
For a good time call. He wanted to have a good time. It had been a while since he had a good timeâ his stupid Scoops Ahoy uniform wasnât exactly bolstering his natural charm. Robin could say what she wanted, but he was charming and fun and everything people usually want in a boyfriend. He was just⊠going through a rough patch.Â
He retrieved his Rolodex and hurriedly flipped through, trying to remember where heâd hidden the number. Definitely not around his boss. And not around Nancy either. Tucked between Tommy and a past hookup, he found it.Â
He set up his pillows behind his back and got comfortable before dialing the number with uncharacteristically sweaty hands. He was cooler than this was all making him seem. He was the playboy of Hawkins Highâ of Hawkins in general. Phone sex was nothing.Â
As he dialed the number, he prepared to turn on his charm. Instead, he was led to a generic call-center script, which, after being carefully followed based on his wants and desires, took him to billing.Â
âItâs a flat rate of twenty for your first ten minutes. If you finish before then, itâs still twenty, alright?â
He swallowed hard. âOkay.â
âAfter that, itâs fifty cents per minute. An hour session will run you about $55.â Oh. It certainly wasnât cheap. Heâd spent less on dates before. âIs that alright with you?â
âYeah,â he said after a brief pause, his mind taking a while to catch up. âDo you need my credit card?â
By the time billing was over, his anticipation had tangled his stomach into knots. He glanced at the clock, wondering if those ten minutes would fly past him as fast as he thought they would. The line trilled as he waited to be connected to his partner for the night. Jenny. Like the song.
That song was gross, anyway. But how could he say anything about it now?
The ringing stopped, and he could hear the crackle of a quiet line on the other side, the rustle of movement. Did he need to say hi first? Was trying to start a conversation weird?
âHi,â he said, and he wondered how he could make one word sound so utterly stupid. âJenny, right?â
âMhmm,â you hummed. He could picture you so clearly, despite knowing nothingâ one of those pretty girls in the commercials, laying on your belly on a frilly pink bed, fingernails and toenails painted a shiny red, twirling the phone cord around your finger. âWhat should I call you?â
He swallowed. âDo people usually give you fake names?â
âSometimes,â you replied. âItâs not about what other people do, baby. Itâs about what you want. Do you want me to call you by a fake name?â
He wrinkled his nose. What was the worst thing that could come from a stranger knowing his first name? âNo, that sounds awful. No offense.â You laughed, and he felt himself relax. âIâm Steve Hââ He cleared his throat. âJust Steve.â
âWell, Iâm glad that I get to talk to you tonight Steve,â you said, and just the sultry timbre of your voice made his stomach do flips. âIâm guessing this is your first time?â
He furrowed his brows. âIâm not a virgin.â
âNo, baby. I mean it seems like itâs your first time calling a hotline like this.â His face burned hot as he fumbled his way through answering, oh, yeah, I guess thatâs right. âSo, sweetheart, why donât you tell me what you want?â
âUhâŠâ he paused, trying to think of a more polite way of saying to cum while a pretty girl talks to me. âI guess Iâve just been lonely.â
âPoor baby,â you said, and he was shocked that you didnât have even a hint of amusement or mirth when you said it. âYou want me to take care of you? Help you forget?â
His breath caught in his throat, stealing his response. His dick twitched, already half-hard and sensitive. All he could manage was a tiny whimper of, âMhmm.â
âWhat do you usually think about when youâre touching yourself?â You asked, and the lack of shame in your voice made heat flare in his cheeks. Heâd had some shameless hookups, but most of the girls he slept with didnât like to talk about it. âLike, whatâs your favorite fantasy, Steve?â
It was embarrassing. Mortifying, actually. It was basically the plot of a bad porno or a letter to Penthouse.Â
Usually, it started by his pool. And a girl was there, wearing a cute, but ultimately tiny, bikini. The girl didnât really matter. Well, she did, but it wasnât about who she was. She could have been a Playmate of the Month, or a movie star, or a girl he was crushing on and wanted to ask out. All that mattered for the sake of the fantasy, was that she was pretty, had nice tits, and wanted him.Â
âDoes that make me awful?â He asked, pausing mid-description to gauge your perception of him. You laughed on the other end of the line.Â
âGod, Steve,â you said with thinly veiled amusement. âYou think I give a personality and backstory to all of the people I fantasize about fucking?â
It made him feel a little better.
Anyways, there was something about summertime that just made sense to him. Skin all but steaming in the heat, the oiled up glow that came from sweaty skin. Wearing as few clothes as possible so you didnât overheat.Â
You gave a nervous laughâ breathy and sweetâ on the other end of the line. âYouâre really good at setting the scene, Steve.â He liked to be specific. He wanted to think about tiny details like the salty taste of skin or hair that smelled like chlorine and salt. âWhatâs next?â
She always started by laying on her stomach, the ties of her bikini undone so she didnât get unsightly tan lines. She would peer at him over her shoulder with wide, innocent eyes while she asked if he could apply a bit more sunscreen on her back where she couldnât reach.Â
So he straddled her thighs, her skin burning up under his hands as he rubbed in the freezing cold sunscreen. Goosebumps would break out along her arms, and sheâd have to arch away from the sensation, pushing her ass against him.Â
âAre you hard already?â You asked, and his cheeks burned hot.Â
âLikeâŠâ He glanced at his lap, where his cock was already straining against the fabric of his boxers. âIn the fantasy or right now?â
âIs the answer the same for both?â
He let out a shaky breath. âYeah.â
âKeep going.â
He was already impatient. Skipped right to the kissing and cut out the context and actions that led to it. Did it matter? The bikini top fell onto the ground, and she was on top of him, tits pressed into his sun-warmed chest, tongue licking into his mouth.Â
God, he fucking loved kissing. Heâd missed it so much since heâd graduated and his social clout had depleted to fuck all. There had been dates, and messy, slow makeouts in the back of his car since walking the stage, but not one since his first shift at Scoops Ahoy. It was killing him.
She felt so good in his lapâ so warm and heavy. He could have stayed like that foreverâ trapped beneath a pretty girl with her tongue down his throat. But he wanted moreâ he always wanted more.Â
He wanted more then. As he relayed his fantasy to this stranger in painstaking detail, he ached for more. His hand was flat on his tummy, and he shivered as he slipped it beneath the band of his boxers to take his cock into his hand. He groaned, the back of his head knocking against the wall.
âGod, youâre cute,â your voice was so pretty. He throbbed in his grip, making him exhale a shuddering breath. âItâs okay, Steve. You can keep touching yourself while you talk to me. I want you to.â
âAre you sure?â He asked, his voice broken by a tiny whimper. âI donât have to.â
âIâm sure, baby,â you insisted. âWhat do you do next, hm? Iâm on top of you, kissing you nice and slow, grinding my hips against yours because I just canât help myself. Tell me what youâre going to do to me.â
âIâdââ He swallows hard, eyes shut tight. âIâd want to taste you.â
In the fantasy, his hands gripped the back of your thighs, moving you up his body so you were just above his mouth. He was suave and sexy. Heâd pull the bow at your hip with his teeth so your swim bottoms fell off like they were nothing.Â
And it would feel so comfortable beneath youâ so natural for him. Heâd just barely have to lean forward to have his mouth on you, already wet so he could taste you on his tongue. Heâd moan at your tasteâ he fucking loved the way pussy tasted, even if he got shit for it in the locker room when he admitted itâ and pull you down onto his mouth so he could get impossibly closer.Â
It would be messyâ a mix of spit and slick on his mouth and chin, making the tip of his nose shine. Heâd spend as long as he wanted beneath you, pulling every noise he could from your lips, trapped between your thighs. He wouldnât stop until you cameâ once at a minimum, more if he was feeling greedy.
âAll this attention on little old me,â you teased. âWould you let me take care of you? I could slip off those swim trunks of yours and make you feel good.â
He had set a steady paceâ hand gliding up and down his length as his fantasy continued to evolve. âYeah,â he managed, but his voice came out strangled and desperate. âYouâd put your hand down my shorts and tease me. Your hand would feel so good. Warm and soft. Youâd, uh, tell me how big I am, how you wanted to feel me stretch your uhâ yourâ.â
âMy what, baby?â Your voice dripped with amusement and mirth. âMy pussy?â
âFuck.â It came out with an exhale, his heart hammering.
âYou like it when girls say dirty things to you, Steve?â You asked, and he could hear your smirk. âYou want me to beg for your cock so deep inside of me that I feel you in my stomach? Or tell you how warm and wet and tight I feel around my fingers?â
Steve groaned, throbbing in his grip as he worked himself faster. âFuck, are you really?â
âMhmm,â you replied. âThink about how good Iâd feel when you finally let yourself fuck me. You were such a gentleman first, but you donât have to be with me. I want to make this all about you.â
But he was a gentleman. Of course he wanted to get his dick wet and et cetera, but that wasnât really why he liked sex. He liked making people feel good all because of himâ hearing the pretty noises they made, watching their initial shyness melt away into unabashed desire.Â
A lot of the time (most of the time), he felt like a huge fuck-up. Abysmal grades (well, more around average), not good enough for sports scholarships, basically every bit the son that his parents didnât want to have. Who could really blame him for relishing in the times when he could be good and impressive to someone other than himself?
Whatever. If he thought about that train of thought for more than, like, ten seconds, heâd lose his hard-on and probably start crying into the receiver and spilling all of his lifeâs worst moments. He really couldnât imagine anything more pathetic than that.Â
So he thought about something else.Â
He thought about how heâd lay you down on a beach towel, warmed in the sun, cradled by plush grass beneath it. Heâd feel awkward about shucking off his swim trunksâ he always hated undressing because it felt so awkward. But youâd look at him like he was the most attractive guy in the whole world.Â
He was a sap, what could he say? He would hold your hand too, squeezing it with his as he lined up with your entrance. Youâd be so wet that it felt slick and heâd feel proud just knowing he did that to you.
When he finally pushed into you, your eyes would be locked on his, warm with emotion, like the entire world just melted away. And how could he not kiss you? When everything felt so good and your legs were wrapped around his waist and each breath was punctuated by soft, desperate sounds?Â
It would feel special. With your foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. He just wants to be as close to you as possibleâ needs to feel every inch of your skin, sweaty and sun-warmed, against his. Heâd just⊠bury himself deep inside of you and grind into you. It felt more intimate that way.
He could feel himself getting close. A furrow formed between his brows as he chased his high. Moans broke up his words as he brought himself closer and closer.Â
âIâdâ fuckâ Iâd rub your clit. Make you cum before I got there. Itâd feel soâ so fucking good too. It always feels so good. Oh god. Fuck, Iâm close.â
âGo ahead, baby. I want to hear you.â
His entire body shuddered as he came, spilling messily onto his belly and chest. It felt like it lasted foreverâ that warm, perfect feeling of reaching his peak. He was panting as he came down, stroking himself until overstimulation made him whimper.Â
âFuck⊠maybe I should pay you for that,â you said after a beat. âDid it feel good, Steve? Feel a little less lonely?â
âMhmm,â he replied. He was spentâ already feeling languid and heavy. âThat was⊠Really perfect.â
âIâm glad.â You paused again, and he spent that time trying to catch his breath. âIâm on every night around this time. Like, from around ten to two. Iâd like to hear more of your fantasies, maybe even act one out with you, if youâd want that?â
His heart hammered, and he felt incredibly stupid as a blush crept up his neck and cheeks. âYeah, Iâll call you again soon.â
When you said your good nights, he laid back against his pillows. The dial tone played over the speakers as he stared up at his ceiling, spend cooling on his tummy. Leave it to King Steve to fall for someone he had to pay to talk to.
Your eyelids drooped as you manned the checkout counter at Waldenbooks, one of few stores at the mall that could actually be found vacant during a busy summer day. Last night had been a late oneâ it didnât help that you couldnât stop thinking about Steve, your mystery caller.Â
It felt stupid to get hung up on the type of guy who had to call a hotline to get his rocks off, especially when you knew precious little about him. You had his name, his general location, that he had a pool, and he had a nice voice.Â
Your bangs lifted as you blew a puff of air out the side of your lips, slowly going insane to the sound of Muzak playing softly through the speakers.Â
Steve⊠Did you know any Steveâs? Steve Crandall got into a motorcycle wreck the year after graduation and died. Then there was Steve Odell who moved off to California on some crazy tech idea he swore was going to change the world. Steven Ferris? He seemed like the type, but there was no way he owned a pool since you were pretty sure he lived in the basement of some old coupleâs house. That wiped out your graduating class, at least.Â
From your perspective on the second floor, you had a perfect view of the fine piece of ass working the ice cream parlor. He was cuteâ definitely younger than you by a couple of yearsâ and the stupid costume they had him in surprisingly did it for you. You could watch him mop up spilled sorbet all day and itâd be jerk-off material for the next week.Â
 He had nice biceps. And thighs. Fucking hell, the things youâd do to get between those and â
âNew releases?â You snap your gaze to the other side of the counter, where a woman with pink lipstick on her teeth looks at you impatiently.Â
You plastered on a winning smile and pointed a manicured finger to the other side of the store. âThat big shelf on the left-hand wall over there,â you said with saccharine sweetness. âAnything else that I can help you with, maâam?âÂ
She frowned and you fought a grin. There was nothing that women pushing forty hated more than being called maâam. You might as well have been telling them they had a foot in the grave.Â
The day passed by with minimal hiccups. You convinced someone to buy your favorite book, so that was a win. And youâd gotten to restock the fun pencils. You clocked out and shrugged off the vest you wore on top of your normal clothes and took your hair down from its ponytail to hang loose on your shoulders. Your perm was kind of killing you. It never sat just how you wanted, almost like it had a mind of its own.Â
You made your way out of the mall with a brief glance towards Scoops Ahoy, which was notably missing the hot guy youâd been lusting after since your first day on the job. With a dejected sigh, you escaped the crowded, piercingly loud mall and stepped into the hot summer air.Â
Most people (or, more accurately, children) were heading for the busses that would shuttle people back into the town square or their respective neighborhoods, but your car waited for you in the exclusive Employees Only lot in the shade. As you turned to head that way, you bumped straight into a tall, firm figure.Â
Huh, you thought. He smells like hot fudge and maraschino cherries. I like those things.
âSorry,â he said quickly. âI thought you were headed for the bus like everyone else.â
You looked up, squinting against the sun, and felt heat flood your cheeks when you realized that it was the hot ice cream scooper. âOh, itâs, uhââ you stammered nervously. It was never as easy as the phone line. âI was too.â You wanted to hit yourself. What the hell were you even talking about?
His brows furrowed. âYou were what?â
Fuck. âI⊠uhâ donât know,â you finally said, ready for the conversation to end forever. âIâll see you around.â And you were gone. You almost missed him calling after you.
You will?
But you pretended youâd never heard it.Â
ââ
Steve called at midnight, just as you brewed your second cup of coffee of the night. You took a quick sip as the call was directed your way, already feeling much more awake in anticipation of what lay ahead.Â
âHey, Steve,â you greeted, adjusting your voice to that casual, sexy cadence that you had perfected. âI was thinking about you all day today.â
Steve responded with a dismissive psh. âIâm going to pretend thatâs true, because I was thinking of you too,â he said, and you could hear his grin. âI kept screwing up at work because Iâd get distracted thinking about you.â
You felt heat creep into your cheeks. âBaby, youâll make me blush.â You paused, chewing on your lip briefly. âSo⊠whatâs in the cards for tonight, Steve? What do you want to do with me?â
He paused so long that you almost thought the call had dropped, but eventually he worked up the nerve to continue. âWell, you heard my fantasy last time. This time I want to hear yours.â
You snorted a laugh. âSteve, baby, thatâs so incredibly sweet, but you could hate it, or think itâs boring, and then Iâll feel guilty for wasting your money.â
âI wonât,â he insisted. âCâmon, itâll help us get to know each other better.â
You exhaled slowly through your nose, your tummy already fluttering with thoughts of the hot sailor shelling out dollar ice cream cones with extra sprinkles on top.Â
Fuck.Â
âAlright, but if you hate it, youâve gotta promise me that youâll tell me to shut up and weâll do something else.â He hummed in affirmation and you laid back against your pillows, sighing as you closed your eyes and fell into your newfound, perfect little fantasy.Â
âSo⊠when Iâm not doing sexy phone calls, I work a menial job,â you begin. âAnd normally, Iâd be, like, wearing an ugly polo or vest or something with our logo on it, but for the sake of sexiness, letâs say that Iâm wearing a cute little dress and my hair looks, like, perfect.â
âWhat does your hair look like normally?â Steve asked, hung up on the one detail that was specifically for your sake. God, you wanted to burn your local salon to the ground.Â
âUh,â you paused, wondering if you should tell the truth. âSo I told my hairstylist to go for Kelly LeBrock and she⊠you know⊠tried. It looks so cute sometimes, and then other times it has a total mind of its own.â
âOh, Kelly LeBrock! Sheâs such a babe. I saw the trailer for that movie sheâs gonna be in. Total fox. Great hair.â
You tried to fight a smile, but couldnât. âDo you wanna talk hair routines, or do you want me to keep going?â
Steve paused like he was genuinely considering it. âWeâll come back to the hair. I could probably help you figure it out, you know. Iâve got great hair.â
You smirked. âOh, yeah? Where?â
âUse your imagination.â
You grinned. Oh, I am.
You were stocking shelves, as usualâ except this time you couldnât reach the top shelf. Standing on your tiptoes, the hemline of your skirt inching up and up and up. And suddenly there was a presence behind you, reaching up to stock the shelf for you. He smelled really nice, felt warm pressed up against your back.
âAm I the handsome stranger in this scenario?â
You said yes, even though you were mostly thinking about your mystery sailor from the mall. God, even the stupid uniform did it for you. Maybe it was the short shorts.
In the fantasy, the two of you didnât even talkâ really, your fantasies were typically pretty straight to the point, unlike Steveâs. The plot and dialogue would get skipped, and then suddenly, your back was pressed against the ridges of the shelves and the handsome stranger was on his knees in front of you, kissing sloppily up your thighs.Â
Usually, youâd have some sense of controlâ keep your hands above the belt. It was better for you that way. It gave you a sense of separation from what was real and what was happening on the phone. And, really, you never really had a particular need to touch yourself while you were handling the calls anyway.Â
And yet⊠Your hand slipped past the elastic hand of your panties, between your thighs where you were already wet and needy from just your own imagination. You gasped into the phone, bucking your hips into your own touch.Â
Steve made a choked sound, crackly through the phoneâs speakers. He knew exactly what you were doing.Â
âGetting all worked up thinking about it, huh?â He asked, and you could hear a slight rustling and movement as he got himself undressed. It was honestly puzzling that it took that long, or that he didnât call already ready to go. âSound so pretty.â
You werenât even aware that you were making a significant amount of noise, but Steve had keyed into it easily, hanging onto every sigh and whimper.Â
In your fantasy, his mouth was absolutely fucking sinful. He would moan against your cunt, nuzzling against your clit with his nose as he lapped up your slick. It was sloppy, and the sounds he made could have made the devil himself blush a burning red. His chin and mouth would drip with the combination of your juices and his spitâ his fingernails leaving crescents in your thighs from where he held you tight.Â
When he looked up at you from between your thighs, his gaze would be equal parts hungry and sweet. He wanted it to feel good for you because the more you get off, the better it felt for him too. When he felt you getting closer and closer, he moved his fingertip to your entrance, teasing you with featherlight grazes that gathered your essence. He pressed in, just to his first knuckle, and relished in the way you would clench around him at the smallest intrusion before he gave it to you entirely.
Despite the shitty quality of the phone, which was probably your fault, since you had owned it since at least â78, you could hear the slick sounds of him stroking himself to your words. And, for once, you relished in that noise across the line.Â
You pushed a finger inside of yourself, then a second. Most guys youâd been with got that far then jammed them in and out at a wrist-killing speed until you faked it. Your thing was always just keeping them still, pressing against the sweet spot just barely a few inches inside. Paired with the dizzying pleasure of attention to your clit, the sensation was electric and all-consuming.Â
It felt too good to stop, and yet you knew you needed to make it through your fantasy before you came and that precious euphoria rushed over you. Because after the euphoria came that strange sense of disgust, and you couldnât really afford to spend the rest of the call grossed out by what you were doing.Â
âFuck, anyways,â you began, your breath coming in short pants. âHeâ youâ would take off your shorts.â Stupid, tiny, tight shorts. âAnd, fuck, youâd already be so hard and needy. You just wanted me so bad. You would press me against the shelf and when you push into me itâd be so easy and slick and Iâd feel so full.â
Your cunt pulsed around your fingers, so close to the edge that you could almost swear you were already over it. The precipice was so nice you almost didnât mind waiting for it. You would hear Steve fucking his hand, pretty moans and grunts passing his lips as he brought himself closer. It wasnât really fair to leave either one of you hanging much longer.Â
âYouâd kiss me. And it would be a little messy, but we wouldnât care. Youâd taste good, and youâd feel good. Fuck, Steve. I need to cum so bad.â
He panted into the phone and you practically mewled. God, he sounded so much better than the gross old men you usually had to deal with. âFuck, Iâm right here with you,â he managed, his voice breathy and desperate. âLet me hear you.â
Your ears rang as you came, making the world go a bit fuzzy. Distantly, you could hear how pretty Steve sounded as he came. Honestly, youâd never been one to relish in that type of thingâ most guys youâd hooked up with kind of grossed you out. But, god, youâd give anything to watch him get off. Your chest heaved, rising and falling with a shiny sheen of sweat.
âSoâŠâ Steve began, sounding a little more languid and a lot more blissed out. There was a sweet, carefree quality to his voice. âYour fantasy is having sex at work?â
You rolled your eyes and fought a grin. âHey, I didnât judge your hot, sweaty poolside fuck session.â
âThat was about making love,â He insisted. Your heart stuttered a bit. You had to admit that was sweet. âAnd Iâm not knocking your fantasyâ I just canât even imagine someone wanting to have sex with me in my uniform.â
You grinned. âAw, you have a uniform? I bet you look really sexy in it.â
He huffed, an annoyed groan escaping his lips. âNo, I hate my uniform and Iâm counting the days until I can rip it off and throw it in, like, a bonfire.â
âI can help with the ripping it off part, yâknow,â you teased.Â
âNo,â he said firmly. âNo, weâre not going there, because, one, I came so much I canât even think about getting hard again or my dick will hurt, and two, if I start having workplace fantasies about you and my uniform Iâll get hard on the job and end up on a registry somewhere.â
âAlright, alright,â you said with a laugh. âI had fun tonight, Steve. I, uh, donât really get a lot of people asking what I like. I donât get anyone asking what I like, actually.â
âWell, what can I say? Iâm just a pleaser, I guess.âÂ
He said his goodnights just before hanging up, promising to call again soon. You didnât have a clear idea of when soon was. Youâd had long-term customers promise a call soon that just dropped off the face of the earth. You laid there listening to the dial tone until it started to hurt your ears, then put the phone back on the receiver.
The bed creaked on its ancient springs as you got up, padding out into the hallway. Outside the big window at the end of the hall, you saw a lamp switch off across the street, making the house go dark. It felt a little comforting to know that boring old Hawkins was awake just like you were.Â
In the bathroom, you washed your hands with cotton candy-scented soap and tugged at your misbehaving curls. Maybe you would take up Steve on his hair tips. Before you could think about Steve any longer, your phone rang again. And though part of you wished it would be Steve, you knew that there was such a thing as too soon to be âsoon.â
There wasnât really a point in pouting. It was decent money. You answered the phone, put on your fake voice, and got to work.Â
Steve called nearly nightly for the next month. If having a backyard school wasnât proof enough he was loaded, his ability to pay your rates nightly sealed the deal.Â
It wasnât always sexual. Well, to be fair, it was mostly sexual. No matter how much you looked forward to phone sex with Steve, you enjoyed talking to him just as much. You learned about his childhood dog, Walter, and his allegedly prodigy-like swimming skills. He was CPR certified, could say his ABCs in French (and nothing else), and loved the colors red, yellow, and blue.
You told him what you could without giving too much away. That Jenny, obviously, wasnât your real name. Your favorite color, favorite book, favorite flower. You told him that you were in college, going back in the fall. That you only started doing this gig because textbooks were expensive and you wanted to be able to feed yourself while at school.Â
Without meaning to, you started to care about Steve. It was probably stupid, and definitely against everything you thought you stood for. But somehow, he managed to squeeze into the recesses of your brain and set up camp there. Try as you might, you couldnât get him out of your mind.Â
âAlright, little Stevie, thatâs your fifth wistful sigh of the day,â Robin said, marking a tally on her palm. It struck him as weird that she was counting, but it wasnât exactly anything new. âYouâve gotta stop or I might actually start feeling bad for you.â
His chin rested in his hand, and he looked over at her with wide puppy dog eyes. âCan you love someone youâve never met?â
Robin shrugged. âI dunno. Probably not, why?â
He sighed again, his shoulders sagging. âWhat if my dream girl isnât exactly accessible? Like⊠sheâs impossible to find and might not even live in Hawkins. She might live in, like, Indianapolis.â
Robinâs expressionâ the slight squint of her eyes and downturn to her lipsâ told him she didnât particularly care. But the store was dead on a boring Tuesday, so digging into Steveâs life was about the only interesting thing to do on the job.Â
âThat sucks,â she said slowly. âHow do you know this mystery soulmate?â
Steve blanched, picking at his nails as he tried to consider a reasonable excuse. âUh⊠Blind setup. Very blind setup.â Robin raised an eyebrow. âI only know her number, nothing else.â
âName?â Steve shook his head glumly. âDamn. But you think you love this girl?â Steve nodded again, but felt a little dumb. He never did things in half-measures. Never felt things that way either, so it made sense to him, but maybe it was a little crazy.Â
He just couldnât stop thinking about you. He wanted to help you with your bad perm and give you advice about how to take care of it. He wanted to surprise you at your boring job with lunch and flowers. It had been a long time since heâd been this excited about someone.Â
A tinny beeping sound made him jolt, nearly slipping on the freshly mopped floor. Finally. He didnât hesitate to tear off his work shirt, leaving him in the shorts and the white tee shirt he kept beneath it for this very reasonâ not having to walk out in public in full uniform.
He offered a quick bye to Robin and clocked out as quickly as he could. It had been only a week since Jenny had told him her favorite book, and heâd been saving up tips to pay for a copy at Waldenbooks.Â
There was a girl behind the counter with a messy ponytail that had half-fallen-out, music blaring from her headphones. It mustâve been a mixtape because it went from some Hall and Oates song to an older Queen one. A little disjointed, but not in bad taste. She was completely immersed in the novel in her hand, so much so that she didnât notice his presence.
âExcuse me?â He asked, putting on a winning smile.Â
âWhat?â The girl in front of him blinked in surprise and tugged the headphones down around her neck. The music continuedâ saxophone and a dance beat. Staying Power. He liked that one. Once sheâd paused it abruptly, she looked at him again, and he saw a glint of something in her eyes, like she recognized him.
âIâm looking for this bookââ He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket, where he had scribbled the title down as Jenny told him about it. âDo you know if itâs in stock?â
She looked at the note, then chewed on her lip anxiously. âMhmm.â She watched him again, like she was expecting something. It took a moment, but it clicked.Â
Sheâs the girl who bumped into him outside a month ago and said weird stuff! âOh! You were right, I guess. About seeing me around.â He squinted, reading her name tag aloud.Â
âHm?â She blinked a few times, like she was taken out of a daydream. âOh. Yeah, sorry about all of that. I just had a long day and my brain was fried.â
He nodded. âI get that,â he replied. âNext thing I know Iâll wake up from scooping ice cream in my sleep.â She laughed at that, a smile splitting across her features. âIâm Steve, by the way.â
Her expression faltered, just the tiniest bit. Almost enough that he wouldnât notice, especially since she corrected it just as quickly. âIâll go grab that book for you, âKay? Just⊠stay here.â
She disappeared into the shelves, leaving him standing awkwardly at the counter. The store was oddly emptyâ he wouldâve at least expected some nerdy kids like Dustin to be rooting around. When she returned, she seemed more nervous than before.
âHere, just take itââ She said, shoving a beat-up-looking copy at him. His brows furrowed as he looked down at the copy in his hands. The cover was bent and torn in places. Corners of pages were dog eared, sticky note tabs stuck out from pages, and he could see glimpses of pen and highlighter. Noticing his confusion, she elaborated. âWeâre out, but I had an old copy in my bag. Iâve already read it, so you can borrow it.â
He furrowed his brows. âIs that, like⊠allowed?â
âProbably!â She said with a startling lack of confidence. She swallowed, giving him an awkward smile. âJust bring it back when youâre done.â
He hesitated. âUh⊠okay. Thanks.â He turned to walk away when she called out after him.Â
 âBye, Steve.âÂ
He wondered why that sounded so familiar.Â
Fuck.Â
âI mean⊠what are the odds?â You spoke aloud as you paced your room. When your reflection caught your attention, you felt, and looked, like a madwoman. âItâs not him. Itâs not him, and Iâm not going to worry about it.â
Five minutes later, you sat up in bed, unable to focus on the book you were reading. It was going to keep bothering you unless you did at least a little digging. But, Jesus, where did you even start with something like this?
âHey, Rhonda?â You called, popping your head out of your room. âDo you remember any hot underclassmen named Steve from high school?â
Rhonda Finley was the prettiest girl from the class of â83. And it wasnât an exaggeration either, seeing as she was voted Most Beautiful and Miss Hawkins within the same school year. The fact that you were even friends felt like a strange coincidence, but there you both were regardless.Â
She carried all of her yearbooks into your room, settling onto the fluffy rug beside your bed.Â
âYou said his name is Steve?â She asked from her spot on the floor. She flipped through the old yearbook with reverenceâ pausing to look at photos of herself on other pages. âSteve⊠stevestevesteve. What about Stephen Cranston? He did the morning announcements, he was decent.â
You glanced at his picture briefly and shook your head. âNo, not him,â you replied. âHeâs cuter. Uh⊠boyish is a good word to describe him. Sharp nose and warm eyes.â
Rhonda snorted, flipping another page. âOkay, Shakespeare.âÂ
You chewed on your lip, watching her tab through until you made a squeak of recognition. The faintest glimpse of a younger Steve in a picture of a home economics class. âRonnie, flip back,â you said, tapping her shoulder insistently. She did as you said and you pointed. âThatâs him. Younger, but itâs him.â
She squinted, reading the small caption. âSophomore Steve Harrington cooks up trouble in Mrs. Destefanoâs Home Ec class!ââ She laughed and flipped until she found the sophomore class portraits. âYep. Steven Harrington.â
You sat back on your heels. âHuh.â
She closed the yearbook and glanced back at you. âI think I went to a pool party of his once,â Ronnie said, brows furrowed as she tried to find the memory. âHe was friends with that freckle-y kid that my asshole ex was friends with. God, that was the night when we got into that screaming match and we broke up for like a month before he was begging for another chance.â
Pool party? You felt a knot in your stomach that you werenât even sure you could have untangled at that point. Was it even possible that your mystery cute phone guy was the unbelievably attractive ice cream scooper at the mall?
No chance. You werenât that lucky. And yet⊠maybe a seed of hope took root in your chest. And maybe⊠maybe you could get him to spill enough details to prove it.Â
ââ
Steve called you around midnight. Your heart leapt into your throat as you answered, thrumming and threatening to burst from nerves.Â
âHey.â His voice was soft, a little tired. âI, uh, thought about you today.â
You could picture him so clearlyâ his soft hair, long legs, boyish charm. âHope I wasnât too distracting. Were you working today? What do you do?â You dug a little deeper with the question, trying to suss out any information you could.Â
âYeah,â he replied with a sigh. âI work in food service at a mall I live near. Itâs nothing to write home about, I guess, but itâs temporary until I start applying for the spring semester.â
Okay, so thereâs no doubt about it anymore. It was Steve Harrington, the hot ice cream scooper in the sailor suit, who was calling your line every night. The same Steve Harrington who youâd bumped into twice after your shift.Â
You tried to push that aside and focus on the reason for the call.Â
âSo I was a welcome distraction, then?â
He laughed. âI canât imagine a world where you arenât.â He paused. âDid you, uh⊠think about me?â
The hope in his voice made your heart swell. âOf course I thought about you, baby. Youâre my favorite caller.â You paused, debating your next move. âIâve been thinking about getting you all needy and desperate for me all day. About hearing your pretty sounds.â
He fucking whimpered. âIâve spent the entire night hard just waiting to call you.â You could hear him shuffle around on the other end of the call, presumably stripping off his remaining layers. âDidnât want to be too desperate and call too fast.â
âPoor baby,â you cooed. âCan you do something for me? Itâll feel so good, I promise.â
âMhmm.â
âGrab a pillow and lay on your stomach for me,â you instructed. Without hesitation, you could hear the staticky sound of movement on his end as he shifted. âThis might sound weird, butââ
âYou want me to⊠to likeââ he stammered nervously. âHump it?â
You blanched, wondering if your perverse fantasies of the hot mall guy getting off had perhaps pushed him a bit too far. âI meanâŠ. Only if youâre into it. We can do something else.â
âNo,â he said quickly. âNo, Iâve⊠I meanâ Iâve done it before.â
Oh. Butterflies buzzed around your tummy as you let yourself indulge in the mental image. âYeah? Did it feel good?â
âMhmm,â he hummed. You could hear rustling on the phone, like he was trying to situate himself comfortably. âJust made a mess is all.â
Fucking hell. âYou gonna make a mess for me tonight, then?â You asked, twirling the phone cord around your finger. He moaned in response, and you grinned. âAw, did you already get started, sweetheart?â
He moaned out a confirmation and you grinned, letting your free hand trail down your belly and beneath the waistband of your panties. âYou already sound so pretty, Steve. So good for me, doing exactly what I say.â
The breathy sounds of his pants and moans made slickness gather between your thighs. Sounded like he hadnât been lying about being hard and desperate all night just anticipating the call. âWeâre not gonna talk tonight, weâre just gonna listen to each other,â you told him.Â
Maybe it was unfair to him that you had the perfect mental image of him in your head since you already knew what he looked like. You relished in that knowledge as you coated your fingers in your wetness and rubbed small circles around your clit.Â
Steve was loud, which made you wonder if his neighbors hated him. If you had to live next door to Steve Harrington and his pornstar moans, youâd probably go crazy. You were going crazy just from being on the other end of the phone. You were louder than usual tooâ it was a miracle that Rhonda worked nights.
It wasnât long before you both finishedâ gasping and moaning into the phoneâs receiver. You sighed as you laid back against your pillows, completely sated and content as you listened to Steveâs shaky breaths.Â
âHowâre you feeling?â You asked, fighting the desire to twirl your hair around your fingers.Â
âGood,â he said finally. âGonna have to do laundry, wash my sheets. I probably needed to anyway.â He paused. âI picked up a copy of that book you were talking about. Itâs actually funny, âcause they were out of copies apparently, but the girl behind the counter let me have hers. Like it was meant to be, or something.â
Your heart hammered. âThatâs really sweet, Steve,â you said softly. âIâm sorry in advance if you hate it.â
âI wonât!â He insisted. âI read the first couple of pages while I waited to call. Iâm not the best reader, though. Might take me a while to finish it, but I do like it so far.â
You were partially convinced that you were in love with Steve Harrington, despite the fact that he wouldnât even recognize you on the street. âThis might be⊠I mean, maybe itâs crossing a line, and I could totally get fired for even suggesting⊠butââ You hesitated. Fuck it. âI want to give you my personal line. So you donât have to pay to talk to me. Itâs not fair if weâre both enjoying the conversations but only one of us is paying, you know?â
He was quiet, almost too quiet. Nerves stirred in your belly. âIs that⊠you know, okay?â
âYeah, Iâd like that,â he said quickly. âLet me just grab a pen.â
You couldnât help but stare longingly down into the atrium of the mall, where Steve Harrington was sweeping crumbs off of one of the booths inside Scoops Ahoy.
âHello?â A kid snapped his fingers a few times and you swallowed down your annoyance as you turned. âWe called earlier about Enderâs Game. The guy on the phone said heâd hold three copies. Itâs under Mike.â
You glanced behind you, where the books clearly werenât. Fuck Greg for making your menial job even worse. âIt mustâve slipped his mind. I can grab those for you.â The kid made a bitchy face as you stepped away from the counter and you bit your tongue to keep from saying something rude. Fucking latchkey kids.
When you returned with three copies of the book, you looked at the kids skeptically. âBy the way, if you stole any of the pencils or bookmarks, my boss is going to take it out of my paycheck and I wonât be able to feed my kids.â
âIt costs thirty cents to feed your kids?â
You sighed and rang them up, but they continued to loiter in the shelves while you pretended to be busy.Â
âThereâs nothing to do,â one of them said after picking up a copy of Sports Illustrated briefly. âWe should just go back to my house and play Atari.â
A red-haired girl rolled her eyes. âLucas, weâre not playing Pong again.â She paused and glanced down towards the food court. âWe could go see Steve.â
It took all your willpower not to react.Â
âWhy do you always want to go see Steve?â Lucas asked. âItâs not like you have a boyfriend or anything.â
âShe just wants to see him because sheâs got some weird crush on him,â the bitchy one said. Mike? The red-haired girl blushed nearly as fiery as her hair and shoved Mike hard. âWhat? We all know it. You and El are always drooling over him. Itâs weird.â
âHeâs nice, okay? Way nicer than you are, asshole.â She shoved past the group and left on her own, leaving the other two guys to scramble after her. One kid was left behind, the one with the unfortunate bowl cut. He offered a wave before he followed after them.Â
When they got downstairs, you watched him greet the redhead with a smile and a ruffle of her hair. Lucas and the bowl-cut kid got a slap on the back, and the bitchy one got a half-smile that wasnât returned.Â
Then he shelled out free ice cream, which was evident because none of them made a move to pay.Â
After they left, you watched him reach into his own wallet and cover the cost, placing the bills carefully into the cash register.Â
The rest of your shift was spent fawning over Steve and flipping through issues of the magazines you had on display. You felt idiotic gazing at Steve Harrington with puppy dog eyes while reading Top Ten Ways to Know if Heâs Really Into You! Of course he wasnât into youâ he didnât even know who you were, not really.Â
Around two in the afternoon, you were snapped out of your reverie by the sight of Steve walking through the threshold of the shop, looking around the shop before his gaze settled on you and lit up in recognition.Â
âHi!â He said, nearly knocking over a carefully displayed unofficial biography of Reagan on his way over. You smiled, straightening your posture as he approached. âI wanted to thank you for the book.â
Your heart thumped. âOh, you donât need to thank me,â you insisted. âI just wanted to help.â
He reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out two coupons to Scoops Ahoy with a flourish. They advertised free ice cream in the nautical scrawl. âDoes this change your mind?â He raised his brows and smiled smugly.Â
You rolled your eyes and grabbed them, reading the fine print. Valid only at the Starcourt Mall location on weekdays between 8am and 11am. Offer not valid in conjunction with any other deals. Offer excludes banana splits, sundaes, and the U.S.S. Butterscotch.
âMaybe,â you replied. âIs free ice cream your thing or something? I saw you give that group of kids free sundaes earlier.â
He furrowed his brows, considering it, then grinned. âAre you watching me?â
Fuck. You spluttered, shaking your head as you fumbled through a response. âNo. They were here first, then talked about going to see you, and then I justâŠâ He laughed and leaned over the desk slightly, as if testing the view.Â
âOh, yeah. Perfect view from here.â
You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the heat burning in your cheeks. âSo you come here to thank me with shitty coupons, and then you accuse me of spying on you?â
He shook his head as he leaned back. âHey, itâs not accusing you if itâs true.â He was so smug. âAnyway, Iâll get out of your hair. See you around?â He looked at you expectantly until you nodded, face burning hot. He smiled, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked out casually like he hadnât just totally caught you creeping on him.Â
God, you were going to make him pay for that later.Â
ââ
Steve paced around his room as he tried to gain the courage to call you. He would have liked to say that he needed to get your number from his Rolodex, but heâd memorized it nearly the moment he put it down on paper.Â
He was thinking of you, but he was also thinking about the girl from the mall who seemed to keep popping up. There was something about her, the way he was drawn to her, the way she spoke, the way she looked at him. It was all so familiar and easy, like theyâd known each other forever.Â
He didnât know how to feel about that.Â
Finally, he settled on his bed, dressed only in a thin white tank top and boxers that were a size too big since he stopped working out as much. With nerves buzzing in his ears, he dialed your number and waited.Â
And waited. And waited. He swallowed hard, wondering if youâd given him a fake number just to be rid of him. The number went to the answering machine, and his mouth went dry.Â
âHi! Youâve reached Y/N Y/L/N. Iâm out right now, but leave your name and number at the beep and Iâll get back to you as soon as I can!â A beep sounded and Steve hung up suddenly. His stomach sank.Â
He wasnât supposed to know your real name like that. It felt like some gross intrusion. And yet, he repeated it over and over again in his mind. Why did it seem so familiar?
On his nightstand, the beat up paperback he had borrowed stood out like a sore thumb. Oh. The book, the same book you, Jenny, had told him about. And the girl who worked there⊠Y/N.Â
It was too much, far too much to be a coincidence. He grabbed the book and opened it to look at the inside cover, where your name, Jennyâs name was scrawled inside. Because you and Jenny were the same person.Â
Every single conversation leading up to that point played over in his mind. The messy perm, the shitty job with the ugly polo, the fantasy about being pushed against the shelves and fucked. Oh, God. And you were totally spying on him.Â
It shouldâve been an absolute win for him, but his stomach turned as he glanced over at the phone on the receiver. You were gorgeous and funny and smart and so sexy. Why would you want to be with someone who needed to call a sex hotline?
He could just picture the look on your face when you discovered that the guy who worked in the stupid uniform at Scoops was so pathetic that he needed to call someone to get attention.Â
He swallowed hard, guilt and doubt settling icy in his stomach. He put the book down, and didnât call back.
ââ
Steve was sulking during his shift. Probably biting the heads off of a few too many kids who asked for a few too many samples.Â
âJesus, how many times do you need to try cotton candy?â He snapped as he dug out a tiny spoonful of the pink and blue ice cream. The kid furrowed his brows up at him, puzzled by the sudden outburst.Â
âUh, can I try Cherries Jubilee next?â He asked hesitantly.Â
Steve exhaled slowly through his nose. âNo, youâre done. Out.â
The kid rolled his eyes, swore under his breath, and stomped out of Scoops Ahoy.Â
Robin was staring at him funny when he turned around, a mix of curiosity and amusement. âYouâre totally PMSing today.â
He couldnât manage more than a scowl in response. âShut up.â
Robin laughed and tossed a cherry at him, which he managed to catch before it splattered against the glass of the ice cream case. He hated maraschino cherriesâ the artificial sweetness and unnatural color. But, hey, he could tie a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue.
He hadnât called you for three days, which felt like the longest stretch of time in his life. And he hadnât even seen you around Starcourt, which was both a good thing and absolutely unbearable.Â
Part of him wanted to just jump on the escalator and see if you were sitting behind the counter at Waldenbooks, but he knew it was better to just have a clean break. Maybe in a few months, youâd forget about that Steve guy whoâd called you and he could make his move then.
The shift change hit around lunchtime, and Steve prepared for the influx of people who were getting off work on empty stomachs. As he suspected, the line stretched out the door and he was practically up to his elbows in ice cream, mindlessly scooping flavor combinations that shouldâve been illegal. Untilâ
âHey, Steve,â you said, standing in front of him in your ugly work polo with messy hair half-fallen out of your ponytail. âStaying busy?â
He stammered nervously and mumbled out an unintelligible response. âIce cream?â Was all that he could manage to ask, which made him want to throw himself into the fountain right in the middle of the food court.Â
But you just smiled. âA shake, actually. Chocolate banana if thatâs possible.â He nodded and got to work, thankful for the distraction. Your eyes followed his every movement as he made your shake, but he couldnât let himself look at you.
Because if he did really look at you, all heâd be able to think about were the phone calls youâd hadâ the calls where heâd heard you cum with breathy gasps and pants and soft whimpers. Andâ Jesus Christâ he was thinking about it and it made him feel dizzy.Â
He used a little bit too much whipped cream and put rainbow sprinkles on top for God knows why, but he handed it to you with a weak smile.Â
âThree bucks, right?â You asked, nodding to the menu.
âUh, you can just have it,â he said without even thinking. âOn the house.â
You furrowed your brows for a moment, but smiled brightly. âReally? Thanks, Steve. I appreciate it.â You took a sip and gave a soft moan at the flavor that made a full-body chill run through him. âSee you around?â
âYeah. See you.â You gave a small wave before you disappeared into the food court. He watched you the whole way, like you were the only person in the room.
Fuck. He was hard. Like, rock hard and the stupid apron on the uniform only made it more obvious. Heâd fucking pavloved himself to get turned on just by your voice.Â
âRobin, Iâm taking my fifteen,â he said, darting into the back before she could protest. He stepped inside the walk-in freezer and propped the door with a crate of waffle cones. After about five minutes, he felt like he could actually think again.
âFuck,â He muttered under his breath. He had to call you again.
You were sincerely considering quitting the hotline. After Steve, just listening to the other guys panting and blowing their loads on the phone was nauseating. They didnât care to learn more about you, not the way he did. They just wanted to get their rocks off to an anonymous, sexy voice.Â
Then again, Steve had disappeared too. Maybe giving him your real number had crossed a line. Maybe it freaked him out that you were taking it beyond a transaction. You sighed and wrapped yourself tighter in your house coat. Rhonda always kept the AC on overdrive in the summer, which meant you needed at least two blankets to be comfortable.Â
When the phone rang, you picked it up without thinking, half expecting it to be Rhonda calling you to check in during her break.Â
âHey,â you said absentmindedly, leaning back against your pillows.Â
âThis is, uhâ this is the right number, right? Itâs Steve.â
Your heart nearly burst out of your chest at the sound of his voice. âHey, yeah, itâs the right number,â you assured. You wriggled out of your housecoat and tossed it to the side so you could get more comfortable. âHow are you? Itâs been a few days.â
He sighed. âYeah, I, uh,â he paused. âI think I psyched myself out of calling you.â
âOh,â you said softly. âWell, Iâm glad you did call. I really missed you.â
âYou did?â
You laughed, letting yourself get more comfortable. âMhmm,â you replied. âI mean, weâve been talking everyday for a while, you know?â
âI missed you too, couldnât stop thinking about you, even at work.â You smiled, remembering how absentminded he had seemed when you showed up in the ice cream parlor. And he was thinking about you. Not you, but still you. âIâ uhâ had to walk into our deep freezer to cool myself off.â
âHow long has it been for you?â You asked suddenly. âLike, since youâve had sex.â
Steve chuckled nervously. âI dunno⊠two months?â He paused. âIs that lame?â
âNuh-uh, baby,â you assured. âThink itâs sweet. No wonder youâre all needy all the time. You need a nice, tight, wet pussy to sink into, hm?â
A low moan escaped his lips. âGodââ
âBetter than your hand, isnât it?â You teased. âI bet youâre so desperate that youâve been touching yourself this whole time, even before you called me. Isnât that right?â
The closest thing you got in response was another pretty moan. âYouâre big too, arenât you?â You mused aloud, not even waiting for a response. âI know you are, youâve basically told me in not so many words. Most girls canât handle that, baby. Itâs not your fault. Thatâs okay, we could take it slow, you could get me all nice and stretched for you, take your time like the gentleman you are.â
âFuckâ fuckââ His words came out choked and desperate. You could almost picture itâ the way heâd be fucking up into his hand, needing more and more.
âI bet you always have to take it real slow, huh? Gotta be careful so you donât hurt someone. But that just means you can feel everything better, doesnât it? Inch by inch by inch, every flutter and squeeze. And you can see on their faces how good it feels, canât you? You can watch their eyes roll back and their mouths fall open while they cry out for you. I mean, Jesus, Steve, I bet most girls come before youâre even all the way inside.â
His hand sped up, desperate and needy, just as youâd said. You could hear it with each wet slap of skin against skin. His moans were constant, a stream of yesahgodfuckohshitahyesahfuckfuckfuckâ until the prettiest moan escaped his lips, all low and deep, and you knew heâd made a pretty mess of himself.Â
âBet that felt really nice,â you said while he panted on the other end of the line.Â
He made a weak noise, then finally managed a, âUh-huh. Fuck.â
You laughed softly. âThatâs gotta be the fastest Iâve gotten you off,â you said finally. âI like having that much power over you. It turns me on so much.â
He groaned. âFuck, give me fiveâ noâ ten minutes. I can barely breathe right now.â
You grinned, relishing in your ability to torture him a bit after heâd teased you at work. Unknowingly, of course, but still. âI dunno if I can wait that long, Steve⊠Iâm so wet that my thighs are all sticky.â
âGod, youâre killing me.â
You couldnât help but laugh at his dramatics. âWhy donât you lay there and listen to me? Be good and keep your hands off, alright? You already came, so donât get greedy.â
He made a nearly pained noise. âFine. Fine.â
A smirk spread across your lips as you let your hand move between your thighs. Really, you werenât exaggerating that muchâ you found yourself slick and needy when you finally slid your panties down your thighs. Actually, you thought youâd probably have to be a statue to hear Steve Harrington panting and cumming over the phone and stay unaffected.
You could hear his breath catch with every soft moan and whimper, and maybe you got mean and held the phone near your tummy, so he could hear just how wet and messy youâd gotten as you steadily fucked yourself with your fingers. When you got desperate enough, you held the phone against your ear once more.Â
âI dunno, Steve⊠I donât think my fingers can cut it,â you said, exaggerating the pouty tone of your voice. âI wish you were here to take care of me.â
He groaned, low and muffled. You had a feeling heâd thrown an arm over his face. âYouâre so unfair.â
A smile spread across your lips at his words. âNo, baby. Whatâs unfair is that Iâm laying here all alone, feeling so empty and needy, and youâre not here to make it all better.â You reached into your nightstand, pulling out the dildo youâd bought for your twentieth birthday. ââS okay, I can take care of myself just fine. You ever been to a sex shop?â
It got quiet on the line, and you could nearly hear the gears turning.Â
âN-no.â
You raised a brow. âReally? But you know what they sell, donât you?â You paused until he hummed a soft uh-huh. âItâs only fair that I get to use a toy to fill myself up since you canât do it for me, right?â
âY-yeah, wanna hear you do it.â
You grinned. âPatience, baby. Gotta get it wet first so it glides in nice and easy.â
Blowing a rubber dick wasnât how youâd envisioned ending your day, butâ what can you say?â spontaneity is the spice of life. You made sure he heard every wet pass of it between your lips, every exaggerated gag as you took it into your throat, the messy smack of your lips. It tasted like a tire and dish soap, but the desperate, restrained sounds he was making made it all worth it.Â
Your eyes were watery when you finally pulled the toy from your mouth, certain youâd adequately worked him up for the time being. Plus, you were worked up just as much, if not moreâ you wanted to just fuck yourself into oblivion already.Â
Instinctively, your thighs fell farther apart as you moved the toy between your legs. You let the tip tease your entrance, only a little, before you began to push it inside. A soft moan fell from your lips as you finally got the nice, full feeling youâd been dreaming of.Â
You laid there for a moment, letting your body adjust to it, reveling in it. With your free hand, you slowly circled your clit until your cunt fluttered around the intrusion.Â
âFeels so nice,â you sighed, lips brushing against the mouthpiece of the phone. You felt drunk and hazy with desire. âLike Iâm so close already that I can taste it.â
âMake yourself come for me,â he practically begged. âWanna hear it.â
You moaned at his words, but shook your head. âCanât yet. I wanna make this last.â
Time felt a little hazy as you kept working the toy in and out, slow and deep. Occasionally, youâd brush against your clit just right, or the toy would find a nice spot inside of you, and your entire body would tremble with need.Â
Steveâs breath came in pants over the phone, but you couldnât tell if he had broken and actually started to touch himself. You kind of hoped he did, even if you wouldnât say it.Â
Eventually, you came without warningâ the build-up of it all made it impossible to avoid. Once you started over that edge, you couldnât crawl back even if youâd wanted to. Moans fell from your lips as you succumbed to your orgasm; every nerve was like a live wire. When it finally came to be too much, you slipped the toy out and relaxed onto your bed with a contented sigh.Â
âAre you still alive?â You asked, quiet crackling over the phone.Â
âUh⊠yeah,â he replied, a little distracted. âHave you ever come without having to touch yourself?â
You laughed softly. âOnce. I read in Cosmo that some girls can get off just from playing with their tits. Took a while, but I eventually got there. Why?â
âI just, uh⊠listening to you, all the noises and hearing how wet you were⊠I guess that was all it took.â He sounded so embarrassed, but it was the cutest fucking thing youâd ever heard. You could imagine it so clearly, his cock pulsing against his twitching stomach, cum making puddles around his navel.Â
âThatâs the sweetest thing Iâve ever heard,â you said with a smile. âYouâre probably exhausted, huh?â
He laughed a bit. âA little, but I can stay up and talk, if youâre free.â
Ever the gentleman, Steve stayed up another hour to talk about whatever you could think of to keep the conversation running. The new collection at The Gap, whether or not he planned to see Back to the Future, his favorite music got him talking for half an hour at least. Finally, you were yawning and beat.Â
âSteve, baby, I should go to sleep,â you said, almost apologetically.Â
âThatâs okay. Iâll see you tomorrow.â
You froze, brows furrowing. âWhat?â
âIâll see you tomorrow,â he repeated, sleepily. âAt the mall.â
âUm⊠night,â you said quickly, panicking slightly as you hung up the phone.
Steve had mopped the same spot on the floor five times during his shift, all while sparing fleeting glances towards Waldenbooks, where you were immersed in a magazine or a book. Always doing anything but looking down at him.Â
Which was good⊠maybe? He couldnât quite decide.
He hadnât been thinking when he said that on the phone. But he was sleepy, and his brain was a little foggy, and then heâd gone and doubled down.Â
As soon as he hung up the phone, he remembered that he had given his real name, and you knew he worked in food service, and you knew he wore a stupid uniform. That narrowed it down really easily.Â
So he spent his shift in a constant state of dread and panic, waiting for the other shoe to drop.Â
By the time the mall was closing, he had occupied himself with wiping down tables. He let Robin head home and pulled out his Walkman to keep him company. Since working at Starcourt, he made a pretty sick collection of tapes that wound up in the lost and found. This one was a metal mix, which typically wasnât his thing, but was growing on him.Â
He didnât realize you were standing over him until you rapped twice on the table, drawing his eyes up, up, up until they were locked with yours. He scrambled to pause the tape and stand up, adjusting his stupid uniform as an embarrassed blush grew on his cheeks.Â
âHi,â you greeted. Your Waldenbooks vest hung loosely on your form, right on top of a pink polo.Â
âHi,â he echoed. It was quiet for a second, as he tried to think of what to say, and as you scrambled for the words youâd been practicing all day. âIâve known it was you for a while.â The words escaped him before he could stop himself, and then he just stared at you, completely mortified.Â
You laughed, covering your face for a moment as heat flooded your cheeks. âYou knew? I didnât evenâ I mean, I didnât realize. Because I knew it was you calling. For a while, actually.Â
He grinned, leaning forward. âSo⊠the guy you said you wanted to⊠against the shelvesâŠ?â When you ducked your head and looked away, he smiled like the cat who got the cream. âNo way. You were totally perving on me, even before!â
âYou had to walk into a deep freezer to cool off because you were thinking about me, perv.â He laughed, and you wanted to kiss him so badly it freaked you out a little. âSo⊠What do we do now? I mean, now that you know who I am, and I know who you are, and weâre going to keep running into each other.â
Your poor cuticles were going through the wringerâ red and stinging where you picked at them due to nerves. There was nothing you wanted more than for him to just sweep you into his arms like some kind of fairytale and promise his undying devotion. Or just say he wanted to date you. Whichever.
âI could take you on a date,â he said sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. âI mean, if your type is total pervs who spend most of the week in sailor uniforms.â
Oh, you had plans for that sailor uniform. You stepped forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. âI think you just might be in luck.â He turned his head, just slightly, so he could capture your mouth with his.Â
The kiss was sweet, at first. Slow brushes of his lips against yours. They tasted sweet, like heâd been wearing lip smackers or something. Or maybe heâd been sneaking samples of the ice cream. He pulled you closer and you gasped, offering him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned softly at the feeling of your tongue licking against his.Â
He picked you up easily, sitting you down on the table he shouldâve been cleaning. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your arms around his neck. It was easy to lose yourself in the hungry, desperate way Steve kissed. You couldâve stayed right there in the middle of Scoops making out with him until the mall opened in the morning, and still not have found the motivation to stop.Â
A bright light startled you back into reality, shining directly in your faces. You and Steve squinted in the general direction, as Starcourt security stomped your way.Â
âHey! Get the fuck home,â He shouted, with equal amounts of exasperation and annoyance. He clicked off the flashlight and walked away with a huff and an eye roll, leaving you and Steve alone.
Steveâs cheeks were flushed pink with embarrassment as he stepped back, but he still wore a dopey grin on his lips. You hopped off the table and adjusted your skirt with a light laugh.Â
âThat was nice,â You said as you tucked a loose curl behind your ear. âI should leave you to it, I guess. Before we both end up in mall jail.âÂ
He shook his head quickly. âNo! I mean, you could hang out here until Iâm done. I just have a few more tables to clean and chairs to stack, if you want toââ He trailed off, looking at you expectantly.Â
A sly grin spread across your features. âWhat? Are you trying to go home with me or something?â He stammered nervously, that same, cute blush growing on his cheeks. Before he could say anything, you took a step closer and peered up at him. âBecause if you are, I might tell you that my roommate works nights at Hawkins General, and weâd have it conveniently all to ourselves.â
He swallowed, then nodded. âYeah, thatâs what Iâm trying to do.â
You sat in the booth nearest to the entrance of the parlor, flipping through a magazine youâd grabbed from work. Occasionally, youâd sneak tiny peeks of Steve bent over a table to wipe it down, uniform stretched tight over his ass, and grin behind the pages.Â
He got everything locked up in what he claimed was record time, flashing a smile as he closed up shop behind the two of you.
âDo you work tomorrow?â You asked, as casually as possible as the two of you approached your cars in the employee lot.Â
âYep. Afternoon shift,â he explained.
âIâll drive you. Weâll carpool tonight.â
The car ride was relatively tame, a few stolen glances at stoplights at most. When you brought him inside the house, your phone was ringing off the hook. You apologized and ushered him into your room, where, true enough, the spare phone you used for the hotline was ringing nonstop.Â
âSorry, let me justâŠâ You grabbed the phone and hung it up once, before taking it off the receiver completely. âThere. No interruptions.â
Steve grinned, surveying your room carefully. The set of pom-poms from high school on a shelf, a stack of Cosmopolitan magazines, the chair full of your laundryâ fuck, you shouldâve definitely taken a moment to speed clean before letting him inside.Â
âSo⊠what do you say we pick up where we left off?â You stood on your tiptoes and pecked his lips chastely before guiding him towards your bed. As soon as he sat down, you wasted no time in crawling into his lap and kissing him with all of the pent-up frustration of weeks of phone calls.Â
You kissed him for so long youâd have to come up panting for air, before diving right back in. His handsâ Jesus, youâd never noticed how big his hands wereâ were splayed out over your hips at first, but had moved down to grab your ass, encouraging each movement as you rocked against him.Â
Without breaking the kiss, you shrugged off your work vest, so it fell into a heap over the side of your bed. He pulled back, chest heaving slightly as he caught his breath. His lips were swollen from use and spit-slick. His eyes moved from the vest on the ground, then back to your eyes. A tiny laugh escaped you before you pulled off your top, then your bra.Â
âThis still okay?â You asked, as you stood briefly and tugged down your denim skirt. The sound of your voice felt almost foreign in the quiet room, while he took in the sight of you in nothing but a pair of panties.
âGod, more than okay,â he assured, before pulling you onto his lap for another heated kiss. This kiss was needierâ you could feel it in the hungry way he licked into your mouth, and the feel of him hard beneath you. Tiny gasps pushed past your lips as you rocked against him just right.Â
He moved his hands from you only to pull off his work shirt, and the white shirt he wore beneath it. Your hands immediately went to his chest, running through the chest hair heâd hidden beneath the uniform. How the fuck did he manage to walk out of his house without being immediately pounced on by every woman in a five-mile radius?
 He placed one final kiss on your lips before pulling back and meeting your gaze. As earnestly as youâd ever, he asked, âCan I go down on you?â
Yes. Fuck, yes. Oh my god, yes. âSure, if you want to.â
He smiled wide. âYeah? Just relax for me, alright?â He shifted the two of you, so you were lying on the bed and he was on top of you. He planted a chaste peck on your nose, and you wrinkled it in reaction.Â
You kissed him one, fleetingly, before letting him kiss down your chest and tummy. He parted your thighs and carefully positioned himself between them. You met his gaze and felt your stomach somersault. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the damp fabric of your panties.,
âFuck,â he mumbled against you. âYouâre soaking for me, huh?â And there was that cocky grin youâd seen at the mall before. You had to lie back and put a hand over your eyes, because if you thought about that fucking smug expression for too long, youâd cum untouched.Â
He ran his tongue over the fabric of your panties, tasting you through the saturated satin once, twice before he pulled them down your legs. And he fucking moaned like a man starved at the sight of you.Â
Heat burned in your cheeks as you felt him spreading you open, and at the slick, wet sounds of your own arousal. âYouâre so pretty.â And then his tongue was on you, lapping up your juices, savoring all of you.Â
âO-oh, fuckââ Your moan came out like a sob as his nose brushed against your clit, making your thighs tremble. He moaned against your cunt, nuzzling deeper like he couldnât get enough.Â
In retrospect, he had brought up how much he loved eating pussy a lot on that first call. Your hips bucked slightly, torn between chasing the feeling and overstimulation. His lips would wrap around your clit and suck softly before he would go back to lapping at you, his tongue parting your folds and teasing your entrance.Â
âSt-Steve!â You cried out, fingers tangling in his hair. The slightest tug on his locks made him moan against you, which made your toes curl.Â
Your moans became pitchy and breathless as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. All of your muscles were wound up tight, itching for release.Â
All it took was a little bit of eye contact and you were done for. You sobbed out a moan as he lapped up your releaseâ each lap of his tongue sending electricity up your nerves. When he finally relented, you were shaking with aftershocks and giggling.Â
âSomething funny?â He asked with a grin as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
You sighed and spared a glance over at him. âIâve been dreaming of that happening since our first call.â He grinned as you pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips.Â
âDid it meet your expectations?â He asked, swallowing nervously as you shifted to accommodate your hand between the two of you. His eyes fluttered shut as your hand slipped beneath his work shorts and boxers to grasp his cock in your hand.Â
You gave a slow, experimental stroke of your hand and nodded. âTwo thumbs up.â
He swallowed hard as you removed your hand to completely undress him, leaving you both completely naked. You spit into your hand and wrapped it back around his length, holding eye contact as you jerked him off.
There was something so surreal about the entire situationâ having him beneath you, warm and pulsing and slick in your hand. Each time your thumb brushed along the head of his cock, he cried out with the prettiest moan.
âW-waitââ he said quickly, a look of panic in his eyes. You stilled your hand as he looked at you, a pretty blush painting his cheeks. âIâm not gonna last.â
You bit your to keep from grinning like an idiot. âThatâs okay,â you said with a smile. You reached into your bedside table and retrieved a condom. âDo you want to, uh, go all the way?âÂ
He nodded quickly. âYes. Yes, please.â
You tore open the packet and rolled the condom on. âHowâs that feel? Alright?â He gave a dorky thumbs up, which made you laugh. You leaned down to kiss him once more and wondered if youâd ever get tired of that feeling.Â
You reached between the two of you and guided his tip through your folds, coating it in your arousal until you grew too needy and lined him up with your entrance. It was a stretch, even though heâd gotten you plenty worked up with his mouth. You sank down slowly, one hand splayed against his chest to keep you steady as you took in inch after inch.Â
The sounds that escaped him as you lowered yourself onto him were so pornographic you thought he should be the one working the hotline instead. Desperate panting moans slipped past his full lips as his hands clawed at your hips.
âFuck,â he moaned, eyes half-lidded as he watched you. âThatâs it. You can take it.â
The mouth on him. You moaned softly as you finally settled onto his lap and he was fully sheathed within you. You stayed still, letting your body adjust to and relish in how full you felt.Â
âYou look so pretty right now,â he said, reaching up to brush a messy hair from your face. You laughed softly as your cheeks warmed, and a funny fluttering in your chest nearly stole your breath.
âSays you,â was all you could manage to say back. You were hyper-aware of the feeling of him within you, of each flutter of your walls around him.
You gave an experimental roll of your hips and his head fell back, against the pillows, exposing the column of his throat. You relished in the way he looked beneath youâ debauched and needy.Â
It was easy and slow at first. Each time you moved, you would lower yourself back down slowly, letting him savor the feeling of you, warm and wet and needy. He groaned each time you settled back on his lap, eyes hooded with lust as he looked up at you.
You gave a lazy smile as you looked down at him, moaning each time his cock brushed against your sweet spot. âCan I go a little faster?â
He nodded, eager for whatever you could give him. Your nails raked against his chest as you began to ride him in earnest, the back of your thighs slapping against his as you bounced on his cock.Â
Your head fell back as you rubbed at your clit with your free hand. Soft moans spilled from your lips as you relished in the culmination of all of your fantasies. Because he was there, splayed out beneath you like a fucking pornstar, and you had him all to yourself.Â
His fingers dug into the plush of your hips as he began meeting your thrusts halfway, fucking into the heaven between your thighs.Â
Your eyes rolled back as he fucked himself deeper and deeper, stealing your breath with each thrust. âClose,â you practically squeaked out. Red marks stood out against the freckles skin of his chest where you searched desperately for purchase.Â
Steveâs hair was stuck to his forehead, tacky from exertion. âNeed you to cum for me,â he managed between pretty moans. âWanna feel you cumming around me.â
You whimpered at his words, riding him harder as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave. A fucked-out moan escaped you as you collapsed against his chest, hips weakly stuttering as Steve continued fucking up into you. With your pussy gripping him like a vise, he could only manage a few good thrusts before he came with a groan.Â
You laid there on top of him as you caught your breath, wearing a stupid, giddy smile as he traced mindless shapes onto your back. His face was buried in your neck, where he left sweet, wet kisses. After a while, you slid off of him and sighed, missing the way it felt when he was still buried inside of you. You did your best to clean yourself off with the towel hanging from your bedpost as Steve tied off the condom and tossed it in the bin.Â
âWeâre not justâŠâ Steve began once you were both comfortable in your bed. He let the words linger for a moment before he shook his head. âNever mind.â
You turned on your side to face him, adjusting your blankets for a bit of modesty. âWeâre not just fucking? Thatâs what youâre asking, right?â He nodded quietly. âIt was nice, but no, thatâs not all I want.â
He grinned. âYeah? You wanna be my girlfriend? I totally pulled a cougar.â His stupid grin made you roll your eyes, but you couldnât keep a matching smile off of yours.Â
âYouâre so annoying,â you said, not giving him a second to react before your lips were on his again. You pulled back and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.Â
In the morning, you woke up in his arms as sunlight crept through the window. You squinted at the sun, then back at him. âStill want me to drive you to work?â
âNo way,â he said, muffled against the column of your throat. Soft kisses peppered against your skin, making you giggle and arch into him. âIâm calling in.â
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