vanfleeter

[vanfleeter]

Mmmmkay, the visuals in my head, good lord 🥵

My mind is already swirling.

Hi. 😘 We’re glad you’re back for Chapter Two! It’s Jake’s turn - we finally get a glimpse into his life and who he is as a vampire. 

I missed a big round of thank you's last chapter. We’ll blame it on the brain being split into too many directions at work. First - thank you to @katuschka for beta reading this for us. Also, thank you to @seenoversundown and @takenbythemadness for reading this though. And one more - for being patient with me, thank you to @edgingthedarkness for working on this story with me. It’s been so fun. 💚

Warnings: Active stalking, mentions of masturbation, lying, oral (f/m receiving), rough oral, anal play (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, biting, dubious consent in that biting. Word Count: Approximately 6200

Chapter Two - Jake

     I couldn’t stop pressing my hand to the wood that encased me from above. Her heat bled down through the mattress to spread around me like a sheet. Every breath that she expelled, every thump of her heart played like music that wrapped my mind in a sheen of passion and desire. I nuzzled my nose into the shirt that still held her delicate scent on its fibers. God, this woman.

      My thoughts bent to the note that I had left her on the nightstand. The excuse for my absence despite me being mere inches from her actual person; I wondered what she would think - would she believe such a flimsy excuse as to be called away on work? That was a human thing, right? Still was, maybe? It had been too long that I had felt those strings tugging at my every moment to ensure that there was shelter over my head and food in my belly. But even in the modern era - perhaps more so - business and work seemed to take such a presence in life as to push aside what actually made life worth living: the loving, the fucking, the learning; the joy of it all.

     Echoes of her taste danced across my lips as I pressed a second hand up to the underside of the bed above. To my eyes, in the absolute dark of my crypt that rested in the space between levels of the building, I could see the curve of her thighs, the firmness of her ass, the plumpness of her breasts. The sound of her mewls and moans caressed my stiffening cock and the wine of her blood danced in my throat. She was mine. My perfect vintage. So impeccably crafted to fit me and me to her - the absolute radiance that echoed through her voice that reached me, cooled my killing nature to bend me to her whim and her distinct pleasure. She had been a surprise that I had not been prepared for.

       I had caught a scent amongst the ferns and primordial woods of the Smokies. The predator within wanted to drink and destroy, but the brain - the mind that had once been - tickled cooler thoughts to slow and savor and discover the creature that could entice a monster such as myself. The smell dribbled a trail straight to the cabin that was a breath away from my own. I watched, able to pick her from the herd that swarmed around that cabin and were filled with such life and familiarity. I could distinguish her voice from the others as she laughed and could smell her as she moved amongst them. My brain wanted her. My fangs itched to open her skin and my veins begged for her life. But my brain wanted her. Wanted to know her. Wanted to study her and learn about her and… 

     She rolled over and I could picture her hands being pushed under the pillow she rested her head upon. A fresh waft of her scent wormed its way down to me, claiming me with a near silent growl from my chest. When I had decided to take her as the night’s meal, there had been a celebration within my veins. She was in a heightened state after I had called to her skin to flame with warmth. It was easy to bring her into my night, easy to distract her fear to hone in on that fuzzy animal that allowed for her defenses to be dropped. When she turned to find me upon the railing, crouched, ready for my feast, she was frozen for a moment only but it was enough. The aura that flashed around her was known to me - or at least the echoes of a vague human memory was known to me. I slowed her body’s movements, taking in the kindness that clung to her heart and the warmth that emitted was like sunshine that was so like… Joshua.

      All I could do was fall back, pretend to be human while I read her soul despite the frightened state that she was in. There was hurt that kissed her edges. Hurt from disappointment in the world around her, but an innocence that touched me. So like my twin in her view of humankind - the goodness, the possibility that exuded from every encounter, the joy that could be felt and grown from flooded from her like the creek that flowed between us. Something within me wept for comfort while the predator wanted to devour her every drop. I forced myself to be the human that she could see, all the while savoring what she projected.

     The next evening, I killed quickly, finding a sickly man ready to move to more adventures in his next life. I had approached and waited outside the cabin - knowing full well when she would not be the one answering the door. I wanted her to keep me in her thoughts, but not focused on me fully. Was I attempting to hide my form - absolutely. I listened as her friends bantered that they had a stalker in their midst. Oh, if they only knew. Hearing my words coming from her lips, however, made my cock hard and seeking relief. I debated my options, finding that a second feeding and a moment of self love was all that would stifle my need for her - Taylin. 

      Yes. I had heard her friends say her name. Yes, it etched itself into my brain and I whispered it when I shot my load every time I had to scratch the itch. I followed her home to Charlottesville. I observed her in her work, in her home, in her life. I stayed just out of her line of sight, but from dusk until the first ray of dawn, I watched her.

     Taylin Hargrove was thirty one years of age; a graduate of the University of Virginia Charlottesville; lived alone in a two bedroom townhome on Park Lane, near the hospital that she was a market strategist for. The neighborhood was not really remarkable, other than it was mostly quiet. A fact that relaxed my thoughts in a manner that realized she was relatively safe even though she was on her own. And she was alone - a lot.

      Her heartbeat was my song for many nights as she slumbered. Soft, rhythmic. I could hear that same heartbeat pick up and her breath hardened as she sought pleasure. I imagined she might have been picturing someone that looked like me as she gnashed those pretty teeth to hold back her sound from drifting through paper thin walls. I listened to her talk out loud to her television screen as she watched that show about killing monsters. If she only knew the reality of what lurked beneath her window, she would turn her eyes from those pretty faces on the screen with… No. I didn’t want her to fear me. I wanted her to…

     I wanted her to talk to me like she spoke to her friends. She carried a genuine love for those who interacted with her. She missed them terribly and it pulsed in her heartbeat. Her conversations always centered on the other person - the target of her interest - and always rushed over any questions pertaining to herself. Night after night, I pondered why this fragile creature was not out pursuing her next lover, a presence for the night. I wondered why she would hang onto every word of these women that fed her line after line of their successes, their lovers, their travels. And Taylin, in all of her closeted glory would just smile and ooze congratulatory phrases. This goddess of mine was a wallflower.

     Another phone conversation revealed her conference in Jacksonville. Adonis had been under my corporate umbrella for six years. Yes, I indeed owned and operated a corporate entity that facilitated food and entertainment. To know that she could be gracing said facility would work in my favor. It was easy to influence her decision to visit my club, but it was not easy to withhold myself from springing at her the moment she walked into said establishment. Kiran agreed to be her contact within the bar area. I could always count on them to set the scene. The moment she looked upon them, I could feel the casting  of their talent of attraction on her. Kiran’s big gift was their androgynous beauty and the ability to relax their prey into a comfort that allowed for intense pleasure, even when they were taking down hostile targets.

      The muted bell of her alarm twinkled in my ears and I felt her roll quickly to silence it. There was stillness above me. I imagined she was looking for me. The crinkle of paper told me she found my note. Her soft footfalls on the floor made me picture her path first to the second note and clothing I left for her, then to the bathroom, and finally to the elevator. I would see her again. I would fill every pore of me with all of her.

     My kind may not sleep, but we do rest in a thin form of slumber that is more like disconnected daydreaming. A few hours of drifting through replayed visions of the previous night and I was ready to dip into work, ensuring my human counterparts were running the show as instructed. Taylin reached out while I was in a finance meeting with the accountants in Miami. I texted her that I had a standing reservation at Bite - Jacksonville’s premiere eatery that most were turned away from. She returned that she worried she did not have the outfit to match the venue. I grinned. Of course, she was here on business. I returned that if she did not feel comfortable, I knew of another place - my place. I’d love to cook for her.

      I dressed in jeans and t-shirt, something I never truly did save for when I wanted to present a scene of casual expectation. The elevator’s chime made me smile as I continued to chop greens for a salad. 

      “Dear lord,” she gasped as she walked in with a bottle of wine in one hand and a sunflower in the other. “Jake…”

      “Like it?” I asked as I scraped together onions and garlic and greens into a bowl to dress. 

       “It smells like you’ve been cooking all day,” she said, her smile sending a shiver of pretty across her body that made me pause.

      “No, just something I threw together at last minute,” I said, turning my attention back to the cooktop. “Really.”

      I had rifled off a grocery list to the local market and got it only thirty minutes before, but I had made the most of those minutes to craft a meal that I knew she would like. Pasta, sauce, fresh bread, and salad from local produce. I may not eat, but I still liked to turn my hand in the kitchen when I could. Chris had certainly enjoyed my culinary skill before he chose to join me.

      “How was Miami?” she asked as she set the bottle before me.

      I glanced at it, noting that it was probably a shelf or two down from what I would have purchased for her, but it didn’t matter. I pointed at the glasses while I fished out the corkscrew. “Miami was busy,” I remarked with a lifted brow. “They almost had to keep me, but I insisted that I needed to return here.”

      “I’m not keeping you from work am I?” she asked as she picked out stemless glasses.

      “Nothing would have kept me from this, Taylin,” I answered before yanking on the cork to reveal a fruity but earthen toned vintage. 

      We fell into questions and answers, back and forth, sideways and around as I finished cooking, plating and setting us up at the never used dining table. It was easy to make her think that I was eating, listening to her talk about her dreams and life and desires. All the while, my gaze would trail down the thumping vein in her neck to the soft turn of her shoulder and the faintest of bruises that my bite had left there. I longed to revisit that spot; allow her blood to flow a few moments to strike my tongue.

      “...siblings?” her voice broke through my haze.

      It took a moment to catch up to her question as to if I had family. “Yeah,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I had a twin.”

      Her eyes flashed while her aura shimmered empathy in a faint silver blue that set her skin aglow. “Had?”

      I nodded. “I lost him a few years ago. He was definitely the better half of our whole.”

      She set the fork down onto her plate before folding her hands in her lap. Her eyes did not meet my steady gaze, moving back and forth as if she were reading what I had just revealed. I did not talk of my twin - ever. I was the last to remember him.

      “I cannot imagine,” she said softly. 

      I reached for the glass before me, pushing my features into a pained stoic expression before pretending to sip at the last of the wine. Within the low slung silence, a current of electricity pulsed with her heartbeat. So strong was its rhythm. A siren’s call could never be so powerful as to how her body called out to me. I shrugged, dispelling the swoon that danced across my vision.

      I was able to navigate us away from my family and back to her life. The joyful notes of her voice tickled my ears as she rambled on about her close friends. She was so in love with her life. She was so in love with her friends and even those she fucking worked with. Her eyes danced with it. Her blood spiced itself with it. I let my fingers pick and tease at the wine glass as she told me of her time in the teaching hospital and the gratitude she had for all the victories she got to record, both big and small. Lovely. Taylin was the embodiment of all that was wholesome and good in her world. The whole of her aura whispered and sang with innocence. 

     She roamed free around the space while I insisted on finishing up the dishes. She was quiet as I worked, taking in the textures of my photographs of ancient architecture that I had been moved to be in its presence. Her fingers tapped against a few of my books before finding a tiny, antique photo of Josh and I that had been tucked back where most eyes would never find it - but she did. I saw it when her pause of breath struck my ears. I turned to her to discover she held the simple silver frame in her hands like a treasure.

     “Identical,” she sighed, brows pushed together with emotions that I had once felt like daggers. “Jake, what was his name?”

      I set a pot into the dish drainer, unable to really look at her to see the pity that swelled in her gaze. “Joshua.”

       She repeated his name with reverence. “Must’ve been one of those retro photo things, huh? It looks like he enjoyed dressing up.”

       I nodded. “Yeah. We hadn’t been to the county fair since we were children and when he saw this photographer’s set up, I couldn’t say no to the picture. It was the last one we got to go together.”

      The photograph had been taken during the 1903 County Fair in Saginaw, when the murders had started to be noticed. It was the last picture that we had taken together. I wrung my fingers in the hand towel as I listened to the soft return of the frame against the wooden shelf whispered in my ears. Joshua. His name had been a beacon when the darkness of the real world danced so close to my brain, he would bounce at my side with all of his grace and theatrics to bring my smile around once more. I felt the corner of my mouth curl up with fondness over the memory.

      Taylin’s hands grew quiet at her sides as she stared out the window I had fucked her against the night before. My eyes rolled closed as I savored her taste deep within me. The way the night played against her skin made my breath come a little harder.

     “And you have no other family,” she replied, her voice small with sympathy.

     “No,” I answered as I tossed the towel to the side and leaned up against the countertop with my arms folded across my chest.

      She drew her hands together, rubbing at the back of her left hand. My mark. My warding. My protection sign for all the monsters who could see her for the prey she no longer was for me in my mind. Kiran’s eyes had sparkled from the behind the bar when I placed it - the fucker; so willing to take my castoffs most nights. Though they were not mine, they were a good friend who had already stood at my side for decades. They loved playing the role of bartender to seduce and strike those they fell so in love with for the moment. We had a mutual agreement, one that had been tested a few times, but we knew we were a force that was better together than against each other.

      My gaze lingered at how she rubbed at the tendon and skin and veins and I wondered if there was pain there. Perhaps it was just a kiss of strife she did not quite understand, but recognized was there because of my touch. When she turned towards me, I could not help but feast upon her form. She was everything I loved in a female body. She dragged her fingertips across her thigh, attempting to be shy, but knowing that my eyes could not stray from how her nails pressed into the fabric just enough to make my lips part with need.

      “So, I learned something from last night,” she said, voice an octave deeper. 

      “What is that, Taylin?” I asked, not hiding that my cock was getting hard just from how she stood before me.

       “I like it when you bite me,” she answered, the faintest blush rising on her cheeks. “I want to see if you will bite my thighs like that.”

       “You want me to worship that pussy tonight?” I asked, not moving a single muscle as her confidence started to fade before me. She gave me a nod and released a shaky breath. “Undress and let’s see if we can make that happen.”

       I started, taking off the t-shirt with a quick swipe over my head. My cock was throbbing as she slipped off the little set of flats and had her hands on her blouse to take off. I unbuttoned my jeans and lowered my fly a little to give myself some room, but went back to just observing her as she removed piece by piece of her clothes until she was left in a fragile looking g-string that rode up high on her hip bones. 

      “Get over here, Taylin,” I ordered, voice reaching for its lowest, breathiest notes.

      I could smell her need as she took her first step. With her next, the perfume of her blood shaded my senses to the point that I nearly came in my pants. The predator of my mind licked at his chops, imagining her blood dancing across his tongue, and yet, the brain needed to make her scream my goddamned name as I drank her fucking cum. She wanted me to bite her. Somehow, the darkness wondered if she knew my nature. Did she know she was tempting a vampire? I would bite those thighs, and take a sip of her and make sure she fucking watched as I did it. I wanted her to see her life on my mouth and know that she fed me while I could make her scream with pleasure.

       I reached for her, dragging her mouth to mine to swallow her hot lips and tongue and the soft mewl that escaped as she fought for breath. One hand fell on her ass, squeezing until she hummed, while the other slipped through her hair to hold her up against me. The feel of her tits against my chest as her nipples pebbled sent waves of passion through my cock as it shuttered in the constraints of my pants. I hooked my fingers in the strappings of her g-string as her tongue lapped through my mouth and pushed them down to meet the floor. I lifted her and carried her to the back of the couch, perching her there as I allowed my hands to roam across her skin. She pressed her nails into my stomach with one hand while the other held firm to my shoulder. I kissed her deeply, robbing her of dominance and was rewarded with an arch of her back that thrust her cunt up against my swollen shaft.

      “Hold your knees up,” I whispered before I licked at the line of her jaw. I gently pulled one leg up, followed by the other to hook her heels on the edge of the couch. At the sight of that spread pussy, I couldn’t help the smirk as she was already drenched and swollen. “Been thinking about me doing this?”

      I slowly dropped to my knees. She made no sound as I trailed both my hands down her thighs towards her ass. I caught her gaze and perked an eyebrow.

      “Because, honestly–I’ve been thinking about it all day,” I said before planting a kiss on the inside of her thigh. “I pictured you just like this - my altar - ready and aching for me to just pray to.”

       Her hard exhale followed by a whimper made me smile all the wider. I studied her, from the way both sides of the labia curved to the ripples of flesh that protected the clit, to the bumps of her entrance to the little velvet darkness of her rear entrance - all of it was beautiful. Her fingers trembled as I placed another kiss to her flesh.

      “You didn’t answer me, Taylin,” I said, resting back on my haunches as I traced the line of her calf muscle. 

       “What was the question?” she asked, her eyes hazed over with lust.

       I let out a soft laugh before I leaned forward to place a kiss on the hood of her clit. “Have you been thinking about me licking this pussy all day?”

       “I… I mean, not just,” she let out a breathy groan as I teased her entrance with the tip of my nose. “Not just… Not just this, but fuck…”

        I backed away, running two fingers through her exposed folds. Her eyes were already hooded and glazed over, so lost was she in her want. I turned my chin to the right and sunk my teeth into her thigh, mindful to keep the fangs from extending into the flesh. She let out a soft moan as I sucked in a mark before creating a mirrored companion on the opposite thigh.

      “Taylin,” I cooed, blowing across the wet skin to ear a jump. “Tell me truthfully, have you been thinking about me sucking on this pussy all day?”

      She nodded, mouth twisting as her face headed over.

      “What else has that mind been thinking about,” I purred before repeating my bite on the right thigh, but this time, I allowed the fangs to pierce a shallow blow, just enough to feast upon a few drops of her elixir. Her head lulled back as I ran my tongue across to seal the break in the skin before I moved away. “Going to answer me baby, or am I going to need to get demanding?”

      “Your cock,” she nearly growled.

      “You liked it last night, didn’t you?”

      She keened another moan as I repeated on the mark to my left, stealing a few more drops of her.

      “You filled me so good,” she answered, her thighs trembling with anticipation.

      “And what do you want with my cock?” I teased, casting my gaze upward to capture her in a stare.

      “I want you to throat fuck me.”

      I grinned. “What else, angel?”

      “I want you to rail me until I forget what damn day it is.”

      I chuckled. “Doesn’t sound like that’s all you want.”

      An exacerbated sigh erupted on her lips as I ground my tongue down on her clit.

      “I want you to…”  I licked her from the rear entrance to the top and back again. “I want you…” I fit my mouth over her all and sucked hard, nearly yanking her from her perch. “Holy fucker. I want that again.”

       I drenched myself in her as I lapped and sucked and dared to bite her marks over and over and over again. Each tiny drink fueled me along. Each of her moans and whimpers and squeaks etched themselves into my skin. I was rewarded with a shutter when I started to fuck her with two fingers in her pussy while feasting upon her clit. I was rewarded with both of her hands slamming the back of my head when I added a finger into her ass in a ruthless hammering of her senses. I hummed and groaned to goad her on as her legs spread wider and wider for me. She threw her head back as I slammed my hand in, rubbing her clit between my teeth and tongue and lips. She sprayed me as her body rocked hard back, nearly ripping itself away from falling into the couch proper. But I grabbed her as I lifted up enough to hold her in place. She was trying to close against me, but I demanded one more - one more climax from her like this. I chanced a look upwards to find that her face was shadowed and turned away, but her chest was heaving. I backed off a bit, bringing my hand down to leave her empty, but my mouth remained hard pressed on her. She threaded her fingers through my hair, yanking it back to give her a moment, but I wouldn’t budge. 

      “Sweeter than fucking honey,” I murmured before lashing out my tongue across her entrance. “Look at you, unraveling for me.”

       I pressed and looped the tip of my tongue to roll around her entrances. Her hands went limp on my shoulders.

      “I feast upon this flesh,” I whispered, biting into the right thigh again. She nearly screamed my name. “I feast upon your cum,” I sighed before sucking her swollen nub back between my lips. “I will share with you, my soul,” I finished before biting into the left thigh once more. She came hard; her body flinching and jolting with a pleasure that shone pink on her skin and rode out filthy on her words.

       I pressed tender kisses to the marks before helping to guide her feet down to the floor. She went limp in my arms. She tried to protest when I lifted her, bridal style, and walked us into the bedroom. I retreated after I got her onto the bed, fetching her a glass of water and giving her a few moments to collect herself. When I returned, I found her inspecting one of the marks I had just left. Her fingers danced across where the fangs would’ve dipped in to call for her blood. No mark of my puncture remained, but she prodded as if she could see what had been there.

      “You all right?” I asked, holding the glass out to her. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

      Her face slowly turned towards me, the eyes cloudy with thoughts. “It was perfect.”

      Relief poured in. “Was it what you were thinking about to get you through the day?”

      A single nod before she took a sip of the water and set it to the side. “Not all of it, but yes.”

     “Not all, huh?”

     She shook her head as that tongue peeked out to slide across her bottom lip. Her face was the perfect blend of innocence and naughtiness that prickled at my skin and hardened my cock all the more. She reached for my hips and lowered my zipper the rest of the way before pushing down the denim to reveal my boxer briefs. One kiss to one hip bone, followed by the other as she pushed both hands under the waistband in the back and slid down the underwear to the floor. I traced the line of her shoulder as she blew across the taut skin.

      “I didn’t really get to see this beast last night,” she sighed as she licked at the head.

      “Beast, huh?”

      She nodded. “Absolute beast that fucked me right last night. I need to reward it for that.”

      She plunged down my length until I hit the back of her throat. Her hand gripped the base, while her pinky wrapped itself around my balls in a stranglehold. I let her bob and twist and squeeze and gag upon my dick, all the while feasting on the sight of her filling me with desire. She threaded her other hand through my thighs and held my ass still. I let her control the situation as she gorged herself on me. 

      “I want you to fucking let go, Jake,” she growled, slapping my ass as she ruthlessly pumped me.

       I smirked down at her. “Then get down on the floor, sweetheart - on your knees and suck me properly.”

       She slid to the floor and up on her knees, eyes glistening at my command.

      “Open up,” I whispered, wrapping one hand on the back of her head. “Tap my hip if it’s too much.”

       She nodded as I slid myself into her mouth. I closed my eyes for nearly a minute as she just rested me on her velvety tongue. When I looked at her again, her eyes were nearly black with desire. She wrapped her hands on the outside of my thighs as she steadied herself. She was ready, as was I. Starting slow, I nudged my way back further and further in her throat until I was pounding out a gag with each thrust. Her eyes were watery pools of jade. Her nostrils flared and fought for air as I set a pace that twisted in my gut. Her spit was squishing and spattering out as I hammered forth, nearly losing myself in her heat. I wanted to cum all over her, but I pulled myself away, leaving her dazed.

       “Jake,” she gasped as I lifted her and shoved her onto her back on the bed.

       I grabbed her ankles and dragged her to the edge so that I could slam into that silken pussy. We both gasped out over the contact. I ground into her without mercy. The way her tits bounced as she arched her back made my brain shout out with delight.

       “You like that when I work that cunt like this?” I asked, my voice full of rasp and broken with effort.

       “Harder…” she ground out, her chin pointed up at the ceiling as her body bowed to my touch. 

     She started to repeat my name as I lifted her hips so that I could drill even deeper. Each time I buried myself in, she chirped, only to whine as I retreated. I reached forward, grabbing hold of one tit as I forced myself to hold on.

      “Tell me,” I said, voice gruff and deep. “Taylin - tell me what will make you cum right now. I need you… You said to… rail you. Tell me how you-”

       She laughed as she covered my hand with hers. I watched as she wiggled a bit before pulling herself off my cock and rolling up onto all fours. Her eyes smoldered as she braced herself for me.

       “Come fuck me, sir,” she purred with a gleam in her eye.

       “Holy shit,” I whispered as she wiggled her ass at me.

       I slapped one cheek as I moved behind her. I grinned as she lowered her head down to the mattress, but kept her ass up. Hmm. I wanted more all right. I shoved my face into her pussy once more, giving that needy clit a hard suck while rimming her asshole with my thumb. A shrill cry filled my ears as she started to unravel. Back up, cock at the ready, I kept my thumb right where it was, and started to thrust. The angle, the heat, the sight of her taking me - all of me, caused my jaw to slacken and my fangs came out to brush against my lip. I threw my head back to hide them. Her harsh breaths filled the air as I fucked that cunt into oblivion and back again. She was weeping as I finally belted out my load, searing both of us as I spasmed over and over, fingers digging into her hip and ass and her.

       We melted into a pool of flesh on the plush bedspread. I slipped one hand under her to gently roll us so that I took most of her weight up against me. Time blurred while I held her. She seemed to doze in my hold on her. The steady beat of her heart against my skin called to me, called to my spirit. 

       “Let’s get us cleaned up, yeah?” I asked after the high of our shared orgasm faded enough to have thought.

      Her body was limp as she trudged into the bathroom. I had taken a toll on her, but her eyes shimmered in the soft light. She was a total mess of tousled hair and marked skin, but she was gorgeous as she slipped one of my t-shirts across her torso. As I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, she leaned all of her weight against me. I could feel her body begging for rest.

      “When does your day start tomorrow?” I asked, smoothing down her hair.

      Taylin groaned as she planted her nose in the center of my chest. “Fucking 7:30 and doesn’t end until ‘whenever the food’s gone’. We start with a breakfast and end with a dinner and presentation and it’s never going to fucking end.”

      I gave a little laugh as she bounced her head against me. “I should get you back to your room then.”

      “What time is it?” she asked, still not really moving from me.

      “2:40.”

      She was quietly whining as her shoulders slumped. “Goddamn it.”

      She kept my shirt while redressing in the g-string and soft linen pants that she had arrived in. I was in black as I offered my arm for her to take - I was going to walk this woman ‘home’ as it were. My brain rippled with nostalgia as I walked at her side, keeping her close to my side as if she didn’t walk with one of the worst monsters known in the area. This would be the last time I saw her for a while. I was due in Seattle the following day. We parted with a softly passionate kiss and a promise to talk soon.

       “How quaint,” Kiran remarked as I returned.

       I grinned, allowing one fang to peek out against my lip. They laughed as I made a slight bow. 

      “She’s utterly perfect for you,” they continued with a nod. “I should be jealous that you could have such a creature. And she has no clue yet of what you are?”

      I shook my head. “None. She likes it when I bite her.”

      Silence at first from both of us. They slapped my arm as we erupted in a warmth of laughter.

       “I cannot wait until she joins us, my friend,” they said, meaning each word. 

       “I appreciate your help.”

       “You have the first night flight out?”

       I nodded. “I appreciate you keeping an eye on her.”

      “Shit, that warding you have on her is like neon, I doubt anyone would be stupid enough -”

       We both knew it was a lie. Things were not the same as they had been even five years prior. We were not of the old guard, by no means, but there was an element of recklessness that had touched our kind. Kiran blamed the human fascination of vampires in movies and books and how they went from sexless, manipulative monsters, to sparkling, moral compasses who wanted families. Bullshit is what it was. We needed to remain in the shadows to retain our existence, but damn - we do not shine like diamonds and cling to mortal ethics religiously. 

       Kiran patted my shoulder. “Hunt? We have a few hours.”

       I nodded. Hunt. Yes. I had not had the time to do so before Taylin had visited and my body was itching for actual nourishment. They eyed me with a mischievous grin before waving me on to follow and feast.

Next week, we bring it back around to Narin. Hope you have enjoyed our opening chapters!

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[vanfleeter]

OoooOOOooooo! I'm practically vibrating at this point and it's only a little past 9am 😂 Oh my gosh this was phenomenal. If there's going to be more, puh-lease add me to the list 🙏🏼

Mirror, Mirror...

Josh Kiszka x f!OC/reader 6.500+ words friends with benefits (or are they)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): abusive ex-boyfriend, past trauma, distorted body image and self-perception, feelings of self-doubt, self-deprecation and self-hatred, fluff, smut, kissing, oral sex (f!receiving), erotic teasing, handjob, p-in-v sex, hair-pulling, sex in front of a mirror, (very) light choking, slowburn (in a way)

I’d been dreaming about that evening for weeks, picturing it in my head over and over again, but when the moment finally arrived, all I really wanted to do was run and hide. 

Neither the size of my heels nor the hue of my lipstick could diminish the feeling that I didn’t belong there as I scanned over the three huge posters hung over three of two-story window bays, promoting three fragments of three carefully chosen pieces of art to be found inside, neither of them mine. Their authors must be swelling with pride right now, I thought. I wondered what it felt like, not having experienced that yet myself. It would be nice to feel that way too for a change, instead of that constant crippling self-doubt. I felt minuscule in front of that huge building. 

It looked truly majestic in the blue light of the afterglow, with ground spotlights illuminating the front side of the art deco edifice. 

“What a lovely evening,” Josh suddenly exclaimed and gently squeezed my hand. Reassuringly, too. But first and foremost, his touch was always gentle. 

I knew why he did that. It indeed was a beautiful, balmy evening, but my current state of mind had prevented me from being able to truly enjoy and appreciate it, and Josh of course noticed how antsy I was. He always does. I knew very well he wanted me to slow down my mind and take a deep breath, but his remark only made my heart beat even faster. Those feelings were just beyond my control. 

“I can’t go inside,” I breathed out. We were already half the way up the stairs when I halted and inadvertently pulled him back, making him stumble down a step clumsily. 

“What are you talking about? Impostor syndrome kicking in again?”

I wished I could explain it, but… yeah, he got it. Seeing one of my friends/slash/rivals at the top of the stairs dressed just in an oversized plain white t-shirt tied in a knot right above the waistline of her striped baggy pants didn’t really help much. “Don’t you think I’m a bit overdressed?” I mumbled, frowning and changing the topic just a little bit, and Josh followed my gaze.

“Absolutely not!” he shook his head with a playful pout. “And if so, I’m your partner in crime.”

He definitely wasn’t wrong, but it made me feel only slightly better, because Josh was Josh and I was… well, a nobody. “I just wanted to look nice,” I still tried to justify my dress choice. “... but isn’t it a bit… I dunno… pretentious?”

“You look lovely, Y/N. …which means you look like you, and nothing wrong with that.”

Josh just had this special gift to know how to say the right thing just when you needed it the most. That doesn’t mean I believed him, because I definitely wouldn’t call myself a ‘lovely’ person, but it just felt good to hear those words for a change. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“My pleasure, darling, but I must admit I’m still kinda disheartened by the fact that you refuse to tell me what really happened.”

What really happened… yeah, you know, because… while I always loved Josh to be my chaperone at occasions like this one, it wasn’t him who was initially supposed to accompany me to perhaps the most important event of my life. At least so far. But maybe it was a good thing that things had escalated before he could get a chance to ruin the night for me, which I was now certain he would have. 

“Kinda disheartened?” I chuckled, deliberately choosing not to address his indirect question. Josh’s word choice did amuse me, but at the same time I’d do anything to avoid that one particular topic. 

It didn’t work. “I’m a young man with an old soul,” he beamed at me before continuing with an eyebrow raised so high it made him look almost cartoonish: “So?” 

“Nothing happened. Just another fling that didn’t work out.” 

He exhaled exasperatedly through his nose so I immediately knew that this didn’t work either. He knew me. He knew I didn’t do casual hookups, simply because I didn’t want to. I usually considered myself lucky enough to find someone worthy of my time, as well as the other way round. Mainly the other way round. “You two were together for more than three months… during which you barely called me, by the way,” Josh huffed. “That’s not a ‘fling’.”

“And now we’re not together anymore. Can we please change the subject?” 

I could tell Josh was dissatisfied with my answers, as well as a little sad and worried when I dodged another one of his stealthy remarks, but he respected my wish and stroked my upper back affectionately, gently nudging me onwards. “Alright, sweet girl, let’s go inside then. I’m sure they’re all already waiting for their brightest star.” 

I looked up once again and my guts clenched uncomfortably. Frist Art Museum, looming in bold letters right above me. So it was really happening. 

Even though I knew my thoughts were unreasonable, I still half expected to be told that there had been some mistake made and I had no place here to take part in this exhibition. That’s what he implied a couple times, anyway. He fucked up with my head, but thankfully not my determination, so I was here, and he was not. 

Nashville’s youth – the most promising up-and-coming artists all in one place. I had worked really hard, but at the same time, what a joke it was! Me? Here? And what if the critics wouldn’t like it? 

I had always struggled with self-depreciation, but he definitely played a huge role in creating the mess that I became. 

I knew that! It didn’t necessarily mean I could control that. He had gotten way too deep under my skin and it took him mere weeks to do so. And I just let him, even though I probably never loved him.

We already reached the top of the stairs when I once again brushed off Josh’s well-meant compliment, even though me continuing to downplay the significance of the occasion was in fact a secret cry for help. I desperately needed him to tell me more sweet lies. “I’m not the brightest star, Josh. I’m just one of many. Not really a big deal.” It was true, even though I still had no objective reason to sound so sad. 

Josh turned towards me and the way he suddenly cupped my cheeks in his palms startled me. 

I stood still, almost frozen and only barely aware of how my own fingertips traveled involuntarily up his forearms. I could no longer avoid his inquisitive stare. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t wanna, but don’t do this. This IS a big deal, do you understand? Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise. You were SO excited about this at the beginning of the year.”

I frowned, mirroring his own worried expression. “I’m trying!” I mumbled. “That’s why I asked you to come with me.”

“Good!” He grinned. “Ready to be of service.” 

Josh offered me his hand again and I accepted, letting him lead me inside the building. Slow, but steady steps. He wanted me to savor the moment, surely. 

The place looked and felt even more grand inside. Josh looked around with a satisfied smile plastered on his face and squeezed my hand gently. “See? This place is magnificent. Be proud of yourself. That’s an order.”

I tried to take a deep, grounding breath, but only ended up shaking from even more nervousness. Once again, it didn’t escape his radar. He let go of my hand only to touch my shoulder reassuringly and my mind suddenly froze. He had done this many times before, and it’s safe to say that I was used to Josh’s warm and tender touches, so my sudden visceral response almost startled me. 

Maybe it was due to nervousness, or the fact that I hadn’t eaten much that day. Maybe I had been deprived of genuine, gentle and comforting touch for way too long. All I knew was that something was suddenly different. 

Still unaware of what he had just caused, Josh slowly slid his hand down my spine and let it rest casually on the small of my back, making me shiver and let out a shaky exhale as I could no longer keep my reaction to his touch hidden. His own immediate response was subtle but I could certainly tell. He tensed a bit too, though he didn’t withdraw. 

With my own eyes still focused on the marble paneling, I felt his piercing stare on my flushed cheek. I realized I was holding my breath, and the air that filled my lungs with my next inhale felt heavy. 

One could usually count on him to say some lighthearted joke to lift off the tension, should tension appear. So I waited and waited for what felt like minutes while he remained silent and still. I couldn’t take it anymore and finally turned my head to look into his eyes, only to realize how pretty they were. 

Of course they were, I always knew that, but I had never seen him looking at me like that again. There was a silent question in there, framed by his long eyelashes and accentuated by his clenched jaw. We had been friends for quite a long time. He was a pretty guy, for sure, and always smelling nice, but also always just… Josh. Kind, goofy, and safe. But this… this startled me. 

“Do you ever get nervous?” I blurted out. It was the first thing I could think of, because he looked so confident when we entered the building while I felt like the walls would fall down on me any second. And I realized this was nothing new to him. Josh had been to places, a lot of them much more impressive and important than this. 

“What?”

It was over with a snap. The bubble burst, and I could hear the murmuring voices of the people around us again. He let go of me and I immediately missed that touch, as the small of my back suddenly felt cold and bare. But I had learned not to let my emotions show (because it often triggered him), and continued with what I started. “In situations like these. Do you have stage fright?”

“Always,” he replied mournfully but quickly recovered himself and added with a charming smile: “But it only makes the experience better and more exciting, so don’t fight it. Enjoy it… but take a deep breath. Yeah.” 

I sighed, and hesitated. I almost touched his arm, without even knowing what I’d achieve by that. But before I could, he smiled again and motioned to me to get on moving. He didn’t take my hand this time. 

We soon got back on track with being our usual selves, just enjoying the evening and the sparkling wine. I also felt slightly better after the initial speech when the curator mentioned my pictures and introduced me as a new neo-pop wonder. 

Josh beamed at me and whispered an obligatory “I told ya” in my ear. 

But every time he wandered off to look at something, I couldn’t help but watch him stealthily and wonder what had happened. Josh had always been cute. I could even call him pretty if I squinted after having a glass of wine or two. But it had never made me feel things before. 

Now, all of the sudden, I could see how – when he forgot there were other people around and stopped acting – his movements were actually graceful and his small, slender form actually sexy. 

I realized that I’d been foolish for not having seen that before, because I was well aware that others had. 

Maybe it’s because I’ve never been the kind of person who enjoys window-shopping in stores selling luxury goods I could not afford. Who knows. That would mean I had always known. After concluding that this new revelation probably wouldn’t change a thing anyway, I took a sip from my glass filled with sparkling wine and pushed the idea to the back of my mind, hoping it would stop bothering me. 

But it didn’t. 

And the same could be said about my demons. For example when we reached one interactive piece that looked basically like a big box with a peephole. There was a message on one side of it, written in big bold letters: BEHOLD, YOUR GREATEST ENEMY.

Curious, Josh peeked into the box and immediately started laughing, so I followed suit, only to discover there was a mirror inside. 

Yeah, it was supposed to be funny. I guess. But it punched me straight in the chest and I had to bite my lip to keep my emotions at bay. I exited the room hastily, with Josh basically running after me. I had a hard time convincing him that I was fine. I don’t think he believed me. 

I put on a smiley face and even agreed to talk to a few people about my art, but deep down, I could see my integrity crumble again. 

And all that time, Josh was watching me. Observing me. Almost scrutinizing me. I wished he would stroke my back again, but he never did, and that made me feel even more miserable.

Things got only worse when the curator, who had been eyeing Josh since the very beginning, finally managed to corner him while I was in the bathroom. I found them deep in conversation when I got back and after standing nearby politely like an idiot for a while, I simply made myself scarce. 

I wandered around the building for a while, trying to focus on all the architectural details so that I wouldn't have to think about anything else, but the place just made me feel even more alone. I sat down on the marble staircase and watched the hustle below, and nobody seemed to mind or care. 

Maybe he had been right. I would never belong here. I was nobody. Just a girl with no friends and no manners…

I heard the footsteps but I was so lost in the gloomy realm of my own head that I didn’t notice him until he sat right next to me and bumped his shoulder into mine playfully. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Having the time of my life,” I sighed. 

“I’m sorry. She was… relentless. But if I’m buying anything, it’s gonna be one of your pieces.” 

“Josh!” I puffed through my nose, but couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve been giving you my shit for free.” 

He stood up and took two steps down to take a better look at me. “That only means I already owe you a fortune.”

His grin was infectious, and he actually made me chuckle this time, but it would take more than that to actually cheer me up and I watched how his smile slowly transformed back into that sad and worried frown from before the evening started. “Wanna go home?”

I nodded. My ass was already getting cold from sitting on a stone staircase and I desperately yearned to be back on my couch and under the downy blanket. “Yeah… yeah, I think I do.” I opened my purse and pulled out the phone to call an uber, but Josh rolled his eyes and snatched it out of my hand. 

“Don’t be silly. I’ll drive you.”

He offered me his hand again. How could I say no?

On our way out, Josh walked me through one of the smaller exhibition rooms; it was in fact the one I hastily exited before. We hadn’t had the chance to see all the installments there, one of which was a large mirror from the same author as the box. Not that I cared. None of it was exactly my cup of tea, all of it being very Duchamp-ish. I can respect an innovative idea, even when the execution obviously didn’t take much effort, but a simple mirror? Once again, there was a huge sign above it, saying simply “MODERN SOCIETY”. 

“Very original. Looks like ‘modern society’ are only those who visit galleries. That’s pretty arrogant,” I scoffed when Josh stopped to look at our reflection with an amused expression on his face. I didn’t share his sentiment, and immediately averted my eyes, looking anywhere else but at me. 

Once again, he noticed. “When did you start hating your own reflection?”

It was one of the questions I’d been trying to avoid answering. “I didn’t… I just don’t think this is ‘art’.

He raised his eyebrow at me before he looked back at himself and adjusted his collar. All that time I kept his eyes on him, and he noticed that too. “Bullshit. It’s pretty obvious you don’t like what you see, and it bothers me.”

“Yeah, I see an annoying, cocky guy beating a dead horse. But if it really bothers you, just drop it and let’s go.” I made a weak gesture towards the main entrance but Josh remained rooted on the spot, watching me warily.

“Interesting. And I see a beautiful young woman in a beautiful dress, but her own eyes mirror something completely different. But that can and should be changed.” 

“I just don’t like looking at myself. Can we go now?”

“Since when?” He turned towards me and looked me intently in the eye and once again I wondered how it would feel to kiss his plump lips. 

I think he noticed me staring at his mouth because he suddenly touched my chin lightly with his fingertips to raise it up a bit and make me meet his eyes again. That only made it worse. “Since he… I… this is personal,” I stuttered.

“Not anymore. You turned it into my problem too the moment you invited me here. We both know I’m only here because that asshole did something that made you feel bad. So?” 

We used to share personal stuff quite a lot before he appeared, so I in fact understood Josh’s attempts to make me talk to him again. 

I was embarrassed. That was the sole reason for my reluctance. At the same time, Josh never judged me and deep down I knew he wouldn’t even now. “Can we just talk about it in private?”

At last, he dropped the subject, if only for a short while. Nodding solemnly, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and off we went. 

“He kept calling me fat, and then insisted on fucking me in front of the mirror. I didn’t like it, I couldn’t stand looking at myself, which only made him angry. He told me that I should start working out, so that I wouldn’t be so frigid.” 

I could feel Josh’s piercing stare at me again, but I didn’t dare look, watching my hands in my lap instead. I kept wriggling my fingers nervously until he placed his hand over mine, making me stop. 

We were back in his parked car when I finally felt confident enough to share one of the stories with him. 

“I’m glad this is over,” he sighed. “You should have talked to me earlier. This is just wrong. You’re gorgeous.”

“With all honesty, Josh… who are you to tell!”

I didn’t mean it. I regretted it immediately. He just got so deep under my skin that I believe the things he had said to me even after he was gone. It was easy to dismiss Josh’s opinion on the matter. It was also wrong. Josh didn’t say anything, he just clenched his jaw again and kept staring at me and I felt it was only fair to finally meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed. 

Without a word, Josh started the car and we were soon back on Broadway, but then he took the wrong turn and I looked at him in alarm. Well, not exactly in alarm, but definitely in wonder. And he answered my question even before I asked.

“You know, forget about me driving you home. I’m not gonna let you be alone tonight. We’re going to my place.”

“Your place?! And what are we gonna do?” It was – in a way – a stupid question. I had been to Josh’s house many times before, including a few sleepovers, and it was never boring. 

“Looking into the mirror…,” he replied, joking. 

Actually… I watched his profile for several seconds, waiting for the smile that should have followed that joke, but he only clenched his jaw. 

“Josh… hey! What are you doing? Where are we going?”

The moment we exited the car, he grabbed my hand and led me inside in a hurry. I nearly stumbled while trying to keep up with his insane pace and as soon as we were in the hall, I kicked those heels off, as my feet already hurt anyway. 

But Josh didn’t stop. We passed the living room and were now heading straight towards the staircase that led to his bedroom. 

I’d never been there. I never had a reason. All guestrooms, Josh’s library, his kitchen as well as the sun room were downstairs. 

And because I had never set food in his private bedroom, I had no idea there was a large mirror that covered almost the whole wall adjacent to his wardrobe and – probably most importantly – it was facing his bed. Kinky bastard. 

As soon as we were inside, he finally let me catch my breath. “Aren’t you hungry? Thirsty? Everything ok?”

“M’fine,” I mumbled, too stunned to form a more coherent response and too mesmerized by how the whole room reflected in that magnificent looking glass. Satisfied, Josh took a step behind me and ran his hands down my shoulders before he planted a soft, fleeting kiss on top of the right one. I closed my eyes, savoring the touch and wondering whether this was still purely platonic, because it suddenly felt like something more. The suppressed tension from earlier was back, filling the room around us.

“Why are we here?” I asked his reflection that smiled back at me. 

“To make you see sense. Just see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

I shook my head in exasperation and looked down, only to snap my head back up as soon as I felt one of his hands slide under my arm to find purchase right under my right boob. I was sure he could feel how my breath immediately quickened. I was shocked… but also excited. 

“Josh…?”

“But you should believe me.” He tugged at the bow around my neck that held my flowy dress in place and loosened it a bit to give himself access to the soft and tender flesh right above my collarbone. Keeping eye contact with me the whole time, he searched my eyes for clues that I wanted him to continue. I tilted my head to the side, giving him more access… and making sure it was indeed what he planned to do. 

I watched with my eyes open wide how he lowered his head and pressed his lips on my waiting skin, making me moan. 

“No…” I suddenly whispered. 

“No? You don’t want this? Should I stop?” He looked at me again with genuine concern in his eyes. 

“No, I mean… I don’t believe… but I want to believe you.” His lips stretched into a cheeky grin and he tugged at the bow again, untying it completely and pulling it out of the gathered casing that served as a collar. I gasped when the slippery satin fabric slid down my body, leaving me standing there almost completely naked safe for my lacy thong. 

“Ooops,” he chuckled mischievously and quickly shed his own embroidered jacket before he started unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Josh… why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s only fair,” he replied matter-of-factly and threw the shirt on the flood. I could feel my heart beating wildly against my ribcage at the sight before my eyes returned back to my body and my face twisted in… pain. He noticed. His left palm rested on my bare hip while the index finger of the other hand kept drawing slow circles on my shoulder. He watched me too, and I returned the gaze just before he closed his eyes and rubbed his nose in my hair, inhaling with a smile.

“No, I mean, why are you doing all of this.”

Opening his eyes again, Josh took a tiny step closer and pressed himself against my buttcheeks. I could feel it. It was unmistakeable. “To show you he was wrong,” he whispered in my ear sultrily and I nearly lost it. The electrifying bolt of arousal made me squirm and Josh’s lips spread into a smile. He kept them close to my earlobe while his eyes met mine again in the reflection. I whimpered and immediately bit my lower lip in embarrassment. 

Josh’s grin only widened. He traced the goosebumps on the ticklish skin that covered my right arm’s triceps when he added: “I can tell you like this innocent demonstration of my point, BUT… I can also make you feel it. So, Y/N, answer me again. Do you wanna?”

Innocent!? He called this innocent? It already was the most erotic experience of my life so far and he barely touched me! “Yes!” I breathed out. 

Yes, I wanted him to make me feel more of this. Maybe I would regret that decision come morning, but at that moment I watched in awe how my long-time friend turned to something completely different in my eyes. He made my heart beat so fast I felt as if I just ran a mile. 

“Good,” Josh trilled. His right hand gently cupped my cheek and pulled my face to the side towards his waiting, already parted lips. It would be foolish to expect just a simple kiss after everything he had already done to me, but the electrifying intensity of the feeling still surprised me. I closed my eyes and leaned into him completely, suddenly fearful I’d fall if he wasn’t holding me. My head started spinning while he ran the tip of his tongue across my quivering lower lip, making me shiver again. 

I stuck out mine to meet him halfway and we let them swirl together erotically without the lips touching. Just when I tried to deepen the kiss, he suddenly withdrew and opened my eyes again, casting him a disappointed and confused look. It was met with a cheeky grin. 

Josh looked into the mirror again, gently urging me to do the same while his hand slid down towards the name of my neck, allowing me to see what he was doing to me. Meeting my sideways glance in the reflection again, he stuck his tongue out again and licked into the corner of my mouth. My eyelids fluttered closed and he tugged my hair gently in response, making me yelp. 

“No, no, no, darling, you must watch.” 

And I did; not daring to break eye contact again, I watched how he licked into my mouth and moaned into it when our lips finally touched again and I was the only one left watching. 

I felt his left hand travel up my side until it reached my peripheral vision, right before he cupped my left breast and gave it an appreciative squeeze. 

I loved the feeling, but I couldn’t bear the sight. He looked beautiful, sinful and wild. Completely out of my league. There was nothing pretty about me, so why should I keep looking? It only made me feel unworthy of all that sensation, and I closed my eyes again, secretly hoping he wouldn’t stop while wondering why he wanted to continue. 

He soon noticed and while he kept on kissing me with passion, I was acutely aware of his right palm sliding forward, feeling the increasing pressure against my jugular and my eyes opened wide again when his fingers enveloped my neck fully and squeezed it gently. Only then he broke the kiss again and I was now looking right into his real eyes. “Please, don’t make me watch,” I pleaded while trying to keep my tears at bay. 

“Artworks are meant to be seen,” he responded and stuck his thumb into my mouth before I could retort, pressing my tongue down. “Ah-hum hoth,” I still tried to object. 

“Yes, you are. And more than that.” He pulled the thumb out, turned me towards him, grabbed my wrist and pressed my palm against the hard bulge in his pants. “Oh would you look at that! You’re a master sculptor too.”

I chuckled while he smiled back encouragingly and gently stroked my hair. And just when I thought I killed the lustful moment with my self-deprecating thoughts, he ordered me to unbutton his pants and touch him. 

I got rid of my thong as well. It was only fair, as he had said. 

His cock was already glistening with precum when I gave it the first tentative stroke. “See?” he breathed out sultrily. “How could you possibly think that you’re not gorgeous?” 

I didn’t respond. Instead, I pressed my lips against his jaw and squeezed the soft and plump flesh of his right buttcheek with my other hand while he kept on talking. “Do you wanna see what you make me wanna do?” he mumbled and moaned when I let the tip of my thumb draw a lazy circle over his leaking head. 

“Yes,” I whispered, suddenly emboldened. 

Josh grabbed my shoulders and walked me backwards towards a cozy armchair right next to his bed. Taken aback I let go of him and simply let him take the lead until the back of my knees collided with the upholstered cushion. “Sit,” he ordered again and gently pushed me down before he slid down on his knees. 

Remember what I said about it being the most erotic experience of my life. Well, he certainly kept pushing that bar higher and higher with each passing second. We were still right in front of that huge mirror, and I was still facing it. Except not I was… “sitting like a queen on her throne,” he muttered with satisfaction, as if he was reading my mind. 

What a sight indeed, with him crouching in between my open legs. I realized how fast the whole situation escalated when he was already running his palms up my thighs while looking up at me with undiluted depravity in his eyes. “Do you have a good view?” I could only nod. 

I knew what he was going to do next, but when he lowered his head and I felt his hot breath on my exposed pussy, I yelped in surprise. He rubbed his cheek against my inner thigh and demanded I should pull his hair. 

“No, Josh…,” I breathed out, still taken aback and unsure how to feel about the whole thing. 

“Oh yes, Josh, yes!” he trilled almost mockingly and dived down. I nearly screamed when he enveloped my clit with his lips, soft and warm and already moistened with saliva. At first he just tugged and sucked it in a little, but soon he let the tip of his tongue flutter over. 

Normally, this would be too much too soon, but he was so gentle about it that the intensity was just right… and by that I mean overwhelmingly good. Reasoning be damned. I tilted my head backwards and surrendered to him fully. My trembling fingers found their way through his curls without me even consciously wanting to do that. It was purely impulsive. 

Chasing the feeling and without thinking, I pulled him even closer, making him bury his nose in the soft flesh above. He responded with a muffled moan that sent new waves of arousal through my whole body. 

I looked down, only to find him watching me, his eyelids drooping and his pupils dilated with lust. Still, his stare was intense, and I knew what he wanted me to do. 

He wanted me to look into the mirror and when I did, I saw this strange woman with lush tits pressed together by her outstretched arms, her hands cradling the head of a naughty rockstar who begged to be suffocated by her swollen cunt. 

I knew what he was doing. I knew what he wanted me to see. Crouching before me on his hands and knees, his ass was on full display. I could see his still hard dick pulsating and I ordered him to stroke himself, and he willingly obliged with another loud moan. 

I watched that woman’s big dark eyes and I thought they were beautiful, and I knew that woman was me, but still struggling to believe it. 

I watched how my knees started to tremble and it mirrored the increasingly blissful feeling in between my legs. I could hear myself panting and whimpering and my breath quickened again. 

I could feel it with each lick of his tongue. Like soda bubbles trying to escape through the narrow bottle neck. Up, and down, and up, and down. Nearly there… and then again. 

He knew what he was doing. Attuned to the reactions of my body, he was teasing me, prolonging that maddening moment your heart stops for a split second. He wanted me to beg him, and I finally did. I whimpered his name and begged him to get me there, and he sucked my clit in between his lips again and swirled his tongue around it a few times until I just couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped breathing shortly before it happened, holding breath through the first few waves that made my whole body spasm uncontrollably. Only then I let it out with a long nasal whimper. 

I left my eyes closed for a while after that, while waiting for my heartbeat to slow down and my hands to stop trembling. 

The room grew eerily quiet, and I already started wondering whether things would change between us. I knew, or at least I thought I knew, I couldn’t really hope for much. But going back to how we were? How could I possibly look into his eyes again and not feel anything? 

I felt Josh shift between my legs and I finally opened my eyes to see him sitting on his heels and watching me with a strange new affection in his eyes. However, he averted them as soon as I met his gaze. Instead, he watched his hand as he let it run up my thigh again. 

“Josh?” I finally managed to whisper. 

“Hmm…?”

“What about you?”

“I’m fine,” he smiled groggily and took a slow, deep breath before he ran a finger down my sternum. It was a strangely intimate gesture, but it left a dull and hollow ache under the surface he just traced. 

“And… if I wanted more… would you still be fine?” 

Josh’s eyes snapped up and I swallowed hard, unable to believe what I just asked for. He didn’t smile. He didn’t frown either. He got back on his feet – still looking impressive, but no longer hard – and offered me his hand to help me stand up as well. “You want more? What exactly?” he finally whispered when we were facing each other again. 

I didn’t know if I should run or cry, and I certainly wanted to do both. Josh probably must have seen it on my face because he finally frowned and cupped my cheeks with both hands and traced one of his thumbs over my lower lip. “We can do more…,” he said and kissed me, almost bashfully this time. 

“Can you turn off the lights?” I mumbled against his lips and he nodded. 

It took my eyes a while to adjust to the sudden darkness. Josh was back by my side before they did, so that I could only feel him next to me. The sound of his breathing and the heat that emanated from him sent my heart beating again. 

At first he took my hand again and raised it up so that our palms were touching as if through a mirror. I wondered if that was just a coincidence or his deliberate gesture that broke the surface separating two different worlds when laced his fingers through mine. “Is this what you had in mind?”

“Yes… and much more.” 

Josh asked no more questions. He pulled both our hands close to his chest while cupping the back of my head with his other hand and pulling me closer. I already searched for his lips with mine in the darkness and exhaled shakily when they finally met. He took my breath away again. 

As if there was yet another version of him that existed only in the darkness. With my eyes already adjusted to it, I could see the outlines of our bodies in the mirror, dark and almost demonlike. 

That’s who he was now. Like a mysterious creature that visits maidens in their dreams to rob them of their virginity while letting them keep their innocence. His touch felt like warm velvet on my skin, healing the wounds caused by calloused hands of a selfish beast that should have never crossed my threshold. 

I had thought I would never recover, but now I could feel my afflictions leaving my mind and soul like black smoke.  

And just like the mysterious creatures disappear before the sun rises, I felt like this intimacy was also only a temporary thing. 

“Who are we?” I asked when our lips parted. 

My question made no sense, and yet I felt like he understood it anyway. “I’m Josh, and you’re Y/N, and nothing else matters now, ok?” 

Yes, I was ok with that. Or so I thought. Tomorrow didn’t really matter at that moment when we climbed onto his bed like two black cats cuddling. 

I didn’t need him to impress me; he already had. So when my requests made him almost bashful because he could no longer act like the man of the world, I patiently guided his hands. And when he finally entered me and muttered “Jesus Christ”, I pressed his head down to my chest to let him hear my beating heart. 

No rush. 

No ‘fuck me harder’ or ‘oh fuck yeah, just like that.’ We were getting there slowly while the sound of our heavy breathing echoed in the room. 

I didn’t care if the morning would mock me for thinking such a folly, but I truly felt that we were making love. 

He kissed me deeply when I came. 

And I held him tight when he finally did too.

In the morning, he greeted me with fragrant coffee and a cheeky grin. He looked so cute in his fluffy beige hooded bathrobe with hamster ears. “There’s a new sushi place we should try,” he said when he handed me a steaming mug.

I thought it was a magnificent idea.

@thewritingbeforesunrise @fleet-of-fiction @writingcold @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep  @takenbythemadness  @edgingthedarkness @myownparadise96 @gvfstuddedmajesty @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @josh-iamyour-mama @lyndz2names @wetkleenex-gvf @peaceloveunitygvf @cheersdannyx2 @fleetingjake @lizzys-sunflower @emojakekiszka @gvfmarge @Dayumclarizzel @lipstickitty @clownstarr @gretasfallingsky @musicislove3389 @i-love-gvf @psychedelectable @allof--mylove @sacredsparrow @scarabsinthestardust @Ironlotus90 @stardustsam @irenereedcane-mamagreta

[vanfleeter]

Oh. My. God.

I find myself saying that a lot but I'm not really sure what else to say. But I will say this.. A mixture of love, both tender and harsh; heartache that felt an equal amount of being painful yet welcomed with open arms.

More soon.. Umm.. Yes please. I'll be waiting 😉🤍

Petrichor - III

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 10.5k

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol, Angst, Touching, Kissing, Graphic Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, and More.

Listen to the Playlist: Apple Music

A/N: Thank you. More soon.

It starts with a headline.

You’re in line at a coffee shop in the East Village, airpods in, scarf knotted high against the February wind, when you glance at the TV mounted in the corner above the espresso machine. The sound is off, but the words stop you cold.

Greta Van Fleet to Perform on Fallon — Live from NYC This Week

The camera cuts to a clip from an old performance, Josh wailing into the mic, Danny and Sam holding down the rhythm, and Jake. Jake in black, hair wild, eyes narrowed, fingers flying across the fretboard like he’s trying to conjure lightning.

Your chest goes tight.

He’s here.

In the city.

For a second, your first instinct is to text him. You even pull your phone out of your coat pocket. But what would you say? ‘Hey, saw you on TV. Want to meet up between soundcheck and fame?’

Still, something in you stirs. Something louder than pride. You send the message.

Saw the announcement. You’re in New York?

He doesn’t reply right away. But he does reply.

Yeah. Flew in last night. Filming tonight.

Your heart thuds hard. You bite your lip. Then type.

Want to get coffee? Or something.

The typing dots appear. Then disappear. Then come back.

Yeah. I want to.

You stare at the screen, hopeful as he types.

But it’s chaos. Label stuff, press junkets, rehearsal. They’ve got us back-to-back until the taping. I’m sorry.

You stare at the message for a long time. Then reply.

It’s okay. I get it.

But the ache in your chest says otherwise. 

Later that night, curled up on your couch in your small Brooklyn apartment, you flip the channel and watch the performance. He’s dazzling.

Confident. Electric. Everything you knew him to be when no one else was watching. But now everyone is watching. And none of them know what his voice sounds like first thing in the morning. How he sleeps with one arm flung over his eyes. How he holds you tighter when it rains. You tell yourself this is what it was always going to be, two lives orbiting too close to avoid the pull, but too far to ever settle.

Still, when he steps forward during the solo, head thrown back, hair falling in his eyes, you swear, just for a second, he looks right into the camera.

And it feels like looking at you.

—

You’re still half-awake when the phone rings.

2:07 AM.

Your first thought is, Emergency.

Your second is, Jake.

You fumble for your phone on the nightstand, heart already pounding. And when you see his name on the screen, it doesn’t stop.

You hesitate, then swipe to answer.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause on the other end. You hear street noise, distant laughter. A car door slamming. Wind through the receiver.

“Hey.”

His voice is quiet. Hoarse. Like he’s been yelling over loud music or smoking too much. Or both.

“Jake,” you breathe, sitting up. “Is everything okay?”

Another pause.

“Yeah. I mean… no. I don’t know.”

You close your eyes. “Where are you?”

“Somewhere in Midtown. Just left the after party.”

You picture him walking the streets in his stage clothes, hair tousled from the lights and sweat, eyeliner still smudged beneath his eyes. Alone.

“I should’ve called you earlier,” he says, words rushing now. “I wanted to. I meant to. I kept thinking I’d have time. But it was all cameras and handlers and meetings and they kept pulling me in different directions. And I just…” He trails off.

You sit in the dark, waiting.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I should’ve asked to see you the second the plane landed.”

The ache behind your ribs pulses. “I wanted to see you too,” you admit softly.

He exhales. “I figured you did. But I didn’t want to assume. I didn’t want to make it harder.”

“Holding back made it harder.”

There’s silence for a long moment. The kind that hums with everything neither of you is saying.

“I’m only in town for today,” he says eventually. “We fly to Toronto tomorrow morning. I—I don’t even know what I’m asking. I just didn’t want to leave without hearing your voice.”

You close your eyes. His voice wraps around you like a thread being pulled tight.

“I’m glad you called,” you say, and it’s the truth.

He swallows. “Can I see you?”

Your breath hitches. “Now?”

“Yeah. I mean, unless you’re asleep or it’s too late or—fuck. It’s too late, isn’t it?”

You should say yes. It is too late. But your hand is already reaching for your sweater.

“I’m awake,” you murmur. “Text me the address.”

Another heartbeat. 

“Okay.”

And just like that, the call ends. A second later, your screen lights up with a location pin. You stare at it, pulse thrumming in your throat. Then you stand. You brush your hair back and pull on jeans and a jacket. You tell yourself this doesn’t mean anything. But it does.

You’re already halfway to the door when you realize you didn’t even put on shoes.

—

The car drops you off in front of the kind of hotel you wouldn’t normally walk into unless you were meeting someone famous, or running straight into your past.

You stand there for a second under the awning, watching the city reflect off the gold trimmed glass doors. Your stomach twists. You haven’t seen him in almost a year. You told yourself you were over it, over him, but suddenly it all feels too close again. Too unfinished.

The lobby is quiet, just a pair of night staff at the front desk and a security guard by the elevators. It smells like clean linen and wood polish, and the marble floors echo with every cautious step you take.

You text him when you reach the elevator.

I’m here.

The elevator dings open a second later, and you step in alone. Floor 23.

You keep your eyes on the glowing numbers as they climb, heart rattling behind your ribs. When the doors finally slide open, the hallway is silent. 

His door is cracked.

Not enough to invite you in, but just enough to say he’s watching. Waiting. You lift your hand and push it open and there he is.

Jake.

Barefoot, in black jeans and a white t-shirt, hair longer than it was the last time you saw him, but cleaner somehow, neater, like he gave up trying to look like he didn’t care. There’s a small hoop in each ear you don’t remember. A few new rings. A line of muscle down his forearm that wasn’t there before. He looks grown in a way that hurts.

And the moment his eyes land on you, something in his expression flickers. Like relief or maybe disbelief. Like he’s seeing a ghost that he used to touch.

“You…” he starts, but it trails off.

You shift under his gaze, suddenly aware of everything you changed about yourself since you saw him last. Your hair, your posture, the way you carry yourself now like a person who wrote something real and put it out into the world. He takes it all in, and his throat moves like he’s trying to swallow a sentence. Neither of you moves.

Then, he takes a step forward. You do too.

He pulls you in, arms wrapping around your back like he never plans to let go. Your fingers fist into the soft cotton of his shirt. He smells like clean skin and expensive hotel soap, and something beneath it that hasn’t changed. Something familiar. Something Jake.

You stay like that for a long time, both of you silent, breathing each other in. Then he murmurs into your hair, “You cut it.”

You lean back just slightly, enough to see him. “You grew yours out.”

His lips quirk at one corner, but there’s something hesitant in his eyes. “You look incredible.”

“You too,” you say, a little hoarse. “You look… tired.”

He chuckles, low and embarrassed. “That obvious?”

You shrug. “I know what late nights and afterparties do to you.”

That makes him laugh softly. “You’re still you, aren’t you…”

You arch a brow. “You still playing the martyr?”

He groans and pulls you back into him. “God, I missed your mouth.”

There’s tension still, humming under the reunion. Not just sexual, though that’s there too, but emotional. He feels different under your hands, but he’s still him. The way his chest moves when he breathes. The warmth of his hands on your back. You know this and it terrifies you.

“I didn’t know if you’d actually come,” he admits.

“I didn’t know if I’d want to,” you reply.

His hand slides down your arm, fingers brushing yours. “Do you?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know.”

“Fair.”

You look up at him. His eyes are softer than you remember. Or maybe just more vulnerable.

“I didn’t call you for a second chance, Y/N,” he says. “I just didn’t want to leave this city without… seeing you again. With my own eyes.”

Your throat tightens. You nod, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“Can I offer you a drink you won’t finish and a hotel room you won’t stay in?” he asks, lips twitching in that familiar half grin.

You laugh, wiping your cheek. “You got any bad wine?”

“Only the worst,” he deadpans, backing toward the minibar.

You follow, but slower. The distance between you has changed, but the gravity hasn’t. It’s still pulling you in. It’s only a matter of time before one of you lets it happen.

—

The wine sits unopened on the table between you.

You’re perched at the edge of the hotel’s oversized couch, legs tucked under you, jacket still on. Jake is beside you, one arm draped across the back cushion, fingers idly curling and uncurling like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

The silence between you is familiar. Not comfortable exactly, but intimate. The kind that’s heavy with everything that hasn’t been said yet.

“You’ve been quiet,” you say softly.

“So have you.”

“I think I’m scared to talk too much,” you admit, eyes fixed on the rim of your glass. “Like I might ruin the fact that we’re actually sitting in the same room again.”

Jake leans forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re not going to ruin it.”

You glance at him, searching his face. “I don’t know what this is. What it’s supposed to be.”

“Neither do I.”

“But it still feels like something.”

He nods, slowly. “Yeah. It does.”

There’s a long beat of silence. Then he turns his head, eyes locked to yours, and asks quietly, “Are you seeing anyone?”

The question is so direct it makes your breath catch.

You shake your head. “No. I’ve been… focused. Busy. And maybe a little ruined, if I’m being honest.”

He swallows. “Same.”

You study him. The quiet behind his eyes. The weight of his voice.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your tone delicate. “Because if there’s someone—”

“There isn’t,” he says, sharper than intended. Then softens. “There hasn’t been anyone since you.”

Your heart twists. “Jake…”

He reaches for your hand, brushes his thumb across your knuckles. “I didn’t come here to confuse you. I just—”

“You just couldn’t not.”

His mouth lifts slightly. “Yeah.”

The room stills around you. And then, with a slow, careful shift, he closes the distance. He doesn’t lunge, doesn’t pull you in, he just moves closer, breath grazing your cheek.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low, almost hoarse.

You nod. “Yes. Just… slow.”

“Of course.” His hand rises, tentative, brushing your jaw with the backs of his fingers. You lean into the touch before you even realize it, eyes fluttering shut. His thumb skims the corner of your mouth.

Then finally, he kisses you.

You shift, rising up on your knees so your body presses more fully to his. His hands slide under your jacket, fingertips grazing your waist through the thin fabric of your shirt. When he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are dark and unreadable, searching yours.

“We don’t have to,” he says, voice rough. “If this is just…”

But you shake your head, silencing him with a kiss, firmer this time.

“I want to.”

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t stopped wanting to.”

Then Jake rises, hands curling around your thighs, and pulls you gently into his lap. You straddle him on the couch, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips, your hands braced on his shoulders. Your foreheads touch again, breath mingling in the small space between you.

“This okay?” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper.

His hands slide up your back, slow and steady. He peels off your jacket, your shirt, baring inch by inch. 

“You’re even more beautiful now,” he says.

“You’re biased.”

“I may be,” he corrects, smiling faintly. “But not blind.”

You laugh softly, leaning forward to kiss him again. The tension melts, gives way to something deeper. The kind of warmth that spreads low and slow, winding through your veins like heat in the winter.

You feel him growing hard beneath you as your hips begin to move, slow and deliberate. The friction makes both of you gasp quietly. But neither of you rushes it. This is a reintroduction. This is a promise not to forget how it felt to be close.

“Still want to go slow?” Jake breathes against your throat, kissing the soft skin there.

You smile. “I want to feel everything.”

“Then let me give you everything.”

You nod, and as your hands tug at the hem of his shirt, you realize something important. This isn’t the beginning. It’s not the end, either.

“God, I missed this,” he murmurs into your neck, voice husky. “Missed you.”

You grind your hips down, slow, letting him feel just how warm and ready you are, even through the layers of denim. He groans low in his throat, head dropping to your collarbone.

“I think about this more than I should,” you whisper, fingertips slipping under the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his torso. “More than’s probably healthy.”

“Tell me,” he says, leaning back so you can lift his shirt over his head. “What do you think about?”

You bite your lip, pretending to consider as you rake your eyes down his chest. “How your hands felt on me. That first morning in the cabin. How you looked when you were buried inside me, like nothing else in the world existed.”

Jake exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your hips. “Fuck.”

“You said you haven’t been with anyone since,” you say, brushing your lips along his jaw.

He turns into your mouth, kisses you harder. “I haven’t. Couldn’t. No one’s you.”

Your hand slides down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. “So you’ve just been waiting?”

“For this,” he says, meeting your gaze. “For you.”

You roll your hips again, slower this time, teasing. “You gonna make it worth the wait?”

He smiles, all heat and hunger. “Take your pants off and find out.”

You stand slowly, unbuttoning your jeans, not breaking eye contact. His gaze tracks every movement, languid and hungry. You slide them down your hips, underwear with them, and toss them to the side. Jake’s tongue slips over his bottom lip, and he groans.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You step between his knees and tug at his jeans. “Lie back.”

He does, reclined against the plush hotel couch, arms behind his head like he’s surrendering. You pull his jeans off, leaving him in nothing but his black briefs, and even through the fabric, he’s hard, impossibly so.

You straddle him again, letting the heat of your bare center press against him. His eyes flutter shut.

“Please,” he whispers, breath catching.

You grind again, slow, lazy, slick against the cotton of his briefs. He curses under his breath and grips your hips like he’s holding back from flipping you over right there.

You lean down, lips grazing his ear. “Still want slow?”

His eyes open. “Want you. Any way I can have you.”

You reach between your bodies, slide your hand under the waistband, and wrap your fingers around him. He’s hot, thick, and pulsing in your grip. His jaw clenches hard.

“Take ‘em off,” you murmur, already moving to kiss his neck.

He shoves the briefs down and kicks them off. You settle back into his lap, lining him up, teasing the head of him against your entrance.

Jake looks up at you, completely undone. “Don’t tease me.”

“You deserve it.”

“I deserve you.” His voice is rough now. “So let me have you.”

You sink down slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated inside you. You both go still, breathing hard, eyes locked.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, thighs trembling.

His hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts, brushing his thumbs over your nipples. “You feel so good. Better than I remembered.”

You start to move, rolling your hips, and his head falls back against the cushion. “Fuck, just like that,” he growls. “Keep going. Let me watch you.”

You ride him slow, then faster, your fingers digging into his shoulders, his hands guiding your rhythm. Every movement sends sparks up your spine, your body already burning.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmurs. “Look at you, fuck. You’re mine like this.”

You moan and lean down to kiss him, hot and wet, tongues sliding together. He thrusts up into you now, deeper, harder, hitting exactly where you need it. You break the kiss with a cry.

“Jake, don’t stop–”

“I won’t,” he growls, gripping your ass and driving up into you again. “You’re so close. I can feel you clenching around me. Let go, baby.”

Your body arches, the orgasm ripping through you hard enough to shake. You cry out, grinding against him, clutching his chest like you’re afraid you might shatter.

Jake watches, awe in his eyes. “That’s it. Fuck. You’re so beautiful.”

He flips you then, gently, but quickly, laying you back against the couch, still inside you. He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your jaw. “Can I come inside you?” he whispers. “Please.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Jake.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before he groans, spilling into you, hips grinding deep, mouth pressed to your shoulder. His entire body trembles with the force of it, and for a moment, everything stills.

Just breath. Just skin. Just you and him. He collapses beside you, one hand finding yours between the couch cushions. Neither of you speaks for a long time.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

He turns his head to face you. “I never stopped.”

You thread your fingers through his. “What now?”

Jake’s eyes search yours. “I don’t know. But this… this isn’t over. Not if I have any say in it.”

And in that quiet space, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you believe him.

Even if morning still looms.

—

You’re wrapped in a cocoon of hotel sheets when you feel a hand stroke gently down your back.

Then the softest whisper against your shoulder. “Hey. Wake up.”

You make a low sound of protest, burying your face into the pillow.

He chuckles softly and presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t make me leave without a proper goodbye.”

That gets your attention. You blink your eyes open, still heavy with sleep, the room barely lit by the gray of early morning. Jake is leaning over you, shirtless, hair still a little damp from a quick shower, already dressed in jeans and his favorite boots.

Your stomach twists. “What time is it?” you murmur, sitting up slowly, the sheet slipping from your bare chest.

He lets his eyes drag over you one last time and exhales through his nose, like it physically hurts to pull away.

“Too early. My flight to Toronto leaves in a couple hours. Van’s downstairs.”

You nod, trying to swallow the ache in your throat. “Right.”

Jake reaches out, and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers at your jaw, his  thumb brushing your cheek.

“I didn’t want to leave without seeing you awake,” he says softly.

You lean into his touch, eyes searching his. “This feels unfair.”

“I know.” His voice cracks a little. “It’s not what I want either.”

There’s a soft knock at the door. Three sharp raps.

Jake sighs and stands. “That’s my brother.”

You blink. “Josh?”

“Yeah.” He glances back at you, smiling faintly. “He’s been waiting in the hallway for ten minutes. Refused to come in.”

“You told him?”

Jake hesitates at the foot of the bed. “Not everything. Just that I had someone I needed to see while we were here. He figured it out.”

You nod, pulling the sheet tighter around you as he leans in and kisses your forehead.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

You catch his wrist before he can turn. “Will you call me?”

He hesitates. Just for a second. Then nods. “Yes.”

“Will you mean it?”

His lips part, but the words don’t come right away. You see the uncertainty in his eyes. The ache. The reality. The world he has to get back to.

“I’ll try.”

You nod. That’s all you can ask for. 

One last kiss. Deep, and slow, with the promise of something neither of you can name.

Then he slips out the door. And just like that, he’s gone.

—

You hear from him, at first. Not often. But just enough to make it worse.

The messages come at odd hours, late, fleeting things that land with a thud in your chest.

Toronto’s a blur. Miss the quiet.

I saw something today that reminded me of you. Thought I should tell you.

I’ve been writing again.

You reply, sometimes. You try not to say too much. You fail.

It’s raining here. I miss the cabin.

The story’s stuck. I think maybe I am too.

I can’t stop thinking, either.

But slowly, the space grows. The pauses between texts stretch further. Days. Then weeks.

You follow his tour without meaning to, secondhand glimpses on fan accounts and tagged videos, stage lights flaring off his guitar, his face caught in grainy filters and screaming crowds.

He’s dazzling. Distant. Untouchable again.

Your lives start to feel like radio signals out of sync. You tell yourself not to wait. You stop checking your phone so often. You almost believe yourself.

Then, months later, a headline catches your eye.

Greta Van Fleet to perform on the Tonight Show

Your breath hitches. You type his name into the search bar. You shouldn’t. But you do.

There he is, hair a little shorter, face sharper, confidence humming beneath his movements. A ghost and a stranger, all at once.

You don’t text him. 

But he does, the clock reading 2:14AM.

Are you awake?

Three words. That’s all. But they fracture something. You stare at them too long. 

You almost reply. You almost don’t.

I am now.

You wait as he types.

Then, he stops.

Nothing.

The silence feels familiar now. Like an old bruise. Or a closed door. And somewhere in that soft, aching pause, between the messages, the airports, the missed calls, and maybe next times, you start to wonder if timing was the only thing that ever went wrong.

—

You don’t hear from him after that.

Not for a while.

And still, he’s everywhere.

You catch pieces of him in places you wish you didn’t. In the secondhand buzz of a stage clip you weren’t looking for. In the way your chest tightens when you pass someone in the airport wearing a Greta Van Fleet hoodie. In the opening notes of a song you don’t let yourself skip anymore.

You don’t know what you’re expecting. An apology? An explanation? An invitation?

You never get one.

And still, you write. Not about him. Not directly.

But he’s there, always, between the lines. In the cadence of your sentences. In the way your main character hesitates before speaking. In the quiet spaces between chapters, where longing lurks.

You finish the book. Somehow.

It’s better than the first one. Everyone says so. Your agent cries. Your editor calls it your best work yet. They talk film rights. National tour. Glossy press. Late-night appearances.

Everyone asks what inspired it.

You never tell them.

—

You move through the next few months in a blur of airports and microphones, bookstores and tiny hotel soaps. Your calendar fills and your inbox floods. You’re grateful. Exhausted. Lonely in a way you can’t quite name.

Every so often, you open your phone and stare at the messages you never deleted and you wonder if he’s doing the same. You wonder if he regrets it, letting go without ever really saying goodbye.

Maybe he does.

Or maybe he meant to text you back, and the moment passed. Maybe the timing really was just off. Or maybe he said everything he had to say in a cabin in the woods with rain on the windows and your name still fresh on his lips.

—

It’s nearly a year later when you find yourself in Nashville. A stop on your book tour. A signing. You’ve got a sharpie in your hand and a line out the door. Your photo’s on a poster out front, a stack of hardcovers stacked beside you. You’re answering questions, thanking strangers, smiling through the ache of long days. 

You’ve done a dozen of these signings by now.

Different cities, different bookstores, different faces. But they all blur together in the same rhythm. Fluorescent lighting, stacks of books, the soft murmur of pages being opened and closed. Sharpies uncapped. Your name written again and again until it barely looks like yours anymore.

Still, Nashville feels different.

Maybe it’s the heat outside, heavy and humid, curling your hair at the edges and sticking your dress to the backs of your knees. Maybe it’s something else.

You smile through it.

You thank people for coming, for reading, for caring. You laugh when they ask where you got your inspiration. You sidestep it gracefully. You’ve gotten good at that.

They ask if it was based on a true story.

You tell them the characters are fictional, but the emotions are real.

That’s enough truth for now.

The crowd moves steadily. Readers approach with sticky notes on their pages and kind eyes. Some are nervous. A few gush. One woman cries and you try not to cry with her.

Your handler refills your water. Someone adjusts the stack of hardcovers to your right. The smell of fresh coffee wafts in from the café around the corner, and for a second, you’re back in Dunhaven, barefoot on a kitchen floor, watching rain collect on a windowpane while someone moves quietly behind you.

You blink it away.

“Who should I make this one out to?” you ask the next person in line, voice steady.

“Brooke,” she says. “And could you write something about holding on, even when it’s hard?”

You nod. “Of course.”

You write, ‘Hold on, even when it hurts. Especially then’ above your name.

There’s a lull after that. The line stretches toward the back of the store, but something shifts. You take a breath. Stretch your fingers. Glance toward the door. And that’s when you feel it.

Not recognition, not yet.

Just… a static pull. The sense of something arriving. A presence before it becomes a shape. You glance down again, try to ground yourself. But your chest tightens, suddenly too full. Your ears ring faintly, your heartbeat rushing in. Then you look up, and there he is.

Your heart stutters. Time folds in on itself.

At first, your brain doesn’t register it. Just another face in the crowd, another person waiting patiently, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. But something in you stills. The air changes.

It’s not until your eyes settle on his, those familiar, gold-threaded eyes, that your stomach drops.

Jake.

He’s standing in line. At your book signing. Your heart lurches like it’s trying to catch up to the moment. Like it’s forgotten how to beat for anyone else. You blink, unsure if you’re imagining him, some ghost your brain conjured from exhaustion and longing. But no, he’s real. Solid. Just a few feet away now.

He looks… different. Not completely, but noticeably. His hair is a little shorter, tucked behind his ears. He’s wearing a dark jacket over a soft gray t-shirt, something effortless but intentional. A few days’ worth of scruff covers his chin and upper lip. He looks older. Sharper. Softer, too.

He’s holding your book. He’s in your line.

You’re pretty sure your name is being called, someone trying to hand you the next copy to sign, but you can’t look away. Because he’s still beautiful. 

And now he’s here, in front of you, in a space where you never thought you’d see him.

Where you are the one behind the table. And he is the one waiting.

You tear your gaze away before he notices you staring too long. Or maybe he already has.

You look down, fast. Your hands are shaking slightly, so you press your palms to your thighs beneath the table. Breathe in. Out. Again.

You can feel your face flushing, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The book in front of you blurs. Someone says your name, twice, but it takes a second for the words to register. You manage a smile, scribble your signature and say thank you. Your voice doesn’t crack, but it feels like a miracle.

Don’t look back up.

Don’t scan the line again.

Don’t—

You do.

He hasn’t moved much. Just a few steps forward now. Still holding your book. Still watching you.

Your breath catches. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him like this. Not through a screen, not filtered through foggy memories or stage lights or imagination,but here. Tangible. You wonder if he can hear how loud your pulse is from across the room.

You wonder what he’s thinking. And somewhere in the rush of it, beneath the nerves, the confusion, the low hum of fear, you feel something else spark to life.

Hope. Stubborn and unreasonable, fragile as glass.

But still, hope.

The line moves forward.

And then he’s there. Right in front of you.

Up close, he looks even more like himself than you remembered. Not the version you saw onstage or in grainy videos. Not the one that lived in your drafts or under your skin. But him. The man who brought you coffee in the rain. Who kissed you like it was a promise. Who held you like he didn’t want to let go.

He clears his throat, just barely. “Would you sign it?”

His voice is lower than you remembered. Rougher. Like he hasn’t used it much lately.

You look down at the book. Your book. The one he’s holding. You nod slowly, trying to will your hand to work, to lift the pen, to stop shaking. “Sure,” you manage, fingers curling around the Sharpie like it’s a lifeline.

“Who should I make it out to?” you ask before you can stop yourself. It’s a reflex. A joke, maybe. 

Jake huffs a quiet laugh, one you feel more than hear. “Surprise me.”

You don’t write at first, you just look at him. His eyes are softer now, like whatever he’s carried this past year has worn him down in some places and made others glow.

“You look good,” you say before you can stop it. It slips out. Honest. 

“So do you,” he replies. He looks at you like he means it. Like it guts him a little to say it out loud. The silence stretches on again, thick with everything you’re not saying.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you whisper.

“I didn’t either,” he says. “Not until this morning.”

You press your lips together to keep them from trembling. Your pen finally touches the page.

To Jake,We never really said goodbye, did we?-Y/N

You slide the book toward him, and your fingers graze. He doesn’t pull away. He takes the book from your hands gently, his thumb brushing the edge of the page where you wrote his name. Where you told the truth in the smallest, safest way you could. You meet his eyes, and for a moment, neither of you says a word.

Then he clears his throat. “No. We didn’t,” he pauses, “You’ve got a line.”

You glance over his shoulder, more readers waiting, polite but curious. You nod slowly.

“I do.”

Jake steps back, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’ll be around. If you want.”

Your heart stutters.

“Yeah,” you manage, the word sticking to your tongue like honey. “I do.”

He moves away quietly, slipping between shelves and toward the back of the shop, giving you space to finish. The rest of the signing passes in a blur.

You smile and thank people and scrawl your name across copies of Petrichor, but your mind drifts constantly to the man in the back of the store, tucked just out of sight. You feel him there like a magnetic field, pulling at the corner of your attention, at the thrum in your chest.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the last person finally steps away and your handler announces you're done for the evening. You cap your Sharpie, flex your aching fingers, and glance toward the quiet corner of the shop.

He’s still there.

Leaning casually against the end of a shelf, book tucked under his arm, watching you with a softness that turns you to dust. You walk toward him slowly, heart in your throat. The room feels quieter now.

He doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches you, like he’s trying to remember everything all at once.

“You stayed,” you murmur, a little breathless.

Jake shrugs one shoulder. “Didn’t want to interrupt the show.”

You smile, tired and warm. “It wasn’t the same kind of stage.”

“No,” he says, voice low. “But you still stole it.”

You laugh then, more from nerves than anything else. “You want to get out of here?”

Jake’s smile returns, slow and sure. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—

The air outside is soft with the kind of warmth that settles in your skin. Not quite summer, not quite fall, just that in-between sweetness Nashville holds close in the evenings. The streetlights flicker on one by one as you step onto the sidewalk beside Jake, the hum of traffic and distant music bleeding into the background. For a few moments, you just walk.

Neither of you rushes. There’s a quiet comfort in the silence, the shared awareness that something is happening, even if neither of you has named it yet.

Jake slips his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “So,” he says finally, glancing sideways at you. “Famous author now?”

You smile, soft and a little shy. “Something like that.”

“I read it,” he adds after a beat.

Your breath catches. “You did?”

He nods. “Twice.”

You look over at him, surprised. “Why?”

Jake’s mouth tilts in that way it does when he’s being honest and doesn’t quite know what to do with it. “Because the first time hurt too much. And the second time felt like coming home.”

The words hit you squarely in the chest. You don’t say anything for a minute, afraid of unraveling too soon.

Instead, you ask, “Was it weird? Reading it?”

Jake huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. A little. I didn’t expect to be in a bookstore in Cleveland and see your name on the damn front table.”

You glance over at him. “Cleveland?”

He nods. “Tour stop. Middle of the night. Couldn’t sleep. Found a 24-hour book store near the hotel and there it was. Just sitting there. You, just… sitting there.”

You exhale a shaky breath, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “And you bought it?”

“Of course I bought it. It’s a signed copy now,” he says, patting the book under his arm. “Collector’s item.”

You shake your head, laughing.

He nudges your shoulder gently with his. “You really did it, you know.”

Your voice is quieter now. “So did you.”

He looks at you and something in your chest flares bright and hot. The way he looks at you has always undone you. Even now, with a city between the past and present, he still sees the softest parts of you.

“I missed this,” he says.

“What?”

“You. The walking. The talking. The…” He trails off, mouth twitching. “The pretending we’re not both completely broken.”

You smile, even though it aches.

“Me too.”

A few more steps in silence. Then:

“You hungry?” he asks.

You glance over. “Are you offering to feed me again?”

Jake smirks. “I’m offering to catch up properly. Not a bar. Somewhere quiet. Or—” he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, “—we could just go back to my place. If that’s not too weird.”

Your heart kicks and you nod. “It’s not weird.”

“You’ve never been there.”

“No,” you say, “but I want to be.”

His eyes flicker over you for a beat, full of something that feels a lot like relief.

“Alright then,” he says, unlocking the same old Jeep you remember from Dunhaven. “Let’s go home.”

The doors shut with that familiar clunk, sturdy, and little too loud in the still of the evening. He starts the engine, and the Jeep hums to life, headlights casting long beams down the quiet street.

It smells the same. Like old leather, rain-damp flannel, and something faintly woodsy that’s probably been baked into the seats from years of campouts and late-night drives. You settle into the passenger seat, watching his hands as they grip the wheel, loose and capable, a silver ring catching the light every time he turns.

Jake glances over. “You cold?”

You shake your head. “Just… thinking.”

“Risky,” he says, smirking.

You let out a soft laugh. “You have no idea.”

The windows are cracked just enough to let the air move. Nashville glows outside, neon reflections off puddles, the faint sound of a guitar spilling out of a bar as you pass. You wonder if anyone in that bar knows who’s driving the Jeep. You wonder if Jake likes being recognized.

“You live far?” you ask, more to fill the silence than anything else.

“Not really. Just over the river,” he says. “It’s quiet. Got a little backyard, lotta trees.”

You nod. “That sounds nice.”

“It is.” A beat passes. “I wrote a lot there. After everything. When you left I couldn't bring myself to stay.”

You glance over, watching the side of his face in the soft glow from the dash. “Lyrics?”

Jake shrugs. “Eh, I tried. Josh still does most of that. I have notebooks full of half-thoughts and melodies I can’t let go of.”

You smile faintly. “Sounds like a familiar problem.”

He chuckles, then goes quiet again. The kind of quiet that feels like he’s working up to something.

“I almost texted you a hundred times.”

You look at him. “You did. A few.”

“Yeah, but I mean really texted you. Called you. Shown up.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t know what I’d say.”

“I didn’t either,” you admit. “Still don’t.”

He turns onto a quieter street. The houses here are close, dark windows throughout. His voice drops a little lower, more thoughtful. “Sometimes I’d start a message and delete it before I finished the first sentence.”

You nod. “I started writing you letters. I never sent them.”

“You still have them?”

You glance out the window, lips twitching. “Maybe.”

He smiles, the air between you hums with old warmth and fresh nerves. Then he exhales, low and soft, like he’s letting go of something heavy.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, just above a whisper.

He pulls into a gravel driveway. The headlights sweep across a modest house tucked beneath tall trees, the front porch lit by a single bulb. Cozy and quiet. He parks and cuts the engine.

Neither of you moves for a second, then he looks at you, one hand still on the gear shift.

“You ready?”

You nod, heart already racing. “Yeah. I am.”

The door creaks as he opens it, just wide enough to gesture you through.

“Watch the step,” Jake murmurs, hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you step over the threshold.

His house is dim, lit mostly by the porch light spilling through the windows and a small lamp in the corner. It smells like cedar and clean laundry and something vaguely herbal, like he lit incense hours ago and forgot about it. You catch a faint undertone of coffee and the smell of sage. Definitely him.

It’s not what you expected. And somehow it’s exactly what you expected.

Vinyl records are stacked neatly on a shelf. Guitars are resting in stands along the far wall. A heavy bookshelf is lined with fiction, old notebooks, and something that looks suspiciously like your book, dog-eared and well-loved. A worn leather couch, a throw blanket draped carelessly over one arm. Mugs left out. A flannel tossed over the back of a chair. It feels lived-in. Soft around the edges. Like him.

You turn slowly, taking it all in. “This is… really nice.”

Jake shrugs out of his jacket. “It’s quiet.”

“You said that already.”

“I meant it both times.” He smiles a little, padding into the space like it’s nothing, barefoot now, sleeves pushed to his elbows. “I like quiet. You know that.”

You nod, stepping further in. “It suits you.”

He disappears into the kitchen for a moment and returns with two glasses of water, handing you one without a word. The silence is different now. No longer unfamiliar. More like a conversation.

You sip and let your eyes roam again. “You have my book on the shelf, too.”

Jake follows your gaze, then shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I’ve got a few copies.”

You lift a brow.

“There’s also one in the bedroom,” he adds, which makes your stomach twist in a way that feels both dangerous and electric. You look at him, standing in the soft glow of his own living room, and suddenly the past year collapses in on itself.

Jake watches you for a beat. “You okay?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Just… adjusting.”

He sets his glass down on the edge of the bookshelf and steps closer. You feel his warmth before you feel his hand, fingers ghosting along your wrist, your forearm. 

“I don’t want to rush this,” he says, voice low. “I know it’s a lot. I just—” He exhales. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

You look up at him.

“Me too.”

His thumb brushes your knuckles, featherlight.

Then: “You want to sit with me for a bit?”

You nod. “Yeah. I do.”

And when you both sink into the worn leather couch, closer than strangers, not quite lovers again, you know it’s only a matter of time. Something is still burning here. But for now, it’s a slow, quiet fire.

You both settle in, and it’s quieter than it should be for two people who haven’t spoken face-to-face in nearly a year. The silence isn’t heavy, but it is full. Of everything you left unsaid. Everything you wrote around. Everything you thought time might erase but didn’t.

Jake stretches his arm along the back of the couch, close but not touching you, like he’s giving you space to lean in if you want to. He stares ahead for a moment, at nothing in particular, then glances over.

“You still write in the mornings?”

You smile. “When I can. I still forget to eat, too.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Some things never change.”

You turn to him slightly, tucking your legs beneath you. “And you? Still staying up too late and drinking too much coffee?”

He shrugs. “Some nights. Depends what I’m trying to avoid.”

You tilt your head. “What are you avoiding now?”

His gaze meets yours for a beat too long. “Letting go of things I probably should’ve let go of by now.”

The words hang there. They don’t sting. But they land. “Did you ever… think about reaching out? Like really reaching out?”

He looks down at his hands. “Every damn week.”

You swallow. “Then why didn’t you?”

Jake leans back, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Because I didn’t know if I’d be pulling you back into something you were finally free of. I told myself I was being respectful. Giving you space. But I think—” he pauses, then meets your eyes again—“I think I was just scared you’d moved on.”

You shake your head. “I never really did.”

He’s quiet. “I read Petrichor and thought, God, she wrote me into every page and still doesn’t want to call.”

You laugh once, a breathy, broken thing. “I thought if I heard your voice again, I’d come undone.”

Jake nods like he knows exactly what you mean. Because maybe he does. The old lamp buzzes softly in the corner. Outside, the street is still. You can feel the moment starting to shift.

You watch him for a second. His jaw. The slope of his shoulder. The way his thumb taps absentmindedly on his knee. It’s all familiar. But it’s not the past.

It’s now.

You lean your head on the back of the couch, closer to his shoulder. “I missed this.”

His eyes flicker to you. “I missed you.”

He pauses, “Are you seeing anyone?”

You look up at him. “No. You?”

He shakes his head. “Not even close.”

The air crackles again. Like something’s about to give.

“I don’t know what this is,” you whisper, “but I think I want to find out.”

Jake’s thumb brushes the side of your hand, slow and sure, the way someone might coax a shy animal out of hiding.

“Then stay,” he says softly. “At least tonight.”

You’re quiet for a moment. The words settle between you like dust in sunlight. Your throat tightens.

“I want to,” you whisper. “I do. But…”

Jake’s eyes flicker to yours. He hears it. The fear beneath it. The scar tissue. The part of you still at the cabin, watching him fade in the rearview mirror.

“But what?” he asks, voice low.

You shake your head, not sure how to say it without falling apart. “I don’t know if I can survive leaving again.”

He exhales slowly, his jaw ticking once before he answers. “Then don’t.”

Your eyes snap to his.

“Don’t leave like that again,” he says, a little more sure now. “Not unless you have to. And even if you do, I’m not gonna disappear on you this time. I’m not gonna be another person who drifts out just because the timing sucks.”

You blink, and he leans in, closer, voice softer now. “I’ve done a lot of waiting, but I’m done pretending I’m okay with letting you go. I want you here. I want this. Not the memory of it. Not the what-if version.”

He pauses, and takes a breath. “You’re the one thing that never stopped feeling real.”

Your chest cracks open like a thundercloud.

“I’m scared,” you say, small.

“So am I,” Jake says, brushing your hair back, eyes steady on yours. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”

You’re already moving before you realize it, reaching for him, the decision spilling out of you like a dam finally breaking.

“Okay,” you murmur against his mouth. “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it’s not tentative. It’s everything you both meant to say months ago. Every word that died on a screen. Every flight not taken. Every door left closed. It’s the kind of kiss that feels like a beginning wrapped in the warmth of a memory. The kind you don’t walk away from.

His lips move against yours with more purpose now, less hesitancy, more heat. The tension that’s lived between you for nearly a year finally finds a shape, pressed into the way he grips your hips, the way your fingers sink into his shoulders.

You shift in his lap, and he groans into your mouth. It’s instinct to chase the friction, but something about the way he stills your hips tells you he’s not in a rush.

“Wait,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you. His chest rises and falls under your palms. “Not here.”

Your breath hitches. “No?”

Jake’s hands glide slowly up your back. “I want you in my bed.”

The room stills around those words. You nod, lips parted, pulse roaring in your ears. “Okay.”

He kisses you once more, then shifts you gently off his lap and stands, offering his hand.

The hallway is dim, lit only by the warm spill of light from the kitchen. You follow him barefoot, your fingertips grazing the hem of his shirt, the soft cotton of his sleeve. The air between you buzzes with a quiet that feels sacred.

Jake opens the door to his bedroom and steps aside for you to enter first. The space is simple, dark walls, low light, unmade sheets in charcoal gray. A few books stacked on the nightstand, one of them yours. A guitar in the corner. A window cracked open just enough to let in the hum of crickets and distant traffic. It smells like him.

He closes the door behind you and leans against it for a beat, watching you in the low light. Then he speaks, voice rough, “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured this.”

You walk to the edge of the bed and turn to face him. “Then show me.”

He crosses the room in a few slow steps, and suddenly his hands are on your face again, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, mouth capturing yours in a kiss that sears straight through the center of you.

This one is messier. Hungrier. Full of everything unsaid. You reach for the hem of your shirt, but Jake gently stills your hands.

"Can I take this off?" he murmurs.

You nod, and he peels your shirt over your head, eyes dragging over every inch of newly revealed skin like its treasure. His hands follow, thumbs grazing the curve of your breasts, then sliding down to the soft swell of your hips.

You let out a breath. “You always look at me like that.”

Jake hums. “Like what?”

“Like I’m made of something rare.”

He leans in, mouth brushing your jaw. “That’s because you are.”

He undresses you with the kind of patience that makes you ache. Every zipper, every button, every inch of skin unveiled is met with his hands, his mouth, his whisper. He drops soft kisses along your ribs, the curve of your stomach, the inside of your wrist. His fingertips trail down the curve of your waist, slipping between your thighs as if to test the heat there, groaning softly when he feels how wet you are for him.

When you reach for his shirt, he lets you pull it over his head. His body is warm under your palms, broad shoulders, a strong chest, the soft dip beneath his sternum, the trail of hair that disappears below his waistband. You run your hands over the lines of muscle, the firm curve of his hips, and he shudders beneath your touch.

“Lie back for me,” he says, voice low.

He crawls over you with the kind of focus that feels holy. He kisses the inside of your knee, your hip, your belly, working his way up with deliberate slowness until you’re trembling. His hand presses your thigh open gently as his mouth dips lower, lips brushing against your center. He moans as he tastes you, one hand splayed across your stomach to steady you while his tongue moves in slow, intentional strokes.

You arch, breath catching, hands tangling in his hair. His name falls from your lips, breathy and desperate.

He murmurs things between kisses, your name, sweet nonsense, fragments of feelings too big to name. And when you come apart beneath him, thighs quivering, body slick with sweat and pleasure, he holds you through it, kissing your thighs like they’re holy ground.

You pull him up, lips crashing into his. “I need you. Now.”

He groans. “You have me. You always have.”

When he finally pushes into you, your breath shudders out of you. He’s thick, hot, and the stretch is everything. You feel every inch of him, the slow, deliberate way he slides inside, bottoming out with a deep moan that curls through your spine.

"God, you feel so good," he rasps, burying his face against your neck. "So fucking tight. You always take me so well."

You whimper, clinging to his shoulders. “You’re so deep. I forgot—”

He kisses your throat. “I know, baby. I know. I missed this. Missed you.”

He sets a rhythm that’s unhurried and powerful, grinding deep with each thrust, making sure you feel every long drag of his cock inside you. The way he moves is reverent, precise—his hips rocking into yours with a delicious grind that keeps your nerves lit and needy.

“Look at me,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. “I need to see you come for me.”

Your eyes flutter open and his gaze locks with yours. It undoes you.

“You’re so beautiful like this," he breathes. “So perfect.”

You’re moaning his name with every breath now, your body wound so tight you’re seconds from breaking again. He shifts, angling his hips just right, and you cry out.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Right there, isn’t it? You love that. I can feel it.”

You nod, trembling. “Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, kissing you hard.

You fall over the edge together, mouths open, breath stuttering, bodies slick with sweat and heat. He groans as he comes inside you, hips grinding deeper, slower, as if trying to make it last. You pulse around him, gripping him tight, your own orgasm rippling through you in waves. Neither of you moves. Not yet. His forehead rests against yours, your breath mingling.

You whisper, “I don’t want this to end.”

He brushes a kiss against your lips. “Then don’t let it.”

You stay like that for a while, wrapped up in the quiet aftermath, your head resting on his chest, his fingers running slow patterns along your spine. His heart beats steady beneath your cheek, grounding you in the kind of calm you haven’t known in ages.

He speaks first, his voice a whisper in the dark. “I kept your book in my suitcase.”

You lift your head slightly, brows drawing together. “You did?”

He nods, eyes on the ceiling. “Every hotel, every flight. I couldn’t leave it behind. I read it on planes. On tour buses. When I couldn’t sleep. When I missed you.”

You swallow. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

His mouth pulls into a tired, rueful smile. “Because I didn’t know how to talk to you without saying too much. Without falling apart. I thought if I said the wrong thing, you’d pull away again.”

Your hand finds his, threads your fingers through his. “You should’ve said it anyway.”

“I know.” He looks at you now, really looks. “You said the new story was stuck. You were right. Because it wasn’t finished. Not until now.”

You blink, tears blurring your vision.

He reaches up to brush them away. “I never stopped thinking about you. About us. I tried to write you out of my system. I really did.”

“And?”

Jake’s thumb drifts over your cheekbone. “Didn’t work. You were in everything I came up with.”

You lie there in silence, your body still warm from him, your heart full to the point of ache. It’s quiet for a long time, the kind of silence that says more than either of you can manage out loud.

Finally, he speaks again. “I think I’ve been waiting for this night since the last time I saw you. Since New York.”

You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Then let’s not waste it.”

He takes a deep breath, voice lower now, hesitant. “There’s something else I should probably tell you.”

You lift your head. “What?”

Jake hesitates, rubbing a hand over his mouth “The cabin. In Dunhaven...”

“Yeah,” You blink. “What about it?”

“I um, I own it,” he says, eyes searching yours. “Actually, I own all three of them. Privately. I use a property manager in town to handle the bookings. Kept my name out of it. The idea was that it would be a private retreat for me and the guys. Josh’s is the one you stayed in. Sam’s was supposed to be the other. But…” He pauses, mouth twisting into something bittersweet. “They never really used them. I was the only one who kept going back.”

You stare at him, stunned. “You—you own them? Wait, you–you’re the landlord?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. I didn’t want you to know. Not right away anyway. I was going to tell you, but…everything happened and then I felt– I thought… if you knew, it would change something. Or worse, you’d leave.”

You sit up slightly. “So you had a key the whole time?”

Jake’s expression softens. “I did. Still do.”

“So when you went out in the rain to try and unlock my door…You said you couldn’t get it. That it was stuck.”

“I lied.” 

You narrow your eyes slightly, “Why?”

His expression shifts, softens. “Because I was drawn to you the second I saw you. I didn’t want to just be the guy who opened the door and walked away. After we talked I wanted… more. And some part of me, some selfish, stupid part, hoped that if I let it play out, if I just let the moment breathe...”

You’re quiet, lips parted slightly in surprise.

He looks away. “I know it’s messed up. I should’ve just opened the damn door.”

You touch his arm gently. “But instead, you invited me in.”

Jake nods, meeting your eyes. “I did. And by the time you walked through that door… I knew I wasn’t going to be able to let you go.”

The silence that follows is thick and full, suspended between guilt and grace.

You reach for him, your hand sliding over his chest. “You should’ve told me.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I was afraid it would change how you saw me.”

You tilt your head, eyes soft. “It does. But not in the way you think.”

Jake swallows hard. “So… you’re not mad?”

You lean in and kiss his shoulder. “No. A little surprised. A little overwhelmed. But… not mad.”

A breath of relief leaves him, and he wraps his arms around you again, drawing you in close.

You shift slightly in his arms, forehead pressed to his collarbone, and murmur, “So this means we can go back?”

Jake tilts his head, looking down at you with a slow, unreadable smile. "Do you want to?"

You hesitate, your fingers brushing softly over his chest. "I don’t know. Part of me is scared it won’t feel the same. That going back will undo all of this."

He pulls you in closer, presses a kiss to the top of your head. "It will. It’ll feel better. Because we’re not who we were then. And I don’t want Dunhaven without you."

You shift again to look at him, eyes searching his face. "Really?"

Jake nods. "I’m not going back without you. I can’t."

Your breath catches. "So we’d go back… together?"

"Together," he echoes, voice a soft vow. "Whenever you’re ready. When your book tour is done, when my tour is done, when life slows down a little. I’ll be waiting. I want that place to be ours."

You press your hand to his cheek, overwhelmed by how easy it is to believe him now. How deeply you want it, too.

And then you whisper, "Then let's make it ours."

He kisses you again, slow, and lingering, and neither of you says anything more, because there’s nothing left to prove. Just promises made in whispers and warmth, with the quiet faith that this time, you'll get it right.

You fall asleep not long after, curled into each other beneath the hush of the sheets and the hum of the city outside. The sound of his breathing lulls you into something peaceful, something that feels like safety.

When you wake, the light is soft and gold across the bed. Jake’s still there, one arm slung over your waist, his hair a messy halo across the pillow.

He stirs when you shift. Eyes opening slowly, smile lazy and warm. "Morning."

You trace the curve of his shoulder. "We’re really doing this, huh?"

Jake nods, sleep still in his voice. "We are. Finally."

And for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no ache, no hesitation. Just two people, choosing each other again.

This time, for good. 

I turn the last page and stare down at it for a long time. The words blur a little, not from tears exactly, but from something heavier. Something harder to name. The room around me is quiet. The New York hums outside the windows, distant and unbothered, but I’m frozen in place, still half inside the world I wrote. Or maybe the one I remembered.

Petrichor.

There it is. My name stamped beneath the title. Black ink, neat and final. A thing that’s finished.

But it doesn’t feel finished.

Because it was never just fiction.

It was ours.

Every line, every pause. Every breath between scenes. I lived it. I bled it. I folded us into the pages in ways no one else could see, at least, not fully. But I think he’ll recognize it. If he ever reads it.

I think he’ll feel the moment I walked into the cabin that night. I think he’ll know the way his voice sounds in chapter two is exactly the way he spoke to me when he was half-asleep and honest. I think he’ll see what I couldn’t say out loud.

I wrote him into permanence.

And now, someone else, maybe you, has read it too.

You think it’s just a story.

But it’s not.

It’s a map.

A love letter.

A key.

To the place where it rained, and I got locked out, and he didn’t open the door. To the night I found him anyway.

To the version of us that dared to try again. 

And again.

I close the cover gently, hands trembling just a little.

Outside, thunder rolls across the city, soft and slow. The scent of petrichor rises from the pavement like memory.

And I wonder, wherever he is, if he feels it too. 

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[vanfleeter]

I forgot how much Big Brother tends to frustrate me... 🤦🏻‍♀️

[vanfleeter]

Loud reminder, free Palestine.

[vanfleeter]

I NEED ALLEGIANT TO UPDATE THEIR FLIGHTS PAST MARCH.

I have a trip I need to start getting together 😓😂

[vanfleeter]

Go vote for Feels Like Gold if you haven't already! Mirador slipped back down to second!

[vanfleeter]

Oh... 🫢🤭🥵

Two Minutes

Jake x female reader

14.2k words

You've never told anyone your secret, until one night it's basically forced out of you. Your hot, and otherwise fairly cheeky co-worker Jake takes it as a challenge, giving himself, and you, a finish line that you hope you can reach.

Warnings: 18+! Angst: Cursing, Smoking, Drinking, Unclean Thoughts

Smut: Kissing, Heavy Flirting, Dirty Talk, Touching, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (F! Receiving), Edging

+++

 “OK Y/N, your turn.”

The wine glass in your hand is almost empty, the rosé your friend had chosen for the Friend’s Night In finally working its way through your body at a delicious pace. You feel loose, giggly and warm as you pick up a card from the top of the deck, reading it once to yourself before you even begin to read it out loud for everyone to hear. 

Your eyes quickly scan the small font on the card, and you feel your stomach fall all the way through you. Fuck, you can’t answer this…

“Ugh, that one’s dumb. I’m picking another car–”

“No!” your friend Kel stops your hand from throwing it onto the discard pile. “You have to read it. Out loud, and answer it,” she slurs, giving you eyes of playful accusation. “S’in the rulebook. Come on…”

You’re surrounded by what you’d now consider close friends, but mostly you’d consider yourself a newbie that was adopted into their already fairly close-knit group. Not really by way of pity, but more by way of necessity. You’d moved to this new city barely a month ago, and you were thankful that your new job had afforded you a brand new group of people with similar interests and similar schedules. But most of all, you had been awarded the ability to spend nearly every day with one of the most beautiful specimens you had ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on, Jake. 

He’s gorgeous, funny and a little bit off-putting sometimes, but never enough to bother you. He’s charming and a little over-flirtacious at times, but that’s to be expected from someone of his level of attractiveness. 

Jake is seated on the arm of a recliner, leaned back and relaxed as he sips on his own wine straight from the bottle. He’s in slouched black jeans and an oversized light gray hoodie, one that you’d imagine he’s had since high school given the way it fits. His hair is tied back into a messy knot under his ballcap, and you smirk at the way his nonchalant appearance matches perfectly with his overall personality. Always comfortable, no matter the circumstance. 

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been catching yourself eyeballing him all night, drooling over his every move as if you had a little schoolgirl crush. You’d scoffed at yourself more times than you could count, scorning the thoughts that had started to flow more freely, and more unwelcome through your mind.

You roll your eyes and take a deep breath as the voices of the friends surrounding you quiet down and hone in, ready for you to read the words on the card.

“Tick tock, tick tock,” another one of your friends says through a sip of his beer.

“Okay! Okay, shit,” you clear your throat, building up the courage to read the words on the card. “Share the number of the most times a partner has gotten you off in one hookup.” 

You swallow, hearing the rest of the group share expressions of “oooo”s and “answer it honest, Y/N!”

You catch Kel’s eyes from beside you, glossy and red as you watch her snicker through her teeth. Fuck, now you’ve gotten yourself in deep. You can’t lie, they’ll know you’re making your answer up. So what’s left to do but tell… the truth?

You can feel Jake’s eyes on you as he sits up from his earlier position, now fully interested in what you have to say. You can’t lie, you like the way it feels with his eyes trained on you, his jaw grit tightly as he hones in. 

“Um,” you purr, taking another long sip of your wine. “One?”

The group erupts in another deafening round of words of disbelief. The sound blurs around you as your embarrassment grows, and all you can hear is the expletive nature of their laughter. 

“One?! Seriously, Y/N?”

“Look at her, she’s blushing!”

“Are you kidding? Or are you telling the truth?”

You slam the card back onto the discard pile as you sit up on your knees, reaching for the almost-empty bottle of rosé to refill your glass. And quick. “Ugh, I told you guys it was a dumb question! Kel, it’s your turn anyway.” 

“No no no, Y/N, we need a storytime,” Kel says, taking the bottle from your hand and refilling your glass for you. Kel is your closest new friend, and you already feel like you can tell her just about anything. Her outgoing nature is almost overwhelming at times, and you sometimes find yourself questioning how the two of you ever clicked so well. 

There are only six other people in the room with you, but you suddenly feel like you’re being suffocated. Suffocated from the crowdedness, and from the pressure of talking about a topic that, honestly, is quite embarrassing. 

Truth be told, you’d never had someone make you orgasm. Ever. Not even once. 

Sure, you’d been able to achieve it many times by yourself, so you know it can happen. And you’d had plenty of people get close, but never once had you been with someone who could get you there. They’d build you up, have you teetering on the edge and about to tumble over, but they could never help you over the hump. Never cared enough to satisfy your needs before their own. You weren’t sure if it was your poor choices in lovers, or just their inabilities to care enough about you, though you were always pretty positive it was the latter. 

The chatter in the room ceases, and you feel Jake’s piercing eyes on you again, sharp and focused as he listens. 

You contort your face up, “Nah, no storytime,” you say. 

“Is it one, or is it never?” Kel presses, causing the group to die down again, now completely interested in your answer. You know they can see the writing on the wall; you never were one to hide your emotions well. 

Your lips purse together, and thankfully the alcohol has removed just a sliver off the top of your inhibitions. “Fuck, okay, it’s never.” 

It feels so embarrassing finally admitting that to a group of near-strangers, let alone to yourself. The point of the card game was to be brutally honest, and since everyone else had partaken in giving up their naughtiest and most kinky admissions tonight, it only felt right to go right along with it. 

“Never…” you hear Jake’s hollow voice from the corner, still perched on the recliner arm. Your eyes shyly float to him, feeling like you’d rather crawl in a hole and die than look him in the eye, right now. How fucking humiliating… 

Instead, you decide to own it, straightening your posture and turning on the confidence to cover up the fact that you’d never fallen apart at the hand of another human being. “Nope,” you say with a pop of your lips. “Never. Not even once. I don’t think anyone out there can make me feel as good as I do, so. Maybe I’ll just keep it that way. It’s like people don’t even want to try, these days.” 

You force your body language to do a 180, flipping the script from pure humiliation to one of extreme self-assurement. If anything, maybe everyone will view you as a little bit more confident in yourself, and laugh at the fact along with you. 

“That’s fuckin’ right, sis!” Kel says loudly as she holds her hand in the air for a high-five. “Fuck them, you get what you give, right?”

“That’s right,” you agree with her, letting your palm slap onto hers. Finally, the group falls back into the flow of the game, and away from centering their attention on your admission. The more you think about it, the more it feels like it’s not that unheard of. Maybe others in the group are right there with you, they just don’t feel the need to admit it. 

Then you feel it. Jake’s gaze again… this time his eyes aren’t waiting for you to talk, they’re pondering you. Glaring, harsh and striking as they bore straight through. You begin to feel a little uneasy from it, actually. The few glances you take his way seal the fact that he’s blatantly displaying not hiding that he’s staring directly at you. The fuck?

After a few more rounds and a few more confessions, you can’t help but notice that since your admission, Jake has been completely silent. He has barely uttered a word since you laid out one of your deepest secrets. Everyone slowly moves into the kitchen area of the house to grab snacks and refills, and you’re left standing with Kel as she drones on and on about how her situationship didn’t make it tonight. 

“It’s like he doesn’t even want to try, ya know? I plan all these fun get togethers, ask him to go on dates… and he never reciprocates. He never plans. M’ I being annoying, Y/N? Should I jus’ leave him alone and let him be an asshole to someone else?” she slurs.

You’d never admit it to her, but you aren’t even really listening. Things had been this way between them since you met Kel. You’d tried to tell her a million times that he’s probably never going to change, but she never listens. You learned quickly that telling her to leave him in the dust and move on was the best plan of action, instead of coddling her into thinking he’ll change. 

“Yes, you know I’ve told you that before. Move on, find someone else. He sucks, anyway,” you say as you tip back your glass again, unenthusiastic about the same damn conversation. You love Kel, you really do. But you can only give her the same advice so many times before it starts to feel pointless. 

The energy in the room has begun to pick up as everyone’s intoxication settles in, and the mood finally feels good. You’re positive that everyone has long since forgotten about your little admission earlier, and you pray that no one will even remember it when they’re sober. 

“Two minutes.”

Shock rushes through your system as you hear it, Jake’s hushed and gravely voice echoing in your ear. You jerk away as he startles you, turning quickly to scold him for making you jump out of your skin.

“What?!” you ask, slightly thrown off. 

He’s standing behind you now, his hands balled up in the pockets of his hoodie as he confidently takes up space in the most alluring way. Always so comfortable in his stature, always so confident in his actions. He leans in a bit, glancing to the others before speaking again. 

“Two minutes. That’s all I’ll need.”

You swallow down the sip of wine that you’d nearly choked on, and try your best to understand what he’s talking about. 

“I… I don’t know what you mean, Jake,” you stutter, furrowing your brows. “Need for what?”

He snickers, running his thumb and pointer finger along his mustache, then down his neck. His slit eyes peer at you from under the shadow of his hat. “I think you know what I mean, Y/N,” he laughs, almost as if he’s mocking you. “You’re a smart girl.”

You stand there awkwardly, Kel now having long abandoned your side as she drunkenly deals with her own situation. You feel your eyes bouncing around the room as you search your mind, trying to think of what on earth this man is going on about. 

“I… guess, but I–”

“Two. Minutes.” Suddenly his mouth is on your ear again, and you’re almost knocked down by the smell of his cologne mixed with the bitter wine on his breath, and the feeling of his hand gripped on your side, sturdy but soft. “That’s all the time I’d need to have my name rolling off your lips, over and over and over…”

You can’t help it, your eyes close for a split second before they nearly bulge from your skull, a debilitating chill wracking through your body as he pulls away. The look on his normally soft face is overtaken by an expression of pure intensity. You swallow, unable to speak, unable to think as his words take you completely by surprise. You stand still as the shock deems you unable to move at all, but you can’t lie, the way he cocks his eyebrow at you before sliding his hand back in his pocket has your body suddenly feeling magnetized to him. 

“Just let me know if you wanna prove me wrong,” he says before pulling away and disappearing back into the mess of the bodies in the kitchen. 

You have to physically pull your jaw up from the floor, your body in complete confusion trying to process what just happened. Did he really just ask you to let him get you off? In two minutes? 

No, it’s absurd. Jake is barely even your friend. He’s almost a stranger, even. Aside from getting to know him for the past month during your shifts together, you only just last week learned his last name. You don’t even know anything about him besides surface-level formalities. No. You can’t even fathom sleeping with someone you barely know. It doesn’t make sense… 

But then you notice the hairs on your arms still standing up, the nerves in your body still on high-alert, and as much as you hate to admit it, that familiar draw in your stomach that is a tell-tale sign that your body wants him, too. 

Fuck.

Are you considering this? Are you really thinking about letting him prove his little game to you? You’ve done nothing but pine for this man for weeks, imagining what his hands would feel like on your skin, and how his mouth would taste on yours…

But it’s ridiculous, right? For a split second you consider pulling Kel into the bathroom to tell her what just happened and ask her opinion, but for some reason if you decide to go with this, you almost want it to be in complete secrecy. Almost. Actually, why not? It’d been a minute, and you know there’s no way in hell he’d be able to hold up his end of the deal, anyway, but why not let him try? Why not let him attempt?

Like a switch is flipped in your brain, you pick right back up with the over-confidence you’d found earlier, and your legs begin pulling you straight back over to Jake. Shit, what are you doing? You’re being summoned by some otherworldly force, some powerful magnet that you wouldn’t be able to stop even if you tried. But against all your reservations, you find your hand gripping his forearm, pulling him away from his conversation. 

“Where?” you ask, your voice chopped. 

The most devious grin dances across his lips as he pulls his tongue to the side of his cheek. His hooded eyes give you an up-down, but instead of it making you feel uncomfortable, it motivates you. 

“Your place,” he says. “Unless you have another idea.”

“No. That’s fine,” you reply. “Just let me get my keys.” 

He grips your hand in his as he pulls you back, bringing your body within inches of his. “No, you shouldn’t drive. I’ll take us. Just tell me where to go…” his eyes travel down your body again as your breath is completely stolen from your lungs, his hand still gripped tightly around yours. As if you have a dog in the fight, anyway. 

“You’re right, yeah. Um, just let me tell Kel bye,” you shake out. You rush back through the group that has now grown from six people to twelve, the small get-together now turning into a larger gathering. Good. Maybe no one will notice the two of you are gone.

You find Kel slumped over a table, her posture sad and defeated as she cleans up the card game from earlier. 

“Kel, babe, you need my help? Are you okay?” you begin shuffling the cards back into a stack. “Is he coming?”

She sniffles. “No, he’s not coming. But, I’m kinda happy, y’know? Fuck that guy. I donneed ‘em,” she slurs. 

You place all the cards back into the box and close it up, taking Kel’s hands in your own. “I’m so sorry, love. But I’m proud of you, you’re so much better than that. You deserve someone who is gonna bow to your every whim, you know?” you console her. 

A bright smile crosses her face. “God I love you, thank you,” she beams. “You’re right. I’m deleting his number. I’m done.” 

You know that tomorrow she will probably be right back where she was before this, just like always. Sadly, all you can do is hold her hand through it and hope that one day your advice will stick. 

“Wait, are you leaving?” she asks. 

"Yeah, um… yes,” you say, biting your lips into your mouth. “I’m going home.”

“Let me order you an Uber, you shouldn’t drive–”

“Jake’s taking me. Taking…us,” you blurt, your hands suddenly wringing against each other at your waist. 

Kel’s face is stoic. “Huh? Jake? Our friend Jake?”

You smile sheepishly.

“Whattd’ya mean us? Is… Wait. Oh my god, biiiiitch…” Watching her realization fly through her mind is almost entertaining. “Shut up, are you serious?”

You nod quickly, tightening your neck muscles to show your semi-uncertainty in the decision. “Yeah, I dunno, is it a bad idea? I’m dumb, right?” you whisper. 

“NO!” Kel yells loudly. “Matter of fact, why are you still here?! Get the fuck out of my house!” she begins physically shoving you back through to the kitchen. “Let’s go, excuse us! This woman’s got places to be! Coming through!” 

As Kel pushes you through the now sea of people, your heart rate begins to skyrocket the second you see Jake waiting for you at the back door, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. He looks almost ethereal as he watches you, keeping track of your every move. 

“I want a full debrief and details t’murrow morning, littttirlly as soon as you wake up,” Kel whispers in your ear. “Jake doesn’t just do this, I hope you know…” she says quietly. “He must think you’re special.” 

Finally Kel deposits you in front of him, his hand patiently resting on the doorknob as you finally make it through the crowd. 

“Be nice to her, Jacob. Or else I’m tellin’ ev’rybuddy how you fell asleep hugging the toilet at the Christmas party last year,” Kel says to Jake, earning a gasp and laugh from you. 

He slits his eyes at her. “I’m always nice Kelena, don’t you know that by now?” he retorts, taking your hand again and pulling you through the door. “Thanks for the party, love!”

You hear Kel’s voice echoing through the air as Jake walks you to his car, “You kids have fun now!” 

You both are laughing and shaking your heads as he opens the door for you, and you slowly slip inside. The alcohol is still swirling in your bloodstream, and the second alone in his car allows you to take a deep breath to make sure this is really what you want to do. Watching the wind brush through his hair that has fallen in his face, and his hands nimbly finger through his keys as he walks to the driver’s side seals the deal- he’s too delicious to pass up, and the offer is too damn good to refuse. 

He closes his door behind him and starts the car, quickly finding a song he is happy with and a warmer temperature on his dash. “You cold?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “No, m’fine, thanks.”

“Then why are you shivering?” he asks, checking his mirror as he pulls out onto the street. You envy his confidence so harshly it almost pisses you off. 

“I–I dunno, just…”

“Don’t be anxious, Y/N, there’s no need to be nervous around me.” He laughs through his words, his tone warm and inviting. Just the sound of his voice makes you feel like he thinks it ridiculous anyone would be nervous around him, when in all reality, you know he makes every female around him falter with anticipation. 

“What makes you think I’m nervous?” you ask. “You’re the one that has a challenge.”

He tilts his head back and laughs, a true guttural laugh, and you can’t help but feel a little more at ease, especially watching how his hand grips onto the steering wheel. 

“A challenge…” he repeats. “So it’s really true, you’ve never…”

“No,” you reply, now comfortable with it. “I swear. Just… hasn’t ever happened with someone else.”

“You’ve never even…been close?” he asks, his eyes edging sideways. 

You take in a quick gasp of air as you recenter, your mind quickly flipping through your Rolodex of past-hookups. “Maybe… a time or two, but. Nothing sticks out in my mind.”

Jake stares through the windshield, clicking his tongue. “What a goddamn waste…” he growls under his breath. 

“I’m sorry?” you ask. 

“Ah, you know what I mean. Not a waste,” he readjusts himself in his seat. “Well, actually, yeah. A waste of your time, I’m sure. I mean, sex is all good and fun, but if you’re doing it casually, then why not try and make it the most fun for everyone involved, you know?” 

You nod in agreement. 

“I mean,” he goes on, “everyone’s there to reach the finish line. Or prefer to, at least, right?”

“Yeah, you would think,” you giggle, tossing your hair behind your ear. “Guess not everyone has the same idea.”

He’s quiet for a second as he slowly makes his way down the empty street. “I mean, I–I guess I don’t understand why no one bothered to take their time with you. Help you get there… You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, if I’m being honest,” he laughs, working his fingers over his lips again. 

If you weren’t blushing before, you sure as fuck are now. 

“Thank you, Jake, that’s really nice,” you laugh shyly. 

“I’m serious,” he says, looking at you, finally. “It’s been hard to keep my eyes off of you all night.” 

“I uh, I noticed. While we were playing the game,” you reply sheepishly. “Had a bit of a staring problem tonight, didn’t we?”

He laughs again, “I mean, I just can’t imagine having the pleasure of sleeping with you, and not making you c—well… the most of it.” 

You can tell that he is trying his best to be respectful while still open about the subject, and to be honest, it was turning you on. God, you halfway wished he would have slipped up and said the word, only to satisfy the dirty thoughts already flowing through your mind. The compliments are making your head spin, and his nonchalant way of speaking is making you weak for him, already. Your body is burning for more of the feeling. 

His left hand grips the steering wheel again as you near the end of the street, stopping at a stop sign. His free hand slowly comes to balance on your thigh, gently at first, then with just a little more force. Your eyes meet his, dark and hooded and flushed out with growing desire. “I just need you to tell me where to go…”

It feels like his hand is burning a hole through your skin, the feeling of his fingertips gently gripping into your muscle makes you feel like you could explode into a million pieces. You can audibly hear yourself exhale as his pinky is close to the bottom hem of your skirt, digging into the place that could become dangerous territory, if he were to keep going. 

You’re leaning into each other now, and you can’t help but let your hand fly to cover his, interlacing with his fingers that are already halfway between your thighs. He squeezes harder, your hands gripping together as he gently massages you. You can feel your body starting to move, starting to let itself be pulled into his atmosphere as if he himself is the source of gravity.

Your elbow is leaned on the console, your breath already beginning to falter as he lets his nose brush yours, his breath hot as it lands on your lips. You’re fighting with everything in you to not make the connection, to not give in to the horrific temptation that he is already presenting you with. “Tell me, Y/N…” he demands, your name sounding like he pulled it straight from heaven. Or in tonight’s case, the pits of hell. 

“Left here, then a right four streets down…” you murmur, gripping your hand even harder over his. His fingertips are harshly grabbing at you now, kneading at the muscle. “Or we could just… Pull over here…” you say as your other hand goes to hold his cheek in place, turning the tables just a little bit. You watch as his jaw tightens, likely considering your proposition as you hear his breath hitch. He feels so good already, and you’ve barely made it out of the neighborhood. 

He rips himself away, but leaves his hand positioned perfectly on your leg. “No, not here. We’re going to your place. Gonna go where I can take care of you the right way.”

The disconnect nearly kills you, but you summon up enough courage to continue on with the banter. “Take care of me, hm? I’m not one to need looked after, Jake.”

He smiles, avoiding your eyes as you watch the stoplights reflect off his face. “S’not what I meant, baby. You’ve never had someone do that for you before? Take care of you?”

Fuck, you can feel yourself starting to burn for him just from his use of the pet name. How can he so easily make you feel this way? It’s barely been ten minutes since he approached you in the house, and already you’re kicking yourself for letting your guard down so quickly. You’re five kinds of flustered.

But… he’s so enticing…

“I’m not sure,” you reply candidly. “You’ll have to tell me what you mean.”

He offers you another glance, his lips barely puckered as he fights off another laugh. “Well, I could explain to you what I mean, or I could show you. You can pick.” 

Alright, that shuts you up. 

“This street?” he asks, pointing to the green road sign. 

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. “Third place down… on the left.”

He pulls into the parking space and parks the car, and you feel yourself get dizzy from the fact that this is actually happening, you’re actually going to let him come in with you. You unzip your purse and begin fishing for your apartment key, feeling the nerves beginning to bubble up already. 

“Y/N,” he mutters. 

“Hm?” your eyes flick to him, still astounding your senses with every glance. 

“Now is your last chance to tell me to go home. I’ll walk you to your door, and we can call it a night,” he says with sincerity. Damn, how sweet of him to offer. But can’t he tell that you’re nearing the edge of becoming weak for him? The tension is thick, he must really be a true gentleman to not play into it. 

Gotta drive it home. 

You lean over the arm rest, bringing yourself into his orbit again. Your faces are close, almost close enough to touch, but you stop short for just long enough to speak. “I don’t want you to go home, Jake.”

You can feel his lips smiling against yours as he finally presses them to you, so soft at first you’re sure you might be imagining it all. It’s subtle and sweet, and almost too soft in comparison to what his hand was doing to your thigh just minutes ago, but you don’t dare stop him from deepening the kiss just a little. 

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, and you feel the tingle of anticipation radiate through your body like sparks. His tongue isn’t begging to explore you just yet, instead he softly runs it along your bottom lip every few seconds as he tests the waters. Your hands feel like they need to move, need to touch, so you mimic his actions, grabbing onto the back of his neck as you part your lips just a little. 

Everything feels so dreamy… the soft but bluesy music coming through his car speakers, the brushing of his thumb across your cheek as he tastes you, the fog beginning to coat the insides of the windows… 

It’s silent in the car, but your heartbeat in your ears is deafening. “Alright then,” he says as he pulls away for just a second long enough to balance his forehead to yours. “Invite me in.” 

You smile as he sits waiting for you to speak, and you take a second to really look into his eyes, still just as dire as they were earlier. You bite your lips together, tasting him on you. “Come upstairs with me,” you demand.

He shuts off the engine and pulls the key, shoving his door open. “Wait,” he says, stopping you from doing the same. “Let me.”

You roll your eyes as you watch him hop around the front of the car, still charmed by his gentlemanly theme for the evening. “How kind of you, good sir,” you jest as he holds his hand out for you to take.

He chuckles. “What, is this weird or something?” he asks, motioning towards the car door. 

You shake your head. “I’ve never had someone do that for me, is all.” He holds his hand out and you take it, stepping softly onto the concrete below you. 

When you stand he doesn’t let your hand go, but instead he pulls it up to him, kissing the back of it. “Seems like that isn’t gonna be the last time you say that, tonight.” He smirks to himself as you feel another rush of nerves roll through you, eager to see what he has in store for you. 

He follows you to the stairs and you lead him up to the third floor, the both of you stopping for a second when you reach the end of the balcony. “This is me… all the way on the end,” you say, fiddling with the key in your hand. You turn back to Jake who has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark jeans, his hair rustling softly over his face as the breeze hits it. 

You stick the key into the doorknob and begin to twist it, but you stop short when you feel a sensation on the back of your neck. It’s gentle and almost ticklish, until you feel it turn into something else. Jake’s fingers drift away from your neck and down your arms, and you feel his breath suddenly hot against the column of your neck. You nearly drop the keys in your hand, but you get ahold of yourself, feeling his arms wrapping around your torso. 

He squeezes you, the combination of his breath on your neck and the warmth of his body making you dizzy for a second. His lips start off soft but then they begin getting rougher as he lays open-mouthed kisses all the way from your neck to under your ear. 

“Mmm,” you laugh a little at the contact, letting your bodyweight fall back onto him. You feel his tongue roll across the sensitive spot on your neck, hot and ravenous as his hands start to drift up underneath your shirt. His fingertips are cold, and the chill of the night sends goosebumps all over your body, but you couldn’t care less. You know that very soon, you’ll be warmer than you can stand. His hands grip at your hips, your stomach, your sides… 

“Jake,” you giggle as your eyes roll back. “We’re not even inside yet…” 

“Who says we have to start there?” he mumbles in your ear. “If I remember right, you were trying to fuck me in the car, were you not?”

Oh, shit. You feel your cheeks blush at his words, but he’s not wrong. The memory of his hand between your thighs just minutes ago sends another shockwave through you as you picture it again… his fingertips disappearing underneath the hem of your skirt as you tried to fight away your arousal. 

“I–I mean…” you scramble for an answer as his hands dig into your sides again, slowly drifting up to the underwire of your bra. “Yeah…” you breathe. 

His mouth hasn’t stopped. He’s begun nipping with his teeth, pulling on the skin then kissing the pain away. He already feels unbelievably good, and you can feel the warmth of his body still pressed tightly to yours, warming you up exponentially. 

But… you need to feel him closer. 

You leave the key hanging in the doorknob and you turn around to face him, watching as his eyes go from fed to famished. In less than a second, your arms are wrapped around his neck, pulling him in so closely that he almost stumbles. Your lips attach to his in a heated rush, and you feel yourself become entranced with the idea of him all over again. How he looks, how he feels… all of it overwhelming you as his hands grip at your hips again, pulling you into him. 

Your back hits the unopened door with a thud and you feel his arms enclose around you, his palms pressed tightly to the doorframe. “You still want to wait until we get inside?” he growls before delving his tongue against yours. Your entire body is raging with desire for him, and you know that if he doesn’t touch you soon, you may just be forced to do it yourself. 

“No,” you answer honestly when you break for air. “No, I don’t care, just–”

Suddenly his hand is right back where you wanted it. He’s pulling up at your skirt as his hand searches again, and you step your legs apart just a little to give him better access. You feel yourself already dripping for him, and the flash of embarrassment of being outdoors pulls you away but only for a second, as his fingers are toying with the edge of your pantyline. 

“Just what?” he asks, his mouth diving back to the side of your neck. But you can’t form a thought. Hell, you can’t even remind yourself to breathe as his fingers tease you, tickling over your thong-covered clit. You know he can tell you’re already wet, but you take him to be the kind of guy who will love the way you’re reacting to him, instead of the opposite. 

“Just touch me,” you blurt out, suddenly sick of his teasing. You can hear him grunt a low laugh through his teeth, his face still buried in your hair. “Please…”

“Goddamn,” he bellows, “already using those insistent commands… Remember, I’m here to prove a point. Here to prove something to you, right?” his lips smack at the skin covering your jugular, and you know for a fact he’s getting off on teasing you. 

“Right,” you reply, getting a little bit of your sanity back. 

“Right.” He steps back and looks at you straight on, but his hand stays buried between your legs. “So the first thing you need to know, is that most of the time people want to go straight to the last place, right to the finish line. Skipping over the good parts entirely…” his eyes are boring into yours as he begins fiddling his fingers around again, pulling your thong over to the side. His middle finger slips quickly directly through you, stopping finally right on your sweet spot. You gasp at the surprise, and you feel your jaw fall slack as he starts to make little circles. 

“People don’t want to take their time, enjoy the build-up… Has that been your past experience?” he asks. 

You take a second to think about it, about all your past lovers and how the nights usually went, and you realize that while most of them really were good lays, none of them actually seemed to even care about if you were having a good time, or not. Was it a reflection on your choices of lovers? Yeah, definitely. But you’re young and uncaring of anything serious, so what could you expect? 

“For the most part,” you admit to him, stiffening a smile. His finger is working at your clit so expertly your entire body begins to feel loose. Your hands are still resting on his shoulders, but his eyes are still staring harshly at you, looking at you like he’s trying to figure you out. 

He clicks his tongue. “Shame,” he mutters, mirroring his earlier statement that other experiences have been a waste of your time. “S’really the best part.”

With that, his middle finger slips inside you, burying itself all the way up to his knuckle. You gasp even more loudly this time, letting go of his shoulders to grab onto the railing behind you. He begins pumping in and out, and you have half a mind to lift your leg over his waist, until you remember you’re outside, and you have neighbors. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, giving him a slightly accusing smile. You glance down between you to catch sight of his hand disappearing under your skirt over and over, and you let yourself feel his speed begin to quicken. His pace is deliciously perfect, not too slow and not too fast. He hooks his finger, toying with the spot that you know is there, but he doesn’t spend too much time on it. He pulls his finger out, spending a few seconds collecting your wetness again before slipping back in, searching for the spots that make you react the most. 

You grit your jaw tightly together to conceal your sounds, feeling your stomach caving in on itself as you try and welcome the waves of pleasure. New pleasure. 

After about thirty seconds, you feel your breath begin to pick up on its own as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, a place inside you that only you have ever dared to hone in on. Your eyes close as you blow a few quick puffs of air, right in time with the hooks of his finger. 

“Right there?” he asks, and you can just hear the smirk on his lips. 

You nod. “Yeah, right there… don’t stop…” you beg, feeling your chest getting heavy already as you tightly close your eyes. There’s no way he’s already…

Your left hand flies up to cup behind his neck, holding on to him for dear life as you feel a tightness rising up from your belly. Your eyes fly open to look at him, his features shadowed and still as he watches you intently. Your head drops again as another wave rolls through you, begging you to give in to it. Let it have what it wants… until you feel his finger on the bottom of your chin, tilting your head back up to look at him. 

“Concentrate,” he says, his voice graveled. “Do you want to cum right now?”

Your stomach caves in on itself again as he stops his finger movement, letting his thumb drift across your already almost-over sensitive clit. Your hands fall back and grip the railing as you lean back a little further, desperate for him to start moving his finger again. 

“I want to yeah, but…” 

“It’s not the time, is it?” he finishes your sentence, slowly gliding his finger again. You shake your head in agreement. You know that he wants to make this last as long as he possibly can.

You make eye contact again, and you notice that the curves on the edges of his lips permanently curl up a little, all the more adorable in this lighting. You hadn’t even noticed it before. 

He slowly removes his hand from you, bringing his finger up. He sticks his tongue out just a little bit, pulling his finger into his mouth. He leaves it for just a second before he pops it off, letting his tongue roll over his lips. “Just as good as I thought you’d be,” he says. 

Oh for the love of god… a guy you know from work should not be this attractive…

“You thought?” you press, catching your breath as the light comes back into your eyesight. “You’ve thought of this before?” You can’t help but replay the visual of what you’d just seen him do over and over and over… almost blinding yourself as the replay makes you soak with a whole new rush of desire to watch him do it again. 

He’s thought of this before… how you’d taste. So you weren’t crazy. All this time of dreaming about what he would look like with his head between your legs, and now… you get to experience it?

“‘Course I have,” he answers, grabbing the key still stuck in the door and giving it a final twist to let it open. “I see your flirty little glances, Y/N, don’t think I don’t.” Ugh, gross. He’s still just a guy. 

Even if he’s just a guy with apparent magic hands… 

He holds his hand out for you to walk inside first, and he follows you into your apartment, completely dark save for the light coming into through the cracks in the blinds. You hear him kick his shoes off and you follow suit, and the alcohol that was swimming through you now feels like it's tapering off a bit. 

“Flirty glances don’t mean shit when they’re not given back in return,” you retort, letting your hand instinctually run over the countertop as you walk by it. 

“Hey,” he laughs with a surrendering tone, “just because you might not catch me doesn’t mean I don’t do it.”

You raise your eyebrows, even though he can’t really see you. 

“Plus, nine times out of ten when I give those flirty glances, I’m watching you walk away,” he adds. 

“My god, Jake,” you laugh, finding the handle of the kitchen cabinet housing your wine glasses. 

“What is it they say? Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave?”

“Shut up,” you giggle again, loving his ability to keep things so lighthearted. “You wanna drink?” 

“Nah, I’m okay. But you go ahead,” he says in an almost whisper. You think about it for a second, knowing that more alcohol could make the experience better, but also not trusting enough in it to not completely dull the entire thing. 

“I’m good too,” you decide, walking over to flip on the switch of a lamp. It pulls a soft, orange glow over the room, and you glance at Jake as he leans his elbows down onto the countertop. He bites his thumb between his teeth as he lets his eyes drift to you, low and hooded as he takes you in again. God, what good deed did you do to get this man into your house? Let alone to get him to look at you like that?

“Are you undressing me with your eyes, Jacob?” you ask, resting a hand on your hip.

“Maybe,” he stifles a laugh. “Actually, yeah. Yeah, I am,” he says, standing back up to come over to your side of the island. His hand drifts down your arm again, sending another set of chills through you as you take in a deep breath, really smelling his sweet cologne now with the absence of the cold breeze. Your hand grips his neck again as you reconnect your kiss, this time a little more desperately now that you have privacy. You hum into his mouth a little as he bucks his hips into you, and you can feel his length hard already against your stomach. 

“And do you like what you imagined?” you ask, pulling away for a second as your hands become a little more rough in their movements. 

“Fuckin’ loved it,” he grits, pulling your coat from your shoulders as you let it fall behind you. “Think I’d rather see it in person, though.” You feel his hands grip at the backs of your thighs, pulling you up to hold you for just as second as he twists on his feet, sitting you right on the island. The granite is cold on your skin and it startles you, but you barely have time to complain about it as Jake is attaching his lips to yours, again, hot and just as heavy as before. 

He moves forward and stands between your legs, letting his hands rest on your barren thighs again, right below where your skirt has hiked itself up. You take a second to really enjoy the way he is kissing you- with intention, slow and desperate as you feel him fight for his own breath. You’ve never been kissed like this before, not with this much feeling and intensity. This much pure instinct. You wonder if this is how it’s supposed to feel, or if the chemistry that is blooming between the two of you is finally just finding its footing. Either way, it’s leaving you feeling drunker than you were when you left the party.

Your hand comes up to hold his cheek as he concentrates on nothing but the kiss, and you feel a tinge of something else flutter in your chest. If you didn’t know any better, you’d dare to say that he really does actually care about this, about you. And you wonder why he is even wasting his time with it all. 

Suddenly you feel a little bit exposed, a little bit like you shouldn’t be doing this. There’s no way that the hottest guy at work is here, in your home, paying so much special attention to you that you feel dizzy. Is this a joke?

“Get out of your head, Y/N,” he speaks up, breaking you from your train of thought. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, your hand still balanced on his cheek as your mind finds you again. Your heart rate soars at the thought of him catching on to you so quickly. 

“You’re thinking too much, I can tell. Everything okay?” 

You nod. “Yeah, everything– everything is fine. I’m fine. Just–” You try to breathe it all away and tell yourself to forget all the worried thoughts running through your head, flashing like distracting traffic lights on a rainy night. If he didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t be here, right?

He’s warm when he moves in closer, smiling against your lips, gently biting your bottom lip between his teeth. “I need you to relax, just enjoy… there’s no reason for you to get worked up. This… this feels good, right?” His voice is different now, in these close quarters. You’re used to the semi-professional one he uses at work, but hearing him use this gritty, wanting tone makes him feel more alluring, like a side of him you’d like to get to know better. 

“Yeah, it feels good,” you reassure him with a harsh nod. “Are you…?”

“You’re damn right I am,” he laughs as though your question was ridiculous. “How could I not be? Been wanting a taste of you for weeks…” Suddenly he grips your legs again and pulls you toward him, your ass almost hanging off the edge of the counter. He presses himself inward again, making your entire body shudder with an almost obvious flood of want. You hum at the touch, making him crack a self-satisfied smile that causes your insides to lurch with anticipation. 

His hands are on your hips, his fingertips pressing hard into the skin as they dip below the waist of your skirt. Quickly, they find your panties, snapping the stretchy fabric of them against you. “Those are cute,” he grits.

Your eyebrows furrow. “How do you know? You can’t even see them,” you retort.

Suddenly he pulls back a bit, gently pressing his hands to your shoulders. “You’re right, I can’t. Y’wanna help me with that?” 

He uses light force to press you backward onto the cold countertop, knocking a few random items sideways as your lower back connects with it. Your knees shoot up as you try and balance yourself, squealing a little at the sudden change in movement. “Jake, what the-” His hands are now on the insides of your knees, his fingernails lightly scratching at the skin of the insides of your legs. 

“Mmm, see? I was right. They are cute,” he growls, his deep brown irises flashing back between you and between your legs. You feel the slightest tinge of embarrassment, but it dissipates when you realize how confident he is still being. He wants all of this. 

“If you want to call a bright pink thong cute, I guess…” you say. 

“It’s silk…” he hums, the barely-there touch of his fingertips now dipping lower, brushing over the soft fabric, right above your already-soaked center. 

“Satin,” you correct him. “There’s a big difference.” 

You hear him huff a laugh through his nose as his fingers still gently explore, the touch of his hand between your thighs making your head swim again. 

“You know, you don’t always have to be so right all the time… It’s okay to just be a little bit wrong on some things,” he says, the pressure increasing just slightly as you relax up onto your elbows. His free hand still stays balanced on your bent knee, and this visual of him sprawling you out in the darkness makes you want to keep the image of his silhouette tucked in the back rooms of your mind for the rest of eternity. 

Your mind was so caught up in the scene that you had to mentally repeat what he’d said. “What’s that supposed to mean? You calling me a prude, or something?”

“Nonono, no. Not a prude. You just… always seem so caught up on the little things. The details. Sometimes it seems like you lose sight of the big picture… what’s right in front of you. You act on facts instead of instinct,” he says matter of factly, using his free hand to pull your knees apart just a little more. 

“Who-who says facts are a… bad thing?” you stammer, the pleasure of the indirect contact of his fingers sending sweet surges of pleasure through your body. 

He giggles a little. “No one does. I can sometimes just tell you.. You know. Take the phrase ‘mind over matter’ a little too literally. Mind is what can handicap you…” He slips his fingers along the inner hemline of your satin thong, pulling it to the side just barely as he slips his fingers between your folds again, effortlessly sending you into a fit of satisfaction. “Matter is…well. Natural.”

“Natural,” you repeat, letting your head fall back to rest on the granite. 

“S’right…” he hisses, letting his fingers go to work again as the room falls silent. You let his words sink in a little, realizing that you guess he could be right, though you weren’t very sure if he was pointing out one of your biggest character flaws, or if he was helping you to realize that maybe your busied mind is what has been your biggest roadblock in the reason he is here, to begin with. 

“So, m’gonna do what feels natural to me, right now… if that’s alright with you,” he says as he bites his lower lip between his teeth. His eyes flit to your center again before meeting back with yours, intense and dreamy as you realize what he’s intending. 

“Ah, yeah… it’s alright with me,” you reply, gathering your shirt up into one of your fists as you watch him grip the bill of his hat, pulling it off to toss it onto the countertop beside him. The barely-there light hits his face now and illuminates it, his features now free of the shadows. He bends down low and places more kisses along the insides of your thighs, making your back arch into his touch. You hear him huff through his nose, taking note of your reactions. 

“Y’sure?”

You feel his tongue reach out, warm and soft as his hands stay gripped under your thighs, brushing over the fabric of your underwear. Fuck fuck fuck. It’s been a while since someone paid this kind of attention to you. 

“Positive,” you bark, feeling yourself beginning to drip down onto the cold counter. 

He wastes no time. His mouth is clamped over your heat, his teeth barely biting at the thin fabric as he lets the indirect contact of it tease you, pulling it from side to side with his incisors as the sharp sensations overtake your mind. You feel yourself inhale from the contact before he hooks a finger into your thong, pulling it to the side to finally make the contact you’d both been waiting for. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp as his tongue slides all the way through you, hurried but patient all at the same time. It’s as if he’s been waiting for this, waiting to taste you just as much as you’d let those thoughts plague you those nights you lay alone in bed. 

His fingers grip into your muscles as you hear him groan a little, obviously already enjoying it. “Fuck, you’re so good…” he whispers, almost to himself. “Like honey, baby...”

Your head shoots back as you feel him shake his own side to side, giving himself more space and the room to delve more deeply into you. Your back alternates between arching and falling, your body reacting on its own as your mind becomes flooded with thoughts of the situation at hand. It’s pure elation, pure perfection. You’d be willing to bargain that this was his forte, the one skill he’s owned since he started into adulthood. 

Your chest shudders with noises that you’ve never made for anyone else ever before, and your hand instinctively reaches up to grip his hair still in its knot, pulling at the strands as you feel his tongue enter you, warm and soaking wet. 

“Jake, fuck,” you cry, your body caving in as your muscles shake with undeniable pleasure. His tongue darts in and out as it makes circles, and you feel his finger come up to toy with your clit as he does so. The notion of being too exposed has flown out the window as the dark, shrouded instinct of carnal satisfaction begins to overtake you, a feeling that you’ve only ever felt maybe twice in your life. That pull and draw to the one sharing pleasure with you, the humanistic need to let the rest of the world fall away. 

You grip the back of his neck to pull him closer, eliciting a small growled laugh from him. You can’t help it, you need to continue this feeling. 

Suddenly he switches his actions as he removes his tongue and replaces it with his finger, already reaching itself as far into you as it can go. His lips pucker over your clit as he sucks it in harshly, making your entire world go black. Wait, no, that’s two fingers. He’s pumping them in and out at a disgustingly perfect pace as his lips work at your most sensitive spot. 

“Oh my god oh my god,” you breathe, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck as you bend up to watch him. His eyes meet yours for a split second as you realize the complete inappropriateness of the sounds bouncing off your kitchen walls. But he’s determined, so he keeps going. 

The mixture of all the action is driving you insane, but still yet, the finish line seems so far away, and so out of reach. It’s an aggravation you’ve become accustomed to, at this point. But you have to admit, the way he feels is already more than enough to satisfy your cravings. 

Just as you begin to get in your head again, he stops, standing tall over you as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “There you go again, hm?” he accuses you, pushing the insides of your knees down to the counter. “You gotta stop that shit, Y/N.”

His aggravated tone flicks a spark somewhere deep inside you, but it goes out the second you see the disappointment on his face. 

“Not doing yourself any favors by letting your wheels turn while you’ve got someone’s face between your legs,” he says, offering you a hand to help you sit up. 

Your eyes bulge from your head as you take it, feeling a little slighted by his remark.

“I can’t–I don’t know how to turn it off. It just… happens,” you complain as he lovingly brushes the hair from your face. 

“Were you close?” he asks. 

“Yeah, I… I think I really was,” you admit honestly. 

“Good. Progress.”

The next thing you know, he’s lifting you again, but this time he’s walking you through the hallways of your home in search of the next place. 

“Jake!” you giggle as you hold onto him tightly. 

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asks, stopping short in the center of your living area. 

“Just keep going straight,” you say with a tilt of your head.

He follows your instruction as he paces you backward, awkwardly knocking into the doorframes in the darkness. You can’t help but smile at his true dedication to this, to all of this, and how determined he is to make sure he holds up his end of the deal. 

He plops you down onto your bed, the rush of the scent of your laundry detergent instantly bringing you back to a comforting headspace, making your quickened heartbeat slow just a little. You perk up a little as you crane your neck up to him, still feeling a pull to be near him. He stands with his knees against the mattress, his fingertips gently cupping under your chin to lift your lips to meet his again. 

You can taste yourself on him, and you can feel the prickles of his mustache working against your lips. It’s uncomfortable, but you welcome it; it’s as if the feeling is already turned into something nurturing for you. Simply because it's from a man who, seemingly, truly cares. 

It’s quiet in the room, and normally you’d feel self-conscious about it. But as of now, you couldn’t feel more comfortable. He’s peppering you with sweet kisses, letting some linger and some feather across your skin as if he’s trying to appreciate you in ways that, honestly, feel a bit intimate given your relatively short relationship with him. 

But you don’t stop him; doing so would take away from the way his lips feel on your neck, and the way his hair tickles at your chest. You let light giggles fall from your lips as you realize he’s not only extremely well-versed in bed, so it seems.. But also, he’s playful. 

Finally he stands and a deep, aggravated growl emanates from his chest as he pulls his hoodie over his head and drops it to the floor. His t-shirt goes with it, leaving him standing in only his jeans. 

Fuck, you think, realizing this is the first time you’ve seen him shirtless. Even in the darkness, digging your teeth into his sides feels like the only logical move to make at the moment. 

But you’re stopped short when he reaches for his belt buckle and quickly undoes it, leaving it hanging open with his hand on the button and zipper. 

“Still okay, gorgeous?” he asks, again running his fingers under your chin as if the whole thing is just part of a routine. 

“Mhm,” you reply as his knee comes to sit between your legs on the edge of the bed. “You still good?”

“Better than good,” he says, running his hands along your arms. His fingers catch at the bottom hem of your shirt, slowly pulling at it to lift it graciously over your head. “Mmm,” he hums, his eyes scanning over you like you’re made of pure gold. “Gonna be hard to take my time with you…”

You feel exposed as the chilly air sends bumps all over your chest and arms, immediately making your nipples swell to attention behind your bralette. That, and the way his eyes are devouring you like a meal has your head spinning again. It’s never been this easy, before…

“Who says you have to?” you ask before you can even think the words through. You lean back onto your elbows again, fully expecting his knees to hit the floor. “Take them off…” you demand, looking to his hands still rested on his jeans button. Your want for him has completely overtaken your ability to make clear judgments. The thrill of it all is not only making you just want to fuck, it’s making you not even care if you get off anymore, at all. Clouded judgment is an understatement.

He pauses for only a second before doing as you ask and pulling his button and zipper free. He steps from them and lets them hit the floor, and the vision of him standing in front of you, and the vision of him behind his gray boxers makes your breath hitch. You want to reach out and touch it, touch him. But he stops you, instead placing one hand on the side of your hip. 

“Turn over for me, lay on your stomach,” he demands, reaching first for a pillow to tuck underneath you. You don’t question it, but instead you do as he asks, suddenly feeling a little exposed again as your bare ass is in his line of view. 

Immediately, his hands are kneading over the muscles of the backs of your thighs, massaging at your hips and down into your shins. He doesn’t work quickly- instead he takes his time, soothing the tight muscles and sending your oxytocin release into overdrive. The relaxation sneaks up on you like sleep to a baby… slow at first before the sensations overtake you completely, letting your muscles relax all the way into a state of pure decompression. 

“Your hands really are magic,” you mumble with your face against the mattress, groggy and peaceful. 

You hear his hearty laugh, and you can tell the compliment takes him by surprise. “Nah, just trying to get you through all the motions… like I said, the build up is the best part.” 

You don’t answer, fully understanding what he means, and how he means it. He wants you to get the full effect, and if sending your body into a melted puddle on the bed is part of it, then so be it.

“You relaxed?” he asks quietly after another minute or two. 

“Very… verrrryy…” you sleepily moan as his hands keep kneading at the swell of your ass.

“Good,” he bites, letting his hands drift up underneath you, pulling your hips up higher on the pillow. Your back is almost fully arched, and you let him position you right where he wants you, even though your mind has woken up a bit at the change of position. Oh fuck… it might be time for…

Your muscles are so relaxed that you feel like putty, soft and loose as his strong hands remind you that he is in charge, tonight. The pillow is the only thing holding you up, at this point. 

He pulls at your thong and you let him, feeling the slick material float down your thighs. You’re so relaxed that you’d probably let him do anything he wanted, at this point. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, and you can hear the softness in his voice. You feel his mouth on you again as he licks you from behind, sending a surprised jolt of pleasure back through your bones. His hands remain gripped on your hips as he pulls you back, letting his tongue begin to devour you all over again. 

“God damnit,” you moan, twisting to bury your face into the blankets. You feel yourself backing up onto his face as he pulls you in closer, his tongue completely buried deep inside you, again. Your fists tighten up as you grip the sheets, your mind leaving it’s relaxed state as pleasure rips though you again. 

He continues this way for a while, moaning onto your clit as the vibrations nearly kill you. You feel your whole body shaking, willing itself to stay in this position as he licks, slowly and with intent. He reaches up and pulls your hands to your sides, holding onto them tightly as he pulls your whole body, bent in half, closer to him. 

“Fuckkkk…” you cry again as your legs begin to jerk, your eyes nearly watering with how badly your body wants to come undone. You feel like a tightly wound cord, waiting to snap and explode at any given second, had only you let it. Your fingers and toes feel tingly, and your mind goes dark, and it’s then that you know… this is the closest you’ve been, yet. 

But he lets go of your hands and pulls away, standing back up to reposition himself for whatever the hell he has planned next. The disconnection is deathly, and you’re sure you could cuss him to world’s end, right about now. You let out a loud, dissatisfied growl in protest. 

“Ha, left you hanging, did I?” he asks breathlessly, his hands returning to knead at your hips again.

“Yeah, fuck… why…?” you ask in succession, fully annoyed. 

Suddenly his mouth is on your ear, biting at the shell of it as he growls through his words. “Any motherfucker can get you off with their hands… their mouth… But I can’t reach your sweet spot the way you want me to with those now, can I?”

You choke a moan as he breathes hot air into your ear, his bare, already sweaty chest pressed against your back. You’re hissing at the light pain from his lovebites to your neck, your shoulder… Pleasure already returning full force.  “No… I–I don’t guess so…”

“Right,” he blurts, pulling back to stand again, taking your hips with him. 

“Doggy style, Jake? Is that really what we’re gonna do right now?” you giggle, lighthearted as you tease his choice of position. 

“No, love. Not quite…” Then his hands are on your hips again, pressing you gently down onto the bed. “A modified version, maybe…”

Instinctually, you want to return back to the position he had you in first, spreading your knees as far apart as you can while arching your back into a perfect angle, but you hesitate. Your body wants to instinctually move, to arch, but still yet, he presses you back down. 

You feel his hands pulling your legs apart, positioning them so that they almost shape into a diamond. You’re confused, no one has ever wanted you like this before. But still yet, you let him. 

All at once, a thought pops into your mind. “Jake… I haven’t even touched you tonight,” you mutter, suddenly feeling as though you should have helped him along with his end of the process. “Let me–”

“This isn’t about me, sweetheart,” he says, and you feel the head of his dick slide through your folds, nearly taking all the breath directly from your lungs. “Just watching you tonight has been enough to get me there… wanted you for so long now…” he keeps the sweet little praises coming as you feel yourself dripping again, so fully and entirely turned on by the feeling of him pressing against you that you can hardly hear yourself think. 

He brushes across your entrance, and you feel your walls twitch, your body literally begging him to enter. 

“Mhm, that’s what we’re looking for,” he says, letting himself tease you with the head of his cock an inch at a time, for a second at a time, before slowly pulling back out again. “Do that again, baby…” 

Your walls twitch on their own again, the muscles tightening as he passes by your entrance, his movements slow but so, so deviously intentional. “Mmmm,” he growls with tight lips, almost as if he is holding himself back. 

“Jake please…” you beg, your voice cracked and whiny now as your hips begin swirling on their own, looking for anything that can give you some relief. You feel like you could go mad with anticipation, your vision already blurred with intense want. Your heart is pounding at an ungodly rate, your face feels flushed and fiery hot, and every muscle in your body is writhing and twisting with need for him. For him to stretch you at his own delicious pace. For him to fill you. 

“You ready, baby,” he says more than asks, and you nod your head hard. 

“Yes, yes Jake, please…” you cry, your fists still gripped tightly into the sheets below you. Your entire world is buzzing, loud and dizzy as want has taken over, your body now at the complete and total mercy of him. 

“Start the clock,” he says, and you’re reminded… two minutes. 

You instinctively glance at the clock on the wall, the second hand floating around the face as you take note of the time, and remember the silly bargain that got you here in the first place. It’s then that you realize that maybe, just maybe, he might make this happen for you. 

You gasp, your breath stopped in its tracks as you feel him enter you completely, pressing in until he physically can’t anymore. He stops there, letting you adjust, but if it weren’t for there being no air in your lungs, you’d have screamed out loud for him to move. 

He pulls back out, his cock gliding slowly across your walls as you feel every single inch of him, every single delicious fucking inch, before he slowly presses back inside again. 

“Breathe, baby,” he coaxes, pulling the hair away from the back of your neck. “You okay?”

“Mmmh-” is all you can manage as the pleasure is already blinding you, taking away every sense you have and overtaking you completely.

“You feel fucking perfect…” 

1:30

You let oxygen re-enter your lungs as he slowly picks up a pace, pounding into you from behind, one hand on the bed, and one hand still gripped tightly on your ass. You can hear the sounds bouncing off the walls, wet and wanting as each entrance he makes feels more delicious than the last. This can’t be real…

Your breaths pick up as you get used to the feeling of him, his size more perfect than anything you’ve ever felt. 

“You alright?” he asks, still slowly thrusting. “Tell me about it…”

“Perfect, fuck, you’re–”

The noises you start to make come on their own as sweet shockwaves ripple their way through your body like wind whipping across a lake, gentle but yet so entirely powerful. You wish that you could see him, look into his eyes as he reaches deeper and deeper inside, but you know that he has a mission to complete. And honestly, so do you. 

He begins to whip his hips, pausing for just a second each time he reaches the hilt, letting you feel that place deep inside you be contacted again and again. 

“You feel it, baby? Am I there?” he asks, his voice becoming more and more strained as time passes. “Talk to me.”

“Yes, god, you’re there,” you answer honestly, your face still buried in the thick comforter. “I feel you… I–”

You’d never experienced this type of pleasure before. Never had someone pay this much attention to the way that you felt… cared so much about if you were enjoying yourself, too. You knew that Jake had taken the time to feel you out, learn how you tick, all in the span of one night. You knew deep down that this wasn’t just a challenge for him. And you knew deep down that you were going to finally get off by the hand of someone else tonight.

1:00

Suddenly he picks up the pace, turning himself just slightly to the side to free up his right hand. You feel him pull you back a little and slot his hand underneath you, searching for the places he’s had his hands all night. 

His hand finds your heat as he continues his thrusts, hard and heavy now as his body weight presses against your back. His fingers pull your folds apart, and all at once, his middle finger is quickly swirling your clit. 

Holy. Fucking shit. 

“Ohh, fuck–” you groan, the mixture of pleasures now sending your entire body into overdrive. All thoughts leave. All breath is gone. All visions of the room around you turn into a blur of shadows and colors. All you can hear is his sweet whispers in your ear, and all you can feel is his body resting on yours. Fully and completely, you’re not sure if you’re going to ever come back down to earth. 

“That’s right baby… so sweet for me…” he whispers, gently kissing your ear as you pitifully pout into the mattress. His finger is still working you, making your muscles shake and shiver as you feel your eyes beginning to roll back into your head. 

Nothing has ever felt like this. Nothing has ever felt this good.

“Close your legs,” Jake spits, and you do, thus making yourself that much tighter for him. 

“Motherfuck, Y/N…” he breathes loudly, and you take the opportunity to squeeze him even more. “God you’re fucking tight…”

You can feel him entering you even more so now, after tightening in around him. The slaps of your own wetness almost make you cringe, but somehow it spurs you on, knowing that he is loving it all just as much as you are. 

His mouth is on your ear again, biting at your jawline. His hand leaves your heat for just a second as he slaps it across your ass, eliciting a small choke from you. “Soaked, baby… all for me…”

:30

You feel your brows furrow as you feel a jolt of electricity rush through you when he replaces his hand, this time honing in on your clit even more. “Oh fuck Jake yes… yes right there…” you cry out, your mouth dry and your muscles tense as you feel it… a new sense of pleasure that you have never been blessed with… 

He keeps his pace exactly where it is, no faster and no slower as you feel your body begin to crush in on itself. It’s as if the cosmos stop burning, and the oceans freeze, waiting with bated breath for you to get there. You feel yourself climbing the hill, searching for the peak of the mountain you’ve never visited. It’s so close you can taste it…

His thrusts are becoming more pointed as he works, the cries leaving your chest now nearly embarrassing, but you couldn’t stop them if you tried. Harder, faster, deeper you fall into oblivion, not even caring that the world around has seemed to stop. 

“Come on, baby… let me have it…” Jake begs, biting onto your shoulder and sucking the skin between his lips. “You’re so close I can feel you… let it go…”

:10

Finally, like a heatwave and snowstorm, your body finally lets go, pleasure and bliss wracking through you in harsh, inundating waves. You cry out, but only for a second as your eyes clench shut, your body completely shutting down as you experience the first real, double orgasm of your entire life. 

“Breathe through it, baby… don’t hold on to your breath… I got you…” you hear Jake’s advice through clouded sound. So you do… tiny, short bits of oxygen pulled in as your body shakes and trembles through it, entirely surreal and fixated on everything that is happening to it. 

Lights flash behind your eyelids, your chest beams with carnal satisfaction… stars sparkle as you begin to catch your breath, not wanting to ever let go of the feeling. 

You finally feel yourself slowly coming back down to earth, your body floating through time and space like ashes from a fire. Your eyes adjust back to the low light, and you still feel Jake buried deep inside you, his hand now gently cupping over your heat as if to comfort it. He rolls his hand in waves of indirect touch, letting you come back down through the resonant shockwaves. 

You can feel him breathing hard still against your back, and you wonder for a second if he is going to finish right behind you. 

“Why–why’d you stop? Are you not gonna?” you mumble, your lips and tongue moving as if you don’t know how to use them.

Jake laughs. 

“Baby, we just made that happen in two minutes and you’re asking me if I am going to get off, too?” His hand lovingly rubs over your lower back, but he stays buried deep inside you. “I told you, tonight wasn’t about me. ‘S about you…” He leans down and kisses the back of your neck again. 

Though your body feels lifeless and floating, and you’re sure you are completely drunk on pleasure, something deep within you ignites. Your chest blooms with something else, and you’re positive if you don’t listen to it, everything will have been for nothing. 

You back up, forcing Jake to pull out of you and roll to his side. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You toss the pillow to the side and lie back down on your back, gripping your arms around Jake’s back to pull him on top of you. Your knees fall apart as he falls perfectly between them, a little caught off guard by your actions. His elbows land on either side of your head, placing you face-to-face. 

“Fuck me again, Jake… This is about you, too. I want you to remember this night just as well as I will…” You don’t even sound like yourself as the commanding words escape you, demanding and sultry as you reach down between you, taking his still-hard cock in your hand. 

His eyes falter at your touch as you begin stroking him, hard and fast as you position his head right against your still-soaked entrance, again. His body tenses at the contact. 

“Oh my god, Y/N, are you sure? We–we don’t have to–”

“I said do it again, Jake,” you demand. “Please…I wanna see you, feel you…”

He growls through a clenched jaw, shaking his head in disbelief as he props himself up on his hands, towering over you. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, you know that?”

“Hope not,” you say, taking your hand around him and pulling him straight into you again, letting his hips falter a little as he re-enters you. 

He blows out a puff of air as he shakes his head side to side again, his brows furrowing hard as he starts a pace. 

“What’s wrong?” you laugh a little, confused by his expression. 

“Nothin’,” he grits. “Nothing at fucking all, that’s the problem.”

“Problem?” you ask as he thrusts hard, sending your head up higher onto the bed. Your arms wrap around his neck. 

He growls. “Yeah, I… I normally just… ya know. Hook up. But this…” he trails off, lowering his head to kiss along your jawline. You slot the bend of your left leg through the crook of your arm, pulling it up to your chest to give him better access. 

“This what?” you ask, digging your nails into his back when you feel another particularly sharp jolt of pleasure. 

His head pops back up to look at you, nearly all of his hair now fallen from the knot at his neck. His face is flushed and his eyes are heavy, full of something other than what you expected. And in the moment, he is without a doubt, the most beautiful creature you’ve ever laid your eyes on. 

Your chest blossoms when his eyes meet yours, deeper than anything you’d seen in a long time. 

He hesitates for just a second before gently pressing his lips to yours, bringing you in for the most intense kiss you’ve shared, yet. It’s as if he’s trying to talk, trying to explain everything that he can’t say with words, showing you, rather than telling you. Your tongues wrestle with one another as he moans through them, obviously still getting closer to his own release as the minutes tick past. 

Finally he pulls away to speak, his forehead balanced sweetly on yours. “This is something I could stay here and do… over and over again… night after night after night…” he licks his lips, huffing through his nose as he continues his deep, slow thrusts. “Only if I can hear you let go like that again… for me…”

You nod as your hands come up to clutch his jawline, nodding in response as he backs up a little bit, kneeling now as he pulls his hands under your hips. He runs them along your legs as he uses them for leverage, still fucking slowly into you as if his life depends on it. 

Finally, you work up the courage to speak. “I think I want you to come over again tomorrow,” you offer with a teasing smile. He grins, letting his head fall back as you place your hands on his shoulders, pulling yourself up and pushing him back to sit on his lap. 

Still buried deep inside you, he can no longer thrust, so you take over, gently swirling your hips in figure-8’s with the help of his hands guiding your movements. “Fuck, you don’t know how good you feel…” he says, exhaling hard as he maneuvers himself back down to sitting. 

He sits with his legs outstretched, your hips still grinding on him with a sickening pace that is taking his every ability to think straight. “Swear to god I had to try so hard… had to hold it in…”

You let your hand brush sweetly along his cheek and down his shoulder, digging your nails into his traps as you work not only him up to where he wants to be, but you yourself, too. You feel the knot tightening again in your stomach, catching you off guard as the pleasure comes back full force, almost knocking you off of him as you feel yourself begin to clench. 

“Don’t hold it in now, Jake,” you breathe, still swirling your hips. You can feel the friction against your clit, pulsing and begging for another reason to let go, again. “I’m close again, too…”

“God, yeah, baby..” he grits as your nails dig into him again, your eyes already blinding as the second orgasm rushes up to the forefront with hardly any warning. “Give it to me again… You’re so fuckin–”

He leans back on one hand while the other comes up to wrap around your neck, gently squeezing as you lean in to kiss him again, clawing and gripping at any and all parts of his body that you can get your hands on. 

Your moans are high-pitched, your cries are loud, and the second world-shattering release hits you like a freight train, hot and wild and tremoring as you hear him tell you he’s right there too, his voice a mix of guttural gasps and praises for all the ways that you feel on him. 

After you’ve both landed again, you stare at one another in disbelief, jaws slack and eyes wide as neither of you can fathom how good the other one feels, and how well, surprisingly, you fit together. 

Jake laughs through the side of his mouth as he pulls strands of hair stuck to the sweat on your face, his mouth moving a hundred different ways as if he’s looking for the right words to say. 

You take his hand in yours, threading your fingers together as you bring the back of his palm up to kiss. Everything about it feels right. 

“I think I definitely want you to come over again tomorrow.”

He laughs. “I think I can arrange that. You gonna tell everybody at work how I was the first one to ever make you come?”

You slap a light hand across his chest. “Maybe. Maybe not. Fuckin’ cocky ass.”

He shrugs. “Hey, maybe you’re right. Then I’d have every single woman there calling me on my days off.”

“Ah! Jake!” you squeal. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in close. 

“I’m just kidding, just kidding. I like this. This feels… right. Nice,” he admits, burying his face in your hair as if he is embarrassed to say it. You feel him take a deep breath, and you follow suit, memorizing the smell of him as you relax into his embrace. 

“Nice,” you agree, giving him an extra tight squeeze. “I could get used to that.”

+++

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[vanfleeter]

happy Jake ☺️

[vanfleeter]

Just finishing Buying London on Netflix and I am absolutely enthralled with some of the properties they've shown.

Makes me want to go peace out America, I'm moving my broke ass to London 😂

[vanfleeter]

pressing foreheads as a love language

[vanfleeter]

Feels like Gold Live at Church of St. John the Baptist

[vanfleeter]

Had me swooning in the beginning and fully on feeling the pain deep into my bones. PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE AND CALL HIM! Please fix it 💔

Petrichor - II

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 11.0k

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol, Angst, Touching, Kissing, Graphic Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, and More.

Listen to the Playlist: Apple Music

The storm had settled into a steady rhythm by the time you finished dinner, wrapping the cabin in a soft, enclosing hush. It was the kind of rain that made time feel suspended, like the world was holding its breath. You rinsed your plate absently, eyes drifting to the note he left on the counter. You hadn’t meant to look at it again, but you did. Of course you did. You already read it three times. Maybe four. But your eyes catch on it anyway, like the weight of the words inside is still lingering in the air.

You sigh, reaching for your phone before you can talk yourself out of it. Maybe it’s reckless. Maybe it means nothing. But the note is still sitting there like it’s waiting for something, and the truth is, so are you. You exhale softly through your nose, thumbing in the digits one by one. Then you pause. You don’t even save the number, you just open a fresh text and type.

Old school move with the note on the porch. Very mysterious.

You hit send before you can second guess it. You wait, quietly, almost anxiously and you’re suddenly aware of the quiet in the room. Only the light tapping of rain on the windows and the soft ache in your hips from the night before. 

Your phone buzzes in your hand. 

Thought about tying it to a rock and throwing it through your window. Felt too subtle. 

You smirk, leaning your hip against the counter. 

Yeah, this way was more understated.

He doesn’t take long. 

Did it work?

You smile at your phone, now.

Depends what you were hoping for.

You see his bubble pop up instantly. 

A reaction. A text. A little curiosity.

You want to play coy, but you don’t.

You got all three. Don’t let it go to your head though.

He’s quick with a reply.

Too late.

You bite your lips together, caught between amused and surprised. You set your phone down for a second, grab a clean mug, and pour yourself some of the peppermint tea you forgot you brewed an hour ago. It’s lukewarm, but it settles your stomach. As you lift the mug to your lips your eyes peer out the small kitchen window. It’s then you notice that his Jeep is gone, only rain puddles where it once sat. 

Where are you now?

He replies quickly.

Hollow Pines Pub. Regretting it.

You smile into your mug. 

That bad?

Your phone buzzes instantly.

Not bad, just not you.

Your heart kicks up at that.

That’s smooth.

A few minutes passes before you get a reply. 

I’m not trying to be smooth. If I was, I'd be at your door already. 

You smile at your phone as you type.

So what’s stopping you?

A minute passes before he replies. 

Trying to behave.

You grin as you reply. 

Common problem for you?

A moment passes. You let the silence stretch on.

Only around certain people. You writing tonight?

You glance over at your open laptop, untouched since this afternoon.

I’m trying. My brain seems to be a little distracted. 

His reply is fast.

Must be serious if it’s pulling you away from your pages.

You giggle. 

It is.

You watch as he types again.

Let me fix it.

You blink, letting your thumbs hover over the letters. 

Oh? What’s your cure for writer’s block?

You raise a brow at his response. 

Whiskey. Conversation. Hands where they shouldn’t be.

You bite your bottom lip, fighting a smile. 

The last one sounds suspiciously like a bribe.

It’s only a few seconds pass before his message bounces through. 

Only if it works.

You glance out the window again. A slow-moving storm has started to roll in, the clouds low and heavy.

You driving back?

You grin at his prompt reply. 

If you want me to.

You purse your lips together as you type.

I think you already know the answer.

Your heart races as you wait for his reply, watching his text bubble appear and disappear a few times before his message finally comes through.

Ten minutes.

You set the phone down, trying not to feel the way your stomach tightens. You don’t even realize you’re pacing until your foot catches the corner of the rug.

Ten minutes.

That’s what he said. Not I’ll be there in ten, not I’m coming over. Just ten minutes.

It shouldn’t make your heart pound. But it does.

You wander to the bathroom, flick on the light, then turn it off again. You already showered. You already changed. You already brushed your teeth, even though you swore you wouldn’t care if he kissed you again with whiskey on his breath.

Now you’re just... waiting. What are you supposed to do?

You pass the mirror and catch a glimpse of yourself. Your collarbone still blooms with the faintest edge of that hickey. You touch it absently and shake your head. You’re not the type to obsess like this. You don’t get rattled.

Except you are.

You make yourself sit down, try to focus on the half-sentence blinking on your laptop screen. But your thoughts scatter every time thunder rolls in the distance. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You try to write something, anything, to reclaim your own damn attention. But all you can think about is the last look he gave you. The way he kissed your wrist. The way his eyes dropped when he said he shouldn’t have let it happen.

You close the laptop with a sigh and check the time on your phone. It’s only been seven minutes. Three more to go. Or maybe more, if he changed his mind. If he thought better of it. If he was just being polite.

You pull your sweater tighter around you, tugging the sleeves over your knuckles.

You should’ve just said come over. You should’ve said I want to see you. You should’ve—

A knock at the door. Soft, only two beats. Then silence.

You freeze. For one ridiculous second, you wonder if it’s the wind. But no, you know it’s him.

Your stomach flips and your chest tightens. You rise slowly, heartbeat climbing. And then, without letting yourself overthink one second more, you cross the room and open the door.

And there he is. Rain in his hair, that quiet kind of smile, the same look in his eyes that made you dizzy the first time.

The porch light casts a golden halo around his shoulders, rain misting in behind him like static. His hair is damp, clinging to his forehead and temples, and there’s a darker patch along the shoulder of his jacket where the storm caught him between the Jeep and your steps. His mouth parts like he might say something, but for a moment, he doesn’t. He just looks at you.

Like he’s trying to decide something. Like he’s not sure if he should be here, or if it’s already too late.

You’re not sure either.

“Hey,” he says finally, voice low.

“Hey,” you reply, soft but steady.

“Can I come in?”

You nod before your mouth catches up, stepping aside without a word. He brushes past you gently, the scent of rain and cedar and something unmistakably his, curling in the air between you. He doesn’t go far, he just stands near the door once it’s shut behind him, hands in his pockets like he’s not sure if he should take them out. Like he might bolt again if you say the wrong thing. Or worse, nothing at all.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “Didn’t try very hard.”

You arch a brow. “Bar not doing it for you tonight?”

He shakes his head once. “Not really.”

“Too many people?”

He pauses. “Too many not-you.”

You blink. That shouldn’t hit the way it does. But it does.

He glances away like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, like maybe he wants to take it back but won’t.

He glances toward your laptop on the desk, still open but asleep. “You get anything written?”

You shake your head. “Tried. Couldn’t stop thinking.”

His jaw twitches like he wants to ask what you were thinking about. But he doesn’t. Maybe he already knows. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the mat. You notice he hesitates again, fingers twitching at the hem of his jacket like he’s about to take it off, but he doesn’t. He just stands there. Damp and lovely and quiet.

“You gonna keep hovering like a ghost or sit down?” you ask. 

His mouth tips up, barely. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I’m wanted here.”

The words shouldn’t hurt. But they do. Maybe because of how carefully he says them. Like he’s giving you an out. Like he’s already preparing for the door to close behind him again.

“I don’t invite people in just to kick them back out five minutes later,” you say, voice softening.

“Didn’t feel like an invitation,” he says, a little hoarse. “Felt like a dare.”

You tilt your head. “Is that why you came? To take a dare?”

He finally slips his hands from his pockets, pushes his damp hair off his forehead with one, and shrugs the jacket off with the other. It lands heavy on the back of the chair by the door. He still doesn’t move any farther than a few feet from you.

“I came because I couldn’t stop thinking either,” he says, echoing your words. “And because I didn’t like how we left things.”

“And what exactly do you want to change?” you ask.

Jake steps a little closer, not enough to touch. Just enough to feel it. The pull. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Just… didn’t feel finished.”

His voice is softer now. So is yours when you answer.

“Maybe it’s not.”

That’s all it takes. He surges forward, and you meet him halfway, his hands catching your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you. Your fingers fist into the front of his shirt as your mouths crash together, rough and breathless, all of the restraint burned to ash. There’s no hesitating now. 

Jake kisses you like he’s starving. Like he’s been holding back for too long. His mouth moves against yours with a force that makes you stumble back a step, and he follows without breaking contact, backing you into the nearest wall like his whole body needs to be closer. You tug at the wet fabric clinging to his chest, pulling him in tighter, until there’s no space left to think.

His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips like he needs to feel you, solid and real. And still, the kiss doesn’t stop, it deepens, teeth and tongue and need spilling over until you’re both breathless, gasping between kisses that keep coming.

“I almost came over like six times today,” he mutters against your skin. “Kept telling myself to leave it alone. But then I’d think about you. About last night. About the way you looked when you came.”

You gasp, fingers tightening in the collar of his shirt. He draws back just far enough to see your face, eyes flicking over your lips, your flushed cheeks, your blown pupils.

“I went to the bar just to get some distance. Didn’t work,” he says hoarsely. “I kept picturing you opening that damn note. Wondering if you’d text. Wondering if you’d even want to see me again.”

Your breath hitches. “You left it like that on purpose?”

“I couldn’t explain it,” he says. “Didn’t want to try. I just wanted you to have the choice.”

His hand slides up under your shirt, fingers dragging along your spine like he’s relearning the shape of you. You arch against him with a soft whimper.

“I didn’t stop thinking about you either,” you admit.

His lips twitch. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time, slower but no less hungry. One hand tangles in your hair, the other settles low on your waist. You think maybe he’s going to slow it down. But then he growls softly against your mouth and lifts you without warning.

You gasp as your feet leave the floor, arms tightening around his shoulders. He carries you to the couch in three long strides, but instead of laying you down, he turns you until your front is pressed against the back of it. You grip the cushions instinctively, heart pounding.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “And I will.”

You shake your head, breath shallow. “Don’t you dare.”

He groans, low and guttural, and slides your shorts down your legs. They hit the floor in a careless heap. You hear the clink of his belt next, then the drag of his zipper. His hands are warm and certain as they skim up your thighs, spreading them just slightly.

“Look at you,” he says, almost to himself. “Goddamn.”

He bends forward, chest against your back, mouth brushing the back of your neck. “Been thinking about this all fucking day.”

You moan softly as his fingers trail between your legs, teasing, stroking. Your hips buck involuntarily and he groans. 

“You’re so wet for me. You want it bad, don’t you?”

You nod, voice caught in your throat.

“Say it,” he whispers.

“I want you,” you breathe. “Please, Jake.”

He exhales like the words physically affect him. And then he’s guiding himself into you in one smooth, perfect thrust. You cry out, hands scrambling for purchase as the stretch knocks the breath out of you.

He stills, gripping your hips tight. “Fuck, you feel incredible.”

You turn your head, half-wild. “Move. Please Jake—”

He doesn’t make you ask twice. He sets a rhythm that’s relentless, precise, every movement a deliberate, devastating stroke. His hand curls around your waist, pulling you back to meet each thrust, and the sound of skin against skin fills the room alongside your panting breaths.

“You like that?” he asks, voice rough. “You like being bent over like this, taking every inch?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “God yes.”

He leans in again, dragging his mouth over your shoulder, your throat, the edge of your jaw. “You’re so good like this. So fucking tight. You were made for me, weren’t you?”

You nod, lost to the sensation, the sound of his voice, the feel of him everywhere at once. And then he shifts just slightly and hits a spot so deep and perfect you nearly collapse forward.

“There,” he mutters. “Right there, huh? That’s the spot.”

Your knees tremble. He wraps an arm around you, holding you up, his other hand sliding between your legs again. When his fingers find your clit, you jolt, crying out.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Come for me. Let go.”

Your body shudders, toes curling, head thrown back in a silent scream as pleasure crashes through you in waves. Jake groans behind you, still moving, chasing his own release. A few more thrusts, sharp and wild, and he follows with a strangled moan, burying himself deep as he comes.

Eventually, he pulls back just enough to glance toward the hallway. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s clean up before we pass out right here.”

You smile, legs still shaky as he eases out of you and reaches for your hand. He tugs you down the narrow hallway, fingers laced with yours, the two of you leaving a trail of clothes and laughter behind.

The bathroom is already warm from the storm and the old pipes, and by the time Jake gets the water running, it’s steaming fast.

He steps in first, holding out a hand to help you in like this is something you’ve done a thousand times. His fingers skim your waist as you slide beneath the spray, and then he’s there, chest against your back, arms around your body, his mouth at your neck.

Water pours over you both, hot and pounding. It slicks down your skin, your hair and between your thighs, but none of it can drown the heat still burning low in your belly.

Jake’s hands roam carefully at first. He lathers soap in his palms and glides them over your shoulders, down your back, across your hips. Every touch is patient. Lingering. Worshipful.

“Didn’t expect to be washing you off like this,” he murmurs against your ear, his breath warm even through the downpour. “But now I don’t wanna do anything else.”

You lean into him, head tilting to the side, offering him more skin. “Feels nice.”

He hums, low and gravelly. “You feel better than nice.”

His hands find your breasts, soap slick between your bodies, and you feel his cock twitch against your lower back, already getting hard again.

You glance over your shoulder at him. “You’re insatiable.”

Jake grins lazily, but there’s hunger behind it. “I was good for a minute.” He dips his head to kiss the side of your throat. “But then you started making those little noises again.”

Your breath catches. Your thighs press together instinctively. Without a word, you turn slowly, facing him under the spray. His eyes drink you in, lips parted, chest rising and falling harder now.

You drop to your knees and his breath hitches.

You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the pulse of blood under your fingers as you look up at him. His hair is plastered to his forehead, jaw tense, eyes locked on yours like they’re trying to memorize every second of this.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice suddenly darker. “You look so pretty like that.”

You lick a slow stripe up the underside of his length, savoring the taste of him, the salt and heat and rain. He lets out a choked sound, one hand bracing against the wall, the other sliding into your wet hair.

“Open that mouth for me,” he says softly. “Wanna see you take me slow.”

You do. Lips wrapping around him, inch by inch, the weight of him stretching your mouth until your jaw aches. He moans, low and deep, as your tongue swirls over the head.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Just like that, sweetheart. Look at you. Fucking perfect.”

You suck harder, head bobbing in a steady rhythm now, using one hand to stroke what you can’t take, the other gripping his thigh. His fingers tighten in your hair but he doesn’t force it, he just guides you, caressing the back of your head, his eyes molten. 

“You gonna let me come in that pretty mouth?” he asks, voice shaking. “Is that what you want?”

You moan around him and it vibrates through his cock, making his hips twitch forward.

“God, that’s filthy,” he growls. “You like choking on it? So fucking good for me.”

Your eyes water a little as you take him deeper, relaxing your throat just enough to hear him groan,  long and ragged, like it’s physically hurting him to hold back. His hand strokes your cheek gently even as his voice roughens.

“Look at me,” he pants. “Keep those eyes on mine, baby. I wanna see what I do to you.”

You look up, lips stretched wide around him, and he lets out a broken moan, the tension in his stomach rippling under your hands.

“I’m not gonna last,” he warns, trying to pull back, but you grip his hips and take him all the way in, gagging just slightly as your nose brushes the soft skin at the base of him.

“Fuck.”

That does it.

He comes hard, hips jerking, hand gripping the back of your head as he spills into your mouth with a raw, guttural groan. You swallow it all, not breaking eye contact, and the way he looks at you in that moment is nothing short of sinful. 

When he finally catches his breath, he sinks to his knees in front of you, cupping your jaw in both hands.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathes, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “I don’t even know where you live and I’m already thinking about what the rest of my life would look like if I could keep waking up to that mouth.”

You smile, heart racing, and lean in to kiss him, slow, wet, open-mouthed. He tastes himself on your lips and doesn’t flinch. His fingers are still in your hair when you pull back from the kiss, both of you slick and flushed and catching your breath.

But instead of speaking, he just leans forward and rests his forehead against yours. You stay like that for a minute, quiet, tangled up.

Finally, he murmurs, “Come on. Before we start something else in here.”

His voice is warm and hoarse, with a hint of teasing but there’s a thread of something softer laced through it. 

You nod, and he reaches for a towel, drying you off gently, like he can’t not touch you. Like some part of him still doesn’t believe you’re real.

He wraps the towel around your shoulders and steps back to dry himself, hair wild and waving again as he rakes his hands through it. The sight of him like this, stripped down, unguarded, glistening under the dim yellow light, makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with lust.

By the time you wander down the hallway to your bedroom, slipping into a soft sleep shirt, you hear him at the front door. The metallic click of the bolt slides into place, followed by the creak of old floorboards as he double-checks the windows.

A few seconds later he appears in your doorway. No shirt. Just boxers and flushed skin, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. You shift under the blanket, holding it open.

His expression softens as he steps inside. “Still letting me in?”

You give him a quiet smile. “You were the one who disappeared last time, remember?”

Jake flinches, barely, but it’s there. He climbs into bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight, the scent of cedar and soap clinging to his skin.

“I know,” he says after a moment, settling on his side to face you. “That wasn’t the plan.”

You study him for a second. “You didn’t owe me anything.”

“No,” he says quietly. “But I wanted to give you more than that. I just,” He breaks off, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “I wasn’t in a good headspace.”

You nod slowly, not pushing.

The lamp glows low beside you. Outside, thunder murmurs in the distance, the wind pressing softly against the glass. Jake shifts closer, propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes scanning your face.

“I shouldn’t have left you in bed this morning,” he says quietly.

Your heart knocks once, hard, but you don’t say anything. Just let him keep going.

“I woke up early,” he murmurs, thumb sweeping slow circles over your ribs. “And you were still asleep. You looked so peaceful, and I—I panicked, honestly.”

You turn slightly, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. He meets your gaze, eyes open and honest in the low light.

“I haven’t done something like that in a long time,” he admits. “Not where it felt… like that. Real.”

Your chest pulls tight. “You thought leaving would make it less real?”

“I thought if I stayed, I’d mess it up.”

You roll over to face him fully, reaching up to tuck a piece of his damp hair behind his ear. “You didn’t mess anything up.”

He closes his eyes at your touch, jaw working like he’s chewing on something bigger than this moment. When he opens them again, they’re softer. Sadder.

“I came out here to clear my head,” he says. “Told everyone I needed time to write. Which is true, but that’s not all of it.”

You nod, staying quiet. He exhales, eyes fixed on some point above your head like it’s easier not to look directly at you.

“I got into it with my brothers. Nothing huge, not at first, but it built up over time. Dumb shit. Touring stuff, writing stuff. Me not being able to let go of old versions of who we used to be. Sam called me out, and I took it the wrong way. Josh tried to play peacemaker and just made it worse. Danny told me to stop being a fucking martyr.” He gives a small, rueful laugh. “And they weren’t wrong.”

You watch him quietly, letting him unravel at his own pace.

“I love them more than anything,” he says. “But sometimes I get caught up thinking I have to hold the whole thing together and I push too hard. I don’t let people in when I should. So instead of fixing it, I ran. Ended up here.”

You thread your fingers through his, squeezing gently. “But you miss them.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice a little cracked. “I really do.”

You press a kiss to the inside of his wrist, and he watches you like he doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve that kind of gentleness.

“I didn’t expect you,” he says. “Didn’t think I’d meet someone who’d make it feel okay to be… not okay.”

Your heart flips, and for a second you don’t know what to say. But then you shift closer, tucking your head under his chin, letting your leg slide between his. He pulls you tighter, like he can’t get close enough.

“You don’t always have to be the one holding it together,” you whisper. “Not here. Not with me atleast.”

His breath shudders out against your hair. His arms wrap around you fully now, cradling you like you’re the only thing holding him here. And for a while, neither of you speaks. You just lie there, tangled up in sheets and each other, hearts beating in sync, the storm fading outside the windows.

—

The morning stretches around you like silk. Gray light spills through the cabin windows, diffused and dreamy, dappling the sheets in soft silver. Jake’s breathing is slow against your neck, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that keeps you grounded. Neither of you has spoken in a while. You don’t move. You don’t want to. The world outside the bed feels too uncertain, too full of things that might be said, things that might change everything. In here, it’s just skin and breath and warmth.

Jake shifts behind you, his fingers tightening slightly on your stomach before sliding higher, flattening over your ribs. You drift somewhere between sleep and waking until you feel the press of his lips behind your ear.

“Still hungry,” he murmurs.

You smile, not turning to face him. “For breakfast?”

“For you.”

That makes your breath catch. You laugh softly and finally roll toward him, cheek pressing into the crook of his arm. “You’re relentless.”

Jake’s fingers slide down your side, lazy and affectionate. “Only because you let me be.”

“You planning on staying in bed all day?”

“Not the worst plan,” he says, nuzzling your temple, “but the sun’s out.”

You blink at him. “Barely.”

“Exactly.” His tone is playful now. “Perfect time for a hike.”

You raise a brow. “You hike?”

He reaches down, squeezes the curve of your thigh. “Yes, and pretty well I’d like to think.”

You bite your lip, suppressing a smirk. “Fine. But only if there’s coffee first.”

—

Twenty minutes later, bundled in layers and boots still damp from yesterday’s rain, you follow him into the trees behind the cabins. The path is barely a trail, more like a memory of footsteps, twigs and ferns brushing your knees, fallen leaves slick beneath your boots. The air smells like wet pine and damp earth.

Jake walks ahead, his pace easy but steady. Every so often he glances back to make sure you’re close, offering a hand when the ground gets tricky. You don’t take it every time, but he always offers. Always waits.

“How far is this place?” you ask.

“Not far.”

“Is it real, or are you taking me into the woods to murder me?”

He looks over his shoulder, eyes bright. “Depends how you feel about creative solitude.”

You smile and keep walking.

After about fifteen minutes, the trees begin to thin. The sound of wind rustling the branches softens, replaced by the quiet lap of water against stone. And then suddenly, you see it.

A small lake, hidden deep in the woods. Still and glassy, ringed by moss-covered boulders and leaning pines. The surface mirrors the overcast sky above—clouds shifting like slow-moving thoughts.

Jake stops at the edge, hands in his jacket pockets, and just watches it for a moment like it’s something sacred.

“This is where you come when you write?” you ask, breath catching.

He nods. “When I’m stuck. Or when it all gets too loud.”

You step closer, drawn to the quiet. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s the only place that feels still.”

You glance at him. He’s watching the lake, not you, but there’s something in the line of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders, it’s like this is the part of him he doesn’t usually show.

There’s a fallen log near the shore. He sits on it and pats the space beside him. You join him, boots crunching on damp leaves.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who needs quiet,” you murmur.

Jake huffs out a dry laugh. “That’s the problem. I never thought I did. But then everything got loud all at once, touring, the pressure, my own damn head. And I couldn’t hear myself anymore.”

You study him, the way his thumb runs absentmindedly over his knee, the way his eyes stay on the water.

“I like to come here in the mornings,” he says. “Sometimes I just sit. Sometimes I write. Lyrics, mostly. Half-thoughts. Stuff I never show anyone.”

“You don’t share your lyrics?”

He shrugs. “Not the early ones. Not the raw stuff.”

You look out over the water. “You ever think about letting someone in on it?”

Jake is quiet for a second. Then he turns, his voice lower, more certain. “Maybe I am.”

You meet his gaze. There’s something different in his eyes now. Like he’s let something down, something heavy and protective, just for a minute.

“I’m not trying to impress you,” he says, almost like a confession.

You smile. “That’s good. You’re awful at it.”

He laughs then, full and warm, and leans in to press a kiss to your cheek, just above your jaw. The kind of kiss that lingers longer than it should.

You turn your head and meet his mouth halfway this time. And for a while, the forest falls away.

Only the lake watches. Still. Quiet. Unmoving.

Just like he said.

–

The walk back is quieter.

Not in a strained way, just slower and softer. The kind of quiet that settles in after something real has passed between two people. Jake’s hand brushes yours a few times before he finally just takes it, fingers twisting loosely with yours as you make your way through the woods.

By the time the cabin comes back into view, the sky has shifted again, clouds darker now, the breeze picking up, damp and heavy with the scent of oncoming rain. Jake unlocks the front door and holds it open for you, pausing in the threshold.

“You hungry?” he asks.

You glance back at him, still flushed from the hike, the kiss, the way he looked at you afterward. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Who’s cooking.”

He gives you a half-smile and a raised brow. “I can cook.”

You arch a skeptical brow. “Can you really?”

“Better than you’d think.” He steps inside, kicks off his boots, and heads for the small kitchen. “I make a mean roasted chicken.”

You follow him slowly. “And you have a whole chicken just… lying around in your fridge?”

Jake pauses with his hand on the refrigerator door, then sighs. “No. But I could...”

You smirk. “I could be persuaded.”

He shuts the fridge, leans his hip against the counter, and looks at you. His voice is lower now, more intimate.

“Let me cook for you. Tonight. I’ll make you dinner.”

The words hang between you, more than just a casual offer. Something about the way he says it, the way his eyes don’t leave yours, makes it feel like a quiet offering. 

You nod. “Okay.”

He grabs his keys from the hook by the door. “I think Bishop’s Market is open. I won’t take long.”

You hesitate. “You’re going now?”

Jake glances at the window. A soft rumble of thunder rolls through the sky. “Gotta beat the storm if we can.”

You step toward him slowly. “I’ll come with you.”

His eyes flick up in surprise, then soften. “Yeah?”

You shrug, casual. “Someone has to make sure you don’t get distracted in the wine aisle.”

Jake’s mouth curves into a crooked grin as he tosses you your rain jacket. Outside, the rain starts as a fine mist. The gravel crunches under your boots as you make your way to the Jeep. Jake opens your door for you like it’s second nature, then jogs around to the driver’s side and slides in.

You don’t talk much on the drive into town. The rain dots the windshield in soft patterns, the sky growing darker by the minute. The cabin feels like a world away already, like something you dreamed. But Jake’s hand finds yours on the center console as he drives, and you feel rooted again. The Jeep pulls into the parking lot of Bishop’s Market just as the rain starts to pick up. Jake cuts the engine and glances over at you. “Ready to make some high-stakes grocery decisions?”

You laugh. “I’ve trained for this moment.”

The bell above the door jingles as you step inside. The market smells like lemons and old floor polish. A few townspeople meander through the aisles, grabbing cartons of milk and boxes of crackers. It’s small, cozy, the kind of place where the clerk knows everyone’s name.

Jake leads you toward the produce section, grabbing a basket as he goes.

“You like rosemary?” he asks.

You nod. “I’m not picky.”

He gives you a look. “Liar.”

You laugh again, and he shakes his head, amused. You’re in the middle of choosing between two slightly sad bundles of asparagus when you hear a smooth, older woman’s voice float from behind you.

“Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite stranger.”

You turn just as Jake stiffens beside you, his body language shifting almost immediately, shoulders tightening and his smile fading.

A woman stands at the end of the produce aisle, leaning one hand on a cart. She’s older, maybe in her late forties or early fifties, but undeniably beautiful. Graceful, poised, striking in a subtle way. Her dark hair is twisted up loosely, and she’s wearing a black wrap coat, even though it’s barely chilly out. Her lipstick is a bold, dark, wine colored shade that matches her carefully manicured nails.

Jake forces a polite smile. “Celeste.”

“Didn’t know you were in town,” she purrs, ignoring you entirely. Her eyes move slowly over Jake like she’s trying to remember the shape of him.

He clears his throat. “Yeah. Just for a bit.”

At last, her gaze slides to you. There’s nothing unfriendly in her expression. If anything, it’s too polite.

“And who’s this?” she asks, like she doesn’t already know you’re with him. Like it doesn’t matter.

Jake glances at you, but before he can answer, you extend a hand. “Hi. I’m Y/N.”

Celeste takes your hand with a cool, featherlight grip. Her smile sharpens just a little. “Lovely name. I’m Celeste Rhodes. Jake and I used to be… well.” She pauses delicately, like she’s giving you space to fill in the blanks. “Acquainted.”

Jake shifts beside you.

“Celeste’s lived here for years,” he says, voice deliberately even. “Knows everyone.”

“Not everyone,” she says, giving you a slow, appraising glance. “But I do tend to notice new faces.”

You smile, “I’m just here for a little while.”

“I see,” Celeste says, her gaze dragging back to Jake. “Well, don’t be a stranger. Perhaps I’ll see you at the Hollow…”

With one last lingering look at Jake, and at you, she glides away down the aisle, heels clicking against the tile.

You’re quiet for a moment, unsure what to make of the exchange.

Jake exhales and pulls his hand down his face. “Sorry. She’s… a lot.”

You glance at him. “So.”

He nods, not quite meeting your eye. “Yeah.”

“She seemed friendly.”

His mouth twitches. “She’s… something.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Did you two—”

“Yeah,” he says, cutting you off gently. “A while ago. Brief. Nothing serious.”

You nod slowly, eyes drifting to the end of the aisle where Celeste disappeared. “She goes to that bar.”

Jake hesitates, and that hesitation answers before he says, “Yeah. Met her there.”

You try to swallow the feeling curling in your gut. Stupid. You don’t have a claim. But still.

Jake sees it. He steps closer, lowers his voice. “It was before. Long before you.”

You meet his eyes. They’re steady now. Serious.

“I know,” you say. But your voice is quiet. Less sure than you mean it to be.

He lets out a slow breath and squeezes your hand. “Let’s go cook.”

You nod again, forcing a small smile as he leads you away. But the mood has shifted. Just slightly. The air feels heavier now. 

—

The rain’s picked up again by the time you pull back into the gravel drive, it’s soft and rhythmic against the windshield. Jake kills the engine, glancing over at you as if to check in, but you’re already unbuckling your seatbelt, already pushing the moment behind you.

You carry the grocery bags between you, both of you slightly damp, cheeks flushed from the cold, or maybe from something else entirely. Jake unlocks his cabin door, nudges it open with his shoulder, and you step inside, already peeling off your coat.

“You good?” he asks, setting the bags down on the counter.

You nod. “Are you?”

His eyes flick up, playful. “I will be. As soon as I redeem myself with dinner.”

You arch a brow. “Redeem yourself?”

“I believe I promised to impress you.”

“You better,” you say, already heading for the wine bottle he picked out. “Your reputation’s on the line.”

Jake takes the full glass from your hand, brushing his fingers deliberately over yours. His grin widens. The kind of grin that makes your stomach flip in that scary, exhilarating way. He starts chopping vegetables while you hover nearby, occasionally stealing slices of whatever he’s prepping. Potatoes, rosemary, lemon, garlic. At one point, you reach for a clove just as he does, and your fingers touch. You don’t move. Neither does he.

Jake looks up, close now, his breath brushing your cheek. “You’re trouble.”

You smile sweetly. “You like it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He leans in then, slow and deliberate, like he’s giving you a chance to pull away. You don’t. His mouth brushes yours once, a soft flicker, and then again, firmer, hungrier.

You taste wine on his tongue, citrusy and warm, and the rain outside feels a hundred miles away.

He pulls back just enough to whisper, “Dinner’s going to burn.”

“I can live with that,” you murmur.

But he chuckles, stepping back, dragging his fingers down your arm as he returns to the stove. “Patience.”

“You’re lucky I’m trying to be civilized.”

“You’re lucky I’m trying to focus,” he says, flipping something in the pan.

You sip your wine and watch him—, barefoot, hair damp, sleeves pushed to his elbows, the smell of garlic and rosemary filling the space between you. The tension from earlier has faded, still there, maybe, clinging faintly to the edges, but no longer sharp. 

Jake glances over his shoulder at you. “Set the table?”

“Only if you let me pick the music.”

He tosses you his phone, and you scroll through his playlists like a little treasure hunt, grinning when you find one labeled ‘cabin cooking’.

“You’re disgustingly prepared,” you say.

“Just wait till you see dessert.”

You glance over at him. “You actually got dessert?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t know what you liked, so I got three.”

You blink. “Three?”

He gives you that boyish, maddening smile again. “What can I say? I’m a people pleaser.”

You open your mouth to make a smart remark, but you’re interrupted by the sizzle of lemon hitting hot cast iron and the sudden smell of citrus and butter and thyme in the air. Your stomach growls.

“Okay,” you say. “I’m officially impressed.”

He looks back at you with a grin. “Told you.”

You sit across from each other at the little table, knees brushing beneath the wood, wine glasses full, rain still falling. It feels almost too perfect, too dreamlike, and you find yourself wondering how long it can last. Jake reaches for your hand across the table, and you let him. And for the moment, it’s enough.

—

After dinner, the storm settles in deeper. A full, heavy rain. You dry the last dish while Jake rinses, both of you moving in a rhythm that feels so natural it’s almost startling. He doesn’t talk much, just gives you these quiet looks when your elbows bump or when your fingers graze. You catch one of them now, just as you reach for the same plate, and something in his expression tugs at your chest. It’s not flirtatious. Not entirely. It’s something slower. Heavier. A knowing that sits between the two of you and hums.

“Movie?” he says, drying his hands on a dishtowel.

You raise a brow. “Movie as in lighthearted? Or movie as in soul-crushing tragedy that makes me question everything?”

Jake chuckles, soft and low. “I’ll keep the emotional trauma light. I promise.”

You follow him into the living room. The lights are low, the storm casting gentle shadows against the walls, and the fireplace, still faintly warm from earlier, glows with the last hints of heat. You collapse into the couch with a soft groan, curling your legs under you. Jake scrolls the streaming options in silence, perched on the edge of the coffee table like he’s trying not to hover.

“Dealer’s choice,” you say, gesturing loosely toward the screen. “But I swear to god, if you put on something like Her, I will throw myself into the ravine."

He gives you a look over his shoulder, amused. “Her is a good movie.”

“It’s soul murder disguised as a sci-fi love story.”

He snorts, clicks past it. “Fair.”

After a minute, he selects something without announcing it. A soft guitar strum fills the room, and you glance up to see The Secret Life of Walter Mitty flicker onto the screen.

You tilt your head. “Didn’t expect that.”

“It’s weird,” he says, leaning back beside you. “But quiet. Thought you’d like it.”

Your lips twitch. “Didn’t peg you as a Ben Stiller romantic.”

Jake shrugs, settling deeper into the cushions. “I like the parts where he just… wanders off. Doesn’t say anything, just disappears into a story. That resonates.”

You nod slowly. “You like to disappear?”

He looks at you, not quite answering. “Sometimes.”

The rain ticks louder against the windows. You tug the throw blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over your legs. Jake doesn’t say anything as he shifts closer and drapes the other half across his lap, the heat of his thigh warm through the thin fabric separating you. He smells like cedar and cologne.

Fifteen minutes pass. The movie winds through its strange, dreamlike pacing, and somewhere between a helicopter and a snowcapped mountain, Jake’s pinky brushes yours. Once. Twice. Then stays.

The space between your shoulders hums with static.

He leans back just a little more, arm slipping behind you on the couch. His fingers don’t touch your skin, not yet, but you feel the heat of them hovering there. Like they’re waiting for permission. 

You give in first. You shift, subtle, resting your head lightly against his shoulder. His fingers graze your arm. Soft and slow.

“I forgot how much I like this part,” he says quietly.

You glance up. “Which part?”

He pauses. His voice drops. “The part where everything’s still… undecided.”

You blink, surprised. “You like that?”

“I like the pull,” Jake murmurs, turning his head slightly to look at you. “The not knowing. The ache of wanting and not having.”

Your heart stutters.

“That’s a surprising thing to admit,” you say, voice just above a whisper.

“I know,” he replies, eyes falling to your lips. “But I don’t lie very well.”

Silence falls between you again, but it’s louder now. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the heat under the blanket, the electric space where his hand almost touches your knee.

The movie continues, almost irrelevant now.

You turn just slightly in his arms, enough to face him, enough to study the shape of his mouth and the soft tension in his jaw. His hand finally lands on your leg, fingers curling gently against your thigh beneath the blanket.

You don’t kiss him.

Not yet.

Jake hasn’t moved in several minutes, but you feel the shift in him. In the way his breathing has slowed and deepened. In the way his thumb keeps brushing yours, over and over like a rhythm he doesn’t realize he’s keeping. Like he’s thinking. Or waiting.

You tilt your head slightly to look up at him but his eyes are already on you. 

You whisper, “Jake.”

It’s all you say. But it’s enough.

He turns toward you without a word, takes your face in both hands, and kisses you.

Slowly at first, just a press of lips.

Then again, deeper. A little more urgent. Like he’s been dying to do it all night and couldn’t trust himself until now. You respond without hesitation, hands sliding into his hair, mouth parting under his. It’s instinctive. The way you breathe him in. The way he kisses you like you’re both something sacred and something starving.

You shift slowly, rising to your knees beside him on the cushions. He goes still, eyes following your every motion as you straddle him.

You settle into his lap, your hands braced lightly on his shoulders, legs on either side of his hips. You feel him, already hard beneath you, already aching.

And yet he waits.

His hands hover at your waist, not pulling you closer, not yet. His breath comes heavier, slower, and he blinks up at you like he’s watching something unfold.

“Tell me to stop,” you whisper.

“I won’t.”

Jake kisses you again, deeper now, tongue sliding against yours as his hands explore, careful but certain. He slides them under your shirt, palms warm against your ribs, your waist. 

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” you admit, voice low. “About being here. Like this.”

Jake’s hands grip your hips tighter, restraint flickering in his jaw.

“Me too,” he says, like it’s being dragged out of him.

You press your lips to his. It starts soft. Patient. His lips open under yours with a sigh, his hands moving to cup your waist, holding you close but still letting you lead. When your hips roll forward, dragging over the ridge of him through his jeans, he groans into your mouth.

“Fuck, baby…”

You smile against his lips. “You okay?”

“I’m gonna die if you don’t do something.”

You reach between you and unbutton his jeans. He doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t even blink, just lifts his hips enough to let you tug them down, followed by his boxers. You pause only briefly to take your own pants and underwear off, tossing them somewhere unseen, and then you’re sinking back into his lap, nothing between you now but heat.

He hisses when your slickness drags across the length of him. “You’re already so wet.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, guiding him to your entrance. “For you.”

You sink down onto him slowly, inch by inch, watching his face as you take him fully. His head tips back against the couch, jaw clenched, mouth falling open. His hands grip your thighs like he’s grounding himself.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasps. “You feel—fuck, you feel incredible.”

You start to move. Slow at first, rolling your hips in gentle circles, building a rhythm just for the two of you. Jake’s hands roam—your waist, your thighs, the swell of your ass, like he doesn’t know where to hold on without losing control.

You lean in and kiss the underside of his jaw. “You can touch me,” you whisper.

He groans, pulling you closer, letting one hand drift to your chest, the other up your back.

You find a rhythm, riding him deep and slow, your hands braced on his shoulders, foreheads brushing. The couch creaks under you, the storm outside still pounding against the cabin windows.

Every time you drop your hips, he meets you halfway, eyes hooded, lips parted. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes. “You feel like… like home.”

That nearly undoes you. You brace your hands on his chest, riding him harder now, letting the tension twist tighter between your thighs, your core clenching around him.

“I’m close,” you whisper.

Jake’s hand slides down to your clit, rubbing slow circles. “Come for me,” he says, voice wrecked. “Just like that.”

You do, with a sharp cry, thighs trembling, body tightening around him. He follows fast, hips jerking, arms crushing you to him as he comes with a deep, broken groan into your shoulder.

You collapse against him, both of you panting, bodies slick and trembling, the rain steady and soft outside.

Jake presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, your jaw, your temple. He doesn't say anything at first, just holds you.

Eventually, he whispers, “You wreck me every time you touch me.”

You smile against his hair. “Then I’m not stopping.”

He leans back to look at you, still inside you, hands on your hips. His eyes search yours, something unspoken flickering there.

“Stay the night?” he asks.

You kiss him again.

“Always.”

—

The sky outside is still dark. Only the faintest hint of blue brushes the trees when your phone rings, loud and sharp against the hush of early morning rain. You jolt awake, disoriented, and Jake stirs beside you with a low groan, his arm still heavy around your waist. You scramble for the phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen.

Unknown Number — New York City, New York

Your stomach flips.

You slide your thumb across the screen and whisper, “Hello?”

Jake shifts behind you but doesn’t move much, just waits, silent and warm, listening with half-lidded eyes.

“Y/N? Hi. I’m so sorry for the early call. It’s Madeline from Northlight Media, we got your manuscript from Harper through your agent.”

You sit up straighter, heart slamming. “Oh—hi. Yes. Hi.”

“We’re obsessed,” she says breathlessly. “The entire acquisitions team. We’ve never seen internal votes this unanimous. We want to option your book for a limited series. The first meetings would be in New York this week, ideally, in the next three days. Can you get here?”

For a second, you can’t even speak.

You glance down, half-expecting Jake to still be asleep. But he’s wide awake now, propped up on one elbow. Watching you.

You swallow. “Yes,” you say softly into the phone. “I can.”

Madeline gives you details, names, times. You nod, make noises of agreement, barely able to process it all. Your fingers clutch the quilt like it might anchor you to this place. This moment. This man beside you.

By the time you hang up, your heart is still racing, but for more than one reason. Jake doesn’t ask right away. He just looks at you with sleepy eyes and quiet concern. You stare at the phone in your hand like it’s just given you a choice you didn’t know you’d have to make. Finally, you speak. 

“I have to go to New York. I have to be there in three days.”

Jake sits up slowly, his brow knitting. “What happened?”

You turn to face him. “They want to adapt my book. Like, a limited series. They want me there for meetings this week.”

His expression shifts, shock, then awe, then something harder to read. His fingers reach for yours, tangling gently. “That’s incredible.”

You nod, your throat tight. “It is.”

He squeezes your hand. “You have to go.”

You don’t respond. Not with words. You just look at him, memorizing every detail in the morning light, his messy hair, his warm skin, the way he hasn’t let go of your hand.

He  leans in and kisses your forehead. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

You nod, even as something inside you aches. Because you know he’s right, and you know what’s coming.

You spend the morning in a strange kind of haze, the phone call still echoing in your mind. Jake doesn’t ask questions, and you don’t offer much, just the necessary logistics. The meeting is in two days, you’ll leave tomorrow, you should start packing.

He just nods, his jaw tense. And then he stands, runs a hand through his hair, and says quietly, “Let me help.”

He folds your sweaters carefully and stacks your notebooks in neat piles, never asking which ones are personal. He moves slowly, deliberately, like he’s trying to memorize the way your things look when they’re scattered across a space he’d started to think of as shared.

You catch him once, fingers curled around the sleeve of your rain jacket, staring out the window like he’s a million miles away.

You say his name softly and he startles, lets the jacket go, and shakes his head. “Sorry. Spaced out.”

You don’t push. You just go back to packing, pretending your chest isn’t tight.

Later, you find yourself holding a cracked mug you’d picked up at Bishop’s Market during your first week here, and you hesitate. Do you take it? Leave it?

Jake sees you wavering and reaches out, his hand covering yours. “You should take it.”

You meet his eyes. “What if I want to leave something here?”

A muscle jumps in his jaw, but he doesn’t look away. “You already did.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and heavy between you. You want to say something. Anything. But you don’t. Instead, that night, you eat dinner in the quiet glow of lamplight. Leftovers. Neither of you are hungry, but neither willing to admit it.

You put on a record, one he picked, and it crackles faintly in the background while he dries the dishes you wash. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it feels like it’s made of glass. 

And when you lie in bed later, your bag zipped shut by the door, you feel him pull you closer, tighter than usual, like maybe if he holds on hard enough, time might slow down.

The lamp light is soft and amber, casting long shadows across the walls. Jake lies behind you, one arm draped over your waist, his chest pressed warm and solid to your back. You feel him breathing, slow and steady, but he’s not asleep. You know he won’t be for a while.

You stare at the ceiling, the same thought looping in your head over and over. Tomorrow you’ll be gone. You’ll be gone and you don’t know if you’ll come back.

Your throat tightens, and you press your hand over his, lacing your fingers together. He squeezes back like he’s been waiting for you to do that.

His voice is quiet, almost unsure. “Are you excited?”

You swallow, thinking for a moment before answering. “I think I’m still in shock.”

You tilt your head slightly, voice smaller now. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. But it’s all happening at once. Fast.”

He nods against your shoulder. “That’s how it goes.”

A long pause falls between you.

“You should go,” he says softly. “You know that, right?”

You turn slightly, enough to see the edge of his face in the low light. “I know. Doesn’t mean I want to.”

Jake’s eyes search yours for a long time, quiet and unreadable. Then he says, “Don’t stay for me.”

Your breath catches. “I’m not leaving because of you, either.”

He nods slowly. “Good.”

But there’s a heaviness in his voice. A sadness you both know how to recognize in the other now.

“I don’t want this to just be… a memory,” you whisper, voice catching.

“It’s not,” he says immediately. “It won’t be.”

You press your forehead to his. “But what does it mean? When I go?”

Jake doesn’t answer right away. You can feel him thinking, measuring his words. When he speaks, his voice is low and gravelly.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I want to say we’ll keep talking. That we’ll find a way to see each other. That this, whatever this is, it doesn’t just go away when you drive off.”

You nod against him, your chest aching. “But you don’t want to make promises.”

He exhales. “No. I don’t.”

You understand. You do. The world he lives in doesn’t allow for certainty. And now, neither does yours.

“But I want to,” he adds, and this time his voice cracks just a little. “So badly I do.”

That’s when you kiss him. Slow and tender. Not to start something more, but to ground the moment. To remember it.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“So am I.”

You lie in silence for a while, heartbeats thudding slow between you. You trace the outline of the scar on his arm, and he brushes your hair off your face with a kind of reverence that makes you want to cry.

Finally, you say, “If this is the last night I ever see you—”

“Don’t,” he says quickly, voice sharp with sudden feeling. He shifts, pulling you tighter against him. “Don’t say that. Please.”

Your throat tightens. “Okay.”

He presses his lips to your temple. “Let’s not ruin this with what ifs.”

So you don’t. You stay tangled together under the soft weight of the blankets, not sleeping, not talking, just holding each other. Just memorizing the shape of what this is. For now.

—

The sky is overcast again by the time you’re zipping up your jacket. Your bag is already by the door. The cabin feels different now, emptier, somehow. Like it knows.

Jake stands by the window, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck. He hasn’t said much since breakfast. You haven’t either. You try to think of something to say, some clever, lighthearted line to soften the edges, but it won’t come. So instead, you just breathe and walk to him slowly.

He turns when he hears your footsteps. Your eyes meet, and the silence between you fills with everything that’s been unsaid. You reach for his hand and squeeze it. He laces his fingers with yours like he doesn’t want to let go.

“I guess this is it,” you say, voice barely audible.

Jake shakes his head faintly. “It doesn’t feel real.”

You manage a small smile. “It barely was.”

He steps closer, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “You made this place something else.”

Your chest tightens. “You did too.”

You don’t kiss this time. You just stand there, your foreheads pressed together, his breath warm against your lips, your eyes fluttering closed like maybe if you don’t look, it won’t feel so final.

“Will you call me?” you whisper.

Jake nods. “Yeah. I will.”

But you both know how those promises go. Made with the best of intentions. Undone by time zones and missed chances and lives that move too fast in opposite directions.

Still, it means something to say it.

You hold him one last time. Let yourself feel it all, his scent, the warmth of his arms around you, the weight of his silence. You memorize it because you have to. Because you don’t know when, or if, you’ll feel it again.

When you finally pull away, Jake opens the door for you and the cold air rushes in. The gravel crunches under your boots as you walk toward your car. You open the driver’s side door, and something in your chest cracks just a little.

You turn back. Jake is still on the porch. Still watching you. One hand in his pocket. The other lifted slightly, like he might call you back.

But he doesn’t.

You give him a soft wave. He gives you one back. And then you drive away. You don’t look in the rearview mirror. But if you had, you would’ve seen him still standing there, unmoving, as the first drops of rain began to fall against the metal roof. 

—

At first, it’s constant.

Jake texts you that night from the warmth of his cabin. Tells you he found one of your hair ties on the windowsill. Feels like a ghost of you’s still here, he says.

You smile at your screen, tucked into a hotel bed three thousand miles away, and type back. Maybe I left it on purpose.

The next morning, he calls, just to hear your voice.

You talk for an hour, about nothing and everything. He tells you about a fox he saw crossing the property line. You tell him how the publisher’s office smells like old paper and stale coffee. You say you miss the rain. He says he misses your laugh.

You fall asleep on the phone that night.

And the next.

But time is a funny thing. It doesn’t stop moving.

Your meetings double. There are rewrites. Agent calls. Contracts. You’re suddenly a woman being flown across states and sat in rooms full of people who want a piece of you before they’ve even read the whole book. You don’t notice how much time passes until you check your phone and see you forgot to answer Jake’s message from the night before. Moon’s out early, he wrote. Wish you were too.

You respond late. He takes longer to reply. When he does, it’s still sweet, still him. But quieter.

One day, he forgets to call.

The next day, you forget first.

—

You still try.

You send him photos of your hotel view, of a coffee shop with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, of a paperback copy of your first novel tucked between Fitzgerald and Morrison in an indie bookstore in Brooklyn.

Look what I found, you write.

He replies a few hours later. Nice.

You try to joke: Someone’s feeling short.

He replies: No. Just not sure where I fit anymore.

You don’t know how to respond. You type You still fit and delete it. You type I miss you and delete that too.

Instead, you say, It’s been a hard week.

He doesn’t write back.

—

A few nights later, your phone rings and it’s him.. You pick up instantly.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

His voice sounds the same, but not. There’s a distance to it now. 

“I was just…” he trails off, then starts again. “I was listening to something we worked on. That riff I was messing with when we met.”

You sit on the edge of your hotel bed. “How does it sound now?”

“Like you,” he says, and your throat tightens.

Neither of you talks for a beat.

“I don’t think I’m good at this,” he says.

You blink. “At what?”

“This. Long distance. The texting and waiting and feeling like I’m interrupting your new life.”

“You’re not—” you start, but he cuts in.

“I know you don’t mean to make me feel that way,” he says, gently. “But I do.”

You press your hand over your eyes. “Jake, I don’t want to lose this.”

“I don’t either,” he says. “But I don’t know if I can watch you fly without feeling like I’m still on the ground.”

You say his name, and he says yours back. Just once. Quietly, and it feels like a goodbye.

You both stay on the line a little longer, not talking, just breathing. Until finally, you whisper, “Goodnight, Jake.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

And then it ends.

You don’t talk much after that. 

There are a few messages in the beginning. A photo of a notebook page with messy chords scribbled in the margins.A voice memo from him once, with wind and the sound of birds and a guitar strum that trails off before a lyric can start. Like maybe the words still weren’t ready. Or maybe he couldn’t say them to anyone but you. 

You save it. You listen to it in your apartment in New York when the city feels too loud, when your own words won’t come, when loneliness creeps in just under the doorframe. It doesn’t make you feel better. But it does remind you that something happened. That it mattered.

Still, you don’t reply. Not because you’re angry. Not because you want him to hurt.

But because every time you try to type something, it splinters. You write half a sentence and delete it. You record a voice memo and erase it. You tell yourself you’re giving it space. That maybe he needs time, too. But weeks pass. Then months. And the silence starts to feel permanent.

You throw yourself into work. You say yes to meetings, to revisions, to countless deadlines. You let yourself get swept up in a current of motion because it’s easier than stillness. Easier than thinking too long about rainy days spent on porches, and pine trees, and the way his hands felt on your skin. You continue to work on your second book. It’s almost done now. There is so much of him twisted into the words that it pains you. You wished he wasn’t, but he is. 

Eventually, the texts slow. The voice memos stop. The thread that connected you, the one neither of you ever quite named, begins to unravel without either of you pulling. You never have the conversation. You never really say goodbye.

You just… stop.

And maybe that’s the part that haunts you the most. Not what was said.

But what wasn’t.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

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[vanfleeter]

Well.. 🥵 Mr. Richy Rich with his empire of sorts 😂 But aside from that, I absolutely enjoyed this. Can't wait to see things from his perspective 😏

Welcome to Chapter One and the introduction of our female lead - Taylin Hargrove. 💚 This is a story idea that came to light after a shared need for another vampire Jake fiction. We hope you enjoyed our prologue and are wondering who the hell is Narin. All we can say is to buckle up for that one — she’s… interesting. 

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, talk of stalking, hard language, a little bit of gaslighting, vampires being vampires, biting, dubious consent on that biting, sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, power dynamics might be a little off - again, vampire. If we’ve missed something, please let us know, but read at your own caution.

Word count: Approx. 5900

*please be kind - though it’s been beta read, edited, and re-read by both of us, mistakes happen. We just do this writing thing for fun.

Chapter One - Taylin

     Fuck it was hot. The thought pressed into my overheated skin and across my cursing tongue as I whipped the scratchy sheet off and peeled myself from the bed. I managed to make it to the bedroom door by only ramming into the dresser once, maybe caught a toe on the bed frame and couldn’t stop nearly falling over the vanity chair. I slowly opened the door with a backwards glance to make sure that I was not disturbing Vera with my antics. The air in the main living area of the cabin was marginally less stifling as compared to the bedroom. I shuffled through the soft gold sheen of the nightlight to retrieve a glass of ice water from the kitchen. A cool breeze caught me from the open kitchen window as if beckoning me to go outside. 

      The back porch had a lovely view of the creek that tumbled down the mountain. The breeze, which had kissed at my skin inside the cabin, wrapped me up instantly as I sat down on one of the adirondack chairs. The first three days of our friend group cabin trip had blown by in a haze of alcohol and laughter. With seven days to go, I looked forward to time on the lake, hiking, cooking, drinking, music and more drinking and laughter. My heart thrummed in my chest. I needed this outing. Just the friends; not the significant others. Just us like it had been through college - the six of us. We had been lucky that most of us had stayed around the Charlottesville area. Our group was too tight-knit to really disband despite the careers or relationships that might come and go. Or at least that was the hope. Six years had passed since we graduated and we had all held firm to the stringent support systems that we gave each other. It was a good group.

      I curled my knees under me and settled into the chair as my eyes drifted closed. The air was perfumed with the scents of pine and dirt and life as if the altar of the Earth was freshly cleaned from the day. Beautiful. The moon, hanging with just an exposed sliver of its face, allowed for the starlight to mesmerize me. A flash down by the water edge caught my gaze. I smiled as I realized that there were fireflies dancing in and around the long blades of grass and rocks. Perfect. The quiet filled me with a stillness that I craved.

      Life beyond the vacation was busy. Work at the hospital was beyond crazy and I was known as of late, to be working seven days a week just to keep up with the shit that crossed my desk. As a marketing strategist for the teaching hospital, there was always something going on amongst the menagerie of departments - some major benefit, some hurdle crossed, some major crisis that had been diverted - all of them needing to be recorded and held up for veneration. That was my job. And I was in a department of two people to cover it all. I allowed my thoughts to traverse to Tamara, hoping like hell that she was holding on for dear life while I was gone. 

     The sharp snap of a twig brought me out of my head to search the dark edge of the woods. My throat burned with an anxiousness as I leaned forward. A second snap rang out. Something was out there. I slid to my feet and moved closer to the railing so as to get a better look. Perhaps it was another soul such as myself, finding the night too hot to sleep. Fuck, hope it’s not like a bear or…

     *~SNAP~*

      I swallowed around a choked breath. My heart was thundering while my bare feet pulsed to retreat back inside. That cool breeze touched the back of my neck like icy fingers. I was just about to call out when movement in the deep shadows made every muscle freeze. My tongue felt heavy as that movement stopped. If it was a bear - what the hell was I to do? I took a half step towards the door. Another snap followed by silence. I dragged my upper lip in between my teeth as I took another half step towards safety.

      A raccoon bumbled its way out onto the big rock of the opposite bank. I rolled my eyes closed over my foolishness. The little creature, a young thing by the looks of it, was a curled bundle of fluff at the water’s edge, taking an evening drink. I mirrored the behavior, retreating back to the rail to sip at my water. Just as my heart returned to normal rhythm, there was a hard snap of a stick in the opposite direction of the raccoon. I noticed the animal scurried off. The air turned heavy as the breeze stilled to the point that even the tops of the trees stopped moving. 

      A burning, threatening storm cast itself across my chest. Hesitancy turned to fear as I peered into a set of black eyes that were mere inches from my own. Icy breath rolled across my cheek as the outline of a figure began to sharpen. My hand slipped on the glass and it fell with a crash to the ground. I fell back, tripping over my feet with my heart ripping from my chest. The arm of the chair slammed into the small of my back as my thoughts scrambled through dread that poured through my veins. 

      “I didn’t mean to startle you,” a voice filled with rasp touched my mind as I was just about to launch towards the door to escape the dark.

      Big gulps of air struggled through my throat; my hand clutched to my chest as I took in the situation. A man was standing on the opposite bank of the creek. He was dressed in a black t-shirt, a lighter colored flannel tied around his waist, and dark gray cargo pants with heavy hiking boots. His hair, dark chestnut in color, was tied back with a few loose and messy strands that framed his face. He had been hiking for some time, his clothes relayed that notion with splatters of mud and stains of nature. I rose to my feet, albeit slowly as I moved to take in the sight of this man better.

      “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, once again, as if trying to get me into conversation. He stepped down, balancing on a rock as he began his journey across the narrow creek.

      “It’s okay,” I managed after making sure my skin was still in place. “Kind of late to be hiking.”

      The grin that spread his lips made my brain short circuit. He took a few more quick steps, the last landing in the shallow of the water with a splash before pushing his athletic frame up the embankment. “I started before dawn. It’s been close to a thirty mile loop today. Not bad. Not done, though.”

      My brows rose as an impressed sound escaped. “Not done? Are you staying here in the campground?”

      “No. I’ve got my own cabin about three miles up the hill,” he explained as he unhooked a water bottle from his pack. “Thought I’d take the shortcut through the grounds. Figured no one would be awake for me to bother.”

      I nodded, unable to move my gaze from the man. He was intoxicating to look at as he took his drink and wiped at his mouth, and then smiled again as he turned his full attention back to me.

      “Enjoying your visit?” he asked as he lowered his gaze from mine for what seemed the first time.

      “Very much. But it’s early days,” I answered. “You live here?”

      “Sort of. When I want to, I am here.”

      What an odd way to answer. 

      “Maybe I’ll see you on the trails,” he said, dragging the strap of his backpack on his shoulder as he adjusted the pack against his back.

       I mimicked his wave and smile. The world seemed smaller the further away he moved. A breath passed through my lips that I barely registered. I caught how he glanced over his shoulder with another wave as he skirted up the main path that would cut him through the campgrounds and beyond. I plunked back down in the chair as all my energy flushed down through my toes. A ghostly trace meandered over the shell of my ear like a lover’s touch. Coolness washed over my whole body - like all of the summer heat had instantly evaporated to leave me in a sleepy, comfy state. I made my way back to bed, snuggling down in the sheets to welcome gauzy dreams of a man with molten eyes and a naughty grin.

      The next day saw me on the trails heading up the mountain with the group. I had not said anything about the man from the night before. Hell - I hadn’t even really digested the encounter myself. My thoughts were vague at best. He felt like something out of a fever dream, or perhaps the start of a porn movie. Those eyes that had lingered across every inch of me as if he was ready to devour my flesh. Indeed, he had studied me quite openly like a painting. Heat colored my cheeks and the inside of my thighs with the thought, keeping me distracted as we wove our way up the trail to the peak. Each reveal of a private cabin pushed a wonder if that was where the mysterious man rested his head and absorbed the beauty around him. My grin flared with hope to hear the gravel of his voice again.

       It was Josie and Merri’s night to cook, so the rest of us found ourselves by the firepit while we waited. I took a long, slow drag from a cigarette, feeling that coolness that had washed over me from the prior night once more. Relaxation swooned over my skin and face and I felt like I was at peace amongst the laughter and joy of my friends.

      “Taylin!” 

      Josie’s voice cut through my hazy state. My eyes rolled open to find her above me holding a bunch of wildflowers that had been tied together with twine and an envelope. My gaze froze on the scent that wafted from the paper - all earthy and savory. It was moments before her fast words finally filtered through the mire of my brain.

      “...he didn’t want to stay,” she replied, eyes wide and mouth tugged up.

      “Wait. What? What are you talking about?” I stammered as I sat up, catching the bunch of flowers as she thrust them at me.

      “This guy was just at the door. He wanted me to give these to you - light brown hair, green eyes, little wine stain mark on her shoulder - you,” she said, flustered over the cat calls and laughter of the others. “I invited him in, but he said he didn’t want to bother our “festivities”. What the fuck was that? He didn’t even know your name, Taylin.”

       I traced the corner of the envelope. “Oh, uh, last night it was so hot in the room that I couldn’t sleep.”

      “You mean you couldn’t sleep through Vera’s snoring!” Michelle joked, eliciting a slap from the affronted Vera.

       “Seriously. Weren’t you all hot?” I asked, looking around the waiting expressions. “Anyway, I went out on the back porch for a bit and this guy showed up on the other side of the creek and scared the shit out of me. He apologized, we chatted and went on.”

        “Well, that’s fucking creepy,” Andie remarked before taking a very unladylike gulp of her cocktail.

       “No, he was out hiking-”

       “What time was this at?” Josie asked as she folded her arms across her chest.

       “I don’t know, around two,” I answered with a shrug.

       There was silence as all eyes stopped on me. I knew what this sounded like: a strange guy outside our cabin at two in the morning. Yeah. Pretty fucking creepy.

       “It wasn’t like that,” I argued. “He had been out hiking all day and still had a few miles until he was home. He’s got a place up higher on the mountain. He said he was just finishing up like thirty miles or something.”

       Silence. I rolled my eyes as I tried to shrug off my own standoffish feelings. I set the flowers in my lap while I opened up the envelope. I was once again inundated with the savory scent of masculine and wild and earthy tones that made my stomach clench in delight.

       “So, we have this stalker to worry about now?” 

       “Not a stalker,” I grumbled as I drew out an expensive slip of heavy linen paper. 

       A token to express my apology in startling you this morning. I was neglectful in asking for your name and for that, I am all the more sorry. Perhaps our paths will cross again in the future. ~ Jake

        My eyes widened on their own volition. The man could turn a phrase.

       “What the hell does it say?” Kit asked, voice sharper than it needed to be.

      I read it one more time for myself before repeating it aloud. I had five sets of eyeballs weighing heavily upon me. I shrugged. What else could I do?

      “Still can’t tell me he doesn’t give stalker vibes,” Andie stated as I rose to put the flowers into water.

       I returned to my empty townhouse six days later. I fought the urge to check in on work. I was sure that it was going to be a mess. Instead, I wrapped myself in my favorite lounge clothes and flopped down on the couch with some Supernatural in the background and scrolled through pictures of the vacation. Everyone was happy. It was a good time. And it was probably the last time we were going to be able to do such a thing for a while. It had taken nearly eighteen months just to make the arrangements for this last outing. I was sullen about it. I knew I was acting like a brat; being the only one not in a serious relationship. Merri had announced that she and Bastion were planning on trying for a baby in the next year. Andie had her news as well - she was taking a residence position at a university in Wales. We celebrated, but in the back of my mind I just tried to soak up as much as I could with these strong, wonderful women because cracks in our group were forming. It was all right. It would be all right.

 Three weeks later, I was in Jacksonville, Florida, for a four day conference. After the first ten hour day, I was antsy for movement and life. There was a nightclub within walking distance of my hotel and I thought an hour of loud music and louder people might cure me. I patted myself on the back for packing the light little sundress that hugged in all the right places and the matching flats that would allow me to walk around like a normal human being while still being cute.

      Adonis clutched to an eclectic vibe; full of shadows and bursts of light that featured sharp edges and a vague deco design. My dress gave off a faint glow under the dim blacklights and neon mix that pulsed with the beat of those moving around on the packed dance floor. I made my way to the bar and took a perch close to the dancing while far enough away to not attract that I was alone. The bartender was simply gorgeous - all perfect hair and skin, with eyes that flashed in the dark. I ordered a fine glass of pinot noir and turned to people-watch. 

      Three sips in, a sensation of warmth crossed my chest as a cool shiver worked its way down my neck. I looked up to see if I was under an a/c vent. The wine tasted spicy on my tongue as I tried to distract myself with another savory sip. The beat in the air turned heavier, darker, sending my brain down a path that I so enjoyed. I watched the tangle of bodies twist and writhe on the dance floor; the whine of an electric pulse of keyboards injected a restlessness under my skin. A scent I had smelled before struck my nose - woodsy and wild. I turned, scanning those that were close, thinking perhaps there was someone with an exotic cologne that was similar to the man in the woods. 

      “Excuse me,” a voice called from behind the bar. I turned back to find the rather beautiful bartender before me with a smile. “The man at the other end of the bar would like to buy you a drink. It’s company policy to ask if the patron would like the drink ahead of time. If you do not, I will ask him to leave you be.”

      I followed where the bartender was pointing with a smile. My breath caught at the sight of a pair of dark eyes and dark chestnut colored hair. It was Jake - the man from the woods, this time he was dressed in a black button up that was hardly buttoned, with his long hair loose around his shoulders.

      “Please tell him I accept, thank you,” I said, my heart racing at just the sight of him.

      “Very good,” the bartender returned, a look of relief in their face. “The boss never does this.”

      My eyebrows shot up over the comment. Boss. He owned this club? The bartender reached for a bottle well out of my price range, bringing it before me to inspect before he opened it with a grin that should have been followed by a purr.  I shifted my gaze, hoping that Jake was going to come over to join me. He did not move; nor did he show any intention of moving from his perch. The bartender pushed the glass forward as he set the fancy black bottle to the side.

      “Enjoy,” the bartender said with a tip of their head.

      I lifted the glass to my face, breathing in heady earthen and floral notes that tickled my senses. As I took the first tentative sip, it trickled down my tongue like silk, and its lush bite and swoon of flavor made my eyes roll back with delight. I think I may have even hummed a bit as I lowered the delicate glass back to the bartop. A grin pulled at the corners of my mouth as I looked for Jake once more. He wore no real expression; his eyes heavily lidded as his chin lifted slightly. I shivered as the cold began to bite down my spine. Strange. Everyone else seemed to wear a sheen of heat. I slowly sipped at the drink, knowing that the cure of my own chill was evident - I could take a spin on the dancefloor. So much for my hour here. I could stay a bit longer. The first workshop I was signed up for wasn’t until after lunch.

     The bartender returned, their eyes glinting in the low light. “He would like to know if you would like another.”

     I hummed as I pushed the glass towards them with a raised eyebrow. “Does your boss ever dance?”

     They grinned over a soft laugh. “Not that I’ve ever seen.”

     “That’s too bad; and you’ve never seen him buy a single lady a drink either,” I remarked with a flair of incredulousness as I leaned forward on the bar to bring them closer to me. “Do me a favor, yeah?”

      I turned my gaze back towards Jake who mirrored my own mischief filled grin, but his dark eyes were sparking with curiosity. The bartender made an affirmative sound as I drew even closer.

      “Tell your boss that it’s rude to buy a lady a drink and then not join her,” I whispered, all the while taking him in. The tip of his tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth. Every ounce of my blood began to rush through me. Seduction was not my forte, but it sure as shit was his and I was hitting all of his buttons. “Tell him that if he would like to join me in a drink, I will be on the dance floor. He owes me that at the very least.”

      As I straightened my back, I found that the bartender was thrumming with energy. They left me with a nod, making their way directly to Jake. I did not watch the outcome, merely swayed my way to the writhing mass that was the dance floor. I swiveled through the tangle until I was able to carve out my own space towards the back corner. I may have been dancing, but it was for me and no one else. Sex appeal and beauty, two things I felt so rarely, pulsed across my flesh. I had felt the control of the moment and relished it. I barely thought of what Jake would actually do, but…

      I ground my way down an invisible body, imagining that he was before me. The smell of woods and wilds filled me as I spun slowly. I didn’t care what I looked like. I felt the music through my whole body and I went with it. Power filled my veins and I vibrated with it - all in hopes that he would glimpse this rare output on my part.

Just as my mind started to drift into territory that I was calling myself an idiot, a set of hands grabbed at my wrists from behind. I glanced over my shoulder, ready to tell whoever it was to back off until I was once again met with that set of dark eyes and naughty grin. He fell into step with me, slow and low, grinding back and forth to the beat. One hand landed at the top of my thigh, the other held fast to my wrist, but positioned out from our bodies. 

      “I am glad our paths crossed again,” he said in my ear, each word wrapped in sex. “Do I get to be graced with your name?”

      “Taylin,” I said, leaning my back into his front and looking up at him as I slid down a little, loving the feel of his solidness against me. 

      He brought my captured hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss into the skin. “I’ve thought of you often, Taylin.”

      A pinch flared across the plane where he kissed but was gone in less than a second. Had he nibbled my skin? My attention flashed back to the hand on my thigh as it crept up to my hip. Heat started to climb through my body; first at my toes then undulating like a tide, up my legs and flooded across my torso. My heart thrummed with joy as the flame surrounded it and pulsed like a lapping tongue up to my throat and through my mouth. The spell this man was casting across my body consumed me - and I welcomed it.

      His mouth passed across my shoulder and I felt a rumble through his chest that excited me all the more. “You are making my employees see a side of me that I have carefully hid for some time,” he whispered into my ear. “I dare say you are ruining my reputation. I like it.”

      The room faded to black as the music silenced. A few happy chirps filled the air with anticipation. Jake wrapped his hand around my arm and tugged me with him. I had no idea how he was seeing anything in the mirk, but with the wine making me feel bulletproof, I was more curious about where he was taking me. Just as the house lights began to strobe with a fresh beat, I heard the click of a door. Jake turned and held open a darkly painted employee only entrance. I was washed in an amber light as the sound was cut with the door closing behind him. He pointed to a narrow elevator door. I looked at him dubiously.

      “Still a stranger,” I said as he moved around me to press the up button. “Not sure if it’s such a good idea to be alone with you. My friends thought you were a stalker.”

      He laughed quietly. “I’ve got a place atop the club.”

      “Oh, is this where you live?”

      “When I want to be, I’m here.”

      My brows pinched. “So cabin in the Smokies, apartment above your nightclub -”

     “Well, one of my nightclubs.”

     “What do you do exactly?”

     “The company that I own operates twenty nine clubs across the east coast, LA, Seattle, Portland and Chicago,” he said just as the elevator door opened and he guided me inside. “We also operate twenty restaurants in mostly the same cities as the clubs.”

      “And you have a place in each city?” I asked, my voice small.

      He grinned in his answer. 

      “Generational wealth helped you along?” I eked out, not sure why, but I let it fly.

      “Nope,” he sighed. “I built this all myself.”

      Thankfully, the door slid open. I followed him out into a nightscape of Jacksonville and the ocean beyond. I watched as he walked forward towards the kitchen as I drifted towards the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the city. 

      “Drink?” he asked as the sound of ice cubes danced through the air.

      “Just water, thank you,” I answered.

      There was a pause but he said nothing. 

      “It’s beautiful up here,” I commented just for the sound of it.

      My skin began to cool and I fought a shiver as he drew close once more. He offered me a cut crystal glass but had nothing for himself. There was a softness in his gaze that set me back to ease. A few sips of the water and I felt comfortable enough to turn my attention back to the window and rest in the quiet. He moved away for a few more moments until soft music began to play in the background. 

      “With all of these residences, where is it that you really call home?” I asked as I set down my drink to find him moving around the back of the flat.

      “Michigan is where I’m from originally,” he answered, his voice rich with rasp. “I guess I really don’t think of a single city to call home as I’m too mobile for work. Where I am is where home is, I suppose.”

      We fell into conversation about my job and home and friends. He completely disarmed me like he was an old acquaintance from school. All the while, he kept his distance, though never strayed too far to be out of my line of sight. He returned to me to sit down on one of the long, plush sofas. He asked questions, I answered - simple. The evening drew on and the long day began to tug on my spirit. The reality of the next day started to slap at the inside of my responsible mind and I was second guessing myself as to why I was standing in this super expensive apartment with a man who was very much out of my league. 

      “Stop,” he whispered, suddenly at my side.

      The notes of a song that I had swooned over many-a-time began to weave itself around me. Jake held his hand out for me to take. Coolness swept around me again, making my brain fog over a bit. He wrapped me up and swayed me around before falling into a shuffling dance. I breathed him in as he drew close. I really liked the feel of his body against mine. 

       Take me back…

       I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Jake smiled at me, which made it worse.

       Take me back to the night we met…

       “Not too many people can say they were scared shitless the night they met,” I giggled as he turned me.

       “Oh, I don’t know,” he replied, voice flat of tone. “You showed that glass who was boss when you dropped it to run away.”

        I laughed harder and he pulled me flush up against him. “I am glad our paths crossed again, Taylin.”

       The air evaporated from my lungs as I lost myself in his gaze. “You make me feel reckless,” I admitted, my lips hovering just over his.

       “And you make me feel sexy,” he said, tracing a finger down my jaw. “You look at me like you want me to tear you apart.”

       I felt his lips press to mine with a shock of skin and heat and cold and… I melted into him. He tasted like he smelled - woodsy and wild and untamed as my back pressed against the glass. My body exploded with a want that I had never felt as one hand followed the curve of my torso while the other cradled my cheek, keeping me right with him. I was throbbing for him as he pushed my chin upwards with the press of his thumb. His mouth brushed down the column of my throat. I whimpered as the heat of his tongue lapped the delicate skin. He kissed and sucked his way until he reached the nook of my shoulder.

       “Truth is,” he whispered, turning his nose to nuzzle into the skin, “I think you can shred me into pieces and I’d want more.”

       “Fuck,” I ground out as he nibbled at the skin. I yelped as he clamped down only to soothe with a cool breath.

       He rose up, coming nose to nose with me, those dark eyes incinerating me where I stood. He crashed into me again. I was becoming drunk on this man. He ground his heavy cock into my thigh as his fingers dug into my ass. I sucked on his tongue as wave after wave of desire pumped through every square inch of my core. I wanted that cock in my throat and between my tits and thrusting harshly into me to hit spots that had been long ignored by male kind. A vibrator was fine in times of drought, but damn if this man wasn’t going to make me walk funny and I would thank him for it.

       I suddenly found my face up against the window and my hands pressed above my head. His fingers were dragging up the edge of my dress when he paused, his breath heavy in my hair.

       “Please tell me you want this,” I whispered, catching his reflection in the glass.

       “I wanted this from the moment I saw you,” he answered. “Didn’t seem right to hang around after I took you by surprise.”

       “I hoped to see you hiking while we were there,” I admitted, as his fingers worked the tiny buttons of the dress. “I looked for you.”

       “I’m sorry you didn’t find me,” he said, shifting the fabric of the dress just right so that it fell to the floor. 

        I was laid bare before the city and the ocean as he placed sin tainted touches to my flesh. He tore away my underwear and plunged in between my folds. I dripped down my thighs and onto the floor as I threw my head back to find stability in his frame behind me. Lust clouded my every rational thought that I did not know this man - that I needed to stop this - I needed to… Fuck it felt good as he slipped two fingers in and touched every part of me that I held dear.

        “Ride those fingers,” he demanded, low and full of a deep hum of desire.

        My hips rolled forward and he pulled me back only to repeat until I was a mess of mewling mass of flesh. The bra fell away and I was smashed up against the glass like a specimen. The sound of his fly filled my ears and I sighed with want. He pulled my hips back while pressing in between my shoulder blades to keep me in place. My thighs quivered with anticipation as he plunged into me. I gasped as he sheathed all of him the first go and stopped balls deep within. He held me suspended for what seemed like minutes, allowing my body to adjust to his size. His lips kissed at the base of my neck once more as his fingers circled my clit in lazy circles. He bit into the meat of my shoulder as he thrust hard into me again. My jaw dropped but no sound came out as he began to rail me into the window without mercy. And I loved it. My body begged and wept for more of his touch and cock and mouth. I came hard time and again. Normally, I was lucky if I came once with a man, this constant state of orgasm was all new. My rational mind wanted to point out it was also because I was being fucked before half a million people, while my smutty mind reminded me that I was truly being fucked within an inch of my life before half a million people.

        The floor was slick with my cum as my toes tried to find purchase to grind back on him. He shoved me harder to keep me in place. He bit again, his tongue hot as he soothed the affronted skin. My chest exploded as my legs began to give way to his pleasure. His hands locked around my hips as he quickened his pace. I whimpered as he shot his load into me with a growl that pierced my thoughts and cunt and every inch of my flesh as he claimed all that was me. His body spasmed wildly as he melted us down to the floor before the glass. His fingers kept brushing my bud as if begging my cunt to continue to swallow him whole to milk every ounce of his cum away. 

       I was so tired as he wrapped us up on the floor in a rash of warmth and kisses and praise. I felt him guiding me to my feet and leading me back to the bathroom to clean up. He dragged my body into his bed and lay with me, smoothing my hair and whispering words and lyrics to songs I didn’t know until I was drifting away on a cloud of a hazy dream of him.

     Waking with a start in a strange bed was new. Waking with a start in a stranger's bed with said stranger gone was disquieting. A note on the nightstand informed me that Jake had been called to Miami and was already gone. He would return to Jacksonville before ten that night if I wanted to join him for dinner. His number was neatly underlined as he pointed out that he lacked my number. I grinned as I brought my feet out from the warmth of the bed. I found my dress, torn undies and bra with a set of sweats and t-shirt next to it with another little note for me to take. I dressed, wincing as I tried to move. My whole body ached, but none so much as my left hand. I studied it, trying to find the upset, but the skin looked fine. It felt like it was on fire, just beneath the skin. Weird. It wasn’t so much that it was going to ruin the day, but it ached - noticeably.

Well… We hope you liked this week’s chapter. Next week is our first POV from Jake and getting a little bit bigger view of his world.

Tag List

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@sinarainbows @vanfleeter @justwantjosh @sacredsparrow @josh-iamyour-mama

@gvfmarge @joshylanefleet @lizzys-sunflower @sanguinebats @psychedelectable

@beebloopbleep @its-interesting-van-kleep @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @lvnterninthenight @thewritingbeforesunrise

[vanfleeter]

I'm currently sitting on my bedroom floor and finally getting the chance to read this and... Perfecto. It unfolded so beautifully, tugging at the right heart strings for both love and uncertainty. I absolutely devoured all of this. 🖤

Petrichor - I

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 12.0k

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol, Angst, Touching, Kissing, Graphic Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, and More.

Listen to the Playlist: Apple Music

A/N: Okay, so… I disappeared again. I know. But in my defense, I was literally building a baby from scratch. I finally gave birth and now that I’m slowly crawling back to sanity and sleep, I’m also back to writing again. Massive thanks to my beautiful, deranged support system who cheered me on through pregnancy, hormones, and every half-written Google Doc. They always remind me that delusion is, in fact, a team sport. What brought me back from the depths you may ask? Jake Kiszka and Mirador. That man had the audacity, and now here we are. Let’s get back into it, shall we? ❤️

The rain in Dunhaven didn’t let up. Not for an hour, not for an entire week. Ever since you turned the key in the door of the rental cabin, tucked deep in the cedar trees. Dunhaven isn’t a town you will find on a map. It’s the kind of place most people only stumble upon on their way somewhere else. It’s a small town, maybe a thousand people total. There’s one place to eat, the diner called The Lantern, where the lights are always dim and the waitress doesn’t need to ask your name to know your order. There’s a tiny market, Bishops, that’s run by an older couple who never left this place. A small bookstore called The Nook, with a crooked sign and a small orange cat that roams the aisles. There are no stoplights, only one main road in and out, and a seemingly endless amount of rain.

Just outside of town the main road turns to gravel and at the end sits a row of three cabins, one of them, yours. It has blue shutters and is rented out seasonally to people who need space to unravel, like yourself. One has red shutters and is seemingly empty, and one has dark brown shutters and is tucked a little deeper into the woods, as if it’s trying not to be noticed. Ivy has grown over the side of the cabin, further camouflaging the wooden home. Initially you believed you were the only person around, that is, until recently. Late one night a rumble filled the air, and as you peeked through the window you saw a dim glow suddenly emanating from the window of the third cabin.

That was ten days ago.

You stand by the window now, a mug of tea cooling in your hands as you continue watching the rain blur the outside world. The maple tree in the front yard has begun to change colors, letting you know that fall is rapidly approaching in hues of rust and gold. The leaves sway in the wind as rain falls sideways in the neverending storm.

You’d found Dunhaven on accident, a listing appearing on Airbnb late one evening. You needed silence. A distraction. Maybe a little bit of isolation if you were honest. It had been fourteen days now, and you’d written exactly one paragraph. Every morning you would sit in the big velvet chair by the wood stove and write. Or at least try to.

You came to Dunhaven with a plan. Not a strict one by any means. You told everyone that you needed space to work on your next book, but what you’re really trying to write isn’t just any book. It’s the story you’ve never truly had the courage to tell. A story that's more personal than anything you’ve published.

You thought that being away from the noise of the city and the pressure that came with it would help strip things back, but the silence here is louder than you expected. You find yourself circling the same sentences over and over. Starting new pages only to delete them. Your notebook is filled to the brim with half thought out ideas that will never see the light of day. It feels like every time you try to give your main character a voice, she sounds too much like you, or maybe not enough. You keep writing her into scenes you’ve lived, but then deleting them out of guilt, because the truth is, this isn't just some fictional story about a woman who disappears into the woods. It’s about you, and the version of you that wonders if she has the right to want to change her ending. To want more from her life.

You came here to write a novel, but you may have to write yourself back to life first. That’s why you’re here. To figure out how.

The rain softens for just a moment, just a light mist sprinkling over the trees. After staring at the blinking cursor on your computer screen for the better part of two hours, the porch seemed like the best place to clear your head. So, with your mug of tea in hand, you open the front door and step out onto the damp wooden porch slats. You sit down on the porch swing and exhale, letting your legs sway gently back and forth. Across the way, the third cabin stands dark, the blinds drawn tight. There’s no sign of your mystery neighbor, not that you were really looking.

Well, maybe a little bit.

You close your eyes, listening to the wind blow through the trees, the fog beginning to set in again. It’s peaceful here. Until the rain returned, not soft this time but hard and fast. You jump up, splashing your tea as you rush towards the front door. But as you reach for the handle, you freeze.

It doesn’t turn.

You blink in realization and try again. Nothing.

“No,” you whisper, fumbling with your cardigan pocket, already knowing it’s empty. The key. It’s still inside on the little hook by the kitchen sink.

You suck in a breath, the rain soaking through the knitted material now, cold and wet against your skin. You turn and look out over the gravel road, your heart sinking in your chest. There’s not a soul around for miles.

Of course, the last sign of daylight begins to slip away faster than you realize. You huddle on the porch, the cold rain now completely soaking through your clothes as you press your back against the front door, gently sliding down to rest on the threshold.

You’ve been stuck outside for over an hour. Long enough for your tea to go cold and your thoughts to spiral. Two weeks. Fourteen days you’ve lived in this cabin and you’ve never actually seen another person here. Just the dark windows, the occasional glow of the porch light and the sporadic light coming through the main window late, late at night. You know someone is there, but whoever they are, they make themselves scarce.

As dusk begins to settle the solitude feels enormous. You find yourself continuing to check your pockets for the key that doesn't exist. You wrap your arms around yourself as your brain begins to taunt you. What if no one ever comes?

Thunder claps, rattling the sky as you force your eyes shut in fear. The rain is falling sideways again and you begin to shiver. Panic is starting to set in and you wonder how far the walk into town would be. Your bare feet are cold and wet as it is. Darkness has consumed the sky now, and the frogs and insects begin to stir, adding to the eerie feeling coming over you.

Then, you hear it. The soft crunch of gravel in the distance.

Your head snaps up to see a pair of yellow headlights cutting through the trees.

Your heart leaps, then falters. You blink rapidly in the low light as the headlights make their way towards you. Finally, they come to a stop at the dark cabin, shining through the rain like a beacon.

Your breath catches in your throat and you stand so quickly that you almost lose your balance, your feet slick on the wet porch. The engine of the old Jeep idles for a few more seconds before it turns off. The car door swings open and a pair of boots splash in the puddles of water. You strain your eyes, mind racing as you suddenly realize you are about to meet the person whose existence has plagued your mind the last ten days.

Your hand grips the wet porch railing as the man jogs up to his own porch, and you aren't sure if you're feeling relieved or terrified.

He stops just shy of his porch light and for a moment you consider running towards him, but before you make the move he stops. His silhouette is outlined by the yellow porch light, wrapped in a rain drenched flannel shirt. His hair is a mess of wet waves, pushed back from his face. As you stand there looking at him, it’s as if he senses it, turning around and looking directly at you. Your breath catches as his eyes lock on yours.

“Hey!” he calls out through the rain. “You okay?”

You try to answer but the words stop in your throat, causing you to shake your head. You take a deep breath and call out to him.

“I’m locked out,” you manage. “The key– I left it inside!”

Suddenly he steps off his porch, and jogs the short distance to yours, rain dripping from his face as he steps up onto the porch. He shakes the rain off of himself and drags a hand over his face. With him closer now you can see the dark shadows under his eyes, and the faint stubble on his chin. He smells like the rain and smoke and something earthy.

“You alright?” he asks.

You swallow hard, nodding. “I got locked out. I stepped outside for one second and the door shut behind me. Now I’m stuck. I’ve been out here since sunset.”

He eyes you up and down as he smirks, “Yeah, they do that. Winds shift quick up here.”

“I noticed.”

That produces a faint smile from him as he steps closer, reaching for the knob behind you to check for himself. Locked.

“I’ve got some tools inside,” he says, nodding towards his cabin. “If you want to wait…you can. Warmer than this atleast.”

His voice isn’t exactly inviting, but there’s no edge to it either. It’s just matter of fact, like this is something you’d do for a stranger, even if you don’t want to.

You hesitate, then nod.

“Alright,” he says, turning back towards his cabin, waiting for you to follow. You do, of course, not sure what else you’re supposed to do.

The porch light from his cabin glows dim behind the wall of rain. You catch up just before he opens the door, stepping aside to let you in first. As you step in you’re hit with a wall of warmth and the smell of cedar and coffee.

“Just sit wherever,” he instructs, his voice already trailing off as he makes his way towards the back of the cabin. “I’ll see what I’ve got.”

You stand there for a moment, dripping on the worn oriental rug, unsure where to go and unsure what just happened. You take in the room around you, a woodstove is humming in the corner, a row of bookshelves lining one wall, and a guitar rests against the arm of a chair that looks older than everything else in the room.

It’s only a few minutes before the man returns, the soft creak of the floor announcing his return. In his arms is a faded towel and a bundle of clothes. Without a word he holds them out to you.

“They’ve been sitting for a while, but they’re dry,” he says.

You reach for them, your fingers brushing against his as you accept, “Thank you.”

He nods politely and gestures vaguely down the hallway, “Bathroom’s the second door.”

You make your way down the hall, softly closing the door behind you. The clothes are soft, a well worn pair of sweatpants and a longsleeve henley that smells faintly of detergent and cologne. You peel off your wet clothes and towel off the best you can, thankful to slip into the unfamiliar warmth.

You return, barefoot and towel drying your hair, finding the man standing by the woodstove feeding it a log.

“Tea?” he asks, dusting his hands off on his jeans.

You nod, surprised, “Sure.”

He moves quietly towards the kitchen, no questions, no small talk. He just fills a kettle, lights the burner and leans back against his counter. You move towards his couch, taking the space at the end and tucking your feet beneath you. A few minutes later he returns with the mugs, handing one to you before taking the spot at the other end of the couch.

“Chamomile,” he says, “It’s all I have.”

“Perfect,” you answer, sipping the steaming hot tea.

It’s quiet for a while, just the hiss of the fire and the rain falling hard on the metal roof. Lightning flares behind the heavy curtains, followed quickly by a roll of thunder. The lights flicker briefly.

“I’m Jake, by the way,” he says, turning to look at you.

“Y/N,” you offer, “I’m renting the cabin next door, which…you obviously know.” you say, suddenly feeling stupid for over-explaining.

Jake takes a slow sip, “What brings you out here?”

You glance at him, he isn’t being nosy, he just seems curious. “I’m trying to write something,” you say, “A book.”

He nods, waiting for you to continue.

“I thought if it was quiet enough I would find something worth writing.”

That gets you a faint smile from his lips, “And have you?”

You huff a laugh, “No, not really.”

“Cabin’ll do that to you. Trap you in your own head.”

Another flash of lightning. You flinch a little and he notices, glancing sideways. “You from the city?”

You bite your lips together, “Yeah kind of, but not so much anymore.”

He nods like he understands. A few minutes pass then he speaks. “Have you been out here long?”

“Two weeks,” you admit, “Fourteen days exactly.”

“You counting?” he grins.

“Not on purpose,” you smile. “It’s just… a lot of days to stare at trees and a blinking cursor.”

“What are you writing exactly?” he asks.

You let out a breath, “A romance novel.”

“What kind?”

You swirl the tea around in your mug, “One I probably won’t finish.”

He lowers his voice, “That bad?”

“No,” you answer, “Just too close to home.”

He nods like he understands.

“What about you?” you ask, the lights flickering again.

“I needed the quiet,” he answers, “I’m avoiding strangers.”

“You’re doing a bad job,” you grin.

He laughs and smiles just enough for you to see a dimple in his cheek, “I know,” he pauses. “No, touring just got too…loud.”

“You’re in a band,” you confirm.

He shifts a little in his seat, “Yeah.”

You wait for more, but he doesn't elaborate. He just sips his tea.

“You’ve got a nice place,” you say quietly, the words almost drowned out by the sound of the thunder overhead.

“Thanks. Found it with my brother during lockdown. Figured I could come up here when I needed to… I don’t know. Catch my breath I guess.” he says.

“So are you catching it now?” you ask, “Your breath?”

He doesn't answer right away, his gaze locked on the fire. “Some days. Other days I think I’m just hiding.”

You feel that, deeply. Maybe because it sounds like something you would say.

“I get that,” you say. “Its strange isn't it? How the things we love and enjoy can take so much from us?”

His eyes meet yours, “I thought I’d feel better being alone,” he says. “Thought maybe I’d finally be able to write again, but the songs aren’t coming, and I think… I miss being seen.”

You study him for a moment, your heart slow and heavy. “I know exactly what you mean.”

He meets your eyes. “Yeah?”

You nod. “I came out here thinking I’d finally be brave enough to finish this book. Thought maybe solitude would strip me down to the truth.” You smile, soft and sad. “But all I’ve found is that I’m still scared. And I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

He huffs a breath. “You don’t seem scared.”

“I am.” You glance down, then back up. “But I think maybe I needed to say that out loud.”

Jake leans back slightly, gaze flicking over your face. “It’s kind of fucked up, isn’t it? That we have to get this far from everything just to be honest.”

You laugh, breathless. “Yeah. Feels like I’ve talked more in the last fifteen minutes than I have in two weeks.”

“Me too.”

The words settle, as the lights flicker once. Then again. Then go out completely, leaving only the light of the woodstove.

He chuckles under his breath, “Figures.”

You laugh too, a real one, and that surprises you.

He bites his lips together as he looks at you, and you can tell something is going on in his head.

“I should get my tools. See if I can get you back inside,” he says, placing his empty mug on the coffee table.

“Are you sure? It’s pouring…”

He shrugs, already rising to his feet. “I’ve done worse in worse weather.”

You smile faintly, “You don’t have to–”

“I know,” he says, grabbing his rain jacket from the hook by the door. “But I want to.”

You watch as he opens the door, tool bag in hand. He glances back at you before disappearing into the storm.

You sit there for a moment, listening to the fading sound of his boots running through the puddles outside. The woodstove crackles next to you, a nice warm hum in the dark, quiet house. You pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders as you sit back, letting your head fall against the couch cushion.

You’re not sure how long it's been. Longer than you expected. By the time he opens the door again, you’ve nearly fallen asleep. The sound of the door closing jolts you awake, and when you look up you find Jake standing at the door, completely soaked.

His hair is plastered to his face, and his jacket is dripping. His t-shirt clings to his chest in a way that is wholly distracting.

“No luck,” he says, “I tried the window too, but…” he shakes his head. “Everything is locked up tight. Landlord is gonna get you a key in the morning.”

He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the hook, followed by his shirt. He pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, revealing a section of smooth muscle beneath it. You look away instinctively, but not fast enough.

“Sorry,” he mutters, flashing a quick smile. “Didn’t mean to flash you.”

You stifle a grin. “It’s your house.”

He disappears into the hallway again and returns seconds later in a dry shirt and a pair of sweatpants, his hair still wet but no longer dripping.

“Did you bring your entire wardrobe with you?” you laugh.

“Three changes of clothes and my guitar. Only the essentials,” he says, making his way to the kitchen.

“You okay to stay here tonight?”

“If that's okay? Or I can book a hotel.”

“Of course it is. You’re not driving in this, you don’t have your keys or anything and the couch pulls out.”

You tuck your feet under yourself and nod. “Okay.”

“Wine?” he asks, holding up a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

“Uh, sure.” you answer.

He fills your glass, then his own, before sinking into the couch beside you. Closer this time. Maybe because it’s cold. Maybe because the wine makes everything easier. The fire flickers, the only light in the house. Shadows move over his face, softening the sharpness of him. His knee brushes yours, and neither of you moves.

“Thanks for trying to help. I don’t think many people would’ve gone out in that.”

He leans his head back, closing his eyes for a second. “It felt good to try. Even if it didn’t work.”

You study him for a moment. “Do you miss it? Being on the road?”

“Sometimes. But lately, I’ve been wondering if I miss the version of myself I thought I was when I was doing it.”

“I don’t think you have to be anyone specific to be worth something,” you say, surprising yourself with how sure you sound. “Maybe the stillness is telling you something.”

He turns his head, looks at you fully. “Like what?”

You shrug. “That who you are without the noise still matters.”

He watches you for a long time. Then he raises his glass slightly in your direction. “You’re good at this.”

You blink. “At what?”

“Being honest. Letting people be honest around you.”

You laugh, but it’s soft. “Only when I’m drinking and locked out.”

He smiles. “Lucky me then.”

You glance at him. There’s something different in his expression now. Something curious. Like he’s trying to figure out if this moment means more than it should.

You lift your glass again. “To being stuck.”

He clinks his against yours. “To finding something in it.”

And slowly, with the firelight flickering between you and the wine working its way into your blood, the air changes. His knee stays pressed against yours. His gaze lingers longer. His smile tugs something warm and dangerous in your chest.

The bottle of wine is well past empty and the fire’s glow throws lazy shadows on the walls. You stretch out along the couch, your legs tucked beneath you, glass cradled in your hands as you glance toward the guitar in the corner.

“Do you ever actually play that thing,” you ask, voice a little tipsy.

He follows your gaze and smiles, slow and crooked. “Sometimes.”

You nudge his knee with your foot. “Play something.”

He gives a dramatic sigh, but he’s already standing up, already pulling the worn strap over his shoulder as he lowers onto the arm of the couch beside you. “You’re kinda bossy with wine in you.”

“You’re stalling.” you say, raising a brow.

He plucks a few strings, tuning it by ear. The simple, familiar notes make your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for. And then, effortlessly, he starts to play.

It’s something soft. Something fingerpicked. It sounds old, and tender, and a little sad. His eyes stay mostly on the guitar, but he glances up at you once, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly when he sees you melt a little into the cushions.

You sip your wine slower now. He doesn’t sing, but he hums a little, low and rough in his chest, and the sound of it curls around the room like smoke. You close your eyes for a moment, feeling it in your bones.

By the time he plays the last few notes, you’re sunken deep into the corner of the couch, head tilted against the cushion. Your limbs are heavy and you feel warm.

“That was…” you start, but your voice comes out drowsy and soft.

Jake sets the guitar aside and leans back, looking over at you with something almost like amusement in his expression. “You’re fading.”

“Mmhmm,” you murmur. “That wine was stronger than I expected.”

He chuckles and you feel the sound in your chest as you watch him set the guitar aside with gentle hands. He nods at you to stand and you do, dropping the quilt from around you. He then stands and tugs the coffee table back a few inches, then grabs the base of the couch and begins pulling it open with a practiced motion.

You blink and smile. “Oh yeah, the pull out.”

“Glamorous, right?” he says, smirking slightly. “It’s not terrible... Better than sleeping at a rest stop.”

You watch him tug a fitted sheet tight, then drape a soft flannel blanket over it, followed by the quilt you’d been curled beneath only minutes ago. There’s something unspoken in the way he moves, efficient and familiar, like he’s done this before for people he cares about.

“I’ll get you a pillow,” he says, already heading toward the hallway.

He disappears for a minute and when he comes back, he tosses a well-worn pillow onto the mattress and meets your eyes for a beat too long.

“From my bed,” he says. “It’s the best one.”

You smile, sleep tugging at your face. “You spoiling me?”

Jake shrugs one shoulder and folds his arms. “Just being a decent host. My mother would have it no other way.”

There’s a look in his eyes you can’t quite place, something softer than banter, quieter than flirtation. He stands there a moment longer, then rubs his hand over his mouth, the firelight flickering over his arms.

“You need anything else?” he asks.

You shake your head slowly, already lying down and pulling the quilt up to your chest. “No. This is… perfect.”

He watches you for a second, like he doesn’t want to leave just yet, then finally he nods once and turns to head down the hall.

You close your eyes, but even as you begin to drift, you can smell his cologne on the pillow. Something woodsy and warm. You breathe it in deeper than you mean to and as sleep threatens to take you, you realize you don’t feel like just a guest here anymore.

Later, the room has gone quiet. The fire has dwindled to a low, pulsing glow, and the wine’s lull has finally caught up to you. You curl deeper into the quilt, Jake’s pillow cradling your cheek.

You let your eyes close. But you don’t fall asleep, not fully.

Instead, you hover. In that space between rest and waking, where thoughts loosen their grip and become feeling.

You think about the music he played, the way his fingers moved across the strings like second nature. You wonder how long it took him to learn that kind of touch. You wonder if it’s the same kind he uses in other parts of his life. Gentle, precise and reverent.

You turn onto your side, drawing the quilt tighter around your shoulders. The pillow still smells like him. You breathe it in, slower this time, and your chest rises in time with the deep exhale that follows. You feel your body pressing against the fabric, against the thought of him in the next room, stretched out in a bed that also smells like him. And that feeling, that knowing he’s there, keeps you just awake enough to notice the quietest things.

The ticking of the clock. The faint groan of the house settling. The patter of rain on the roof.

Then you begin to drift.

You’re not sure how long it’s been, but you hear the distant sound of a door creak open, then the muffled click of a light switch.

And another. And another.

You open your eyes to harsh light. The power must have come back on. You realize it just as Jake moves through the space, flipping switches off as he goes.

You hear him pause in the kitchen. The overhead light clicks off, and the warm spill of it disappears from behind your eyelids. But the room doesn't go dark right away. There's still the faint orange hum from the dying fire.

You blink your eyes open again, just barely and you see the shape of him in the doorway now, silhouetted from the light in the hallway casting a glow around his frame.

“Hey,” you murmur, voice soft.

Jake stills. “Did I wake you?”

“Not really,” you say, not moving. “I was just… floating.”

He leans a shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Floating?”

“Mhm.” You yawn, pressing your cheek deeper into the pillow he brought you. “That space between sleep and dreaming. It’s nice there.”

Jake lets out a small, tired laugh. “Sounds peaceful.”

You nod slowly, your gaze still hazy and wine clouded. “It was. Then you started doing laps.”

He smiles, faint and crooked. “Power came back on. Thought I’d kill the lights before the place started buzzing like Vegas.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the crackle of the fire.

Jake tilts his head, studies you with those heavy, thoughtful eyes. “You comfortable?”

You nod again, slower this time. “Mmhm. Pillow’s a little dangerous, though.”

He quirks a brow. “Dangerous?”

“It smells like you.”

Jake huffs through his nose, a small, caught-off-guard sound. “Is that a complaint?”

“Not sure yet,” you murmur. “Still deciding.”

Another quiet stretch passes. He runs a hand through his hair, his voice quieter now. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You shift a little under the quilt, watching him linger. “You could stay a minute.”

He watches you for a beat longer, like he’s weighing something. Then he nods once and crosses the room. The bed dips beside you. He sits on the edge, turning just enough to face the fire. Close, but not quite touching.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask.

Jake huffs out a dry laugh. “Couldn’t shut my brain up.”

You shift slightly to face him, the quilt rustling as you do. “What’s it saying?”

He takes a long pause before answering. Like he’s debating whether to say it at all.

“I miss home a little. Miss my brothers.” he finally says. “More than I thought I would.”

You watch him, quiet.

“Josh and I…” He trails off, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “We’re twins, so there’s always been this… thread between us. Doesn’t matter if we’re in different cities or different countries…I still feel him. But lately it’s been fuzzier. Like the signal’s cutting out.”

You don’t speak, you just let him continue.

“I think I always thought we’d do everything side by side,” Jake goes on. “But our lives started splitting in ways I didn’t expect. And now I go home and sometimes he feels like a stranger. Still familiar, still… mine. But distant. Like we’re playing different songs and pretending we’re in the same key.”

“That sounds hard,” you say quietly.

He nods, still staring into the fire.

“And Sam’s always been this wild card,” Jake continues. “Heart-on-his-sleeve type. But lately even he seems to be holding things a little closer.”

“You feel like the odd one out?”

Jake exhales, low and honest. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

You shift a little closer beneath the quilt. “I’ve felt that way too. Not with siblings, but... people I thought I’d always understand. People I thought would always understand me.”

He looks at you, his eyes soft and unguarded in the firelight.

“You seem like you don’t let people in unless they’ve earned it,” he says.

You shrug one shoulder. “I don’t think I know how to, unless I really trust them.”

Jake nods. “Yeah. Same.”

Another quiet beat passes, then he glances down at the quilt covering you.

“I’m glad you got locked out,” he says, voice low and sure.

You smile faintly. “Me too.”

He leans closer, close enough now that you nearly touch. “You warm enough?”

You nod. “Quilt’s perfect.”

“I could grab another one if—”

“No, stay,” you say. It slips out before you can second-guess it. But you mean it.

He pauses, then nods once moving to settle next to you on the pull out. You can feel the shift of his weight through the thin mattress, hearing the metal frame creak beneath you.

He exhales sharply, “Jesus. This thing is criminal.”

You let out a soft laugh, “It’s not that bad…”

“No, it’s like sleeping on scaffolding wrapped in cotton batting.”

You hum. “You sure know how to romance a girl.”

He turns his head slightly to look at you, one brow raised. “You want honesty or ambiance?”

You grin in the dark. A moment passes. Then he shifts again, half sitting up.

“Alright,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “This is ridiculous.”

You blink at him. “What?”

He rubs a hand over his face. “This couch... Us pretending like it’s not the most miserable setup known to man.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He gestures toward the hallway. “Come to my bed. I promise, scout’s honor, I won’t touch you or anything weird.”

You hesitate, examining his face.

He softens. “It’s just warmer, and the mattress doesn’t have exposed bones.”

You laugh under your breath, but something about his tone disarms you. He’s not flirtatious when he says it. He’s just tired. And kind.

“Okay,” you murmur, pushing the quilt off.

He stands and holds it out for you like a cape, draping it around your shoulders once you’ve risen. He waits while you slip your arms through, then walks ahead down the hallway as you follow.

The bedroom door creaks open, and you step inside, immediately met with the warm, lived-in scent of him. It smells like cedarwood and sleep and something slightly smoky, like he’s been burning incense.

He scratches the back of his neck and glances at the bed. “Uh, ignore the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

You look around. It’s not messy at all. Just...Jake. A couple of worn paperbacks on the nightstand. An empty mug. A cracked window letting in the hum of the night.

“This is the cleanest bachelor bedroom I’ve ever seen,” you say.

“Oh good. I swept it like, once... in May.”

You smirk. “Impressive.”

He pulls back the blankets on the other side of the bed and gestures for you to climb in. “Just, make yourself comfortable. You want the side closer to the window or the wall?”

“Window,” you say instantly.

“Adventurous,” he mutters. “I respect that.”

You crawl in, still wrapped in the quilt, and sink into the bed. It's warm from his body, and the sheets are soft cotton and smelling like soap. He slides in on the other side, groaning softly as he settles.

“God, this is already a thousand times better.”

You turn toward him, propping yourself on an elbow. “So this is your whole master plan, huh? Lure me into your bed with complaints about the pullout couch you told me wasn’t terrible…”

His mouth tugs into a half-smile, eyes closed. “Hey, I did warn you. I have purely self-serving motives. You’ve caught me.”

“You sure you don’t mind?” you ask quietly.

Jake’s eyes open again. He looks over at you in the dark, something soft and serious lingering in his expression.

“Mind? I’m trying not to get ahead of myself and buy you a toothbrush.”

You laugh and your cheeks warm, but then you go still.

He doesn’t seem to notice at first, still grinning faintly to himself, eyes closing again like he’s fully content. Like this is normal for him. Like inviting strange women into his bed is just... something he does.

“Is there…” you start, your voice quieter now. “Someone who might already have a toothbrush here?”

His smile disappears, and his eyes open again. He turns to face you properly, head resting on the pillow.

“No,” he says, without hesitation.

You raise an eyebrow, not fully convinced. “You sure? Feels like the kind of setup where there might be a girl back home, maybe one who shows up every few weeks. One of those situations.”

He exhales a small laugh. “God. No. I’m not that mysterious.”

You stay quiet.

He blinks up at the ceiling. “I mean, there was someone. Not recently. It was a while ago, and I think we both knew it was done.”

You nod slowly, your expression softening.

He shifts, propping himself up slightly on one elbow to look at you better. “Why? You worried you’re the other woman?”

“Just making sure you’re not the other man,” you tease gently and that gets a real smile out of him. He lays back onto his pillow now, his dark hair splayed around him.

“No, um…It just… didn’t survive all the coming and going. That lifestyle's hard enough without dragging someone else through it.”

“So you let her go?”

“Nah, we both did,” he says. “I think I always knew I couldn’t stay still long enough to be good at it. The normal stuff. Dinner at the same table. Weekends off. Meeting families. I was half-there all the time. Always had one foot on stage and the other in a hotel room.” He swallows. “Didn’t feel right to keep pretending and she deserved better.”

You watch the way his throat bobs, how his hands are folded tightly over his stomach like he’s holding himself together. There's no ego in his voice, just the weight of someone who’s disappointed people, even when he didn’t mean to.

“You weren’t pretending,” you say softly. “You were just doing what you had to do to survive.”

He lets out a tired breath. “Maybe. But sometimes I wonder if I’m meant to be alone. Like I got wired differently. Like it’s easier to love from a distance.”

The quiet that follows is so vulnerable, so unguarded, it makes your chest ache. You reach for his hand, at first just to anchor him, a simple, steadying touch. But when your fingers graze his knuckles, he turns his palm up to meet you and interlocks his fingers with yours like it’s instinct. Like he’s been waiting for a reason.

Your skin tingles. Neither of you says anything. But you shift a little closer. He doesn’t pull back, in fact, his thumb brushes softly over your hand, back and forth, like a nervous rhythm.

Then he turns his face toward you, eyes darker in the dim light, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs.

You smile, “You invited me into your house.”

His eyes drop to your mouth and your fingers tighten around his. Then, carefully, he leans in and kisses you. Just once. Just to see if you’ll let him.

You do.

When he kisses you again your hand finds the back of his neck. You pull him in like gravity. Like maybe neither of you is wired wrong after all. His lips linger against yours like he’s afraid the spell might break. When he finally pulls back, it’s slow, almost reluctant. His forehead rests against yours, breath warm between you.

His voice is soft, nearly swallowed by the quiet of the room. “What about you?” he asks. “Anyone waiting for you?”

Your eyes open, and he’s right there, close enough to count every freckle, every heartbeat. The question hangs in the air, heavier than you expect. It’s not jealousy. It’s something else.

You shake your head. “No. There was someone… a while ago.” You pause, your voice catching. “But I think we both wanted versions of each other that didn’t exist anymore.”

Jake studies you like he already understands. Like he’s lived that version too.

“Did it hurt?” he asks gently.

You nod, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. Not because he left… but because I stopped showing up for myself. I gave too much away and when it ended, I didn’t even know what I liked anymore.”

Jake exhales, like he’s been holding that same ache. “I’m glad you’re here now,” he says. “I know that probably doesn’t mean much, but… I am.”

You glance down at his hand in yours, thumb tracing the shape of his fingers.

“It does mean something,” you say.

He watches you for a long moment, like he’s trying to memorize this version of you, sleepy, disarmed, honest. Then he presses a kiss to your knuckles and lets his forehead touch yours again.

Neither of you moves to fill the silence.

You stay like that for a while, forehead to forehead, hand in hand, saying nothing. Letting the silence stretch out and settle between you like a blanket. Then he shifts slightly, glancing down to where your fingers are still threaded together.

“Well,” he murmurs, voice warm and a little sheepish, “I think I’ve already failed at not touching you or anything weird.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, the kind that slips out before you can think to stop it. “You’re right,” you say, brushing your thumb along the inside of his wrist. “Terrible job. Really unprofessional.”

You’re smiling, but he’s looking at you again, this time more serious.

“I didn’t mean to cross a line,” he says softly. “I just… I don’t know. You feel like something real. And I haven’t had real in a long time.”

That cracks something open in you. You press your palm against his chest and let your eyes linger there. “You didn’t cross a line.”

He swallows. “Good.”

Then quieter, almost like he’s admitting it to himself, “I don’t think I could stop wanting you if I tried.”

The words make something flip in your chest. He’s not trying to seduce you. He’s trying to tell you the truth.

Your voice is small, but steady. “You don’t have to stop.”

He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t pounce. He just leans forward and kisses you again, slow, tender and aching.

His lips are warm against yours, soft and unhurried. When he pulls back, it’s barely an inch. His breath brushes your cheek.

“You make it really hard to be good,” he murmurs, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

You feel your chest rise with a shaky breath. “Who said you had to?”

He groans quietly. “You saying that while you’re in my bed, wearing my shirt, is just cruel.”

Your lips twitch into a teasing smile. “What, this old thing?” you tug lightly at the hem of his henley draped over your thighs. “Didn’t realize it was such a hazard.”

He exhales a laugh, “Hazard? It’s a goddamn weapon.”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Oh? And who’s the victim?”

He turns on his side to face you, propping his head on his hand. His gaze drags over your face, lingering on your lips like he’s deciding whether to behave.

“Me,” he says simply. “Completely defenseless.”

Something flutters hot in your stomach. “You don’t seem very defenseless.”

His mouth curves. “You have no idea.”

The quiet between you suddenly feels electric. You realize he’s closer now, you can feel the warmth of him under the quilt, the faint brush of his knee against your leg. His hand shifts slightly, almost without him noticing, his fingers grazing over your wrist.

“Jake…” your voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s not a warning.

He tilts his head, his eyes catching yours in the dim light. “Say my name like that again.”

You swallow. “Jake.”

He lets out the softest groan, one that curls deep in your belly. His thumb brushes over your skin, lazy and deliberate.

“You’re killing me,” he mutters. “You know that, right?”

“Maybe,” you tease, your voice softer now, breathy.

“Yeah, you do,” he says, his hand sliding slowly from your wrist to your forearm, up to the curve of your shoulder, the touch barely-there but searing all the same.

You lean in slightly without thinking, drawn like gravity. The space between your faces narrows until his breath fans across your lips.

“Still wanna be good?” you whisper, eyes dropping to his lips.

He smirks, that slow, dangerous kind of smirk, and shakes his head just a little. “Not even trying anymore.”

Then he kisses you, deeper this time, not testing, but wanting. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in as the quilt shifts around you, your bodies edging closer.

“You sure about this?” His fingers ghost the hem of your shirt, barely brushing the skin of your thigh where the fabric’s ridden up under the blankets.

“I’m in your bed, aren’t I?” you whisper.

He exhales a laugh that’s more air than sound. “Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

His mouth finds yours, harder this time. Gone is the cautious, measured kiss from before. This is heat. Need. His hand cups your jaw, thumb angling your chin so he can deepen the kiss. You open for him, and he groans into it, low and rough.

The blankets bunch as he shifts closer. Your knee slides over his hip as he fits his hand beneath your thigh and drags you flush against him. There’s no mistaking what you feel between you now, hot and insistent, the kind of want that leaves no room for misunderstanding.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips. “Say my name.”

“Jake.”

He kisses you, his palm slipping under the back of the shirt, up along your spine. When his fingers splay at the base of your neck, you arch your back. He kisses along your jaw, your throat, tasting the saltiness of your skin.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmurs between kisses. “I mean it.”

“Don’t stop.”

His laugh is ruined and grateful. “Okay.”

He rolls, guiding you over him to straddle his hips. He runs his hands up your thighs, over your hips, and under the loose fabric of the shirt until his thumbs catch the hem of your underwear. He pauses, and meets your eyes in question.

You rock down against him with a smirk instead of answering.

His head tips back in response. “Jesus.”

You start to move, finding a rhythm, a slow drag, heat-to-heat through cotton, pressing down as he lifts to meet you. His hands lock at your waist to guide the movement, his grip tightening every time you roll just right. You can feel him straining and the tremor in his thighs under you.

“You’re killing me, baby,” he rasps.

“Good.”

He laughs and sits up a little, kissing you again, deeper, his tongue sliding against yours. One hand leaves your waist to slip beneath the front of the shirt, his palm flattening over your stomach, then higher. He groans when he finds your bare skin.

“Mmm…” He pauses, breath stuttering. “No bra...”

“Problem?” you ask, smug through a gasp.

“Oh yeah, big one,” he says, thumb circling just beneath the swell of your breast.

You roll again, harder, and the sound that rips out of him is pure hunger. He catches your wrist, guiding your hand down between your bodies, pressing you against the hard line of him through cotton. “Feel what you’re doing to me?”

“Yes.” Your voice shakes. “Jake…”

The friction builds, wine and want and weeks of quiet crashing together. You’re lightheaded, heat coiling low and tight. He feels the shift, you know he does because his grip turns commanding, steadying you, angling you, pushing you through the drag that makes your breath break.

“That’s it,” he grits, lips at your ear as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “Right there. Don’t run. Stay with me.”

You do. You stay. You grind against him, clutching his shoulders, chasing the pulse that spikes and snaps and bursts, trembling, biting his shoulder to muffle the sound spilling out of you as your orgasm rips through you.

He holds you through it, breathing hard, whispering, “Yeah… yeah, that’s it. Good girl.” His hand strokes your back, your thigh, your breasts, grounding you until the rush eases.

You sag against him, cheek pressed to his chest. His heart is pounding in time with yours.

“Still cruel,” he murmurs.

“You handled it,” you pant.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Barely.”

But there’s nothing light in his voice now. Just heat, thick and low and hungry. His hand returns to your hip beneath the quilt, fingers flexing, then sliding over the curve of your ass, like he’s reacquainting himself with what he just barely resisted taking further.

“You’re playing a risky game,” he murmurs, voice rough against your temple.

You shift slightly, just enough to press your thigh more firmly between his. “So are you.”

He groans, and suddenly he’s rolling you both until you’re underneath him. The weight of him is everything, grounding and electric, and the moment his hips settle between your legs, you feel it. All of him. Still hard. Still holding back.

“Fuck,” he breathes, rocking into you once, just enough to drag a gasp from your lips. “This pull… it’s insane. I’ve never—”

You cut him off with a kiss, hands threading into his hair, desperate now. Your bodies slot together like they were made to, his shirt still hanging off your frame, barely covering anything. He thrusts again, slow and deep, and you moan into his mouth, hips meeting him instinctively.

His hand slips between you again, finding you through your panties, thumb pressing right where you’re pulsing, aching. You arch against him, gasping, clutching his shoulders. “Jake—”

He groans into your neck. “I need to hear how close you are again. I need to feel it.”

You’re already unraveling under him, shivering, panting, chasing that edge with wild, frantic rolls of your hips. He works you perfectly, mouth at your throat, hand between your thighs, cock grinding against your soaked center.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Come for me again, baby. I’ve got you.”

And you do, crying out against his shoulder, body shaking as you clamp down around nothing, desperate to feel him inside. He moans with you, hips jerking once, twice, then he pulls away, barely.

He peels his shirt off your body with reverence, like he’s unwrapping something sacred. His gaze roves over you slowly, pausing on your bare chest. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Then his mouth is on you, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his hand palms your other breast, rolling the peak between his fingers. Your spine arches off the bed and your moan is sharp and sudden, curling into the air.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, switching sides. “Let me hear you.”

Every kiss, every drag of tongue and scrape of teeth is measured, not teasing, but worshiping. He trails lower, nipping his way down your ribs, your stomach, your hips, until he’s kneeling between your thighs and tugging your underwear down your legs.

He kisses your inner thigh, then the other, pausing to breathe you in.

“You’re soaked, beautiful,” he says.

You nod, breathless. “Please…”

“Say it,” he whispers, brushing his lips just above where you need him. “Tell me what you want.”

“Your mouth.” Your voice trembles. “Jake, I want your mouth on me.”

He groans and dives in. The first stroke of his tongue is slow and firm, and your whole body jolts. He licks again, then again, finding a rhythm that has your thighs shaking and your hands fisting in the sheets. His arms loop beneath your hips, holding you in place, anchoring you while he devours you like it’s his life’s purpose.

He groans into you when you cry out, his mouth moving faster, wetter, messier, and then one of his fingers slides inside, curling perfectly, and your vision blacks out.

“Jake, oh my god—” You buck against his face, overwhelmed. “I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growls, voice muffled. “Let go, baby. I want you to come on my mouth.”

You unravel hard, gasping his name as the orgasm crashes through you. He holds you through every spasm, guiding you through it, greedy even as you tremble and twitch. Only when you whimper from sensitivity, does he finally pull away, chin glistening, eyes wild.

He climbs back up your body, kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips, and you taste yourself on him. It only turns you on more.

“You okay?” he whispers, brushing hair off your face.

You nod, still breathless. “That was…”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

Then you reach for the waistband of his boxers. He grabs your wrist, gentle but firm. “You don’t have to—”

You rise to your knees, mouth close to his ear. “I want to.”

That’s all it takes.

Jake kicks off his boxers, cock springing free, thick and flushed. You wrap your hand around him and he groans, the sound raw, almost desperate.

“Jesus… fuck…”

You stroke him slowly, watching his mouth fall open, his head tilt back, the way his hips stutter with every pass of your thumb over the tip. Then you dip down, licking along the underside before taking him in your mouth.

His hand flies to your hair.

You go slow, sucking gently, tongue swirling, hand working what you can’t fit. He watches you with hooded eyes, breath ragged, every muscle in his stomach tight.

“God, that mouth…” he mutters, voice breaking. “I’m not gonna last if you keep…shit—”

You take him deeper and he groans, louder this time, hips flexing forward.

“Baby, st—stop, I gotta be inside you. Please…”

You pull back with a wicked smile. “Then get up here.”

He moves fast, pressing you into the pillows, kissing you hard. You reach between you and guide him in, the head of his cock nudging your entrance. You’re still slick, still pulsing from before, and the stretch is slow and thick and perfect as he slides inside.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he groans, braced above you, forehead to yours.

Then he starts to move. It’s not rushed, but deep. Rhythmic. Over and over, grinding against that sweet spot inside you while his hands roam your body. He kisses you through it, everywhere he can reach.

He grabs your thigh and lifts it, changing the angle, and suddenly every thrust is pure fire burning through you. You cry out, grabbing his shoulders, clawing for something to anchor you.

“Right there?” he grits, his silver necklace swinging between you as he watches your face twist with pleasure.

“Yes God, yes, Jake—”

“I’ve got you,” he says again. “I’m not stopping till you fall apart around me.”

You come with a cry, clenching around him, nails digging into his back. He follows you seconds later, burying himself deep and groaning your name, one hand buried in your hair, the other gripping your hip like he never wants to let go.

The world stills for those few seconds.

He slumps against you, careful not to crush you, breathing heavily. You stroke his back, his hair, both of you sweat-slicked and still shaking.

He lifts his head and kisses you. “You okay?”

You nod, dazed. “You?”

He smiles and laughs. “I’m fuckin’ beat.”

He pulls out slowly, grabs a towel from the floor and gently cleans you up. You lie heaving together, sweaty skin glistening in the dim light, hearts pounding. He pulls a pillow under your heads and strokes your hair as you catch your breath, both of you still riding the aftershocks as your eyes grow heavy.

He’s warm and quiet against your back, his fingers drawing absent, lazy shapes along your side, down the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, like he can’t stop touching you. But then, he sighs.

“Jake?” you whisper, voice groggy.

His hand pauses, then slides away.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, voice raw.

You shift slightly to face him. He’s on his back now, staring at the ceiling with his hand behind his head, his jaw tight in the moonlight. You reach for his chest and lay your palm there. His heart’s still thudding hard beneath your hand. Maybe yours is too.

“You okay?” you ask.

He swallows. His voice is rough when he finally answers. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You feel your heart drop to your stomach. “Oh.”

“No, fuck. I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly, sitting up slightly, resting on one elbow so he can see your face. “Not that I regret it. Not for a second. I just… I promised myself I wasn’t gonna cross any lines.”

His eyes search yours. “It’s not that I didn’t want it. I did. I do.”

Your lips part in surprise, but he doesn’t let you speak just yet.

“I just don’t want you to feel like I used you to fill some empty space in me. Like I needed something and just took it.”

You sit up slowly and cup the side of his face. “Jake, you didn’t take anything I didn’t offer.”

He leans into your touch for a second, then catches your wrist and kisses the inside of it.

“I know. I know. It’s just… it’s not usually like that for me. I don’t usually…” He hesitates. “I don’t usually do this. And I never talk after. But with you… I could lie here and talk all night. Which is terrifying.”

You give him a soft, amused look. “Terrifying?”

He nods. “Yeah. Because it means this already feels different. It feels real and I wasn’t expecting that.”

His fingers trail along the edge of the sheet between you, like his body needs to stay in contact with you even though his brain is swirling. You move closer, wrapping your fingers around his wrist to stop its movement.

“It feels real to me, too.”

He closes his eyes for a moment like he’s letting that sink in, like it hits somewhere deep in his chest. When he opens them again, they’re glassy, softer than you’ve ever seen. He kisses you, slow this time. No frenzy. Just quiet want and something more tender that neither of you dares name out loud yet. You shift closer and feel the way he’s still hard against your thigh, and you can tell, just from the way he shudders at the contact that he’s been holding himself back.

“You’re looking at me like you still want me,” you say softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“I do,” he whispers. His eyes sweep over you slowly and he leans in, kissing you, so much gentler than before, lips plush and lingering, unhurried.He nudges your thighs open, fitting himself between them like it’s instinct, like this was always going to happen.

His forehead rests to yours as he sinks into you, inch by inch, slow and careful. You gasp, arms wrapping around his back, and he stills, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “There you go. That’s it.”

Your body stretches around him, welcoming and wet, and he groans low in his throat. You hold onto him like the only thing real is the feel of his body inside yours, deep and full, a perfect ache.

“God,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

You moan quietly, your hands roaming the smooth muscle of his back, your lips brushing his jaw, then his ear. The tension in him starts to unravel, and so does yours. He moves slowly, hips rolling in a smooth rhythm, like a tide pulling in.

“Look at me,” he whispers, voice gravely and sweet.

You do. Your eyes meet his, and there’s something unguarded in his expression.

“You okay?” he asks softly, pushing deeper.

You nod, gasping, clutching his shoulder. “Yeah. God, Jake…”

“Talk to me,” he breathes. “Tell me what you want.”

“This,” you whisper, breath catching. “Just… stay with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, lips brushing yours.

You move together in slow, dragging waves, bodies slick with sweat, tangled in warmth and moonlight. His hands cup your face, your hips, your breasts. Yours roam through his hair, down his spine, nails catching lightly when he hits the spot that makes your legs quake.

He talks you through it, soft and low. “That’s it. I got you. Let go.”

You come slow and full, eyes locked on his, your voice caught in a broken sob against his shoulder. And he’s right there with you, his hips stutter and he gasps, forehead pressed to yours as he follows you over the edge with a groan and your name on his lips.

After, he doesn’t move. He just breathes with you. Chest to chest, heart to heart. His nose brushes your cheek and you press a kiss to his temple.

“That…” he murmurs. “That just ruined me.”

You smile, dazed, fingers trailing lazy circles on his back. “In a good way?”

“In the only way,” he says. “I think you just wrecked me for anything that isn’t this.”

He rolls slightly so you’re curled to his chest, still joined, still warm. His hand finds yours beneath the covers, threading your fingers together. You lie there like that, silent and sated, wrapped in the kind of closeness that’s deeper than sex.

He turns slightly so you’re face to face, one hand brushing a loose strand of hair off your cheek. “That wasn’t just... I mean– You felt that too, right?”

Your stomach flips, but you nod. “Yeah. I did.”

Jake licks his lips, like he’s working up to something and doesn’t want to scare you off. “It’s weird,” he says. “We don’t really know each other. Not really. But that didn’t feel like two strangers, did it?”

“No,” you whisper. “It didn’t.”

His brows draw together slightly, like he’s trying to sort through a hundred things at once. “You made me feel... safe. That’s not something I usually feel right away. Especially not like this.”

You study his face, how serious he suddenly looks. “I could say the same.”

He nods, almost to himself, and glances toward the window where the moonlight spills through the blinds. Then he glances back. “What’s your middle name?”

The question surprises a laugh out of you. “Really?”

“I’m serious,” he says, smiling now, just a little. “It’s weird to have already been inside you and not know something like that.”

You tell him and he hums. “Pretty. Suits you.”

There’s another pause. Your bodies are starting to relax into each other, muscles slowly unclenching as the high fades into something quieter.

You brush your fingers across his ribs. “What about you?”

“Thomas,” he says. “After my grandfather.”

You nod and trace the shape of the name over his skin with your fingertip. Neither of you says anything more. You don’t need to. You just stay like that, close, but not clinging. Curious, but not asking for more.

He pulls the blanket a little higher over your backs, his body warm against yours, chest rising and falling in sync with your own. You feel him press one last kiss to your shoulder, soft and gentle. Now, sleep comes easy. Not because everything makes sense, but because, somehow, for tonight… it doesn’t have to.

—

You wake to a flash of lightning that pulses brightly through the curtains. A second later, thunder cracks, sharp and close enough to rattle the windowpane.

Your eyes fly open and you feel that the bed is cold beside you. Jake is gone.

The sheets are crumpled, his scent still clinging to the pillows. You sit up slowly, the ache between your thighs a reminder of everything that happened just hours ago. You pull the blanket around yourself and listen. No footsteps. Just rain. And the faint hiss of fire.

You slide out of his bed and pad down the hall barefoot, the floorboards cool under your feet. The storm drums steadily on the roof, but the house is otherwise quiet.

Then, in the dim glow spilling from the living room, you see him.

Jake sits cross-legged in front of the fireplace, shirtless, a flannel thrown loosely around his shoulders with the sleeves pushed up. His fingers work a piece of kindling into the embers, his face calm but distant, eyes locked on the flames.

He doesn’t hear you at first, so you just watch him. This man you barely know, now suddenly someone you’ve slept with, someone who kissed you like he meant it and held you like he didn’t want morning to come.

You clear your throat softly and his head jerks toward you, eyes wide for a beat before he relaxes.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough with sleep and maybe nerves. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you say, tightening the blanket around your chest. “Lightning did.”

Jake nods toward the window. “Yeah. It’s wild out there this morning.”

You hover in the doorway for a second, unsure what this is now. If you’re supposed to act casual. If he regrets it or if you do.

He scoots to the side and pats the rug next to him. “You can sit, if you want.”

You cross the room and lower yourself beside him. The fire is warm. The air between you… less so.

Jake shifts his gaze to the flames again. “Didn’t sleep too much.”

You glance at him. “Me neither.”

He gives a small nod like he expected that. His fingers drum lightly on his knee. The silence that follows is softer somehow. Not quite comfortable, but not cold either.

He pokes at the fire again, “I’ve got coffee. If you want.”

You nod. “I’d like that.”

He stands, stretching briefly, and disappears into the kitchen. You stay sitting on the rug, watching the flames lick upward. Everything smells like smoke and cedar and him. He brings you a mug, coffee filled to the brim, and as you sip it, you can tell he’s been up for a while. It’s lukewarm in your mug, but you drink it anyway, legs tucked beneath you on the couch. The fire’s burned low now, crackling lazily, the storm thinning to a mist outside the window in just the few short minutes since you woke.

Jake leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, hair still wild from sleep, the flannel now buttoned halfway up his chest. His gaze keeps flicking toward the door, then back to you, like he’s trying to figure out what to say, or if he should say anything at all.

You finish the last sip of your coffee and set the mug down on the side table. The quiet between you stretches. You stand and make your way towards the bathroom, quickly changing out of his clothes and back into your now dry ones. As you step back into the living room, you find he hasn’t moved.

You clear your throat. “I should probably head back… right?”

“Oh, the landlord dropped off a key on your porch this morning,” he says, voice casual. “Says he couldn’t get hold of you last night.”

“Oh, yeah. I don’t– my phone is in the cabin.”

Silence fills the room, punctuated only by rain pattering against the windows.

Jake smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He moves around the table to stand in front of you. “I can walk you over,” he offers. “Back to your cabin.”

You hesitate, then nod. “Okay. Thanks.”

Outside, the rain’s let up to a misty drizzle. You follow him out, the cool air prickling your skin. He walks beside you, neither of you touching, but both wanting to.

On your porch, you see the key resting on the railing, a bright green piece of leather hanging from the end. You pick it up, slightly wet and cold in your palm.

“Guess we should say goodbye,” you say, voice small.

He swallows. “Yeah.”

You meet his gaze. The moment stretches on, longer than it should for two strangers. Your heart aches with unsaid things.

“Well…” you begin, fumbling for words. “Thank you. For… last night, and for coffee.”

He runs a hand through his damp hair. “Thank you for staying.”

You smile, awkward but genuine. “I—maybe I’ll see you around?”

Jake’s lips curve upward, but he doesn’t say “yes.” Instead, he nods once.

Your pulse races. You step closer, hand brushing his arm. “Bye, Jake.”

“Bye,” he replies softly, eyes earnest.

You turn to go, key in hand. At the door, you pause and glance back. He’s watching you, open, and uncertain giving the smallest wave.

You wave back, then close the door gently behind you.

The cabin is still and cool when you step inside. You close the door gently behind you, like any sudden movement might shatter whatever fragile thing is still lingering in your chest. The storm has quieted to a low rumble in the distance, and your feet leave wet prints across the floor as you move on autopilot, peeling off layers.

Your fingertips brush your collarbone as you tug your shirt over your head and you freeze.

There it is. A faint purplish bloom just beneath your skin, tucked where your neck meets your shoulder. You run your thumb over it, light, like maybe it’ll disappear. But it doesn’t.

Jake.

You stare at it in the mirror above the sink for longer than you mean to. It’s not harsh or obvious, but it’s there. Proof that last night happened. That he kissed you like he meant it. That he didn’t just touch you, he marked you.

Your throat tightens. The shower hisses to life when you finally move. The hot water is a shock at first, but you sink into it, bracing one hand on the tiled wall as steam rises around you. Your mind drifts back uninvited, his mouth at your ear, the low sound of your name on his lips, the weight of him pinning you down and making you feel… wanted. Known. Even though you barely know each other.

You were supposed to come here to get away, to disappear into the quiet. Not end up tangled in a stranger’s bed, heartbeat pressed to his, your soul stirred up like sediment in a glass.

You tip your head back under the stream, eyes closed. You can still feel his phantom hands, how gentle he was after, how he looked at you like you were something soft worth holding onto. And then he let you go. Just like that.

Your lips part as a breath escapes, shaky and wet. You stay there until the water starts to run cold.

When you finally shut it off and step out, the silence hits you again. You towel off slowly, half-dried and standing still in front of the mirror. Your fingers ghost over the bruise again. You trace it without meaning to, like you’re checking if it’s still real.

You wrap yourself in a robe and head back to the desk, determined to sink into the pages of your manuscript. You open the laptop, bring up your draft, and stare at the blinking cursor. The silence around you is so complete it feels deafening.

You type a sentence. Delete it. Try again.

And again.

You exhale and push your hands through your damp hair, trying to think of anything other than the way Jake had sounded just before he came, raw, almost shocked. The way his fingers had threaded between yours. The things he didn’t say, and the things he did.

You flip to a fresh page in your notebook and start outlining scenes instead. Characters. Emotional arcs. Anything to trick your mind into discipline. But all your bullet points blur together into some version of him.

By the time the sun dips behind the trees, you’ve barely written three decent paragraphs.

You make yourself dinner, nothing fancy, just warm enough to count, and light the gas stove for tea, hoping to unwind. The windows are dark now, curtains fluttering slightly in the breeze of the impending storm.

Suddenly there’s a soft creak on your porch. You freeze, mug in hand.

Then, a knock at the door. Light and gentle. You unlock it slowly and pull the door open just enough to peek out but no one’s there.

However, resting at your feet, half-tucked beneath the welcome mat, is a folded scrap of paper. You pick it up carefully and step back inside, heart skipping as you shut the door behind you.

The paper’s worn at the edges, like he had been holding it all day. You unfold it with trembling fingers. His handwriting is slightly messy, like he’d rushed.

I don’t really do this kind of thing. But I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d regret it if I didn’t. – Jake

Beneath his name, a phone number. A thread left hanging in the quiet room.

Your chest goes tight. You run your thumb over the ink, over the way he didn’t push or explain or ask for anything. You set the note on the counter and press your palms flat beside it, letting the moment breathe. The rain outside picks up again, tapping against the windows like a thought trying to come through.

You don’t touch your phone.

Not yet.

But you will.

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Taglist: @wetkleenex-gvf @joshym @farfromthehomelands @sacredstarcatcher @britney-gvf @stardustjake @jakesmustache @starshine-wagner @mweasley19 @emsfallingsky @joopsenthusiast @ageofbajabule @ladywhimsymoon @vanfleeter @myleftsock @joshskittytickler @ageoflou @freefallthoughts @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @literal-dead-leaf @welllauragvf @writingcold @bizzielisteningtogreta @neptune2324 @itsafullmoon @violet-hayes @gvfmarge @demonrat444 @mybussyinchrist @cl0ver-j4de @earthgrlsreasy @what-i-read-home-of-reblogs-mama @mama-likes72 @lenagvf @laurngvf @racheljuneeee @farfromthehomelands @cat3rpillarbaby @cassiesgreta @jarmonicasweat@ghostly--photography @josh-iamyour-mama @raviolilegs @gvfmarge @milkgemini @jaketlove @watchingover-hypegirl @ageoflou @cl0ver-j4de @takenbythemadness @lightmyloverry

@flightofseams @torniturntomyarrow @allmylovejtk @m0uthfl13s @klarxtr @styles-canvas @fleet-of-fiction @gretavanbear @builtbybrokenbells @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @jakeyt @starrymoonslut @lightmy-love @edgingthedarkness @gvfmarge @dannys-dream @demonrat444 @jjwasneverhere @fleetingofthegretas @highway-tuna @gretas-sweat @darianh07 @age0fwagner @stardustjake @Catharu77 @milkgemini @watchingover-hypegirl @lightmy-love @twinszka @peaceloveunitygvf @raviolilegs @thetroublegetssoloud71 @sacredthefran @solanjjje @sanguinebats @itsafullmoon @sacredthethreadgvf @gretavanbrie

[vanfleeter]

Thanks @jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka for the tag!!

Tagging no one in particular! Reblog if you want to participate! 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Rules: List 5 of your favorite films in a poll and have people vote on which is their favorite.

Saw this tag game and wanted to do it myself!

@emometalhead @reefer-keifer @lord-of-the-weird @dreamcastgirl99 @bettergobackoutandfindher @leviathanlazarus @vancruejovi and anyone else who wants to do this!