BEST INTEREST.
sam carpenter x fem!reader
summary: you find yourself back in a jealous ex's bed.
warnings: smut (18+) - missionary (r receiving), fingering, strap-on referred to as "cock" during some points, teasing, one instance of pussy-slapping, withheld orgasm, dom!s + sub!r
word amount: 3600+
a/n: i wanna make this a part two, but i don't know if i would even commit to it.
“Aren’t you sweet, hm?” The curl of fingers traced under your chin made you shiver for all the wrong reasons. You quickly scanned the room, and the best you could muster was a tight-lipped smile toward her, revealing vulnerability in her eyes. You were naturally flirtatious; that much was true, and she detested it more than she enjoyed it.
Call it condescending, a way to patronize—immature even—but the bruising hold of her calloused hands as she holds your waist and thrusts forward, veins popping from the sheer tightness of her hold. The way she made you feel—you hated it more than you loved it—oh, do you love it.
To stare at her, you wouldn’t tear your eyes away from the clutch on her glass. It dawned a hold much less broad than the one she’d sensually have around your body at times, pulling you into her.
Though apart romantically, the sexual aspect couldn’t have opened as wide as it rather shouldn’t have. A click sounded from your tongue as you watched Sam stand in front of you, drenched from the outside rain with a look in her eyes that craved more than just a ‘talk’, not even 24 hours after she slammed the door shut to your shared apartment and left you crying in the shared bed.
That was the start, and all that resulted from it was sheer roughness that pleaded mercy on your body, but growing desire in your soul.
You didn’t know she’d be in the college bar on this day; Tara wasn’t with her, though it looked like she had been coerced into attending by the Meeks-Martin twins. Heavy eyes locked with stressed ones, and you pretended the feeling in your stomach watching her eyes darken when the random man’s hand on your thigh didn’t appear.
“I think I might head out now. I-”
“Are you sure? It’s only nine; why don’t you stay a little longer?” He cocked his head sideways and, if even possible at this point, traveled his hand farther up your leg. You let out a small yelp, quickly jumping off the barstool and spilling some whiskey in the process, before shrugging your reactive expression off with a forced grin. To have his hand move much further up, like his plan, and graze over the boundary-breaking point would have Sam’s built frame consuming enough rage to bash his head against the countertop.
“I’m sure of my answer. Have a good night… you,” and in a sheer failure to remember his name, you swung down the rest of your whiskey before beelining toward the door, having already caught wind of Sam standing the moment you jumped off the barstool.
“Letting people touch all over you now?” The barbaric tone coming from those sweet lips would have failed your stance at that moment, but instead, it only desired you to turn around and face her.
“It’s called flirting, Samantha. Getting back out in the dating ga-”
“You don’t even like men!” Her shouts bounced off the walls of the secluded alleyway that you had absent-mindedly wandered into moments before. “You think I don’t know why you’re doing this to me?”
Of course, Sam knew why you had let a man feel you up moments before, a week ago, and then two weeks before; jealousy tactics riled up the woman just enough to get you what you desired. However, you would never truly admit that.
You started, “I’m not surprised; I shouldn’t be after all. Making everything about yourself; it’s what you’ve always-” Sam’s sudden movements almost caused your legs to rip out from under you. Finding yourself pushed against the wall by the proclaimed dominant girl, with retractive muscles flexing from the short sleeves of her shirt, she had a dangerous look that made it almost impossible for you to cross her any further.
“What you’re going to do,” you hadn’t noticed until that moment how close she was to you, her breath fanning your face in a more sensual way than you’d like to admit, “is stop fucking around with me and let me take you home. Now.”
You had the impression that a serpent was wrapping itself around your back, and as the pain between your legs began to intensify, chills from her insistent voice filled your body. “And if I say no?”
“That’s not an option.”
The sheets of Sam’s bed were soft against the realms of your skin; you were wearing nothing but your panties while her icy hands rested on your chest. You first protested in the alleyway, resisting Sam’s tugs at your arms, but ultimately succumbed to her sweet mouth joining yours in desperate kisses.
You couldn’t keep away from one another, no matter how hard you tried.
Sam knew what kind of person you were—she presumably knows you better than you know yourself—and so she knew how you felt, and you felt her.
Her hands slid along the ridges of your ribs, which flared from your deep breaths, making you tremble at her fingertips—so light yet humiliating. The only clothing gone was the cross-body wrap over her chest from earlier outside motions, and your naked thigh rested against the cotton of her jeans. Her gaze was drawn away from the trail that her hands were following, and instead to the peculiar details of your body—a body she'd seen many times before, but her gaze raked over the scars of a past you'd wished to forget, as well as the marks that Sam herself had voluntarily made.
Her hands met your inner thighs, delivering a tough squeeze and placing a falsely delicate kiss on your knee. Those eyes, which were always filled with great emotion, raked up the delicacy of your body before meeting a set of glazed eyes that stared back at her.
The look in her eyes was one of familiarity. Her hands twitched eagerly, like she was unable to restrain herself with such visionary strength any longer. She beckoned for release, not just from the contentments of pleasure but of a full release from you—if she could even manage a week without you curled up in her bed, head resting on her chest, fast asleep after an ignorant night out.
Sam saw it as though you alone were to blame, as though you were the only reason she was unable to let go, but in your eyes and in the manner you treated her when she was pleading for your touch, she only had herself to blame in the end.
“What are you waiting for?” “Hm?” Her eyes furrowed at the look in yours; previously daunting and kind eyes now darkened in the manner of needing sensation but also the unknowing barricade that was preventing it. “You’re hesitating. Why?”
“I can’t take in you and your body for just a moment? I can do whatever I want with you.” Her tone deepened, almost to a low whisper, but you weren’t buying it for a second. She knew you better than you likely knew yourself, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t read her the same.
You pushed her off, to her surprise, and sat up on the bed, ignorant of the bareness of your body, but another matter lingered in your mind. “No, you’re just regretting this.”
“Why would I regret this- hey!” She grabbed your arm after your quick attempt to leave the bed. You were back on the mattress with Sam straddling your lap and holding your arms to your sides before you could even utter a protest. Her hand met your jaw, cupping it in a harsh hold, and turning your head to face her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Avoiding myself from being another quick fuck.”
“Well, good luck with that.” Her hands seemed to have a mind of their own—or maybe it was just the versatility that Sam’s actions could lengthen to—as she popped two fingers in your mouth to prevent any other words that might make her feral at the hands of your brattiness. “It’s all you’re good for.”
You knew she didn’t mean it, and that mindless confirmation allowed you to feel something within yourself other than offense, much more like deprivation. You failed to notice all that time how close she had been to you, her hot, clearly bothered breaths hitting your skin as the fog behind her eyes contemplated her next move.
“Don’t try that again, ever.” You were too inebriated to even process her words, preoccupied with her fingers tickling your throat and the obvious strap in her pants, even as she spoke in the most staged and artificial voice possible in an attempt to make you feel horrible. All you could do was nod your head in understanding. The sight of you below her—lightly sucking on her fingers with glazed eyes, all ready for her—was enough for Sam to finally snap.
She slid off your lap and into the crevice between your legs. With her free hand, she tugged at your left arm, then your right, toward her belt buckle. “Take it off.”
You did so without a second thought, and Sam grinned mentally at your submission. "Good, baby, now unbutton my pants.” You did as she said, feeling the fabric around her waist relax as you undid the button. She was using one hand to keep your mouth drilled shut with her fingers and the other to stroke your hair.
“Pull them down,” and short of a second later, Sam’s pants pooled down to her knees, leaving her in underwear that couldn’t hide the comically large strap—her biggest—even if it tried. “Now, do me a favor and pull these down too.” She motioned to her underwear by thrusting her hips forward ever so lightly, hitching your breath in anticipation of what awaited you. Trembling fingertips met the waistband of her underwear, lightly grazing her defined skin before letting her underwear pool down to meet her jeans.
You knew better than to touch her anywhere without her permission, no matter how much you desired to have your hands on her. Sam stripped off her shirt and bra, mentally shaking her head at the sight of you drooling over her perfectly rounded breasts. Amid admiration, you jolted at the warming feeling of the strap’s tip grazing over your clit; you hadn’t even registered the discarding of your undergarments per Sam’s hands, but you weren’t complaining.
“Oh, fuck.” Your hips thrust forward, as if they had a mind of their own, to feel more of what Sam’s teasing could offer. Though you were aware of the usual punishments received for acting out of order, something in Sam’s mind allowed you to grind desperately against the strap she wore, finding ecstasy in your desperate ruts. A finger traced along the inner sides of your right thigh, drawing delicate and smoothing shapes while nearing your core; it lingered further, tracing the outline of your reddening pussy before hastily sliding into you.
Your moan was deafening and one of shock. “Fuck! Sam…” It had quickly morphed into a whine, feeling the slow pace of her lone finger fasten as you bucked your hips up once more, then twice, and thrice. How good you could feel was beyond your imagination. “Don’t get greedy.”
“I’m no—ot.” Your breathing grew heavier from your efforts; sweat was building on your forehead, and it wasn’t enough. You looked up at Sam, who was attracted to your desperate expression. You wanted—no, needed—for her to overstimulate you, whisper muddy words into your ear, and simply grab your hair and fuck you until you were twisted past breaking. “Please, Sam.”
“Please, what?” Sam bucked her hips lightly, gaining pressure on your needy clit and causing you to squirm in pain at the lack of relief. “Use your words. I don’t have all day.”
It was hard for you to speak when Sam thrust forward continuously now, adding more and more pressure to your clit while her finger stuck inside you, occasionally curling her finger within you and allowing you loud yelps. “Please just fuck me. Please, Sam, I need you so bad.” The voice that spoke these words wasn’t yours, no, because they were three octaves higher and overly desperate for a fake cock
Your desperation always reached new levels from each meeting the two of you had, finding yourself more infatuated and needing than the last meeting, but not less for the next. It was unrecognizable to you, and you found yourself unconsciously more addicted to Sam every time you felt her smooth body rake against yours—mostly for the binding fact that, toward the end of each night, you came to the sudden realization that you couldn’t claim her as yours anymore. You were a romantic, once a teenager who gagged at the idea of estranged hookups without any purpose to them, now finding yourself a pawn of stress relief to a jealous ex.
Unfortunately, the sex was too good for you to not think twice. Every. Time.
“That bad, hm?” She curled her finger once more, cursing herself mentally at the pulsating feeling of your clit aching against her thumb, slowly tracing circles while adding a second finger inside. You squirmed, begging Sam for some sort of release; you couldn’t handle the snail's pace of her fingers working— and just like that, her movements became ferocious.
Your back arched off the bed, hands finding their way to the bedsheets to pull at them while the squelching sounds of your wet cunt filled the room. You felt too good. Sam was a pro, finding education in senseless hookups back in Modesto, but after you, she wouldn’t even think back to them anymore.
The moans you ached grew progressively louder, phasing between whiny whimpers and groaning pleas as you felt the white-hot burning in your stomach, thigh muscles starting to contract on their own and close in on Sam’s hand. “You know,” her voice was chilled, and it scared you, “orgasms hit you harder when they’ve been delayed.” She thrust her hand forward, curled her fingers inside you again, and then pulled them out of your dripping cunt. Sick of the burn that was still present in your stomach, you whined her name, and she slapped you on the pussy, making you cross your legs and lean to the side in response to the stimulation.
She let out a small laugh at how swiftly you became a ball of putty for her to mold. “You’re gonna thank me in a couple minutes,” she said, making eye contact with you, taking her two fingers that were previously inside you and putting one inside her mouth, jerking her finger while sucking on it. She took her other finger, “open,” and upon compliance, stuck it inside your mouth, jerking her finger back and forth while you copied her movements. When she removed her finger, a pop sounded from your mouth, her hand moving upward to ball your hair in her fist.
“Sam…” Despite your sexual frustration, you couldn’t help but give a second thought to the large cock adorning her strap harness. It was a new one; Sam had only ever owned a few, and this one didn’t bring a sense of familiarity to you in the same fashion as the others did.
Trust me, you would have remembered this one.
“I don’t thi- fuck,” you barely held yourself upright when Sam rubbed the head against your cunt, collecting your slick and gazing at the way it connected between the cock head and your cunt when she retracted it. “It won’t fit.”
With her hips pushed forward, Sam lined up the strap with your cunt, her mouth's curves quirking slightly. “Oh, baby,” she spoke, thrusting the head into your cunt with a loud gasp-moan coming from you. “I’ll make it fit.”
With one hand in your hair, she rested the other on your hip to stabilize you. Groans emitted from your mouth, feeling the stretch of the strap slowly opening you with every lasting second that Sam pushed herself forward. She enjoyed the pained look on your face, knowing that in a short time, that expression would morph into euphoric pleasure, the same lips that your teeth dug into pleading her name with every thrust that she maneuvered.
Sam’s hips met your inner thighs. A sigh came from your mouth in an attempt to relax yourself. “Taking it so well, see?” And you did see the sight of a non-existent gap between you and her, but feeling so filled with Sam’s new favorite strap was turning your brain to mush with each growing second. “Now you just lay there and let me use you, yeah?”
Sam’s hands released from their former positions to curve underneath your knees, bringing your legs up to rest over her shoulders. It gave her a better angle to thrust herself deep inside of you, as deep as she could, and that she did.
The most pathetic whine escaped your mouth when Sam’s hips retracted halfway and snapped forward again, veins protruding from your hands at how tightly you were gripping the sheets. Sam’s hands now snaked around your legs and rested on the fronts of your thighs, leeching for support at the growing pace she was fastening with every thrust that occurred.
Her eyes never looked away from your face. She took in your parted lips, letting out heavy breaths and whiny pleas, and occasionally a loud, sensual moan when the strap came into contact with your g-spot. Your eyes were screwed closed, your eyebrows furrowed so tightly you were sure they’d create wrinkles, and it felt like you were drowning from reality through every fierce thrust that Sam initiated.
Her groans could have set you over the edge. When she wasn’t the one under you, harness and strap buckled to your waist while her high-pitched whines filled your ears, she was in the opposite position—her rough groans replaced whines, and her hands were all over your body in successful attempts to further stimulate herself.
“Come on- fuck, I know you’re close.” Sam could feel you getting tighter; it was getting harder for her to thrust at the same pace when your walls were closing in on the strap. She bent down and teased your nipples with her fingers, feeling like a tease. They were stimulants to you, sensitive in that area and it only pushed you closer to an orgasm. You could feel the burn rising again. “Hold it.”
Your whines got louder. You hated being denied—Sam was entertained, watching you struggle and squirm under her. It showed she was in control, and with that alone, she could go all night with you. She bucked her hips harder into you, feeling the strap’s base rub against her clit each time the cock head hit your cervix.
In a way, you could tell that she was close too, and you let out a mental sigh of relief. Her groans turned into a half-moan—half-groan, now whimpers slipping out as she was reaching her high.
Curse words spilled from her mouth, eyes fixated on the way your breasts bounced with each thrust that she made, eventually looking to make contact with your big eyes. They sent her silent pleas, and her mouth formed into an ‘o’ shape as her thrusts quickened, if it were even possible by how fast she had been moving per that point.
“Shit, shit.” Her hands were firmer against your skin, and a loud whine passed from her lips. “Cum for me, baby, now.”
It took less than three seconds for the coil within you to finally snap, hands on Sam’s back pulling her into you. Breathy moans left the girl’s lips, biting your neck as her thrusts slowed from within you. She never wanted to pull out; she’d stay inside of you forever if she could. Your breathing became irregular, head resting against Sam’s as you came down from your euphoric high.
Sam’s head nudged against yours, pulling herself up by her elbows to bump foreheads. You could sense the smallest smile on her face without even looking at her mouth, eventually crashing lips in a slow kiss, one inverted to the commotion that happened moments before. That was your favorite part of her—her lips. They spoke volumes, sweet nothings (most of the time), and were so undeniably full and perfectly shaped that you couldn’t help but constantly stay glued to them.
It had been weeks since a situation familiar to this arose between the two of you. You had dodged calls, texts, ignored messages forwarded from Sam to you through Tara, and even forced your roommate to communicate that you weren’t inside whenever she’d show up at your dorm. You tried to get over her, saying that enough was enough. Unfortunately, the moment you locked eyes with her in the college bar earlier, you knew that you were going home with her that night.
Her bulky arms slid underneath you to your back, wrapping around you in a hug before flipping you over. Your body rested on top of hers now, big brown eyes staring into yours with nothing but overwhelming emotion floating within them.
Her voice was one of whispers. “I missed you, baby.”
You refused to believe it, you always had. Why would she miss you? She was the one who ended it, made you feel like shit and made only empty promises toward the end of your relationship. She closed herself off toward you.
“Missed what? Fucking me?” You let out a small laugh, your smile soon fading when you saw that her expression hadn’t changed.
“You, (Y/N). I missed you.”
