Had a STANDING OVATION everytime he won an award this season
SIXTH black man to win BEST LEAD OSCAR
Shouted out the ones before him INCLUDING HALLE
Thanked the audience, thanked the people who SUPPORTED, BETTED, AND SAW THE FILM MULTIPLE TIMES
Been in this industry for 25 YEARS working
It was a blessing he met Ryan, heâs being watched over by his ancestors and Chadwick, he is well loved by his peers and this wasnât a sympathy Oscar they KNEW he deserved it for his sheer talent, craft, artistry, and humility.
it's the second night of your trip with your physics professors and you've had a break-through in the research. but to test their hypothesis, you need to help them recreate the exact same conditions as the first night... for science.
content warning: dark!bucky x f!student!reader x dark!steve, mature themes, dark themes, made-up science bullshit, manipulation, naive!reader, smut, dub-con, rough sex, face fucking, no protection, cream pies (yes multiple), bucky and steve are DIABOLICAL MEN.
NIGHT ONE
a/n: the long-awaited sequel to my personal favorite dark fic i've ever written (exactly two years after part one!). i missed the professors <3 also i know absolutely nothing about physics so please don't take the science talk too seriously just go with it and pretend it makes total sense. and i don't like tooting my own horn but i do think this part is hotter than the first.
divider by @strangergraphics
"This is incredible - the cells transferred the energy to the battery overnight," Bucky says with excitement in his eyes. "We've been working on this for years and this is the biggest breakthrough yet."
"That's amazing, Professor Barnes," You say as you shift your weight onto your right leg, still sore from the night before.
Steve was full of guilt this morning when he woke up still inside you, apologizing profusely when he realized what happened. You assured him that it was okay, but that maybe you should take the couch tonight. After all, it wasn't his fault - he was sleepwalking and had no idea what he was doing.
"We need definitive proof that this works," Steve says as he looks through the microscope, before lifting his head up. "We need it to happen again. And to do that... we need to recreate the exact same conditions as we had last night."
Your eyes widen.
"That's right. The cells were in this room when they transferred the energy," Bucky says, taking off his glasses. "So we need to make sure the conditions are as close to last night's as possible."
"Uh... like, the temperature, and stuff?" You ask with a squeak.
"Yes. But also the activity that took place," Bucky says gravely. "See, every one of our actions takes and creates energy, so whatever we did last night made the perfect environment for the experiment to work successfully."
"You're exactly right," Steve agrees with him. "We need to do everything the same, as close as we can."
Nervously, you clear your throat. "Um, do you mean we also have to do what happened... in bed... again?" You ask meekly.
Bucky's face drops. "Oh, God. I didn't even think about that..." He trails off before looking into your eyes. "But, yes. It'll need to happen again."
Your stomach flips.
"I can't do that to her again, Buck," Steve says, shaking his head with a look of shame on his face. "I already have enough guilt from last night. I don't think I'm capable of doing that again."
"Alright. I'll do it," Bucky says bravely. "It's the same kind of energy being exuded, so it shouldn't make too much of a difference which one of us it is."
"But... it's too much to ask of her," Steve says as he looks at you with pity. "You're our student. We shouldn't put you in that position. No matter how important this research is in creating a sustainable power source that could save the world someday."
You think about it before letting out a sigh and nodding. "No. I'll do it," You decide firmly. "It's for science. And the world. I know how much time and effort you've both put into this already and... it would be my honor to help you with the research."
Bucky smiles. "I knew you'd be one of our best students, flower," He says softly before looking at the bed. "Shall we?"
Once you're in your pyjamas, you timidly get into the bed where Bucky's already laying down. Steve stands by the makeshift lab at the other side of the room, keeping an eye on the cells. There's an alarm that he set up to let out a 'ding' whenever a substantial amount of energy is passed through the cells, and he tells you that that's the sound you're looking for.
You lay on your side facing away from Bucky, just how you were last night, your heart racing.
"Alright, whenever you're ready," Steve calls out before dimming the lights.
When you feel Bucky get closer, you suck in a sharp breath and hold it in, flinching as he wraps an arm around you. "Keep breathing, flower," He whispers into your ear. "It's just me. Remember, this is for science."
"For science," You repeat with a nod.
"Good girl," He mumbles before slipping his hand under the hem of your shirt and cupping your bare boob. You gasp as he pulls and twists your nipple, making you squirm against his hardening boner.
"Nothing yet," Steve says. "Keep going."
Bucky lowers his hand and instead slips it under your shorts, rubbing your pussy over your underwear which is already wet through. You bite your lip to hold back your moans when he pushes your panties to the side and rubs circles directly onto your throbbing clit.
"Don't hold back, flower," He utters lowly. "You're doing so well for me."
With that, he pushes two fingers inside you, making you cry out at the intrusion. Once you've broken the barrier, you can't stop moaning, though it comes out in strangled whines as you do your best to keep quiet. It would be far too embarrassing to make it obvious how good this feels. It's purely for scientific research purposes.
"Gonna need a little more," Steve says in a warning tone. "Still no activity."
Taking his fingers out of you, Bucky pulls down your shorts and brings his hard cock to your pussy. He lifts up your leg before slowly inching into you, grunting in your ear as he stretches you out.
"Fuck, so tight," He groans under his breath. "You ready for it, flower?"
"Yes," You whimper, grabbing a fistful of the sheets in anticipation.
Keeping your leg lifted, Bucky starts fucking you. He starts off slow and gentle, kissing your neck and rubbing your nipples.
"Can you give me some more?" Steve requests. "Still nothing."
Bucky growls before speeding up and fucking you harder. His cock pummels in and out of you while you cry out, utterly taken over by pleasure.
"More," Steve calls out.
Pulling and twisting on your nipples, Bucky fucks you even faster, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. You can hear how wet your pussy is with each thrust.
Steve lets out a sigh of frustration. "I need more, guys," He says with a tinge of annoyance in his tone.
With that, he grabs you by the arm and forces you onto your hands and knees. Bucky then gets behind you, pushing his cock back into you and getting much deeper at this angle. He pushes your head down onto the bed roughly and even spanks your ass, though you're sure it's all for the sake of the experiment.
"Alright, that's a little better," Steve says. "Could definitely be doing more, though."
More? You let out a squeak at the thought of it.
"Steve, maybe it needs to be you," Bucky suggests, still fucking you steadily as he speaks casually. "I think you should come over here and fuck her."
Your heart skips a beat.
"You really think so?" Steve asks him.
"We have to try," Bucky answers. "For science."
With a determined look on his face, Steve nods. "For science." He walks over to the bed while stripping down, and you watch with wide eyes, still being drilled by Bucky.
Bucky thrusts a few more times before pulling out, making you whimper at the sudden loss. He makes his way to the end of the bed where your head is, while Steve climbs up behind you.
"You're doing so well for us, flower," Bucky whispers as he kisses your cheek. "I know this is hard on you, but it's going to be so worth it when we finish this project. And you'll be getting 100% on all your work this year."
"R-really?" You ask him with wide eyes.
"Of course," Bucky replies with a smile as he moves closer to you. "You're our number-one student. You have more than earnt it, flower." His cock rubs against your cheek accidentally, but he does nothing to move it. He's too busy thinking about science so you completely understand and don't complain when his pre-cum drips out onto your face and down your neck.
"Thank you, Professor Ba- aah," You cry out as Steve plunges into you with no warning.
Steve shudders as his cock sits inside your warm pussy. "Just as tight and wet as last night," He groans, making you falter.
"But weren't you asleep?" You ask him, wondering how he could possibly remember.
Instead of answering you, Steve starts railing you. Your mind is empty as he fucks you into the mattress, his hands tightly gripping your hips and keeping you in place.
"No dings yet," Bucky says with a sigh as he glances over at the lab equipment, before he looks back down at you. "Let me try something..."
He grabs a fistful of your hair and lifts your head off the bed, before forcing his cock into your mouth. Your eyes widen as he fucks your face with no mercy.
Ding, ding.
"It's working!" Steve says, and you can hear the grin on his lips. "Keep doing whatever you're doing. Don't change a thing."
"Aye-aye, captain," Bucky groans as he forces your head further down his cock, making you gag. "I'm sorry, flower, but this is what needs to happen."
"You're being so good for us, taking our cocks like a champ," Steve adds as he slaps your ass. "Our brave girl. You are so important to this research, beautiful, so fucking important, and so smart, and... fuck, so fucking tight."
Your mind lights up with delight at his praise. Ding, ding.
"That's it, keep sucking me, it's working," Bucky says lowly. "You're gonna help us save the world, flower. We're so proud of you."
He sees the look in your eyes and he knows he's got you in the palm of his hand.
"Keep making us proud," He utters, stroking your cheek as his cock breaches your throat. "You don't wanna disappoint us, do you?"
You shake your head as best you can, making him grin.
"Good girl," He whispers, before speeding up his thrusts.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Steve warns you. He makes no effort to pull out even though he isn't wearing a condom, but you let it slide. For science.
"Fill her pussy up, Steve," Bucky groans.
Your cunt flutters around Steve, making him shudder before he cums with a loud grunt, thrusting hard as he spurts into you. You moan around Bucky's cock and the sound coincides with three of the loudest 'dings' you've heard all night.
"Shit, that was incredible," Steve groans as he pulls out of you. "And it worked so well. Bucky, I think you need to cum inside her pussy, too."
"You think so?" Bucky asks as he slows down his thrusts, fucking your face a little softer.
"I do," Steve doubles down. "The alarm sounded out the loudest when I was cumming inside her; the energy created from that action must have triggered the cells."
Bucky pulls out of your mouth and cups your chin. "What do you think, flower?" He asks. "Do you think he could be right?"
It does make sense. After all, Steve's right - the alarm was loudest when he was finishing in you. And it does feel good for your professor, renowned quantum physicist, to be asking for your opinion. "I think he's right," You tell him.
"You do?" Bucky pushes, stroking your cheek. "So, you think I should cum inside your pussy, too? Right after Professor Rogers just did?"
"I do," You answer, keeping your eyes locked on his. "I really do, Professor Barnes."
"Alright. Okay, flower, if you think that's best," Bucky says innocently.
Steve moves to the side and Bucky flips you over so you're lying on your back. He then nestles himself between your spread legs and returns his cock to your pussy, which is currently oozing with Steve's cum.
With a shaky breath, Bucky uses the tip of his cock to scoop up as much of Steve's cum as he can and pushes it back into you. He repeats this a couple more times until the excess cum is back in your pussy, and then Bucky plunges his cock into you. There's a constant chorus of dings coming from the lab, proving that this is the right thing to do.
"Go for it, Buck," Steve mutters. "For science."
Bucky nods and repeats, "For science."
They both give you expectant looks and you quickly nod and echo, "For science."
Wasting no time, Bucky starts thrusting, fucking in and out of you. His head falls forward, resting in your neck as he fucks you.
"That's it, you're taking him so well," Steve says as he watches. "Just a little longer, now. You're being so good."
"I'm so close," Bucky groans into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Gonna fill this tight pussy with my cum. Are you ready for it, flower?"
"Yes," You cry out, just as Steve brings his fingers to your swollen clit and starts rubbing it. The dings get louder.
With a roar, Bucky erupts, thrusting faster and harder than ever as his cum spills into you. Steve rubs your clit harder, triggering your own orgasm as you shake beneath Bucky, your eyes rolling back. Ding. Ding. Ding.
Bucky continues thrusting weakly, making you convulse and whimper. "Such a good girl for us," He whispers, lifting his head up and looking down at you as he fucks in and out of you, slow and gentle. "We are so proud of you, flower. You have been incredible tonight."
"That's right. We couldn't have done this without you," Steve says, stroking your cheek. "And by the sounds of it, it was a successful experiment, so well done. You helped to make that happen."
You nod with a smile, basking in the glory of their praise. "Thank you, Professors, for giving me this opportunity," You say, expecting Bucky to pull out but not saying anything when he remains inside you. "It's truly such an hon- honor to work with you both. I- this experience has been phenomenal."
"And you've been amazing," Bucky says with his dick sitting inside you, even though he's talking as though nothing untoward is happening at all. "I'm so glad you accepted our invitation. We knew you were going to be a stand-out on your first day. I couldn't be prouder."
"Shit. We should've documented this," Steve says as he shakes his head. "How are we going to remember exactly what we did to make the experiment successful?"
You don't think you'll ever forget.
"Damn it. We fucked up," Bucky groans, rubbing his face.
"Is there any way at all we could... somehow get the full step-by-step of what we did?" Steve wonders out loud.
They both look at you, waiting for you to suggest something.
"Um... well, if we had filmed it, that could've worked," You suggest. "But we didn't, so..."
"So what you're saying is, we're going to have to do this all over again and make sure to film it this time?" Steve asks you, making your eyes widen.
"No, that's not what I-"
"That's our only option," Bucky cuts in, giving you a grave look. "To make sure we can perfectly replicate this, we have to do it again and film it, so we know the exact conditions needed."
"No. Look at her, Bucky, we've put her through enough," Steve says as he wipes at the residue of Bucky's cum on your cheek. "We can't do this to her again."
Bucky sighs. "You're right. We'll just have to... go back to square one and figure out another way to make this work," He says, his tone heavy with dejection. "It might take years, but we have to keep trying."
"No," You cut in, unable to disappoint them after making them so proud. "We can do it again. I can take it."
"Are you sure?" Steve asks you, concern in his eyes.
"100%," You reply instantly. They had enough hope on you to bring you on this trip over all their other students, so you need to prove your worth.
"You're sure you can take it, flower?" Bucky asks softly. "You can handle Professor Rogers and I taking turns fucking you, hard, and fucking your face, and both of us cumming inside you again with no condoms? On camera?"
"Yes," You assure him, determined to be someone they're proud of. "Whatever it takes to help you with this research, I'll do it. I'll do anything for you, Professor. I'll do anything for science."
You suck in a sharp breath when you feel his cock harden inside you again.
"You're too good to us, honey," Steve says, unable to stop the smirk from pulling at his lips. "Together, we're going to do some incredible things."
"Incredible," Bucky repeats with a grin. "And all in the name of science, of course."
"Of course," Steve adds, his thumb rubbing your swollen bottom lip. "All for science."
happy october đ got a few spoooooky fics planned and im gonna try my hardest to get them all out this month <3 it's my bday month and work is crazy rn but i'll do my best x
i no longer have a taglist, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications for updates.
Now I'm no expert but I'm not sure this is how science works, if only there were two professionals that could explain step by step EXACTLY how this experiment works.
đđđ˘đŤđ˘đ§đ : alpha!Steve Rogers x omega!reader, alpha!Bucky Barnes x omega!reader
đđđŤđ§đ˘đ§đ đŹ: dubcon, noncon, graphic depictions of depression/suicidal thoughts/ideation/attempts, graphic thoughts of self-harm, mentions of blood, extreme angst, a/b/o dynamics, smut, bullying, misogyny, dark characters, men being assholes, 18+ minors dni.
đđŽđŚđŚđđŤđ˛: Steve ruthlessly made you his, but what happens when your boyfriend Bucky finds out? (This is chapter 2, read chapter 1 here)
đ/đ: Here it is, the sequel to Drifting Further Away. Thank you all for being so patient with me. This is 21.5K words and I hope you enjoy. One last warning - this chapter is pretty graphic in terms of the angst. Please read the warnings above. And don't click read-more unless you've read them. Final warning. Apart from that, enjoy.
âStop, Steve⌠please stop.â
But you donât want him to stop. Not in the least. Not even a little bit. Not from the moment his teeth had sunk into your skin and the world had stopped moving. His heartbeat, in perfect sync with yours, is all you can hear. And all you can see is twin blue oceans, staring at you with such intensity, such darkness, such power.Â
Almost like youâre drowning in him, and yet it feels like you can breathe properly for the first time since⌠since ever.Â
âI love you,â Steve says quietly against your poor, broken skin. He licks and nips at the mark heâs made, kissing softly along it before his lips find yours again. âI love you more than anything else in the whole world.â
âNo, no, pleaseâŚâ Oh, you sound so faintâŚ
âYes. And itâs just us now. Just me and you. But donât worry, omega. Iâll take care of you. You donât have to worry about anything ever again. Iâm here now. And Iâm not leaving.â
He kisses you, clutching your face tightly in his hands. And oh, there it is again! That feeling that youâve never ever felt before. Like a blast of sunshine transporting you back to a gorgeous summer day. Like the type of summer day youâd see in the movies, where the saturationâs amped up and everythingâs golden and hazy like a dream. Where the sun warms your skin from the inside out, where the grass rustles against the gentle summer breeze. The type of summer day youâd snap a polaroid of and keep safe against your heart forever and ever.Â
How could Steve of all people make you feel like that?
And then the animal awakens. Like a rubber band inside you snaps and the dam breaks free. You feel your body buzzing â from the tips of your fingers straight down to your core. And the omega inside you takes over your brain, chanting over and over again: Steve. Alpha. Steve. Steve. Steve.
And so you donât fight against it when he pulls you over the console and into his lap. You donât complain when the steering wheel hits your back uncomfortably before he scoots his seat back, holding you snug against him. In fact, itâs the opposite. Thereâs a ferality to your every move, and you find yourself with a one-track mind as you clamber to rip his shirt off and touch his warm skin that feels like itâs buzzing too.Â
Must please alpha. Must have him. Need him. Nobody else. Just him. Just Steve.
Thereâs a tiny part of you â the sane part of you â thatâs in shock. In mourning. In absolute dismay over whatâs just happened. How Steve â your boyfriendâs best friend and the man who hated you â has just marked you without even asking, without even a warning! And Bucky⌠oh, how could you have done this to him? When all heâd ever been was good to you? When all heâd ever been was the perfect boyfriend?Â
But the feral omega inside you drowns all the other thoughts out. So freshly mated that all you can think about is Steve â touching him, pleasing him. Letting him fuck you. Like a plague in your mind, itâs all you can think about.Â
Thatâs why you donât stop him when he rips your clothes off with the raw power of an incensed and freshly mated alpha. Thereâs fire in the oceans of his eyes now, determined and feral just like how youâre feeling. Underneath you, it feels like heâs humming and vibrating with anticipation, and you match him move for move. Like both of you are parched, you paw each otherâs clothes off. And youâre naked before you even realise it.Â
Steve fucks you right there in the driverâs seat of his car, bouncing you on top of his dick while you clutch on to him tightly, whilst tears of relief, confusion, fear and heartbreak well in your eyes. Itâs all a blur, a heated, passionate, incensed blur full of desperate rutting and even more desperate kisses.Â
And youâd never felt this way with James. Thatâs what breaks your heart the most.
 âYouâre perfect for me,â Steve breathes against your lips between kisses, all the while desperately pushing you up and down on his dick. And heâs so big, so fucking big that it hurts but it hurts so good. And you havenât had sex in so long, not since Peter. Youâd never done it with Bucky, and a fresh wave of guilt washes over you before the pure, animalistic lust for Steve pushes it aside once more.Â
âSteve,â you cry softly, âPlease, please harder. Faster, please!â
Youâve never experienced sex like this. So raw, so desperate. With Peter it had been awkward but sweet â the first time for both of you and so thereâd been a lot of fumbling and a few giggles. With Bucky, the furthest youâd gone was him fingering you and that had been good. It had been hot and heâd known exactly what to do to make you feel good. But this. Oh, thisâŚ
Itâs insane how your body was reacting to Steveâs. Almost like youâd been parched your whole life and heâd not only quenched your thirst but also lit a fire in you straight from within. Each time his fat dick forced its way into your tight hole, you felt like heaven was exploding inside of you. Never before had you ever thought that sex could feel like this. And itâs with animalistic vigour that you grind down to meet his thrusts, letting him take control of you, contort you, use you, as he fucks you harder and harder.Â
You lose track of how many times you guys do it. Everythingâs whirling up like a tornado, timeâs running away from you. All you feel and see are sweaty limbs and heavy breathing, and a part of you feels like you could go on like this forever. He makes you cum so many times, and he himself spills his load so many times inside you. And yet he remains so hard, fucking you like he canât ever stop, and you feel all faint and dizzy and yet the feral omega inside you still wants to please him, and your greedy pussy swallows his dick up again and again and thatâs when you reach the insane realisation:
I want him to get me pregnant.
âI know what youâre thinking,â Steve whispers as he reaches down to rub your poor, raw clit while he fucks you. âI want it too. And I promise Iâll give you what you want. Soon.â
Your walls squeeze around him and you cum once more. And itâs so earth-shattering, despite the fact youâve lost count of how many orgasms youâve had. Your mind is frenzied with thoughts of carrying your alphaâs babies, letting him knock you up, pleasing him by giving him a family, then making him knock you up again, and â
Itâs after hours that you two finally stop fucking. And slowly, the fog in your brain begins to lift. The feral omega inside you purrs, as if satiated if only for the time being. You move to get off Steve, but he growls, holding on to you tightly. Heâs still got his dick lodged inside you, and you feel him half hard as if heâs still not done. But you whine, sore and sensitive, and so he begrudgingly lets you go, placing you back on the passenger seat.Â
Itâs with trembling guilt that you put your clothes back on, the action sobering you up some as if youâd been wildly drunk just moments before. But itâs only when you reach up to gingerly touch the fresh bite mark on your neck, that your heart lurches and the stone-cold realisation sets in.Â
âWhat did you doâŚ?â You utter slowly, dread seeping its way across your entire being.Â
Steve sighs, âOmega, lookââ
âWHAT DID YOU DO!?âÂ
The panic sets in pretty quickly after the dread. Your first instinct is to run, run, run as far away as you can. But two desperate tugs at the door handle confirm that the car is still locked. And thatâs when your horror and anxiety maxes out to about a hundred.Â
âIâNo, let me out! Let me out right now, I canât breathe, I canâtâ oh my God, WHAT DID YOU DO!? LET ME OUT!â
âListen to meââ
âNo, just let me out! I need to get out, I canât breathe! Let me out, just let meââ
Steve presses his fingers against your mark, and you go lax. The feel of his warm skin against your throbbing mating gland does things to you that youâve never felt before. A different type of calm washes over you, like the cloud of chaos that was making your chest tighten slowly dissipates â all because of his touch! Oh god, oh god, oh god, what had he done to you?!
âYouâre okay.â Steve affirms, his tone steady and clear. âI marked you, omega. Weâre bonded now and youâre my mate, thatâs all. Donât panic.â
THATâS ALL!? DONâT PANIC!? You feel like your entire world has just flipped over your head. And it plays in your head once more, his unforgiving bite. How savagely heâd torn into your skin, left his mark and drew blood in the process. How heâd declared that you were his, how he was never going to let you go. And you remember how badly it had hurt, how scared youâd felt in those few moments before the animalistic, carnal lust had taken over.Â
With one single bite, heâd stripped away your autonomy. Violated you and stolen your independence, your body, your life.Â
You roll your window down, the sudden urge to throw up rocking you down to the core. Your bodyâs shaking from head to toe, and itâs like your mind still hadnât completely caught all the way up to whatâs just happened. Like a part of you is still in denial, unable to really see whatâs just happened. What heâs just done to you.
âH-How could you do it?â Your voice comes out hoarse, quiet.
âI did what was inevitable. It was going to happen anyways, because of the way we feel about each other.â
 He sounds so⌠normal. And thatâs what scares you the most.Â
âThe way weâŚ? What are you talking about?â You moan softly, the panic still not subsiding. In fact, itâs swirling around your bloodstream along with the dread, mixing together to create the most disgusting self-loathing that you havenât felt in forever.
âWeâre in love.â Steve says confidently, âAnd it was only a matter of time before we got together naturally. I just sped up the process a little bit.âÂ
Itâs his matter-of-fact tone that gets you the most, and your head snaps in his direction, jaw dropping in pure shock over what heâs just said.
âSteve we⌠weâre not in love. I donât love you.â You say slowly.Â
He blinks, âYes, you do. Of course you do. You feel the same way about me as I feel about you. I felt it.â
âWhat are you sayingâ?â
âI felt it multiple times, omega. Like the night of our date, that moment we shared. Not to mention how you reacted to my gift.â
You think back to the cute little stuffed teddy with the shiny coal black eyes and blue bow tie that had shown up at your doorstep the night of your double date. How your heart had lifted instantly when youâd held it in your arms, when youâd cuddled it close and it felt like all the dark clouds had disappeared. Replaced by the intense feel and smell of a hot summerâs day, one that had calmed you from the inside out and lulled you into a perfect slumber where not one single nightmare had touched your mindâŚ
âNo, no, noâŚâ
âYes. You knew that bear was from me. I knew you felt troubled that night, and I knew it was because you were confused after you had that moment with me, after I saved you from that bowling ball. I believe thatâs the night your realised Bucky could never give you what I can, and youâd never feel for him what you feel for me.â
âYouâre crazy!â
âAm I?â He grabs your wrist and tugs you closer, as if he canât stand not touching you in some way or form, and the omega inside you purrs at the contact. But the rational part of your brain is horrified by your reaction, and by his next words: âAm I crazy, omega? Am I really? When youâre the one who wanted me to break up with Sharon! Youâre the one who got angry every time you saw me with her!â
âTh-Thatâs not true!â
âIt is!â Steve looks crazed, incensed, his blue eyes flashing as he leans forward over the console and the grip he has on your wrist tightens. âIt is true, omega! Donât try to deny how we feel for each other. You donât think Bucky told me about all those times youâd come to him, all upset because youâd seen me kissing her, or touching her? It bothered you, just like how it bothered me to see you with Bucky.â
âNo, Steve, thatâs not true!â You shake your head desperately, trying to tug your hand out of his grip but to no avail. âI-I was upset because you treated Sharon horribly, and she deserved better, and I hated seeing you cheat on her!âÂ
âNo. You hated that I was still with her and not with you. And you can deny it all you want, but Iâll always know the truth when it comes to you. Because unlike Bucky, I actually know you, omega. I know you from the inside out because weâre meant to be together.â
Again, he kisses you. And for the life of you, you canât understand why you just let him do it. Why your body shudders before melting into him, and why your shoulders sag in relief.Â
âWh-What are we going to tell him?â You ask when the two of you break apart. âHow could we possibly face him after this? Heâll be so hurt and mad, and rightfully so!â
âIâll speak to him,â Steve straightens his sweater before placing his hand on your leg, like he canât go a few seconds without touching you. Which is exactly how you feel too, no matter how hard you try to swallow it away. âI donât want you worrying about that. And I also donât want you speaking to him at all from now on, so just let me handle it.Â
Your jaw drops, âIâm not allowed to speak to him?â
âThatâs what I just said, yes.â
âYouâre insane if you think you can tell me who I can or canât speak to.âÂ
Steve has always intimidated you, but lately your confidence has grown. And yet, you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. Almost like every cell in your body is repulsed by the very idea of you talking to your alpha like that. But mentally, youâre at war with yourself â because he was well and truly acting insane right now! How could he possibly think he could tell you what to do? How could he possibly expect you not to explain things to Bucky after youâd essentially just cheated on him?!Â
âYou wonât speak to Bucky,â Steve repeats, surprisingly unperturbed by your words. âThe mark on your neck means that youâre mine, and marked omegas donât go around talking to alphas who arenât their mate. Besides, his reaction wonât be pretty, and I donât want you anywhere near that.â
You sit back against your seat and try your hardest to block his words out. You donât care what Steve says, you donât care, donât care, donât care! It almost doesnât register to you, when he refers to the mark on your neck. Oh, you havenât even gotten a look at it yet and you never want to! It doesnât feel real, being marked, being owned by someone. Especially someone like Steve Rogers. This was all one terrible, messed up mistake. It had to be!Â
And Iâll fix it, you decide once and for all as you put your seatbelt back on and Steve starts the car again. Youâd explain everything to Bucky, and knowing him â heâd understand! Heâd understand how youâd been trapped in Steveâs car, coerced by him, how youâd begged him to stop and heâd ignored you and bit you anyways. Oh, of course Bucky would understand! He was the most caring, thoughtful and calmest alpha you knew! He was your boyfriend, not Steve! NEVER STEVE!
Your mind works itself into overdrive, a million frenzied thoughts flurrying in and out of your head. You were sure there were some pills you could order that would dull the bond. Youâd read about them in one of your biology textbooks back in high school. It wasnât a complete solution but it was something, and perhaps with the effects of the bond dulled, youâd be able to think clearly, and form a better plan, andâ
âIâm so happy weâre together now.â Steve interrupts your thoughts, one hand on the steering wheel as he drives back out towards the highway, his other hand still on your thigh, stroking softly and leaving goosebumps in its wake. âI wanted you since the moment I saw you, the moment you walked in that first day and I could smell that fucking addictive scent of yours. I knew from that day that we were meant to be. Bucky couldnât smell you, but I could. Itâs like you were made for me, sent to that class especially for me.â
Your eyes widen at his delusions, and you gulp, too stunned to really say anything. Why was he acting like he didnât hate your guts since the moment heâd seen you? Oh, he was well and truly insane!Â
So then why was there a part of you, deep down inside, that was glowing, almost purring at his words?
You keep your eyes glued out the window, deliberately turning away from him as much as you can. Once this car ride was over and you were at Buckyâs house, youâd never, ever be alone with Steve Rogers again. And youâd get yourself out of this mess. And Bucky would help you.Â
He would definitely help you, wouldnât he?
***
âWhy are we stopping here?â
Not twenty minutes later, Steve pulls into a parking lot of what looks to be a four-star hotel, and definitely not Buckyâs house.
âItâs late. We need to rest.â
Panic rises up to your chest, âN-No, we need to get to Jamesâ house! We need to explain what happened, andâ Oh, heâll be waiting for us! We canât make him wait a whole extra day!â
âRelax. I already texted him and told him we got stuck in traffic and decided to stay at a hotel for the night. Weâll see him tomorrow morning. Now come on.â
You stare at him as he gets out of the car and starts unloading your bag and his own. How could he possibly be so calm? It was almost eery. Heâd betrayed his own best friend! His childhood best friend! Did that mean nothing to him?
âI-I should text him. Or call,â You get out of the car too, scrambling to get your phone out of your purse. In your frenzy, youâd completely forgotten you could do those things too.Â
âOmega, no.â Steveâs voice is stern and authoritative as he comes around the car and grabs your wrist. And oh, heâs so much bigger than you! And so frighteningly formidable that it makes you shrink back. His muscles bulge and you gulp, averting your gaze down to the ground, feeling an aura of authority around him that you hadnât ever really felt before, and it makes the mark on your neck prickle. âYou will not tell him what happened, not even over call or text. Iâve told him youâre already asleep. Now come on.â
It was crazy, how Steve thought he could make every single one of your decisions for you. Whatâs even crazier is when he grabs your hand and starts pulling you towards the hotel entrance.Â
âPlease let go of my hand.â
He ignores you.Â
âSteve, please! Weâre not a couple, I donât want you to think thatââ
âYouâve got my mark on your neck and I just fucked you multiple times in the front seat of my car. But you draw the line at holding my fucking hand?â His grip tightens.Â
âI draw the line at all of it!âÂ
âWell, just give it a rest.â
The hotel room is big and spacious. But your heart sinks when you see thereâs only one bed. Oh no, he didnât expect for the two of you to share, did he?
âGo wash up and change and then get into bed,â Steve orders the moment the two of you step inside. âWeâll head out early tomorrow.â
âI-I canât share a bed with you!â
Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he drops the bags on the floor. âI donât fucking care what you can or canât do, omega. Now go wash up and change.âÂ
Your heart starts pitter-pattering like crazy in your chest. You eye your duffel bag, knowing full well that you canât wear your pyjama shorts in front of Steve, not when heâs already looking at you with those dark, blown out blue eyes.Â
And what about yourself? Could you even trust yourself being in such close vicinity to him all night? Youâd so easily spread your legs for him once heâd marked you, but you couldnât let it happen again. No. Not ever again.
Ten minutes later, you timidly emerge from the bathroom wearing your baggiest hoodie and a pair of loose jeans. Not the most comfortable sleeping attire by any means, but there was no way you were going to bare your skin in front of Steve Rogers again.Â
No matter how much the mark on your neck prickled or the omega inside you screeched at you to do the exact opposite.Â
Steve frowns, âI thought I told you to change.â
âI have changed. This is what I always sleep in.â
âNo, itâs definitely not.â
âYes, it is! I swear!â
âYouâre cute when you lie, omega.â He collapses down on one of the armchairs adjacent to the bed, looking nonchalant as he texts someone on his phone. âBut I know what you sleep in, and itâs not that.â
Itâs your turn to frown, âHow do youâ?â
Thereâs a pause, and then he throws his phone aside before looking up at you with dark eyes, âYou would never draw your curtains.â
âHuh?â
He smirks, leaning forward with a wolfish look, âYou heard me. Youâd never draw your curtains when you changed.â
Your jaw drops at what heâs insinuating, âSteve! Th-Thatâs so wrong, how could youââ
âIâd watch you slip on the sexiest little shorts that made your ass look insane,â he sits up straighter, licking his lips and running his hand through his hair. âAnd I could see every fucking thing those goddamned hoodies hid from me during the day. Who knew you were hiding all that.â
Suddenly, the air around you feels thick and hot. You instinctively take a step back at the same moment Steve stands up and takes a step towards you.Â
âAnd then Iâd go home and think of your hot little body while I jacked off.â He takes another step forward, âAnd Iâd think of you while I fucked my girlfriend. Think of the sexy little private show you put on for me every night I watched you. Almost like you knew I was watching, and you were doing it just for me. Because God knows you never let Bucky see you like that.â
You swallow, taking another step back, âYouâre scaring me, SteveâŚâ
âGood. Itâs hot when youâre scared.â
Another step back, and now the backs of your knees are touching the bed. âY-You should stay over there, please, and Iâll stay over here.â
Steve chuckles lowly, âNow why would I do that?â
He lunges at you. You scream, try to run but heâs too big to dodge. Easily, he grabs you and pushes you down on the bed. You land on your back, and heâs on top of you instantly, his hard crotch pressing obscenely against your core.Â
âLet me fuck you again,â he whispers beguilingly against the mark on your neck, and your eyes almost pop out of your head when you feel his teeth graze against it. âYou know you want it as bad as I do.â
âW-We canât,â you swallow thickly, suppressing the urge to thrust back up against his hard, covered cock. The omega inside you is practically screaming at the proximity, begging you to rip his clothes off and spread your legs for him again just like you did in the car. But the rational part of your brain cuts through all the noise, âSteve, please, we canât do this. Itâs not right. Buckyââ
Steve presses his forehead against yours, his hands grabbing your wrists and pinning them on either side of you. âItâs okay, weâve already fucked so itâs not a big deal if we do it again. Heâll understandâŚâ
âNo, he wonât,â you moan, unable to stop yourself. Weakly, your legs kick against him in a bid to get him off of you but itâs almost like your bodyâs given up before even trying. Like every cell in your body is just screaming at you to just give in. âI-I canât hurt him like this, Steve. We canât do this.â
âJust let me put the tip in,â Steve breathes, his chest pressed so hard against yours, you can feel his heartbeat in sync with your own. âJust the tip, baby. Itâll calm me down and then we can just go to sleep.â
âNoooo,â
âShhh, yes. Just say yes,â he urges, thrusting his clothed cock against you and oh fuck, heâs so hard. âJust the tip, I promise. Itâll feel so fucking good.â
Your mind is screaming at you to let him do it, let him fill you up because youâre just an omega and you need your alpha to fill you up because thatâs what you were made for, wasnât it? This is what your purpose was, to fulfil your alphaâs desires and this is what he wanted and you wanted it too! You wanted it so fucking bad, like your whole soul was itching for it.
âJ-Just the tip? You promise?â Your brain feels fried with lust and desire, and not a single rational thought.
âI promise, sweetheart. Just the tip. Donât you trust me?â
Itâs past midnight before the two of you finally stop fucking and fall asleep. Overcome with carnal desire, you let Steve take you so many times, you lose count. And heâs so much bigger than you, overpowering your pleas which grow weaker as your lust grows stronger and stronger. And you feel like youâre drowning in a haze of sunshine, like you canât breathe but in the best way possible. Like you canât think but itâs alright because you donât need to think. Itâs like your mind and soul leave your body altogether, and the only thing thatâs left is the purring omega inside you, the one thatâs crying with joy because your alpha is inside you, filling you up again and again as if he canât stop. Because he doesnât want to stop. And neither do you.Â
You were well and truly fucked.
***
The morning is sombre and grey - both the weather and your mood. Mind now somewhat clearer, you refuse to even look at Steve, let alone speak to him. You can hardly look at yourself either, not after what youâd done yesterday. Because it was plain as day - you had cheated on your boyfriend. Multiple times.Â
But it wasnât your fault! The rational part of your mind screams, Steve forced you!Â
And the proof is right there in the mark on your neck. The mark you refuse to look at or even acknowledge. All you do want to acknowledge right now is that you need to get far, far away from Steve, so you can think clearly enough to figure out how to get yourself out of this mess.Â
Luckily, Steve is in no mood to talk either, and the two of you silently set off. You wonder to yourself whether he finally feels the guilt too. The same guilt for betraying Bucky thatâs been eating you from the inside out. And your stomach churns at the thought of finally facing him.Â
Heâs standing in his driveway when Steve finally pulls up. Looking so devastatingly handsome, a smile lighting up his face when he catches your eye. You sit in the front seat of Steveâs care, shaking with nervous anticipation and dread, fingers itching to take the seatbelt off and jump out of the car as soon as Steve parks it.
âYou stay in the car,â Steve murmurs, âLet me talk to him first.â
It takes everything in you not to obey him, and so when he finally does stop the car, you jump out before he can stop you. Before the chemistry of your own body cells can stop you. And you run up to Bucky, feeling like the worst person alive when you see his smiling face.
âThere you are, princess,â Bucky laughs, catching you in a tight hug, âI thought you guys would never make it.âÂ
You shiver in his arms, burying your face in his chest, digging your nose around as if to smell his familiar wintery, woody scent. But all you can smell is the hot summerâs day that sticks to your skin, and you savour your boyfriendâs embrace, but it does nothing to calm your beating heart.Â
âWhatâs wrong? Are you cold? Why are you shivering?â He cups your face in his hands, and you look up at him with eyes already wet, lips downturned and wondering if he can see the ugly betrayal on your face.Â
Thereâs a shuffling somewhere behind you, and Steve clears his throat, âBucky. We need to talk.â
Bucky doesnât look at him. No, his gaze is fixed on you. Light, pretty blue eyes blink as they drink in your drained, tired face. Take in how your lower lip quivers, the shame painted so plain as day on your features.Â
His nostrils twitch, his body going rigid against yours.
âJames,â you whisper, âIâm so sorry, Iââ
âWhy? Why would you be sorry?â The smile is frozen on his face, and thereâs curiosity mixed with something else in his eyes. Like dread for what you might say next.
All morning, youâd played this moment again and again in your head. Gone through millions of different scenarios, practiced a thousand different explanations. But there was no way to spin the truth in a way that wouldnât hurt him. And itâs like everything youâd thought youâd say in this moment goes flying out the window, and you feel your throat close up, and a shiver runs down your spine.
âSweetheart? I asked you a question.â Buckyâs grip on you is firm. It doesnât hurt, but it does keep you planted to reality, and you know you need to start talking now, and explain everything. And tell him that you didnât mean it, that you didnât want to be bonded to Steve! That you wanted James and no one else. And that this didnât mean anything, andâŚ
âLet her go. Iâll explain everything.â Steve comes up beside you, and you wish you didnât feel the comfort that comes in waves the moment you feel his presence next to you. Like a warm ray of sunshine on a cold, bleak day.Â
And yet, Bucky still doesnât look at Steve. Only you. And the look on his face in that moment is one you donât think youâll ever forget. Itâs like his features turn ghost-like in a handful of long, painful seconds. His eyes narrow down to slits, the sparkle snuffed away like a candle. He pales, taking the sharpest intake of breath, he takes a step back as realisation dawns slowly on his face.
âYou didnâtâŚâ
âIâm so sorry, James,â again, you try to find your voice, try to launch into the explanation thatâs stuck inside your goddamned throat. âI didnât⌠I didnât mean for this to happen, Iââ
Buckyâs movements are like a whip, and in a flash, he reaches out and moves your hair aside. And there it is, plain as day. The big, jagged mark on your neck, the one that youâd tried so desperately to ignore and forget. The one that belonged to Steve.Â
The whole world stands still. And you see it all flash across Buckyâs face. Disbelief, hurt, pain, betrayal. He reaches out as if to touch you, but his hand turns into a fist instead. In slow motion, he looks from you to Steve then back at you.
Thatâs when Steve steps in front of you, âLeave her out of this. We can discuss it without involving her.â
CRACK.
Itâs sickening, the sound you hear. Steve falls to the ground with a thud, the force of Buckyâs fist laying into his face so hard that it knocks him off his feet. And Bucky looks livid, standing above him with a look of such reverence on his face, it chills you down to the bone. And then he looks at you, and his eye twitches. You flinch â heâs never look at you like that before. With such hatred and disbelief.
âOK, fine, I deserved that,â Steve staggers to his feet, wiping his jaw. You gape â Buckyâs got him cleanly on the side of his face. The black eye already forming, and thereâs blood everywhere. âBut if you just let meââ
Bucky disregards him, instead making a beeline towards you. Your eyes widen when he grabs your shoulders, his eyes wild with angry hurt, âHow the fuck could you? How could you justâŚâ
Heâs thrown off you before you can even form an answer.
âDonât touch her. I told you; we should discuss this. In private.â
âDonât touchâŚ? Sheâs my girlfriend, you fucking son of a bitch!â Itâs almost like Bucky still doesnât believe it, and again he looks at you with such an unreadable expression you donât know what to even think! And your throatâs chosen the worst moment to close up, and you watch him helplessly, wishing you werenât like this. Wishing you could just explain it all calmly and clearly like how youâd practiced in your head.
âTell me you didnât fucking do this,â Bucky lowers his tone, speaking only to you as if Steve just isnât there anymore. âTell me you didnât go behind my back with my best fucking friend.â
âI didnât mean for this to happen!â You burst out, âI didnât want this, James! Please believe meââ
âHow long has this been going on?â He looks⌠disgusted. Still in disbelief. Oh, didnât he believe you?!
âIt hasnât! I want you, not him. I donât want this, I didnât ask for this, I didnâtââ
âTHEN WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU LET HIM MARK YOU?â Bucky explodes, and the hurt is so evident in the way his voice breaks slightly at the end, âHow could youâŚâ
You swallow and step forward, trying to grab his hand but he shrugs you off coldly, âI didnât want him toââ
âBucky, itâs done now. Itâs happened, and we can talk about it when youâre in the proper state to talk, butââ
CRACK.
 He punches Steve again. This time, Steve spits out blood, the entire left side of his face swelling up. Your hands go up to your face in horror.
âI canât fucking believe you,â he whispers, his gaze solely locked on you, as if Steve doesnât exist and itâs just you and James in a whirlwind of betrayal that you had created.
âPlease believe me,â you plead. Oh, he had to! Your bond with Bucky was stronger than anything Steve had done to you. You knew it! Oh, he had to believe you! âLet me explain, James. Itâs me, OK? Iâm still the same person; Iâm still your girlfriend. I justââ
âSave it.â His face hardens, and then heâs no longer looking at you. No, itâs like youâve disappeared, like youâre not even there anymore. Like heâs just looking through you. He swallows, running a hand through his hair, âI canât⌠I canât fucking be here right now.â
âJamesââ
You try to grab his hand again, but he shoves you. Hard. The force of it has you falling back, and Steve is the one who catches you before you can hit the ground. And you start crying in earnest, calling out his name over and over again as he walks away. You try to run after him, but Steveâs got a death grip on you despite how much you struggle against him.
Bucky ignores your cries, and in a determined daze he makes a beeline for his car. And Steve just lets him go, and you scream for him to stop, to just hear you out, to let you explain. But itâs like he can no longer hear you, or hear anyone for that matter. Heâs got a glazed over look on his face, like he canât quite believe whatâs just happened.
He drives off, and you cry till your voice is hoarse and your throat hurts so bad. And everything hurts, you hurt from the inside out. Like youâve just lost something that you can never ever get back no matter how hard youâd tried to persuade yourself that you could fix things.
Oh, this couldnât be how things ended!
In the end, Steve has to carry you inside. Itâs all a blur of salty tears, but he takes you into his own house across the street from Buckyâs. And itâs huge, but you take none of it in. You feel like a baby, a helpless and stupid baby. Pathetic. A cheater. Oh, the hurt in Buckyâs eyes! You donât think youâll ever forget it.
âItâs okay, omega,â Steve presses a kiss to your forehead, holding you close to his chest, âItâll be okay, I promise.â
You hate how right the reassurance feels. Especially coming from the completely wrong person.
***
Steveâs home is like a castle. At least in your naĂŻve eyes. A big, empty, sprawling castle with acres and acres of land around it. It may as well have had a moat too, with how big it is. All the houses in the area are massive. But you still havenât registered it or really taken it in or properly observed your surroundings, despite spending the night in his bed again.
âMy parents are away,â he says, sitting on his desk chair all nonchalantly as if the two of you hadnât just collectively betrayed his best friend yesterday. His best friend who still hadnât returned, because his car was missing from his driveway. You knew because youâd keep looking out the window to check. âTheyâre busy, but once theyâre home, Iâd love for you to meet them. Theyâd like you, especially my mother.â
âWhen do you think heâll be back?â You ask distractedly.
âI just told you, theyâre busy so I donât know. My mom is⌠Well, sheâsâŚâ
âI mean Bucky,â you interrupt, taking another glance out the window. Still no car. âHeâs been gone since yesterday; he wonât answer his phone. I hope heâs OKâŚâ
âCould you stop?â Steve looks irritated, âHeâs not your concern anymore, omega.â
You lock eyes with him incredulously, âHow could you care so little? Did you see how hurt he looked? I need to explain everything to him, I just ââ
âYou donât need to do shit. I donât know how many times I need to say this to you, but heâs not your boyfriend anymore. I am. Heâs just someone from your past. And thatâs why I didnât want you out there yesterday. I knew itâd get physical, and thatâs how it is with us alphas. We work it out our own way.â
âIâm his girlfriend and I betrayed himââ
In a flash, heâs on his feet. He crosses the room in a second, grabbing you by the chin so you look straight at him, âDonât fucking say that again if you know whatâs good for you.â
Oh, how could you ever begin to understand Steve?! Steve and his one thousand different moods which he seemed to keep switching in between? From horrible to nice to protective to scary and threatening all over again? Which one was truly him? What were you supposed to believe?!
He sighs, his grip loosening some, âFuck, Iâm sorry. Look, Iâm not stupid, OK? I know it wasnât the smartest thing to do, marking you like that. I know Iâve put you in a terrible position, but Iâm trying to protect you when I tell you to just stay out of it and stay away from him from now on. I know him, I know heâll be fine.â
âWould you be fine?â You whisper, heart thudding because his mood swings scare you, âWould you be fine if your best friend marked your girlfriend behind your back?â
âIf I was in love with my girlfriend, I would have marked her up the moment I knew she was the one,â Steve says without missing a beat, âThatâs the part youâre refusing to understand. You seem to think heâs the one and if it werenât for me, youâd have had your happily ever after with him. Ignoring the fact that he didnât make you happy, and eventually both of you wouldâve realised that and gone your separate ways.â
âStop acting like you knew what we had between us!â
âDonât fucking raise your voice at me. And I do know what you had with him. Or the lack of what you had with him. I know it doesnât hold a candle to what you have with me.â
He kisses you, and no matter how hard you pound at his chest, how desperately you try to push him away, you end up in his arms anyways. His scent too alluring, too addicting. His lips even more so. Like two puzzles pieces, you slot together so perfectly itâs almost like the universe is playing a cruel joke on you. Because Steve couldnât be your soulmate, he just couldnât!
And yet⌠And yet your hands go to cup his face to deepen the kiss, and he winces. You pull back, biting your lip at his swollen jaw and black eye.
âIt doesnât hurt,â he answers your silent question, shooting you a wink and a lop-sided smile, âAnd Iâd happily take a hundred more punches in the face for you, baby. Thatâs how you know I love you.â
Why does it make your heart skip a beat and butterflies crowd in your stomach when he says that? Why does it make you feel all warm inside, like you want to giggle and kick your feet? Why were you designed like this? Why did he make you feel like this? When nobody else ever hadâŚ
He kisses you some more, and your heartâs breaking and youâre so fucking confused but you let him. You want him to, and thatâs what disgusts you the most. The omega inside you is purring, basking in the sunlight of his glow, never wanting him to stop.
But his phone rings and he pulls away, a frown etching his features when he sees who it is.
âWhat do you mean â is she okay?â He goes to the other side of the room and turns his back. You can still hear him, but the lack of his scent immediately around you makes your head clear a bit, and you look out the window again. Still no sign of Bucky.
Steve clears his throat, âJust⌠Okay, Iâll be there, I just need toâ Iâll be there, okay?! Goodbye.â
He turns back to face you and sighs, âI have to go.â
You rip your gaze away from the window, âWhat?â
âI need to⌠My momâ Uh, something came up so I need to go deal with it.â He runs a hand through his hair, âYou need to stay put here. Thereâs a library, a pool, a cinema. The chefâs made food and he can bring it to you whenever you want it. Just donât⌠Just donât leave the house, okay?â
You frown, âIs everything okay?â
âYes. Or it will be.â He hugs you suddenly, hugs you so hard that youâre taken aback and can barely breathe. âOmega. Please donât leave the house. Iâll be back soon, okay baby?â
âOkay,â you say automatically, because heâs your alpha and youâre supposed to agree with whatever he says and listen to him.
He leaves, and then youâre alone with your thoughts. And once more, the cloud of haze clears once heâs not in your presence. Oh, the effect he had on you was insane! He made you feel like, like⌠Oh, like nothing youâd ever felt before and you hated it!
Didnât you?
***
You donât know how long you sit there. By Steveâs bedroom window, staring listlessly at the rich suburbia outside. Nothing about your situation seems real at all, and yet you keep catching glimpses of Steveâs mark on your neck every time you look at his bedroom mirror. It makes your mind bubble with panic each time. Oh God, what could you do?!
In a frenzy, you turn to your phone. You know there are some special pills you can take, youâd heard of other omegas taking them. They help to dull unwanted bonds. After some desperately intense googling, you find some for purchase on a random website. Theyâd have to do, and so you order them to your dorm address hastily, without a second though
And it makes you feel slightly better, as if youâve finally taken a little bit of control of your situation. A tiny bit of hope that lightens your otherwise bleak reality.
Thatâs when you see it. Or him. His car pulling into the driveway. James.
You remember Steveâs words. Donât leave the house.
But Steve wasnât here right now, and therefore his words donât have that much of an effect on you. It still feels wrong, leaving the room and quietly darting down the grand staircase, despite no one being at home except you. You let yourself out, running across the street without even looking both ways.
âJames! James, wait!â
He turns around at the sound of his name. And itâs crazy how different he looks in just twenty-four hours. Scruffy, gaunt, empty. He watches as you run over to him, his hands remaining by his side. Looking at you almost as if you were a stranger, and not his girlfriend.
Promptly, he turns his back on you, hurrying towards his front door. You catch up to him, grabbing his arm except he coldly shrugs you off. Â
âJames, please, just give me a chance to explain.â
âThereâs nothing left to explain so donât bother.â
You bite your lip at how cold he sounds, and yet continue following him up his front steps. âYes there is. I need you to understand that I didnât want this, OK? I donât want to be with Steve, and I didnât want this mark.â
He stops, hand hovering over the doorhandle.
âI donât want him,â you repeat, despite the omega stirring inside you, yelling in your head that youâre lying, lying, lying!
He sighs, unlocking the door and twisting it open, but now he turns to look at you. âI donât know why I donât believe you.â
âItâs you I want,â you say, hoping you sound confident, assured, like you know exactly what youâre saying without a single doubt in your mind. âNot Steve, okay? You.â
Buckyâs dark eyes flash with a semblance of⌠something. But his jaw remains clenched, his lips pressed together in a thin line. His gaze flits over to Steveâs mark on your neck, and oh how you wish it wasnât there! How you wish it would just disappear, and take away all your confused, muddled emotions along with it!
âWhy did you let him mark you?â His voice is hoarse, raspy almost. Like thereâs so much bottled up hurt and anger inside him, and heâs not sure how to let it out. But all you want is for him to believe you.
Or is that just you wanting to believe yourself?
âI didnât get a choice,â your voice catches, and you step forward. You donât expect it, but he moves aside, allows you into his home before following you. The temperatureâs dropping outside as dark clouds begin to form, and you welcome the warmth of his foyer as he mechanically shuts the door behind you. You take it as your chance to continue: âJames, he didnât give me a choice. You have to believe that, okay? He didnât ask me if I wanted him to mark me, he just did it. And I⌠I didnât want to, okay? HeâŚHe just did it⌠He just, he justâŚâ
Your voice breaks in earnest as you stutter over your words, thinking back to the pain youâd felt when Steve had bit you. How callously heâd made that life decision for you both, without even asking you, without even informing you, without even a single warning.
Thereâs something else you feel, something deep in the recesses of your mind. Almost a sense of shame, a sense that youâre betraying him, betraying Steve by speaking against him to another alpha. Like a nagging feeling that tugs at your heart, that warns you to stop. That makes you feel unnatural for going against all of Steveâs orders, for being here right now, for retelling the story of how it happened.
Because youâd let him fuck you right after that, hadnât you? Over and over and over again?
âHe just did it,â you repeat, shame numbing you from the inside out. âHe just did it. He just, he justâŚâ
Bucky draws you into his arms. Itâs hesitant at first, and his nose twitches as if trying to resist the scent of another alpha â his best friend â which is stuck to you like a second layer of skin. But he pulls you into an embrace anyways, and your whole body shudders in relief, and you break down, sobbing against his chest for everything youâd lost yesterday. Yourself. Your body. Your shame. Him.
âIâm sorry,â you want to hide your face in his chest forever, like the shame is too much, almost swallowing you up whole, âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry.â
Flashes in your mind, going back to it all. That feeling after Steve had bit you, that feeling of utter relief when heâd kissed you, that feeling youâd never felt before. Like youâd been incomplete all your life but suddenly you werenât anymore. What about all that? Shouldnât you come clean about all that too?
No, that wasnât me! Your mind screams desperately, so loud it makes your head hurt. That wasnât me! That was his mark on my neck, his scent all around me, confusing me! Making me think things I should never think! Making me feel things I donât actually feel! No, I couldnât feel those things, I couldnât, I couldnât, I couldnât!
âItâs me that you want?â Bucky asks, slowly drawing back and cupping your face in his hands. And you find that you can barely smell him at all. That smell of powdery winter snow, of smoky firewood on a cold winter morning. It feels like a distant memory because you can hardly smell it now, no matter how hard you try.
You nod desperately, âYes, yes, itâs you! James, youâre the one I always wanted. Youâre the one I fell for. You were nice to me when he was only ever mean and awful. And I wish so bad that we could just go back to how we were before he⌠before he just⌠heâŚâ
Do you ever get that yearning feeling? Steveâs voice forces its way inside your head once more, do you ever get that feeling? Of wanting something so bad but you canât seem to figure out what it is?
No! You hug Bucky harder, wanting to erase the memory of Steve from your mind. And more importantly, erase anything you may have felt when under the influence of his darned scent and his mark on your neck. Like how youâd felt when heâd kissed youâŚ
âI want you, James,â you repeat, as if youâre trying to persuade yourself as much as youâre trying to persuade him. âI⌠I donât want him. He didnât give me a choice. If he had, I wouldâve picked you.â
He takes your trembling hands in his, and his blue eyes bore into yours. As if trying to detect even a sliver of dishonesty. But you look back at him squarely, heart beating like crazy and dangerous feelings, distressed emotions bubbling inside you. Oh, youâre confused, youâre so confused! You feel like youâre betraying Steve, yet at the same time you have betrayed Bucky. But it was Bucky who you wanted in the first place, right? Youâd been happy with him, hadnât you? Nothing Steve had done could ever change that! Right?
âProve it,â Buckyâs blue eyes are dark with a new kind of intensity youâve never seen before. He presses his forehead against yours, âProve that itâs me you want. That he means nothing to you.â
You nod, âIt is you, James. Iâll do anything to get you to believe me. Anything, Iâllââ
He kisses you. And oh, it feels wrong! It feels so wrong but you cling to it, cling to him. Willing the universe to just give you a break, to just let you have this. Let it feel right for his sake if not your own, because you just want him to stop hurting. Youâd do anything to stop him from hurting.
You kiss him back fervently, passionately. You put everything into it, carding your fingers through his hair. He kisses you fiercely, desperately, like youâll turn to dust in his arms if he doesnât. And all the while, the shame monster in your heart grows bigger, mocking you for not feeling like how it felt with Steve, how it felt like the whole world had stopped and heâd scorched your whole being from the inside out in the best way possible.
Bucky picks you up easily, his lips not leaving yours. Your heart lurches as you feel him moving, but you keep kissing him. Up the stairs he takes you, and a feeling of dread pools in your stomach, his words echoing in your head: Prove it.
Into his bedroom now, and his scent faintly tingles your nostrils. Itâs still so faint, as compared to the hot summerâs day thatâs stuck to your skin. He drops you on his bed, his huge frame covering yours like a dark shadow. He presses his front against yours, and you know what he wants. Prove it, prove it, prove it.
âYouâll do anything wonât you?â He murmurs between kisses, his lips moving down your cheek, your neck, your collarbones. Thumbs hooking the waistband of your leggings. âTo prove that itâs me and not him?â
You nod, desperation making you surge up into his kiss, letting his hands roam your body, trying to ignore how freezing cold he feels.
Bucky pulls back, a peculiar look in his eyes. Almost like heâs trying to read you. And then he slowly slips your leggings down but looks at you before he does. âYouâll prove it to me?â
Prove it, prove it, prove it. You could do this. You were choosing to do this. It would show him, show yourself, that Bucky was the one for you. That Steveâs mark didnât mean anything when it truly came down to it.
You take a deep breath and nod. A smile touches his lips, and he kisses you again, gentler this time. You scrunch your eyes shut so hard it hurts, try to imagine a princess finally reunited with her prince charming after he saved her from the beast whoâd taken her when she didnât want to be taken. This was how it was supposed to be, right? Right? Back in the arms of the man you were supposed to be with?
âI wanted this so bad,â Bucky murmurs, caressing the skin of your bare legs as your leggings pool by your ankles. âI thought it was over, you and me⌠I thought Iâd lost you.â
âNo, never,â you cup his face, âNever, James⌠Youâll always have me.â
Your chest hurts, feels heavy. Like thereâs a pool of dread inside thatâs getting bigger and bigger, threatening to burst. You will it away, fight against it, but you can feel the stinging in your eyes, the wobble of your lips, your mind screaming: no, please donât⌠please stopâŚ
Itâs okay, you can get through this, you coach yourself. Itâll make him happy, and he deserves to be happy. And itâll make you happy too, because this is what youâre supposed to want.
âYouâll prove it to me, wonât you?â He repeats against your lips, âProve that you donât feel anything for him? Just me?â
Thereâs a lump in your throat which you ignore, nodding, âO-Okay, James.â
Itâs all a big blur as he shoves his jeans off, and you try to focus only on his face. His eyes look dark, far away. Thereâs none of that familiarity you once knew, that youâd seen just a few days ago. Now, he looks determined, forlorn, but apart from that you canât read him at all.
You press your lips together and clutch his shoulders tightly as he enters you. Kissing him harder to ease yourself through the feeling of dread. The feeling that youâre doing something so wrong. The feeling that you donât want this at all. The feeling that the more he presses into you, the more you feel like youâre floating. Like youâre out of your body. Like you donât know whatâs happening anymore. Like youâre losing yourself.
It's a peculiar feeling. Almost like homesickness. But for a person rather than a place. Like your whole world had turned upside down in the past twenty-four hours and the man whoâd stolen your life with a single bite to your neck was the one you were yearning for. Like he was your home. And you needed him so bad, you feel sick.
You donât know when the tears start welling up in your eyes, or when you first feel the streams of salty wetness on your cheeks. But you try to swallow it up, breathe, hold it back. THIS IS WHAT YOUâRE SUPPOSED TO WANT! Your mind screams. Please, please, please just get through it. Get through it for James. He needs this. Heâs your boyfriend and he needs this.
âSweetheart,â he murmurs, and itâs a pet name heâs called you a thousand times and yet it sounds so alien in this moment. So alien that you let out a soft sob. But you swallow before another one can escape. No, pull it together. Donât cry, donât cry, donât cry.
His hair brushes against your forehead, and you focus hard on the brunette strand, so hard it blurs. Or was that just your tears? And then he pushes into you harder, and you feel like running, running, running away!
Another sob. And then in a choked whisper:
âStop, please.â
But itâs drowned out by his soft grunts and kisses, and the unmistakable sound of sex. The headboard thuds dully against the wall. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear. Your chest heaves up and down in panic. The clock on the wall ticks steadily. One tick. Two ticks. Three, four, five, six, sevenâŚ
A wracked sob leaves your throat before you can stop it. Then another one, and another. And then the tears start flowing, and youâre crying in earnest. Sobbing like youâve lost everything, like youâve lost yourself, your identity, everything you ever knew about yourself and what you wanted. You cry and cry and cry underneath him, and the bubble of panic in your chest explodes.
âAre you crying?â Bucky stills, his blue eyes incredulous.
You shake your head, âIâm sorry, IâŚI just⌠Iâm sorry, Iâll try, IâllâŚâBut you can barely get your words out, and youâre crying so hard that he sits up, shocked and aghast.
âIs the thought of having sex with me really that disgusting?â
âNo!â You try to grab his hand but he snatches it away as if youâre diseased. And you feel like youâre on a foreign planet, lost and alone and confused and so fucking sad that you canât think straight. And you donât know what the right thing to do is. You take a deep breath, âJames, please, Iâll try. Iâm sorry, please, letâs just try againâŚâ
You try to grab his hand again, try to pull him back. But at the same time, the panic bubble in your chest explodes at the thought of having him, anyone, inside you again at this moment. And youâre crying again, and you canât breathe, and itâs like the walls are closing in on you.
And Bucky just watches, his face set in stone. Watches you cry on his bed, naked and vulnerable and feeling like a stranger in your own skin. A stranger with a mark on your neck thatâs damned you for all eternity. And he feels like a stranger too. A stranger who just watches you.
Until he doesnât.
âGet up.â
In a blur, heâs off the bed. Putting his clothes on before throwing yours at you. Hard.
âDidnât you hear me? I said get the fuck up.â
His words pierce through you like a sword. âJ-James, Iâm sorry! Iâm sorry, OK? Please, letâs try again. I promise Iâll be better, I promise I wonât cry, Iââ
âGET. UP.â
He yanks you up by your arm so hard it hurts. And his eyes look grey and stormy, like youâve never seen them before. He looks far away and hurt and disgusted, and itâs all because of you.
âJames, please, I swear I wonât cry, Iâm so sorry that I did. I just felt overwhelmed, and Iâm sorry â please letâs try again. I want this, I promise I want this!â
âYou think Iâm some sort of charity case that you have to fuck in order to make yourself feel better?â He sneers, and in that moment, you donât know who it is thatâs spoken because how could this possibly be James?
âGet the fuck up and get out.â
âNo! James, please listen â I want to try again, okay? Iâll do better, I want this to work, I want us ââ
ââYou want him.â
âNo!â
âDid you let him fuck you?â
It comes out of nowhere, the hostile question. The look of pure reverence. And then thereâs pin drop silence. Several beats of it. Your heartâs racing. You want to gulp for air but you canât. Feels like youâre drowning and thereâs no escape.
You donât think youâll ever forget the look on his face as realisation dawns.
âYouâre a fucking stranger,â he spits out, and itâs accusatory yet at the same time void of any emotion. Like your silence has sucked it all out of him and thereâs nothing left. Your boyfriendâs gone. Like the wind. Like he never was. âGet out.â
âI didnât mean for it to happââ
âGET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU FUCKING WHORE!â
His booming voice is like a whip cracking across your face. He could have physically slapped you and it would have hurt less. Itâs all slipping away now. The golden memories in your head. Him asking you out, all the dates, all the kisses. His crinkling smile, his reassurances, his affirmations, his patience. Slipping through your fingers. Going, going, gone.
Itâs like a nightmare sequence after that. Youâre half naked as he roughly yanks you to your feet. You beg, cry, beg some more but heâs a statue. A statue made up of pure hatred. Nobodyâs ever hated you like this. Except for your father who had left you, but you never let yourself think about that.
Youâve barely pulled your leggings up before heâs shoving you out of his room. And you sputter, cry, beg, you do everything. Itâs not even that you donât want him to hate you. Oh, you deserve to be hated! You deserve it all! You just donât want him to hurt. And you canât fathom how itâs come to this, when just yesterday morning everything was perfect.
Oh, you hate Steve! You hate him, hate him, hate him!
âJames, please listenââ
Heâs a robot. Doesnât even look at you. And youâve never felt the roughness as you do now, never felt it as he shoves you out the door. On the landing now, and heâs pushing you down the stairs. And still you fight against it, and itâs like youâre fighting against your goddamned fate because this canât be how yours and Buckyâs story ends! It just couldnât.
âI wonât speak to him again, I promiseââ You babble, hoping heâll listen, or even just look at you, âI-Iâve ordered these pills I found online, theyâre supposed to dull the bond. And Iâll stay away from him, I promise I wonât even look at him. I want to fix this, James, please donât shut me out. Please!â
Down the stairs, past the foyer. Heâs determined to get you out of the house. Youâre begging, pleading, saying anything you think might reassure him. And yourself. But Bucky looks like heâs long gone. Like all the feelings he may have once felt for you have been snuffed out. Gone. Gone like the wind.
âIâm a fucking fool for trusting you, for thinking you were different,â he mutters, looking straight ahead as he pushes you toward the front door. âYouâre nothing more than a trashy omega slut.â
Another harsh slap to the face, and the tears stream down your cheeks. Tears of hurt, betrayal, anger at yourself, sadness, confusion â all of it! Just a huge muddle that you couldnât make sense of and you hated yourself for it!
âIâm not! Please let me explainââ
âGet fucked,â he sneers, and you canât find the old James anywhere on his face, and itâs the last thing you see before he forcefully pushes you out the door. âItâs what youâre best at doing anyways.â
The door slams in your face with a finality youâve never quite felt before. But you donât have time to ponder over it, because the frigid cold of the outside hits you like a freight train. Freezing splashes of rain descend down from the skies as if to mock you, punish you, let you know that this was what you deserved.
âJames! Please let me back in!â You pound on the door, but the rain is so loud, you doubt he could ever hear you.
And would he even care if he could?
âI promise I wonât speak to him again,â you sound broken, beaten down, yet still hanging on to that tiny thread of hope that the old James would come back, open the door and take you in his arms and promise you that he understands, that he always understands, âI wonât speak to him again, James! I want to be with you â please open the door! Please!â
You feel parts of yourself breaking off, withering away as you beg and plead and pound on the unforgiving door that wouldnât open no matter how much hope you put in him. Losing yourself, bit by bit. Parts of you that you thought you knew, falling off like apples from a tree. Till you feel like a ghost floating outside of the body of a stranger.
Who even were you anymore? When all he saw was the mark on your neck?
âIâm sorry,â you whisper to the wood, pressing your cold cheek against it, âIâm sorry for all of it.â
Lightning strikes overhead, the rain pelting down like rocks. Your fingers are numb, and the feelingâs slowly spreading. Along with the dark realisation that Bucky wasnât going to let you back in no matter how much you begged.
You feel like nothing as you slowly trudge back to Steveâs house. You donât belong there, and yet⌠where else could you go? You want the rain to swallow you up whole, or the rushing water to suck you down a drain and take you far, far away. Away from everyone, to eternal darkness. To a place where no one could see the mark on your neck, where you didnât feel like youâd forever lost yourself.
Instead, the water just descends upon you cruelly, soaking you through your clothes and down to the bone and yet you canât bring yourself to care.
Itâs when you reach Steveâs house that you realise you donât have a key.
You donât belong anywhere, the dark voice inside you mocks. Nobody wants you, nobody needs you. All you do is cause hurt and despair wherever you go, andâ
You sink down on the marble steps in front of the Rogersâ mansion, trying to will yourself not to feel the freezing cold of the wind and rain, or the numbness, or the hopelessness. But itâs no use, it all consumes you anyways. Till youâre positive youâre not there anymore. Just a ghost of someone who used to be someone, before she was claimed in one unforgiving bite and her world crumbled around her.
The car headlights donât even register to you. Neither does the silhouette of Steve until heâs right up in front of you. Saying words that you canât make out, grabbing you by the arm but youâre too cold so you canât quite feel it.
âWhat the hell were you doing out there in the rain?â He says the moment heâs unlocked the door and pushed you inside, the instant warmth enveloping you like a hug except it brings you no joy.
You shrug, not having it in you to answer. Instead, you stare at a speck on the floor. The pristine, cream-coloured marble floor and yet thereâs a singular speck on it. Was it designed like that? Or could it perhaps be scrubbed off? Removed forever? You feel the urge to remove it, numb fingers twitching. Determinedly focusing on only that speck as Steve shakes your shoulders.
âDid you hear me, omega? Why were you out there in the freezing cold? Do you have a death wish?â
Yes.
âHe doesnât see me anymore.â
Steve squints, âWhat?â
âThe mark. Thatâs all he sees.â
âWhat the hell are you talking about?â
âHeâs forgotten that Iâm still me.â Or am I?
Steve runs his hand through his hair in frustration, âWhat the hell are youââ
He stops short. Nose twitches. And you look away from the speck in time to see the most peculiar expression cross his face. Like blank shock and disbelief, like trepidation.
âWhere were you?â He asks, this time in a voice so quiet yet so loaded. Like he knows the answer yet heâs hoping you wonât say it.
âWith James.â
Steve sucks in his breath, and then youâre being yanked straight into him. He sniffs at you desperately, and then you feel it. A peculiar kind of thudding pain. Dull, yet so precise. Like a heart breaking in the distance. Not your own, but it may as well be. Because you feel it.
He cups your face in his, forcing you to look at him. But you donât need to, because you feel it. A heart shattering feeling of despair. Was that him feeling that?
âYou didnât.â He says it firmly, and yet that confidence doesnât reach his eyes. He searches your face as if trying to find the answer that he wants to hear. âTell me you didnât. Just please⌠please tell me you didnât, and Iâll believe you.â
âI had to prove it to him,â you feel like a robot, and it comes out in a broken, faraway whisper. âI had to prove to him that I still cared about him.â
Thereâs a tremor in his hands, and yet he shakes his head as if he doesnât quite want to believe it.
âYou wouldnât.â He swallows harshly, âYou love me, so you wouldnâtââ
A lone tear runs down your cheek. âHe said I had to prove it to him...â
Pin drop silence. And thenâŚ
âFUCK!â He shoves you away and you thud into the wall. Not too hard. Or maybe youâre just too numb to feel anything anymore.
He turns to the nearest object he can find â a heavy decorative crystal bowl. You flinch when he throws it to the floor with so much force, it shatters on impact. Shards of glass fly everywhere. Then he grabs something else, throwing that too. The noise of it breaking makes your ears ring. And then he throws something else â a vase this time. The expensive China explodes on the marble, flowers and water sliding across the floor dejectedly.
And itâs like youâre five years old again. Snap your fingers and you can see it. Drunken screaming and fighting, objects flying, things breaking. Your mother yelling, her drunken boyfriends charging at her. The ghost of a little girl cowering in the shadows, wanting it all to just stop, stop, stop.
You slide down to the floor, cupping your ears because he wonât stop throwing things. He wonât stop yelling. You feel this bone-chilling fear, and you wish you were gone. That you didnât exist. You scrunch your eyes shut, but you can still hear him:
âFUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!â He knocks over an ornate wooden table. One of the legs gives out.
âPlease stop,â you whisper, but when had anyone ever stopped when you asked them to?
He gets louder. Angrier. You cover your ears desperately, and you stare at your speck. Focus on it real hard till it blurs. A shard of glass slides over it, and you get the urge to pocket it. Maybe you could use it later.
You grab it, the sharp, jagged edge grazing against your palm. That you can feel. And youâre so scared, so scared of how angry he is. Terrified of him and the ghosts of your past that scream inside your head, revving back to life when youâd tried so hard to bury them.
You donât know where to go. Back out into the rain? What if he dragged you back and hurt you? He was scaring you so bad. Your chest feels like itâs about to explode. All you can think to do is run up the stairs, up to the only room in this house that you know how to get to. His room.
Heâs still breaking things behind you when you take off, up the grand staircase that feels like a giant tongue that could swallow you whole. That mocks you for even being here. You donât belong here. You donât belong anywhere.
Into his bedroom, and then you stand there, frozen, the shard of glass still in your hand. The jagged edge is sharp and enticing, like itâs egging you on. Quick, the voice inside your head screams, before he follows you up here. Do it.
Not here, you tell it, itâll stain his carpet if I do it here.
You glance at his bathroom, at the porcelain bathtub inside. Itâs massive, like you could drown in it if you really tried to. The glass presses into your palm. Now. Do it now. Do it, do it, do it, do itâ
 Steve crashes into the room, grabbing you by the shoulders. You flinch, gasp dying in your throat. His eyes are fiery and crazed, jaw clenched, breathing erratic.
âYouâre mine,â he seethes, his face inches from yours, âNo matter what you may think, or who you decide to spread your legs for. Iâm not letting up on you. Youâre mine, and Iâll fucking kill him if he gets between you and me.â
âItâs all your fault!â You burst, not realising your anger has overridden your fear until it explodes out of you. And your hands are shaking as your grip hardens on the shard of glass, but you manage to meet his wild eyes, all your grief turning into a momentary spark of rage. âHe hates me and itâs all your fault!â
âI donât give a fuck,â he sneers, gripping your jaw roughly, âI donât give a fuck if he hates you. All I care about is that youâre my fucking property and Iâm done being nice about it. Clearly that shit doesnât work on you.â
âI HATE YOU!â You try to square up to him, but heâs so big, so frightening. It makes you tremble, shrink back, and yet youâre still so overcome with emotion: âI hate you, I hate you, I hate you!â
âIt doesnât matter what you think,â his grip on you doesnât let up. In fact, itâs unforgiving, âAnd I donât care if you hate me. In fact, you donât even know what Iâm capable of. From here on out, Iâll give you a fucking reason to hate me.â
âI hate you,â you repeat, again and again till the words lost their meaning, and you sag in his arms because your rage and sadness has sapped all the energy from your body. âI hate you, Steve. I wish Iâd never met you. I hate you and you ruined everything.â
âYou ruined everything,â he spits out, venom laced through his each and every word. And then he throws you roughly on the bed. For a wild moment, you think the worst. And you ready yourself for it, knowing you wonât be able to overpower him no matter how hard you tried.
But he just stares at you. Long and hard. His gaze both fiery red with rage and yet so icy cold at the same time. His navy eyes switching between fire and ice too, looking broken and far away one second, and then frenzied and wild the next. Like he was going through a whirlpool of emotions and didnât know how to get a grip on himself.
And it made him look so dangerous that it chills you down to the bone.
He opens his mouth to say something, and a clap of thunder booms outside and a flash lights up the whole room for a few beats. You watch him. He watches you. Silence, except for the storm.
He turns and leaves, slamming the door shut behind him and plunging you in darkness. A weakness overtakes you almost instantly. A peculiar kind, like a mental exhaustion as much as a physical one. You can still feel the glass in your hand. But you canât find the will to go to the bathtub to use it. All you can do is lie there. On his bed. In his room. Smelling of him. Surrounded by him. Him. Him. Him.
Did you even exist anymore?
*
You leave the next day. Waking up alone on Steveâs bed, you robotically gather your things and go. You find him passed out on an armchair downstairs. The mess heâd made has been cleaned up as if by magic. The floors gleam once more, and even the crystal bowl has been replaced. Like yesterday never happened. Like youâd imagined it all. But your shard of glass tells you otherwise.
Heâs surrounded by bottles of alcohol, and you can smell it on him. It makes you want to leave even more. And you try to be quiet, but as you cross him you sense his eyes on you. Heâs awake. Unmoving.
You clear your throat.
âIâm going to get the bus back to campus.â
No answer. He just watches you. But he does not stop you. And so you leave without another word.
***
The familiarity of your dorm room brings you no relief. Neither does your desk or your textbooks or any of your other things. Luckily, classes would resume from tomorrow, but that still meant the rest of today and all of tonight to get through surrounded by silence. Silence and fear. Your mind screams with thoughts of everything that had gone down in the past few days, and oh how you wish you could just mute it all!
You itch for a friend â but who could you possibly call? All the friends youâd made were Buckyâs friends first. Maybe Peter? No, you couldnât burden him with this. Your mother? Oh, she wouldnât even answer! And that was it. You had no one else.
You stare hard at the shard of glass that youâve brought along with you. Stare at it so hard that your vision blurs, and you swallow thickly. Desperation suddenly rising, you quickly log into the universityâs website, looking up the resident student counsellor. She looks friendly enough in her picture, maybe you could call her? Maybe sheâd know what to do?
You catch a glimpse of the mark on your neck in your mirror, and feel a strong urge to burst into tears again. Limply, you hold your phone up, ready to type in her number. But then the screen goes black. Battery dead. Your face crumples, and you throw your phone on your bed in frustration. What was the point? Sheâd never understand! Nobody could understand!
Iâll just wait for the pills, you think to yourself as you curl up on your bed in defeat, theyâll dull the bond and everythingâs gonna go back to how it was before. It will, it will, it will!
You hold your teddy close and scrunch your eyes shut, hoping the voice in the back of your head doesnât say anything. And it doesnât this time, and you snuggle into the warm fur of your bear, and fall into a fitful sleep.
*
It feels like the first day of college all over again. But youâd done it once and survived, so you could most definitely do it again. Thatâs what you keep telling yourself as you make your way into the lecture theatre for World Politics the following Monday morning.
You hadnât heard from Steve since the last time youâd seen him the morning youâd left his house. And you doubt heâd be in class today. But you donât care! Not in the least. Not even a little bit. He was scary and you hated him for everything heâd done. And now he hated you too, you know he did. You couldnât forget the look in his eye when heâd found out youâd been with Bucky. Oh, he definitely hated you too!
Maybe the distance will help weaken the bond, you think to yourself. At least until the pills arrive.
Thereâs an immediate hush when you enter the lecture hall. At first, you think nothing of it. But then the whispers begin. A soft hum that turns into a tidal wave in mere seconds. You frown as you make your way to the front row where you usually sit.
âWell, if it isnât the campus slut.â
Your head snaps up. A group of alphas are sat two rows behind you. Steve and Buckyâs friends. You recognise themâ Ransom, Andy, Curtis. All three of them sit there guffawing at you.
âExcuse me?â
âCareful Andy, she might just fall on your dick if you hold eye contact with her for too long. And who knows what diseases sheâs carrying.â
What theâ
âThatâs true. She clearly doesnât care about who sheâs fucking â seeing as she hopped from Bucky to Steve in less than a day.â
Your eyes widen, and you feel winded. Like you havenât quite heard them right. They couldnât possiblyâŚ
âWhoâs next in line, huh?â Curtis leers at you in a way he never has before. Youâd never been particularly close to any of them in the past, but theyâd never spoken a disrespectful word to you before now. âYou gonna run through our whole friend group? Should I stock up on condoms or do you carry a pack around with you wherever you go?â
Your jaw drops, and yet no sound comes out.
Ransom laughs, âSheâs definitely got a pack in her purse. Which is just as well, âcause Iâve got the rest of the day free. What do you say, omega? You taking any appointments?â
âAnd how much do you charge?â
âWh-What are youââ
Youâve barely gotten your words out when someone slams their book down next to the three alphas.
âNah, sheâs all booked up for today,â Bucky takes a seat next to his friends, his face void of any emotion except for an empty smile. He nods to the front of the room where the professor is setting up his PowerPoint. âHow do you think she got into this class in the first place?â
The betrayal is like a slap in your face. Bucky looks rough, tired. His cheeks hollow, his eyes blank. Stubble grown out, bags under his eyes. And that empty smile, one that youâve never seen on him before. One thatâs not familiar at all. Heâs like a statue, one that doesnât meet your gaze.
âJames,â you whisper, âHow could youââ
âI had to get tested after I fucked her,â heâs acting like youâre not even there. And itâs like heâs been brainwashed because how could this possibly be the man whoâd never once been anything but sweet, nice and charming to you? How could this possibly be the man who was your boyfriend just last week? âShe hid it from me, you know? The fact she was fucking the professor. But Iâd steer clear of her now that I know. Hell, sheâs probably fucking half the faculty, canât think of any other way sheâd get have gotten into this college.â
Curtis snickers, âHalf the faculty huh? I thought she was with Steve now.â
Bucky acts like he hasnât heard him, although you see a flicker of emotion in his eyes when Steveâs name is mentioned. Like hurt, anger. But then itâs gone. Like a candle being snuffed out, and heâs back to looking empty again.
âSteveâs probably just using her for a good time,â Andy says, âWe know what heâs like, and we know what girls like her are good for.â
âA pump and dump,â Ransom elbows Bucky, âCâmon bro, youâre lucky you escaped her. We can only hope Steve does too.â
âStop it!â You break, a surge of embarrassment mixed with anger coursing through you, âH-How dare you speak about me like that!â
All four of them burst out laughing, but the only one you can focus on is Bucky. His laughter sounds strange. Forced. Programmed. Empty. You look at him and only him.
âJames, I know I hurt you but how could youââ
âWhy the fuck is she talking to me?â Buckyâs looking at you and yet not quite at you. Like his gaze is just going through you, beyond you. âLook at her, trying to psychoanalyse me as if sheâs some psychiatrist and not just a hick-town omega slut who spread her legs to get into school for free.â
The gasp dies in your throat, and you feel your lower lip wobble. How could he?! Oh, how could he say all these terrible things without batting an eye?! The same man whoâd held you so tenderly, whoâd been so patient with you. Whoâd built up your confidence, told you that you were different, that you were the girl he wanted to change for, the one he wanted to settle down with. The same man whoâd stood up for you in the past, whoâd comforted you, complimented you, longed for you. The same man youâd had endless conversations with, the same man whoâd held you in his arms in your bed at night.
Gone, gone, gone like the wind.
âI canât believe you,â you utter, trying to be strong but you feel a wave of tears on the brink of overtaking you, âH-How could you say all this, after everything weâve ââ
âNow sheâs about to turn on the waterworks. Just watch.â Oh, James was gone. Utterly and completely gone. And a stranger had stolen his face and his body and his voice and everything else because this wasnât your James. This was a monster.
You stand up, accidentally knocking your textbooks to the ground. More cruel snickers. Slowly you look around, suddenly hyper-aware of the multiple pairs of eyes looking your way. Oh, it wasnât just them! Everyone was looking at you! Everyone was laughing!
Your cheeks feel hot, and your eyes well with tears. What rumours had Bucky spread about you? What lies had he convinced the whole world to be true?! You canât quite wrap your head around his betrayal. Oh, you can barely even look at him! Which is just as well, because he canât look at you either.
âIâd never do this to you,â you whisper, picking your books up and hugging them close to your chest as some form of pathetic comfort, âI-Iâd neverâŚnever do this to you.â
He still doesnât look at you, and yet everyone else is. And you donât care that the class has begun, that the professor is already talking. All you can feel is everyoneâs burning gaze on you, and the sting of Buckyâs betrayal and his cruel words. Oh, you canât take it! And you know you should be strong; be the confident woman youâd grown to become these past few months. But all you can think to do in this moment is run.
You thud down the stairs, and itâs like the laughter grows louder and yet the silence is deafening. Like thereâs a spotlight on you. And everyone can see your tears as they threaten to spill. And a sob breaks through your lips as you reach the door of the lecture theatre and throw it open, escaping the cruel stares and yet feeling like you havenât escaped anything at all. Like this is just the beginning.
You burst into tears before you can stop yourself, chest heaving as you feel a panic attack coming. Leaning against the wall, you pray the hallway remains empty. Sinking down, you canât help but cry. Hot tears of embarrassment, sadness, hurt and betrayal all mixed into one. Tears of frustration because you were so pathetic that you couldnât even defend yourself. Tears of helplessness because was this how it would be from now on?
The mark on your neck throbs, and you feel an inexplicable need for Steve. But would things have been any different had he been here? No, because he hated you too.
Youâre unlovable, the cruel voice inside your head taunts. It hasnât made an appearance in a while but itâs back in full force now. Youâre unlovable and thatâs why everyone hurts you. And you deserve it. You deserve it, you deserve it, you deserve it!
***
The days all start blending into one after that. Youâre a pariah on campus, treated almost like a disease. It hurts so bad at first. So, so bad. You canât quite wrap your head around how Buckyâs managed to turn everyone against you. Heâd been your one true friend here but everyone else youâd spoken to had somewhat liked or respected you. Now, all you get is jeers, laughs or straight-up dirty looks.
Just ignore them, you coach yourself after a week of it. Youâre here to learn. You can take it. Youâve taken much worse back home. And you donât wanna go back. You worked so hard to get here and you CANâT go back.
And yet it doesnât get easier. Itâs like youâve got a sign on your back saying campus slut, and everyone taunts you like they canât get enough. Especially the alphas. And often you find yourself back in your dorm room, hugging your teddy and crying your eyes out and trying not to think about the piece of glass youâve stashed carefully in your bathroom cabinet. Sniffling into your teddyâs warm fur that smells like the man who was the cause of all of this.
 And Steve still doesnât show up to any of his classes. Not that you care, because you hate him and he most definitely hates you too. And a part of you is still so terrified of him since that fateful rainy night, when everything had crashed and burned. When youâd seen the hatred in his eyes with your very own, inches away from your face.
And then, after weeks of no showing all his classes⌠he comes to your dorm room one night. He thinks youâre sleeping, but youâre awake when he gets into bed next to you. And then he comes again the next night, and the next. And then itâs almost like you canât sleep unless heâs there, and he comes almost every night. Gets into bed with you, even though itâs tiny and the two of you barely fit.
And he holds you close, tucks you in against his chest and sometimes you think itâs all a dream. Because your days are so nightmarish, that your mind has conjured up a dreamlike fantasy as soon as the sun sets. And you finally relax, and your heart finally stops hurting, and you welcome the tenderness. Not knowing why he comes, but knowing it calms you, and you can finally escape the torment of the bullying during the day.
Once you even hear him on the phone. Youâre half asleep but you feel the weight of your bed shift, see him sitting on the edge of it.
âI donât care what that that doctor says. Heâs an idiot and we need to find another one. And dadâs gonna do that, heâll find someone competent. And youâre gonna be OK, we just need toââ
But heâs gone each morning when you wake up, almost like he wasnât there at all. Like a shadow, slipping away as the sun rises.
Your pills finally arrive, and you take them without a second thought. At first, you feel no difference. But after a few days, a certain numbness hits. You donât know if the pills are a dud, and itâs just you disassociating due to all the heckles and taunts and harassment. But you take them nonetheless, as if swallowing them diligently day after day might one day solve all your problems. As if one day youâd wake up and your mark would be gone, and Bucky would be nice again, and youâd find your confidence again. And Steve would be gone, gone, gone forever.
Except thatâs not what you want at all, the voice in your head sings. Itâs always there now. Always putting you down. But you deserve it, donât you?
One day, youâre walking across the field on your way home after classes when you feel a slight breeze. And then you smell it. That inexplicable scent of burning firewood and a hot summerâs day. Except itâs not summer, which meantâ
Your head whips up the same time his does. And for a split second, your eyes meet. Steve. With the rest of the football team â minus Bucky, thankfully. He holds your gaze, and itâs the first time youâve looked at him in what feels like weeks. And you feel an odd comfort, despite the fact that you hate him and he probably hates you too.
Thereâs a group of cheerleaders hanging around him, it looks to be some sort of joint practice session. And Steve just stares at you, and you canât help but stare back. Like heâs got you in some captivating hold that you canât break free from. Like youâre both encased in a bubble where itâs just you two, despite the numerous people milling around.
And then, out of nowhere, the bubble pops when Steve pointedly turns his attention to a girl near him. You vaguely recognise her from around campus. A cheerleader. Beautiful, with long flowing hair. He puts his arm around her waist, and just like that you feel your heart plummet like an anchor. He watches you over her head, watches while the girl giggles at whatever heâs said. Watches you as she scrapes her nails against his chest, moves closer to him. He runs his hand up and down her back, his eyes boring through yours the entire time, almost like heâs waiting for a reaction.
It feels like a ton of bricks have dropped inside your stomach, alongside a whirlpool of emotions ranging from anger to disbelief. You want to rip the girlâs hair out, and at the same time want to curl up into a ball and cry. Oh, you hate him, you hate him, you hate him! Hate him for making you feel like this, hate him for confusing you so much, for making you yearn for him and yet stomping all over your heart at the same time! And you hate your pills for not working at all in this moment, when youâd hoped and prayed that they were and would.
You stand there, heart breaking over and over again. But itâs when the girl stands up on her tiptoes and kisses Steveâs cheek that you forcibly tear your gaze away and turn. Determinedly marching off, tears blurring your vision. Oh, you hated him so bad! You hated him and you hated Bucky too! And most of all, you hated yourself, andâ
âHey, hey, hey â watch where youâre going!â
âSorry,â you mumble, peaking up at the person whose chest youâve just banged into.
To your horror, Curtisâ face relaxes once he recognises you, âOh, itâs just the campus slut. Ready to finally give me my appointment?â
âL-Leave me alone,â you avert your eyes, staring hard at the grass. Panic rises in your chest â an instinctive response that youâve grown used to now. And you hate how your stutter has returned, and how scared you sound. You wish you were a different person, a more confident person. But daily torment has beaten that out of you, and you cower like a sorry, pathetic loser, hoping heâll grow bored and let you off easy and allow you to just leave.
âNow why would I do that?â He chuckles, grabbing your shoulders to stop you from scurrying away, âTell me, you interested in a two-for-one special? Me and Ransom were talking about it, we could show you a good time.â
âPlease, j-just stop, I just wanna go back to my dorm room.â
âPlease, j-just stop!â He mimics, making his voice all comically high-pitched. But then his eyes grow dark, and he looks down at you with a lecherous kind of hunger that scares you. âItâs too bad youâre just a trashy omega slut, because youâre such a fucking hot piece of ass. Câmon, just come back to my dorm room with me, we could have some funââ
It happens quickly. His hand snakes down and you let out a quiet squeak when he squeezes your ass. A burning hot anger courses through you, along with a paralysing sense of fear. You bat his hand away and jump backwards. He looks unperturbed, closing the gap between you instantly, a hungry grin on his face.
And then heâs yanked away from you, and thereâs a blur of movement. Your eyes widen as Steve tackles Curtis to the ground, his fists pummelling into his face over and over again. You hear several sickening cracking sounds, Curtis screaming, everyone else yelling and forming a crowd around them. And then just Steveâs fists, crack after crack. Spurts of blood.
And Steve looks furious, like heâs a man possessed. Veins popping, face red. Landing punch after punch on Curtisâ face which is quickly growing unrecognisable. Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out.
Several others try to pry Steve off. First Sam, then Thor joins in. But they canât, and he easily fights them off. Another fist to Curtisâ jaw, and another one straight to his eye. You hide your face, too scared to watch yet at the same time too paralysed to do anything else.
âDonât fucking touch her again!â
It takes five guys from the football team plus their coach to finally get Steve off. And heâs breathing hard, his eyes crazed like heâs frenzied like a wolf. And his gaze meets yours, and youâre so fucking terrified that you have to look away.
âYouâre fucking in for it now, Rogers,â the football coach is livid, âI donât care how much money you come from or whatever the fuck youâre going through at home with your motherââ
âSHUT THE FUCK UP!â Steve snaps in fury, and several of them have to hold him back as he lunges for the coach too.
Thatâs when it all gets too much for you, and you turn on your heel and run, run, run away. Heart thudding and feeling like you need to scrub yourself clean ten times over because of how he touched you when you didnât want him to. Violated you.
Back in your dorm room, you collapse on your bed and cry. Hugging your teddy close and hating everything about life. You think back to a million years ago, when youâd first started college. How optimistic youâd been to leave all the sadness of home behind. But sorrow seemed to follow you wherever you went. Everything was a mess and it was all your fault! Oh, if only youâd been stronger, somehow hadnât let Steve bite you, if youâd have been smart enough to escape. Then none of this would be happening! Oh, it was all your fault!
You cry and cry, dragging yourself into the shower and scrubbing yourself raw over and over again. Maybe you could wash it off? Wash off Curtisâ touch? Wash off Steveâs bite mark? Wash off whatever it was written on your face that made everyone treat you like crap?
You itch for the shard of glass. You still havenât thrown it away, and the voice in your head urges you to use it. To do it, just do it. Just do it.
Your body hurts by the time you finally get out of the shower. In a tearful rage, youâd rubbed the sponge so hard at your mark that itâs opened up and bleeding once more. Youâd wanted it to disappear but youâve made it more apparent than ever, and it hurts. Everything hurts.
Youâre still hurting as you drag yourself under your covers and fall into a fitful sleep.
*
âFuck, stupid fucking shoes. Fuck you!â
You wake up with a jolt, and yet self-preservation has you instinctively stay still, and your eyes shut while your heart thuds. But then you smell Steveâs familiar scent, and your body canât help but relax. He noisily makes his way across your dorm room, kicking anything in his way before collapsing on your bed. You lay determinedly still, making sure your breathing remains shallow.
âHi,â Steve sighs, and you can immediately smell the liquor on him. But his hand is so warm as it strokes your back. He lowers the blanket so he can touch the bare skin of your arm, and his warmth sears you from the inside out. And itâs a calming effect that you welcome despite everything. Oh, he confused you so much!
âYouâre so fucking beautiful,â he says after a short pause, and you can hear him slurring his words, and it makes your blood freeze. How much had he drank? Would he get violent, mean, scary, horrible? How could someone calm you yet scare you so much at the same time?
âAnd they all know it. They all want you, baby. I wish I could protect you from everyone. Take you back home and keep you safe and sound. Away from all these assholes who canât wait to take advantage of you.â He sighs, and itâs such a stark contrast, this gentle tone heâs using. So different from that rainy night where heâd crashed and broken everything and youâd been scared for your life. Itâs funny, because you associate alcohol with violence, and yet this is the gentlest Steve has ever spoken to you.
âY-You were scary today,â you speak, voice still croaky from sleep.
He jumps, âYouâre awakeâŚâ
âYes.â Would he leave now? He only stayed when he thought you were asleep.
But Steve stays put, âI got suspended.â
âOh.â
âYeah. But I got Curtis expelled, so he wonât bother you anymore. And thatâll teach that stupid fuck not to mess with whatâs mine.â
Relief floods your body. But itâs fleeting. Curtis was gone, but the other alphas still remained. And theyâd be even more ruthless now that you were the reason Curtis was expelled. Not to mention Bucky, who was still on a warpath to ruin your life. You gulp, feeling the urge to cry again.
The two of you lie there in silence, with him just stroking your back, both of you lost in a million racing thoughts.
âYou didnât care,â he breaks the silence.
âHuh?â
âWhen I was talking to that other girl. When she kissed me. You didnât care at all.â
You think back. Well, you had cared. Hadnât you? But what could you possibly have done about it?
âI wish you loved me like how I love you.â He sighs, stroking your hair now, playing with it and twining it around his finger. âI wish⌠I wish youâd just see what I see, and let yourself be happy with me instead of fighting against it.â
âI donât think Iâm ever gonna be happy,â you say softly.
âWhy not?â
âI donât think Iâm supposed to be,â your voice catches, the lump in your throat getting bigger, âI think I just⌠I just try to find happiness wherever I can, but whenever I do itâs always a matter of time before I ruin everything. I ruined it with my dad, and so he left and thatâs why my mom hates me now, so Iâve ruined it with her too. And I ruined it with Peter, and then with James.â
âBut what about me?â He sounds so⌠so innocent.
âWhat we have isnât love,â you do anything but look at him, focusing on the loose thread of your duvet cover instead. âYou just took what you wanted and you didnât even ask. And you donât love me, Steve. Youâre never there, every day when theyâŚâ you sniffle, âSoon youâll realise how unhappiness follows me wherever I go, and youâll leave me too.â
âNever,â he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply and hugging you close till all you can smell is him. âIâve never been in love before but I promise I love you. Youâre all I think about, day and night. Even when thereâs other shit I should be focusing on, itâs always just you. I think I loved you from the moment I saw you. And I wish to God I could go back and do it all differently. Take you out and make you my girlfriend properly. Then youâd have loved me back, and none of this other shit wouldâve happened.â
Oh, his words painted the prettiest picture! But could you believe him? Or should you believe the facts? Which were that heâd been horrid to you when heâd first seen you, and Bucky was the one whoâd been nice. Itâs like Steveâs whole personality has changed overnight â from the ruthless, stoic and mean alpha to now this hot and cold man who goes from scary one day to in love with you the next.
âI donât believe you,â it comes out in the faintest whisper, and yet you know heâs heard you because he stiffens, âAll youâve ever done is hurt me and I donât believe you about anything⌠Thank you for standing up for me today, butâŚâ
Your voice trails off, but you know what you want to say: but Iâm just so miserable, so miserable all the time and itâs all because of you!
âBut what? Why wonât you let yourself love me?â In his drunkenness, he sounds almost like a petulant child, like heâs used to getting everything heâs ever wanted and he canât fathom why he canât have this.
âY-You scare me,â you whisper, scrunching your eyes shut and shrinking into yourself under the covers lest you make him mad. âNot just today but⌠last time, at your house, when you were throwing and breaking things, and I was so scared. H-How could I love someone who makes me feel so scared?â
Thereâs such a long pause, you think heâs dozed off. But he hasnât, because he tries to pull you closer, clumsily embrace you. Except you remain stiff, cowering under the covers and not knowing what to think, especially now since youâve reminded him of the night you slept with Bucky.
âI was so angry that night, I thought Iâd explode,â he says softly into your hair, âand Iâve never felt anything like it. If any one of my exes told me theyâd slept with my best friend, I wouldnât have cared. But you,â he pauses, exhaling deeply, âit felt like youâd ripped my world apart from underneath me. I was so angry, and I knew if I went to see him then, I wouldâve murdered him. Slit his fucking throat. Instead, I took it out on you. But it wasnât your fault that he took advantage of you.â
You swallow back tears, âI was so scared,â I still am. All the time.
âI know, baby. Iâm sorry. I wonât scare you like that ever again.â
âYou will.â All of you scare me.
âI wonât. Iâll be better for you, I promise.â He tries to hold your face, tries to kiss you but you turn away, not accepting his embrace despite every cell in your body screaming at you to give in. âBaby, please. I know everything sucks right now but soon, Iâll fix everything. Iâll take you away from here and Iâll fix everything.â
What?
âMmhm,â heâs this weird mix of drunk and half asleep, and he presses his face against your cheek, nuzzling you while you remain still in his arms. âIâll take you back to my house and keep you safe there. Weâll have our little girl and my momâs gonna be there to see her, and everythingâs gonna be just fine.â
Oh, he was drunker than you thought!
You swallow harshly, âI donât want that.â
âYes, you do. You want what I want. I can feel it.â Again, he tries to kiss you. This time, you let him. You donât know why, but itâs almost like itâs muscle memory kissing him. It comes so easily, so naturally. And heâs such a good kisser, even when heâs drunk. He holds your face so carefully, like youâre made of glass and youâll break if he goes too rough. And he tastes like alcohol but surprisingly, you donât mind.
âI love you so muchâŚâ
You shake your head, try one last time to fight him, âNo, you donâtâŚâ
âYes, I do.â
âNo, Steve. You donât. You know nothing about me, none of my interests or my quirks because you never asked.â Not like how James did. âAll you know is that you want to own me and control me. But thatâs not love. What we have isnât love.â
âYouâre wrong. Completely wrong. I do know you. I know you better than he does. I know you more than anyone else in this world.â
You donât know how or when he slips inside you, but he does and it feels like a dream sequence. Like two puzzle pieces that were lost on two separate ends of the attic until someone finally found them and put them together again. HOW?! HE DIDNâT LOVE YOU AND YOU DIDNâT LOVE HIM! SO HOW?!
And how could this be the same Steve? The one whoâd looked so mad with rage the last time youâd come face to face with him? The one whoâd screamed and yelled and thrown and broken things, and yet here he was, holding you so tenderly as if none of that had ever happened? And here you were, accepting his touch and spreading your legs for him as if none of that had ever happened.
âYouâre so good for me,â Steve whispers, his teeth grazing against your neck, âso soft and small and fucking perfect for me. Fuck, I needed this.â
You feel his tongue lap at your mark, and itâs so different from the first time. When heâd ruthlessly sunk his teeth into you, leaving his stamp of ownership on you without a second thought. Without caring what you wanted. Now, he seems so soft, so gentle.
What would he be like tomorrow?
You quiver, feeling so small in his arms. He shifts till heâs on top of you, his strokes gentle yet precise, his tip touching where you need him so badly. Building you up in a way youâve learnt that only he can. You pant, pulling him closer, wanting him to kiss you again. Needing him, yet hating him, yet needing him all the same. Like youâll die without him. Like he completes you, no matter how hard you wish it wasnât true.
âPromise youâll love me one day,â he says softly while you clutch at his t-shirt, your shaking legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you close. âPromise youâll try to love me. That youâll forget about him and love me like how I love you.â
Your answer is lost in a sea of breathless moans and desperate ruts. The sound of kissing, the dull thud of your cheap bed frame against the wall. The beat of his heart and your own. So in sync, almost like theyâd been like that since the day you were born.
He falls asleep soon after you both climax. Still holding you tight, as if he thinks you might slip away. You try to follow suit, but your mind canât keep quiet. Not even for a second. Despite his inviting warmth that radiates from his body and envelopes you into an enticing hug. The voices in your head scream so loudly, itâs like theyâre at war with each other. And you lie there for ages, trying to get them to quieten down, but they donât. And your heart beats so hard it almost hurts, and you feel sick. And wrong. And used.
You stumble into your bathroom, and itâs when you look at your reflection in the mirror that the dark voice in your head speaks up.
You really are a slut, it accuses. Spreading your legs for him again, and enjoying it again. Youâre everything they make fun of you for being. In fact, youâre worse. You say you donât want him, that you donât love him, and yet you give in to him every time.
The dark, mocking words spread through your bloodstream like poisonous ink. Your vision blurs. You hardly recognise the girl in front of you. Who was she? Who were you? What had you become?
Get fucked, you remember Buckyâs venomous words. Itâs all youâre good for.
In a frenzy, you throw open the cabinet under the sink. Carefully pick up your glass shard, the one youâve kept so safe for all this time. Maybe for this moment.
Do it, do it, do it. You know you want to. Itâll be best for everyone if you just do it now.
The glass feels cool against your palm. You trace it lightly against your skin, daring yourself to bring it upwards. Slowly. Very, very slowly. Itâs sharp and jagged, glinting under the cheap bathroom light. You scrunch your eyes shut, try to ignore the thudding of your heart.
Do it, do it, do it. Now.
You hear a stirring in the distance. The sound of your name. Footsteps. Your name again. Louder this time. The doorknob rattles.
âOpen the door!â Steve shakes the door again, calling out your name. Oh, how long had you been in here for? And how did he know to come find you? âOmega, did you hear me? Open the door.â
The glass falls from your hand, and you roughly wipe the tears from your face. Tears you didnât even realise youâd shed. You open the door and he grabs you the moment you do, pulling you out and staring at you hard.
âWhat were you doing in there?â
âNothing.â
He regards you carefully, so carefully you fear he can read your mind and see right through you. And you think that perhaps he can, when he gently peels back the sleeves of your sweater and looks. Just looks. Long and hard, as if searching for something. Something you still couldnât bring yourself to do. And then he wraps his arms around you, lifting you up and carrying you back to bed without another word.
You fall asleep in his arms, and itâs the strangest sensation â feeling troubled and at peace at the same time. Because being in Steveâs arms brings you peace, and yet heâs the very person whoâs caused your whole life to turn into a mess. Oh, how could such a terrible person make you feel so safe, so at home like nobody else could? Did it make you a terrible person? Feeling so at ease with him? And not feeling like that with good people like Peter and James?
Did it even matter? Itâs not like heâd even be there long enough for you to wrap your head around the complicated ways in which he made you feel. Because of course, in the morning heâs gone once more. And youâre left alone once more. Gone with the wind. Like a fleeting dream. Almost like you imagined it all. Almost like he never was.
Your teddyâs coal black eyes stare at you profoundly, and you feel the sudden urge to throw your glass shard in the garbage. Instead, you methodically get ready for the day, swallowing a bunch of your pills like you do every morning. Life was slowly losing all meaning, but the pills still made you feel like you had a bit of control. And so you take them, and yet you donât dare hope for anything.
***
âCongratulations, another top tier research paper,â The professor smiles as he hands you back your work at the end of class later that day. âYou really are a star pupil.â
You feel a small burst of pride, but itâs snuffed out quickly when the inevitable wave of snickers sound from behind you.
âMore like star of taking it up the ass,â an alpha mutters under his breath. More laughs. You duck your head, shoving your paper into your bookbag without a second glance.
The professor, having not heard anything, looks unperturbed, âItâs a pleasure to have a student like you.â
More laughs and jeers and jokes made quietly. The professor moves on, slamming a research paper down on the desk behind you while you quietly pack your bag.
âNot your best work, Mr. Drysdale,â he says, âAlthough perhaps you should be commended for actually turning something in this time. And Mr. Barnes â I see youâve taken a page out of Mr. Drysdaleâs old playbook because you didnât turn anything in at all. You do realise this paper contributes to your final grade?â
Bucky laughs as if it doesnât even mean anything. And to the likes of alphas like them, it didnât. Just like how it didnât matter to Steve that heâd gotten suspended. You suppose when you had that much wealth, things like this just werenât something to worry about.
âHey, omega â what kind of magic pussy have you got thatâs making the professor simp so hard?â Ransom jabs your shoulder hard.
Youâre numb to it now. Itâs just another day. You zip your bookbag shut and stand up, about to make a hasty exit like you always do but the alphas block your path.
âWhatâs the hurry? Thought youâd stay back to show the professor a good time after all that ass kissing he just did for you.â
You swallow harshly, not having it in you to even plead or beg with them anymore. Youâd just stay quiet, wait for them to get bored and leave you alone off their own accord. That, and the fact that they scared you beyond belief.
âGod, just look at her, Bucky. Sheâs fuckinâ terrified like a little mouse.â Ransom guffaws, âShould be. She got Curtis expelled.â
Your hands shake so bad that your book bag drops to the ground, the contents spilling out everywhere. You hastily get on your knees to pick everything up, hating how they just stand there and watch instead of just leaving.
âJeez, youâre not even gonna wait till everyone leaves before you get on your knees?â Ransom elbows Bucky, âDid her parents raise her to be slut or what?â
Itâs only when you stand back up, that you hear him. Bucky, in the most detached tone youâve ever heard him speak in:
âHer father was probably disgusted by her. Sheâs probably the reason why he left.â
Something breaks inside you. The tiny sliver of thread that was barely holding you together since last night. It breaks. Just like that. You feel cold all over. Freezing. Like anything keep you warm on the inside has decayed and died, withered away along with your spirit and your will to live.
Through all the laughing and mocking, you look straight into his cold, dead blue eyes and see a flickering semblance of something. Horror? Regret? Now, his mouth clamps shut. But it doesnât matter. Heâs said it. The one thing you never spoke about, the one thing you didnât ever want to even think about. How did he even know? And now everyone knew!
You back away in slow motion, your whole body shaking violently. And then you break into a run, not caring that youâre indoors, not caring that every single person is staring at you. Not caring that youâre crying, or that your throat is closing up, or that your chest is hurting, or that your stomach feels like itâs on fire. You wish you werenât there, you wish youâd never even come here. Maybe everyone was right â this was no place for an omega, especially you.
Oh, you wish you were dead! You wish it would all be over and youâd just be dead and unable to feel anything! Anything at all!
Out into the courtyard you run, and even more eyes gawk at you as tears stream down your cheeks. You wish youâd just disappear! Just die and it would be like you never existed. Deep down in the ground where nobody could hurt you anymore, where words meant nothing because youâd be dead and unable to feel a single thing!
In the distance, you can hear someone calling out your name. But you donât look back. You feel like prey, like theyâre all out to get you and you need to run, run, run. More calls of your name. You run faster, despite the growing pain in your stomach.
A hand grabs yours and stops you, yanking you back. Thatâs when you realise youâre heaving with tears, and you can barely breathe.
âI didnât mean to say that!â Bucky keeps hold of your hand, as if scared youâll run away the moment he lets go. âI didnât⌠I didnât mean to take it that farââ
âYOU WIN, OKAY!?â You burst out, yanking your hand back with such force that it hurts, and you can still feel his searing touch on your skin. âYou win, now just leave me alone!â
âIâm sorry!â He tries to grab your arm again, âIâm sorry, it should never have gone that far. I was just so angry, and Iââ
âIâm leaving,â you say quietly, âI canât take it anymore, James. You were my first friend here but now itâs like youâre a stranger and Iâm so miserable all the time.â
âYouâre the one whoââ
âI would never treat anyone the way youâve treated me these past few weeks. Not even if they were my worst enemy, James!â You fiercely wipe your eyes, and itâs almost like your hurt is so deep that itâs translated into physical pain, and you can feel it deep in your stomach. âSo you win, okay? I canât stay here anymore. Iâm gonna go home tonight and never come back! And maybe then youâll be happy because I donât know how else to say that IâM SORRY! IâM SORRY FOR GETTING MARKED AGAINST MY WILL, OKAY!â
He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it:
âIâm sorry that you hate me now, hate me so much that you treat me like Iâm the dirt at the bottom of your shoe!â You shove him. Hard. Youâve never been physical like this with anyone before but all the animosity and hurt and anger building up inside you has broken loose. âIâm sorry that Steve took me from you. He never gave me an option but you donât care about that at all! And now Iâm stuck with someone I never chose to begin with, but you donât care at all about that! You only care about yourself and how all of this made you feel!â
âItâs not worth it!â You cry, more to yourself than to him, âNone of itâs worth being this miserable. Not college, not my scholarship, none of it! So you win, James! Iâll leave tonight, and you can forget all about me, and maybe thatâll make you happy because I tried so hard, but I donât know what else will!â
âLeave?â Bucky repeats, spitting the word out as if he canât quite believe it, âYou canât leaveââ
âItâs like none of it meant anything to you!â A sob escapes your throat, and you donât even hold it back. âLike what we had meant nothing, like I meant nothing. You couldnât even give me the benefit of the doubt, you couldnât fathom that Iâd never, ever hurt you on purpose! Or go behind your back on purpose! Iâd never do that to you, James! But it happened and I tried to apologise, and you didnât accept it, but why canât you just LEAVE ME ALONE!?â
âI canât,â he says quietly, âI donât fucking know why, but I just canât leave you alone.â
âWell, I guess it doesnât matter, does it?â You whisper, âIâll do you a favour and leave on my own.â
You turn to go, and thatâs when youâre hit with another piercing pain. A squeak leaves your throat, and yet you remain determined as you walk away from him. But you donât get very far before you feel it again, stronger this time. It almost winds you. Oh god, what was happening?
âHey, are you OK?â
His voice barely registers. You clutch your stomach before taking another step forward. Oh, god please. Please just let me get back to my room.
Another pang. It feels like red hot knives twisting inside your abdomen. Your legs falter, face twisting up. What was happening to you?
You hear Bucky call out your name before your ears start ringing. You feel hot all over, and then it hits you again. And itâs so painful, you feel like youâre going to throw up. Instead, a wracked cough escapes your throat. Almost like a dry heave. And with horror, you look at the palm of your hand which is now covered in droplets of red.
It almost doesnât feel real.
Another pang of shooting pain, and this time your knees buckle from underneath you. You collapse, but Buckyâs there to catch you. He hoists you in his arms, and you see the look of confusion and fearful concern on his face.
âLet go,â you whisper through the excruciating pain, weakly pushing against him. âI donât want your help, I just⌠I need to go home. Just let me go, let me go, let meââ
Your stomach twists up as youâre hit with another stabbing pain, red hot waves of it that just wonât stop. Again and again, till you feel faint. And everything starts fading, darkness beckoning you. And it hurts so bad, so, so bad.
âOh fuck,â Bucky sounds like heâs far away, and yet you can hear the panic in his voice, âSweetheart? Please⌠Oh god, oh godâŚâ
And then, mercifully, you pass out and everything goes black.
Well... OMG THERE IT IS. Here we go. I'm not sure what to say. To those who made it till the end - thank you for being patient with me whilst I worked on this. Please do let me know what you think - your feedback, reblogs, comments, asks - they mean the world to me more than you'll ever know. I will say, I've developed this sort of super-anxiety when it comes to posting fics now. I never had it before but now it's crazy haha - I keep second-guessing my work. I know the characters may be a bit different, but the story has an effect on how they act! And I wanted to explore a more yandere-ish Steve, a more outspoken Omega, and a more ... well... whatever Bucky was in this chapter, haha. But enough of me yapping...
I did come up with some questions (but you don't have to answer them ofc, but just in case you do...)
What do you think happened to omega at the end? :((
If you were omega, would you forgive Bucky?
Does Steve truly love Omega like how he says he does?
Who should she end up with?
Anyways. That's it I guess. Please, please let me know what you think. I'm genuinely dying to know! And let me know what you think will happen next ;)) AND THANK YOU AGAIN, I love you guys for sticking with me. I hope you enjoyed this.
đđđ˘đŤđ˘đ§đ : alpha!Bucky Barnes x naive omega!Reader, also featuring: dark alpha!Steve Rogers
đđđŤđ§đ˘đ§đ đŹ: Misogyny, a/b/o dynamics, dubcon, dark Steve, poyt!Steve (yes, he is a warning), mentions of smutt, 18+ minors dni.
đđŽđŚđŚđđŤđ˛: Itâs your first day at college and Bucky, a popular alpha, asks for your number. (This is a spin-off of my fic Preying on You Tonight, exploring what would have happened if Bucky had gotten to omega before Steve. You do not need to read that fic to understand this one).
đ/đ: Itâs finally here! As the writer, all I sincerely ask is for you to read it till the end. I put a lot of hard work into this and itâs been a long time coming. I really hope you give this fic a chance, and I hope you enjoy! This is 16.8k words.
Itâs gonna be okay, itâs gonna be okay, itâs gonna be okay. You quietly chant under your breath as you make your way into the intimidatingly large lecture hall. World Politics. Itâs a senior class, mostly males, majority alphas. But youâve managed to get in â the only freshman who was accepted â and it makes your heart flutter with excitement. Maybe theyâll all be impressed, you think to yourself, clutching your bookbag tightly as you make your way inside.
Everyoneâs already sat down or milling about in groups. You shoot a few smiles here and there, hoping someone might smile back â but everyone seems busy catching up with their own friends. You sigh â of course, you donât expect to make friends right away. But you probably will soon.
Thereâs a pack of intimidating looking guys in the back of the room, they draw your attention because of how loud theyâre being as they laugh and joke around. Football players, you think to yourself â theyâre all wearing blue jerseys with the university emblem. And theyâre all so big and broad. Thereâs a blond one who seems bigger and scarier than all of them, and thereâs also a brunet â also big and intimidating but he looks slightly more laid back than the others.
One time I was leaving a friend's place and an older lady with basically no English came up to me and communicated that she was very cold and needed a ride. She pointed to tell me where to go.
I got there and her daughter or granddaughter came out and was like omg her phone died we were worried
And then the older lady said something and the younger lady translated.
"She knew she could trust you because you have pink hair"
I thought it was funny at the time. But when I think back on it I think she was basically saying "you had a visible sign of not vibing with the system I was afraid of"
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Virginity loss. Creampie. Daddy kink. Girthy, unspecified age gap. Exhibitionism if you squint. Oral (m! and f! receiving). Breeding kink. Assplay. Intercrural sex. Soft dom!Joel. DD/lg dynamics and the use of anatomical terminology to describe various body partsâdonât like, donât read.
Note: âLovinâ, Touchinâ, Squeezinââ is a song by Journey đşđť
Another note: All characters involved in this story are adults. Reader is described as having grown up in isolation, without access to formal education, and as such, her understanding of the human body and sexual reproduction is limited. This is not a reflection of her intelligence or her ability to learn the topics.
Word count: 18.0k
Surely, it hurt.
It had to.
Whatever was happening in the confines of the bedroom next to yours, the woman didnât sound like she was having fun. A sharp cry had startled you out of your sleep, only slightly muffled by the cabinâs walls, and when you were awake, you heard all of it. Everything.
âTommy.â The voice rose, pitchy and shrill. âPleeease!â
It sounded as if someone were begging for their life, frankly; the responding male groan was near-deafening. The quick, hollow thumps against the wall picked up, and before you could even begin to wonder at what that was from, you heard Tommy Millerâs voice rejoin in turn:
âYou fuckinâ love it, donât ya, baby?â
No, clearly, your wife is in pain.
You couldnât believe what you were hearing with your own two ears; you and Joel had come to visit for the weekend, since the two of you lived a little ways away from Jackson and the balmy summer weather was too good not to travel. It wasnât all that often you got to see Joelâs only living family, but whenever you did, it was fun. Tommy, his brother, and Maria really seemed to suit one another, and you relished any opportunity to be around other people. You didnât get very much of that with Joel.
He was technically your closest, and oldest, neighbor.
Since your grandmother had passed some years back, he had taken it upon himself to care for you. At first, itâd been just a matter of stopping by every now and then to make sure you were fed, safe, and content, but that had morphed slowly over time to you moving into his place. Taking up residence in his little two-bedroom abode out in the middle of nowhere, and becoming something like a friend to him. A pet, a plaything, a wardâyou werenât totally sure what to call your relationship to Joel, seeing as though youâd never been anything to any man before.
That was one of the drawbacks to being born and raised in the remote, post-apocalyptic world as you were: pure naĂŻvetĂŠ. Not knowing one thing by way of societal norms.
You rushed over to his bed now, no hesitation stalling your limbs as you tore off his sheets in a state of panic:
âJoel!â
The man lay there, motionless. His big, broad, black-and-silver speckled chest rose up and down, again and again.
Joel always slept heavy as shit. He wore boxers and nothing more, which you were used to seeing by now.
And you felt such a singular familiarity with him after all this time that you didnât think twice to climb into the bed, right on top of him. This was just Joel, after all.
Round, brown eyes flew open as soon as you did.
âFuckinâ shââ he started, voice thick with sleep.
âJoel, hurry!â you hissed. Straddling his hips, grabbing at his bare shoulders and shaking them as hard as you could. âT-Tommyâs hurtinâ Maria! We need to help.â
A low groan sounded in Joelâs throatânot entirely unlike the one that youâd heard from his brother through the wall, you thought for half a momentâand shortly, a set of hands landed on your waist. They squeezed you tight.
And, just as it seemed they were about to lift and nudge you sideways, you bore down. Insistent, and frowning.
âJust listen! Right now. Please, Joel, I-Iâm serious.â
You were pleading with him now, unable to contain the fear in your tone as you clamped a hand over his mouth.
Honestly, you probably didnât even need to do thatâthe room was dead quiet, save for the sounds of you and Joelâs breathing, the soft whistle of the wind, thenâ
âOhhhh, fuck me! Tommy, itâsâshit!â Maria whimpered.
âYou asked for it, baby. Wanted me poundinâ ya, huh?â
Tommyâs words seemed to bounce off of every surface in the room with a grating, nauseating turn. It made your eyes widen, and your palm press even tighter to Joel.
âSee?! HeâHeâs hittinâ her! We gotta gââ
Joel groaned again. Louder, and more pointed this time.
You hadnât realized it, but your thighs were holding pretty hard, too. Your groin was aligned perfectly with Joelâs, your weight was sinking down, and that touch was concentrated. If there had been any room to consider your current spot, you couldâve sworn you felt aâŚlump?
âFuck,â Joel gritted through his teeth. Finally lifting you off him, and wincing as he did, he sat up. He met your gaze with a sharp, stern, and bewildered sort of look.
âWhatââ he panted, ââare ya talkinâ about, darlinâ?â
âDonât you hear it?â
âYes. Yes, I do.â
You blinked.
âSoâŚgo!â
âWhat?â
âStop âem.â
âFrom what?â
âFightinâ, Joel!â
Now, it was his turn to blink.
He waited several seconds, then continued.
âBabygirl, Tommy and Maria ainâtâŚainât havinâ no fight.â
For a while, you had only to stare back at him, confused.
The ride home was awkward.
Joel could feel it in his bones, beneath his skin, itching from within the deepest recesses of his body: that morning had changed things. For you and for him.
What he had come to suspect for the longest timeâand what had only made sense, since the one, lone soul youâd known all your life until him had been your grandmotherâwas true. You didnât know what sex was, or what it did.
Joel swallowed thickly, pretending not to be conscious of the warmth on his back. Your arms snug around him. Your cheek resting gently against the cotton duck fabric of his jacket while the two of you rode on horseback to get home, and a pout the size of Texas no doubt marring your pretty face. Youâd been cross with him all that day.
âVenison and cornbread for supper. How âbout it?â He tried supplying his tone with some playful inflection, hoping to entice with the promise of your favorite meal.
Clearly, though, he would need to try harder.
You shrugged against him.
âFine by me.â
Joel knew that tone. Could probably pinpoint with surgical precision what you were feeling before the emotion even rose to your eyes. He couldnât see you now, but he could feel the frustration bleeding through your words. Being treated as if you were too young, too innocent, too dumb to be told this hurt, plain and simple.
He wrestled with this thought the whole way home, then trudging into the cabin that youâd been sharing for months. You strode ahead, steps brisk and decided, and you peeled off your long, light cardigan without a care in the world. You kicked off your boots and set them beside the rest of his in the mud room. Joel followed you, softly.
He set his hands on his hips after toeing off his own Luccheses, watching you and not knowing what to say.
Then you turned to face him.
The cough was both reflexive and immediate. Joel had never seenâhell, itâd been years since anybody, but thisâŚthis was even worse, more jarring than he everâŚ
He forced his gaze away in a blink. He coughed again.
âSweetie,â Joel started, low. âI think your, uhââ
âWill you just tell me?â you snapped. You threw your hands up, as if sick of having had to hold your tongue this long. âWhatever was going on. With Tommy and Maria. I know you think IâmâŚIâmâŚyoung, or whatever, but, Joel, I am a full grown adult!â Another pause just long enough for you to gnaw at your bottom lip and cross your arms. Bad, bad move for Joelâs resolve. âAinât like itâs my fault I was born after outbreak and never learned.â
You were right.
Joel shouldnât have been so narrow-minded.
Still, that didnât change the fact that you were wearing what looked to be the most slight, translucent fucking frock of all time. Something short and sweet and swept up in a sea of white tulle: you couldâve been modeling for a wedding night lingerie specialty line, bare as you were.
He mustâve missed it under your sweater. Not turned his head to meet your eyes or your ensemble that morning before you climbed up on the horse behind him and set out. Joel knew heâd never seen thisâŚthing once before.
Your tits practically spilled out of the top. Your arms remained crossed, and you eyed him with a wary look.
âWell?â you said.
âWell,â Joel repeated, still floundering for words. âWhâWell, yâknow, IâŚsee, IâveâIâve beenâŚâSâalways beenâŚâ
Shit.
He was tongue-tied.
More helpless than a fish trying to ride a bike.
And, like a teenager with an untimely boner growing in his jeansâeven though, at his age, Joel couldnât get bricked that quick if his life depended on itâhe shuffled away. Sidestepped you in the hallway and made a beeline for the kitchen, where he could feel an odd stir start to take root in his lower half. He cursed the half-cocked mass in his pants and sincerely hoped it wouldnât interfere with what he knew he needed to do now.
âIâllâŚIâll explain it, sweet pea. While we cook, OK?â
âAlright.â You started trailing behind him slowly.
You didnât sound convinced. Joel wasnât remotely disposed for the conversation awaiting him in the kitchen, or having to look you head-on while half your body was on display to him. You didnât seem to see it.
You were as innocent and clueless as the moment youâd bat your lashes at him in the half light of the bedroom that morning, straddling his hips, and replying to his last quip by saying, âIf they ainât fightinâ, what are they doinâ?â
âWho gave you that dress, anyway?â
Joel retrieved the meat from the ice box, setting it out to let it thaw while you and him prepped the rest of the meal. Across the room, you were already grabbing some of the ingredients youâd need: flour, cornmeal, sugar, salt
âMaria,â you answered, simply. âShe let me have whatever clothes of hers I wanted. âSânice, ainât it?â
âIt looks like something youâd wear on your honeymoon.â
After turning to preheat the oven, Joel sidled up beside you. His gaze affixed itself to the counter through pure force of will, though in his periphery, he caught sight of the outline of your breasts. He tore open a bag of sugar.
Then you turned to him, voice rising a little:
âWhatâs a honeymoon?â
Joel couldnât help it; he had to meet your eyes lifting to find his. Inside them, he saw genuine curiosity brimming.
Innocence, too.
âJust a, uhâŚtrip that folks would take right after their wedding,â he said, before clearing his throat. âVacation.â
âOh.â
For a brief space of time, silence settled into the grooves and bumps of that slightly uncomfortable realizationâwhat the world was like before it all splintered apartâand neither one of you tried to speak. You worked nimble fingers over the dry ingredients, Joel cracked eggs one by one, and together, you made relatively quick work of readying the cornbread mixture for baking. It was easy.
Stupidly, Joel thought that he might be off the hook in terms of not having to discuss the mechanics of marriage and sex to you then, when you piped up again.
âSo this is what Iâd be wearinâ after gettinâ hitched? LikeâŚlike Tommy and Maria did?â You licked sugar off your thumb before sliding the tray to him, and he took it.
âYeah. I meanâŚâ
Joel opened the oven door, and more carefully than he probably needed to do, pushed the baking dish inside it.
ââŚnot immediately.â
When he had, you were right back beside him.
âDoinâ whatever we heard this morning, you think?â
The curiosity in your tone was unmistakable. Perhaps emboldened by the plain look of discomfort that was twisting his every feature, you could say it more freely.
Having sex, of course.
Why the hell hadnât your grandma bothered to tell you?
âYes,â Joel replied, stiff as anything. âThatâsâŚpart of it.â
âHow much of it?â
âWellââ
âAnd whyâd it sound like Maria was in pain?â
âBaby, thatâthat ainât any real pain, I prââ
âShe was screaminâ, Joel! Really hollerinâ.â
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
He absolutely hated this.
With you pressed up beside him, eyes wide and glossy and shimmering with intrigue, his cock half-hard in his jeans and his mind thrumming with that constant, paralyzing thoughtââI promised I would keep her safe, not completely obliterate her innocence like thisââhe balked. He took a step away from you and shook his head, like something had just rocked him to his core.
Your brows pinched.
âSo then, what were theyââ
ââcanât do this right now, sweetheart. âMâsorry.â
Joelâs whole chest seemed to cave with his sigh: the kind that reminded him how old he was, how naĂŻve you were, and how wrong it would be if he gave you the wrong impression of sex. Make you afraid of it, or averse to it.
âWe can go back to Jackson. Have one of them teachers in the schools explain it to you much better than I ever could.â Joel was walking to the pantry now, resealed food items cradled haphazardly in his arms. He didnât slow.
And, before he had even gotten the chance to open the door, much to his shock and sheer, unmitigated dismay, he heard your voice again. Behind him, as defiant as ever.
âWhatever, Joel.â
Your voice was hard; he could feel the eye roll baked in. Then you stalked past him, straight for the living room.
Stomping ahead, and calling over your shoulder, you said: âIf you wonât tell me, Iâll just ask some other guy to explain. Maybe the boys my age wonât be such prudes!â
It was the closest youâd ever gotten to downright bratty in your life. Joel had only to stand there, arms full of various powdered fixings and his jaw gone partly lax. He stared at your back, gaze following you as you went over to the den. You flopped onto the old and weathered sofa.
He dropped whatever he was holding then.
With something red-hot and ugly beginning to pool in his gut, mind reeling from the words youâd just spoken to him, Joel acted without thinking. Footsteps echoed.
âDarlinâ.â
He wouldnât get angry.
âSweetheart. SwâHey. Look at me.â
That simply wasnât in his nature. He loved you too much.
You turned to face him in your seat, and this time, Joel didnât feign not to see you. Half-naked as you were, pert nipples poking through your dress and chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths, you looked like a dream.
So what if he couldnât be with you how he wanted?
He could teach you, and that would be enough.
Joel tugged you back up onto your feet.
âFine. You wanna learn about sex?â
As soon as he said it, your eyes went wider. A heat must have spread from your cheeks all the way down to your toes and strangled your tongue as it did, because all you could do was close and unclose your mouth, repeatedly.
How fast that brave, no-bullshit attitude was to disappear, Joel thought idly. He wanted to smile.
You didnât even know what sex was, and still, as if by instinct, you knew that that word meant something.
It made you shift on your feet, toes curling.
âI, umâŚâ
Huh.
âWhat?â
âItâs justâŚâ you went on, sounding uncertain.
âBaby, if you canât even stomach the word, Iâd say weâd be better off saving this conversation for another day.â
That made you tense up again.
As if heâd just shocked you with a live wire, muscles jumping and skull surely shaking a, no, Joel, I can stomach it fine, I promise, you cut right back in.
Eyes lifting to his, bottom lip no longer snagged between your teeth, and then with your body lowering, slow, back down to take a seat on the sofa, you finally forced it out.
âJoel, IâI want you to teach me how to fuck. Really, I do.â
Well, shit.
Joel reckoned that had âpretty pleaseâ beat all to hell.
Your words damn near knocked him sideways.
It was all the man could do to keep from keeling straight over and croaking on the spotâhe had to get away from you, if only by a couple extra feet. He shuffled back. Stood at the center of the living room with his feet planted firmly in place, then tilted his head to you.
âAnd just where did you learn that word, young lady?â
Paternal condescension came too easy to him.
Joel blinked hard to keep his face in check.
You shrugged before him. Hummed back.
âDunno. âSâwhat Maria said, right?â you replied, eyes locking with his. âMoaninâ, âFuck me, Tommy, pleeeâââ
âThatâs enough.â Joel held his hand up to stop you.
What was he going to do with you? Gaze glittering bright, lips parted, practically careening over the edge of your seat to hear the rest, while simultaneously looking terrified to learn for certain. You knew some words, but not other ones. You had an innocence and an obscenity bound up inside you at once. Joel was afraid to touch it.
âIf Iâm teachinâ you a thingâŚâ he resumed, slow, stance widening where he stood and arms folding. âI mean one thing, sugar, weâre only using the clinical terms, yâhear?â
Joel scarcely had the words to describe the depth of his own emotion and what he felt toward you; he knew heâd need to keep someâŚdistance when discussing this subject. Making his jargon dry, unappealing, and scientific seemed like the best way of doing that.
âAlright,â you said, tucking your legs underneath you.
Another beat of silence.
Another ripe, strangled breath slicing through his teeth.
âOKâŚâ Joel went on, trying his best not to grimace. âHas anyone talked to you about the, uhâŚbirds and the bees?â
âYou mean dicks and vaginas?â
âHey.â
Joel choked.
His hand scrubbed down his face in an almost vicious way, and he had to shield his stubbled mouth with his palm, for fear of another less-polite sound tumbling out.
Sat on the couch, you wore a faint, smug little smile.
âSorry. Penises and vaginas,â you corrected yourself.
Again, Joel was blinking furiously, but now his index finger was lifting, too, pointing at you: âThin ice, kid.â
You werenât going to make this easy on him, clearly. Whether you were aware of the reasons why, or knew just how to wield your power over him was a separate question. Either way, Joel would need to keep moving.
So, pretending to clear a cough from his throat again, he went on. Recovering the grit to his voice, and scowling:
âYes. Penises and vaginas. Pretty simple stuff, really.â
You raised your brows. Joel ignored it.
âPole goes in the hole, andââ
âHowâs it fit?â you cut in.
âWhat?â
Joelâs frown deepened. You sat straighter in your seat.
âI meanâŚevery time Iâve seen one, itâs, umâŚwormy.â
Wormy?
âWormy?â Joel returned immediately, in disbelief.
And he couldnât contain the next, which all but launched itself off his tongue: âYouâveâYouâve seen a dick before?â
âPenis, Joel.â
âPenis.â
He sucked in a breath to try and calm himself, but the effort, evidently, was for nothing. He was near-seething.
You peered up at him.
âJust yours,â you said. A little sheepish. âOnce or twice.â
Joel let the breath out. His mouth tightened.
âYouâveââ Then he stopped himself. The question was stupid; of course, youâd caught glimpses of him naked before. That was inevitable living in a house this small.
Before you could even try to apologize, he pressed on.
âOK, well, whatâsâŚwhat the hellâs âwormyâ mean?â
âI dunno. Just, like, squishy and pink, I guess.â
âThatâsââ Another brief pause. Joel had to steel himself right. âWell, hon, it doesnât stay like that. ItâŚIt gets hard, when a man feels good. Helps him fit inside the woman.â
Not terrible.
Not perfect, but not terrible.
You perked up where you sat, and it was in that moment that Joel realized that his joints ached. His legs burned. The forearms crossed over his chest had unconsciously constricted tighter to the point that it was getting a little tough to breathe, so he released his hold. His hands fell to his sides at the same time you stood up in front of him
Damn that smile of yours.
Damn those gleaming eyes.
âCan you show me how?â you asked softly.
Your gaze trailed to his crotch, and Joel could feel it like a real, bona fide weight sinking him. It was curious. Sweet.
âThat ainât right,â was Joelâs first instinct, which he said.
Even faced with the stern, stormy exterior of a man no less than several decades your senior, though, you didnât seem deterred by those words. If anything, it made the little tilt in your lips kick higher. You smiled lightly at him.
âHow come?â you asked. âItâs just teachinâ, Joel.â
Too easy.
Joel swallowed and shook his head.
âNo. Sweetheart, teachinâs a whole other beast fromâŚfrom me showinâ you what I mean. You gotta know that.â
Still, his eyes were glossing over, and a haze was settling over his mind like a mist in the sky just before the break of dawn. His limbs felt heavy, and his tongue went dry.
You were too fucking sly and sweet for your own good.
As if on cue, you drew closer to meet him where he stood. The hem of your dress shifted and swayed, barely long enough to scrape the tops of your thighs. Joel couldnât bear to look higher, so he just stared at your legs. Scrambling like hell to come up with an excuse as to why heâd need to leave the room in less than a second, he wasnât remotely prepared for what you ventured next.
You took the hem in your hands, and you lifted it.
Not just an inch or two but ten, easily, all the way until the fabric was touching your navel. The move exposed your entire lower half to him, and Joel found himself ogling a pair of bright, white, matching underwear.
Before he could move, you tilted your hips. As if showing him a new bump or bruiseâwhich you often liked to do whenever you were hurt and needed attentionâyou said:
âJoel, look.â
He did.
He almost had to.
Old and awful and ashamed as he was, he couldnât keep his eyes away. They were unblinking and ravenous, soaking in your form like a hunter surveying its next meal
Then you shifted on your delicate, socked feet.
âHow âbout me? Can you show it on me?â you whispered.
Joel didnât have the bandwidth to mince words right now
Teachinâ, touchinâ, lovinâ, squeezinââhe had that craving.
One look between your legs and the man wouldâve died on the spot if you told him. That was how needy he was.
Your fingers wavered a little when you didnât hear a response. Joel was too busy eyeing you and trying not to drool, but the sight of you starting to lower your skirt snapped him out of it. He placed his hands on your waist.
âWait.â Then, realizing how abrupt and sharp that sounded, he paused. He tried softening his tone a little. âSorry. I mean. YouâŚyou want me to show ya, sweetie?â
Finally, his gaze slid up to meet yours.
You were watching him closely.
âIf thatâsâŚOK,â you said.
Well, shit.
Nothing would make him happier.
Still, fighting his base instincts, and just narrowly managing to keep his hold steady, Joel reeled it in.
Every thick, callused finger splayed across your sides was practically humming with primal energy; all the same, his love outweighed the lust. He lowered his voice to only the gentlest of tones and asked you, point-blank:
âIs that OK with you? Do you want me to teach you?â
Waves of chill bumps seemed to answer first: your skin, your eyes, your smile, every breath betraying that eager, nervous need. Then your grip moving from your dress. One hand clasping around his wrist and nudging it in.
You nodded.
You let him brush one sweaty palm across your skin.
Joel lowered without thinking. Sinking to the floor, onto his knees, felt like exactly what he needed to do, and he didnât give a shit if it pulverized his joints beyond repair.
âRight here?â he breathed, now level with your heat.
Wooden floorboards creaked under his weight, and the air swelled thick and warm where he knelt. Sunlight streamed through the windows, bathing the space in a dreamlike sort of haze. Joel inhaled through his nose and almost pitched forward; you hummed your soft assent.
You didnât know what you were doing then.
By what remaining, fraying thread of resolve the man possessed, Joel stopped himself before he went too far.
He blinked fast and moved his hands to your hips, just below where you were holding your dressâs hem for him.
Clinical.
Educational.
Fucking academic was what this would be.
âAnyone ever teach you about her?â Joel asked gently.
A ringing in his ears succeeded that question, louder than anything heâd ever experienced, and he looked up at you. You stared down at him, and one bat of your eyes was all it took to remind him heâd have to take this slow.
âHer?â you murmured.
âYeah. Her.â
Joel wished his hands werenât so big, seeing how easy it was to move his thumb: his palm glided across the slope of your tender mound, and in no time at all, he had a thick, callused pad stroking you over your panties. It traced your seam carefullyâcautiously, like a single wrong move might wind up losing you to him foreverâand then he searched your face. He swallowed, watching the features contort the slightest, slightest bit in yours.
Your breath hitched, and you whimpered.
You spread your thighs a little more.
âPrivate parts haveâŚpronouns?â
That thumb swiped up. It grazed a tiny bud beneath cotton, and in under a second, your lips were twitching again. Your hips stirred, as if beyond your conscious control, and Joel eased off of you. He nodded his head.
ââSâcalled a âvulva,â baby.â Then his palm cupped it. Holding you in place, repeating: clinical, educational, academic like a broken refrain in his mind, over and over again. âThis whole thing. Pronouns make it a little more personal, yâknow? But can you repeat that word for me?â
âVulva.â
The word was foreign on your tongue. You didnât seem acquainted with the taste or the feel, and that forced a tiny line of worry between your eyebrows. Joel went on.
âJust like that, baby. Good. Reckon itâs best you learn about you before we take on any other stuff, for now.â Holding your heat like a weight in his hand, he crooked his fingers, and the pads grazed a smooth, clothed orifice. âNow whatâs this called? You already said it.â
âTheâŚum, vagina.â With a smidge more confidence, you still balked when his index and middle fingers prodded the fabric. That was all he needed for itâtwo tips poised above that tight, tender hole through the cotton of your underwear, and Joel could sense how acutely you felt it.
You shifted on your feet and let out a sharper noise. You clapped a hand to his shoulder and squeezed it, shortly.
Inundated as he was with desire, Joel kept a firm grip over his self-control. His touch retracted from your heat.
âY-Yeah. Iâm fine. I just feelâŚâ
A beat passed, and it seemed you were looking for words
âIs it normal? I feel a littleâŚweird, andâŚandâŚâ
Still searching. Joel was watching you closely, puzzled.
âYeah, darlinâ? What feels weird? Talk to me.â
At length, the internal foray ended, and you had only to clamp your other palm onto his shoulder, holding tight with both hands and letting your hem drop down again.
A sigh escaped you.
âJoel, IâmâŚIâm justâŚsticky down there.â
You said it, and at the same time, your thighs clenched.
Joel was no longer touching between your legs, but the gesture, along with your half-whispered, half-whimpered words nearly sucked him back in all over again. His head spun. His fingers were practically aching with need, wanting to tug your panties down and show you that this was a good thing, but, as before, restraint stopped him.
Instead, he nodded up at you.
With your palms pressing hard and your body positioned over himâtowering, compared to his obeisant kneelingâJoel could only be sweet. Understanding. Softly coaxing.
âYeah? Wanna show me, sweet pea?â
It took some more effort after that. Cajoling, for one thing, but also assuring you that the sticky, wet feeling you got between your thighs wasnât something to hide but a perfectly normal, natural bodily function of yours. That it helped facilitate the act of sex, as a matter of fact.
âMeans sheâs happy,â Joel said, watching as you peeled your panties downâvery nearly hearing the tacky sound.
Sure enough, the truth came to light. Quite literally, he was proven right with a pool of something thick and crystalline collected at the gusset of your undies; the stuff stretched in a half-dozen strings from the fabric to your drooling cunt, bared to him and pulsing with heat.
Clinical.
Educational.
Fucking academâ
âIt hurts, Joel,â you said.
âHurts?â Joel blinked once. âWhereâs itââ
Suddenly, you were rubbing two fingers between your folds in a crude sort of way. Your underwear was in a puddle at your feet, and your free hand was back at the hem of your dress, lifting it slightly. Joelâs eyes widened.
âRightâRight here. It aches. Make it go away, please.â
âBabyââ
âPlease, Joel. You said you would teach me, right?â
He did, of course.
He just never thought itâd include touching you half-nude
Leaning in on his knees, pretending he wasnât decades your senior, chock-full of grays, and a man who had sworn to your grandmother that he would keep you safe. Ensuring you would be taken care of. Surely, that promise encompassed the perils of men and their darkest intentions, yet, here he was. Basking in your glow, reveling in the heat, sleek, and that fucking scent.
His lips were the first to give way.
They seemed to act of their own volition as they sank in to press a kiss between your ownâlower, and wetter, but still your lips all the sameâand they didnât hesitate. They formed an âoâ directly over your throbbing clit and kissed.
Your stomach clenched in response. Your hips stuttered.
The hand that was clutching your dress jerked to Joelâs salt-and-pepper locks and made a fist, tight as anything.
âJoel,â you whined.
âJoel,â you pleaded.
âJoelâ became the quietest, most plaintive refrain in a matter of seconds, with that old, lined, and weathered mouth latching onto your little nub and suckling her in.
Joel pulled off with a wet pop. He didnât waste time.
âThatâs your clitoris, sweetheart.â Hooded, hazy brown eyes drifted up to meet yours, while your legs trembled around his head. âSensitive, ainât she? Say âclitâ for me.â
Your jaw was slack.
Short, shallow gasps were working their way in and out of your lungs while it seemed you were trying to recover some semblance of propriety, but all that came out was:
âJoelâŚohâŚohâŚâ
ââClit,â baby. Say it back.â
Maybe that was mean. Hell, it definitely was.
Here you were, fighting to make sense of the wild, shocky feeling spiraling up from that tiny bundle of nerves, and he was making you talk your way through it. The smallest grin twitched at the corners of his lips, though he worked hard not to let it show too obviously.
He squeezed one of your thighs and forged on, soft.
âHowâs about it? Got lots more ground to cover.â
You swallowed, finally blinking back at him.
âClâClit. Can you kiss it again, please?â
And Joel did: to reward you, but also to contain the laughter that was no doubt about to be bubbling to the surface if he didnât make use of that mouth of his, fast.
He kissed your clit like heâd done before, smiling against slick, sopping wet flesh and loving on it gently. He licked a ring around the hood and was about to use the tip to lift it upâto really hit your pleasure point and make you squirmâwhen another thought possessed him. Another step, another lesson, another far-too-tempting-to-resist spot where he might continue this campaign of erudition
âEver heard of a thing called a âg-spot,â baby?â Joel said.
You shook your head no.
With your hips tilted toward him and his head in the way, the fabric of your dress hadnât slid down much since youâd let go, but all the same, Joel lifted a hand to grip the hem of it. He coaxed your fingers down while he did.
âWatch as you do it. I want you to put those pretty fingers to use, try and find that place. Can you do that?â
âWhere?â
âInside you.â
âBut Iâwhy?â
âFeels good, trust me.â
Your brows knit in that familiar way; Joel could fall apart with just one look at it. He didnât press, even when your fingers fumbled down your tummy and made a pass through your legsâcompletely unaware of what those digits were meant to do and simply wanting to try. Perhaps youâd hoped to replicate the sensation heâd given you, too, or you wouldnât have moved so quickly.
Swiftly slicking up your fingertips and toying, but making a face when it seemed like you couldnât feel quite the same thing as you had before, you peered down at him.
âIn here?â Your index hovered over a wet, dripping hole.
âRight there, baby. Push it in fâme if you can, alright?â
When you did, Joel had a front row seat; physically, he was no more than five or six inches away while you slid your small, trembling finger through the soaked band of muscle, but it felt like he was in you for the whole thing. Ogling the spectacle of your tight and untouched virgin cunt stretching, then hugging that little digit, before you whimpered and keened his name, was unlike anything heâd ever felt. He knelt between your legs and observed with all the outward practiced detachment of a doctor, though inside, he felt like every inch of him was on fire.
âItâs tight,â you whimpered.
âI know, honey, I knââ
âI donât like it.â
Right as your wrist flicked back to remove that finger, pussy stuffed too full and not in a good way, youâd evidently decided, Joel leapt to act. He didnât even decide so much as he simply listened to your cries.
It hurts, youâd whined above him, Oh, Joel, please.
Suddenly, his thumb was rubbing your clit to dull the ache. Before your index could slide out, his own pushed in alongside it, coaxing that tight, wet ring to stretch with the heft and grit of his hand. Decades of experience preceded him, which made him confident in his words of assurance thenâeven when you grimaced and groaned.
âYouâre OK,â Joel mumbled, nodding when you winced. âYouâre alright, just stings a little beinâ stretched, huh?â
âY-You said it would feel good,â you keened, mournful.
Clearly trying to buck that uncomfortable feeling, you moved back. You stumbled, as your ankles were still trapped within your panties, and Joel had to catch you.
You were close to the sofa; he nudged you toward it, swift enough that he didnât need to move his hand and simply guided you onto the wide, cushioned armrest. Your feet kicked off the cotton, and in a second, you were sittingâstraddlingâthat spot. Joel stepped even closer.
His finger sank another inch, and you looked fit to be tied
âI said, I donâtââ you started, sharp.
ââknow where it is. Lemme help you.â
Joel had another half-minute, maybe. Laying sprawled out like you were, still impaled by his finger and yours, you clearly werenât a fan of this feeling and would be shoving him off at any second. Heâd have to be quick.
So, steeling himself and standing over you on the couch, he pushed in. To the knuckle. His pointer finger was big and warm and ribbed all over with little calluses, and it probably felt like a hot poker was forcing its way inside of your too-tight cunt beside your index, but Joel kept at it. Your muscles pulsed again, a tiny line or two of moisture crawling down his palm with the excess of your desire leaking out, and you grit your teeth. Your heels dug into the couch, and just when it appeared youâd had enough, he felt it. The tip of that probing digit brushed the place.
It was spongy and slick. Solid, but not without some give
Touching it made you squirm worse than anything.
Or, better might be a more accurate assessment.
âOh, baby,â Joel said, relief flooding his tone as he saw it. âThatâs the spot, ainât it? Thatâs that special spot, there.â
Your reply was a light grunt when he stroked it again.
It was like you werenât quite sure how to answer for itâyour body, however, gave its resounding approbation when your walls bore down again and squeezed him.
Clearly, this wasnât a pained hug. You wanted more.
âRemember what we call this spot, sweetheart?â
Syrup practically dripped from every syllable, and Joel didnât refrain from leaning in. Pressing his forehead to yours, bracing his free hand against the sofa cushion behind you, the old man worked his finger back and forth. He dragged your smaller one with it, and he grinned when a hoarse little cry leapt out of your throat.
That wasnât an answer, unfortunately.
Joel held the couch even harder and sawed his finger in and out, grazing that special place with every movement.
âCâmon, darlinâ, I know you ainât forgot it already.â
Your pussy was as full as it had ever been and making wet, squelching sounds each time that your finger and his moved through it. Clearly, your mind wasnât firing on all cylinders, simply soaking in the sensations as you whined, moaned, and rutted your hips. Just precious.
Joel wasnât letting you off that easy, though.
Still stroking, still petting that sensitive flesh, he went on:
âIs this what we call yourâŚclit, honey? Is that what it is?â
Without warning, he pushed a second finger inside, and you hissed. Your own index slid out instinctively, and as if knowing the rest of it by heart, you started rubbing that sweet, pulsing, needy nub like your life depended on it.
âN-N-No, thisâthis is it,â you stuttered. Overcome with the wishing and waitingâwanting to show him what youâd learned, as wellâyou were keen. âThis is my clit.â
Pleasure mustâve bloomed through your lower half when you said it, because your next words were swallowed up in a strangled moan. You tried lifting your hips instead, seeming to say to him: âSee? Iâm really learning, Joel.â
A grin sabotaged his face, and he couldnât contain the urge; Joel leaned in and kissed your forehead. He tilted his chin to steal a glance where you were touching yourself, seeing how urgent those little circles were getting to be, and he couldnât help but feel a sense of awe. Pride. He halted his ministrations just long enough to take a seat on the old couch and pull you into his lap.
Now cradling you, placing sporadic and comforting kisses along your hairline as he returned his fingers to your heat, Joel felt he couldâve melted between the cushions with just one whimper from your lipsâthat was how thoroughly youâd softened him already. He loved it.
âVery good, baby, thatâs your clit.â His thumb covered yours easily and helped it draw little lemniscates over the bud, which made you squirm on top of him. You bit down on your bottom lip when he scissored his fingers inside you. Then he curled them and brushed that place again. âAnd whatâs this, sweetie? Remember what we call her?â
Your brow furrowed.
Clearly, you were trying to think while the pleasure mounted and spiraled. You tilted your chin to him.
âItâsâŚItâs my g-spot, right?â you ventured softly.
âExactly right,â Joel cooed in your ear.
As if to reward you for it, he curled his fingers and tapped that sensitive, special spot over and over again, knowing just what kind of effect it would have on you then. Your breath hitched, and your reflexes sent you lurching toward his chest. You clawed at his t-shirt.
Joel was certain heâd never seen something so goddamn endearing in his life. His smile widened, and he hugged you to him even tighter, not wanting to lose sight of you for even a second. Your legs trembled around his hand.
He nuzzled your cheek.
âThatâs it. Good girl.â
Another clench.
âDaddyâs girl.â
And, as soon as he said the words, your chest heaved. Be it a breath, a whimper, a moan, your whole frame shook with the movement, and suddenly you were peering up at him through your lashes and staring, all glossy-eyed.
âWh-What?â you stammered.
One more plunge of his fingers, and you keened. You looked bewildered, beleaguered, practically bursting at the seams and having only to meet his gaze and squeeze
You were close.
Joel could hear it.
âDaddy?â you repeated, breaths ragged.
Of course, youâd never heard that one before. Joel just nodded his head and let you bask in itâthat feeling of wild curiosity. Perhaps not everything would compute.
He could teach you, but you might not get it just yet.
Seeing this look, and sensing how close you were to your climax, Joel leaned close and kissed your temple before murmuring, low: âYeah. âMânot your old man, but thatâs another word folks like to use sometimes. If you like it, then thatâs all itâs gotta be. Our own little special thing.â
Your fingers tightened at his collar, like a wave was overtaking your body and you couldnât control it.
âIâI donât know. It kindaâŚsorta feelsâŚâ
âWhat? You got a funny feelinâ, baby?â
You nodded.
His fingers had been stretching and pumping and pushing all kinds of fiery sensations inside that tiny space, feeling wet muscles contract around himâit didnât surprise him in the least that you needed some extra time to come. You didnât even know what it was.
âThatâs an orgasm, honey. âSâa good thing. Real good feelinâ, if you just let it build and build for a little bit loââ
âWanna stop,â you hiccuped. âFeels like Iâm gonna pee.â
Joel had to hide a grin behind a bevy of kisses. He kept cradling you, kept fingering your soaked pussy with all the soft, practiced resolve of a man much gentler than heâd ever known himself to be. You werenât pushing him away; he wouldnât force you toward it. He just wanted to guide you to a path that would give you replete pleasure.
Hell, maybe he could even get you to squirt.
âYouâre not gonna pee,â Joel assured you gently. âEven if you did, I wouldnât care. You know your pleasureâs the most important thing, right? âSâwhy Iâm here, baby.â
It seemed to strike you at almost the same moment it did him: this was not only for you, but about you. More than a step above simple pedagogy, Joel was trying to make sure you understood all the inner-workings of sex.
âThatâs makinâ love, yâknow? Takinâ somebodyâs pleasure into your hands and treatinâ them right. Makinâ itâŚgood.â
âMakinâ love,â you repeated, just like youâd done for every other term heâd taught you that day. You drew in a breath
And, at the same time that Joelâs movements slowed with his speechâfingers pumping slower, deeper, to make your insides all but strangle him with just how good it made you feelâsomething stirred in him, too. Hell, it was the first real movement heâd had in ages.
Decades, maybe.
Thank the stage of life that he was in, his lack of access to peri-geriatric care, or his blasted uncooperative cock, but the man hadnât had a real, bona fide erection in a long time. Heâd figured that that would help keep his urges at bay while he was teaching you these things.
Now he was almost fully hard in his jeans. You were about to finish all over his fingers, and then what?
âDaddy,â you whimpered. Your feet kicked and inadvertently brushed over the bulge in his pants. âFaster, please. IâI think that feels even better fâme.â
Joel couldnât have you see it, or feel it, or know exactly what you were doing to him and think that you were in some way responsible for helping out with the rest. No, he wouldnât allow that. This wasnât about him getting off.
He slid your body back. He slotted his own, head-first, between your legs and dove in. Out of sight, he started to grind his lower half into the sofa, but only after youâd taken hold of his hair and rocked your hips into his face.
Thatâs it.
This is for you.
âDaddyâs gonna take real good care of her,â Joel said, as if finishing the thoughts that were brewing in his head. âYou just lie back anâ close your eyes. Soak it all in, OK?â
And you did.
When he reared back and spit on your pussy, smeared it in with his fingers and panted again, just for good measure, âWhatâs the word for all this, baby? What do we call her?â, you raggedly answered. You told him that it was your vulva, and then you moaned so loudly that Joel thought it might blow his eardrums out. He rutted his denim-clad cock into the couch and kept going. Pleasure spiraled from some of the furthest recesses of his gut, and he dragged his warm, wet, silver-stubbled mouth up your slit, glistening with saliva and your own arousal.
âSmart girl,â Joel murmured appreciatively. Licking lines around your clit, before dropping a quick kiss over it. âAnd whatâs this little button called, baby? It feel good?â
You replied by digging your heels into the couch first, head lolling back on the armrest. Then, light as anything:
âMy clit. ItâIt feels so good when you do that, Daddy.â
âWhen Daddy kisses her and licks on her some?â
âGives me thatâŚfunny feelinâ all over again.â
Joel could say the same for himself. Something tightened in his balls, right as he humped the cushion with a little more force, and then he knew it, without a shadow of a doubtâthat old, worn, once-dysfunctional member of his was now engorged with blood and stiff. He could probably fuck his fist once and blow his load.
He tried to ignore it.
He pushed two fingers to the rim of your cunt, feeling tender, taut flesh bar his entry again, and he worked his way through it. Delicate as ever, your hole spread for him.
âAnd this?â he asked.
You told him.
He slid in deeper, and before he could even inquire after that ridged, sensitive wall of your insides, you stuttered:
âTh-That oneâs my g-spot, Daddy. ThatâsâThatâsââ
Joel sucked your throbbing clit between his lips and flicked the tip of his tongue, just as his fingers curved in.
âThat feels good, Daddy, please.â
Your pussy pulsed against him; it wet his silver beard in streaks and left him groaning between your legs, dry-humping the old couch like he was an animal in heat.
He was much, much too old for you.
This was just a learning experience.
One measly orgasm and then heâdâ
âFaster, faster, Daddy. P-P-Please.â
Joel pistoned his fingers and flicked his tongue and sucked mercilessly on that little nub until you squealed.
âLet it happen, baby. Come for Daddy,â he beckoned.
âCome? Where?â
âHere.â
And with that, Joel crooked his fingers one last time and made you finish on his tongue. You didnât squirt, but your whole body convulsed, and you kicked your feet and made those pretty little whiney sounds and pulled his hairâas if you were stunned by whatever was happening to your body, your thighs clenched around his head and damn near yanked out half the grays. Joel kept licking and fingering and mumbling sweet nothings all the while
Pretty girl.
Precious girl.
Daddyâs girlâyou were everything, everything to him.
Heat flooded his jeans, and he didnât even realize it.
It took him more than a couple seconds; heâd just finished lapping up the last of your release and was trying to catch his breath, panting and blinking and savoring your taste, when that recognition dawned.
The man had reached his peak entirely untouched.
Sticky and warm, trickling down his front, it went quietly.
Joel swallowed and propped himself up on an elbow, meeting your gaze with a hot and semi-hooded stare.
He needed to clean up. He needed to get out of there.
Suddenly, you reached for him, fingers outstretched.
âDaddy.â
It sounded so sweetâstill as innocent as ever.
You had no fucking idea how badly he wanted you now. How much he hated himself for even taking as much as he had. But he did, and nothing else would take it back.
He really, really needed to go.
âAre we gonna make love now?â Your smile was crooked.
Joel sat up. His mind was clear. Conscience was fucked.
He shook his head as he wiped his mouth of you.
âNo. We arenât,â he answered, pushing to stand.
He turned before you could see the spot in his jeans. Before you could protest, he hardened his voice out of necessity and, already striding from the couch, said:
âLessonâs over. Put on your underwear, sweetheart.â
The look you gave him then couldâve broken him in two. It was raw and soft and hurt, clearly. You blinked a little faster as you sat up, dress falling back down to cover your modesty and everything the two of you had done.
âButââ
âDonât talk back to me, neither,â Joel forged on, despising every syllable coming out of his mouth. He was already at the threshold of the room and turning away. âWhatever happened today was teachinâ, remember?â
You blinked again, eyes glossier than a moment before.
You rocked back on your heels and tried to stand, but Joel was already retreating. He pursed his lips together, throat clearing and the most flimsy, pathetic veneer of paternal concern working to stabilize his tone. It failed.
âB-But, Daddy, IâI thoughtââ
His voice audibly cracked when he curtailed your speech.
âAinât nothing, honey.â He shook his head against the lie. âThis was wrong. If you wanna pout and whine âbout it, best head into your room, âcause I donât wanna hear it.â
That made your lip curl in surprise. Soft, muted fury.
You made a fist at your side as he turned on his heel.
And, though he tried moving fastâpretending to shrug off the moment and trudge his way out through the door like nothing had happenedâhe evidently couldnât make it quick enough. Over his shoulder, he heard your voice.
Having just made it onto the porch and felt the warmth of the outdoors on his skin, it was as faint as anything. A slight breeze, along with the crushing weight of knowing how badly he was fucking this up, greeted him swiftly, but not before your words reached him. Joel swallowed.
That hurt just about as bad as anything heâd ever felt.
He knew he was wrong, especially hearing you sob:
âDaddy, please come back.â
Your body was abuzz from head to toe.
Anticipation was one thing, and hatred was anotherâboth feelings seemed to be at war within you constantly.
Though, really, you didnât hate Joel, and judging by the way things had panned out lately, you likely never could. A week had passed since your little âlessonâ with the man, and nothing had ever made you feel so shaken. Or lonely.
One moment being the most precious thing in a personâs eyes, only to fall from that staggering height to nothing. Joel had up and left and brushed you to the wayside, leaving you to clench your fists and kick and cry like a child throwing a fit. But you werenât. You were a full-grown adult trying to learn what sex meant, and damn if you didnât feel the sting of being abandoned so easily.
You wanted to hate him more than anything else.
You wished with every fiber in your being not to need a man like him, but you did. It confused you, particularly during moments like these when youâd sneak off to his bedroom in the early morning hoursâheâd offered to take you fishing that day, and youâd declined. Now you were in this cabin alone, sifting through all his jackets, flannels, and chambray shirts hanging in the closet and hoping youâd locate one that smelled the most like him.
One you could get off with, maybe.
âOw,â you murmured presently, having hit your knee on the little hickory nightstand before clambering into bed.
You slid the long-sleeve on. You shuffled forward for a pillow, then grabbed it. Following the same four or five steps youâd been replicating since That Dayâseeking identical pleasure and failing spectacularly each timeâyou stuffed the big, bulky, feather-filled cushion between your thighs and pressed on. You let your eyes droop shut.
Good girl.
Daddyâs girl.
âSâwhat you are, right? All miâ
You pivoted and gripped the footboard, bracing your knees even harder against the bed. So what if you needed to wear his shirts and reminisce on all the delicious, filthy words heâd spoken to you just days ago? It wasnât like you were wailing for the guyâs attention.
That would have been embarrassing. Sad, and all-too predictable for a girl who had been raised without the influence of a male all her lifeâweepy and needy wasnât what you hoped to emulate. You wanted to be tough and self-sufficient, just like it appeared Joel had always been.
You wanted to eat, sleep, read and write and cry yourself to sleep whenever you needed it, alone, so long as it meant you wouldnât have to feel what you had back then, rejected by someone else. That, more than anything, made you realize how dependent you truly were.
This wasnât working.
After five minutes humping at a pillow like your clit was on fire, you didnât feel a thing. Well, other than defeat.
âYouâve gotta be kidding me.â You tugged Joelâs shirt tighter around you, blew out a breath, and leaned back.
Your eyes scanned the roomâfor what, you werenât sure.
Youâd been in here plenty of times before, whether you were cleaning or doing Joelâs laundry or whatever the case may have been, so your surroundings were familiar: old, five-drawer dresser across the way, stacks of quilts that shouldâve been shelved ages ago, little trinkets here and there, a canteen hanging off the side of a ladder back chair, and then a desk, wide and shining and empty.
Finely ground specks of pine littered the surface of it.
This was where Joel did his woodworking. Off to the side, a partway-whittled bucking bronc stood, aloof.
You rose from the bed and walked to it.
Maybeâmost likelyâyou were stupid. Joel had all but told you this to your face. Your fingers were small and helpless, and they couldnât reach nearly close enough to where you needed them; they didnât know what to touch.
What if you justâŚ
Your brain didnât get the chance to finish that thought. Your body acted first, and time sped up as soon as it did.
Before you knew itâand damn, were you so, so stupidâyou had a hand on a tool. Vaguely recalling the name, some quarter-inch straight chisel or other, you held it up. Set it down. Shook your head, like this was the single dumbest idea youâd had in your life, then took it again.
You grabbed it and examined the handle briefly.
It was wooden and rounded, maybe three inches in diameter. Five inches long. You hadnât the faintest idea as to what the appropriate size for aâŚsubstitute should be, or what the real deal even looked like, for that matter. All you knew was that man parts were hard, and probably much longer than any one of your fingers. You sat up on the woodworking stool and slid the chisel between the tails of Joelâs worn, buttoned shirt.
You were wet. That was the byproduct of thinking of him and humping a pillow mercilessly, plus brushing your fingers through your folds a few times that morning.
But you were tight, too. As if trying to stick your finger through a concrete wall, your walls wouldnât budge an inch. If anything, the more you tried it, the more your body started clamming up and shutting anything out. You held the tool upright in your fist, tried sinking down, and, in a too-quick move, damn near slip-n-slided your silly, virginal rear end off the chair and onto the floor. You clamped your legs together and let out a wretched sigh.
âJustâŚgoâŚinside,â you pleaded helplessly. Missing Joelâs thick, callused fingers and wishing he wasnât such a dick, you tried thinking of him. Attempted imagining his voice.
âHey, sweetheart?â
Then the bedroom door flew open.
Your hand released, and immediately, you jumped in place. Out of habit, your palms slammed on the table, like, I have nothing to hide, and you made a pass for the half-finished horse figurine. You grabbed it thoughtlessly.
Right as you flipped the thing upside down, pretending to study the base and looking for anything to fix your gaze on, Joel walked in. His footfalls echoed behind you.
A light touch grazed the nape of your neck.
âHi, baby.â
âHi, Daddy.â
It slid out without you thinking, like that was natural.
You tried covering it up as quick as you could anyhow.
Turning to face him, chisel still trapped between your thighs, and wearing nothing but the shirt on your back which also happened to be his, you held your arms out.
For the first time in a week, you smiled at him.
Joel hugged you after you set his latest creation down, and you could feel how surprised he was in that embrace. You hadnât gone near him in days, and the last things youâd said to him, apart from, âNo, thanksâ when heâd asked you to tag along on his fishing trip that morning, had been, âWhateverâ and âLeave me alone.â
You were bratty and full of anger. Who could blame you?
Now you were back to being his pet, or at least behaving like it. Joel seemed to heave the smallest sigh of relief as he stroked your head, kissed the crown of it, and rubbed your back. Told you all about the trout that heâd caught and the bear tracks he found, the sights he wished youâd been there to see and the flowers that he picked for you.
âSittinâ in a jug in the kitchen if you wanna see âem,â Joel said, eyes glittering as he stroked your cheek. He really did seem to miss touching. âLupines, just like you like.â
You tilted your face away from his fingers, smile tight.
âThank you, Joel. I appreciate that.â
And, although the words, along with the slight movement away from his touch, were likely more than enough to clue him into the fact that you were still cageyâmaybe turn a weaker man away from you, discouragedâJoel just stood straighter. Hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and surveyed the table out in front of you.
âIâll clean the fish. You sit back, sniff them pretty flowers I picked ya, and afterward, Iâll show you how to whittle. Howâs that sound?â The man wore an easy look. Underneath several decades of wrinkles, you could make out an expression that was lighthearted and jovial still.
You had a wood chisel about one inch shy of your pussy.
With that in mind, you shook your head and pressed on:
âI wanna try learninâ on my own first. Thatâs what Iâve been doing, sittinâ here and admiring your handiwork.â
Lie.
âGet started in the kitchen, and Iâll be out in a little bit. Wanna try the, umâŚpush-cut technique I read about.â
Whatever that fucking means.
Youâd heard Joel mention it maybe once.
In reality, you simply needed an excuse to get him out of your hair so he wouldnât notice that you werenât wearing pants underneath that oversized long-sleeve shirt of his.
âWell, shoot, I can show you that right now, sweetie.â
Before you could protest his kindness, Joel bent over you, over the table, and reached for a coffee can full of loose materials. He took what seemed like a regular knife
If looks could kill, the man wouldâve dropped on the spot.
Your body sagged a little in your seat, and you crossed your thighs tighter to make sure that the tiny metal-and-wood gadget in between them wouldnât budge an inch.
Joel held his project up to the light.
âSeeâŚwhatever you do, you gotta keep a real tight grip on the base. Like this.â He demonstrated by holding the flared bottom of the woodblock. âWrist is always steady.â
Just shoot you in the head.
Wondering if tetanus might not be a legitimate concern in the event that the rusted chisel nicked your skin, you sat in stiffened silence. You listened to Joel wax poetic on finding the grain, saw how invested he was in sharing all the things he knew about his beloved hobby, and felt his palm fall next to yours on the table. He nudged you playfully, and the warmth of that touch made it hard not to remember. Just a week ago, the two of you together.
Then nothing.
âThis was wrong.â
âWanna try it out yourself?â
Joel was still standing over you, still smiling, and the look on his face as he held out that mini cottonwood figurine made you want to say yes. You lifted your hand to take it.
Then Joel glanced down, grin stretching wider still.
âGonna wanna use the quarter-inch straight chisel, hon. Why donât you take that out from in between your legs and hand it over to me?â he pressed. He didnât blink.
For a second, your world stood still.
Your breath hitched in your throat.
Meanwhile, Joelâs was flowing easy. He extended his free hand out to you, crooking his fingers in a âgive itâ motion.
You didnât thinkâprobably couldnât have done it anyway. Your eyes were glazed, and your heart was thrumming at at least a hundred beats per minute while you unstuck your legs from the seat. Numbly, you parted your thighs.
You pried the little chisel out of place and held it, shaky.
Joelâs expression above you was bafflingly calm. Like this was an everyday occurrence, he just took the tool that youâd retrieved for him, and then he turned it in his hands. Gave you a once-over that seemed curious.
Amused, even.
âIâm sorry,â you spit out. âItâsâŚItâs gross, I know. Iâmââ
âânot mad at you, darlinâ. Ainât a thing to be sorry for.â
Joel shook his head, and in that low, rasping drawl, you sensed more than just an effort to console. His words were slow, like he was spoon-feeding you honey, and affection bled through every note. He focused on you.
His expression softened even more, if that were possible.
âIâm sorry,â he said. âIâm sorry, darlinâ. This is my fault.â
You stood.
You didnât wait for him to tell you not to go, and you moved to leave. More than halfway across the room, you only stopped when he stepped in front of you, hands out.
Pleading with you gently.
âBabyââ
âStop calling me that!â you snapped, all rancor and heat. âQuit callinâ me sweetheart, and honey, and darlinâ, and whatever other name you thinkâll make this all OK again.â
You could barely think having him this close to you, but you went on anyway: âWouldnât hear one word of that when you left me alone last week. We did what we did, and then you made me feel like I did something wrong!â
Joelâs expression splintered on hearing that. Above you, it was clear that there was a pain behind itâhe wanted to reach out and touch youâbut he had to control himself. Instead, he swallowed the big lump and shook his head.
âWasnât nothinââŚnothinâ wrong that you did,â he croaked.
âWas it?â you said, voice cracking in the same way. âBecause you havenât been able to look at me all week, and every time it feels like we might talk, you just leave.â
ââCause I was in the wrong. I shouldnât have done any of those things andâŚand stolen your innocence from you.â
âBut I asked you to!â
âDonât make no difference. âMâtoo old, and I shouldnâtââ
ââleave me to feel like Iâm an idiot!â
âYouâre notââ
âLike Iâm broken and useless and stupid.â
You probably couldâve talked until you were blue in the face, and Joelâs expression only wouldâve grown more distraught. He ran a hand through curls of black and gray and seemed to be making a concerted effort not to let his fingers shake as he did. He faltered in front of you.
He felt for his breast pocket, brows bunching together.
âBaby, you gottaâŚâ He stopped himself shortly. Swallowed like something got stuck in his throat. âBelieve me, ainât none of that true. Wasnât nothinâ you didâand you shouldnât feel like you need to be usinâ my woodworking tools, neitherâŚShould be somethinââŚreal.â
You couldnât read his expression at the last.
Still, you knew what you hoped it meant.
âSo show me,â you said. âTeach me.â
Your voice was weak. His lowered.
âYou know why I canât do that.â
Every spot, scar, and wrinkle gracing those weathered, middle-aged features seemed to harden at once. He wore a stern look, like a fatherâs, and didnât budge when you reached out to touch. Just lifted a hand to his chest.
And, sliding something small out of his breast pocket:
âI stopped into town. Got you this.â
A little hand-held mirror.
You took it.
What for?
And you asked him that.
Watched Joel shift from foot to foot as you held it up.
The look in his eyes should have been answer enough. They told you, without prevarication, what this mirror was for. It was up to you to make sense of it yourself.
You took a seat on the bed.
Joelâs bed, big, broad, and soft as a cloud, made for the perfect space to do this. You didnât have to think about it.
âLike this?â you asked him.
Joel stiffened where he stood. The moment you leaned back and set your heels apart on the bedâfacing him directly, with nothing but his shirttails keeping you covered thenâhe scrubbed a hand down his beard.
He stared no lower than your collarbone.
You sat the mirror between your legs.
âNot here,â Joel said, jaw clenched.
The glass was rounded with a handle.
Perfect for holding it an inch away fromâ
âBaby,â Joel cut in, a little more choked. âI meant alone.â
âThen go.â
You were tired of feeling spinelessâsomething naĂŻve and meek and incapable of doing things on her own. Guilty as Joel may have felt, it didnât change the fact that you had needs, same as him. If he didnât want to see this, so be it.
You lifted the ends of your shirt to take a look at yourself.
The mirror was propped up on the comforter, affording you a near-perfect view of what had made you curious.
She was pretty. Plush. Simple.
Youâd never gotten a glimpse at her from an angle like this, but with one look, you realized why the female form had held so many captive for as long as the human race existed. You had powerâreal, tangible powerâinside it.
Joelâs mind seemed to mirror your every thought to a T.
His gaze had tripped from your neck to your shoulders, down your stomach and toward your center. Once it landed on open, dripping folds, it was like they froze him.
Rooting the stubborn, stern, frowning old man into place, your pussy worked like a spell. That knowledge alone was enough to send your muscles pulsing for him.
For yourself, you corrected.
Your pleasure came first.
âBabyâŚâ Joel trailed off.
He stared, and he sulked, right as your middle and ring fingers teased a line up your aching slit. You were so wet that the most featherlight of touches got them soaked.
Joel swallowed again, bracing both hands on his hips.
âDarlinâââ
âWhat did I say about names, Daddy?â you cut in. You teased him with the D-word at the same time you found your clit, and a ripple of pleasure pulsed through you. âDonât talk sweet if youâre not gonna treat me like it.â
You surprised yourself with just how steady you spoke. Similarly, Joel seemed to be stunned himself. He took a step forward so that heâd be stood at the foot of the bed.
ââMâalways sweet on you,â he mumbled. ââŚainât I?â
âMaybe when you feel like it,â you countered.
You made a messy circle with your fingers.
Then another, and another, and another. Sensations rose sharp and hot, further heightened by eyes on your body.
âWhen you need it,â Joel rebutted once more.
His voice was stern. Underneath it, though, a tortured man was trying to claw his way out. Fighting for control.
Losing the battle momentarily, he leaned in.
Hands still on his hips, eyes still glued between your legs, in an act that you wouldâve deemed crude were it done just about anywhere else, Joel bent forward and spit.
A glob of saliva landed squarely between your fingers, almost too perfect for you to believe after youâd seen it.
But then you felt it: warm moisture mixing with yours, motions circling faster and faster around that little bud, Joelâs gaze growing even more intent as he watched you.
There was a frown on his face, but he was crumbling.
âWant Daddy to be sweet on you, huh? Is that it?â
The answer he received came in the form of your fingers sliding between your desperate, clenching, needy walls.
One inch.
One measly inch, and then they stopped.
That was all you could fit inside. You whimpered, shrill.
âDaddy, âsâtoo tight. Canât go any deeper.â
âAnâ what did I teach you âbout squeezinâ? âBout keepinâ her nice anâ wet so the stretch ainât so painful goinâ in?â
That line of questioning was pointless, clearly.
You were drenched. Your legs were spread, revealing a wet, drooling pussy practically soaking straight through his comforter. The fingers youâd tried to push in wriggled
Joel grabbed the mirror.
âWhatâs this for?â
With your fingertips otherwise occupied, the man was free to thumb at your clit while holding the mirror to it. Your hips bucked instinctively, and it was like you could hear the arousal trickling out of you. Joelâs eyes slid up.
âWell?â
So this was a review, apparently.
You babbled, âMy clitâs forâfor makinâ me feel good.â
âAnâ where else can you do that?â
âHere.â
Again, your fingers tried to slide in to locate your g-spot, but the effort was fruitless. Your hole was as tight as anything, and you simply didnât have the grit to get it in.
âHere?â
So Joel did it for you.
With one thick, sure finger, he split your digits apart and entered your pussy pushing in between them. Languidly.
He held the mirror with more force, sawing the finger of his other hand back and forth to coax you open. To no oneâs surprise, it was an easier go. Though one of Joelâs was almost as thick as the two of your own, this stretch was good. The pleasure it elicited made your jaw slacken.
And, just as a gasp left your lips, Joel put the mirror down. He reached for the back of your neck and, angling your chin to your chest, made you watch your reflection.
With the mirror resting between your legs, you had a front row seat to see it all: Joelâs finger dragging in and out, a tiny, gaping âoâ in its wake, your arousal trailing it.
Heâd done this before, but it was your first time watching
You loved it.
You loved how lewd it looked with this big, coarse, liver-spotted hand flexing back and forth, making a finger disappear and reappear outside your pussy over and over again. You relished the sight of your juices trickling down his palm and wrist. You adored the grip at the nape of your neck, how Joel kneeled into the bed and lowered his mouth beside your ear, telling you the filthiest of things while he fingered you. âMissed her Daddy, didnât she?â and âThatâs it, open fâmeâ made you dizziest.
Then Joel told you to strip down.
Your fingers trembled with the buttons of your shirtâluckily, youâd only done three or fourâand you got it off. You shrugged the thing behind you while Joel added a second finger, and you spread your thighs even wider.
It was a tight fit without his tongue to help. Whimpering and whining and murmuring, âDaddy, please,â you made the sting evident, and that was when he started petting your g-spot. At the same time, to your surprise, Joel leaned down and took one of your nipples in his mouth.
The pleasure together was mind-numbing. Joel licked and sucked while his fingers drove in relentlessly; his tongue lapped over that hard, pebbled flesh and smeared the skin all over with saliva. He panted.
âThis isâŚanother spot,â he managed raggedly.
Another lick. Another loud, wet pop of his lips.
Your pussy clenched so tight around his fingers you feared you might cut off the circulation, and you moaned
Erogenous zones, Joel muttered against you.
And what a gift it was to be toldâshownâwhere to find your pleasure. To have the doors thrown open wide and nudged inside that special, private place with the help of someone else. Perhaps the act wasnât so much a loss of control on Joelâs part, but simply that: giving. You hoped he didnât feel guilty again, and could enjoy this with you.
A minute later, you were watching yourself come undone
Trembling, fluttering, pulsing around Joelâs fingers while he sucked your nipple between his teeth, like he was feasting on you, you were inundated with ecstasy.
A shrill, pleasured shriek starved you breathless. Spit leaked and dribbled down your chin. The sight of your pussy getting stuffed with Joelâs fingers, at the same time he practically tongue-bathed your chest within an inch of his life, drove you wild beyond all understanding.
You pawed at him the second that your orgasm receded.
âM-More, Daddy,â you whimpered, greedy. âPlease.â
No making sense of it then: you were desperate.
Beside you, Joel was sucking in deep, shuddering breaths and blinking furiously, as if trying to clear his field of vision or shake his head of some ugly thought.
You touched his chest, and he lurched backward.
He was doing it again.
âJoelââ you tried his name, gentle.
âIâI canât.â He shook his head. âWe gotta stop.â
âBut you donât wanna. Youâre just sayinâ that now.â
You were out of breath, panting on the bed, and you realized then with some embarrassment that you were completely naked. Joel was clothed. He started to stand.
The old man had a look on his strained, weathered face like heâd witnessed fifteen wars firsthand. He braced a hand against a bedpost, clenching his jaw, and when your hand reached out to touch him again, he balked.
Groaned.
You mustâve nicked him someplace painful, inadvertently
Glancing down, you saw your hand atop a denim mound.
That hadnât been your intention. Youâd meant to grab at his belt loops and pull him close, help him see that he wouldnât be doing you wrong, but your palm had landed on his crotch instead. You werenât sure what this meant, but you couldnât help but recall the noise heâd made when you straddled him early that morning at Tommyâs place. It sounded eerily familiarâand you really hoped you hadnât fucked things up and hurt Joel in some way.
âIâm sorry!â you squeaked, yanking your hand back. âIâmâ Iâ I didnât mean to, I promise. Did I hurt you, Daddy?â
âGoââ Joel swallowed. Turned. âGo to your room, baby.â
Your heart sank.
Youâd run him off again.
How many times would it take for this to be enough? When would you not be messing things up so pitifully?
You sniffled at the same time Joel took a step away.
His back was facing you, and his gait was unsteady.
Just as you started to slide off the bed, about to scamper off naked and humiliated, you stopped.
Joel halted where he stood, torso folding in slightly.
âDaddy!â you cried.
Before you knew it, you were in front of him. Hugging him. Trying to fit your arms around that thick, sturdy waist and babbling incoherently, something to the effect of, âAre you alright?â and, âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry!â
Something poked your stomach.
The reason that you werenât able to fit your wrists around his back, you swiftly realized, was that something was standing at a perpendicular angle from Joelâs lower half.
You pulled back. You stared.
Joel was already hastening to shove the appendage away, but you saw it, clear as day: all of that was him.
He mustâve tugged it out of his jeans in the split-second that heâd been turned, hissing through his teeth and saying some words you were half-certain you werenât allowed to repeat. Now Joel was fisting the thing, all thick and angry and pink, like it were something bad.
For some reason, the sight made your mouth water.
âDaddy?â And it was more a breath than a question.
Joelâs expression hardened, same as it had earlierâonly this time, there was a tinge of pain behind it. He grunted.
âDarlinâ,â he said, stern. âThis is a grown man problem. Donât want you havinâ to deal with none of it fâme, OK?â
âBut Iâm grown, too.â
You said it without thinking.
It was like a primal drive cut in, and your mind spun.
Your fingers trembled by your sides, and when you stole a look at Joel, you saw him eyeing you steadily. Chest rising and falling in shallow breaths and teeth grinding.
âSweetheartââ he started to warn.
âCan I touch him? JustâŚjust a little.â
Your voice was soft as you asked him.
Your movements were slow as you approachedâyou didnât touch until Joel had breathed a fierce sound through his nose and jerked his chin once. Assent.
It was as if he were actively trying to deter you.
And it wouldnât workâyou were reaching out.
Your fingers curled around flesh that was hard and warm, and intrigue blossomed from the tips of your toes to the lips that wanted to grin at the feeling. Your eyes peered down, and you saw it, plain as anything: thisâŚthing in your grip was dense. Long. Veiny. Flushed. And rigid.
It amazed you just how big the flesh could swell, and how hard it had gone underneath your touch. Holding him like you might a length of rope, you couldnât even reach your middle finger to your thumbâthat was how thick he was. You probably shouldâve been frightened by the size, but instead, you found yourself admiring him. Ogling one small, shiny pearl of moisture sitting atop the rounded end and feeling your mouth start to water again.
Joel let out another rumbling sound.
He pried you off by your wrist.
âThere. You touched âim.â
âDaddyâsâŚpenis, right?â
You knew that heâd taught you the word before already; you just liked the way his pupils dilated when you said it.
And, sure enough, Joelâs irises were swallowed up.
His throat bobbed. He put a hand on his zipper.
âYeah. Now Daddy needs to take care of âim.â
He took a load off in the easy chair behind him, collapsing with a sigh. You didnât follow at first.
You just watched, enrapt, while Joel planted his feet wide on the floor and fisted his length, eyeing you close.
A grown manâs problem.
Not yours. Not now.
âCanât even stay hard,â Joel said suddenly. Humorless. âTakes me moreân an hour on a good day. Thatâs why I say itâs a problem for me, not a little thing like yourself.â
That made you bristle.
You stepped closer. ââLittle thingâ?â
âYou know what I mean. Donât got nothinâ to do with your beinâ a full adultâwhich you areâbut your experience. Years you got under your belt.â And in a semi-ironic gesture, Joel hooked a thumb through a denim loop and tugged his jeans lower, exposing more of himself to you.
Spit burned in your throat going down. It was the most infuriating thing; knowing your body was just as good and ready as his, but because Joel deemed you littleâŚ
You walked to where he was and got on your knees. Kneeling, you saw the man tense and sit up taller.
âThat wasnât no invitation, sweetheartââ
âI want you to treat me like Iâm grown.â
And really, that was all you could say.
No amount of pleading eyes or pawing, needy hands, fingers curling into fists and demanding in a shrill voice, âTreat me as an equal, Joelâ would ever accomplish what you managed with the uttering of those nine little words.
For the first time, Joel looked like he understood.
Leaning forward, squeezing the base of his length in one hand and cupping your face with the other, he hummed.
âThat what you want?â Thumbing at your cheek.
You nodded. You softened under that touch.
âCâmere, baby.â
Câmere.
Come to daddy.
The next thing you felt was a set of lips on yours; Joel kissed you gently. His mouth was warm and soft and tender beyond all comprehension, drawing you to him and tasting you by turns. Heat fluttered low in your belly, and before the rest of your body could even fully respond to it, he was pulling back. His lips shone, red and swollen.
Smiling.
ââSâwhat I wanted to do this whole time,â he murmured, sounding a little bit sheepish as he said it. âShouldâve been the first thing I didâthatâs how real folks do it.â
Frankly, you were too light-headed to reply.
You nodded airily, jaw hanging slack.
âNow whereâs my sweet girl?â
That you could answer without words. So you did.
Letting Joel capture your lips again, setting your hands on either one of his denim-clad thighs and rising off your heels. Kissing him, and feeling the vibrations of a groan.
Hearing him stroke himself faster, then pulling from him.
Gaping.
âYâknow what made him so hard, baby?â Joel asked you, expression going a bit more lax while he rubbed himself. Evidently, whatever he was doing felt good. âTell Daddy.â
So he was still in teaching mode.
Your spit was practically leaking out in strings at either side of your mouth, but you managed to steel yourself.
âA-Arousal,â you stammered. Swallowing. âYour penis gets big whenever youâre aroused, uh, seeinâ something.â
âAnd what did Daddy see?â
Your face heated.
âWellâŚâ
Joel drew closer, eyes bright and glistening.
âYou can tell me, darlinâ.â
Another beat.
âMe?â
Very good, baby seemed to shine in every blink of that honeyed gaze, and Joel bent forward to kiss the tip of your nose, then your cheek. You preened under his touch.
âThatâs right. You made Daddy so hard,â he murmured.
Trapped between wanting to curl up on Joelâs lap and soak in all his praise and actually hoping to learn another lesson, you let him take the lead. You tilted your chin with the beckoning of his forefinger and thumb, and you squeezed his legs harder, toes curling underneath you.
In his fist, Joelâs length was ruddy-looking and flushed. The little bead of liquid at the tip had grown even bigger, but the sight was fleeting. At the next possible opening, Joel slid his palm up and over that end and stroked it rapidly. He smeared the moisture over his dick and, peering down at you with an almost curious look, widened the spread of his legs. He shifted closer.
âIâm an old man,â he said, a little deflated. Shaking his length near your face. âHe donâtâŚstay hard for very long.â
You swallowed.
You watched Joel continue to pump himself, but it was clear those motions were slowing. His member was beginning to soften in his hold, sagging at the tip.
âDaddyâŚâ you whined. You didnât like to see him sad.
âCouple kisses from your pretty lips might wake âim up, though. Could yaâŚCould ya do that fâme, hon? Kiss âim?â
You didnât think twiceâyou treated it just like you did with his mouth before. You bent down and kissed him right on the thick, glistening head, all round and pink.
Joel groaned.
He cursed again.
âThatâs it, baby,â he praised you, voice strained.
You were starting to get the sense that certain grunts of painâor what sounded like them to your earsâwere really more bound up in pleasure. Because of this, you went on, quietly, âThat feel OK, Daddy? ThatâŚbetter?â
âTen times better,â Joel hissed through his teeth. Releasing his hold on your face to grip the armrest. âThatâThatâs what Daddy likes. Little game of lollipop, huh?â
You cocked a brow at him.
Joel chuckled, ââSâwhat itâs like, right? Lickinâ a lollipop.â
Hearing that, you couldnât keep your lips from twitching.
Okay. Lollipop.
That made it more fun.
When Joel held his big, still partly flaccid length out to you again, you acted even quicker. You kissed his tip, and then, not needing to map it out, you pressed your lips to the side, the base, someplace near the thatch of black of gray hair by his tummy, peppering pecks. It was a game.
And your old man seemed to be enjoying it thoroughly, as his hips jerked with every other movement of your mouth. You stuck out your tongue and licked a stripe, and you heard a low, prolonged growl peel out of him.
âThatâs it, sweetheart. Thatâs a good fuckinâ girl.â
You licked the warm, gummy flesh again and relished the taste. That texture, frustrating as it may have been for Joel, was tantalizing all the same. You reached up and replaced Joelâs hand with yours, and strangely, you loved the feel of his dick all soft and wormy beneath your fist.
Your old man.
You peered up and met with scars, slightly sagging skin, silver-flecked hairs, a wide, bushy trail that spanned all the way to his navel over a heaping mound of muscle and fat. Joel was thick, and he showed his years through every inch of his body. Words couldnât begin to describe how much you loved that, and how feral it made you feel.
Parting your lips, about to stick out your tongue to give him another long, wet, and tender lick, Joel stopped you.
He twitched in your palm.
âBaby, how âbout you put Daddyâs penis in your mouth?â
He said it so softâso ragged and broken and wanting, by the sound of itâthat you almost froze on the spot. Spit smeared your lips and down your chin, falling in little droplets onto his jeans every now and then, and your mouth hovered over the head of him. Your eyes rounded.
âLikeâŚLike this?â you stammered. Lowering.
You took his tip between your lips; it started out with a kiss, just suckling the edge, but then, swiftly, your mouth opened up around him and stretched. Your jaw ached to accommodate his girth, and with just one inch, you felt the sting of what seemed like ten. You gagged, not used to that sensation, and your head jerked back by instinct.
You expected Joel to be put offâirritated, even.
But when you turned a coy look his way, you were surprised to find his eyes heavy-lidded and glazed. Expression as limp as everâhis member stirring stiffer near your lips and between your fingers, simultaneouslyâhe watched you. He nodded. He sucked in half a breath
And when he spoke again, it was like he really was in pain
âHoneyâŚâ Dick swelling nearly to full-size in your fist. Hand moving from the armrest to lay flat on the crown of your head, a little shaky. âDarlinâ, IâmâIâmâ I canât last.â
You were about to question that, confused as to how one little suck of your mouth could make him so squirmish all of a sudden, but then Joelâs other hand was moving, too.
This one reached lower.
It shoved his pants and boxers down, almost to the point of the fabric pushing past his thighs, and then you saw it.
More squishy stuff.
It wasnâtâŚpart of Joelâs dick per se but rather sat at the base. Hairy and round and plush in a funny-looking duo.
âYâknow whatâs in there, baby?â Joel murmured.
You had no idea. You said as much in a shrug.
That made Joel stiffen more, teeth flashing.
A soft chuckle, âGuess we never got to that part, huh?â
For a second, you were puzzled. In the next, you were being lifted to your feet. You mightâve stumbled, except Joel picked you up and carried you all the way to the bed.
You landed with a soft thud and saw Joel undressing before youâd even regained your bearings. As with most things he did, the man was relatively slow-moving and careful, but there was a grit and a resolve just the same.
He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and didnât unglue his gaze from you once. He kicked off his boots, toed off his socks, and when he got to his boxers and jeans, he put a hand on one of the closest bedposts and paused, briefly.
âBaby.â
You were lying sprawled out over the bedspread, naked, with Joel standing off to the side, eyes as ravenous and wild as you had ever seen them. At the same time, it looked like the man had just swallowed a cup of nails.
He leaned closer, and you did the same, crawling over.
âYeah? What is it, Daââ
âWe donât gotta do nothinâ you donât wanna do, OK?â Joel cut in over you. Cupping your cheek in one hand. âHell, we can stop this right now. Save yourâyour, uh, first time for somebody a little more suited to you inââ
Now it was your turn to interject, eyes rolling at him.
âIf you say âageâ one more goddamn time, JoelâŚâ
And it made you giggle, partly because you werenât often in the habit of cussing, but also because of the look that was suffusing Joelâs whole face as you said it: the guilt.
You could tell that it was still tearing him up, knowing how that wide, yawning chasm of decades wedged between you two wouldnât close no matter what he did. Fingers gripping the bedpost like a vise, eyes studying you by turns, and his underwear and pants all but bursting around the strain of his dick, he lookedâŚ
ââscared,â you finished presently. Tugging on his jeans. âIsnât it my job to be freaking out? This thingâs colossal.â
Youâd helped him strip completely nude, watching him kick off the fabric at his feet and climb into bed beside you, and there was a granule of truth to what you said.
What were you going to do with it? Would it even fit?
Then Joel was on top; fear dissolved into laughter.
âHey!â you hissed around short, gasping shrieks.
âThatâs a big word,â Joel mused, barely having to move a muscle against your writhing and squirming. ââColossal.ââ
âYouâve got a big dick.â
âBaby.â
âSorry. Penis, I mean.â
Above you, Joel had only to shake his head and scrunch his noseâwith his length hard and bobbing between your bodies, there was certainly no sense in denying it.
Still pinning you with his weight, he slid you both up the mattress. He nudged your head onto a pillow. Once comfortable, safe, and secure, and only then, did you feel him start to shift. You glanced between your legs.
His shaft was heavy. It stretched all the way from your pubic bone to your belly button and then well past it by an inch or three-and-a-half. Your presence was like a pebble beside a pillar; this walking, talking wall of fur and muscle couldnât be outstripped by anything, it seemed.
Joel stroked your cheek with his knuckles, at the same time watching moisture from that tip wet your tummy.
âYâknowâŚâ he trailed off, low. âYâknow how this goes?â
You did, sort of.
Your brain flashed back to the noises stifled behind cabin walls; Joelâs fingers plunging in and out of you; tongue dragging circles, telling you it was best to be wet and stretched, to make sure there was plenty of room for it.
Not a quarter-inch straight chisel, a finger, or a tongue.
Not even just the tip.
âAll of it goes in?â you asked him, gaze flickering up.
âAll of it.â
Joelâs hips canted once forward, then once going back.
Then again, in a sawing motion, as if to show you.
âDaddy goes inâŚâ Another undulation. ââŚanâ out.â
Over the course of all your time observing Joel, youâd come to realize that the man reverted to modes of teaching when he was worried; concealing his nerves became a game part-detachment, part-pragmatism.
You saw it now as he shifted his hips in demonstration, simulating sex with his length dragging back and forth across your belly. His brow knit, and he held your gaze.
ââFore he canâŚâfore he can move, or anything, Daddyâs gotta stretch your little hole out for him. Get her ready.â
âLike you did with your fingers?â you supplied helpfully.
Joel winced.
âWell, aâa little like that.â And he paused to consider his words. âExcept, uhâŚDaddyâs gonna stretch you a bit bigger. Tougher. When he goes in for the first time, he mightâŚwell, thereâs this stretch of skin he mightâŚrip.â
âRip?â You raised your head off of the pillow, voice taut.
Joel tried talking you down, both literally and figuratively.
âAinât that bad, I-I donât think. You might not even have it. Thereâs just this thing inside of some womenâa little tissue, I sâposeâcalled a hymen. Might break the first time you have sex, andâand with everything else⌠stretchinâ, yâknow, if it hurts, you just talk to me, OK?â
You nodded, âOK.â
Joel lined himself up.
He gripped his length and angled it. Shifted on his knees.
Swiped the head through your folds a couple of times and made you shiverâwas this supposed to be painful? You liked him there, and you tried relishing the feeling. Being wet, and sensitive, and spread with your legs wide open to Joel, you felt as vulnerable as youâd ever been.
You wanted to get the hurt over with.
âPut it in,â you urged, soft. âGo on.â
Joelâs lips twitched overhead. A light chuckle rumbled through him, and he continued the languorous strokes.
âAinât that simple,â he mumbled back. âIt ainâtâŚpolite.â
For what?
You were about to ask him as much, when Joel slid the flushed, leaking head of his dick from just grazing and bumping your slit to tapping directlyâpoking your clit. Smearing that pearlescent liquid from the little hole at the end to your throbbing bundle of nerves. You gasped.
Pleasure blossomed from that site. Joel tapped the head againâgentle, but insistentâand sparks ignited across your lower half. Your hips jerked, and you let out a whine.
âThatâs why, darlinâ,â Joel answered your wordless query. He smiled, sliding his dick back and forth between your thighs, over your trembling, glistening mound. âOnly polite to knock on the door before he comes inside.â
And if you werenât almost shaking in fear, you wouldnât have hesitated to roll your eyes. Told the old, beaming man with his length poised over your pussy he was corny and not funny at all, yâknow that? But instead, you just mirrored his grin, all crooked, soft, and indolent, and you leaned in to kiss him. You wrapped legs around his hips.
You trusted him.
Yet another confirmation of it came when Joel cradled the back of your head and kissed you deeper, sweetly, and then dragged his lips from your mouth to either one of your cheeks, your nose, your chin. Peppering kisses.
Trying to distract from what was forthcoming, maybe.
âJust look at me,â Joel murmured, drawing back and meeting your eyes. âLook at Daddy now, alright, baby?â
You did.
You nodded.
Joel pressed his hips forward, andâ
âFuck!â You swore under your breath.
It stung. No side-stepping the pain, the push of Joelâs length a mere quarter-inch inside stretched the rim of your pussy to what felt like maximum capacity. You dug your heels in his ass, and at the same time it felt like that thrust was going to halt where it was, you grit your teeth.
âKeep going. Please,â you begged him.
Joel groaned. His whole body shook.
âBaby, this pussyâs so fuckinâ tight.â
You mustâve felt like a fist to himâwhether that was a good thing or a bad thing was yet to be decided, as the manâs mouth fell open, and a string of curses flew out. His hips stuttered, like he couldnât bear the feeling, and then his hand lifted to stroke your cheek. His thumb trembled down the cusp of your jaw as his throat bobbed
âOhâŚoh, honey. Canât hurt ya, little one,â he said, choked
âYou wonât. I want it,â you murmured back.
As if to affirm that statement, your walls clenched around his tip and sucked him deeper. Maybe a half-inch.
Once sheathed almost past his throbbing, leaking head, Joel seemed to grow even more delirious. He opened and closed his mouth, gray stubble shining from the faint lamplight of his woodworking station across the room, and you thought heâd never looked sweeter. Or needier.
You snaked your arms around his neck just as you felt your body begin to leak more moisture down his length. One soft, minuscule squelch where Joelâs most intimate part and yours molded together, mixing juices, and you could almost taste him on your tongueâfeel him swelling bigger and harder pointing in toward your belly.
âRight here, Daddy,â you breathed, voice shrill from how badly you wanted him. âShowâShow me where it goes.â
You shouldâve known that tapping into Joelâs pedagogical side wouldâve stopped him on a dime.
And it did.
He blinked.
Eyes already clouded with lust and need, he swallowed.
âY-Yeah?â He leaned closer and blanketed your body.
You nodded at him sweetly, spreading your thighs.
âPlease, Daddy. Teach me how to be a big girl.â
Your words might as well have knocked him sideways. The man heaved the longest, lowest groan through his teeth, and muscles ticked on both sides of his mouth.
He liked that a lot.
Heâd give you exactly what you needed now.
And, in short order, that was what he didâlowering his head, capturing your lips, kissing you sweetly and savoring your taste, he relished you. Pleasured you. Braced his elbows on either side of your head on the pillow and sucked in a breath and then slid in, finally.
âOpen for Daddy,â he said, without pretense or pause.
No equivocation to his movements now, he drove deep. Your body followed as if by instinct, blooming around the intrusion and letting him in. It hurt; like you already knew, there was no sense in pretending as if it wouldnât sting, but Joel was there through every second of it. Caring for you, kissing you, sawing that big, slippery member of his in and telling you, gently, âThis is where Daddy belongs.â
âInâIn my tummy, Daddy. Can feel âim in my tummy.â
âYeah? Show me where.â
Joelâs hand moved under yours, swiftly guided to your stomach. His gaze shone with pride when you started drawing little circles over your belly button, all while his length was plunging in and out of your wet, needy hole.
You felt a bulge under the skin, and he felt it, too. Whatever hymen you had was probably split in half.
âSee Daddy there? All up in your guts?â
You did. You whimpered, âUh-huh.â
Then, somehow, the man sank even deeperâwhat once felt like it was teasing at your tummy touched your lungs.
Joel let out a strangled sound.
âFeelâFeel Daddy here?â
As soon as you answered yes, Joel rocked his hips forward to make sure he hit that spot again. It made stars fly before your eyes, not unlike the way youâd felt when he was knuckle-deep stroking your g-spot, but you could tell that this place was different, too. Your toes curled in anticipation, and your walls pulsed around him.
You liked it, not only for the feeling, but the meaning of it.
Something more significant lurked under the surface.
âYour cervix,â Joel said, voice thin and near hoarse.
Another stab of his pelvis, and your mind went dizzy with the pleasureâsilly as it was, it also scared you, so you hugged Joelâs neck and nodded your head, âCer-vix.â
âYou know whereâŚbabies come from, right, hon?â
That question stumped you for a second.
Slowly, you shook your head at him.
And, like the time not long ago when youâd told Joel you wanted to be a big girl, this admission seemed to leave a lasting impression, too. Above you, Joel continued to roll his hips in fast, shallow thrusts and stretch your pussy out with it, prodding at your cervix in every movement.
âWell, thisâthis is what I was gettinâ at, darlinâ.â
Another beat. Another thrust and a groan.
Joel had just managed to steel himself when he went on:
âThe birds and the bees, I mean. This isâŚit. This isâŚâ
Making love.
MakingâŚ
Joel didnât even need to finish his thought, but he reached down anyhow. Feeling for the soft, squishy globes attached to the base of himself, between his legs, he ghosted fingertips over them and stifled a grunt.
âIn here, âsâwhere a man stores semen. Thatâsââ
âThe stuff that makes babies, right, Daddy?â
The pieces fell into place without him having to say another thing. The jostling of your body underneath him, pussy taking him deep with every stroke, how Joel would grunt and groan and pant in keening desperation, âOh, sweetheart, thatâs just what Daddy likes. Keep goinâ,â it only surprised you how long it had taken for you to see it.
Instinct clouded your sense; you said it without thinking:
âWant it in me, Daddy.â
Joel choked.
Oh.
At the same moment, your walls reflexively clenched, and your fingers wound through the dark, sweat-dampened curls at the nape of his neck. Inhaling a whiff of his aftershave and his natural scent, you felt something stir within you. You couldnât name it.
You couldnât place that primal need or why you craved him in you, pulsing out however much of that seed his body could give. It was as simple and as insistent as breathing; your pussy enveloped his length from root to tip and gave it a squeeze like your walls were trying to milk him. Joelâs body responded in kind, and he groaned.
ââMâsorry, Daddy,â you squeaked. âI didnât mean to.â
âYou want Daddy to make a baby in your belly?â
Joelâs mouth was hovering less than an inch away from your own, and the look on his face was that of a man starved. His thrusts slowed. Hard, hot flesh twitched inside you and sank all the way in until you squirmed.
This gruff man, this tough man, this caretaker and wellspring of kindness and warmth. Protection since the day heâd entered your life. And now he was buried to the hilt, hips digging into yours, and he was smoothing a hand over your cheek. Seeming to be waging an internal war, he swallowed and held your hip with his other hand.
âDonâtâDonât answer that,â he rejoined, hoarse.
âPlease, Daddy. Please,â you whimpered back.
In an exploratory move, you reached to lick at his bottom lip. After that, his chin, down the plane of prickly silver stubble and then around his mouth, like you couldnât get enough of the man. It felt natural; you lifted your hips and raised your eyes to him at the same time, begging.
You didnât need to ask. Joel didnât need to speak again.
But after taking a look deep in your eyes and feeling you hug himâtug him in, both between your arms and your thighsâit became readily apparent his resolve was shot.
His hips drew back and rocked forward.
His tip nudged your special spot, and you both groaned.
No further teaching or talking was needed from that point forward; you and Joel seemed both to operate on instinct, with your bodies making all of the requisite decisions to keep moving. Joel slipped his arms under your body and held you tight, pressed himself as near as he could while he drilled you into the bed and pushed you closer and closer to your peak. His length swelled and throbbed, and the whole time through, he couldnât take his eyes off your face to watch what his movements were doing. Always âmy girl,â âmy darlinâ,â or âmy sweet, precious babyâ as his pubic bone bumped your clit and he cradled you to him. The bed creaked underneath the weight of each thrust, and before you knew it, your moans were increasing in pitch. Your body tightened.
Joelâs did the same, and with the tight, wet suction of your pussy all but cutting off the circulation to his dick, neither one of you had much say in what followed afterâropes of warmth coated your walls with every pulsation of his length, and euphoria seized you from head to toe.
How long it lasted, or how long Joel remained buried in your aching heat was anyoneâs guess. All you knew was that when you re-opened your eyes on recovering from your pleasure, Joel was watching you. Thick, sticky warmth stuffed you to the brim before starting to leak outâand, evidently, your old man loved that feeling, as he couldnât keep a grin from spreading across his face.
Cheeks glowing, eyes bright, and smile mirroring your own, it was clear he wasnât going anywhere this time. Joel held you closer, then pressed a kiss to your cheek.
prguitarman
andulkaphoto
dailybridgerton
pixelskylines
