#a bungalow

[gentlemanmotorslifestyle]

[vintagehomecollection]

The light-filled kitchen received the same attention to detail as the rest of the house. The staff quarters can be seen through the doorway.

The Los Angeles House: Decoration and Design in America's 20th-Century City, 1995

[attapullman]

So Hold Me Close and Say Three Words | bungalow!Robert "Bob" Floyd

PART OF THE BIG WINDOWS, SMALL KITCHEN UNIVERSE

Summary: There's only one thing that can get your boyfriend's mind off the horrible popcorn ceiling.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ as always, cockwarming, pet name Honey, title is from McFly's "All About You"

A Note From Mo: Welcome to bungalow!Bob! A dash of acts of service, a sprinkle of a condescension kink, and a whole lot of extremely loving boyfriend. Live-in boyfriend Bob is my biggest indulgence so no one look at me, I'm fragile.

He’s been planted in the big easy chair all morning, staring up at the last project on his list before the kitchen, and sighing. Dragging long fingers through wild hair as his eyes take in the wide expanse of the living room. 

His arch nemesis: the popcorn ceiling.

The little dipples and spikes of joint compound taunt him daily. A major contrast to the rest of the bungalow, all smooth ceilings with stunning walnut beams - one major selling point of the property. And while the previous owner did a great job with the addition bringing in natural light with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the backyard, he was off his rocker for choosing popcorn ceilings. 

Bob hasn’t hate anyone more than the previous owner. Well, maybe the neighbor across the street who stops by a little too much.

Before he moved in, Bob barely noticed any features of the sweet green bungalow you owned. The majority of his time here was spent in the bedroom between your thighs. But the switch flipped that first weekend after he moved his shoebox apartment in. Lounging on the sectional, girl on his chest, book in hand, and one look up at the world’s ugliest ceiling. 

He had to fix it. You deserve your dream house and it was his mission to give it to you. 

The line between his brows is adorable as he mutters something rude at the drywall.

“Bobby, babe, it’s just a ceiling.”

Those wide cornflower blue eyes blink at you, as if noticing for the first time you’re also sitting in the sun-drenched living room enjoying your coffee.

“It’s an ugly ceiling.”

You can’t help but giggle at the disgust in his tone. “It’s not that bad, I don’t notice.”

Your sweet boyfriend just rolls his eyes and leans back, side-eyeing the offending design choice. 

Peering over the edge of your mug, you admire the way the mid-morning sunlight streams through his hair, highlighting it copper. His sweats hang low on his hips, underwear forgotten, black shirt slightly too small with how much he’s filled out with all the manual labor fixing up the house. 

While not the main reason you asked him to move in, pajama Robert Floyd is a high perk of the situation.

The scowl on his face isn’t quite as endearing. Your heart hurts knowing how frustrated he is by the ceiling. He loves you. He loves this house. It’s too much pressure on him wanting to make it perfect.

Ever since he permanently parked his truck in the driveway, Bobby’s been nothing but generous. He sees the charm and coziness of the bungalow, but also the repairs and fixes you’re too busy for. His entire leave was spent weeding the backyard, and your skin still heats remembering his muscles bulging after carrying the pile of boxes from the garage to the attic. 

While you won’t satiate your boyfriend by allowing him to drop cloth the living room and scrape every dimple of drywall off the ceiling today, you do have a better idea for getting Bob’s mind off his dreaded enemy.

His eyes widen as you stand up, admiring the way your body stretches in your cozy waffle knit robe before heading through to the kitchen. Listens to you fiddle with dishes before passing him again to the bedroom. Too far away to hear, he sinks back into the leather armchair, allowing his body to meld to the material while frustration sits low in his gut. 

The birds at the feeder chirp away before you return. Toes against hardwood catch his attention, and Bob’s head turns toward the hallway, mouth dropping open. 

You’re walking toward him in just his threadbare Naval academy shirt. The shirt you put on the first time you stayed the night. The shirt you were wearing when he last came home from deployment and you shyly asked him to move in. His favorite shirt.

“H-honey…” It’s an unfinished sentence as he takes in how the sunlight illuminates you from behind, baring the silhouette of your figure inside his shirt. 

A smile dances on your lips as you come closer, dropping something on the end table with a soft tink. A noise lost as you straddle Bobby’s thighs, his fingers racing to touch as much of you as quickly as possible. Groaning when he realizes that the shirt is all you have on, the soft flesh of your ass swallowed by his big hands. 

Your fingers smooth their way up his torso, gliding over the dark fabric until the long expanse of his neck pulses beneath your ministrations. Eventually curling into his hair, combing it back into place as he gazes at you earnestly. Within moments the two of you so deeply tangled it would take twice as long to separate.

Eyes filled with nothing but love, your lips quirk sweetly before pressing a kiss to his. Allowing it to linger before pulling away to explain. “I appreciate how much work you’re putting into the house, but I don’t want you to stress. Can I help you relax?”

In place of a response, he groans and pulls you tighter to him, relishing the feel of your skin. 

“Is that a yes?” Your laugh fades as he captures your mouth in a soft kiss. The sunlight highlighting him as you gaze lovingly into his oceanic eyes. The same color as the La Jolla print you bought last summer that he just hung up.

Bob is more than happy to spend the rest of the morning making out. Enjoying the soft warmth of you beneath his hands and the taste of your tongue. The morning sun setting the mood while the birds on the porch sing the soundtrack. It was perfect for him.

Well…perfect until you ran your thumb down the outline of his cock and breathed the most sinful words against his jaw.

“Actually, I was thinking I could keep your cock warm?”

His moan is more of a whine as he immediately swallows your tongue, so grateful for this Saturday morning surprise. Raises his hips as you drag his sweats down, releasing his slowly hardening cock into the space between you, already wet at the tip.

“Honey - ah, that feels s’good,” he interrupts himself as your hand wraps around him,”-but we should prep you. Don’t want to hurt you, honey bear.”

Your face splits into a gentle grin, so enamored by the way he takes care of you even when he’s hotly thrusting his hips into your fist. A grin that pops in surprise when his fingers trace along your folds, appreciating the arousal dripping over your thighs. 

It’s so hot that you only wear his shirt without panties.

His rough thumb slips along your clit, working its way in soft circles. It’s a treat the way your nipples harden against his shirt, level with his eyes as your mouth falls open with sounds only for him. He can’t wait to watch you fall apart stretched out on his cock.

A hand on his wrist makes him pause, your half-lidded eyes finding his. You give him a sly smile as you lean forward to the end table. “Don’t need to, you got me nice and open last night, remember?”

As visions of pounding you face down in the bed only hours before run before his eyes, his mouth opens to protest. He’s fully aware of how big he is and how tight you are.

You press your finger to his lips as you raise what you’d grabbed in the bedroom. “A little of this and we’re good, promise.”

The lube bottle slips between your fingers, applying the slick substance along his shaft as you press soothing pecks along his temple.

“Can’t wait to be full of you, Bobby.” His fingers dig into your skin. Your dirty mouth will be the end of him. Especially with how your eyes burn into his while you raise up on your knees, lining up his obscenely shiny cock with your dripping slit.

“You sure you can take all of me, Honey?”

His gaze meets yours with that steely hint of condescension right as his tip breeches your folds, your pathetic nod spurring the beginning of your descent. 

The popcorn ceiling is the last thing on his mind as your velvet insides take him in. The snug fit of you mixed with the heady scent of your sweat has him dizzy, wrapping his strong arms around you to maintain control. It’s hard to think straight when you take every inch of him so beautifully, the lube assisting your efforts.

“Almost there, so close,” Bob breathes against your lips, the hair of his pelvis beginning to brush against your clit. You’re at capacity and there’s still more. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together, every time you think you’ve taken all of him, there’s always more.

Breath caught in your chest, his lips swallow your moan as you finally take him to the hilt, hips pressed fully together in their loving embrace. You’re so full, too full, deliciously full. His warm hand along your back soothes you, massaging while gritting himself against how good it feels.

You laugh through the consuming fullness. “This is supposed to be relaxing you, sorry.”

“Hon, never apologize for making me feel this good. This is exactly what I needed.”

Despite the tense way he’s holding his jaw, he looks content. Soft sapphire eyes shining with admiration, sandy hair swept off his forehead, a soft bead of perspiration trailing down his neck as he fights off the need to thrust. You cradle his jaw between your fingers, loving the way he keens beneath your touch. He’s out of a fairytale.

“I love you.”

“Love you more.”

Time stands still - the melody of the birds fading into the sun-drenched morning - as you bask in the feel of each other. Connected as one in the soft leather of his favorite chair. Soothing fingers trail up your back beneath his shirt, skimming the edges of your breasts, as your own trace the defined planes of his features. 

“I just want your house to be perfect. You deserve perfect things.” He burrows his face in the crook of your neck, placing a delicate kiss as he feels your satin walls contract around him.

You whisper against his hair. “It’s our house.”

Actions replace words as his hands travel up your shirt, crossing over your back as he holds you to him, dragging his lips over each spot of skin available. Skin warmed by sun is covered in adoration.

You shift, the pulsing of his shaft dizzying, as the acts of his love pepper your cheeks, your jaw, your sensitive neck. You love him more than words could ever express.

Love you. Love you so, so much.

When your foreheads finally rest against each other, antsy with arousal and admiration, Bob finally can’t help himself. A soft thrust up into your dripping center, the most delicious treat. The desperate whimper you release against his cheek only spurs him on, shifting his hips back once more only to sink fully into the home of your body.

“I think I’m done with cockwarming,” you admit with a breathless smirk as his hips buck into yours once again.

Your horny boyfriend has never heard more beautiful words. 

Strong hands grip your thighs as he pushes himself up to stand, your legs clenching around his lithe waist as your sense of gravity disappears. The shock instantly replaced by the growing hunger consuming you as he walks to the bedroom, still buried deep in you.

“Ugh, stop showing off. You know I think it’s so hot you can carry me mid-sex.”

Bob pauses in the hallway, leaning back to hold your gaze. “Maybe that’s why I keep doing it.”That cobalt steel back in place. “Now be a good girl and let me take you to bed.”

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join the taglist for any fic

[andallshallbewell]

[toxicanonymity]

The Raid, Part 2.

panty-dropping javi art by @bonezone44

8k words | dark!javi x f!reader x dark!steve | The Raid SUMMARY: Javi and his partner get you settled in. WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon (captivity & more), kidnapping, drugs, mild withdrawal, manhandling, sharing, degradation, praise, homoerotic tension, thigh fucking, somnophilia (javi), p in v (steve, but Javi's involved), orgasm denial, cumplay, size kink if you squint, mfm adjacent, hillbilly cock. Javi & Steve RECS: Lie Still by @milla-frenchy , Crossing Lines by @lunitawrites , Helping Hands and Polaroids by @clawdee , You can be the boss by @girlboybug . TY all!! A/N: Could've been 2 parts (4.4k/3.6k) so there's a divider (ty @cafekitsune) if you want 2 reads. Ty @debbiequinn for your sleep thot and @ghoulettesinspace for your styling thots. Tagged people who asked for part 2 at the end.

✨NEXT: Javi isn't home - Steve PWP.

The DEA has left the scene, aside from Javi and his tall, blonde partner. The partner managed to catch your (ex) boyfriend while Javi was “supervising” you. Javi has given his men a talking-to and told them you were never there.  With a strong grip on your arm, he's dragged you to a Ford Bronco where he's now forcing you into the back seat. 

"My shirt," you beg. 

Javi shrugs mercilessly. "Should've put it on before you ran." He glances at your bra before beginning to shut the car door. 

He and his partner talk outside the car. Javi stands with his hands tucked into the top of his vest. The taller man leans with one hand just above the back seat window and his other hand on his hip. He ducks down to look at you, but doesn't acknowledge you. He asks Javi, "You sure we need to be drivin' around with her half dressed?" 

"What'd I say?”

The blonde agent holds his hands up in mock defense. “No Carrillo, no questions." He walks around front to the driver's seat. You have a better view of him once he's seated. He's strong, like Javi. He has a thick mustache, too.

Javi gets in the passenger seat and puts on a voice like he's teaching a class and would rather be anywhere else. He addresses you by name, then says, "This is Steve Murphy." 

Steve nods in the rear view mirror, and your eyes meet. Then he turns on the engine and asks Javi, "safe house?" 

Javi tilts his head back and smooths his mustache. “Mm,” he contemplates.

Steve offers, "I'll head to the closest one."

Javi answers, "No. My place."

"Yours?" 

"Yeah, you know, the place I live? Right downstairs?" 

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Alright." After a few moments of silence, Steve asks, "informant?" 

"Eh," Javi ponders. "We'll see."  He puts a cigarette in his mouth, then takes the cigarette lighter out of its socket and lights up. Javi reaches down to crank the window open a little more, then exhales, aiming the smoke outside. He asks, "We need to worry about Romeo?" as he hands the cigarette to Steve. 

“Nah,” Steve replies as he accepts the cigarette. He looks at the tip of the filter and takes one puff before handing it back to Javi. Steve exhales out the window, then reaches back and puts his hand behind Javi's seat to put the car in reverse. 

"Nah,” Steve repeats. “Don’t gotta worry ‘bout that dumbass. . .Told him we'd fuck her in front of him, know what he said?”

“What?” Javi asks, bemused. 

“He said go ahead."  You’re not surprised. 

"Ouch," Javi pretends to sympathize, then looks back to check on you. "Sorry, sweetheart."

—-

Once they get you to the apartment, the first thing they do is take you to the bathroom. You have to walk through a bedroom to get there. In the middle of the bedroom, there's a bed with leather restraints. It makes your stomach turn to look at. 

Steve’s eyes fixate on it and he asks Javi, "You kept this stuff?"

Javi retorts, "Where'd you think it went, the Salvation Army?” 

Javi pauses to take off his tactical vest.  “Let’s wash that place off her.” 

“C’mon,” Steve gently urges you by the arm toward the bathroom. You go in the restroom and stand, awkwardly awaiting instructions. You lean your back against the wall and the handcuffs drag.

Steve plugs the drain and turns on the water. Javi walks in, takes out the keys and uncuffs you. Steve retires to the doorway and leans against it, tucking his hands into the top of his tactical vest and watching. He seems to take up the whole frame. 

There's a toilet next to the bathtub/shower combo. Javi closes the lid and sits down, facing you, and manspreads in his tight jeans. His shirt is stained with sweat, and the glimmer of a gold chain catches your eye on his tan chest. Javi pats his thigh closest to the tub. You sit on his thigh, facing the door and Steve. Javi strokes your face, and you look down at the floor, cheeks warm, heart racing. 

“It’s okay,” Javi tells you, “Vamos a ponerte limpia y lista para una vida nueva.” (We’re gonna get you clean and ready for a new life). He unclasps your bra and you let it fall off into your lap. Javi tosses it to Steve, saying, “Check the closet out there.” 

Javi reaches over to feel the water, then rests his large hand between your shoulder blades.  “Now take off your pants.” He gives you a gentle push out of his lap. 

You stand again and remove your pants. Javi stays seated.

You’re cowering with your arms in front of you, but Javi beckons you with a hooked finger. You come to stand between his knees. He nudges your inner elbows and you let your arms fall out of the way. 

“Good girl,” he mutters, not taking his eyes off your tits. His hands come to your chest without even a glance to your face. He lightly massages your breasts until both nipples are erect. He slots both his hands under your armpits and thumbs your nipples, then slides his palms down to your hips where he hooks his thumbs into your panties and keeps going, bringing them down to the floor. 

Steve comes back from the closet and sets some clothes on the bathroom counter. 

Javi looks over and tells him, “Keep Carillo off my back for a while.” 

Steve nods and leaves. “Hasta luego!” he shouts with an American accent on his way out. 

Javi chuckles and shakes his head. 

-

Javi eyes the water level of the tub and turns off the faucet. “How do you feel?” he asks you with kind eyes. 

“Fine,” you mutter without meeting his gaze. 

He extends his hand for you, and you hold it for balance. You dip a toe in and it’s lukewarm. “Get in.” He nods toward the bath and you do. He takes off his shoes and socks and puts them outside the door, then cuffs his jeans. 

“How’s the water?” He asks then reaches under the sink, and you watch his ass strain his pants as he gets a bath poof. 

“Uh, good.” Your answer echoes off the tile. 

He sits on the side of the tub and uses a light orange bar of soap to make some lather, then scrubs you. He holds you with one hand for leverage while he scrubs you with the other. He starts with your arms, and your neck. He's not gentle. 

“Ow,” you mutter at one point.  

“Ay, pobrecita” (poor little girl). “You're going to feel so clean,” he reassures you. He makes you lift your arms. Then each leg. The tub squeaks under you as you scoot forward. He scrubs your legs and between your thighs. He does your breasts and your back. His arm muscles flex with his effort. When he leans over you to reach your other side, his back muscles strain his shirt and his gold chain escapes from his collar, revealing a little cross on it. 

“You’re bottoming out,” he mutters. 

“Huh?”

“In life.” He pauses and makes sure you're looking at him as he explains this. “It’s a good thing. Know why?” 

You stare at him vacantly.

“Once you hit rock bottom, you go back up.” 

You look away, and your cheeks burn. You get it, he found you at a low point, he doesn’t have to rub it in. It doesn't feel great. 

Javi washes your stomach and downward. He gets close to your intimate parts, but he's clinical about it. He gets you up on your knees and scrubs your bottom. He flattens his hand and slides the side of it down your crack, making you gasp with an unexpected rush of warmth to your core. 

Your skin feels almost numb in some areas by the time he's done bathing you. Then he lathers a softer sponge and washes you more gently.  He drains the tub and takes his time lazily rinsing you. When he's finished, he turns on the shower and tells you to make sure he got it all. 

Once you’re squeaky clean, he dries you off with a pale, yellow, threadbare towel. He inspects the clothes on the counter. It’s a Hawaiian shirt much too large to be Javi’s. Some pants, too, but he only puts the Hawaiians shirt on you. You eye your underwear on the floor, but Javi bends down and snatches it up before you have the chance to collect it. 

“I’ll start some laundry,” he offers.

—. . .----

Javi makes pork and beans for dinner. While you’re eating, someone jogs up the stairs outside. “Steve’s right upstairs,” Javi tells you. “Ever need anything and I’m not here, just yell.” He takes a bite of his beans. “He’s a better cook, too,” he smiles with his eyes. 

During a quiet moment, you’re startled by the sound of a woman moaning from upstairs. You look up at the ceiling. 

[ohhhh, she whines. give it to me.]

“Just a porno,” Javi tells you with a smirk. 

“So,” He studies your face. “What did you want to be when you grew up?” 

“You make it sound like my life is over.” 

“No, there’s still time,” he shrugs. 

You refuse to answer. 

[upstairs, a man’s voice joins in. oh yeah, take it, baby.]

Javi tries, “Favorite color?” 

You don’t answer that either. 

[yeah, just like that]

“That’s okay,” he says. “We’ve got all the time in the world to get to know each other.” 

“You can't keep me here forever, if that's what you're trying to do.”

Javi’s eyebrows knit in concern. "Oh, sweetheart.” With sad eyes, he asks, “You really think someone will report you missing?" 

"I have a job," you protest. 

“Oh,” he sounds fakely impressed. “Well. . . Be a good girl, and I'll get you a better one.”

Upstairs, a deeper, clearer voice sighs, “Ohh, fuck,” making you squeeze your thighs together. That has to be Steve. It sounds like him. 

[Steve sighs and grunts over the faint sounds from the television.] 

You bite your lip and look away. 

Javi lowers his head and raises his eyebrows at you. He reaches for your face and smirks as he makes you look at him. “Like what ya hear?” Blood rushes to your face. He chuckles as he lowers his hand. 

[A long groan from Steve.]

Oh, wow. You wonder if Javi will notice the wet spot under you. You take a deep breath. When you regain your focus, he’s studying your eyes with an amused sparkle in his.  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he nods, then pats your cheek. 

“He’s a good guy,” Javi adds, then looks upward in thought. He tilts his head back and forth as though debating himself. “Kind of.” He pushes a glass of water toward you. “Drink.”

—-

When it’s time to sleep, Javi takes you to the bedroom you walked through on the way in. He watches your face as you eye the bed with its restraints. 

“You’ve been pretty good so far,” Javi muses. “Maybe we don’t need this yet.” 

“Please,” you beg. “I promise I’ll behave.” 

“How are you feeling?” he asks. 

“Fine.”

“Alright, then. I’m not sure if you’ll like the other option much better, though.” 

He brings you to his room and heads toward the closet, which rolls open with a four-panel door. you wouldn’t really mind sleeping in Javi’s bed with him, but that’s not what he has in mind. He pulls out an old futon mattress with a striped fitted blanket and throws it on the floor.  “You can choose where to sleep, how’s that?”

“Here,” you answer without hesitation and he chuckles. 

“Muy bien, pobrecita. But I *am* going to have to secure you.”  He takes his handcuffs out and cuffs one to a radiator under the window. Then, with his foot, he pushes the futon mattress over to it.  

“Really?” You ask. “I promise I’ll be good.”

“I believe you. But you need protection from yourself right now.” 

His bed has plenty of room for both of you. He’s just being an ass. 

-

Javi lets you watch television, sitting side by side with him on his sofa. He periodically looks at you skeptically, as though wondering if you’ll make a run for the door, but you don’t. It sure has been a long day. You yawn. 

“Ready for bed?” Javi asks. 

You nod. 

There’s a knock at the door. 

It’s Steve. He’s come by to drop off a couple of bags. One is from the grocery store. Javi steps into the breezeway to talk for a couple of minutes. When he comes back in, he brings the grocery bag to the table and puts the others aside. In the grocery bag, there are brand new toiletries for you, including a toothbrush. 

Javi takes you to the bathroom and watches you while you brush your teeth, then he brings one of the other shopping bags into the bedroom. There’s a nightgown. The material is thin and it’s on the shorter side. Not exactly modest. Javi puts it on you, and at least it’s more comfortable than whomever’s shirt you were wearing. 

He gives you a thin pillow and pats the mattress for you to lie down. He cuffs you to the radiator. Then he goes to another room and comes back with a blanket. He tucks you in. 

“If you need to go to the bathroom or anything, just wake me up, okay?” He moves your wrist to clank the handcuffs on the radiator in demonstration. “I hope tonight won’t be bad, but you might start to feel sick, or get chills. That’s normal okay?” 

You nod.  

He pats your head affectionately and bids you goodnight. “Sweet dreams, mi pobrecita.” He goes to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. When he comes back in the room, you try not to watch him, but you hear him rustling around near the bed. You tilt your head up enough to steal a quick glance, and he’s taking off his shirt. He doesn’t get in his bed right away, but eventually you hear the mattress creak. 

—--

You wake up in the middle of the night feeling a little queasy, but you’re unsure if it’s the circumstances, the beans, or the detox. You can’t tell if you’re hot or cold, but this sleeping arrangement is not doing you any favors. You don’t want to wake Javi up, but the night feels like it might last forever otherwise. You rattle the cuffs against the metal. 

“Ay, pobrecita,” he whispers. “Okay, I’m coming.” He gets out of bed. 

He approaches you, barefoot. As soon as he kneels down, he mutters, “Ay, cabrón” (oh, bastard) under his breath and returns to his nightstand for the key. 

“It’s okay,” he reassures you when he comes back. He uncuffs you. As you sit up, he helps you with a warm hand on your back. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Javi responds as if he didn’t handcuff you to a radiator. 

As he helps you up from the floor, something brushes your thigh and makes you tingle. Your body knows what it is before you do. When you register what grazed your leg through his sleep shorts, your face heats up and the tingle turns into a throb. Javi walks you to his bathroom with one arm around you in case you have trouble. He takes you all the way to the toilet. “You good?” he asks. 

“Yeah, do you mind if I?”

“Sure.” He backs up into the doorframe, but he doesn’t close it. You glance over, and he’s not hiding the massive tent in his shorts. He’s not shy about it at all. He’s also not trying to do anything about it. “Alright, I’ll be right here.” He closes the door halfway and stands outside. You sit there for a few minutes on the cool tile in front of the toilet. The urge to be sick has passed. He peeks his head in to check on you. “How about some water?”

“Okay,” you nod. He comes in and helps you up, hard-on still blazing. He takes an empty, upside-down glass from his clean bathroom counter, fills it up, and hands it to you. You’re aching at the silhouette of his length just casually standing at attention. It takes all your energy not to look right at his shorts. 

“Good girl,” he gently palms the back of your head. 

You try to look anywhere but down. You focus on his bare chest. His chain drapes over his collar bone and sits above his strong, golden pecs. There’s a light smattering of dark, soft hair. And then, lower, a happy trail.  You yank your eyes away. You look at the counter: A brush, a comb. Maybe he does his mustache with that. You look at his hair. It’s messy, out of place. Bedhead looks good on him. He casually rakes his hand through it when he sees you looking. Your gaze drifts back to his body. It’s really a beautiful torso you’re looking at. Broad shoulders, strong arms, narrow waist. A hint of abs under the light padding of his flesh. 

“You okay?” he asks with his puppy dog eyes, which gives you an idea.

“Yeah.” You look up at him, widen your eyes, and let your face fall. 

He nods. “Back to bed?”

You hold your wrist as if it hurts from the cuff and nod sadly. You check his shorts in the corner of your eye–yeah, it’s still there, as commanding as ever. The tent bobs as he walks. He walks you back into the bedroom and pauses at your futon mattress on the floor. He reaches for your hand and holds it as his other thumb brushes the indentation on your wrist. 

“You’re sure you don’t want the bed?” He nods toward the other room with the restraints. 

“I’d love a bed, but no. That one’ll give me nightmares, I’m sure.” 

He nods thoughtfully. “Are you asking to sleep in *my* bed?” His thumb continues to brush the indentation from the cuffs. His light touch gives you butterflies. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure him and your hand joins his, on your wrist. His thumb freezes. Your fingers rest lightly on top of his. “I guess I’m okay down there.” You glance at the mattress on the floor.  

His bare chest rises with a deep breath. “You’re being such a good girl,” he marvels with your hand on his. “Come on. It’s okay.” He guides you to his bed and pauses when you’re right in front of it. He faces you and puts his hands on your shoulders. He dips his head and his tone darkens. “But if you leave this bed, things are going to change here,” he warns. “And you’re not going to like it.” He shakes his head. The gentleness of his voice and the look on his face sends a chill down your spine. 

-

Javi gets into his bed, under the covers. He lays on his side and makes room for you, albeit not much. “I still have to restrain you,” he informs you as you lie down. “Do you want the cuffs or my arm?”

“Your arm.”

“Good girl.” He extends one arm and raises the other, making room for you.

You scoot back against him, mentally bracing yourself for what awaits under the covers. You're already twitching before you feel it. He inhales sharply as the hardness in his shorts hits you. With a hand on your lower abdomen, he pulls you into him, and his stiff length presses against you.  

“I’m sure that’s not going to bother you, is it?” he asks and your breath hitches. You shake your head just barely on the off chance he wanted a real answer. But it is, it's going to bother you as long as he won't put it in you. You’re human, you can’t help it. He’s a bad person but you can only imagine what a good lay. He curls his strong, lean body around you like a big spoon, and he nestles the warm rod in his shorts against your crack.

One bicep is under your neck. His other arm settles over your waist. You don’t need to test his strength to know his arm is solid. Heavy. There’s no escaping as long as he holds this position. 

He inhales your hair, and the hand in front of you cups your breast through your thin nightgown. He slowly palms your breast, and lightly grinds against you. You can’t help but push back on him. The shape of his arousal against you makes you salivate. 

He whispers just above your ear.  “Sure do love cock, don’t you?”

As he thrusts against you at a slow, steady rhythm, his hand slides off your breast, down your gown, sliding over your stomach and down to the fleshy triangle where your thighs meet. His hand stays flat. He doesn’t dig between your legs. He gently presses your mound, bringing you back against him harder as his cock throbs even harder against you. 

“That can be a good thing for recovery,” he offers. “You need something to replace that high.”

He thrusts against you slower, lighter. It’s excruiating. “Mmm.” He begins to gather the nightgown’s fabric into a fist, raising the hem of the gown and exposing more of you to the air between the sheets. No underwear. 

His hand rests on the bare skin of your lower abdomen, then slides down just low enough that his middle finger can tease your most sensitive place. He slides further down until his middle finger reaches the pool between your legs and he growls almost silently. He begins to move his fingers between your legs. Slowly, expertly, leaving his thumb and pinky braced on your front. The movement is just enough to drive you crazy. His index and middle fingers slide through your dripping folds and apply pressure to your swollen bud, moving to the rhythm of his gentle thrusts against your crack. 

“Mm,” your moan is barely audible.

“Ohh, I know,” Javi coos reassuringly. “I know.” He ruts against you slowly. He sighs as he moves against you. The heft of his arousal pushing against both asscheeks makes you weak. If only he’d just stuff your pussy. You can hardly stand it. He must feel you gush on his fingers. “Oh, yeah,” he whispers into your hair. His throbbing erection grinds against you. His hand leaves your cunt and you feel cold, exposed. He pulls down the waistband of his shorts, then his hand–wet fingers and all–slightly lifts your thigh, making your heart skip a beat. 

He wedges his naked cock between your thighs, right against your cunt, and you gasp. His swollen tip glides through your wetness and you moan, “Ohh.” He slowly slides forward and back through the warm, wet pocket made by your thighs and cunt. You push back against him. “Mm,” he grunts softly as his tip reaches your clit. 

His hand returns to your breast. He massages your breast as his cock keeps sliding between your thighs and nudging your sensitive bud just right. “Javi,” you whisper. “Please.” His cock hesitates at your entrance, and you tilt your hips. 

“Not today, sweetheart.” 

With a small thrust, he bypasses your wet little hole again. 

Then he stops moving. You push your ass back into him, and he does nothing but tighten his arm over you. He cradles your breast gently. You’re throbbing, aching to have him inside you. It feels like an eternity you’re lying like this with his arousal throbbing against your naked heat. You begin to feel a chill again and reach for the blanket to wrap yourself tighter. He helps you, then murmurs. “Good night”  into your hair. 

The comfort of his arms and rhythm of his breath lulls you to sleep sooner than you expect. 

—-...------

Just after daybreak, you awake to the sound of Javi breathing heavily  as his cock slides against your wet cunt again. Your chest is hot and fluttering. He’s aggressively groping one breast, then shifts to the other with a grunt and harsh thrust. Your body shifts as you wake up. He pants, “Morning sunshine,” and you push your ass back against him. 

“Was I good?” you ask. 

“Ohh,” he moans, “You were good.” 

His hand comes between your legs and you gasp at the pressure of his thick fingers on your clit. He doesn’t move them, just rests his hand there, then asks “Would you like to cum?”

You nod, “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” you whine as his cock glides against you. 

He slows way down. “Because I’m only giving you one today. You sure you want it already?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. 

“It’s not even seven a.m.”

“Please, Javi.” 

He begins to move his thick fingers, and it doesn’t take long at all before you’re seeing stars. 

“Ohh,” you moan as the waves of pleasure begin to overtake you. Your body spasms, and your walls clench around nothing. 

“Mmmm, mi putita. . .por supuesto ahorita” (My little slut. Of course right now), Javi purrs into your hair. “That’s the–ohhh–thing with addicts,” he pants as he chases his own orgasm. “You want everything right–mmm—now–ohhhh.” As Javi begins to cum, he moves his hand from your clit to his cock. His cock pulses against you, and it’s too easy to imagine it inside you. He cups his hand and seals it over his tip and your front. He slowly thrusts as he cums. He slides against you, coating your folds and clit with his warm spend as your own climax fades. 

When Javi is empty, he withdraws his cock, but keeps his hand in place. He rubs his spend over your oversensitive parts, making you flinch and moan. 

“Ohh, I know it sweetheart.”

A thick digit breaches your entrance, pushing some cum into you, and he sighs.

“One day, pobrecita. One day.” He adds another finger. “Voy a llenar esta concha con leche” (I’m gonna fill this pastry/cunt with milk/cum).

Your first morning waking up at Javi’s place, he lets you sit at the kitchen counter and watch him make huevos rancheros and cactus. 

Over breakfast, he asks, “What do you like to do?”

You shrug.

“Because getting high replaced all your hobbies,” he concludes. 

“That's not true.”

“It's not? Then what do you do? Draw? Write? Do you read?”

You scoff. “Yes, I read,” you say with an eye roll and can’t help but add, “Did kidnapping replace all your hobbies?” 

There's an instant surge of regret in your chest, but Javi chuckles and lets it slide. “What kind of books? I could pick one up for you.”

You swallow, rest your fork, and ask, “really?” 

“Sure,” He nods. 

“Okay. Maybe a mystery,” you offer, only because you know you'll need the distraction.

“Good,” he nods. “A mystery.”

Later that day, Javi has to go into the office. He leaves a glass of water for you, a bucket just in case, and he cuffs you to the radiator. He reassures you Steve will come check on you as soon as he gets home. You try your best to get comfortable on the futon mattress. 

As soon as Javi leaves, things go somewhat downhill. You have a headache, then your stomach begins to bother you, and the handcuffs are driving you crazy. You’re anxious. You're horny. You’re cold. Why are you horny? After about an hour, you rattle the cuffs on the radiator. When nothing happens, you yell for Steve, then hear movement upstairs. 

When Steve comes into Javi’s apartment, you hear him open the door, but it doesn’t sound like it shuts all the way. His footsteps are loud as they approach through the living room. Steve unlocks Javi’s bedroom and pauses in the doorframe. “There she is.” He rests his hands on the top of the doorframe and leans forward, stretching his back as he takes in the scene. “Damn,” he mutters. “You alright?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah, darlin’.” He digs into Javi’s nightstand for the key. “Hold on.” He comes over and crouches down on the floor. He smells like cigarettes, and he must smoke the same brand as Javi. 

You're mildly surprised by the way your body reacts to Steve’s proximity. You squeeze your legs together, self conscious that you’re gushing. The day before, you were so focused on Javi that you didn’t think much of Steve at the time. But after overhearing him jack off. . .There’s something about hearing a man make those primal noises. It changes his whole face, his whole presence in your eyes. 

“C’mere,” Steve offers and extends his massive hands, looming over you. You sit up on your knees, careful not to expose yourself with no panties. He slots his hands under your arms and helps you to your feet. He checks you out and raises an eyebrow. You wonder if he can see through your nightgown. “He’s still got ya in your PJs, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s alright.” 

“Looks good on ya, anyway.” 

Steve ushers you to the restroom and waits outside. You’re starting to feel a little better already, just having someone around again. His presence distracts your body from its woes.

-

When you’re out of the restroom, Steve asks if you need anything else. You ask for a glass of juice. He brings you to the kitchen to get some. The sound of children playing outside echoes from the breezeway and you notice the door isn’t shut flush. Before you can really think about it, you begin to walk toward the door, heart pounding. You’re barefoot, and realistically, you’re not going to try to flee, but you want to know you could. You’re not running, you’re walking slowly, curiously as though pulled by a weak magnet toward a chance at freedom. 

Steve crosses the room in two strides and steps right into your path. His massive arm wraps around you, halting you dead in your tracks. “Wouldn't do that.” His face is stone. Instinctively, you begin to struggle, not to escape, but to get out of his strong grip. His body overwhelms yours.  

His arm tightens, and you whine, “Ow.” 

He shakes you once, then loosens his grip. He brings his mouth to your hair and lowers his voice.  “Don't make me hurt ya, sugar.” He wraps his arm around your middle and begins to drag you toward the bedroom with the creepy bed. He wrangles you over to the bed with the straps. You don’t resist much, but he’s rough with you anyway. 

“Okay, okay,” you tell him. “I’m sorry.” 

He throws you down on the bed and pins you with his weight, then begins to strap you in, limb by limb. Your heart is racing. But you don’t feel sick at all anymore. All you feel is the rush. 

“Ya know, I should tell Agent Peña ‘bout this,” Steve mutters as he buckles your wrist. 

“No, don’t. Tell him I was good. Please. I wasn’t trying to do anything.” 

“Yeah, alright. We’ll see.” The bed is probably full sized. Wider than a twin. The leg restraints are spaced out enough that you feel like you’re spread eagle. 

Once you’re all strapped down, Steve slowly paces next to the bed looking at you like a piece of meat. 

He asks, “True you were beggin’ for cock?”

“No,” you answer as a gut reaction. 

“Ya weren't? Huh. Peña’s a liar?” 

“He–he got me all worked up on purpose.”

Steve freezes near the foot of the bed and cracks a smile. “So it is true. . .Hmm.” He tilts his head contemplatively.  “How'd he do that? Get ya all worked up.” He dangles his fingers to graze your bare ankle. Then he walks back up toward your head, dragging his fingertips over your shin. His fingers lightly circles your kneec twice, then continue up your thigh. He pauses and strokes an abstract pattern on your inner thigh. 

You don’t answer him. You don’t have to. He’s already having an effect on you. 

“Well, don't worry. I'm not gonna hold out on ya. Want somethin’ from me, sugar? Just ask.” 

“Thanks.”

“It's ok, baby.” He lowers his voice. “Really don't mind one bit.” He looks at you hungrily and wets his lips. His fingers get closer and closer to the apex of your thighs. When his fingers graze your outer lip, he peeks under the gown. “He left the door open for me. That was nice,” Steve smiles. “Said ya got a gorgeous pussy, too.”  Your legs tense, and his hand returns to your thigh. “Nothin’ to be afraid of, darlin’.” 

The leather that’s holding you down is what scares you. It’s the most unsettling feeling. 

Steve adjusts himself, and when you follow his hand, you can't pull your eyes away from the bulge in his pants. Wow. He doesn't wear his pants nearly as tight on his ass as Javi, so you hadn't even thought about Steve’s dick. Now it's all you can think about. You're studying the shape his pants are struggling to contain. Never would’ve thought. And, balls. You’re pretty sure he’s got big balls. You wet your lips and realize you're staring. 

“Attagirl,” he mutters. “See, that's where my partner and I have different philosophies,” Steve explains. “I could care less if you're drunk, high, outta your mind.”  The hand on your thigh slides all the way up to where your thigh meets your torso. “Good pussy’s good pussy.” He traces the crease, right next to your outer lips, and his light touch makes you tingle. “I think a pretty girl deserves all the dick she wants.” He sighs, then raises his eyebrows. “And then some,” he says with a short nod. 

“His heart’s in the right place,” Steve says unconvincingly. “Hurts though, don’t it?” He pouts at you as he keeps tracing the crease of your inner thigh. “Never met a whore he didn’t fuck. . .n’ can’t be bothered to give ya just an inch.

He follows your eyes back to his crotch and chuckles darkly. “Boy, you got your eye on the prize, don't ya?” He looks down at himself. 

“Mmm,” he grunts when he meets your eyes again. The humor is gone from his face.

He looks at the leather strap around your arm. “I’ll take mercy on ya,” he mutters and takes his hand out from between your legs. He pauses with his hands on the strap.  “Gonna be good for me?”

“Yeah,” you nod.

He unbuckles the strap. The metal of the buckle flicks against your inner arm. You don’t move your arm, making good on your promise to be good. Then the mattress creaks and groans as he gets up on the bed with you. He straddles one of your knees and leans forward, bracing his right hand on the mattress near your torso. His left hand returns between your legs. This time, he goes straight for your cunt. He smiles when he feels how wet you are. He lightly rubs you, teasing your dripping folds up and down. He falls into a trance. He gathers your slick and brings it to your clit. He scoots up on the bed so his head is above yours and his crotch is at your hip. He looks into your eyes as he circles your most sensitive spot. A knot is already forming in your stomach, making your pelvis lift into his hand. He wets his bottom lip, then bites it as he adds more pressure. Then speed. Your mouth falls open and a moan slips out. 

His lips form a small ‘o’. “Ooh,” he marvels. “Oh, you’re a real sweet thing, I can tell.” His fingertips slide down, and one of them teases your entrance, making an audible, rhythmic smacking sound.  Then he slowly pushes the finger inside. His eyes roll up toward the ceiling, and his head tilts up too. You watch his neck veins. There’s some faded tattoo ink barely visible on his chest, poking up from his collar when the angle is right. He presses his hard bulge against your hip and you gasp with a bolt of arousal.

“Yeah,” he whispers, and you moan. “Yeah, ya want that, don’t ya?” He gives you another slow thrust against the hip.  “You want it right here.” He pushes another finger into you. “Ohh, yeah.” His upper palm massages your clit as his fingers pump into you.

“You’ll get it, don’t worry.” You twitch at the thought. “But you’re gonna cum on these fingers first. Hear me?”

You nod and take a deep breath. Your back arches. You reach for his pants. 

“There ya go,” he nods as if that’s why he unbuckled you in the first place. “Ohh, you’re gonna go wild.” 

You grab his bulge–it’s more than a handful–and massage him through his pants. 

“Mmm. Yeah,” he whispers. Your nipples harden with his practiced touch, and you sigh, unable to take any more tension. His fingers curl inside you and he whispers, “C’mon, now.” The deep whisper is enough. 

“Ohh,” you moan. He nods in encouragement and his upper palm bears down on your clit. You close your eyes and let yourself unravel. Your spasming walls squeeze and soak his fingers. 

“Yeahh, attagirl.”  

As your climax fades, he withdraws his fingers and feverishly unbuckles his belt. You throb in anticipation. It won't take much to tease another one out of you. Your core twitches as he shoves down his briefs and his thick cock springs free, taking your breath away. He gets between your legs and holds his stiff manhood loosely as he lines himself up. He shakes it heavily up and down, teasing your clit with the head of his cock. Oh, God it feels so–you’re already about to–

–Steve hesitates.  

In the driveway, a car pulls up and stops. 

Steve stops what he’s doing. “Alright, let's see what the boss wants,” he says with an air of inconvenience as he tucks his erection into his briefs.

“Thought you were partners,” you say and hope you don't sound too disappointed. 

“On paper, sure. “ He buttons and zips up his pants. “On paper I'm a good cop, too,” he winks. 

Steve pats your cheek and says, “hang in there.” He gets off the bed, then leans in close and whispers, “give it to ya next chance I get. . .skip the preamble, how's that?” 

You bite your lip. Just as the front door begins to unlock, Steve sits down in a chair next to the bed, with his hands clasped in his lap. 

—--

Javi opens the door. 

“All good at the office?” Steve asks. 

“All good,” Javi reports, and he surveys you with his eyes as he approaches. “What’s going on here?” 

“Oh, she just wanted a change of scenery,” Steve reports, mercifully. Javi looks at him skeptically for a moment, then shrugs it off. 

“How are you feeling?” Javi asks you with a hand on his hip and a serious look. He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you and Steve, who’s on the same side. 

“Okay,” you reply. 

Javi clenches his jaw and furrows his brow. His hand frames your jaw and he looks at your eyes. Then he lets go of you.

"Good," Javi nods. Then squints and asks, "He touch you?"

You look at Steve. Steve raises his eyebrows curiously. He doesn't deny touching you, but his face also doesn't give you any clues about the right answer. He’s sitting in amused suspense. Javi raises his eyebrows at you like a challenge, waiting on you to speak. You look at Steve again, and Steve winks. Unsure what it means, you begin to slowly shake your head no.

Javi clenches his jaw and his eyes narrow. His head whips to Steve and he asks, "Why not?" 

Steve sighs and uncrosses his arms. He extends his hand to Javi. Javi brings Steve's hand to his nose, takes a whiff of his fingers, and cracks a smile.  "Don't lie to me, putita." Javi closes his eyes, draws in your scent again, then opens his eyes and mouth as he brings Steve's middle and index fingers to his lips. Javi locks eyes with you as he tastes you on Steve's fingers. Your heart races. You failed whatever test this was. 

Javi drops Steve's hand and brings his own hand to cup your jaw. "Pobrecita. . ." His hand dwarfs your face. "What’s the matter? Te confunde?” (It confuses you)

You nod, and your voice is small.  "You said it's yours." 

"What's mine?"

You look down at yourself and swallow. "My body?"

Javi nods. "Say it." 

Your eyes settle on what you can see of his gold chain under his shirt.  "This pussy is yours." 

"That's right," Javi nods condescendingly. "Good girl."  He brings his hand from your cheek to your thigh and squeezes it. He nods toward Steve and says, "con mi permiso" (with my permission).  "Still confused?" 

You shake your head. 

“That's all he did? Touch you?”

“Yeah,” you nod. 

Javi addresses Steve. "Alright, c’mon.”  He beckons him, and Steve stands up with his hands still clasped in front of himself. 

“Show her your cock.”

Steve undoes his pants again. He slides them down over the bulge of his still-hard cock, then pauses. 

“Pants off,” Javi adds matter-of-factly. Steve sits back down to unlace his shoes, then takes them off. He pulls off his pants, and he's left wearing black socks and white briefs with a red and blue stripe around the waistband. Thigh muscles are massive. 

“Good news for you, putita.” Javi nods toward Steve. “This one’ll fuck anything.” Your cheeks heat up and Steve shakes his head in amusement at Javi. 

“Says the guy who has his own room at a brothel.” 

Javi looks at your body hungrily and crosses his arms. “Give it to her,” he mutters without looking at Steve. 

When Steve stands up, Javi takes his place, manspreading with his hands tucked under his arms, straining his short-sleeve button-up.

-

Steve mounts the bed again, putting himself between your legs. He pulls his briefs down under his balls, and you let out a little gasp. His cock is even more engorged than it was before. It’s so thick, and the veins are beautiful. He looks even bigger than Javi, but it might be an effect of his lighter, finer pubic hair. He braces a hand on the mattress again, hovering over you.

You glance at Javi and he's watching intently as Steve lines up his cock between your legs. The touch of his tip at your dripping hole makes you shiver in arousal and your nipples pucker. Steve smiles to himself under his mustache. He notches his tip half inside your entrance, then looks at Javi. 

Javi makes a subtle beckoning motion with one hand, and Steve begins to push into you. You gasp as his girth begins to spread you open. He pushes further, and you whimper. 

Javi scoots closer and lays a big, warm hand on your tied-down arm. You look at him and he reassures you, “You can take it, I promise.” 

Then, Steve plunges to the hilt, dividing your insides with a loud grunt. You moan and lock eyes with him as he looks up at you darkly. Your body rushes to accommodate the heft of him inside you.

“Good girl,” Javi mutters to himself with his eyes fixed where your bodies are joined. 

Steve withdraws most of his length, then Javi raises his palm in a stop motion and Steve freezes, biting his lips together. Javi stands up, and walks toward Steve for a better point of view. 

“Go,” Javi mutters, crossing his arms again. There's a bulge growing in Javi’s restrictive jeans, and he's not doing anything about it. 

Steve pushes into you again, making you moan. He pauses for only an instant before backing out again, and right away he’s pushing back in. “Fuck,” he mutters as his thick cock disappears into your hole once more. 

“How is it?” Javi asks him. “Juicy, right?”

“Nngh–yeah,” Steve answers as he brings his hips back, then slams into you harder and his balls slap against you. “Goddamn,” Steve mutters. “Tighter than ya’d think.”

“Hm,” Javi hums with a straight face, then raises his eyes to meet yours. “He's gonna break you in for me.” He looks at Steve's cock sliding out of you then at Steve's face, twisted with arousal. “Right, partner?”

“Goddamn right,” Steve breathes. He ramps up to a steady rhythm, fucking you gradually harder until the force is pushing you up on the bed. 

“Hold on,” Javi mutters and the vein on Steve's forehead swells with effort as he stops with only his tip inside. Steve wets his lips and rubs them together. Javi tightens the restraints to hold you steady. While Javi is is busy with that,  Steve rocks ever so slightly into you, moving less than an inch forward and back. It’s so subtle it could be an accident, but it must provide relief because he moans quietly. At the sound of his noise and the look of his face, you whimper and your cunt spasms once. 

“Nngh,” Steve reacts. 

“Okay,” Javi announces, then stands so he can roughly see things from Steve’s point of view again. Steve resumes with a slow, careful pace. 

Javi wets his lips as he watches your cunt swallow Steve's cock. Steve's cock pulls at your pussy each time it withdraws, and the sight seems to darken Javi’s eyes with lust. You twitch again.  

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, then looks over his shoulder “Can I?”

“Don't let her come on your cock,” Javi answers.” 

Hearing Javi talk about Steve’s cock is almost enough to do it. 

Steve sighs and looks at the ceiling, in an almost eye-roll. His arms strain his shirt. His sweat wafts toward you and makes your knees weak. He draws in a deep breath as he slowly pushes in again. 

You imagine if the situation was different, if you were just some slut they picked up at a bar, how much fun you could have with the two of them. 

You twitch around him, and he pulls out in a hurry. “Sorry darlin’,” he mumbles. He sits back on his knees and pumps himself. “Where do you want it,” he asks, staring at your body.

“Uh,” you stammer, then realize he's not asking you. 

Javi pulls the gown down under your tits. Steve strokes himself faster until his breath gets uneven. He pauses, scoots up your body to straddle your middle, then resumes.  You admire his balls as his fist slides up and down his shaft. His hand is so large, yet it doesn’t dwarf his cock. 

Steve’s eyes narrow at your tits. He pumps himself faster and his mouth drifts open until he points his cock at your chest and moans, “Ohhh—ohhhh, fuck,” painting your tits with his cum. Your nipples sharpen as the warm spend spreads. As the last of his cum dribbles out, Steve sighs. 

“Good,” Javi mutters, then comes up toward the head of the bed again. Steve tucks his softening cock away and gets off the bed. He reaches down to the floor to get a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his jeans. Then he pulls the chair toward the foot of the bed, and manspreads in his briefs to watch Javi. 

Javi dips two fingers into Steve’s cum on your chest. He spreads it around slowly. He circles each of your nipples until they’re painfully erect. 

Javi swipes up a bit of cum from between your breasts and brings his fingers to your lips. You take his thick digits into your mouth and taste the salt of Steve’s seed. Then you gently suck. Javi gets you to clean both fingers, one at a time, then he licks them himself. 

Javi brushes your temple with his thumb. “Let’s hope this is rock bottom.”

—---

Thank you so much for reading. To help with the next ones, I would love to know what you liked most about it, and your thots are welcome, too 🖤

tagging people who asked for part 2 🖤

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ohheypedrito @weddingfairy @neobanguniberse @ladyscarlettdixon @zliteraturehoe @planet-marz1

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I've never seen such a tiny Craftsman like this 1920 home in Independence, MO. It has 2bd, 1ba, 1,030 sq ft, $191k. What a cute mini Craftsman.

It has a Craftsman style front door and a cozy little living room. The living room must've been too small for a fireplace, but they put in the windows that would've been above it.

It does, however, have the traditional Craftsman columns and cabinets.

The dining room is a good size. It has the traditional ceiling beams, window ledge, and even a built-in cabinet.

The kitchen is cute and kind of zig-zaggy. It certainly las a lot of cabinets. Love the original checked floor and the brick chimney in the corner.

The sink unit is angled and there's a casual dining area by the windows.

And, look at the little pantry. So much storage space. There's a counter for stools, but I think that a kitchen table would fit here.

The principal bedroom has the bed angled for more space.

This bath has some vintage elements, like the tub, sink and medicine chest.

The 2nd bedroom isn't being used as a bedroom. It's good size space.

Cute covered patio alongside the driveway.

There's a garage and a carport, as well.

Very nice, lots of potential in the yard. 8,639 sq ft lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/215-S-Ash-Ave-Independence-MO-64053/2288208_zpid/

[thunderstruck9]

Duncan McCormick (British, 1977), Bungalow, Bungalow, Bungalow…, 2019. Acrylic on canvas, 60.8 x 76 cm.

[trailerite]

[oldfarmhouse]

https://www.domino.com/

[whitefireprincess]

Maldives | ALTUG GALIP

[noxturnalpascal]

Mutual

Steve Murphy x F!Reader (3.6k)

Summary: You and Steve spend some late nights in the office together, finding a new way to work off some of the frustrations of the never-ending hunt for the narcos.

Warnings: Basically all smut (and a big ole cock). Infidelity (only if your name is Connie).

A/N: A gift for one of my favorite - and long time - mutuals, @toxicanonymity. Thanks for everything you do for this community and for always being there whenever I need anything. Love you lots!!

You walk into the mostly-empty office holding two styrofoam cups of coffee and wearing a beleaguered expression. Immediately your eyes are drawn to Murphy’s hands, his elongated fingers, stained purple and red beneath the skin, cuts still oozing at his knuckles. You watch him stand up, take off his jacket and loosen his tie, then resume sitting behind his desk, completely ignoring your entrance. 

“You’re here late,” Peña offers.

“Yeah, well some of us can’t get away with doing whatever we want,” you quip back.

Peña’s hand flies to his chest and pouts his lower lip as if your words have wounded him. You roll your eyes. You look back towards Murphy and can’t help but notice that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. You wonder why. He still hasn’t looked up, busy flipping through paperwork, making notes in the margins.

“Seriously though, why are you here so late? I bet your boyfriend doesn’t like that,” Peña teases.

“I’ve told you several times that I don’t have a boyfriend, Peña.”

“And I’ve told you several times to call me Javi,” he coos. You resist the urge to roll your eyes again as he maintains eye contact. “Besides, if you’re single, why don’t I ever see you going on dates?”

“Because I’m here, working through dinner with you cowboys!” 

Steve huffs a laugh at that and when you look at him he’s finally looking your way, eyebrows raised and pointing to one of the steaming cups in your hand. You hand it over, his long, bruised fingers brushing over yours during the exchange, and then offer the other cup to his partner. He doesn’t reach for it.

“Actually ma’am,” Peña says in a mock accent as he tips an invisible cowboy hat to you, “this ole cowboy has a late dinner date.” He grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, hastily shoves his arms into it, gives a wink to you, and heads out without another word.

“Don’t mind him,” Murphy says, “a ‘late dinner date’ is just code for hooker.”

Now it’s your turn to chuckle. Why isn’t he wearing his wedding ring tonight? Maybe he took it off earlier when he was washing the blood from his hands but… No, you don’t remember seeing it then either. You realize he’s looking at you, watching you stare at his fucking hands. He’s gotta know you like his hands, right? It’s not awkward. He’s gotta know.

“That looks painful,” you don’t look away from them. “Was it worth it?”

“I dunno yet,” he goes back to flipping through his papers. “Ask me tomorrow.”

Murphy’s little stunt earlier didn’t just mean his hands were a cut-up mess, it also meant he’d have pulled the short straw to finish the paperwork needed to try and sweep it under the rug. If all went well, and they’d put the right amount of money into the right people’s pockets, he could get away with having beat that snarky reporter’s face in and no one around here would be asking too many questions in the morning. It’s going to be a long night. 

You grab the papers off Peña’s desk, carry them to the far end of the office, not your normal desk, and begin typing up his notes into a formal report. Your normal desk was upstairs outside the Ambassador’s office, being one of his attachés meant you traveled with him in-country and helped during his posting at his discretion. You were one of his favorite attachés and that came with a lot of perks; always flying with him and his family in the private jet instead of slumming it in commercial, a plant-covered, sun-lit desk by the window, and always being trusted with the most confidential of orders. 

Unfortunately for you, lately, his orders had you spending long-nights with the feckless DEA agents trying to make orderly, lawful reports of their chaotic and illicit methods to catch the narcos. The ambassador trusted few else but you to spin their lawless nonsense into cohesive accounts with diplomatically-acceptable language. You knew your long hours were appreciated - by the Ambassador if by no one else - and you really didn’t have much of a life outside of work, so it wasn’t the worst problem to have. Besides, working late came with its own set of perks.

---

You’re not sure how much time has passed but as you wrap up typing Peña’s chicken-scratch, you look up to see if Murphy is anywhere close to being done only to find him not at his desk. You wait a few minutes and when he still hasn’t returned you get up and walk past it. His desk is more centrally located than the one you were using and from here you can see the whole office. The coffee cup sits empty, the ashtray overflowing, his coat hanging limply from his chair. But no Murphy. You walk towards the main entrance, pass the department secretary’s desk, call out his name, and receive no answer in return. 

Just as you’re about to turn and go back to your work, you see just a fraction of movement out of the corner of your eye. The blinds in Messina’s office just beyond the secretarial desk are all closed except the ones covering the window on the door, which are raised just a fraction. 

Is he? Again? He must like this more than you thought. 

You make your way to the DEA lead’s office door and test the knob - unlocked - just like you knew it would be. Pushing the door open slowly and flipping on the lights has you greeted with a groan. It’s Murphy, sitting on his boss’s leather office couch, cock in hand. 

“When we say you DEA boys do nothing but sit around all day with your dicks in your hands, this isn’t what we mean,” you tease. He doesn’t even try to cover himself, doesn’t make a move to hide what he’s doing. This is definitely part of it. He likes this. You’ll have to play your part. “What kind of a man has to jerk off at work? Things really that bad at home?” 

He groans again, and you watch his big right hand squeezing himself at the base of his thick cock. You’re not sure how long he’s been in here but he’s apparently just been edging himself, if the ruddy head and pearlescent beads leaking from his tip are any indication. Just based on the size of him you always thought he might have a respectable dick, but the fact that it still looks massive, even in his giant fucking hands, is even more impressive. 

“Sorry you had to catch me like this,” he grumbles, as if he didn’t orchestrate this entire scenario for that very reason. He hasn’t resumed touching himself, he just holds it - enormous and erect - like an obelisk of flesh. 

“I don’t think you are sorry, you filthy pervert.” You close the door behind you and walk to Messina’s desk, sitting on the edge of it facing him. “I think you fucking love getting caught with that big cock out, don’t you?”

He sucks air and squeezes even tighter as you watch the clear precum flowing out of his slit and running over his flushed head.

“C’mon, Murphy,” you begin to slowly unbutton your blouse. “You’d better get it over with before more people walk in here and see that big, fat cock of yours.”

Almost like he was waiting for your permission, he begins pumping himself, using the viscous liquid running down his shaft to lubricate his strokes. You untuck your blouse and pull it off completely, folding it next to you on the desk while you watch him - completely dressed - jerking off. Aside from his loosened tie thrown over his shoulder, he’s still wearing the same outfit he came to work in, not even the blood-spattered sleeves of his rumpled white dress shirt have been rolled up. Just like last time, and each time before that, the only skin he’s showing you are his hands, wrapped around his dick and balls. 

You pull your eyes away from what his hands are doing and make eye contact with him, seeing him break away to watch you undo your bra, letting it fall slowly down your arms to reveal your breasts to him. You set it next to you on the desk and sit back on your hands, sticking your chest to the sky. He doesn’t take his eyes off you when he speaks.

“Gonna take more than that, honey. Do it like last time.” And there it is, the first time he’s acknowledged that this is a repeat occurrence.

Like last time. You’d thought last time might have gone too far, thought maybe you’d scared him off, especially since it was weeks ago that it’d happened. But apparently not. Apparently it wasn’t too much. Apparently it was just enough… and he’s been thinking about it happening again.

You stand up off the desk, slowly pulling down on the zipper at the back of your skirt, letting your breasts push forwards while your hands work behind you. You watch as he licks his lips, tugging slowly up and down his shaft, gently squeezing his balls with his left hand. You pull your skirt down your legs, folding it and placing it with your other clothes next to you. You stick your fingers in the waistband of your pantyhose and underwear - the only clothes you have left on - and watch him slowly nod his head, eyes glued to your center, ready and waiting.

You slowly pull down your remaining garments, feeling the relative chill of the office air hitting your bare cunt as you bend forward. Once the hose is at your ankles you turn around to brace yourself on the desk, giving him the view you were just denying him. He moans, lowly. You bend forward, a hand on the desk, and slip off each shoe one by one, pulling the hose and your underwear over each foot. You finally stand to place them on the desk with everything else and then turn back to face the couch.

He’s slowed down so much his hand is barely moving now, just brushing languidly over the head of his cock, smearing the steady flow leaking out. You sit back on the desk and slowly, so slowly, spread your legs open. You hear him growl a yeahhh in response. “This what you wanted, Murphy?” You tease.

“You know what I want,” he whines through clenched teeth, “so give it to me.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to give me orders, you fuckin’ creep,” you snap, knowing it goes straight to his cock by the way his left hand tightens on his balls.

You oblige him anyways, knowing you need this just as badly as he does at this point. You take the middle finger of your dominant hand and run it up and down your slit, lips parting easily since you’re already so wet. You’ve probably been wet since you noticed he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring earlier. Maybe the rumors about Connie leaving the country were true, maybe his marriage is actually over. So if that’s his excuse for being a horny pervert, what was yours?

You tease your finger over your hole, spreading your legs wider so he can see every slick movement you make. You drag your wetness up to your clit and part your folds with your other hand, drawing smooth circles around your sensitive bud. 

“You’d better hurry up, you disgusting deviant, because I’m leaving the second I come,” you command.

You don’t bother to wait for him to look you in the eye to measure your sincerity, you just increase the pace and pressure of your finger and throw your head back, moaning in ecstasy. You can hear him speed up his movements, can hear the sound of skin on skin schlocking quicker as he chases his release. Last time didn’t take long. Last time you got a few circles over your clit and he was coming all over his pale-yellow dress shirt. Last time you had to finish yourself at home, reduced to fantasizing about his cock while you cried out alone in your bed.

The thought has you changing course. Maybe you can actually come this time, if not before him at least the sound of his grunting orgasm could push you over the edge. It won’t be too much, right? He’s gonna get off - again - so why shouldn't you? You drag your fingers back to your hole, leaking wetness down your thighs. He makes a sharp intake of breath. Your head is still thrown back but he’s clearly watching you. You slowly insert two fingers, coating them with your wetness and then pumping them faster in and out.

The sounds of your fingers squelching in and out of your wet hole fill the room now, drowning out his pistoning hand and huffing breaths. It’s probably why you don’t hear him get off the couch, don’t hear him walk to the desk, don't hear him panting right in front of you. You don’t even know he’s there until the heat of his left hand is spanning across the inside of your thigh, halfway between your knee and your core.

You lift your head quickly, a sharp intake of breath instead of a scream, and see his nearly-black eyes watching your faltering hand with rapt attention.

“Can you fit a third?” he rasped. “I bet you can.” Your pussy clenches around your fingers.

You know a snappy quip wouldn’t go amiss but for some reason - with the heat of his hand matching the heat of his gaze - you can’t seem to get one past your lips. You drag your fingers out slowly and line up a third with the other two, already soaked and dripping. Steadily, you insert them back in your greedy hole as he squeezes your thigh - his massive grip taking up an obscene amount of real estate on your leg - and brings himself so close that you can feel his moving knuckles wafting cool air over your wet lips.

His dick is so fucking close. It would be so easy for him to just fucking stick it inside you. But he’s married. That’s what he’d made sure to say the first time… and the second. I’m married, as if it meant anything to you. Just help me out, he’d begged, and you were more than willing. Just a married guy needing a pretty, eager girl to look at. You’d been dreaming about Steve Murphy’s dick since he wore a tight pair of jeans his second week here, and you got a glimpse of the massive bulge he had hidden in them. Well, it was hard to hide, and now you know why.

But then you remember - eyes darting to his left hand, still hot on your skin - he’s not wearing his wedding ring. 

“You ever fuck a woman with that cock, Murphy? Or just your hand?”

The sound that comes out of his mouth can only be described as a whimper. He moves his hand up your thigh, closer to where you want it, and squeezes your flesh again. His fist is making practiced moves over his length, starting mid-shaft where his girth widens and pushing up over his crown with fluttering fingers. He’s giving himself pressure on the underside where he’s most sensitive, then gathering the constant stream spilling down his cockhead and over his knuckles, and spreading it out on his downstroke. You feel him press in closer, so close, his eyes not wavering from your fingers plunging in and out of your sopping hole. 

Then, it happens.

He’s moved so close that his knuckles graze along your spread lips, hitting right at your clit - four in a row - like the brief kiss of a vibrator. You almost scream. And Murphy notices. Oh, does he notice. Your movements have come to a halt, as have his, and you both wait to see what the other does next. A sly grin settles across his face.

“I thought you were in a hurry?” He taunts.

He pushes his left hand down into your thigh - spreading you open to your limit - and takes his right hand off his dick. He grabs your hand by the wrist, pulling your fingers out of you with a wet, suctioning noise. You watch him put your hand onto his dick, covering it with his much larger hand, and spread your own shocking wetness down and back up his shaft. He lets your hand go but before it can resume its place inside you, he’s closed the gap, pushing his pelvis forward, bouncing his cock against your hooded clit, causing you to twitch at the sensation. 

“You’d better hurry up and come, honey, before Javi comes back to see you spread eagle like this.”

“Fuck you,” you manage to choke, hating how he thinks he has the upper hand now.

He stops tapping his rounded head on your sensitive bud and instead rubs himself left to right, the change in movement hitting you like a lightning bolt. 

“You’d better come before I do, naughty girl,” he continues to tease, echoing your earlier demand.

“So give it to me,” you answer, echoing his. 

He pushes forward, cock held tightly in his fist, and fits his wide head into your hole, making you gasp. You brace for the rest of it - the stretch, the sting - but it never comes. You wiggle your hips, even tilt your pelvis towards him the little bit you can from your position on the desk, and all you feel is his fist hitting your sticky lips.

“Murphy.”

His stupid fucking grin. Hmmmm? He’s watching you struggle.

“Quit playing around,” you whine.

“Quit playin’ around,” he repeats. He lifts his dick upwards, popping it out of its shallow entry, then slowly lines it back up, bumping around clumsily - on purpose - before putting just the tip back inside you.

“Fuck you, Murphy,” you hiss.

“Fuck me?” He repeats the motion of popping himself out, poking around, and then giving you just a fraction of what you know he could be giving you.

“Fuck me, Murphy, fuck me.” You throw your head back as he goes through the motions a third time. “Please, Murphy. Please fuck me.”

He lines himself up again at your weeping hole, but this time you feel both of his hands grabbing at the meat of your hips. He pulls you down onto him and pushes himself up into you in equal measure, slowly but steadily filling you up. You hear him groaning, hear yourself whining, high-pitched and strung-out. You feel the sting, you feel the stretch, you feel the weight of him pressing into you until his pelvis bumps yours. You’re both watching where he’s disappeared into you, the silence stretching on.

“You ready for this big fuckin’ cock, honey?”

“I’ve had bigger,” you lie.

He pulls back quickly and slams forward into you, rocking the desk you lie on, and knocking over a cup of pencils. You both ignore them clattering onto the floor as he pounds into you relentlessly. The wet smacking noise of your bodies clapping together, the huffing groans coming out of both your mouths, the smell of sweat and sex and coffee. He fills you up so perfectly, hitting every place deep inside you that you never even knew existed. It’s so much better than it was in your fantasies. You reach down to touch your clit and this time it’s you that comes after only a few circles around it.

You can’t fucking help yourself. His bloody knuckles turned white with their tight grip at your hips, his furrowed brow and utter concentration - pupils blown large - staring at himself fucking your cunt, his grunts of pleasure as he finally finally gives you his fat fucking cock. You cry out his name, feeling yourself clench around his length, flooding him with your release, hearing the sounds change from lewd to obscene. And you watch his face go from focused to downright pained. 

He pulls himself out of you with a snarl and pumps his cock overtop you - coming immediately - white ropes covering your belly. He groans through it, continuing to cover you with a surprising amount, then leans over you and with his cock in hand, rubbing it into your skin with his dick. He rubs his cock back and forth, pumping it lazily, rubbing his sensitive head against your sticky skin and continuing to shudder from the overstimulation. Once he’s squeezed the last of his climax out, he steps back and tucks his dick away into his pants.

---

“Sorry again,” he mumbles, running his hand through his hair as you redress on shaky legs. “I really oughta stop doin’ this shit at work. It’s inappropriate, like you said.”

“Uh huhhh,” you answer, unconvinced. 

You wish you had it in you to continue this little charade but you’ve just orgasmed all over someone’s desk and your cock-drunk little mind is having difficulty making sense of anything right now. You reach down to slip on a shoe and although you were bracing yourself on the desk, you still begin to tip over. Murphy catches you with a gentle but firm grip, his huge hand curling around your arm and settling you upright. His hand remains holding you, the heat of it burning you through your blouse.

“Maybe next time we can just go to my place,” he purrs, meeting your surprised look with a wink.

.

(other stories in the Mutual Universe if you're interested - the prequel to Mutual is The First Taste, & there's also Saturday Steve for some Solo Steve Murphy action)

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Boyd Tax: handsssss

[gentlemanmotorslifestyle]

[vintagehomecollection]

An interior stained-glass window, designed by Charles Greene.

The Los Angeles House: Decoration and Design in America's 20th-Century City, 1995

[attapullman]

BIG WINDOWS, SMALL KITCHEN | a Bob Floyd universe

The live-in boyfriend!Bob anthology set in the green bungalow you bought and he has made his entire personality.

MOVE IN WITH BOB HERE

[whyeverr]

CRAFTSMAN SHELLS

A collection of craftsman-style homes, ranging in size from a humble one-story bungalow allllll the way up to a modern craftsman McMansion. These shells are move-in ready with basic landscaping, floor plans, essential fixtures (kitchens and bathrooms), and unique features (fireplaces, built-ins, etc.) all awaiting customization based on your preferences. Lean into the historic finishes (there’s a lot of wood grain and wallpaper, folks!) or wipe the slate clean to make the space—and San Sequoia—truly your own. 

Lot details:

Small | 30x20 | 2 bed, 1 bath | a small bungalow, includes access to an unfinished basement to grow into for extra space

Medium | 30x20 | 3 bed, 2.5 bath | a two-story bungalow featuring a ground floor primary bedroom with an attached nursery 

Large | 30x20 | 4 bed, 2 bath | an efficient foursquare-style craftsman with a home office on the ground floor that could be converted to a 5th bedroom

Extra Large | 40x30 | 4 bed, 3 bath | an expansive craftsman home with ample living and entertaining spaces

Extra Extra Large | 50x40 | 7 bed, 5 bath | a modern craftsman-inspired mansion with more than enough space for just about anything

Seasons, Get Famous, and, of course, Growing Together are key for the craftsman style exteriors. I’ve used from all packs freely for wallpapers and flooring throughout but you’ll likely want to customize those anyway!

Download via the Sims 4 Gallery (individual links above) or tray files via Sim File Share. You’re free to do whatever you want with them but please don’t re-upload or share without credit. Thank you!

[toxicanonymity]

beach walks

7k, Joel x f!reader; surf instructor Billy x f!reader (Billy gifs)

night walks au A/N: Picks up right after beach walks prequel.

SUMMARY: Paths cross, and Joel can't let you go. WARNINGS: I8+ angst, infidelity adjacent if you squint, drugs, dubcon (drugs/location) p in v, somewhat possessive!joel, exhibitionism, homoerotic tension if you squint. cuck!billy but you also sit on his face.

Joel can't sleep. He stares at the ceiling and keeps drifting back to what he shouldn't have seen - you in the pool with Billy. Plus, he evisions you fucking on the beach, in the hotel, in that stupid shack. He's not happy about it, but you’re so damn hot. He can't help the way his body reacts. He keeps hearing that moan, fuck.

He figures out what helps him get back to sleep, and by the end of the night, he's used all the lotion in that little bottle. 

He wakes up for the last time around five. He showers and packs his bag. It's still dark when he goes for a walk on the beach. As the sky hints at sunrise, he stands with his fingers interlaced on the crown of his head and listens to the birds. He’s been doing his best, and it turns out his best sucks. On a sandbar, he finds a live starfish missing an arm and gently tosses it like a Frisbee back into the ocean. 

What is he doing? He could've left it all alone. 

He walks back to the hotel and gets a cup of coffee and a newspaper. He goes out on the cafe porch to read. There's a yoga class in view on the beach, and he looks to see if you're in it. Yeah, there you are. His stomach drops and his nostrils flare with a deep breath. You look great, but he can't see your ass. Right behind you, there's Billy. 

Why Billy? He's impossible to hate. At least he's also impossible to tame. No way it goes beyond this vacation. But if anyone can make him wanna change, it might be you. Joel used to think Billy had it made, but he's a lonely guy underneath it all.

—---you------

Four of you are eating breakfast at a table for six in the dining hall. You're sitting across from Billy.

“Can’t miss with Billy’s Bistro. Never burn the toast, never give ya salmonella . . .” 

“Salmonella?” Your friend Kari asks. “Was there an outbreak here?” 

Billy has a spoon in his mouth, but his eyes widen. He looks back and forth between all three of you as he slowly swallows his chia pudding, then says, “Explains the Groupon, doesn't it?” 

“Gross,” Kari pushes her plate away. 

Billy shrugs, then looks at you. “Billy’s bistro,” he mouths with a subtle sparkle in his eyes. His face softens, then comes to life when he looks behind you. 

“There he is,” Billy announces. 

You look back and do a double take. Your heart skips a beat, and your eyes widen. Joel gives you a nod of acknowledgement. 

He’s wearing swim trunks, and his thighs look massive. All of him does. Did the memories fade, or did he manage to put on 10 lbs of muscle in what, two months? His hair is longer – only an inch or so, but enough to curl. You can’t stop staring. Your face is cold and tingly.

“Have a seat, mate.” Billy uses his foot to push out the chair to his right, at the head of the table. He puts his hand on Joel's hulking trapezius as he sits down. 

“Joel Miller. This man is a legend,” Billy tells you.

You glance at your friends, and they're as shocked as you. They met Joel once, at the restaurant. 

“Taught me how to roll my first joint,” Billy says. “Now I can't even get’m to take a bong rip.” He turns to Joel. “That was some good shit ya brought, mate.”

“Yeah,” Joel says barely above a whisper, glancing at you.

“Hey Joel,” your friend Nahlah says. 

“Hey, Nahlah.” 

You had barely let him sit down to say hello at that restaurant. 

“So you know each other,” Billy concludes. “Brilliant! What a world.”

“Yeah, we know each other,” Joel subtly nods, looking at you. He looks tired.

“Do they know the new you?” Billy asks. 

“The new you?” you ask Joel. 

“Health nut.” Billy grabs Joel's arm, beaming. “Look at’m.” He turns his attention to Joel. “On the straight and narrow. Can't believe it.”   

“Really?” you ask Joel. 

Joel sighs and side-eyes Billy. “No. Just had to, kinda. . . get my life together for a minute.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Getting his life together meant dropping you? That’s where he went? Your face burns, and your nostrils flare. 

“Excuse me,” you tell the rest of them, and stand up with heat in your chest, determined not to make a scene.  

“Catch up later,” Billy says and reaches for you as you come around Joel’s chair. You lean in and he gives you a kiss on the cheek. You don't look back on your way out the door. 

—

You get down to the beach, take off your sandals, and walk, heading nowhere in particular. 

Soon enough, Joel is calling your name, jogging. You keep walking, but he catches up. He walks beside you in silence, between you and the ocean. You try to ignore the stride of his hulking form in your periphery. 

“Guess I don’t fit in your new life,” you mutter, then swallow the knot in your throat and put your shades on, even though it’s not sunny. You keep walking. 

“Yeah ya do, baby,” he reaches for your hand. The tenderness almost gets to you, but it’s out of nowhere. You just can’t. You cross your arms and slow your pace. 

“Guess I never did,” you mumble. 

“I’m sorry.” Joel looks at you. You keep looking down, taking slow, careful steps. 

“For what?” you ask, looking at the sand for an answer.

“Bein’ a fuckin’ idiot. Wrapped up in my own shit.” 

“What shit?” you ask. 

“I’ll tell ya everything, but–” 

“--But what?” 

“We’re supposed to head out in like (he looks at his watch) fuck. Like ten minutes.” 

You scoff. “Did something happen?”

“No—well, yeah.” He looks around then asks, “You okay?”

You don’t answer. 

“You looked happy,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder toward the dining hall. It sounds more like a question than an observation. Yeah, you were finally having a good time without him until he showed up. Now you’re confused, and mad at him for confusing you. 

You stop in your tracks and turn to face him and the water. “What happened? You couldn’t even text me?” 

The sky gets darker as thicker cloud cover creeps over the sun. “I should’ve,” Joel nods. 

You barely have the energy to walk. You sit down on the sand. He better tell you, right now, if there's any hope.

He swallows and looks down and away, then takes off his sunglasses and joins you on the sand.  “Got in my head,” he mumbles. “So many times, I was gonna. . .even walked to your door one night.” 

“.. .okay?” You wait for him to continue. 

“Thought ya might think I was lame, cause I wasn’t the same, I was. . .” 

“You were trying to get your life together,” you recite, genuinely trying to digest it for the first time. A tear falls out of your eye and you angrily wipe it away.

He shakes his head. “Never shoulda said it that way. I had somethin’ to take care of. Tell ya ‘bout it when we've got time” 

The lump is back in your throat, full force. He’s really gonna swoop in just long enough to make you sad, then leave you as confused as ever.

He looks dejected. “I know, I’m an idiot.” 

“So what do you want?” you ask. 

He looks at the sea for a moment. “To start over.” 

“Why?” you ask and wipe away more tears. Your voice becomes strained. “What do you regret?” 

“Nothin’, pumpkin. . . shit, I’m so bad at this.” He groans in frustration at himself. “And I know it, that’s why I. . .” he trails off and shakes his head. 

You glance at his eyes and curse yourself for a twinge of empathy.

He claws a handful of the dry sand between you into a little pile and mumbles, “You deserve better, always did.” He smoothes out the pile, then pivots to face more in your direction. “Look at me, pumpkin’. Please.” He reaches for your sunglasses. You pull back your head away and take them off yourself.  You turn and face him. He wipes his hand off on his shirt before brushing tears off your cheek with his thumb. “Only thing I regret is bein’ such a dick.” 

You begin to stand up, not wanting to feel him suddenly leave you again.  Once you’re standing, you cross your arms again. You dig the toes of one foot into the sand.  Joel’s hands gently engulf each of your elbows, and he gets as close as he can. You don’t pull away, but you don’t open up either. He hugs you anyway. 

God, his arms are huge. He holds you tight and breathes into your hair. He mutters, “Think about you all the time.” You let out a held breath, then his scent fills your lungs. A wave of affection threatens to break down your walls.

Your arms uncross on their own, and he hugs you with his body fully against yours. It feels like a warm mistake. It’s too late now. 

“Ya know, I would’ve done it with you,” you sniffle. “Whatever this lifestyle thing. . .” 

He whispers your name and hugs you tighter. He holds you for a minute, and you dab your eyes on his hulking shoulder. The weight of his arms is as soothing as his scent. This isn’t fixed, you tell yourself. You’re not going to pick up where you left off. If he invited you back to his room right now, you wouldn’t go. But somehow, you feel for him. You’ve never seen him anxious or vulnerable. He’s always been so sure of himself. So full of himself, but in a charming way.

You begin to pull away, still determined not to be the one who gets left. “Guess you’ve gotta go,” you mutter. 

He looks sad as he slowly drops his arms, running his hands down your back. “Talk when you’re home?”

You sigh and look at your feet. Your self-preservation instincts tell you to cut him off. Quit him while you can. While you have the upper hand. While he can’t hurt you worse than he has. “What can’t you say right now?”

“A lot,” he answers without missing a beat. He seems to glance at your neck, but you can’t be sure. 

You shake your head no. 

“Please. Then I’ll leave ya ‘lone if ya want.” His eyes shift away. Does he mean that? Your eyes cloud up again, and you put your glasses back on. 

“I dunno.” You walk back to the main building in silence and slip on your sandals on the way in.  Joel hugs you goodbye. It feels like he doesn’t want to let go, and you don’t want him to either. Your arms faintly itch as he walks away, and you brush off the sand.

—

After Joel leaves, your friends finish eating and emerge from the dining hall. 

“Where’s Billy?” you ask. 

“He has a lesson,” Nahlah says. 

-

You go back to your room and take a shower, trying to wash it all away, but Joel’s presence lingers, even as you turn off the water. You lie on your bed looking at the ceiling. Nahlah and Kari are on the other bed, watching ghost hunters on the free cable. 

“How was last night?” Kari asks. 

You sigh and mutter, “I need a nap.” 

“I bet you do,” Nahlah teases. 

You drift off, hoping everything will sort itself out while you dream. 

–

You sleep for hours and wake up alone, without the clarity you’d hoped for, except that you resent what Joel’s doing.  You’re already falling under his spell again, and you don’t like it.  It would be too easy for him to break your heart again. You know what could take your mind off it. 

-

You walk down to the shore, and Billy is finishing up a lesson. He sees you and nods toward the shack. You let yourself in and wait on the sofa, emo and increasingly horny. 

He comes through the door and takes off his long sleeves. He tousles his hair and stretches his neck with his hand on the tattoo. He takes a sip from a squeeze bottle, then asks, “You alright? What happened earlier?” 

“Nothing,” you rest your head in your left hand, with your elbow on the arm of the loveseat. 

“He’s a good guy,” Billy says, then looks at his watch and shifts gears. “Got fifteen minutes.” 

He joins you on the loveseat, then leans over you, pressing a kiss into your lips and pulling you closer. The kiss is loaded. You welcome his tongue, soothed by his touch, but your energy is gone. You’re practically catatonic compared to before. He kisses you for a few more seconds, then breaks away and asks, “You alright?” 

You nod and kiss him back, then reach for his shorts, cupping his semi-hard package. 

He breaks away and reads your eyes. “‘S’alright, love.” 

He pulls away entirely and slumps into the loveseat, using the opposite arm as a pillow. “C’mere,” he mumbles, and opens his arms. You lay face down on his warm, bare chest, beads of sea water transferring to your beach dress—through one of its crochet holes, a pierced nipple teases your skin.  

Billy holds you. You lie there, relaxed, one leg over his. A tear rolls out of your eye and onto his hot skin. “Shh,” He rubs your back for a few minutes, his chest rising and falling under you. His cock twitches against your thigh between his legs, and a shock of desire zaps through you. His hips lift slightly, just once, and your eyes flutter open. He sucks back his chin to look down at you, then his fingers lift your chin to look at him. You’re no longer crying at all. 

“There she is,” he murmurs, with his pupils widening before your eyes. He reads your eyes and glances at your lips. “Fucking gorgeous.” His face drifts toward yours, your neck extends, and his lips nudge your upper lip before your mouths come together. You prop yourself up with your forearm so neither of you has to strain your neck. The kiss starts languidly, then heats up and his hands come to your hips. As you kiss, his hips lift into you, and his cock hardens against your quad. As he licks into your mouth, you slowly grind on his thigh. He breaks away, searches your eyes, and whispers, “attagirl,” before claiming your lips again. With your limbs slotted together, you make out, grind, and quietly grunt.

For a while, your thoughts are gone, then Joel walks back into your head. You wonder how good he’d fuck you now, if he thinks it’s his last chance. Still moving on Billy’s thigh with your mouth half-connected with his, your breaths get heavy with desire. Would Joel be rough? Would he be tender? Would he be how he is so often–ravenous, but deliberate and appreciative of every inch of your body? You imagine his cock shoving into you and the way he’d sigh, yeah. 

Now you’re gushing wet, already about to cum. You break the kiss to moan, and Billy breathes, “Yeah, good girl.” He grinds against you and his hands move you on his bare thigh, now coated with your slick. “Fuck, that wet for me.” Not just for him, but, yeah, that wet. His cock has hardened against your hip. “Mmm,” he moans into your mouth as his lips take yours again. Joel’s a good kisser too. A little more forceful, but still smooth. You’re thinking about Joel being under you. Imagining the first time you were in Joel’s basement, when he pulled you into his lap so decisively. You’re on the edge of bliss, sliding on Billy’s thigh. You bite your lip, then moan. “Yeah,” Billy encourages you. 

When it’s clear you’re not quite there, Billy breathes, “Sit on me. C’mere.”

His mouth hangs slightly open, and his eyes are black with lust. You carefully lift your knee off the cushion between his legs, and the light touch of his hand helps you on top of him as he watches, spellbound. You lower yourself at just the right angle and moan at the first direct contact with the stiff shape in his shorts. Your eyelids are heavy. 

He lifts up the hem of your beach dress, and you take it off. He moans at the sight of your body. 

His lips remain slightly parted as his hips lift, grinding against you. He palms a breast, and you massage your other one. He begins to reach between you, fingertips sliding into his waistband, then looks behind you at the clock. “Sit on my face.” 

He scoots down to put his head flat on the cushion, and you rise off his shorts. He takes his cock out with a sigh and spits on his fingers as you knee walk forward. He spreads the spit on his cock and breathes vocally, eyes on your tits. You could swear you smell his precum. 

He unties your swimsuit bottom and lets half of it fall, leaving your slippery cunt bare. His palms on your ass bring you down, and his scruff drags against your inner thigh. His warm, humid breath envelopes your most sensitive place, then his lips make contact.

One hand leaves you to attend to his raging erection, and he grunts a short “mm” into your cunt at the relief. He laps at your entrance, licking upward, then latches onto the space just above that. He licks your clit, then sucks. He moans into the bundle of nerves, and your thighs tremble. He breaks away for short moments, breathing hot against your folds as he strokes his cock behind you. He eats you voraciously, and you whimper. He’s at just the right spot, doing just the right thing, and he keeps at it.

You brace your hands on the arm of the sofa and think about Joel looking up at you from between your legs. You take a deep breath and see stars. Your body twitches and you moan, riding your waves, with Billy moaning into your cunt. He gently laps at your entrance and strokes himself faster. As your climax wanes, you rise off his mouth, with Billy still stroking himself, not finished. He gathers slick from your folds, brings it to his cock, then pants pants, “How ‘bout another?” He begins to pull you back down.

“No,” you whisper, “that was perfect.” You allow him to keep you there, hovering over him. 

“Wanna ride?” His voice is shaky as he keeps pumping his cock behind you. 

“Not now,” you answer. 

He turns his head slightly, seals his lips on your thigh, and sucks. You reach down between your legs and grab hold of his damp, salty hair to pry him off. 

“Mmm,” he responds,“Yeah.” His strokes are heavier and so are his breaths. You experimentally tug at his hair again. He shudders, then paints his stomach in cum, with a warm squirt reaching your ass. 

He scoots out from under you and asks for the third time, “you alright?” 

You tie your swimsuit again and settle into the loveseat, face and chest still heated from your peak. “Yeah,” you nod. 

He fixes his swim trunks then prowls toward you to give you a gentle kiss and you taste yourself on his lips. “You’re tasty, love,” he murmurs, then pulls away. 

He puts on his rash guard, then points at you, “Aqua tonight.”  Right, his DJ thing. He gets off the loveseat and looks at the clock. “Before I forget,” He grabs his bag and unzips a front pocket that looks to be full of condoms and pill baggies. He turns his head to ask, “How many of ya?” 

“Three, I guess.” 

He rummages around, then holds up a little baggie with three pills. “Just a little X.” 

“Oh, I dunno if we’ll–” 

He shrugs. “Might try it.” He looks at the clock and mutters, “shit.”  

He presses the baggie into your palm and closes your hand. He holds up a few condoms and asks, “just in case?”. 

---Joel----

On the road, Tommy and Maria talk and listen to music. In the back seat, Joel looks out the window, or he wants to look out the window, but he looks at his reflection. He can’t shake the feeling of your warm tears wetting his shirt, or the image of you kissing Billy, or the glance at what he’s pretty sure was a hickey on your neck. He’d be surprised if it wasn’t after what he saw the night before. 

The further they get from the resort, the more Joel’s chest tightens. He takes out his phone to text you. He types, “I can’t leave you with him,” stares at it for a few seconds, then erases it. 

Who even is he anymore?  

Something clicks. 

At a stoplight, he says, “Stop at that gas station.” Tommy parks at a pump. They need gas anyway., “Open the hatch,”  Joel says. Tommy pops the trunk and gets out of the car to pump gas. Joel grabs his bag from the back and Tommy does a double take. 

“You goin’ back?” Tommy asks, not shocked. 

“Yeah.” Joel pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll find my way home.” 

“We can take ya back,” Tommy offers, nodding in the direction of the resort. 

“Nah,” Joel scratches the back of his neck. “Need the fresh air.”

He and Tommy share a brief, manly hug and pat on the back, then Joel walks off with his bag on one shoulder.

-

Joel’s coming for you. He might not have the right words, but he doesn’t need them. Never did. None of this was built on words. It was something unspoken under something physical and fierce. He pockets his phone and puts on his shades, walking with new resolve. There are things he wants to tell you, and some of them need words, but not all of them. The words can wait. They’ll come easier when you’re back where you belong. 

Two hours later, he’s back at the hotel. He smells his own sweat soaking through his shirt, and his phone’s about to overheat.

“Long time no see,” the receptionist says. 

“Yeah,” Joel mumbles without humor, then forces a smile. He gets a room, puts his things away, then heads out to find you. 

You’re not at the pool. You’re not in any of the common areas. 

He goes down to the beach, toward the surf lessons. 

-

Billy’s showing off for a customer. Joel sits in the sand and waits. He admires the way Billy moves in the water, resenting him at the same time. 

When Billy’s done, he walks up to Joel. Joel’s eyes fall on Billy’s swim trunks, then his mind goes to your hands, your mouth, your perfect cunt.  

Billy extends his hand, and pulls Joel up. He pats Joel’s arm, then lets him go. “Got some time if ya wanna catch a wave.” 

“Where is she?” Joel asks. 

“I dunno, mate. Prob’ly with her friends?” He motions for Joel to follow him to the shack. Years ago, Billy more or less offered Joel a handjob in that shack. Joel declined, and that was that. 

As they enter the shack, Billy unzips his quarter-zip long-sleeve top and pulls it off. He takes a sip of water, then wipes off his mouth. “So,” Billy starts. “What’s the story?” He turns up the water bottle again and it makes a high pitched sound as he sucks it. “Ex-lovers?” he asks with a smile. 

Joel’s jaw clenches. He takes a breath through his nose and calms himself. “Not ex.” 

Billy chokes on his water, then wipes his mouth again. “Does she know that?” 

Joel rakes his hand through his hair, at a loss. “That’s my girl,” he nods, heart pounding. 

“I don’t think she is, mate. Women aren’t property-” 

“-cut the crap, Billy.” Joel’s chest is heaving. 

Billy’s eyes fall to Joel’s right hand, which is flexing into a fist. 

“Hit me if it makes ya feel better,” Billy puts down the water bottle and braces himself in a welcoming stance. 

This fucker. No, Joel isn’t going to hit him. 

Joel forces himself to relax, puts his hands on his hips and shifts his weight, shaking his head at the floor. 

Billy lunges toward him, light on his feet as if he’s gonna sucker punch Joel. It’s playful, but Joel drops his shoulder and tackles him to the floor before he can get in a jab. 

On the floor, Billy fights back, eyes wild, but Joel’s too strong. He pins him with his left forearm on his chest, straddling him. 

Billy grabs Joel’s left tricep. “Look at that,” he marvels. “Unbelievable.” 

Joel looks into the blue eyes staring up at him and wonders if you’ve had this POV. For a brief moment, he’s tempted to slide his forearm up to his neck. Billy looks at Joel’s right hand which opens and shuts in the air, stretching.  

“I can take it,” Billy urges. “C’mon, knock me around.” 

Billy’s enthusiasm takes the wind out of Joel’s sails and brings him back to reality. He releases his forearm and sits back on his knees, still bracketing Billy’s hips. Joel slowly stands with a groan, then helps Billy to his feet. 

—- Later at Aqua —--

Billy has given you the closest VIP table. You and your friends are sitting there with a drink. He points at you from his DJ booth, which is on a raised platform. All three of you hold up your drinks and smile at him. 

Kari and Nahlah have had their eyes on a couple of guys who are finally approaching. It's a group of three. You decline to dance, so the third guy sits down to have a drink with you instead, shouting over the music, “HOW LONG ARE YOU IN TOWN?” You look past the man, and Billy is laughing, looking down at his mixer board. After indulging the man for another minute or so, you excuse yourself to the restroom, hoping the man will take the hint and disappear in your absence.

On the way to the restroom, you pass a couple of dark rooms with hall windows and suspect people might be fucking in there. The half-pill you’ve taken isn’t doing anything, but you know better than to double it just yet. 

When you come out from the restroom, the guy is still at your table. You curse him under your breath and head outside for some fresh air.

-

You duck out a door that’s propped open. Smokers are milling about. A few partiers are comforting a crying friend. You walk just far enough to get some space from that scene and the artificial light. You lean against the brick wall to breathe. The tiniest droplets of sea water tingle merrily on your face. You open your mouth and can taste it in the air. You fill your lungs and savor the breath. A buzz hums from your skin.

Your dress has a slit on one side and is long enough that you can lift your knee and rest one foot on the wall behind you without exposing yourself—but that wouldn’t be the end of the world anyway. You watch palm leaves rustle in the ocean breeze and look at the sky. There are more stars here than at home. Maybe you should take a walk. 

You’re still gazing into the sky when you notice someone in a colorful shirt approaching. They flick their cigarette away and it sparks. You smile, and as they come into focus, they turn into Joel. 

Are you rolling that hard after half a pill? You’ve still got your wits about you, don’t you? You watched Joel leave this morning, and you’ve never seen him dressed like this. The colors vibe perfectly on his silk shirt, and a gold chain sparkles underneath. His curls are fluffier than earlier. 

He slowly approaches and wets his lips when he’s a few feet away. His eyes rove your body. When he’s close enough, he rests his hand on the brick wall to lean over you. He smells like cloves. He looks tired. He leans a little closer, and you look him in the eyes. 

“Thought you left,” you mutter.

He shakes his head, and continues to gaze into your eyes. “Couldn’t do it.” 

You run a hand up his chest, palm gliding across his shirt. His chest is strong, and the fabric is like cool shaving cream under your fingers. In the back of your mind, you still have so many questions, but you don’t ask them. Not now. 

“You can be mad at me,” his brows knit and he nods twice. ”I deserve that.”  His eyes lock on yours.  “But I'm not gonna let ya go.” 

Your nipples harden with a chill, and your lips part.  

His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips, and you tilt your chin up. His eyes fall further, to your neck, and he inhales sharply through his nose. You turn your head the other way. Still braced on the wall, he nudges your chin so he can look at the bruising. You feel his heart rate quicken under your hand, and you slide your hand up to the cold sweat beading on his neck. 

His thumb brushes over the bruising. He brings his mouth and nose to the other side and grazes your sensitive skin with his nose. His tongue teases you and you shiver, then he plants his lips. He grunts softly as he marks you. His breath hits your wet skin as he lingers there to murmur, “Missed how ya taste.” 

He returns to the bruised side of your neck and licks the mark, tenderly, then harder. It’s sore, but you don’t react. For a moment, his lips lay plush and soft against your damaged skin. Then he opens his mouth wide. He scrapes his teeth, then plants his lips and sucks, and you try not to flinch but let out a little gasp. He tongues and sucks at it for almost five seconds before releasing you. 

He soothes the spot with the light touch of his lips, then kisses up your jaw, to your ear, where he murmurs, “What are you on, and how much?”

You tell him. 

“Should be fine,” he mutters to himself as he pulls his head back. 

“Why?”

He looks back and forth between your eyes. “Wanna make sure you remember.” 

You wet your lips and swallow. 

He’s close enough that his body heat enhances yours. His whole presence is a warm embrace. You half-heartedly try to conjure what you went through earlier—the hurt, the resolve not to let it happen again. You can’t find it under your affection, wonder, and empathy. Something tells you it’s going to be okay. 

He looks at your neck again. 

You open your mouth to apologize, but he cuts you off, “Shh.” He takes your hand and leads you back inside. 

-

It’s dark, minus the red and pink lights washing over the dance floor, which is crowded but not quite packed. He gets two soda waters from the bar, and you sit down in the VIP booth. He has his arm around you, caressing your shoulder. Soon, you have your legs in his lap, just happy to have him close. You reach into your dress for the small plastic baggie. Joel is watching the dance floor and idly stroking your leg as you pour the other piece of the pill into your hand. Some of it is powder by now. Joel’s eyes return just in time to see you put it on your tongue. 

He squeezes your chin to open your mouth, then, with the same hand, sticks two massive fingers between your lips to retrieve the pill. “You don’t need this,” he mutters, then sticks what remains of the pill in his mouth and takes a sip of water.  “What else ya got in there?” Joel feels you up through the fabric on and around your tits, and his eyebrows shoot up when his hand catches on something.

He shoves his hand down your dress and finds it tucked under your arm: a small, foil square. He turns it over and the clear backing reveals a glow-in-the-dark condom. He tosses it onto the table, then pulls you tighter against him. Your hip brushes a warm bulge in his soft black pants, and it twitches. These pants would be so easy to slip your hand into, you just know it. But before you can try, he brings his mouth to your ear. “C’mon, let’s dance.” 

-

On the dance floor, Joel stands behind you, and his heavy arms snake around your torso. He moves with you, with the music, and runs his palms over your dress. His dick hardens, and those silky pants leave nothing to the imagination as the vivid outline grinds against you. You lose yourself in his touch, in the soft rub of his cock, until you sense someone watching and glance toward the DJ booth. Billy smiles to himself and goes back to his mixing board. Joel shamelessly grabs your tit again. You’re already so wet for him.  In the corner of your eye, you see Billy still watching but pretend you don’t notice. 

“You’re so damn hot,” Joel growls right against your ear as he massages your breast and grinds against you with his arm crossing your body and one hand on your hip.  “Uggh,” he groans in arousal. He jostles behind you, adjusting his pants, then gathers the long skirt of your dress. He covers your ass with himself before the air has a chance to hit you. Then his hard, naked cock slides between your thighs. You gasp and look back. He kisses the side of your neck. You’re gushing all over him. Your thong is soaked through, and he’s sliding along your folds, hot and hard. He moans in your ear. His tip pushes the front of your dress out with every thrust through that warm, wet sleeve of your thighs against your cunt. 

Each pass of his tip makes you need him so bad. You turn your head back to say, “Let’s go somewhere.” 

“You want it?” he asks and slides out from your thighs, reaching down between you to put his dick away before letting your skirt down. 

You nod and begin to lead him to the restroom, but he firmly holds your elbow. You turn around and put your arms around his neck to plead, “Let’s go,” nodding toward the bathrooms. He grabs your ass and grinds against your front, raging hard.  He holds you close and you give up for the moment. 

He dips his head and noses your chin up. His lips brush a sore area, and you twitch. You slot your fingers into his curly locks, making him growl silently into your skin. "Joel," you sigh. "Let's go."

Either he doesn't hear you or pretends not to.  "Mmm," his hum vibrates into your skin. He pries his lips off your neck only to plant them on your mouth. Your tongues meet, and you need him, you really need him. Now. 

After a few seconds of bliss, you break the kiss to plead, "Let’s go." He reads your face and shakes his head no as a dim red light falls over you in passing. Your mouth falls open in protest. He grinds against you, letting his answer sink in. And in case there's any doubt, he brings his lips to your ear. "Gonna take it right here." 

He gathers the front of your dress. You swallow, stunned and throbbing in anticipation. 

He takes his cock out under your dress, then lifts one of your thighs, and you hook it around him. He keeps your raised knee against him. Your shoes are just the right height. He pulls your thong to the side and there’s no mistaking how wet and ready you are. Right away, he notches at your entrance. You tilt your hips. His fingers dig into your thigh and the plush of your ass. He plunges in with a grunt, pushing a gasp out of you as he divides your walls in what feels like slow motion. Your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back as his cock makes its place inside you. He holds you against himself, and your leg stays hiked up as he retreats, then begins to slide into you to the beat of the music. He brings his lips to your ear. “Ohh–good girl.”

You’d envisioned this every day since the last time and somehow forgot it was this good. He holds you close, his body flexing, expertly moving inside yours. You’ve missed this, you’ve really missed it. He grunts and moans into your hair, unrestrained. The music is loud enough. 

“Fuck, you’re hot,” he practically shouts, holding you by the ass and thigh as he fucks up into you. It’s a thrill being full of his cock in a sea of people. The song changes and you glance toward the DJ booth. Billy is looking right at you. Joel’s pace slows to match the new tempo. You melt into his arms with the perfect shape of his length dragging between your walls. Billy’s eyes smile, and he slowly nods. You catch him adjusting himself just below the DJ table which makes your walls twitch. You bite your lip. 

The grip of Joel’s fingers tightens, pressing firmly into your flesh. Billy’s hand is still below the mixing table when Joel turns your face back toward him and kisses you. Everything else fades away except his mouth on yours and his cock thrusting into you. The smooth slide of his tongue makes you twitch. His thrusts become sharper, deeper with the aid of his bruising grip, and your mouths break apart with labored breaths and moans. God, you’re wet, and only getting wetter. 

Joel searches your eyes as he thrusts into you. The lights wash over you again, and his pupils are wide. You gaze at each other, and you hold the back of his head, fingers tangling in his long curls as he slowly fucks you on the dance floor. There’s a glance from one or two dancers, but no one cares. 

You steal another glance at Billy, and he looks to be in a trance with his mouth hanging slightly open. He wets his lip and he closes his mouth, then runs his hand through his hair. You bury your face in Joel’s neck, and his familiar scent enhances everything. Pleasure is building more with each thrust of his cock making you whole. Nothing compares to this.

Joel grunts and sighs, and twitches. “Ohh, fuck,” he sighs. Is he going to come like this? God, he’s sexy. He tilts his head down and noses your nose so your chin tilts up and he finds your lips again. He kisses you sloppily, loosely, breathing and grunting, and the way he fills you up— shit, he feels good. Are you going to come like this? 

“Don’t let me fall,” you plead. 

He stares at your lips and his mouth draws yours in. He bottoms out and stays deep, moving in short pulses, holding you so your front grinds against his. 

You break the kiss to sigh, “Fuck.” You whimper against his lips as it overtakes you in slow motion. You don’t hold back. The moan rips out of your chest as your body clenches around his. You pulse, and your body spasms. He holds you tighter. “Ohh,” you moan.

“Oh, baby,” He pants. Each thrust is sharp. “Oh, fuck,” he bottoms out and groans as he pulses powerfully.  “Ohhh.” He holds you still as you milk his cock. “Ohh, gg–unghhh.” When he’s nearly spent, an air horn sounds.  Joel groans, and you both look toward Billy. He nods and gives a low thumbs up as the last of Joel’s cum dribbles into you. Joel laughs into your hair, “I’m gonna kill’m.”  

Joel dips his knees to let his cock slide out. He lets your leg down, then your dress, and fixes his pants. He holds you for a whole song. His cum dribbles down your thigh, and you don't even wipe it with your dress. 

“Let's get outta here.” 

- 

You look for your friends, and they're still with the guys from earlier. Joel waits as you go over and say goodbye. When you return, he puts his arm around you as you walk outside.

Outside, he hugs you as you wait for an uber.  The night has dulled your anxiety, but it’s still there somewhere, and it reveals itself as you think about spending the night with him.

“I still don’t understand,” you whisper.

“I know, baby. Ya will. Promise.”

“Can you just answer one thing?”  He waits for your question.  “Who drives a black Mercedes?” 

You pull back to watch him react.

“Black Mercedes. . .” His brow furrows and he searches the pavement for an answer.

“The SUV you were in.” 

“Oh, pumpkin’,” his face softens.  “Just my lawyer, baby.” He kisses you on the forehead, which pauses your thoughts and weakens your eyes. 

Your phone buzzes with a call from Kari, but the call cuts off. Kari hasn’t texted, but in your messaging app, there’s a new group thread with three unread:

“come over to mine,” Billy had texted minutes ago. Then, “key’s under the cactus.”

Joel had already responded, “not tonight.” 

---

---

---

if you want the lore about the surf shack in didn't years ago here it is

I'm watching the comments and rbs for what people are excited about and what people want to see 👀

Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate your patience and support. Your love of night walks Joel and investment in these two makes me really happy. Love you guys 🖤

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