soft spoken with a broken jaw ۶ৎ
SUMMARY ۶ৎ sammy bryant tries to be a good man. you don’t make it easy.
there was a time sammy bryant once considered himself to be a good man.
a man of honor, held to a strict moral code that provided structure sturdy enough to keep the life he’d fought tooth and nail to build from tumbling down around him like dominos. he’d meant the vows when he’d taken them, passing from his mouth as he stood up on that altar like an oath he intended to keep. life just seemed to have a way of knocking him on his ass, twisting everything he thought he knew up before him in a mirage of angry words spewed like venom and nights he spent burying himself inside a woman who was definitely not his wife.
it scared him how easily he’d slipped into the habit. how he could still feel your hands tugging hair at the nape of his neck like a lifeline with your sweet, pleading sounds looping through his restless mind while his wife slept soundly beside him, marital bed cold and flatlined in ways neither of them were willing to say out loud.
there was no amount of sacrifice that could resurrect what was already dead.
sammy had stopped questioning why his wife came home hours later than usual from her photography class, the previously crushing weight in his gut now feather-light as he knotted the laces of his shoes up tight and slipped out the door without a glance spared in her direction. he’d spent so long convincing himself he didn’t care that he wasn’t sure he had it in him to pretend like he did now.
not when he was streaking through the cool night air, streetlights blurring in his peripheral and a spare key to your apartment burning a hole in his pocket. it’s a matter of minutes before he has the press of your skin beneath his, cunt slick as rain while he takes you, big palm resting heavy along the curve of your spine.
he knew it was wrong. knew there was nothing virtuous about the way his fingertips dug into the plush of your hips, wedding ring glinting from his hand like a sick joke as he used it to split you open on the length of his cock.
“that’s it, sweetheart, there y’go,” his voice is one he doesn’t recognize, gravely and unrestrained as he drives himself into the hot center of you once, twice.
the drag of you clenching tight around him has his brain going fuzzy, your eyes lidded low in the moonlight spilling between the curtains and your pretty mouth parted as you cried out for him, hands scrabbling blindly along the mattress in search of his.
“i’ve got you, s’alright,” fingers laced between yours and planting beside your head, body lowering heavy into yours as he pressed deeper. “just let me have it, baby.”
distant sirens cut the cool air breezing through the open window, joining the symphony of breathy desperate whines and the smack of your flesh on his. you were always so sweet like this, so pliant in his arms as he made you go boneless and forget all about the biting chill of a thick band of metal sitting cold on his left hand.
he still drank you down like you were water to a lost man in the desert, still touched you like you were his all the same. he hadn’t meant to let the wound of his broken marriage bleed onto you, knew you deserved more than stolen moments in secrecy and nights he shared a bed that wasn’t yours playing house with someone he used to know.
he’d damned you both to be covered in red regardless, weak at the knees for shy smiles sitting on pretty glossed lips and doe eyes looking at him like he was something— like he mattered.
it was here that reality blurred into a carnal haze that hung over his head like fog, where you were his and he was yours. the wreckage of his life would still be there come morning, always was.
but for tonight you were gushing warm around him, sobbing his name like a prayer and damn him to hell, that was enough.
