Honestly, I am 99.999% convinced that Marshall Mathers wouldn't engage in this kind of relationship with a young woman, buuttt this thought has been lingering in my mind since Wednesday when a few coworkers and I were chatting about sugar daddies... and I just can't shake it off!
I would absolutely love to read an Eminem fanfic like this!! I don't believe anyone has ever written a SugerDaddyEminem fanfic before, but please correct me if I'm mistaken.
Feel free to take this request in any direction you like. Perhaps there are some feelings ❤️ involved? It's entirely up to you!
I know that I share my requests for all bloggers to use, and this request is no exception. I really love and value everything you all produce! However, I would sincerely be excited to see what the amazing @alittlegiraffe can create for this one, if you're interested, of course. I admire your work! 🥰
I am hoping S3 of The Pitt will be night shift season then we will get a spin off. I have a small list of who I would want to be in S3 as new doctors and patients.
Thomas Gibson - I think it's time for him to return to acting and he should play a doctor.
Matthew Lillard - his character's kid is in the emergency room and his performance will give him an Emmy for this role 😎
Adriyan Rae - Senior Resident and either has a past with Abbot or Shen.
Rahul Kohli- Attending surgeon
Daniel Sharman - Nurse
Joseph Sikora - Either Schizophrenia or Behavioral/Personality disorder patient
I will probably think of more people later, but as of right now this is who I would like to see 💁♀️
But I still want Josh Hartnett and Barry Sloane to be in the show and have them be buddies with Jack in the army days.
Summary: Abbot finally manages to persuade Robby into sharing you.
Warnings: Dark-ish Dr. Robby, power imbalance, implied age-gap, jealousy. Smut| eiffel tower kinda threesome, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, praising, pet names.
This is a second part to this fic, but it can be read alone
The bar was crowded. The kind of crowded you could barely hear yourself think, which is probably why Michael hadn’t shut the conversation down right away.
“C’mon, man, I know you two have your own... arrangement.” Dr. Abbot was talking, a little amused at the annoyance on his friend’s face.
Robby was acting as if what he was asking was scandalous. When, really, they both knew how many more scandalous things they’d done together.
“I’m not saying I want it to change, just- y’know...” Jack raised his brow, his gaze panning to you. “We could try once, for old time’s sake.”
Michael’s jaw ticked.
“I’m not sharing her.”
His eyes were on you too now. You were oblivious, laughing and talking with all the other residents at the table across the room.
“C’mon, you know you’d like it.” Abbot rebutted, taking a step closer to the man.
It was like you sensed something was happening. One moment you were laughing with Whitaker; the other your eyes had found the two men staring at you.
It felt as if the world froze, and all any of you could sense was each other.
“Just imagine how pretty she’ll look,” Jack was murmuring, only for Robby to hear, “with two cocks filling her up... How out of it she’ll be while we use her until she can’t take it anymore.”
Michael inhaled sharply, his traitorous mind picturing exactly what Abbot was putting in his head.
“You know you want that,” Abbot continued, sensing Robby’s breaking point closer. “You know you wanna feel her come on your cock while she moans around mine.”
The night’s attending was met with silence for a moment- that was until Dr. Robinavitch finally gave up, shaking his head as he groaned, “Fucking damnit”.
__ __ __
- I’m leaving -
The text told you all you needed to know.
It had been weeks now.
Weeks of stolen glances and murmured praises and secret texts that told you when to start saying goodbye to people so as not to seem suspicious when Dr. Robby left too.
At the end of most shifts, you ended up going home with Micheal, sometimes you even spent the night.
You were, as he put it, his special girl. And it was a feeling like no other.
The only thing that was hard was pretending like nothing ever happened while you were at work. You caught yourself slipping up more times than you liked to admit.
Sometimes it was a reference to “last night,” sometimes it was a touch that lingered too long, or a stare that conveyed too much... thankfully, however, no one seemed to suspect anything.
Or at least no one had brought it up with you.
You made your round of goodbyes, and with the excuse of being tired, you finally managed to get out of the bar.
The chilly night’s air greeted you as the doors closed behind you.
You shivered, closing your jacket as you started to walk to where you knew Michael’s car was parked.
The streetlamps illuminated the sidewalk with a soft glow as silence wrapped around you.
There was no one out.
No one except...
Dr. Abbot was leaning on a car you knew all too well.
Shit.
What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t exactly stop there now. What were you gonna tell him? That you were waiting on your attending so he could take you back to his home and fuck you?
Not to mention the fact you didn’t want Michael to see you talking to Jack- hell, him flirting with you was the reason all of this started.
You were planning to just give him a little nod of acknowledgment and keep walking, when, to your dismay, he shattered all your plans.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
You skidded to a stop, trying to think of what to say.
“Dr. Abbot. Hi,” you finally regained the ability to speak, conceding him a quick smile.
“You can come closer, I don’t bite,” he chuckled.
His arms were crossed against his chest as he watched you with amusement.
You must have looked dumb, blinking up at him from five feet away.
“I just... I was making my way home,” you lied, your voice weak.
“You sure?” his lips pulled into a smirk.
“I-” you trailed off, watching the look in his eyes intently.
And in an instant, it clicked.
He knew.
“Do you... Do you know?” you asked, your voice low as you hurried closer to him.
Again, he laughed as he looked you up and down, seemingly happy with what he found.
“I know a lot of things, sugar,” he murmured, his fingers moving some hair out of your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek,
His touch warmed your skin like liquid fire, sending shivers to places they had no business going.
“I know you’re very beautiful,” he murmured softly, his words caressing your skin. “I know that even if you try to hide it, you like looking at me...”
“Stop,” you whispered, biting your lip, “y- you shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t do what?” he hummed, his eyes falling to your lips as he leaned closer.
Your heart picked up like a hummingbird. You could almost feel his lips on yours, his beard on your skin, and his hand in your hair- when someone cleared his throat to your right.
Fuck.
You gasped, jumping back as if Abbot’s touch had turned scorching hot.
Dr. Robinavitch was right there, looking at what was happening- looking at you.
“We weren’t- nothing happened,” you blurted out immediately, eliciting a cackle from Abbot.
You were expecting to see anger in Michael’s eyes, but when you looked closer... There was just some jealousy; the rest was something else.
“It’s ok, baby,” he reassured you.
“R-really?”
He gave you a simple nod, and you sighed shakily with relief.
Your breathing was starting to get back to normal, but as you watched the two men before you, a weird sensation overwhelmed you.
Michael had moved to stand beside Jack, and both their eyes were on you.
You’d noticed them before,talking in the bar while looking at you, but you just assumed it was something to do with work, but now it felt... different.
What the hell was going on?
“You ever been to Paris, sweetheart?”
It was Abbot’s voice that broke the silence.
“Jesus,” Robby laughed, shaking his head.
Huh?
“W-what?” you murmured, confused.
But they simply looked at each other, a grin on both their lips.
“Nothing, baby, just get in the car.”
__ __ __
You felt dazed as you followed Dr. Robby into his apartment.
The door closed behind Abbot with a loud click, and you almost jumped.
You had no clue what was going on. You had no idea how you were supposed to act.
You certainly couldn’t behave like you did when you and Michael were alone, but it’s not like he remembered that.
He’d already touched you inappropriately, and you hadn’t known how to react.
This was all so confusing.
“You want something to drink?”
While Jack answered positively behind you, you could only shake your head no.
Dr. Robinavitch smiled for a moment before walking to the kitchen, leaving you alone with the other man.
“Let’s get on the couch, yeah?”
When did he get so close?
His breath was fanning your neck, causing shivers down your spine.
“Mh-mh,” you hummed, complying.
You stared at your hands as he sat beside you.
“You don’t have to be nervous, sweetheart,” he spoke gently.
His voice was tinged with a delicious warmth.
“I just... I don’t really know what’s happening.”
Abbot couldn’t help but grin as his index finger guided your face up to look at him.
“We’re just here to... enjoy each other’s company,” he murmured, looking at you sweetly. “You don’t enjoy being around me?”
“No, I do,” you nodded shily.
“And you enjoy being with Robby?”
“Y-yes”
“That’s good,” Abbot bit down a proud smile as he moved closer, his fingers toying with your hair. “I bet he makes you enjoy yourself a lot.”
You choked on nothing at those words, heat spreading on your cheeks like wildfire.
“W-what? I-I”
I mean, it’s not like he was wrong. Dr. Robinavitch was definitely the best sex you’d ever had.
“It’s ok, sugar,” he shook his head, caressing your cheek soothingly. “I’m sure he does. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
Your breathing quickened, “Y-you shouldn’t know that.”
“Oh, Robby doesn’t care that I know what you two do,” he grinned, his gaze shifting behind you as Michael came into the living room. “Do you?”
You couldn’t bring yourself to turn and look at the man.
“Can’t say that I do.”
The answer shocked you. Why didn’t he want anyone else to know, but Abbot was fine? That made no sense.
“W-why?”
Michael was shrugging, finally in your line of sight now. He handed a beer to Abbot and sat on your other side, taking a swing of his own bottle.
“’Cause sweetheart...” Jack murmured, placing the beer on the coffee table next to him, before letting his hand slowly move to your thigh, “Robby and me... we’ve got a history.”
You swallowed, trying to make sense of his words.
“A history?” you repeated, watching each man questioningly.
A beat passed, then two.
“A history of sharing women, sweetheart,” Jack spoke softly, but your heart skipped a beat nevertheless.
Did he just say...
“You’re in a rush,” Robby commented, arching a brow at the other man.
“I’ve been wanting this for a long time,” Abbot answered truthfully, his eyes only on you.
Your heart was pounding in your chest, and yet you felt almost hypnotized by the look in Abbott’s eyes.
He just grinned, his fingers leaving your face as he reached for his beer and took a sip.
“At the same time?”
It felt dirty to even say it, but the lava-like heat low in your belly was everlasting.
The things you were picturing...
“Yes, baby,” Robby spoke now, his hand finding your other thigh.
“Y-you mean...” you couldn’t even finish the sentence, your brain was short-circuiting.
“Yes, sugar.” Michael leaned closer, kissing you slowly without any warning. “We like to fuck women at the same time.”
You were pretty sure you weren’t breathing anymore.
Both their hands and stares were on you, and you felt like you could have died.
“Is that something you’d be interested in?” Abbot asked, his gaze burning.
“I’ve never done anything... like that.”
You glanced at the beer bottles forgotten on the coffee table, trying to calm yourself.
“We’ll teach you, sweetheart.”
You gulped as Robby asked, “So?”
You looked at each of them, eyes wide, breathing erratic, and the answer was out before you could stop it.
“Yes”
I mean, it’s not like it was much of a tough question- You couldn’t think of one person on this earth that would turn the opportunity down.
Robby’s lips pulled into a smirk.
“Good girl,” he praised you, before crashing his mouth with yours.
You whimpered into the kiss as he tasted you like he owned you- the kiss was hard, branding, and it left you breathless.
He pulled away way too soon, but then he nodded to Abbot, and you felt about to combust.
Was this really happening?
Your question was answered in a matter of seconds, because as soon as you turned around, Abbot was leaning closer.
His kiss started softer, like he was trying to test out the water, or perhaps trying to hold himself back.
But then something switched, your tongue started exploring his mouth too, and he groaned, as his movements turned desperate... hungry.
His hands gripped your face as he forced you impossibly close to him, and he made a point of tasting every single inch of you until he could barely breathe.
Your puffy lips caused a smile to Jack’s face as he leaned away.
He really had been wanting to do this for a long time.
“Let’s go to the bedroom.” Robby’s voice broke the thick silence.
__ __ __
You were sitting on the bed like you’d been told to, watching with a mix of anxiety and excitement as the two men glanced at each other, communicating silently, before looking back at you.
You had so many questions- you wanted to ask how any of this was gonna work, you wanted to ask what was gonna happen... but no words could make it out of your mouth.
They were silent too. Not in your panicky way, but in a calm, confident way.
Jack moved first, walking to you before slowly kneeling down. His hands fell to your legs, and butterflies filled your stomach.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes, yeah?”
Robby rounded the bed, the mattress creaking underneath his weight as he came to kneel behind you.
Wordlessly, Jack undid your pants while Robby helped you out of your shirt.
In moments, you sat there in only a pair of panties and a bra.
You would have felt self-conscious, if it wasn’t for the adoration blanketing the men’s eyes.
Michael took off your bra, and you watched Abbot’s jaw tick as his eyes fell to your naked chest.
He didn’t move - it was Robby who initiated the dance.
His mouth fell to your neck, leaving hot, wet kisses on it while his hands traveled up to cup your tits hard, squeezing and groping as he groaned against your neck.
Your eyes were on Abbot as you bit your bottom lip, trying and failing to silence your moans.
It was a weird feeling, having someone watch such an intimate moment... but it was extraordinary too.
It took a moment for Jack to snap out of it, but once he did, he just smirked at you as he slowly peeled your panties off.
You held your breath, your hand shooting to Michael’s hair as he sucked on a spot behind your ear that made you feel dizzy.
Abbot couldn’t resist anymore, as much as he enjoyed the show, he guided your legs to open, watching with twisted satisfaction your whole heat come into view for him.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed, leaning down further, his fingers gripping the outside of your thighs, “You’ve got the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”
You only whimpered as he moved your legs to rest on his shoulders, his breath fanning to your core while his lips started to leave taunting kisses on the inside of your thighs.
Soft whines left your throat as his stubble grazed your skin, his mouth inching closer to where you needed it, but never fully reaching it.
You tried to wiggle your hips to get him closer, but all that caused was a smirk on Jack’s lips and a sudden bite to your skin.
You yelped, causing both men to laugh.
“Please,” you mumbled, your chest heaving.
“Begging already?” Abbot shook his head, chuckling as he continued to torture you.
“Jack’s taking his sweet time, huh?” Robby spoke to your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
You nodded desperately, hoping he’d get on your side and tell the man to get to work... only of course, Robby absolutely loved seeing you like this.
“I wanna enjoy this,” Jack spoke in between kisses, and now licks, to your sensitive skin. “Who knows when you’re gonna let me do this again.”
“If.” Robby corrected him immediately, moving your hair to the side to grant some attention to other spots on your throat. “If I’m gonna let you do this again.”
“See?” Abbot arched a brow, laughing softly as he looked at you. “He’s seriously possessive about you, sweetheart- You really cast a spell on him.”
You couldn’t help but smile at that. The thought of you being so special to Robby... it did things to you.
The distraction lasted only so long, because soon Jack was back at kissing your skin and you were back at whining.
“I’ll give you something to keep you occupied, baby, don’t worry.”
With that, Robby undid his zipper, quickly guiding you to lie down and taking his cock out of his pants.
He pulled your head on his lap, giving his dick a quick squeeze.
“Open up.”
In a second, you found yourself sucking his big tip into your mouth.
“That’s it, baby, that’s it.” Robby inhaled sharply, moving your hair out of the way.
You wanted to do a good job, but the moment you felt Abbot’s lips on your mound, the task kind of fell into the background.
You looked, as much as you could, down at Jack, as he finally gave you what you wanted.
In seconds, all that teasing was forgotten. The man was starving.
His tongue delved into your slick pussy like he’d been waiting his whole life for it. He was licking and kissing and sucking everything he could find, and you were already over the moon.
“Fuck- you taste amazing,” Abbot groaned.
You moaned around Robbys cock, as Jack’s lips began focusing on your clit, stretching it and sucking it into his mouth enough to drive you crazy, just to stop and focus everywhere else.
The room filled with the sound of his feasting and your pathetic attempt at giving Robby head.
Abbot’s nose was deep inside your core as his tongue delved into your hole, eating you out from within and making you see stars.
Your back arched from the bed, but his strong hands quickly pulled you back down.
His biceps were bulging against his shirt, and his eyes were laser-focused on you, watching every single proof of his good job cross your face.
“Jack’s making you feel good?”
You nodded desperately, looking up at Robby, one of your hands gripping his forearm as his friend made out with your pussy.
“Yeah? So much so, you forgot how to suck my cock?”
Those words sent a wave of something desperate through you as you immidiately began trying to bob your head and suck more of him into your mouth.
You looked up at him with apology, trying to please him as much as you could in the position you were in.
“Have mercy on her, Robby,” Jack spoke against your core, shooting delicious vibrations through your body. “Who knows when’s the last time someone ate her out this is good,” he smirked, shooting you a wink. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”
Heat invaded your face as you pretended not to hear, all the while not being able to silence your moans.
He really was spectacular at it.
It’s not like Dr. Robby didn’t eat you out, it’s just that it was different... Robby was quick, aggressive; he was a taker. He made you come as if you owed it to him- while Abbot... he was taking his time tasting all of you, showing love to every inch of you, and just simply... giving.
You were making a mess, you were drenched and slick all over, and you could see your juices all over Jack’s face, but he simply kept going, groaning into you in pleasure as he dined.
“Mmmph-” You hummed around Robby’s cock once Jack finally started focusing on your clit again, your free hand moving to grasp his silver locks.
He watched you like a hawk, gripping your thighs as he quite simply decided to put an end to this torture and make you come.
Which he did- in an embarrassing short amount of time, you found yourself crying out like a madwoman as a tsunami of pleasure washed over you.
You regained consciousness as Jack’s lips found your stomach, starting a trail that led him all the way to your mouth.
Robby had taken his cock out of your mouth somewhere in the meantime.
Abbot kissed you softly, letting you taste yourself as your hands cradled his face, palm against his humid stubble.
“You did real good, sweetheart.”
“Thank you,” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded as you tried to calm your breathing.
He smiled, kissing you once more before leaning away and off of you until he was standing up.
It was then that you noticed Michael was already undressing, and renewed heat pooled in your belly as both men stood shirtless in front of you.
“I wanna look at her,” Jack spoke to his friend as he got rid of his pants.
Robby looked at him for a moment as he did the same, appearing almost annoyed with the request.
“Fine. As long as you don’t come inside her.”
At that, Abbot’s lips pulled into a grin and he shook his head, looking at you as he muttered, “So possessive.”
You wanted to smile, but then Jack took off his underwear, and all thoughts left your head.
Your mouth hung slightly open as you blatantly admired him. His pecs, his strong, broad chest, the V-shape pointing downwards to his big, huge cock...
“You can handle it, sweetheart,” he winked, slowly stepping towards you.
Without so much as a warning, he pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, your feet planted on the mattress and legs spread for him.
He wasn’t much bigger than Robby; he was just girthier.
You glanced at Michael, swallowing dryly.
He was still wearing underwear as he watched the scene unfold.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this.
“You’re gonna be good for Jack, baby?”
You nodded mindlessly, whining softly as Abbot gripped his dick and slid it against your slick folds.
“I’m sure you will, sugar,” he smiled, leaning down to kiss you quickly. “You’ll have to forgive me if I can’t fuck you missionary, it’s kind of hard with my leg,” he murmured against your mouth.
He was saying it mostly for himself. It was at times like this that he hated what had happened to him- getting robbed of normalcy, not being able to do what so many took for granted. Not being able to kiss the woman he was fucking, just because of his fucking prosthetic, angered him much more than it should have.
Your eyes panned down to his right leg, nodding slowly “It’s ok,” you murmured.
With that, he kissed you once more before standing upright again.
With how wet he’d made you, he managed to slip into you with ease... or the first inch at least.
Your back arched from the bed as he retracted his hips and thrust into you, repeating the routine over and over again until he was finally fully seated inside of you.
You cried out his name as you fisted the sheets under you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he gripped the outside of your legs.
“Fuck me,” he groaned, stopping for a moment to regain some sort of control. “So tight for me, sweetheart.”
You could only moan in response, the feeling of being so full rendering you a putty mess.
“Please,” you murmured, your hips trying to move to gain friction, “Please, Dr. Abbot.”
“You want me to move?” he taunted.
You nodded feverishly, eyes shut as your heart beat like crazy in your chest.
Yes, please.
“Look at me,” he ordered, watching you comply in a second, “Like that, good girl.”
Your eyes met his, and just like that- he started fucking you.
Your breath got stuck in your throat as his dick began plunging into you over and over again, balls slapping against your ass as you felt him reach parts so deep inside of you that had you curling your toes.
You were whimpering with every thrust, your pussy barely able to stretch around all of him.
“So pretty,” Jack grumbled as he started going harder, faster, shutting your brain down altougether.
You were so lost in Abbot’s gaze that you didn’t notice Robby walking to the end of the bed, right where your head lay.
He was fisting his cock slowly, watching you take his friend’s dick like a champ, until he couldn’t simply look anymore.
Without speaking a single word, he turned your head towards him, guiding your mouth to open with a thumb to your bottom lip.
“R-robby,” you cried out, pupils filled with ecstasy as they almost rolled to the back of your head.
Abbot was making you feel that good.
“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, impatiently guiding his cock into your mouth.
This time, you didn't even try to suck it. You were too far gone.
Thankfully, however, he took pity on you and simply started using your mouth as he would with your pussy.
The feeling of both of them inside you... both of them using you however they pleased made you feel on top of the world.
You were hot all over, drooling around Michael’s shaft while soaking Jack’s.
Both men were groaning in pleasure, a choir of sounds that made you feel close to the edge even faster.
“Doing so good for us, baby,” Michael groaned, looking down at you almost proudly as he abused your throat.
You were gagging, tears welling in your eyes as your right hand went to grip his waist, needing something to keep you grounded- keep you sane.
“Jack’s making you feel good?”
“Mh-mh,” you nodded as best as you could, glancing at the man furiously fucking you.
“Yeah, I am,” He growled, his movements frantic, desperate, “I can feel you squeezing me, sugar.”
You could feel every ridge and vein of his dick against your velvety walls, claiming every inch of you as if he wanted to leave an invisible mark.
“Taking me so good, sweetheart,” he murmured, “So deep.”
You could only moan in response, involuntarily squeezing him tighter and eliciting a deep rumble from his chest.
“Let me hear her.”
Michael hesitated a second before complying, pulling himself out of your mouth.
Immidiately, you were moaning like crazy into the thick air, your eyes on Jack’s.
He was gonna remember those sounds for the rest of his life.
“Fuck” he grumbled as you whimpered for him, “You’re gonna come for me?”
“Y-yes,” you couldn’t help but mumble the truth, “Please Dr. A-Abbott- please.”
“Jack, sweetheart,” he smiled, “Call me Jack when I’m fucking you.”
You nodded, biting your lip.
“Oh!” you squeaked as Michael’s hand materialized on your clit. “O-Oh my god- Jack- I-I-”
“I know sugar, come for me,” he breathed, “come around my cock like a good girl.”
You glanced at Robby, and when he nodded in encouragement, you couldn’t help but let go.
The tension in your belly exploded with the force of a volcano as your orgasm took over your body.
You writhed and moaned and cried, eyes shut in pleasure, until you could finally remember where you were again.
Jack was still slowly thrusting into you, letting you ride out your high, but the movements were very quickly turning overstimulating.
You could only whine, opening your eyes up again as you tried to scoot away from him.
“Too much?”
“Y-yes,” you nodded, biting your lip.
He smirked, eyes falling to where you were still swallowing him up. “I’d love to get another one out of you, but I think someone’s getting impatient.”
Your eyes panned to the man next to him, eyes dark and cock angry... yes, he indeed seemed impatient.
You gave Jack a lopsided smile, already feeling fucked out of your mind, and he finally pulled out of you.
It was a miracle he’d managed not to bust inside you.
“Get on your hands and knees, baby.”
You felt weak as you obeyed Michael’s command. Your legs were barely holding your weight as you got into position, but it was when you felt Robby climb onto the bed and slide his dick against your folds, when Jack came into view, standing before you, his cock right in line with your face- that you gulped.
You had no clue how you were gonna survive this.
“I-I,” you stuttered nervously, looking at Robinavitch behind you.
He only shushed you as his palm stroked your ass, and he started guiding himself into your core.
“Shh, baby,” he cooed, “You can do it- I know you can... now be good and suck Jack’s cock while I fuck you, yeah?”
You swallowed the sand in your throat, trying to stifle your moans as he filled you up.
“You want to be a good girl for me, right, baby? For us?”
Finally, you nodded. Of course you did.
You looked back at Abbot as Michael seated himself completely inside of you.
You cried out, your body and consequently your face sliding forward with the thrust, making your lips come in contact with Jack’s tip.
Having it right in front of you like this made a completely different effect. Trimmed gray hair adorned his base, and his cock looked even bigger up close.
You eyed his member worriedly before looking up at him.
He smiled at the look in your eyes, his hand shifting to move some hair away from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek to caress your skin.
“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he soothed you, gently guiding his dick into your mouth.
His head fell back, hissing under his breath as you instinctively hollowed your cheeks.
“Jesus,” he groaned, his hand going to fist your hair in a makeshift bun as you began working him into your mouth, all the while looking up at him like a literal angel.
Michael needed to speed things up because he was already much too close to the edge.
Thankfully, it was like the other man heard him and did exactly that.
Robby’s pace quickened and hardened at the same time. His thrusts turning brutal, scathing, and leaving you a complete mess.
You could feel him everywhere, every single cell in your body was being overriden by how good he was making you feel.
He was fucking you like he always did. He claimed you, fingers buried into your skin enough to bruise, and cock so deep inside of you, you’d feel like something was missing the moment he pulled out.
Actual tears dampened your cheeks as his pace forced you to gag around Jack’s cock.
“Good girl,” Michael groaned, landing a quick slap on your ass, “take it, like that- good.”
“Doing so good, sweetheart,” Abbot breathed from above you, knuckles white with the effort not to come in your mouth much earlier than he wanted to.
You were moaning around him, nothing but a doll at their mercy as your body moved however they wanted.
You weren’t in control anymore- not that you ever were- but now you felt truly so out of it you almost wondered if you’d already fallen asleep and this was just a hot, lucid dream.
As spent as you felt, however, a burning, familiar feeling started coiling low in your belly.
Michael’s hand reached your tits, his fingers toying with your nipples, before suddenly pinching your right one, and that feeling only heightened.
Your walls were strangling Robby’s cock as you struggled to keep your eyes open.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, “Fuck- that’s it.”
His fingers found your bundle of nerves, and it was like the pearly gates of heaven opened up for you.
Your muffled cries sounded through the room as, once again, you reached your peak.
“Good girl— come for me.”
Jack didn’t even try to hold it anymore and came with a loud grunt, forcing himself as deep as he could down your throat and painting it all white.
“I’m gonna fill you up now-” Robby was hissing, his thrusts turning sloppy as he got closer and closer “Gonna give it all to you, baby— all of it.”
And that’s exactly what he did. He filled you up with a growl, flushing his pevis with your ass in one brutal final thrust.
Your legs trembled as you dropped onto the bed, eyes closed and breathing erratic.
Both men were staring at you, at the come leaking out of your core, at the mess that had become of your hair, at the flush on your cheeks... and they couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Fuck, man,” Robby shook his head, still out of breath.
“Told you it’d be worth it.” Jack grinned, patting the man’s back.
Description: New city, new hospital, new job. You give yourself one last day to be free before your first shift, and happy hour ends with a stranger on your bed. The real problem starts the next morning, when he shows up in the same ER answering to “Dr. Abbot.”
Tags/warnings: second year resident fem!reader, smut, sleeping with the boss (?), porn with plot, Jack talk ‘em through it Abbot, clit stim, oral m receiving, p in v, hotel sex. ER cameos, mentions of a minor head injury, and banter.
Note: New man who disss 🤭 This one’s dedicated to my dear @nexxen24, who got me into The Pitt, and also gave me the idea for this lol. Enjoy! 🤍
Masterlist
And I could see you being my addiction
You can see me as a secret mission
Jack Abbot needed something sweet.
That was the excuse he gave himself today, anyway. The truth was, he found himself at the hotel bar a few blocks from the hospital more often than not, because it was quite dark, even in daytime. Dark enough that he could sit at the corner of the long counter and just exist for a couple of hours.
Sometimes he came for a beer. Sometimes a sandwich. Sometimes just to swap stories with the bartender until it was time to go back to real life and drown himself in someone else’s blood.
Today, he came for a very specific thing: Chocolate cake. A slice of expensive, moist, and obscenely sweet cake. He was sure his imminent descent to madness was the root cause of these…cravings. Whatever.
He slid onto his usual stool at the far end of the bar, in a black shirt, and some joggers, badge and scrubs stuffed away in his backpack.
He looked up at the bartender, but it wasn’t his usual guy. Instead, a girl with the darkest hair in a ponytail, walked up to him with a tired expression. There was a small white pin that said ‘Lisa– TRAINEE’ clipped to her uniform.
“Evening, sir,” she greeted.
“Afternoon, and just Jack, please,” he corrected with a small smile, glancing at the fancy clock on the wall. 4:43 pm. He still had a few hours off duty.
“Oh yeah–sorry! I get a little lost in here sometimes. Ugh, the only thing getting me through this shift is knowing I’m off tomorrow for the PittFest,” she said, making him chuckle.
“Trust me, I get it. I’m also looking for something to help me get through mine,” he shrugged. “Festivals are not my thing, though. I’ll leave that to the ones with healthy knees.”
“Mm, that’s fair,” she said, chuckling back. “So what can I get for you, ‘just Jack’? Gin? Old fashioned?”
“No drinks, but can I get a slice of that infamous chocolate cake?”
The girl looked at him like she wasn’t necessarily expecting that, but you know what? Hell yes, old guy.
“Sure.”
She walked round the bar, to a discreet door that led toward the kitchen, and asked for the cake to be served before stepping back to the bar again.
“Thank you, Lisa,” Jack smiled, finally letting his shoulders loosen.
You needed a stress reliever.
You weren’t stressed now, but you knew that in less than 24 hours it would become your new normal…again. You are meant to start your first shift at PTMC as a second year resident tomorrow.
New city, new program, and still…no apartment. But at least your hotel room was nice and ready for you to make it an early night, slightly tipsy and relaxed for your last blissful hours of freedom. Which is why at four something, you decide you’re going to treat yourself to be first in line for the hotel’s happy hour like the responsible adult you are.
The hotel lounge is large and dimly lit. A couple takes one of the single couches, curled into each other with matching martinis. The rest of the space is almost empty, aside from–
Wait. That man is cute. Wait again. You have to do a double take.
An attractive–no, very attractive man is sitting at the far corner of the long bar, waiting for his order. Simple outfit, camo backpack resting by his feet. He looks a little worn to be honest, but then again, don’t we all?
Huh. Guess someone beat you to happy hour.
You take the opposite corner, leaving about six empty stools between you, when the bartender approaches you.
“Afternoon, Miss.”
“Hi, Lisa,” you smile. “I don’t really know what cocktail to get. Can I just get whatever your favorite is?”
“Oh–yeah I can do that,” she shrugs with a smile, turning back to her inner counter to mix the drink.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket so you pull it out, checking the payment notification from the guy who’s buying the festival tickets you’re selling. You text him to confirm he has to pick them up at the hospital tomorrow, hoping you get a spare minute to walk out the ER, when someone walks out a hidden kitchen door and slides a plate in front of you.
“Chocolate cake,” the guy announces politely, but before you could even say that’s not yours, he turned around and disappeared into the kitchen again. You shrug, turning to the bartender who’s handing a drink to the man you saw when you came in.
“I didn’t order this,” you both say at the same time.
His head snaps toward your voice, and your eyes meet across the row of empty stools. He sees the generous slice in front of you, and with a not so subtle up and down look at you, a smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. Something flutters in your chest, so you break eye contact first, dropping your gaze to your phone and pretending to read another message.
Come on, play it cool.
“No drinks for me, Lisa. Remember?” you hear him say playfully, turning back to the counter.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” she rushes out, reaching for the drink in front of him. “I’ll switch them right now, I–”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, stopping her by wrapping his hand around the glass. “I got it.”
Your thumbs froze over your phone. He got it?
From the corner of your eye, you see him stand up, and duck down to scoop up his backpack. Your heartbeat does something very stupid as you try very hard not to stare while he walks in your direction. Okay. Okay. This is fine. Silver fox is walking toward you. You are not freaking out. You are a doctor, you have seen actual organs on tables. You can handle an older guy with pretty eyes.
He slides easily onto the stool right next to you, setting the glass down with a soft clink. Fuck. Of course he smells good. You have no choice but to look at him properly this time, and up close, he’s even more handsome. Fluffy, wavy grey hair, with matching stubble (makes you wonder if the carpet matches too) and a glint of humor in his eyes that you know is trouble.
“I believe this is yours,” he says, nudging the cocktail close to where you’re still holding your phone for dear life.
“Then I believe this is yours,” you say, setting your phone with a smile and sliding the plate toward him.
He narrows his eyes playfully, looking between you and the cake. “Tell you what.” He leans in, and nudges it closer so it sits between the both of you. “I don’t mind sharing…do you?”
Oh. Okay. So that’s where this is going.
“I don’t mind a lot of things,” you tilt your head, leaning one elbow on the bar, deciding to match that dangerous glint in his eyes with your own. His smirk grows before turning to the bartender again.
“Can we get another spoon, please?”
“Oh, sure. Here,” she says, handing it over.
He takes it with a quiet ‘thank you’, then holds it up in front of you like an offering.
“I’m Jack, by the way. Don’t think I heard your name.”
You let out a small chuckle as you take the spoon, the tension in your shoulders loosening a little under his charming gaze. You tell him your name, his smile softening when he repeats it back to you.
“Nice to meet you, thanks for sharing my cake,” he says, finally digging his spoon into it.
“Thanks for bringing me my drink,” you reply, reaching for the glass. You definitely need some buzz if you intend to survive this interaction. “I guess we’re even now, Jack.”
“Not yet,” he says, getting the first bite of cake. He hums in delight, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “But we’re getting there.”
You divert your gaze to your phone once again, heat blooming your cheeks. He smiles triumphantly at your reaction, deciding to push you a little more.
“Well, aren’t you going to try it?”
You bite back a smile, nodding as you dig your spoon into the cake. He watches your every move like a hawk as you lift it towards your mouth. You mirror his hum when you taste it, instinctively running your tongue over your lips to get the sugary remains off.
Jack shifts in his seat.
“Great, isn’t it?” He says, “tried it once and never was the same.”
“Would’ve never thought to try it, to be honest,” you chuckle.
“Me neither, guess I just needed something sweet today,” he shrugs, still too calm and too smug, still making your heart rate go crazy without even trying. “Looks like I came to the right place, though,” he winks, digging his spoon again for another bite.
Yeah, no. He’s definitely trying.
“So, what brings you here to the land of cake instead of…I don’t know, a whiskey?” You ask, playing with the straw of your drink.
“No drinks for me,” he shrugs.
“Designated driver?”
“Designated something, I have to leave at seven,” he glances at the clock again. You follow his gaze, and see it’s just after five.
“What, you gotta catch a flight or something?”
“Yeah, something like that,” he grins.
His answers are vague, intentionally so. You recognize it instantly because you use that tone too about your own job, when you don’t feel like opening that door with a stranger.
“What about you? Are you celebrating something?” He asks, and you swear with every question he shifts a little closer to you.
“I’m making it an early night, tomorrow’s a big day,” you nod with a smile.
“Oh yeah? Festival?” he asks, you can feel the genuine curiosity under the smug tone.
“I wish,” you shrug. “I got tickets but something important came up, so…here I am, first in line for happy hour instead. Making the most of that hotel lifestyle,” you lift your glass, he lifts his spoon with a chuckle.
“You’re staying here?”
“Mmhm. It’s actually pretty great. Nice room, silk bed sheets, the works.”
“Decent cake, too,” he adds mocking seriousness. “Too bad someone stole it.”
“Excuse me,” you protest playfully, “If it wasn’t for me you’d still be looking sad and lonely at the end of the bar.”
He laughs, catching the attention of Lisa who’s clearly not trying to eavesdrop. “Yeah. I’m glad I’m not, then,” he says quietly. “Company’s good.”
From there, the conversation just flows.
At some point, you realize you’ve barely touched your cocktail, or the cake between you. You can feel the tension building with every shared look. The way his gaze dips to your mouth when you bring the spoon to your lips. The way your knee kept drifting closer to his, the faintest brush when either of you shifts on your stool.
And that warm, electric buzz in your veins has very little to do with sugar or alcohol.
Your eyes flick instinctively toward the clock on the wall when you laugh about something he said, and see it’s a few minutes past six already.
This is the moment where you could let him go, say goodnight and head upstairs alone. But you feel like you haven’t gotten your fix yet. That good moment of pure bliss before you go back into charts and monitors and reminding yourself you love the career you chose.
Some people do drugs or caffeine, or apparently, sugar as a stress reliever. The poison you chose today was supposed to be alcohol, but maybe you have something better sitting right next to you.
Huh. Sometimes dick does the trick too.
You turn your gaze back to him, lashes half lowered and innocent, catching him watching you already.
“It’s getting late,” you say casually, “but I think you still have time to walk me to my room.”
For a split second, the words just hang in the air. Clear and irreversible. His expression doesn’t change much, because he’s already been giving you bedroom eyes this whole time, but you notice the way his jaw tightens slightly, before that unmistakable smirk reappears.
“Yeah, I think I do,” he rasps.
Cake be damned. He’s got a sweeter dessert right in front of him.
He straightens on his stool and lifts a hand, catching Lisa's attention with a small wave, then reaches for his wallet. You press the button to pay with your phone, but he puts his hand over yours to stop you.
“Don’t worry, I got it,” he says, sliding his card over the counter before you can protest.
You’re not sure what exactly made your heart almost jump out of your chest again, the gesture or his electric touch on your skin. Maybe both.
You distract yourself by looking at your glass, still more than half full.
“Thank you. I didn’t even finish it…”
“I don’t think we’re going to miss it,” he looks at it, then back at you amused.
Your face warms–again–at the implication.
The girl gives him the receipt, and the way his arm flexes on the counter when he signs it with a quiet ‘thank you’, makes your thighs rub in anticipation. He slips a final twenty over the receipt as a tip, before turning fully toward you. He stands up first, grabbing his backpack with one hand, and helping you out of your stool with the other. His hand finds its way to your lower back, settling there as you walk.
“Lead the way, sweetheart.”
By 6:10 pm the door of your room clicks shut.
Jack drops his backpack somewhere to the side, one hand finds your waist, the other cups the back of your head before he pins you against the wall, and his mouth finds yours in an instant.
You gasp into the kiss, immediately grabbing him by his white shirt, dragging him impossibly closer. His gray stubble scrapes your skin in the best possible way, burning along your jaw as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You slide one hand up to his hair, it’s softer than it looks, and he makes a low sound when you tug it just enough to angle his mouth where you want it.
His hands slip under the hem of your shirt, rough palms spreading over your back. You can’t keep your hands to yourself either when you get past his shirt, running them through firm muscle and chest hair. Your hands can’t help but wander around his strong back, nails scraping against his skin when he starts kissing down the line of your jaw, scraping his beard along your throat in a delicious burn.
“Jack…” you breathe, tightening your grip in his hair.
He smiles against your skin, dragging his lips and stubble slowly across your neck, sending sparks all the way down to between your legs. When he sucks a particularly sensitive spot, the sound that slips out of you is embarrassingly close to a whimper.
“I got you,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to tug the hem of your shirt. “Is this okay?”
You nod quickly, and soon enough both of your shirts end up somewhere on the floor. You’re left in your bra, chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath, but it’s hard when his gaze drops to your chest and lingers there.
So you ogle him too.
He’s built like a brick wall. Solid, toned chest dusted with hair, and framed by broad shoulders. And those arms? Oof. God, you can’t wait to feel all that strength he hides under those tired eyes and easy smiles.
He nudges you away from the wall steering you backwards, mouth never leaving yours, until the back of your legs bumps into the base of the bed. He gently guides you to sit on the edge of the mattress. You look up at him, already dazed. His hair is a mess from your fingers, chest rising and falling quickly, that cheeky smile of his still on his face. He reaches for your jeans next, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off. The cool air of the room kisses your skin as he throws them somewhere in the room.
“You’re still too dressed,” you chuckle, left only in your underwear.
“You’re still too desperate,” he jokes, laughing when you gasp and slap his chest weakly. “Hmm. Harder next time, sweetheart.”
You probably shouldn’t have liked that as much as you did, but he seems satisfied with your silence. His hands go to the waistband of his joggers, barely grabbing the elastic when his hands suddenly stop. If you weren’t watching his face, you would've probably missed the way his confident smile faltered for a second.
“Are you okay?,” you ask, straightening up on the bed.
“Yes,” he says quickly, but his hands are still frozen on his hips. “Yeah, I am. I just–”
You notice the way he shifts as if to step away from you, but your body reacts before you can think. “Hey, wait–”
You hook your feet around his calves to stop him from pulling away, but your left foot feels something different than you expected. It’s not the familiar firmness of muscle, but the unmistakable sensation of metal where skin should be. You don’t really need to see it to know what it is.
His camo backpack and the vagueness of his answers suddenly click to you, but Jack is frozen in place, trying to read the expression on your face.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, you figure it’s the script he probably hates having to say but feels obligated to in situations like this. “I should’ve told you before we came up, it’s okay if you don’t want to–”
“Jack,” you cut him off, quickly standing up so you’re pressed against him, before he decides to step back again. You tilt your head back a little, pressing a hand to his chest. “You don’t owe me anything, okay? If I didn’t want this, you’d already be standing shirtless in the hallway,” you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
“You don’t…mind?” His hazel eyes scan your face, still trying to find the desertion you’re not giving him.
You can feel his heart racing under your palm, and it almost makes you laugh how the doctor in you wants to inject him with something to fix his tachycardia. Opting for a less aggressive approach, you slide your arms over his shoulders to play with the hair on the back of his neck.
“I don’t mind,” you say, as reassuring as you can. You liked him the second he shared his stupid cake. This? This just adds more to it. “But if you do, we can stop,” you add, slowly pulling away from him but he slides his arm behind your back.
“I don’t want to stop,” he rasps, pressing you tighter to him. The bulge digging against your skin agrees with him.
“Hmm. Then you better hurry, we’re running out of time…” you sing-song, grinding yourself against him.
He breathes out a laugh. Oh, how I love this girl. He halts the movement of your hips, his hands become sure and steady once again as they settle on your waist. He forgets about his pants for a moment, innstead, he decides to focus on you.
“Turn around,” he says, but you don’t move an inch, just blink at the sudden change in his voice. He chuckles, loosening his grip just a little. “Turn around, sweetheart.”
Now you’re the one who needs help stabilizing their heartbeat.
You nod, then do as he says, shifting so your back is to him. He closes the gap immediately, one arm around your shoulder to hold you while the other settles just above the hem of your panties, but he doesn’t slip inside. His hand drifts lower and lower, stopping right over the slick leaking through the fabric, making you gasp.
“There she is,” his pleased voice while he drags teasing circles around your clit–but not really there–makes a chill run down your body. “Thought I lost you for a second there.”
You let your head tip back onto his shoulder, prompting him to apply more pressure, or find the right spot, but he keeps you pinned right where he wants you. He keeps rubbing slowly, still over the fabric, still teasing, coaxing the smallest sounds from you.
“I know you said to hurry, but I gotta take care of you first,” he whispers right in your ear. “Think I can do it this way? Without really touching you?” He barely grazes the base of your clit, dragging his finger back down immediately just to hear you whine again.
“Jack I–fuck.”
He chuckles when the faintest additional pressure makes you squirm, but that's no issue to him, he easily shifts you into the angle he wants. His fingers finally skim higher, now properly rubbing your clit. A moan escapes your lips, the friction of the cotton against your most sensitive spot has you feeling embarrassingly needy, moving your hips to chase more.
“That’s it, right there,” he coos, encouraging you. “How does that feel?”
You make another sound that’s not even close to a word. He chuckles onto your hair, shaking his head but still moving his fingers quicker.
“Talk to me, sweetheart. Feeling good?”
“Yes,” you manage to say between ragged breaths. “Really good.”
“Yeah?” He helps you move just a bit more, pressing his whole palm over your clit, before letting you take over. You start grinding his hand, clinging to his arm for support. “That’s it, just like that. You’re doing great.”
The praise lands harder than it should. You’re used to being talked at, ordered around on chaotic shifts, and occasionally complimented for a good job…but this is different.
You feel the pressure building in your stomach quickly with every buck of your hips, but what makes you see stars is feeling the outline of his hard cock rubbing against your ass with every grind.
“Shitshitshit I’m gonna–” you cry out mid sentence.
“It’s okay, sweetheart let go,” he coaxes, moving his hand faster.
When you finally break in a strangled moan, he stays wrapped around you, his firm body braced behind you so you can learn all your weight back, holding you together while you fall apart. He places a kiss on your shoulder when you shake under his grip, whispering praises you can’t make out as you ride your orgasm out. Jack finally takes his hand away when your clit twitches violently under him, squeezing your ass playfully.
“Breathe,” he reminds you, immediately inhaling and exhaling louder to show you just how. You instinctively match him, effectively grounding yourself. “Good girl.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuck–
“Easy,” he says when he feels you tense again. “It’s okay, you were doing so well. Just breathe.”
Still panting, you tap his arm so he lets you turn around to face him. You meet those devilish eyes again, hazel overtaken by dark pupils, a smirk on his lips as he takes in your flustered appearance.
“You’re really…really bossy, you know that?” You chuckle despite yourself.
“I’ve been told,” he smiles, bringing you in for a peck on your lips. “And I’m about to get more bossy so why don’t you turn around for me again?”
There it is. That fucking tone again. Your mouth falls open, but you can’t bring yourself to say no. If anything, you turn around before he even tells you twice, slapping his arm behind you when you hear him mutter “eager.”
He stirs you toward the bed again, until your knees bump the mattress. You hear the shuffle of his joggers, but it doesn’t sound like he’s taking the leg off, instead letting the fabric fall and pool at his feet. You don’t turn to look, giving him the moment.
The whole thing only makes him feel more devastatingly real.
He leans closer to you, his palm traveling up your spine to gently bend you forward. You follow his guidance, hands sinking into the mattress, ass on full display. You feel his foot nudge your left leg, parting you open for him.
“There,” he says, giving you another playful slap.
Heat rushes to your face again, feeling completely exposed to him even if you’re still covered in your underwear. So, Jack takes this as his chance to finally drag your soaked panties down, slowly, and lets them sit at your feet just like his pants, leaving you just in your bra. He groans at the sight, your soft, glistening pussy dripping and ready just for him.
“God, look at you,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you.
The next thing to land over his pants are his boxers, freeing his heavy, swollen cock into his hand. He lines himself up, dragging just the tip across your wet folds, his pre cum mixing with your slick as he drags it up and down. After more whimpers from you, he pushes only the tip in, and you let out another moan that makes him groan.
“Deep breath for me,” he says, and at this point, you’d do anything he wants.
He makes sure to move with you, timing himself to your inhale. The first roll of his hips makes his cock slowly stretch you open, inch by inch. You gasp, fingers clutching the silk bed sheets. He groans as he watches himself disappear inside you, gripping your ass to help you find the angle he knows will have you seeing stars.
“Fuck me,” he hisses, skin meeting skin when he bottoms out.
“Please…” is all you whisper, he’s thick, hard, buried deep, and the stretch burns in the best way.
And you can’t wait for him to fuck all the stress out of you.
“Shhh, pretty girl. You’re okay,” he coos, slowly dragging out.
You clench around him before he leaves you completely empty, and he curses again, his hips jerking forward as yours slam back to meet him. He huffs a strangled laugh, stopping you by digging his fingers on your waist to take back control.
“There you go. Let me do the work, sweet girl,” he rasps.
The rhythm finds itself, fast and deep, skin slapping against skin, your moans echoing off your hotel room walls. You’re still too sensitive from your previous orgasm, and you can’t stop moaning every time his hips snap against your ass. The bed creaks under you, and the sound of his cock dragging in and out is loud and filthy.
“Relax–fuck, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.”
You try to “relax.” You really do. But the angle, the rough rhythm he coaxes you into, the praises, are a lot. Your legs start to tremble, the effort of holding yourself up becomes a harder task with the pleasure building inside you.
He notices, of course he does. He tightens his grip to hold you better, barely slowing his pace. “Hey, hey, talk to me.”
“My legs…” you choke out in a breathless laugh.
“Yeah, I can see that,” he huffs out a chuckle. “Hold onto the bed, for me,” he instructs. You obey brainlessly, fingers fisting in the covers.
His hand wraps around your right leg first, just behind your knee to lift it, throwing away your panties in the process to make it easier. He places that leg up on the bed, then does the same with the other. The new position pulls another weak sound from you, both knees now on the bed, opening you up to him in a way that makes you miss him inside you. He presses you back into the mattress, not wasting time in pushing himself back in with a harsh thrust.
“There you go, that’s better,” he says, setting his rhythm again. The new angle is more comfortable for him as well, leaning his legs on the bed for support while he pounds into you.
You let the sounds spill out of you, choked off gasps and desperate little sighs. Every one of them seems to go straight to his cock. You can hear it in the quiet curses he mumbles, the way his hands find all the familiar places, your hips, your waist, slipping under your stomach to push down the fabric of your bra so he can watch your boobs bounce with every thrust.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he groans when you start pushing back, chasing more and more. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart.”
When your legs start to shake again, this time it’s not from strain, it’s from how fucking close you are.
“Jack–” You squeeze your eyes shut, fingers clawing the sheets, little sounds spilling out of you that you can’t control. It’s too much and not enough at the same time, and your body is about to snap.
“I know,” he says, quickly sensing your overwhelm. “Come here.”
You barely have time to think before his arm loops around your waist, pulling you up from your forearms. You gasp as he lifts you, slamming you back against his chest so you’re half kneeling, half suspended in his hold.
And then…his free hand comes up to cover your eyes. You gasp when your world goes pitch black, narrowing only to the sound of his voice and the feeling of his body behind yours.
“Shh,” he coos near your ear, placing delicate kisses all over your jaw. “Just feel, sweetheart. That’s all you have to do.”
Without sight, everything else slams into focus, the heat of his chest behind you, the roughness of his stubble on your neck, the tight grip of his arm keeping you upright. He starts thrusting again, chasing that sweet spot that makes your head go dizzy.
It’s more than enough now. It’s too much. You feel undone and held together all at once.
And to top it off, he decides now is the time to reach for the clasp of your bra, unhooking it with his free hand to hold you up by cupping your bare breasts. Your fingers reach back blindly, to his hair, his thigh, wherever you can reach. Jack just keeps his sweaty palm over your eyes, shielding you from everything but him.
“Fuck, you’re clenching,” he groans, knowing you’re almost there. “Let go for me, don’t think…just feel.”
You come with a shaky cry, your entire body shuddering in his hold. He keeps fucking you through every helpless little sound, feeling his own release building up.
After a few moments, when he considers your breathing has sort of stabilized, his hand finally slips away from your eyes, caressing the hair sticking to your face as he keeps pounding you from behind, still fast, still deep, but sloppier. You can tell he’s close by the way his cock twitches inside you.
“There you go,” he praises you, even if his breathing is ragged now. “That’s it. You did so good for me–shit–”
As your eyes adjust again, the post nut clarity hits you.
Your fucked out doctor brain freaks out. No protection, you’re very irresponsible, don’t let him. He seems to make the same calculation–pretty strange for a man–because he starts to pull back.
Fuck it.
Before he can deal with it himself, you wriggle out of his grasp to free yourself, and get off the bed. Your jelly legs barely hold you up before you sink to your knees in front of him. From there you get a clear view of all of him, the fact that the carpet does match the drapes, and even the leg he’d been hiding. He instinctively steps back, almost stumbling over the pants pooled over his feet.
“Hey, careful,” you coo, placing one hand on his thigh to nudge him forward, the other wraps around his glistening cock, making him curse. “Let me? Please?”
“Jesus,” he breathes. His hand holds the back of your head, managing a weak smile. “Atta girl, be good to me.”
Jack doesn’t have to tell you twice.
You don’t even have to do much, just a quick pump at the base of his length as you lean forward to place a teasing kiss on his leaking tip, almost sending him right over the edge. The sight alone makes him twitch, he was going to have to cover his own eyes if you kept looking at him like that with his cock on your mouth.
You wrap your lips fully around him with no warning, letting his cock stretch your mouth as you swallow every inch. Every strangled sound he makes encourages you to be as devoted to him as he was with you. Your head bobs up and down, guided by his firm grip on your hair.
“Fuck–you’re gonna kill me–” he chokes out, you take that as your cue to nod at him, mouth too full to tell him to let go. “Okay, that’s…I’m–”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because he’s already finishing inside you. He groans as he spills strings of hot cum on your tongue, fingers tangling in your hair a bit rougher, pushing his hips forward to fuck the last of his orgasm out. You choke just a little, holding onto his thighs, trying to swallow every drop he sends down your throat.
Jack pulls out with a groan when the adrenaline of it passes, dragging his thumb over your lips to wipe the remnants off.
“Pretty girl…” He praises, as you look up at him with swollen lips and glassy eyes.
“Atta boy, you did good for me,” you rasp, making him laugh.
“Come here.” He helps you get on your feet, then back to the bed.
“Thank you,” you mutter, tugging the duvet off to cover your body when you sit down.
He stays quiet as he hauls his joggers back up and finds his shirt somewhere by the door, until he can’t avoid looking at his watch anymore.
“Shit.”
“So…no cuddling?” You chuckle.
“Sorry,” he mutters, even though you both knew this is how your little hotel affair was going to end. He slings his backpack over one shoulder, and walks over to you.
He takes a moment to cup your cheeks, memorizing every feature, and you try to do the same. Your eyes trace every line of his face, the glint that never left his hazel eyes, the gray dust adorning his jaw.
God, he’s so handsome. How are you supposed to forget him?
Jack starts leaning forward, but you meet him halfway, closing the space between you. The goodbye kiss is not rushed like you expected, no, he still takes his time even if he’s gonna be late to wherever he’s headed. He pulls back with a smile, and a small, disbelieving huff of laughter as he licks his lips.
“What?” you ask.
“You taste like cake,” he says, clearly amused, then adds with a little tilt of his head, “and…something else I probably shouldn’t think about on my way out.”
“Oh, just go!” you laugh, shoving him away. “Before you’re late and whoever’s waiting for you files a missing persons report.”
“Yes, ma’am. They will,” he says, lifting his arms up innocently as he walks toward the door. “Good luck tomorrow with your…big day.”
“You too, with your…something,” you smile. God, you’re definitely going to need a good night's sleep after all of this.
He nods, and with a devilish wink, he’s finally gone.
You wake up feeling like you can take on the world.
With a pep on your step, you walk out of the hotel with clear scrubs and an even clearer conscience. Good sex? Check. Good sleep? Check. Daydreaming about the silver fox stranger you’ll never see again? Check check check.
You’re ready to kick ass and save lives.
Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center is just a short walk away, but it gives you enough time to self regulate your emotions before you walk through those doors. You get there early, greet everyone politely and exchange a few words with some nurses before your shift actually starts. For a moment, you almost forget you’re the new kid, and you feel like you’re right where you belong.
You make your way through triage, mentally rehearsing how you’re going to introduce yourself to your attending, when your sneaker slips on something. You don’t know if it’s saline, or water, or spit, all you know is that one second you were walking and the other you’re losing your balance. Your hands desperately find the wall with a smack, saving yourself from landing flat on your ass, but your forehead still hits the edge of a door frame with a sharp little crack.
You see stars for a second there, the same kind you saw yesterday.
“Whoa, hey! Are you okay?” Someone calls.
You groan, but straighten immediately, because what else are you going to do? Sit down and let the tears from your eyes spill? Absolutely not. Not on your first day. You swipe your fingers over your forehead, hissing at the sting, and when you look at your hand there’s the smallest smear of blood.
Perfect.
“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “I’m–”
“Absolutely not, come here.” A woman in black scrubs and a ponytail approaches you, holding your jaw to assess the wound. “I’m Dr. McKay, and you are?”
“I’m okay,” you say, trying to shrug her off. “Really, it was just a slip, it didn’t even hurt. I really need to go meet Dr. Robinavitch–”
“You slammed your head into a door frame, Robby can wait,” McKay says flatly.
You try to protest but she steers you toward one of the small triage rooms right off the ER entrance. You groan as she nudges you to sit on the bed. “I just need a band-aid, it’s just a scra–”
“A scratch, yeah, I heard you. You’ll get your band-aid after I make sure you’re not walking around with a concussion,” she says, then holds a finger up as if to say ‘wait’ and walks to the door, “Perfect learning opportunity, actually.”
Oh no.
“Hey! Santos, Whitaker, Javadi, come here,” she urges more people with scrubs. Great. “Consider this your first patient.”
You consider faking your own death.
All three of them clock your black scrubs and badge, and your bruised ego dies a little more when they realize you’re one of them. McKay just stands next to you like this is science class and you’re the classroom’s skeleton.
“We get all types of patients here. And today…” She pats your shoulder with the back of her hand. “It’s a colleague who discovered the floor is slippery on her very first day.”
Redacted.
“I’m fine,” you repeat. “Really. I just need a band-aid.”
“After we use you for educational purposes, now look up please,” she says, shining a light in your eyes to check your pupils. You resist the urge to slap her hand or lean away. “Headache?”
“No.”
“Any loss of consciousness?”
“You literally saw me since I hit my head,” you say, a little too aggressive, but McKay ignores your tone. “Sorry–no.”
“Nausea? Blurred vision?”
“No. I swear, I’m okay.”
“Alright. Whitaker, you’re up. What are your concerns when someone hits their head?”
“Um…we should ask what caused the fall?” He says, and McKay nods approvingly. He turns to you, “Did you feel dizzy before you slipped? Lightheaded?”
“No. There was just…something on the floor. I didn’t see it and unfortunately I slipped.”
“Good,” McKay says, more to them than to you. “No dizziness, no neuro complaints, no loss of consciousness, minor external injury that doesn’t need stitches.”
“And no reason for a CT,” one of the girls adds.
“Correct, Santos. So we’ll clean it, come on, you’re up.”
Your shoulders drop in the smallest relief. Now you have to survive the rest of the day after this humiliation, but adding unnecessary imaging on your first day would’ve ended you right there and then.
Mckay just smiles at you as Santos gloves on and prepares the stuff she’s gonna use. You look outside the door for a moment, trying to remember the confidence you’d walked in this morning, when a figure walking by catches your eye.
All you see is a flash of broad shoulders in a dark shirt, and a camo backpack slung over one arm. You make eye contact for a brief second as he glances inside casually, before doing a literal double take when he realizes who’s in there. He stops in his tracks, just as your heart stops inside your chest.
For a brief second you think you do need that CT, because there’s no way you’re not hallucinating talk-you-through-it Jack in front of you.
Here. In your ER. Wearing matching uniforms.
Jack, the man you let manhandle you last night–or afternoon?–whatever. The man who covered your eyes and told you to just feel. The man you sent you into orgasm oblivion and then kissed you goodbye tasting cake and himself on his tongue.
No. No way. Absolutely not.
You hiss when Santos presses something wet in your wound, and Jack decides that’s the best moment to step in and cause you a stroke on top of everything.
“Everything okay in here?” he asks casually, looking at you with the same glint in his eyes as yesterday.
You want to die.
“Abbot! Thought you were on your way out,” Mckay beams.
“I was, then I saw you tormenting the new blood. Didn’t want to miss the show,” he gives her a tired grin, shrugging, then looking around the room. “Morning, everyone.”
Javadi just smiles awkwardly, while Whitaker shifts on his feet and nods at him. At least Santos is having a blast enjoying the hell out of your tragic situation.
“Our colleague here decided to introduce her face to the wall,” she chuckles, shutting up when she realizes she only gets an unimpressed look from McKay.
“Hmm. Minor head trauma on the first day…that’s one way to make an entrance,” Jack jokes trying to lighten the mood, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves with a snap. “Mind if I take a look?” he asks you.
You hesitantly shake your head, and Santos barely steps back before he gets between your knees and you have to look up at him, and wow, that’s familiar. His fingers are gentle as he tilts your chin higher, focused on the small scrape by your hairline.
“It’s just a scratch,” you mumble under your breath.
He ignores it, and brings a penlight to your eyes, doing the same little routine Mckay did. Is this what your first day is supposed to be? A tortuous loop?
I might just fake a seizure right now.
“Any reason you might’ve tripped? Blurry vision? Sudden vertigo? Or…any specific memory that made you lose focus?”
It’s the way he drops his voice lower that makes you almost choke on your own spit. That exact same tone. That damn voice in your ear.
“We already asked those, Dr. Abbot. She said she slipped on a wet patch. No dizziness, no other symptoms,” Whitaker, bless his oblivious soul, chimes in.
Jack slowly turns his head to look at him, with an unimpressed stare that clearly says no one asked you to speak, white boy without using a single word.
Before anyone can torture you any further, a blue eyed doctor bursts in.
“McKay! We’re doing rounds.”
“Alright, meet us there once Dr. Abbot is done with you,” she says to you, ushering the others out. “Don’t forget to give her that band-aid she’s so desperate for.”
“I’ll take good care of her,” Jack replies, with an innocent smile.
The audience of your public execution finally leaves. And it’s great! Perfect. Exactly what you wanted: alone time. You don’t realize you’ve been holding onto the gurney for dear life until Jack–or should you call him Dr. Abbot now?–chuckles.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, amused.
“I don’t know, you’re the doctor here, apparently. So you tell me, how’s my head?” you snap, in a mix of nerves and residual embarrassment.
He grins. Oh he grins like fucking devil. “I don’t have any complaints.”
Heat rushes to your face instantly, and suddenly it’s like you’re back flirting in that bar again, sharing a chocolate cake. You shake those thoughts away, clearing your throat.
“So um…your flight was actually a night shift…in this hospital,” you say.
“Yeah. And your ‘big day’ was starting your first morning in this same ER. Nice upgrade from anonymous hotel guest, I guess.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” he chuckles, but you’re still looking at him skeptically. “Hey–it’s not that bad. People have done worse.”
“Worse than sleeping with an attending?” You say. “Like what–stealing medicine or secretly killing patients?”
“What? No–I hope no one’s doing that” he frowns.
This is the moment you start panicking for real.
“God, Dr. Robinavitch’s gonna kill me or worse,” you gasp. “He’s gonna fire me. Fuck–he’s gonna fire me and this is gonna be over before I even start my shift–“
“Whoa okay, no one’s getting killed or fired today. You just need to get out there, and focus on your work. Alright? Can you do that for me?”
That. Fucking. Tone.
“Stop talking like that!” You whisper shout, knowing nurses could be nearby. “This is my first day, and I already have to convince everyone I’m not a complete disaster. So yes, I can do that for you. Happy? I’d like my band-aid now, please.”
“Okay, okay. You’ll get your band-aid,” he says calmly. “You just have to be more patient.”
You shoot him a glare, but he just smiles, still unbothered. He walks to a cabinet, pulling out a bright pink box of band-aids with a huge “My little pony” printed on it.
“What is that?”
“Best we have in triage,” he shrugs, amused. He looks back inside into the cabinet, before smirking at you. “We got Spongebob too.”
“…My little pony is fine,” you mutter.
“Alright,” he nods, invading your space again. “Look up for me.”
You’re grateful you’re not hooked to a heart monitor. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and tilt your head up.
“Almost done, you’re doing great,” he drawls, smoothing the stupid band-aid over your life threatening injury with ridiculous care. “There,” Jack says, finally stepping back. “All done. You did so good for m–”
You snap upright from the bed so fast you almost cause yourself another injury by bumping into his big ass head.
“I have to go,” you blurt, already making your way to the door. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot. I hope we never see each other again.”
He peels off his gloves with a laugh, tossing them into the bin. This is the most entertaining thing that’s happened to him all week.
“No promises, doc,” he winks, “PTMC is not that big.”
You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response or even to see the panic on your face. You practically launch yourself into the hallway, and start speed walking toward the ED with a My little pony bandaid on your forehead.
Best sex of your life.
Worst coincidence of your career.
And yet…you can’t wait till you see him again.
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 feedback is always appreciated ✨
I need Robby to explain how he knows that Abbot does nude yoga 🤔 did he get drunk one night and stayed at his place and woke up to him doing yoga? Or did Jack tell him? I need to know.
I need Jack and Jesse to have an actual talking scene together for about 30 seconds. I don't alcare if it's in the ambulance bay or in the elevator. It needs to happen. Something about those two silver foxes 😏
Also I have decided they used to be lovers at one point 😎😂
summary: after a dry spell in his sex life, jack would’ve never imagined the next women he’d have naked in his bed would be his favorite first year resident.
content: nsfw, 18+, mdni, resident!reader, touch starved!jack, established relationship, a little bit of fluff smushed in there, but mostly smut, jack being nervous to have sex for the first time in years, but then ofc something in him snaps and he gets a little freaky with it, jack uses the nickname kid for the reader (1) time, also uses the nickname sweetheart, fingering, handjob (if you blink you’ll miss it), p in v sex, dirty talk, condom use and the crowd boos (sorry had to keep it realistic! if i’m having sex with someone for the first time and they’re not wrapping it….questionable)
word count: 4.5k
author’s note: wanted to write something about big tough jack abbot being a little nervy to see you naked but i also wanted to write something about him having an inappropriate relationship with his resident…. so alas this was born. enjoy!
“I haven’t done this in a while.”
The words stumble from Jack’s lips in an exasperated sigh. They nearly get lost between kisses, the confession hidden amidst the steamy exchange as your bodies barrel through his front door.
Reaching up to thread your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, your forearms rest on his shoulders to steady yourself as he maneuvers you into his bedroom.
You don’t reply to his admission, just smile into the kiss as your hands trail down his torso finding the hem of his shirt. Your fingertips carefully tracing his skin underneath the material.
He wanted to tell you it had been years since he’d been with a woman like this— wanted to apologize in advance for being a bit rusty, but the light touch of your hands exploring the skin just above the waistband of his pants, had him losing his previous train of thought.
He couldn’t think about how long it’d been since he’d brought a woman back to his place, couldn’t even think about how insanely wrong it was to be kissing you in his bedroom.
With that being said, he should be proud of himself for holding out this long.
It had been months of having you on his shift.
Week after week of watching you prance around the ER with that cute little smile on your face, following every last one of his orders. Always meeting his sarcastic remarks with witty comments of your own, the two of you working effortlessly together like there was some sort of magnetic field between you that pulled him to every case you worked on.
It was so innocent at first, shared inside jokes and granola bars in the breakroom. Him giving you a hard time for your absurd coffee intake through the night, making comments about how the quad shot of espresso you walked in with was going to send you into cardiac arrest.
But then, there was the time he put his hand on your lower back to squeeze behind you at the triage desk. The second his touch met the polyester of your scrubs, applying just enough pressure to seep through the thin fabric, your head turned in his direction.
You didn’t mean to look at him, but you couldn’t help it. His fingers stayed splayed out on your back for one second too long, and your eyes shot to his, the electric current running through your body impossible to ignore.
A sudden tension emerged in the small space between you, his stare raking down your body to where his hand sat just above your waist, taking his time trailing them back up with a knowing smirk on his lips.
The moment was fleeting but it played out in slow motion before his hand was gone and he was breezing past you into the trauma bay.
After that it became a game of cat and mouse, both of you sensing a pull of desire toward the other but almost too afraid to do anything about it.
For Jack, it was because you were his intern, just a first-year resident looking to him for guidance and education. His apprentice. It felt wrong to look at you in any other way. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he took advantage of the obvious power imbalance at play in the situation.
Not to mention he was off his game.
He had no problem coming across abundantly confident at work, but as far as dating went, Jack hadn’t waded into those waters for years. There was a part of him that gave up on his love life. Maybe that’s why he threw himself into work, to avoid the loneliness that found him in his lack of companionship.
You could sense his apprehension.
The way he would subtly flirt with you and then walk away from the conversation like nothing happened. He was trying to avoid the guilt of getting too familiar, but it left you confused about his intentions.
It wasn’t until one morning that you decided to rip off the band aid entirely, asking him to join you for breakfast after your shift.
It was a simple invitation, one that could’ve been strictly friendly, but the way he smiled when you asked, looking around to see if anyone else heard, told you it was the start of something else entirely.
And it was.
The two of you went to breakfast, talking for hours in a corner booth, over a stack of pancakes and a few slices of bacon.
It was the first time you saw each other outside of the hospital.
Everyone else in that restaurant could recognize the two of you for what you were; happy. Finding joy in each other’s presence through constant laughs and affectionate smiles. But Jack couldn’t see it that way— couldn’t shake the conflicting feelings of guilt.
It wasn’t until you reached over him to dip your bacon in a pool of syrup on his plate that he finally relaxed. He soaked it in, sitting with you like that, because when the nagging thoughts of how inappropriate it all was began to cloud his mind, the gentle touch of your hand brushing his thigh chased them away. Your fingertips curled just above his knee as you continued telling him a story, the hold making him forget why he was even worried about saying yes to your invitation in the first place.
That was the first time he crossed a boundary with you. Allowing himself to get lost in your voice, hidden away in some diner down the street from the hospital. But it didn’t stop there.
The next time was when he walked you home after work, only three days after your shared breakfast date.
He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but you parted ways outside the sliding hospital doors and he watched as you walked down the street, all by yourself.
For a split second he could imagine what his frame would look like walking next to you, and so he followed, catching up to your stride with satisfaction running through his veins at your surprised smile to see him standing at your shoulder. You lived in an apartment building a block away, he knew because you mentioned it one time, and even though his leg was killing him after such a brutal shift, he walked next to you all the way to the front door of your complex.
Your bodies lingered on the sidewalk, palpable tension bouncing between them through prolonged goodbyes.
That was the first time your gaze fell to his lips.
The curiously hopeful look in your eyes made his mouth go completely dry, because Surely you weren’t going to kiss him in broad daylight… right? The world spun around him while your eyes stayed fixed on the straight line of his mouth, until they fluttered back up, meeting his line of sight and smiling brightly.
“Goodnight Jack.” Your hand met his bicep, squeezing lightly as you turned to walk into the building with a small wave.
Goodnight, even though it was nearly eight in the morning.
It was something you said to everyone after each shift, bidding your coworkers a good stretch of sleep, knowing you all shared a fucked-up sleep schedule due to working the night shift.
Jack found the greeting endearing. Smiling wide every time he heard the sing-song chime of your voice wishing everyone a restful day before leaving work in the morning.
His days were hardly restful though, he never got much sleep when he went home, because you were always on his mind.
After that day in front of your apartment building, he went out of his way to walk you home nearly every morning, if only for a few extra minutes of hearing your voice, and a small hope that you would look at his lips like that again.
When you finally did kiss him, it was well worth the wait.
It happened on the roof.
An especially hard night landed you outside for some fresh air, overlooking the city as you tried your best to clear your mind.
Jack came up to check on you.
Avoiding him entirely, your apathetic stare stayed plastered on the lights of the city. He stood next to you in silence for a while before placing a gentle hand of reassurance on your cheek, bringing your gaze to his and searching your eyes to make sure you were okay.
It was emotionally charged, the way you crashed your lips into his.
He held your face delicately in his hands, using his jaw to dive into the kiss, hungry and sloppy and undeniably passionate.
More than anything he wanted to explore every inch of you— to let his hands travel your entire body, but instead his palms stayed strictly on your face, careful not to push things too far.
In fact, weeks of suppression followed while Jack tried to respect the unknown undercurrents of your relationship.
A few more kisses were shared, even some heated make out sessions and heavy petting in the on-call room at work, but nothing more.
He’d be lying if he said his trepidation wasn’t slightly due to the rather lengthy sexual hiatus taking place in his life. But he could only deny his urges for so long, and this morning after breakfast, instead of walking you back to your apartment, he invited you over to his place for the first time.
An unspoken agreement hung in the air the whole way home, one laced with heavy sexual tension.
That’s what landed you here— barely two feet past the threshold of his bedroom door with your hands dangerously close to the waistband of his pants, and Jack couldn’t dare to think straight.
The only thoughts he could muster revolved around how much he fucking liked you. This other worldly figure standing before him, toying with the ties on his pants, fingertips brushing his abdomen and fuck- he was on another planet. Your touch was sending a vaguely familiar heat rushing through his body and he wanted more— needed it.
Something about the situation sent him on a power trip. His cock pushing against the lose restraint of his scrubs at the sudden realization that he finally had you right where he wanted you after all this time. Months of getting to know each other and countless dates ending in polite kisses and lingering goodbyes— all of it leading to this moment with his fingertips curling into your waist.
But there was still a little sliver of him that felt nervous, slightly unsure of venturing into unknown territory with you.
He was still trying to convince himself that you were genuinely interested in him, because when he looked at you he saw this beautiful woman, all radiant and self-assured, on the arm of some guy nearly twice her age who rarely smiled and always had a grumpy wise-ass remark on his tongue.
His hands went rigid at the thought, the doubts taking him out of the moment for a few seconds, and you could sense the uneasiness in his touch.
Pulling away from the kiss, you watched his expression, his lips parted to make way for fast shallow breaths as he stared back at you, his eyes hooded with desire but swimming with hesitation.
“We don’t have to do anything Jack.” Your words were sincere as you continued looking for any sign of regret in the hazel of his eyes.
“No, I want this.” His brows furrowed as the winded confession fell from his lips. His hands grasped at your hips, holding firm while his thumbs rubbed into your sides.
“You sure?” Voice changing slightly, you moved into a more playful state, fingers coming to the tie on his pants as you kept your eyes trained on his face.
“We could just talk.”
A playful whisper slid between your lips as you undid the drawstring between your fingertips.
“Or maybe watch a movie.”
Then, your hand slid into the waistband of his underwear, only a few inches, just enough to make his breath hitch.
He tried to cover his surprise at your touch, now dangerously close to the base of his cock. Mustering enough self-control to speak, his words come out calm and collected despite the dizzying effect of your hand down his pants.
“You’re funny, kid. You know that?”
Kid.
A nickname he'd been calling you since the day you were assigned to his shift.
You were just an intern; young, hungry, and passionate. Had he known you’d end up with your hands halfway down his pants in the middle of his bedroom, he might've opted for a different title of endearment.
“Seriously Jack, we can take things slow-“
A low chuckle interrupts your attempt to comfort him, trying to give him a chance to back out.
He guides you back to sit on the edge of his bed, smirking and shaking his head from side to side.
“Stop talking.” The words are rushed. A deep rasp from his lips as he leans in to kiss you, pushing your body until your back meets his mattress.
“I don’t think you realize how long I’ve thought about this.” It was apparent that Jack was hungry— starving even— to see more of you. His hands working quickly to get your pants down your legs and onto his bedroom floor.
“And what do you think about Jack?” He’d never heard that tone in your voice before, low and sultry while you leaned up on your elbows to look at him through your lashes.
“Jesus- I’ve thought about having you on my bed like this,” There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes scraped over your as he paused between words. Eyes drifting to your lower half, legs parted slightly, a pair of black panties acting as the only barrier between his eyes and your naked body. “all spread out for me like this.”
At his words, your legs open further, sending a muffled growl straight to Jack’s closed mouth as he lets his hand fall on your inner thigh. Trailing upwards, his fingertips come in contact with the hem of your underwear.
“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about pulling you into the on-call room after our shift.” He’s leaning above you, eyes glued to your clothed core, fingers toying with the thin material of your panties at the inside of your thighs.
“How badly I’ve wanted to fuck you on one of those shitty beds, or maybe even against the wall…”
“But you deserve better. To be treated right, on a real bed.” Suddenly the smooth linen of his comforter feels much warmer beneath you, your hands splaying over the pillowy fabric at your palms.
Jack watches the way your shoulders relax, and your head falls an inch to the side at his words, your body melting into the moment of shared desire.
“Want to take my time with you. Make you feel good. Watch you fall apart.” He leans in to kiss you, right as one of his fingertip’s dip below the fabric of your panties to run along your slit. You gasp into the kiss, and he takes the opportunity to pull away.
“To hear the little noises you make for me.” His lips are only inches from yours as his breathless whisper fills the space between them. His hand fully pushes your panties to the side, his touch light as a feather, and lingering at your core.
“Bet you sound so pretty when you cum.”
Your mouth falls open and you’re not sure what triggered it, his words, or the way he pushes a single finger into you. The movement is slow and precise as he watches your eyes flutter in pleasure.
For someone who’s sex life was currently non-existent, Jack didn’t miss a beat when it came to the rhythm of your gratification. The moan dripping from your tongue coming right on cue as he slips another finger in with the first, stroking with purpose and dedication as his name comes floating from your lips.
“Jack.”
The word was foggy and desperate as his touch subdued you, his fingers curling at the sweet call of his name, hooking at just the right spot.
“Fuck that’s it.” A whine of pleasure rippled through you at the pressure of his fingers against your walls. With one stroke after another, the building tension in your abdomen threatened to overflow.
Jack’s stare falls on his fingers as they work you open.
He can hardly handle how responsive you are to his touch; your hips bucking into his palm, little pleas falling from your lips— It’s enough to make him cum right there in his damn pants.
“God- you sound gorgeous.” The compliment is almost primal, his voice nearing a growl as he looks down at your body writhing on the simple motion of his fingers inside you, a slave to his touch.
He lets himself get lost in the noises flowing from your mouth, allowing each moan to act as a signal, showing him exactly where and how you want him.
“Even better than I could’ve imagined.” He finishes his thought and brings his stare back to yours, the fucked-out expression in your eyes telling him just how close you are.
His words send you reeling, acting as a catalyst for the strain pulling in your abdomen.
He can feel your body preparing to tumble over the edge, walls clenching around his fingers, and thighs flexing.
“There you go sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. That’s new.
It surprises you both the second it leaves his lips. But the surprise of it barely registers, instead the word is unleashing a flutter in your chest and a warmth between your legs. You’re obsessed with the way it sounds in the rasp of Jack’s voice. In fact, you like it so much your body trembles and whimpers fill the air as you come undone on his fingers.
His eyes watch as his movements slow, digits coated in your slick and pushing into you continuously even after your body finishes shuddering.
It’s almost sadistic the small smirk he’s wearing as his eyes stay fixated on his fingers sliding in and out of your body.
He was starved. Starved of touch— the warmth of another’s body. The way you pulled him in with each thrust of his fingers made him want to stay there all night, making you cum over and over again to feed his craving of your body at his mercy.
If it weren’t for your delicate hands gripping at his forearm, forcing him back to reality, he would’ve kept going, would’ve seen just how much more you could take.
“Jack.” Your voice breaks him from his trance, hand wrapping around his arm and pulling him back to hover parallel over your body.
An unsolicited grunt erupts from deep in his throat as your hands, once again, slide into his underwear. Only this time, they fall far enough to envelop his cock in your soft touch.
His hand comes down forcefully next to your head, palm flat against the mattress to hold himself steady as pleasure washes over him.
You’ve only pumped over his length once and he’s already squeezing his eyes shut in focus, trying not to spill into your hand.
“Sweetheart.”
In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have used that nickname again. Not right now, when he was seconds away from having an embarrassingly quick orgasm.
Your grip tightened slightly at the word, hand working a little faster, and paying extra close attention to his overly sensitive tip. He has to put a hand over yours to conceal your efforts.
“I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up.” His brows raise at your smug expression, your hand still stroking him despite his attempt to stop you.
“I’m serious.” A breathless snarl meets your ear as his head falls lower, nearly resting in the crook of your neck.
You hum in response, one hand continuing its work between his legs, the other pushing at the pants still around his hips.
He was quick to oblige your unspoken request, bringing his own hand down to rid himself of his pants and underwear. His hands are then at your hips yanking your panties down your legs.
In a heated frenzy both of you took a few seconds to take off any remaining clothes. Sitting up to swiftly pull off shirts, and while you’re reaching to take off your bra, Jack stretches to his bedside table, fishing out a condom from its box that’s been sitting untouched in his drawer for far too long.
Then, you’re back to square one, his body hovering over yours, and his lips kissing down your neck.
Your hand finds him again, palm encircling his member as he freezes under your touch.
“You sure you wanna do this?” His voice is lost in the skin of your chest, his lips melting against your collarbone.
“You’re asking me? I thought you were the one who needed convincing.” The giggle in your voice has Jack nipping playfully at your skin, his hand confidently fitting between your legs.
“What can I say, you’ve persuaded me.” A teasing tone slips through his lust clouded whisper, fingers collecting the slick at your core with a groan on his tongue.
You grab the condom out of his hand, tearing it open and rolling it onto him with ease, the feeling causing him to lean further into your touch.
This was one of the reasons Jack was so drawn to you.
You held such discreet authority. Always taking charge with a charming smile and a sweet command in your voice.
He couldn’t have imagined the same power he witnessed at work would roll over into the bedroom. Your captivating ability to take quiet control was suddenly so obvious in the way you were guiding his now protected length to line up with your entrance, body shimmying down the bed to coerce him into you.
When the head of his cock finally pushes into you, you both let out noises of relief.
The placated gasp from your lips, and the profound groan on his, proves that you’d both been longing for this exact moment for weeks.
He takes his time. Learning the hug of your body. Savoring every inch of pure bliss, as he fills you at a painstaking pace. Your hands shoot to his back, fingertips digging into the broad expanse of his shoulder blades, just enough to encourage his movement until he enters you completely, pushed in to the hilt.
His eyes stay on yours, watching the way your lids almost close while you adjust to him, your mouth parted slightly at the stretch.
Then he’s pulling out and thrusting back in, moaning at the way you feel wrapped around him.
Your head tilts back into his comforter at the sweet friction of his strokes, and the sight beneath him has another moan bubbling up Jack’s throat.
It was exactly how he’d dreamt this moment— your back on his bed, with your head thrown back in pleasure. Getting to watch your body respond to him his perch above you, your naked figure far more beautiful than anything he could’ve imagined. It was all so perfect. You were perfect.
He picked up the pace of his thrusts, not too fast, but perfectly timed with the squeeze of your fingers on his back. He knew he must be hitting something right in the way you were gripping his shoulders and crying out for him. Crying out for him. Your voice was strained and winded as his name fell from your lips in a chant.
His self-control must’ve been at an all-time high, because he closed his eyes for a moment, gaining his bearings and talking himself down from cumming at the sounds of your whines.
He collects whatever composure is left in his body and brings a hand down between the two of you, fingertips finding that sensitive spot just above where his cock is driving into you.
He rubs steady circles into your clit, and judging by the way his name jumps from you an octave higher than before, he knows he’ll get to watch you cum again.
He makes it his goal. Setting his thrusts at a fixed pace, as his fingers deliberately stroke your bundle of nerves. He focuses completely on your pleasure to distract himself from the pulsing pressure running through his veins.
He needs to see you let go for him one more time before he can finish. An easy task given the way your back is arching off his bed, sending your hips further into him.
“I’m gonna-“ The words are hardly coherent as they slip between your gasps and moans— wanting to tell him you’re close but unable to string more than two words together.
“Come on sweetheart.” His words were directed straight to your core, eyes back down and watching between your bodies as he slides into you. His mind growing hazy at the sight of you taking his cock so well.
His encouragement was all you needed to let go. Your release washing over you in waves of bliss.
Jack’s eyes make the journey back to your face, watching in awe at your expression as it takes on a state of utter relief, your head falling even deeper into the blanket underneath you.
That image is what finally makes him succumb to the persistent chase of his release.
He’s groaning and panting, one of his hands coming to grip your hips, the other balancing himself on the mattress, pressed flat on the space next to your face.
He’s grunting profanities as he spills through his orgasm, allowing his elbow to bend so he can rest his forehead against yours. Both of you breathing heavy, eyes meeting in a moment of vulnerability and understanding as you bring a hand up to lace through his hair. Almost petting his grey curls, you lazily smile through the puffs of breath on your lips.
He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over seeing you like this, an angel laid out on his bedspread— just for him. Giving you both a moment to recover, he stays like that for a minute. He’s leaning into you, listening to your soft breaths even out, and he can feel himself getting hard again. His dick is still throbbing, not even fully soft and he’s already ready for another round.
His cock getting hard again, that fast after sex, was something he hadn’t experienced in over a decade.
These days Jack needed plenty of time between orgasms to even think about getting another erection, but in this moment, still buried in you and hearing the tiny gasps of breath coming from your heaving chest, he wanted more. He could feel his addiction to you growing stronger, reminding him of the forbidden nature of your budding relationship.
“What are we getting ourselves into.” Speaking his thoughts aloud, his voice fills the room, a grin lingering in his lips.
He can’t help but smile as he imagines what the future holds for your relationship, his forehead still pressed gently against yours.
baby, don’t be scared, i want you everywhere - andrew cody x reader
summary: when Pope is dosed with a drug that requires him to have sex or suffer dire consequences, who else should step up to help him than you?
pairing: Andrew Pope Cody x fem!reader
word count: 4.8k
tags: 18+. MDNI, sex pollen, fuck or die trope, smut (p in v sex like soooo much, cowgirl, mating press and prone bone (we all cheered!)) biting, hickeys, breeding kink for like half a second, non-consensual drug use (mentioned), mentions of cum, no condom use (don’t be like reader! always glove up irl and practice safe sex), basically porn with a sprinkling of plot
authors note: this is my first fic here on Tumblr aaaahhhh! this is my first time writing full blown smut (please be nice). this started because @caterpillarskimono posted about a sex pollen idea for the Pitt and then i started thinking about sex pollen with Pope and it took over my brain. i’d say this is set in season 2 i guess but cath is alive. this is also an anti Baz space, fuck that guy
———————————————————————————————————————
“What are you guys doing out here?”
You’d been looking for Pope all afternoon after he missed your lunch plans and when he didn’t answer any calls or texts you decided to seek him out. A quick stop at Smurf’s house, and Deran’s bar that turned up nothing left Baz’s house as the likely spot to find him. You tried to convince yourself that he had gotten tied up planning for the next job and lost track of time, except Pope would never lose track of time and if he was going to be late or had to cancel he would have called you. Seeing all his brothers standing outside Baz’s with no Pope in sight didn’t do anything to loosen the knot of worry in your stomach.
“We’re dealing with a situation at the moment, you shouldn’t be here.” Baz said dismissively, holding up a hand to ward you off.
“Does the situation involve Pope? Because if it does I should stay.” You looked over at Deran, deciding he’d be the most likely to fess up to whatever’s going on. “He missed our lunch today and he won’t pick up the phone.” Deran looked from you to Baz and back again, shifting on his feet as he weighed his options. You took a page out of Pope’s book and stared firmly at Deran until he broke.
“Pope’s been dosed with V. Accidentally.” Baz groaned at Deran’s admission.
“Dude shut up! We don’t need her to know-”
“V?” You asked, your voice louder than Baz, your eyes wide. “That street drug that’s basically viagra mixed with crack that dials your sex drive up to 1000?” You looked between the three men, completely shocked. The shock quickly melted into agitation as you looked at the other Cody boys standing in front of you, not currently dosed with drugs. “How did that happen? You morons not have his back in a bad situation?” You pointedly turned your accusing gaze on Baz and he frowned.
“You know what-” Baz snapped, his voice rising.
“The ‘how’ doesn’t matter!” Craig yelled, cutting Baz’s argument short. “What matters is how we’re gonna help him. I’ve heard some bad shit about what happens to people who don’t act on their urges under the drug. We gotta find someone for him.” The knot in your stomach twisted and you tilted your head at Craig, not quite believing what you were hearing.
“Someone for him to what? Fuck?” You asked in disbelief.
“Yeah,” He said with a shrug. “Like a hooker.”
“Sex worker.” You corrected him automatically before your head caught up with what he suggested. You shook your head vigorously.
“No, no, no. We are not arranging a sex worker to come here and have sex with Pope in his drugged state.” The idea of some random woman coming over to the house to sleep with Pope when he’s in this compromised state made a wave of nausea roll through you. The fact his brothers seemed to think this was even an option really said a lot about their upbringing and lack of care for their brother. Baz scoffed at your words, rolling his eyes.
“We are not doing anything.” He said, gesturing between the three of them and you. “We are handling it.” He gestured between himself and his brothers. “We will-”
“I’ll do it.” You said suddenly, surprising yourself a little. Your declaration took a moment to settle in your mind and when you realized the gravity of what you said you decided that this was the best solution. Pope was your closest friend, you loved him and you’d treat him with care. You’d talk him through it and make sure he was alright.
“What?” Deran asked, his confusion mirroring his brothers.
“I’ll have sex with Pope and help him through the effects of the drug. I’m his friend, I’ll make sure he’s okay. I’m the best person for this. I’m volunteering.” Baz opened his mouth, likely to object, but Craig interrupted him.
“Works for me!” Craig clapped his hands together in finality, clearly happy to have the problem solved and the rest of his day back. Deran shrugged, agreeing with you, and grabbed Baz to pull him away before he picked a fight for not being the person to solve the issue.
“I’ll text you all tomorrow when the effects have worn off and it’s safe for Baz, Cath, and Lena to come back.” You said as you moved towards the door to the house. Craig paused a bit before leaving, turning towards you.
“By the way, we had to tie him up so he wouldn’t hurt himself, just so you know.” With that last piece of information, the Cody brothers hopped in Deran’s car and drove away.
***
The house was mostly quiet, save for the whimpering and groaning you could hear from the bedroom. As much as you’d wanted to rush to the bedroom to release Pope from his restraints, you knew there were some things you needed to do first.
You closed and locked all the windows and doors, and shut the curtains. You wanted to disturb the neighbours as little as possible. You grabbed two water bottles from the fridge and some energy bars from the cupboard. From what little you’d heard about the effects of this drug, you and Pope were going to be hungry and thirsty when it was all over. You grabbed some spare towels and left them in the bathroom for the shower you’d both inevitably need at the end. You moved as quickly and efficiently as you could, not wanting Pope to wait another moment. You searched briefly for condoms but were unsuccessful. You decided that was probably for the best and since you had an IUD anyways, you weren’t worried.
The moment you crossed the doorway and entered the room, Pope’s eyes were on you.
He was lying on his back, fully clothed, each of his wrists tied with rope that secured him to both bed posts. His grey t-shirt was soaked with sweat, his forehead glistening with it, his face flushed. He was wearing jeans that did nothing to hide the way his cock bulged against the material. The moment he saw you his body moved instinctually to try and get closer to you, only to be stopped by the ropes. The wood creaked as his arms pulled on the restraints. Despite his body practically screaming with want, his face told a different story. His brow was furrowed and his mouth turned down in a look of misery.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Pope choked out the words, his voice rough and low, his breathing heavy. You closed the door behind you and as you moved closer to the bed his hips lifted eagerly without his permission, uncoordinatedly humping into the air for a moment to no satisfaction.
“Pope I know what’s going on. I’m here to help.” You said softly as you reached the edge of the bed.
“Oh god,” Pope whined, his face twisting in a look of torment as his head fell back against the pillows.
“It’s okay.” You said as you toed off your shoes and put down your purse and things from the kitchen. “I want to help.” You looked him over, weighing your options. You knew how strong Pope was and you could see how desperate he was for some relief. You knew Pope would never hurt you, you trusted him, but in this state you needed to help him out a bit before letting him go. “I don’t think I can release the restraints just yet-” Pope’s head snapped up quickly.
“Don’t.” Pope said, his voice strangled. “I told them to tie me up. I could hurt you.” You held Pope’s anguished gaze, his glassy, pleading eyes pulling on your heart.
“Okay.” You said again. “It’s okay. You need to act on the urges the drug is giving you otherwise you might-” You stopped as an unexpected lump formed in your throat. You hadn’t heard much about this drug but what you had wasn’t good. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise. You’re safe with me.” You held Pope’s gaze while he mentally weighed his options. Pope nodded frantically after a moment, letting you know he was alright with you being there. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you reached under the flowy skirt of your short summer dress to pull your panties down and off. Pope’s chest rose and fell quicker as he watched you, the anticipation filling his veins with fire and sending more blood to his already painful erection.
“I can take your pants off but I can’t remove your shirt without releasing your arms.”
“Please,” Pope whined, pulling on the ropes. “Please take my clothes off, it feels like sandpaper on my skin.” Thinking quickly, you grabbed your purse and pulled out the Swiss Army Knife Pope had given you for your last birthday. You returned to the bed and climbed up onto the mattress, making quick work of getting Popes pants and boxers off. He sighed loudly in relief as his cock sprang free, large and aching. You did your best to focus on the task at hand and not his impressive length, with its red, leaking tip, straining against his stomach. You opened the small scissors feature on the Swiss Army Knife and cut as quickly as you could to remove his shirt. When you moved further up his chest, Pope leaned up as best he could, pulling the ropes taut. He extended his neck as much as he could to get his face closer to you, his mouth open and wanting.
“Pope! I could have cut you.” You scolded as you leaned back out of his reach.
“I need to touch you.” Pope begged. “Please. I need you.” His eager tone sent a zap of pleasure straight to your core. You looked over to see how his biceps bulged with the effort to resist his bindings.
“Let…let me touch you.” Pope pleaded, his eyes locked on your lips, his breathing heavy and ragged. You swallowed thickly and licked your lips, eliciting a groan from Pope.
“Fuck.” He whispered.
“If…if you let me remove the rest of your shirt, I’ll give you what you want.” You did your best to keep your voice even despite how fast your heart was racing. Pope nodded slowly in agreement, his eyes never leaving your lips. You reached up cautiously and continued to cut away at his shirt. You leaned closer to get the right angle to make the last cut successfully and Pope took the moment to his advantage, turning his head to push his face into your hair and against your neck. His skin was hot, almost feverish against yours, making you gasp at the contact. You tossed the scissors aside, and they clattered against the hardwood floor as you pulled the scraps of his shirt off. Pope couldn’t hold you with his hands tied so he grabbed you the only way he could.
With his teeth.
Pope bit down on your shoulder, near your neck, making you cry out. He moaned into your skin as you felt a gush of wetness between your thighs. You were learning things about yourself today. Like how Pope’s desperate, almost animalistic energy was a huge turn on. As much as his teeth pressing into your skin felt incredible, you need to get to the main event fast.
You reached forward, one hand threading through Pope’s auburn curls and tugging hard, the other blindly grabbing his cock. Pope let you go with a ragged moan, his head following the path of your tugging hand as his hips rolled into your touch. You managed to get him to lie back down and straddled him before he made any other movements. With one hand bracing on his stomach, you raised up on your knees to situate yourself above his throbbing length.
“Take your dress off. I want to see you.” Pope’s gravelly voice sent a shiver through you as you obediently grabbed the hem of your dress and pulled it up and over your head, discarding it on the floor behind you. You made quick work to remove your bra as well. The moment your breasts were on full display Pope moaned, his hips bucking up into the air. The sudden movement sent you forward, both of your hands bracing on his stomach to keep you from falling on top of him, inadvertently pressing your tits together in the process. Pope was panting at this point, practically drooling at the sight of you, his eyes wide with awe.
“Oh fuck, you’re perfect.”
You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed him in you yesterday.
You grabbed his cock, eliciting another tortured moan from Pope, and guided him to your soaking entrance before sinking down onto him. The two of you moaned in unison, your heads falling back in pleasure. The stretch of him was delicious, filling you completely in ways you’d never experienced. You’d been so turned on it was easy to slide him all the way into you and for you to be fully seated on his cock.
Finally having what he craved, Pope wasted no time planting his feet on the mattress and right as you started to rise up Pope thrusted up into you. He thrusted so hard it almost knocked you off of him and you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow. It took you a moment to get your bearings before you were able to match his rhythm, moving down to meet his upwards thrusts.
It felt amazing.
Pope had been your friend for years but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wanted to mean more to him. To be more to him. You’d quietly fantasized about being with Pope for the better part of two years now and he’d been the star of every late night fantasy that resulted in an orgasm. His body, his voice, his hands. Everything about him turned you on, including his gentlemanly approach to you like opening doors and carrying you to bed when you’d fall asleep on the couch. His kindness and tender heart made you want to hold him and never let go.
The rest of him made you want to ride him and never let go.
There was time later for a discussion about being more than friends, but right now you needed to focus on helping him through this.
Due to how tightly wound he had been, Pope came quickly, spilling his release inside you as he yelled your name. Despite coming, he was still rock hard inside of you, and continued to desperately drive his hips up into you. The punishing rhythm, Pope’s groaning and whining at the feeling of you, and the rub of your clit against his pelvis at every downward movement had you coming soon too. You cried out as your orgasm overtook you, your walls tightening around his cock as it plunged into you over and over. Pleasure spread through your body, prolonged by Pope’s movements.
“Oh, Andrew.” You moaned, your head tilted back and your eyes closed.
You’d been so preoccupied with your pleasure that you hadn’t heard the creaking and cracking of the bedposts as Pope had pulled on them. You missed the look that crossed his face, the dark, dangerous one that made his nose twitch as his lips curled and his teeth clenched.
He needed to touch you now.
His name spilling from your lips as you rode him through your orgasm, your face slack in the pleasure he gave you, was enough to give him the last bit of strength he needed. Pope pulled hard enough to break the bedposts, the wood giving way under the strain, and freed his arms from their restraints.
Your eyes flew open as you gasped in surprise at the sound. Your brain didn’t have time to comprehend what happened before Pope grabbed you, and flipped you both so he was on top, practically tackling you to the mattress. With his new freedom Pope had the leverage to drive into you as fast and hard as he wanted.
The pace was brutal, his hips slapping hard against yours as you squealed with pleasure at every thrust and you did your best to wrap your legs around his hips. The headboard banged against the wall over and over as he hung his head over you, your foreheads touching.
He hadn’t expected you to walk into the bedroom but he was so glad you did, that of all people it was you who stepped up to help him. While you had volunteered to help him, Pope was sure you hadn’t imagined it would be like this, fast and rough. And he couldn’t stop if he wanted to, you felt too perfect.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Pope said again and again with each drive of his cock into you.
“Don’t be, don’t be, don’t be,” You replied back, breathless. You brought your hands up to his face, making him look at you. You smiled. “I want this. I want you. I’ve wanted us for so long, Andrew.” Pope moaned loudly at the mention of ‘us’ and his eyes rolled back as he came inside you again, his whole body shuddering as his hips slammed into you.
His rhythm slowed after a moment but didn’t stop and you leaned up to kiss him. Pope kissed you back feverishly, his tongue slipping inside your mouth as he pressed you against the mattress. The kisses spurred him on and his thrusts grew in speed again. He was still hard inside of you and you guessed you’d be in for a long night before it was all out of his system. You were able to turn your head to free your lips to speak, which did nothing to deter Pope who began kissing and sucking on your jaw and neck.
“Use me however you want Pope.” That got his attention enough that he pulled back to look at you. You nodded encouragingly. “I’m yours for the night. Use me however you want, however feels good.”
Without a word Pope sat back enough on his knees to pull the remaining rope from his wrists and grabbed your legs to put the backs of your knees over his arms. He leaned back down, pressing your knees to your chest, and pushed himself even deeper inside of you to a spot that had your eyes rolling back. Pope picked up his movement, returning to the previous, frantic thrusts that had the headboard hitting the wall again. The wet sounds of his cock ramming into you joined the sounds of your sweaty skin slapping against each other. You moaned with each brutal push of his cock, your face flushing as your orgasm built. Your nails dug into his beautiful, freckled biceps as your pleasure climbed higher and higher.
“Yes, yes, yes, Andrew!” Your orgasm crashed over you, making your legs tremble and shake in the crook of Pope’s arms, your back arching as much as it could under the weight of him. Pope fucked you through it, as he did your last one, prolonging the warm sparks moving through you. He continued his unrelenting pace, pushing his cock deep inside you. Your limbs felt weak and you could feel how low your energy was with how heavy your eyelids felt. Considering how Pope likely wasn’t anywhere near done, you knew you needed to tell him he could keep going.
“Use me Andrew,” You moaned. “Even if I pass out, use me however you need.” Pope nodded in understanding and thrust into you a few more times before coming again.
For the first time in a while, Pope pulled out of you and you groaned at the loss of his cock inside you, as your legs fell limply on the bed. He grabbed your hips and flipped you over onto your stomach. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, unsurprising considering he came in you three times already. Pope draped himself over your back, lined himself up with your leaking entrance, and slid back in. Your head was turned, cheek pressed against the mattress as you moaned loudly at the feeling of his cock filling you again. Pope began to drive his cock in and out of you again, his hips smacking against your ass every time he pushed inside of you. You could feel the warmth of his skin against your back and his breath in your hair as he leaned his forehead against your temple. He wanted to be close to you, to feel how good he made you feel, to have you.
“Use me.” You whimpered as his cock pumped in and out of you, your clit rubbing against the mattress with the force of his thrusts. “Use me, use me, use me.”
“Yes,” Pope moaned against your skin. “Yes.” Pope continued to fuck you, grunting in your ear as his hips roughly slapped against your ass, jolting your body forward with each thrust, sending sparks of pleasure through you as your hips moved. Pope needed you in this moment like he needed air. He felt like an animal, hungry to take you how he pleased and mark you how he could. He wanted to bite you again. He wanted to suck on your skin until it bruised. He wanted to fill you again and again and again until he physically couldn’t anymore.
“You’re mine.” Pope groaned in your ear.
“Yes,” You sighed against the mattress, your toes and fingers curling with pleasure. Pope pulled back from your head and put his hands on your shoulders to give him leverage for each brutal thrust. The hold pinned you to the mattress, leaving you at Popes mercy.
“You’re mine.” He put more weight on his hands, holding you down. “Mine, mine, mine, mine,” He growled, punctuating the words with each thrust into you.
“Y-yours.” You gasped out. Trapped between Pope and the mattress, you couldn’t have felt safer. The man holding you down was strong (you knew that, he broke the headboard) but his hands weren’t hurting you, they were just keeping you in place. You’d stay between Pope and this mattress forever if you could.
With the two previous orgasms and the constant rubbing of your clit against the sheets, your next orgasm built and burst through you fast, leaving you twitching and trembling on the bed. Exhaustion hit you hard and right before you passed out you heard Pope moan your name, desperately groaning “I’m yours!” to you as he came again.
***
There was soft sunlight coming through the window when you woke up. Pope was asleep next to you, his face relaxed as he calmly breathed in and out. You were a few inches apart and Popes arm was strewn across your waist. It was so rare to see him like this, so peaceful. The sun lit strands of his auburn curls a bright cooper and you couldn’t help but smile.
Without moving, you knew you were sore, but you also knew you needed to pee and shower. And drink some water. Where were those bottles of water you grabbed before this started? You tried your best to move without waking Pope but when your thighs rubbed together you winced audibly and that roused him. He blinked awake, clearly confused at his surroundings before you watched the night reply in his mind as a dozen emotions crossed his face. It settled on remorseful, which broke your heart.
“Are you okay?” Pope asked as he sat up with a groan, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. You smiled lazily at him.
“I feel fantastic. A little sore but that’s to be expected.” Pope shook his head at your comment.
“I shouldn’t have-”
“I’m going to stop you right there. Pope, I knew what I was getting into by volunteering to have sex with you, and your body was under the effects of a drug. Don’t apologize to me for the best sex of my life so far.” Pope blinked at you for a moment, stunned.
“The best?” He croaked out. You smiled widely, glad he focused on that rather than the guilt he shouldn’t have.
“Yes. So far.” You sat up, wincing a little. “I'm excited to see what you can do when you’re not on a crazy sex drug.” You leaned forward and placed a kiss on his bare, freckled shoulder. When you looked up at his face, you saw surprise and hope in his features. “I’d like to date you Andrew Cody. If that’s okay with you.” Pope smiled sheepishly before he dipped his head to press your foreheads together. Your eyes naturally closed.
“Thank you.” He said to you quietly. You hummed a soft acknowledgement before leaning in and kissing him slowly. You pulled away after a moment, eyes opening to see Popes mouth trying to follow you. You laughed a little at his eagerness, especially after he spent who knows how long last night fucking you.
“How many more times did you come last night after I passed out?” You asked. The tops of Popes ears turned pink.
“I think three.” He glanced down at your naked chest. “I got a bit carried away.” You looked down to see that your tits were covered in hickeys, purple bruising both on and in between your breasts.
“Damn! I can’t believe I missed that. Promise me that next time you give me a hickey, you’ll do it when I’m awake.”
“I promise.” Pope said, his voice rough. You looked back up at Pope to see him staring, his eyes filled with wanting. Your cheeks flushed under Pope’s full attention. You needed to change the subject before you two attempted something your sore body parts might not forgive you for.
“We should have a shower and clean up this place a bit before telling Baz to come back.” Pope nodded in agreement, before his eyes glanced behind you and you turned to follow his gaze. The broken headboard. You cringed as you turned back around.
“Oops. Forgot about that.” Some memories of how the headboard broke flashed in your mind and you blushed even more as you looked at Pope. “That’s on you to pay for. And I think it’s best if we just toss these sheets, for Baz and Cath’s sake.” Pope nodded a bit, holding your gaze before a giggle bubbled up and out of him. You bit your lip to keep from laughing but it escaped you anyways and the two of you sat on the bed in the morning sunlight, laughing together.
***
“Is it safe?” Baz asked as he entered the house, one hand covering his eyes.
“Of course. I wouldn’t have texted you otherwise.” You said in a clipped tone. You muttered ‘asshole’ under your breath for good measure. After the laughing fit, you and Pope had showered together, drank two glasses of water each, and put fresh sheets on the bed. You also remembered to open up every window in the house to get any smell of marathon sex out.
“Hi Uncle Pope.” Lena called out with a wave as Cath carried her inside. Pope was washing the cups you’d used and he waved back.
“Hi Lena.”
“Is that Baz’s shirt?” Cath asked as she set Lena down on one of the kitchen island chairs. You looked over at Pope and back to Cath.
“Yeah, we had to throw away Pope’s shirt. Baz will get his back.”
“What happened to your neck?” Lena asked, staring at the purple mark at the base of your neck. You’d put on Pope’s jacket, zipped up, in an effort to cover your hickeys up but Lena was too observant. You slapped your hand over the bite mark, hiding it from view.
“I got in a fight.” You stated simply as Cath and Baz shared a look.
“One she lost.” Pope joked bluntly as he came to stand beside you.
“I don’t know about that. You’re taking me out to breakfast so I’d say I won. Plus you’re forgetting about that ‘best so far’ comment.” You countered with a smile, which Pope returned. You stared contently at each other for a moment before Baz ruined it.
“What’s going on here?” He asked. You sighed, your mood souring at the sound of Baz’s voice.
“None of your business.” You said firmly. Pope grabbed your bag and handed it to you as you both got ready to leave.
“Bye Lena.” You said with a smile and a wave before turning to Baz and Cath. “Pope will pay for the bed damages and I threw out your bed sheets. You’re welcome.” You patted Baz’s chest in a condescending manner before leaving hand in hand with Pope. Right as you made it to the sidewalk you heard Baz yell “What the fuck!” which sent you and Pope into a fit of laughter as you walked off to have breakfast.
was it ever fake? — jack abbot x fem!reader
You and Jack unexpectedly meet at a friend’s wedding weekend. Jack starts a game of pretend-relationship out of boredom. And that’s it…right?
warnings: fake dating trope, one bed trope, 18+ mdni, smut, mutual pining, masturbation (f), p in v sex, shower sex, unprotected, wrap it before ya tap it, not proofread at all, slight voyeurism, fingering, breeding kink if you squint, age gap implied-not specified, reader is a fellow, Jackson Avery cameo, purely self indulgent, fluff, just a feel good fic
a/n: I made a vacation fic for Robby and have been dying to make one for Jack, so this is it. And I wanted to make two parts, but I figured one very long one would be better soooo enjoy!
wc: 8.6k+ ok this one got away from me a bit
masterlist
Day one
A whole weekend to celebrate marriage. You smile to yourself when you see the wedding invitation, thick ivory paper, embossed with gold leaf and tied with satin ribbon, with your friend’s name and her soon-to-be husband; Amy and Harry. When Amy first mentioned she was inviting you to the wedding, you said yes without hesitation, you just didn’t expect it to be a weekend long wedding.
Your cab rounds a hill, revealing a secluded five-star resort hotel tucked between towering pines. The stone pathways are lit with fairy lights, and the air smells like lavender and fresh earth. Amy’s always wanted her wedding to have an enchanted forest theme, and it looks like she got it.
You step out of the cab and are immediately greeted by hotel staff.
“Welcome,” one of them says with a polite smile. “May I have your last name for check-in?”
You walk to the counter and give your name, soaking in the view of the forest from the grand lobby. That’s when you catch a glimpse of a familiar profile just a few feet away, checking in as well. His broad shoulders and back is unmistakable.
“Jack?”
The man turns. His brows lift when he sees you. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”
A smile pulls at your lips. “Nice to see you too.”
He laughs, slinging his weekend bag more comfortably over one shoulder. He’s wearing a simple, dark henley, jeans, and boots, and you curse yourself for how long you’re staring at his forearms. “What are you doing here?”
You gesture toward the resort. “I was invited. My friend Amy’s getting married. We’ve been close since high school. You?”
“I was Harry’s attending for a few years.” He says, “we go on morning runs together.”
You both stand there, processing. “Well,” you say, “small world.”
“You here alone?” he asks.
You nod. “Yeah. I figured a three-day wedding was too much for a plus-one.”
You actually don’t have anyone to ask.
“Yeah… same,” he says.
You adjust your jacket and glance up at him. “Well. Looks like we’re each other’s only familiar face this weekend.”
Jack glances at you sideways, a smile playing on his lips. “Could be worse.”
Just then, the check-in staff hands over your key cards, and you go your separate ways, promising to catch each other later at night.
The first night of the wedding weekend is a casual dinner, just something to help everyone unwind after the long drive. There’s no assigned seating, no pressure, just softly lit tables scattered across the area and the low hum of laughter and clinking glasses.
You scan the crowd and spot Jack near the open bar, standing with his hands in his pockets, waiting on a drink.
You smooth your dress—wait, why? Your brows furrow. It’s just Jack. You work with him every day. You’ve seen him elbow-deep in trauma, yelling over chest compressions, running on three hours of sleep.
But you’ve never seen him like this. Standing there, wearing a nicely fitted navy button-up, the sleeves casually rolled past his elbows, the fabric pulls across his chest when he crosses his arms, and a glimpse of veins and muscle you’re trying very hard not to stare at. The light hits his hair just right. He looks…too good. Your mouth suddenly feels dry.
You swallow and start walking before your thoughts get any more dangerous.
He looks over just as you approach. “You look great.” Jack compliments.
“First time seeing me not in scrubs, Jack?”
He smiles, glancing away for just a second, “No, but not like this. You look beautiful.”
You feel your cheeks flush. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
You’re about to order yourself a drink when Jack’s already flagged the bartender down. “Margarita, extra salt?”
You try to hide your smile. “Yes, please.”
It was months ago, when Shen made attending and everyone’d gone out to celebrate. You didn’t plan on getting drunk, so you stood back with Jack. He noticed your empty hands, then made it a game: guess your favorite drink by your expression alone. You ended up sharing ten drinks between you, laughing harder with each one, until he got it right—margarita, extra salt. You’d both been drunk by the end, but you’d remembered the way his eyes crinkled when you called him a sore loser. You’d remembered that night more than you probably should have.
And he hasn’t forgotten.
“You still remember my drink.” You point out.
He smirks, “Hard to forget when it took me 10 guesses.”
“And one hell of a good time?” You offer.
“With you?” He chuckles. “Always.”
You and Jack spend dinner at a small table for two, the buzz of the crowd fading into background noise. It’s the first time you’ve really talked—not flirted, not exchanged sarcastic quips in between traumas, but talked. About life outside the hospital. Your childhood. Books he reads when he can’t sleep. The way you like your coffee. How you both hate the same podcasts. It's easy and warm, and a little addictive.
You’ve never seen this side of him before. It makes it harder not to like him more than you already do.
It shouldn’t feel like this—any of this. But it does. Like a date. Like a weekend away together for a couple in love. You catch it in the way his eyes keep drifting to your lips, the way he hovers protectively when guiding you through the crowd, the quiet smiles he gives you when no one else is looking.
Whatever this is, it’s not just you. It’s different for him, too.
You’re in the middle of a conversation about some travel mishap of his when you hear a familiar squeal.
“Oh my God, you made it!”
You stand to greet your friend—Amy, glowing with excitement, bouquet swapped for a champagne flute. “Congratulations,” you beam, hugging her tightly. “Amy, I’m so happy for you. And this wedding? It’s like a Pinterest board came to life.”
She laughs, squeezing you back. “I’m so glad you’re here. And I want to let you know, if I’d done bridesmaids, you’d have been first on the list.”
You smile, touched. Meanwhile, Harry’s pulling Jack into a bro-hug.
“Wait,” Amy blinks, looking between the two of you. “You know Jack?”
“He’s my attending at PTMC.”
“Small world.” Harry comments, and Amy squints, connecting the dots. She glances between you and Jack, then grins like she’s just solved a puzzle.
“Wait a minute—are you guys… together?”
“Oh n—”
“Looks we’ve been found out.” Jack cuts in smoothly, sending you a wink.
You give him a questioning look. This was never something you talked about or planned, so you think he’s trying to pull a prank on you, or… nothing. You have no idea what’s going on.
“OMG since when??” Amy gasps.
“Only been a few months. Nearing a year.” He says.
A year???
Amy bumps your shoulder, “And you didn’t tell me?? I could’ve put you guys in one of the bigger, nicer rooms!”
“I—I…” You stammer.
“I suggested not to tell anyone,” Jack saves you. He somehow sounds like he has this all planned out. “Didn’t want to risk her reputation, you know.”
Harry nods understandingly. “Right, especially with your exams coming up.”
You chuckle nervously, “Ah, yeah… still need to take the exams.”
“You’re gonna do great.” Amy clasps your hands, “You’re the smartest person I know, you’re gonna ace it.”
You smile, flustered but grateful. The conversation turns to easier things—honeymoons, the venue, the resort spa—and eventually Amy and Harry are off to greet the next table.
“What the hell?” As soon as they’re gone, you turn to Jack with a half-laugh, half-glare. “So we’re in a relationship now?”
He leans back in his chair, fighting a grin. “Figured it’d be a good way to make the weekend interesting.”
You blink at him. “You couldn’t have warned me?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he says, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Besides… you didn’t say no.”
You want to argue—but you don’t. So you just try to hide a smile behind your margarita and look away.
The night winds down quietly. Amy’s sister plays a photo montage of Amy growing up, meeting Harry, and their early years together, while Harry steps up to thank everyone for coming. The staff announces tomorrow’s rundown: free time until 5PM, when the ceremony begins in the garden, and then gently ushers everyone to get some rest.
You and Jack are making your way back toward your rooms when Harry catches up to you, grinning.
“Hey,” he says, handing you a small card. “Quick thing.”
You blink, taking the card. Your brows immediately pull together.
“What’s this?”
“An upgrade,” Harry beams. “Amy and I moved you guys to one of the nicer suites. It’s bigger, better view. Our little gift.”
Your stomach dips. “Oh no, Harry—seriously, that’s really sweet but we can’t—”
“Come on,” he waves a hand. “Let me do this. For my wife’s best friend,” he says to you, then claps a hand on Jack’s shoulder, “—and for my greatest mentor. You’re both our dear friends.”
You glance at Jack, silently begging him to say something—to fix this—but he looks just as stunned.
“Harry—” Jack starts.
“Nope,” Harry cuts him off, walking backward with a grin. “Already moved your bags. Enjoy!”
He disappears before either of you can stop him.
You and Jack stand there for a moment, staring at the spot where Harry had just been.
You turn slowly. “We’re terrible people.”
Jack lifts a brow. “We? You didn’t exactly stop me back at dinner.”
You gape at him. “You said we were dating out of nowhere! What was I supposed to do?”
He smirks. “You could’ve denied it.”
“I was stunned! You lied so confidently I thought I had missed something.”
He chuckles and starts walking again. “Come on, let’s check out this palace we’ve been gifted.”
And you find out soon enough—he wasn’t exaggerating.
The suite is beautiful. Massive windows overlook the forest, soft yellow lighting glows from fixtures built from stone and wood. There’s a sunken living room with a couch, a cozy fireplace, a soaking tub the size of a car, and one king-sized bed with silk sheets and pillows you could drown in.
You both stop in the doorway, silently taking it in.
“Well,” Jack says after a beat, setting the key card on the entry table, “this got out of hand fast.”
“No kidding,” you mutter, though your disbelief is already turning into laughter. You sit on the edge of the bed like it might still vanish. “This your idea of a fun weekend?”
Jack undoes the first buttons of his shirt, shrugging. “Hey, I said interesting. Didn’t say how.”
You shoot him a look. “One bed.”
He nods. “I can take the couch if you want.”
You grab a pillow, chucking it at him. “You better not hog the blanket.”
You’re not scared of sharing a bed with Jack. He’s respectful, responsible—he’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable.
What you’re scared of is yourself.
Because you can’t deny the attraction. Not when he steps out of the bathroom in just a pair of low-hung sweatpants, his dog tags resting against his chest. His skin is still dewy from the shower, his hair slightly damp and curling at the ends. You try not to stare, but it's a losing battle.
And to make matters worse, you only packed the nice nightwear. Silky, a little sheer, a bit too short. You’d brought it thinking this weekend would be a quiet getaway. A solo indulgence. But clearly, plans have changed.
It’s awkwardly quiet.
“So…” You start.
“So.” He sits beside you. Still no shirt on. “I’m sorry I got us into this mess.”
You smile, sitting up a little. “A great view, a nice bathtub, and silk sheets? I wouldn’t call this a mess.”
Jack lets out a quiet chuckle.
You glance over at him, then down—he still has his prosthetic on. “You don’t take it off when you sleep?”
He hesitates. “…You don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” You furrow your brows. “I’ve seen you take off your leg multiple times at work.”
“I guess… but this is different.”
“How?”
“…I don’t know,” He pauses, “It just is.”
And you kind of know what he means, but you don’t address it. Jack makes sure you’re okay with it once again before leaning forward and taking his prosthetic off. He groans in pain, and so without thinking, you reach over to help.
Jack’s breath hitches when he notices you climbing over your side of the bed and is massaging his leg. And then he sees what you’re wearing. A satin, violet nightgown, with lace decorating the hem and bust area. Spaghetti straps hang delicately off your shoulders, the fabric brushing high along your thighs. His eyes linger, his mouth slightly parted.
You feel his eyes on you. It’s only then that you realize—oh. You’re practically on top of him in this thing.
“Don’t judge me.” You mumble, “I thought I’d have a room to myself.”
“’M not.” He grunts.
That’s when you notice his flushed face, his grip on the sheets, the way his eyes flicker down your body and then guiltily back up. Your heartbeat quickens—he likes it. Maybe even wants it. You.
You move back to your side, dragging the covers up to your chest, and Jack follows, shifting under the covers, trying to will away the heat still buzzing under his skin and in his pants.
“So,” you say, trying to focus on anything else, “we’re going to have to keep this up the whole weekend?”
Jack nods. “At least to the just-married couple.”
“We’re gonna have to get them a gift from us. This room must’ve been expensive.”
He chuckles. “You’re right about that.”
“Well, we’ll be stuck with each other the whole weekend anyway.” You say. “Shouldn’t be too difficult, right?”
Jack lets out a slow breath, trying to calm the way his pulse is racing. “We’ll manage.”
You pause. “We should probably, I don’t know… practice. So we don’t look awkward.”
He glances at you. “Practice?”
You raise an eyebrow, heat crawling up your neck. “You know. Just in case they’re watching. A kiss or two might sell it.”
Jack is awfully quiet.
“I—I mean, we— forget it.” You stammer, “I was just—”
He turns to you and leans in, eyes never leaving yours. And you’re surprised, but you don’t pull away. You close the space first, just enough to brush your lips against his, soft and uncertain.
His hand rises to your cheek, deepening the kiss. He tastes like mint and something warm, and your heart feels like it’s exploding. His thumb brushes your jaw, his mouth tilting against yours, and you barely suppress the small sound that rises in your throat.
You don’t know who breaks it first, but you part—just barely.
“…That was…” Jack starts, voice low.
You breathe out, “Convincing?”
He huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. That’s one word for it.”
You both lay back down after that, still facing each other.
He brushes your hair behind your ear and whispers, “We should get some sleep.”
You blink, caught off guard. “Right. Yeah.”
You both shift under the covers. Careful not to touch, even though the warm feeling is still there in his skin. On your lips.
Jack stares at the ceiling, then turns to look at you, your back now facing him, your breathing shallow and uneven.
None of you can sleep, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to get through the rest of the weekend pretending as if any of this doesn’t mean something.
-----
Day two
Thankfully, Jack is not a blanket hogger.
But you are.
Sometime during the night, you must’ve robbed the covers like a seasoned thief. Because now, Jack is half-wrapped around you, as though he had to burrow under the blanket you hogged to survive the night. One leg hooked around yours. One arm draped across your ribcage, his hand resting just under your breast. The other curled under your neck like a makeshift pillow—how did that even get there?
His chest is warm and solid against your back. He’s still asleep, his breathing even, slow. His nose is near your temple, breath fanning lightly against your ear, and it takes every bit of willpower not to shift. Not to look.
Your heart, however, is pounding.
You need a cold shower. Immediately.
So you slip out of his grasp as quietly and quickly as you can, running to the shower. You immediately turn on the cold water setting, but it doesn’t help the itch between your thighs.
You try to force your mind away. Think of something else.
Work. Traumas. Codes. Blood. Bloodied gloves. Jack's hands in gloves—fuck.
You groan. Your hand wanders to where Jack’s was a few minutes ago. Just under your breast. If he had just gone up a bit… just slightly brushing your nipple, and squeezing, and pinching—you bite your lip and sigh.
Against your better judgment, two of your fingers lower to where you need it most, a small hiss escaping you as you relieve the tension. You touch yourself like you imagine he would. His rough, padded, calloused, experienced fingers toying with your clit. How he would absolutely tease and bring you over the edge just from them.
You sigh, rubbing your clit in figure eights, your other hand pinching and squeezing your breast. Your fingers move lower, quietly cursing to yourself as you feel how wet you are. It’s all for him and he’s not even here to see it. You insert one finger in, then two, and you wonder if two of Jack’s fingers would feel similar. You know it’s not the same. Your fingers curl to hit your spot, and your head hangs forward, thumb circling your clit to chase your release.
You come quickly. Easily. But it’s hollow. You’ve done this yourself so many times, and it’s just too easy for you to come. But it’s not what you want. It’s not what you need. A mere release from your fingers isn’t enough… but it’ll have to do. For now.
You finish showering and wrap yourself in one of the hotel’s bathrobes. You were in such a rush you forgot a change of clothes. When you step out of the bathroom, Jack’s already up—still shirtless, coffee in hand, standing near the window and looking out at the forest.
“Morning.” You offer.
He smiles, “Morning. You got up earlier than me.”
“That surprising?” You raise a brow.
“I’m usually an early bird.”
You towel your damp hair as you move to the vanity table. “Must’ve been really comfortable, then. Maybe the cuddling helped,” you say lightly—despite your own reaction to it—watching him in the mirror.
Jack chuckles. “I’m not the one who hogged the blanket.”
“And I guess I was just helping you sleep.” You smile, as he shakes his head. “So, what’s your plan for the day?”
“Breakfast,” he says easily. “Then maybe I’ll check out that heated pool. Care to join me?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Good.” He saunters over to you, surprising you with a lift of your chin, and pecks you lightly on your cheek. “For practice.”
And then Jack disappears into the bathroom, and you think you almost died. He’s playing with you. Teasing you. He probably knows what he does to you—and oh, Jack Abbot… two can play that game.
You rifle through your bag for something to wear. Your fingers hesitate on the safer choices… then drift toward something else.
It’s cheeky. Flirty.
But you wonder… how far can you push him before he finally cracks? Before he lets go of his self-control and gives you what you really want? So fine. You’ll wear something cute. Maybe just a little sexy. Just enough to stay innocent, but more than enough to keep you in his head all day.
A cute sundress. Spaghetti strapped, short, just enough cleavage and thigh, and most importantly, no bra. Why would you? You’re headed to the heated pool. You’ll be changing into your red bikini anyway. Your very red bikini.
You smirk to yourself.
You’re finished doing your hair just as Jack steps out wearing shorts, and a loose white linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, collar open enough to hint at his chest. The man knows he looks good.
“You can swim with your leg?”
“It’s waterproof.”
“Fancy.”
“Didn’t pay for it.” He chuckles. “Ready to go?”
“Mm-hm.” You hum, bending over in front of him to put on your shoes. You can hear him curse behind you. “Ready.”
You turn to face him, and bat your eyelashes innocently, “Something wrong?”
Jack’s jaw clenches and he reaches for the key card. “…Nothing. Let’s go?”
You’re still smirking as you walk out the door—Jack trailing a step behind, and probably hating how much he’s staring.
Breakfast isn’t crowded. It’s still early—most guests are probably sleeping in, nursing hangovers or enjoying the quiet. Which is why, as you sit across Jack at your table, you dare reach over for the jam—anyone behind him would be able to see that you’re not wearing a bra. And Jack—poor Jack—almost chokes on his orange juice.
“Christ.” He coughs, eyes wide, flicking from your chest to your face like he can’t quite believe what just happened. And then a twinkle of playfulness, like he’s saying: It’s on.
You pretend nothing happened, spreading jam all over your bread and taking a bite.
Jack watches you like a man possessed. Then he leans over the table. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth slowly.
“Missed a spot,” he murmurs.
And then he sucks his thumb clean.
Your jaw drops.
It seems like you’ve silently created a game of who will fold first. And you’re both damn competitive.
Jack clears his throat, changing the topic. “Can I ask you a serious question?”
You raise your brows. “Of course.”
He leans back slightly, watching you. Not with the usual flirt or challenge in his eyes.
“How are you still single?”
The question catches you off guard. You blink, caught somewhere between flattered and exposed. But you try to cover it. “Such a serious question.” You deadpan.
He doesn’t smile. “I mean it. You’re smart, funny, beautiful, and… I don’t know, you’ve got this… thing.”
“I’ve got a thing?”
He gives you a small smile. “Like you know exactly what you want. And it’s damn attractive.”
You pause, a piece of bread halfway to your mouth.
“Wow,” you say. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me over eggs and toast.”
Jack chuckles, but his eyes stay on yours. “Still waiting on the answer, though.”
You take your time answering. Spread a little more jam, chew thoughtfully, anything to delay the way your heart’s pounding in your chest.
You take a deep breath, letting yourself open up a little. “I guess…” you start slowly, setting your knife down. “Most guys say I’m too much. They like the flirting and everything, but when things actually become real… they kinda just want the flirty and sarcastic me.”
There’s a beat of silence between you. Jack’s still looking at you—he’s known to have a staring problem, and now you see why. You won’t lie, there’s a part of you that wonder if Jack would be one of those guys. If he just wanted the flirting, non-commital chase. Maybe he’d rather pretend none of this happened when you’re back in your regular, ER lives. The thought scares you a little more than you’d like to admit.
You add, a little lighter, “Besides, you think I’ve got guys lined up just because I can make a joke and wear a dress without a bra?”
Jack’s smirk returns, but his voice stays low. “No. I think guys like the idea of a challenge—and then punish you for having standards. I think you’ve been waiting for someone who actually sees you. Not just the version they want you to be.”
You pause. His words hit harder than you expect.
“Maybe.” You say. “It’s hard to find a man like that.”
“Not as hard as you think.” Jack simply says.
You sit with his words for a moment longer, chewing on your lip.
Then, maybe a little shyly, maybe to level the playing field, you ask, “Can I ask you something?”
Jack nods, already know what you’re going to ask.
“Why are you single?” you ask, tilting your head. “You’re handsome, funny, albeit a little annoying…” you add, smiling, “That should’ve landed you someone by now.”
It’s not a teasing question, not really. You already know about his past—about the wife he lost, even if you never asked for details. But you’ve always wondered. Jack could’ve had anyone. So why… no one?
Jack’s smile fades—not completely, but just enough for you to notice. His gaze drops to his coffee, thumb brushing over the rim of the mug. “I think I just stopped looking for a while.”
You nod, quietly.
“And when I did start again…” He trails off for a second, fingers tapping lightly against his mug. “No one really felt right. Not in the way that makes me want to stay. Or try.”
“And are you?” You regret the moment that left your mouth so quickly.
“Am I what?”
Too late to back out now. “Looking for someone.”
He holds your gaze a second too long. “Yeah.”
And suddenly, breakfast doesn’t feel so light anymore.
The pool is a little crowded, but it wasn’t bad. Some kids are in the pool playing, adults are on the other side just enjoying the warm water. Jack comes back from the bathroom already shirtless, ready to soak in.
“Try not to stare too much.” He whispers to you.
“You’re the one with a staring problem.” You bump his shoulder before going to change.
Jack watches you go, running a hand through his hair. His mind drifts—Are you? Looking for someone? Your question keeps looping in his head.
God, the number of times he’s almost asked you out is countless. He’s been drawn to you since Shen’s “congrats-you-made-attending” party, when you both downed ten drinks in the booth and you told him everything. You might not remember all of it, but he remembers every second. How you laughed without holding back. How you leaned on his shoulder like it meant something. How your eyes lit up when you talked about what you loved—he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.
There’s a glow in you that he wants to protect. Feed. Watch grow brighter.
But he always holds himself back. Because he’s scared if you think he might be too old for you. Not anymore. This weekend sums it up. He’s going to ask you out by the end of the week. By tomorrow.
As he watches you walk back to him, his resolve almost breaks right there. Because now he’s seeing you, in a glaring red bikini, making your way to him and time seems to slow down, it’s like he’s watching Baywatch. He has to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth.
“Try not to stare too much.” You tease him.
He groans audibly into you, his head resting on your shoulder. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“I would never.” You fake a gasp.
You go into the water first before Jack follows. You thought Jack would be a little uncomfortable, with everyone looking at him for a longer second, some even doing a double-take because of his leg, but he seems fine with it.
You, on the other hand, seem to be glaring at everyone who looks at him a certain way or whispers after.
“Don’t worry.” Jack chuckles, “I’m used to it.”
“Doesn’t make it right.” You mutter.
He smiles at that. The water’s not too deep, so you just stand on the side, watching kids splash water around each other, some are crying, and you glance at Jack.
“You ever want kids?”
Jack turns to you, the corners of his mouth twitching before he gives an honest answer. “Used to. Not anymore. Not really. You?”
You shrug. “I only want it if my partner really wants it. Our jobs don’t exactly make it easy to have family.”
He snorts. “Spot on.”
You lean back a little, water sloshing softly around you as a kid cannonballs nearby. Jack lifts an eyebrow at the splash, brushing droplets off his face.
“I honestly think I’d be a bad parent.” You admit. “I wouldn’t know what to do if my kid is misbehaving.”
He sucks in a breath, “Well, seeing how you are in the ER… I don’t think the kid would even think about misbehaving.”
“Hey!” You hit him lightly and Jack laughs.
“Kidding.” He smiles, “I think you’d be a great mom. You’re strict, but you care.”
You roll your eyes. “Sure. You flirt like this with all your co-workers?”
And so the game continues.
“Only the ones I like.” He smirks. “And what’s your excuse for this red, hot bikini?”
You raise a brow, trying not to show how fast your heart is beating. “This one? It’s just red. Nothing special. Why? You like it?”
Jack’s eyes flick down, then back up. “I think that bikini’s not helping me stay on my best behavior.”
And then he turns away like he didn’t just say the most distracting thing in the world, pushing off the wall and floating backward lazily.
You’re left with your mouth gaping again, and a scoff leaves your lips.
It’s still a tie.
It’s been a few hours and now you’re lounging by the pool bar, nursing a margarita, watching over the crowd and Jack, a good few feet away, reading his book. You’re practically ogling him, and you’re pretty sure he knows you’re looking, because he just flexes his arm and puts it behind his head—you scoff. The gall.
But you’re not the only to notice, so it seems. One woman, decides to sit next to him—in your supposed chair—and starts talking to him. You frown, but would also like to see how it’ll play out.
She says something to him and Jack only gives her a curt, polite smile. Never says anything more than 4 words. And you don’t know why, but you feel like saying “that’s my man” when he technically isn’t.
That’s until she laughs a little too hard at something he didn’t even say and lands her hand on his arm. A little too close to his chest. So, fine, you’ll have to teach her a lesson.
You make your way to Jack and that woman. He’s sitting upright now, clearly trying to get away from the conversation. You step out of the pool dripping wet and place your hand on Jack’s shoulder, bringing his attention to you.
You don’t give him time to react, you just kiss him. Deeply. And Jack gasps a little before returning the fervor. You finally pull away first.
“I’m gonna head up to shower.” You say loud enough for the woman to overhear, “You wanna join me, baby?”
Jack swallows thickly, not expecting that, but abruptly stands up and follows you out of the pool area. You can only hear that woman scoff and groan while you grin, walking away with Jack holding your hand.
The second the elevator doors close behind you, Jack exhales sharply. He turns to you, trapping you with his arms. “You really committed to the bit,” he mutters, a half-laugh escaping him.
You grin, still dripping a little, your towel thrown over one shoulder. “You looked like you needed saving.”
“She was two seconds away from asking if I wanted to do a tequila shot in the hot tub.”
“Would you have said yes?”
Jack’s gaze flicks to you. “Not when I have you walking toward me looking like that.”
You tilt your head, playful. “So you were watching me.”
He smirks. “You weren’t exactly subtle yourself.”
Jack leans in a little, wanting to taste more of your honey, but the elevator dings and the doors open, and he groans. Terrible timing.
Back in the room, you go straight to the shower, and Jack lets out a quiet disappointed sigh, knowing he’d missed his chance of kissing you again. But that’s until you clear your throat, catching his attention from the bathroom.
He turns his head, watches as you only poke your head out from one side of the door. You have a playful smile on your lips as you put your hand out, revealing your red bikini—off, and dropped on the ground. You’re stark naked behind that wall, and the door’s wide open.
Jack’s jaw drops.
“Offer still stands, Jack.” You wink at him, and Jack’s never ran so fast in his life.
The bathroom’s already fogging up from the steam by the time Jack steps in, the door clicking shut behind him. You’re already under the spray, water gliding over your skin like something out of his wildest dreams.
He swallows, hard.
You tilt your head toward him, your smile gentler now, more real. “You coming in, Doctor?”
Jack doesn’t answer. He just pulls down his shorts, wanting to join you fast, and when he finally steps in, he looks at you for a minute. Like he’s trying to remember every curve, every dip, every supple flesh—and his hands finally touch your waist.
The heat of the water is nothing compared to the heat in your chest when he touches you.
Jack mutters against your neck, kissing your skin like he’s starving. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
You hum, arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly close, bare chests touching. “Oh I think I do.”
His mouth crashes into yours, all tongue and teeth. His hands roam down your back, gripping your ass, pressing you against him—and there’s no pretending now. No flirting for show. Just the hunger of two people who’ve been dancing around this for far too long.
Your back hits the tiled wall, water raining down between heated kisses and wandering hands. You moan into his mouth, and he swallows it like a man who’s been dying of thirst.
You can feel his length standing proudly against your stomach and you moan.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes, forehead pressed against yours. “You know that?”
You smile, breathless, and then a flashback of this morning plays in your mind. You bury your head in his neck, groaning.
“What?” He asks. “Something wrong?”
“No—nothing.” You say, still slightly avoiding his eyes.
Jack frowns, a little worried. “Sweetheart. Tell me.”
“It’s stupid, it’s just—” You sigh in defeat. “I… may have touched myself this morning thinking of you. Right here.”
Oh?
An amused smile quickly replaces Jack’s expression. A raised brow. And now a smirk. “Yeah?”
You nod shamelessly.
“Show me.”
“..Huh?”
“Show me how you touched yourself.”
You blink a few times. You’re trapped between Jack and the wall, with no escape.
“Go on.” He encourages and you close your eyes, biting your lip as you repeat what you did this morning.
One hand on your breast, the other on your clit. And you feel so shy now. Because he’s watching you, watching as you play with yourself, legs slightly apart to finger yourself, and because you know he wants you to beg.
The figure eights aren’t working for you. Your eyes search for his as your free hand grips his wrist.
“Jack, please, I—”
He hums, “What’s that, sweetheart?”
You let out a breath. “I… I can’t cum like this. I—I need you. Please, Jack—”
He smiles, kissing you once more before bringing his own hands to your core. It’s wet and sloppy, and he knows he’d have no trouble fucking you right now but he wants to take his time.
So he kisses your neck, toys with your breasts, pinches your nipples in better ways than you imagined as he basks in all your moans and whines.
He finally reaches where you want him most, and you jolt in surprise when you feel his fingers rubbing your clit. His calloused fingers are rougher than you expected, and you welcome it warmly.
He puts in one finger into your core and you gasp, maintaining eye contact as Jack watches you crumble before him. “You’re doing so good for me, princess.”
Fuck him and his pet names. You bite your lip. It makes you feel things.
He pumps his finger a few times before adding a second and you moan loudly, feeling the stretch that is oh so good. “This how you imagined me?” He asks.
You hum, nodding your head. “Yeah… Just like this—ah fuck, Jack…” You call out his name when he hits the right spot.
You moan as he pumps his fingers, thumb circling your clit with practiced, devastating skill. You’re barely holding yourself up, legs trembling, breaths choppy and uneven. He kisses you again, swallowing your cries as he fucks you with his fingers, relentless, until you’re falling apart in his arms.
You fall over the edge, body shaking, clutching him like you’ll drown without him. He holds you through it, fingers slowing until your legs can steady again.
“That’s a good girl…”
You think your lips must be bruised by now. Jack is looking at you like he’s trying to coax out another orgasm, but you shake your head.
“Want you… please.”
He groans, “You keep asking me so nicely like that, and how can I say no?”
And when he finally lifts your leg around his hip and you feel the hard length of him press against you, you realize just how big he is.
“Having second thoughts?” He asks.
“Fuck no.” You tell him. “You’re just… so big.”
Jack chuckles. “You’ll be able to take it. Won’t you?”
You whimper as he pushes his tip in.
“That’s it…” He coaxes, “My good girl.”
You pant when he finally bottoms out inside you. He’s practically splitting you open.
“Feel that, baby?” Jack says, his hand rubbing your lower belly. “I’m all the way in there.”
You never took Jack as a dirty talker, but you love it.
“So deep, Jack—” Your breath hitches when he finally moves his hips, snapping up sharply.
You kiss him desperately, biting his lower lip, your cries muffled into his mouth.
You grip his back, dragging your nails down as he thrusts into you again—and again—slow at first, then harder, deeper, as your bodies find the rhythm you’ve craved.
He fucks you with purpose, with heat, with every ounce of restraint he’s been clinging to. His hips snap against yours, your bodies slick and hot, your name falling from his lips like a broken record.
Your moans echo off the tile, drowned slightly by the water still rushing above you.
He slips out of you for a second, turning you around to press you up against the wall, before gripping your hips, slamming back inside you from a new angle, and you gasp, because he’s much deeper now, and you feel him more. Especially with his balls slapping against your clit with every single thrust.
“You feel so good,” he pants. “Squeezing me so tight—”
“Jack—oh my God—Jack—”
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand reaching for your shoulder, pulling you back. “Let go for me, baby.”
Your second orgasm comes hard, clenching around him with a sharp cry, body writhing in pleasure as your vision flashes white. Jack groans, burying his face into your neck as he follows, spilling deep inside you with a shudder and a hoarse growl of your name.
You moan, feeling him twitch inside you and filling you up. It’s warm, and you keep pushing back against him, wanting more of his cum.
“Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” He grins, one hand on your throat as you lean back onto him. You only bite your lip return.
Jack whispers a ‘Jesus’ and hugs your waist, pressing a kiss on your shoulder.
He pulls out of you and you whine from the loss, feeling him drip out of you and down to your thighs. Jack groans at the sight.
You both breathe, hearts hammering, water cooling.
Jack kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then your lips, slower this time.
By the time you’ve finished showering, it’s already 3:30PM. You only have about 30 minutes to get ready because Amy needs you to help her.
Jack helps you dry your hair while you do your makeup, casually brushing through the strands with a towel as if he’s done it a hundred times. It’s domestic. And if you didn’t already feel dizzy from what happened earlier, this would’ve done it.
You slip into your dress—a deep emerald green satin that hugs and flows in all the right places, held up by two delicate straps that run down your back. It’s timeless. Quietly stunning. And the moment Jack sees you in it, he lets out a quiet breath, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt like it’s the only way to stop his hands from reaching for you.
You catch his eyes in the mirror just before he steps up behind you, his hands finding your waist.
“Is everything you own made of silk?” He hums, lips brushing just below your ear.
“Satin,” You correct, “But no, just this and yesterday’s nightie.”
He groans softly into your neck, “Don’t remind me.”
You laugh. “I have to go earlier to help Amy. I’ll see you in the garden?”
Jack nods. “Want me to go with you?”
“It’s okay,” You assure him, “Probably some girl stuff.”
He hesitates, then nods again. You press a kiss to his cheek and start to walk away—but his fingers catch your wrist, stopping you mid-step.
“Wait,” Jack says. His voice is quieter this time, a little uncertain. “Can we talk? Tonight?”
You pause. You know exactly what he means. This isn’t pretend anymore—it hasn’t been for a while now. And even if there’s a chance he might tell you this was all a mistake… you don’t think that’s what he’s going to say.
You hold his gaze. “Yeah,” you say softly. “Of course we can talk.”
He exhales, relief flashing in his eyes, and lets your hand go. You walk to the door.
But before you can leave, he calls after you one last time.
“You look beautiful.”
You wink at him before closing the door.
Turns out Amy needs help getting dressed. Her stylist is busy retouching her makeup—because she bawled earlier—and now your mission is to use as many tide pens as it takes to erase the smudges she left on her dress.
“Oh my God,” Amy mutters, fanning her face with both hands. “I can’t believe I made a huge mess of myself.”
You chuckle, dabbing at the fabric. “It’s your wedding, girl. Tears are part of the dress code.”
“Don’t even say the W-word,” she hisses. “Talk about something else. Quick. Or the waterworks are coming again.”
“Uh—okay, what do you want me to talk about?” You panic, attacking another mascara stain.
“You and Jack.” She grabs your wrist. “Distract me with how you fell in love with him. Give me the juicy details.”
You blink.
Shit.
“Well… I…” You gulp. “I guess it started when I transferred. Like two years ago.”
It’s not a lie—you’ve had a crush on Jack practically since day one. The man’s competent, confident, funny as hell. Checks all the boxes. And when he calls you by your first name in that deep voice of his? Game over. “He made me feel like I had a high school crush again.”
“That’s it?” Amy stares at you flatly, “Give me more details! Where’s the tea??”
You groan, finally caving. “Okay, okay. I fainted once, and he caught me in his arms.”
Her jaw drops. “Like a princess?”
“Yeah, except covered in blood,” you laugh. “It was one of those marathon shifts. I’d just finished doing CPR on a guy, barely slept, barely ate—next thing I know, lights out. And Jack—he just broke my fall and carried me to the on-call room like it was nothing.”
A chorus of soft “awwws” breaks out in the room from Amy’s mom, cousin, and stylist.
You roll your eyes. “Relax. He probably did it out of duty. He’s my attending. Professional courtesy.”
Just then, you hear a loud voice from the hallway.
“Jack!” Harry calls from just outside the room. The door is slightly ajar.
Your entire body goes stiff. You whip your head to Amy, wide-eyed. “Do you think he heard all of that?”
Amy winces. “Would it make you feel better if I said no?”
Fuck. It’s not a huge deal, it’s just… a little silly. A little secret you hope Jack would never know because then he’d know you’ve had a thing for him for years now.
Amy finally walks down the aisle, her father giving her away. The garden is glowing—fairy lights strung between trees, blooms in every shade of pinks and whites, and soft mist curling along the grass like something out of a dream.
You’re standing next to Jack, having met him by the garden after helping Amy get ready. You’re not sure if he heard your whole fainting confession from outside her room, but if he did, he’s been polite enough not to bring it up.
Now, as the guests settle into their seats, watching Amy and Harry at the altar, Jack places a hand gently on your knee. You rest yours on top of his without thinking.
And when your best friend starts her vows—shaky but glowing with joy—you feel the tears build up. Jack silently hands you a folded handkerchief.
“God,” you whisper with a watery laugh, dabbing at your eyes. “You’re so old.”
“You like me old.” He whispers back.
The ceremony ends beautifully—vows exchanged, cheers rising, a kiss under the canopy of lights. Soon, everyone begins drifting toward the ballroom for food, drinks, and dancing.
You’re at the bar by yourself, sipping your second margarita, watching Amy spin around the dance floor in Harry’s arms. She looks completely happy. The kind of happy you hope stays forever.
“Amy’s best friend, right?” You hear someone beside you. “I’m Jackson. A friend of Harry’s.”
You squint for a moment before shaking his hand. “Avery?”
“Guilty.” He smiles. “How’d you know?”
“I’ve seen you on the news. And your mother. And grandfather.”
Jackson hums. “Figures.”
You nod. “How do you know Harry?”
“We went to the same med school.” He says and glances at your drink, “I take it you love margaritas?”
“Gee, what gave it away?”
He laughs, “Well you were drinking one earlier today too. By the pool.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. Is he flirting with you? “Oddly observant, aren’t you?”
“No,” He denies, “You just make quite the impression. Hard to miss.”
Okay he is flirting.
You raise a brow, amused, and you glance over your shoulder. Jack’s across the room, just finished talking to some people, and now he’s weaving through the crowd, eyes locked on you with a slightly furrowed brow.
“Boyfriend?” Jackson asks.
“Yep.” You say without hesitation.
“Darn.”
“You didn’t see how I was making out with him by the pool?”
Jackson smiles, shrugging. “My mind must’ve been elsewhere.”
“Well,” he says, already stepping back, “I should go before he decides to break my nose.”
You smirk. “Nice meeting you, Jackson.”
“You too.” He gives you a nod before disappearing into the crowd.
Just then, Jack reaches you, sliding a hand to your lower back like he’s staking a claim. You lean into him, pleased. And just a little smug.
“Hi,” He smiles.
“There you are.” You smile back.
He offers you his hand. “Dance with me.”
You blink, caught off guard. Jack Abbot dances? But you take his hand without question, letting him lead you to the floor just as a soft, slow cover of The Way You Look Tonight drifts through the speakers.
“Didn’t know you dance, Jack.”
Jack pulls you in gently, one hand resting on your bare lower back, the other folding around yours. Your free hand finds his shoulder. You breathe in the clean scent of him—his cologne and something you can only describe as him—and try not to melt into him entirely.
“Only with the right person,” he replies, voice quiet near your ear.
Your cheeks flush. You hope he doesn’t feel how fast your heart’s beating.
“So,” He starts casually, “Jackson Avery, huh?”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Jealous?”
Jack shrugs, “A little.”
Your eyes flicker up to him, surprised. No man would ever admit that so easily—have themselves be vulnerable in front of a woman like that. It makes you feel warm inside, the thought that Jack can be protective of you because another man was flirting with you.
“I’d understand,” Jack says, a little dejected. “He’s a lot younger, more handsome, definitely rich—”
“—I shoo-ed him away.” You cut his sentence.
Jack raises a brow. “Why’s that?”
You mimic his shrug, trying not to smile too much. “I have a boyfriend.”
And he grins, a genuinely happy smile that makes your heart skip a beat.
You rest your head lightly against Jack’s shoulder, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as the music sways through you both.
“So should we rip off the band-aid now?” You daringly ask.
He chuckles under his breath, the vibration soft against your cheek. “If you want to.”
You pull back just slightly so you can see him.
He lifts his gaze to yours, steady and warm.
“This weekend,” you say, your voice quiet but clear, “it’s not just pretend. Right?”
“No,” he says simply. “I…I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a sap,” he admits. “But I want to be with you. In every sense of the word. I want to make you laugh, be there when you cry, I want… I want everything with you.”
Your heart trips over itself, but your smile is calm.
“Me too.” You don’t hesitate. “I want all of it with you, Jack.”
He exhales, like he’s finally letting go of something he’s been holding onto for a long time. Then he leans in and kisses you, soft and slow and full of promise. When he pulls back, your lips are still tingling, and you hum at the loss.
For a second, you both just look at each other, breath mingling.
“So…” Jack tilts his head with a teasing smile, “you’ve had a crush on me since you transferred?”
“Ugh,” You try to hide your face in his chest. “So you were eavesdropping??”
“By accident,” he says quickly, laughing. “I was just looking for you.”
You squint. “Missed me that much, huh?”
Jack leans in, brushing his nose against yours. “Don’t blame me. I can’t get enough of you.”
Summary: You and Rhett have been friends for almost your entire lives and you’ve had a crush on him ever since you could remember. You’ve never made a move out of respect for the friendship, but when Maria–an old crush of Rhett’s–comes back into town, you can’t help but get a little jealous of how much he swoons for her.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Angst, and Fluff, We got the childhood best friends trope, and I frickin love it! Reader is super jealous but really tries to be happy for Rhett.
Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up), Rhett is a bit dominant in here, Dirty Talk, He talks you through it, Oral Sex (Fem! Receiving), Rough Sex, He puts his hand on your throat…But like…Not to choke? I guess. A little bit of overstimulation, Heavy Makeout, Some Grinding
Author’s Note: I got this request a while back and honestly I was writing it and hated the way it went, then I had this huge eureka moment and literally put my whole chest into this damn thing lol. Thank you anon, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting! But I hope it meets your expectations. (I made it on time y’all sorry for the delay!)
Word Count: 18,010
The lights above the ring hummed with electricity, casting long, bright white beams over the dirt-packed arena like they were trying to mimic daylight–but it was well past sundown. The night air had settled cool against your skin, clinging to the sweat on your collarbones and the thin cotton of your oil-stained tank top–the same one you had been wearing when Rhett burst into your garage hours earlier, all breathless and grinning, saying, “You comin’ or what?”
You didn’t even notice him at first. Your arms were elbow-deep in the hood of your father’s busted-up ‘82 Chevy, sleeves rolled past your shoulders, knuckles stained black with grease. The old truck had been sitting in the barn lot for years, more rust than a frame, but it had history, and you couldn’t bring yourself to give up on it. You had been trying to get the engine to crank for weeks now, working after hours between shifts and moonlight with stubborn hands, and a soft heart.
Rhett had found you with a pair of pliers clenched between your teeth, and your hair stuck to the back of your neck. You were in the middle of coaxing a frayed wire into a cleaner splice when he had said it again.
”Y/N! You comin’ or what?!” You nearly dropped the pliers into the engine block that time around, and your eyes immediately shot up to him.
”Jesus Christ, Rhett,” You muttered around the tool in your mouth, straightening up just enough that your back cracked, “You ever heard of knocking? You’ve got hands do you not?” Rhett leaned his shoulder against the frame of the open garage door, arms crossed, boots scuffed and dusty. The golden evening light caught the curve of his jaw, lighting up the honeyed brown wisps of hair curling out from under his ballcap, the one he wore when he wasn’t wearing his normal cowboy hat. He grinned like he had all the time in the world.
”Yeah, I got hands.” He said, holding them up and wiggling his fingers, “But I need ‘em for the circuit tonight, can’t go wasting tiring ‘em up by knockin’ on your door.” You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly gave you a headache. With a sigh, you pulled the pliers from your mouth and tossed them onto the stainless steel tool table beside you, the clink echoing off the walls of the garage. The wire you’d been working with curled like a question mark in the air.
“God forbid your precious hands do somethin’ useful.” He let out a huffed laugh, smirking, like that little jab of yours was exactly what he had come there for. You reached for the damp rag that always lived folded beside your socket set, rubbing your hands down with practiced efficiency. Grease smeared into the creases of your fingers, under your nails, and you could already hear your father warning you–again–about keeping motor oil off your face. You scrubbed harder.
“Can you give me five minutes to change, at least?” You asked, gesturing vaguely at yourself. “I look like I crawled out of a junkyard.” Rhett checked the time on his phone like it was life or death, kissing his teeth.
“No can do. It’s gonna take us ‘bout two hours to get down there, and I gotta check in early. No time.” You looked down at yourself–at the tank top clinging to your skin, streaked with oil and sweat; your low-rise jeans that had a hole in the knee; boots dusted in gravel, grime and oil. You knew your hair certainly didn’t look good, especially with the sweat that pooled on the back of your neck, so you tried to plead again.
”C’mon, Rhett,” You groaned, “At least lemme–“
”Nuh-uh,” He interrupted smoothly, already pushing off the doorframe, “You look fine.” He said it so matter-of-factly it hit you like a sucker punch to the gut. His tone was easy, and offhanded, but his eyes flicked over you once–head to toe, like he was checking the welds on a fence post–and lingered a second too long on your bare shoulders before flicking away again. You felt your skin heat up despite the cool air from your fan blowing onto you.
Then he tossed you his keys without ceremony, and you barely caught them in time.
”Now. Get your butt in the truck, I need my good luck charm.” You stood there for a second, holding his keys like they were heavier than they had any right to be, watching Rhett backpedal across the gravel with that cocky grin stretching his mouth. The nerve of him–waltzing in, dragging you out in grease-stained clothes, and telling you that you looked fine like it didn’t mean something.
Like it didn’t knock something loose in your chest.
You tucked the rag into your back pocket with a sigh and followed him out into the golden spill of sunset that painted the drive, the gravel crunching beneath your boots. Rhett was already climbing into the passenger side, settling into the spot he always took when he was with you. He never once offered to drive–not because he didn’t want to, but because he liked how you drove his truck. He liked watching you lean one hand out the window, tapping the side with your fingers in time with the radio, he had said you made it run smoother somehow.
You climbed in behind the wheel, the door creaking shut with that familiar metallic groan as you shoved the key into the ignition. The engine rumbled to life beneath your hands like it had been waiting on your touch.
“You just always have to pull that good luck charm shit with me,” You muttered, fingers flicking the air vents toward Rhett like that would somehow cool your irritation, “If it wasn’t for the fact your dad would have my head on a stake if I didn’t show up, I wouldn’t be coming.” Rhett didn’t even flinch, he just smiled wider, teeth flashing under the brim of his cap.
”You’d show up anyways, even if there wasn’t that loomin’ threat.”
”Yeah?” You shot back, shifting into reverse, “And why’s that?”
“Cause you always do, that’s just how you are.” You let the truck ease back down the gravel drive, headlights cutting twin beams through the soft haze of kicked-up dust. Rhett reached out to roll down his window, letting his arm dangle outside, fingers tapping lazily against the side of the door like he had no care in the world.
“You still act like it’s a choice,” You grumbled, glancing sideways at him as you turned onto the main road, “You ever consider the possibility that I just don’t like you makin’ stupid decisions alone?”
“You’re not just here to babysit me, darlin’,” He said, voice soft and sure, like it wasn’t even a question. “You’re here ‘cause you belong there.”
That had shut you up pretty quickly.
He didn’t say it with any kind of weight. Didn’t lean into it or give it too much gravity. Just said it like it was a fact of life–like gravity or dust or the way your names had always sounded right in the same sentence.
Rhett had called you his good luck charm since you were barely tall enough to see over the top rail at his first junior circuit. He’d botched the ride and landed square on his ass, the wind knocked clear out of him–but when he stumbled to his feet and saw your worried face at the edge of the ring, he lit up like he’d just won the whole damn event.
From then on, he’d refused to ride without you.
It didn’t matter what his father said. Didn’t matter how many times Royal Abbott tried to reason, bribe, or flat-out yell Rhett into submission—if you couldn’t be there, neither could he.
Royal had tried everything over the years. Bargained with prize money, lectured about reputation, brought up every missed opportunity, every unclaimed buckle, every point lost in the rankings. And every time, Rhett just shrugged, chewed his toothpick a little harder, and said, “Ain’t worth it without her.”
Royal had even gone to your father once, showed up at the house red-faced and muttering under his breath, looking for backup. He’d stomped up the porch steps, knocked hard enough to rattle the screen, and said, “You need to talk some damn sense into your daughter. She’s holdin’ Rhett back.”
Your father didn’t even look up from the paper in his lap. Just flipped a page and said, “It’s outta my hands, Royal. She’s his lucky rabbit’s foot, not mine. You’re the one who raised a superstitious kid.”
That had been the end of it.
Well–besides the occasional muttered complaint, the exasperated way Royal folded his arms and scowled at you from across the arena like you were the one who’d crawled inside Rhett’s brain and rewired the whole damn thing. But you knew he didn’t really mean it. Not deep down–cause just like Rhett, he too had a soft spot for you.
Your father and Royal had been friends since high school–thick as thieves, the kind of troublemakers who grew up and never quite grew out of it. There were more stories than you could count about the two of them sneaking out of study hall, crashing their bikes into fences, and getting into brawls over rodeo scores. Royal may have grumbled and huffed and barked, but he knew what this was.
He knew what you were to Rhett.
And that’s how you found yourself at the circuit tonight, in the worst possible outfit you could be in for a night that turned chilly. You leaned against the rail with your arms folded, listening to the announcer listing off names you didn’t recognize and sponsors you didn’t care about.
One rider across the way was adjusting the strap on his glove with his teeth, spitting into the dirt before swinging a leg over the gate. He was broad-shouldered and too young to have that many calluses on his palms. His boots also looked too new, and you could tell he was nervous just by the way he puffed out his chest.
“He’s overcompensatin’ with all that noise,” Rhett’s voice came from your left, low and familiar, warm despite the cold air, “Looks like he spit shined his boots and bought the buckle from a pawn shop.” You turned your head just enough to see him steadying beside you, close enough that your elbows almost brushed. He had one glove on already and was working his other hand through the second–leather creaking around his knuckles as he tugged it tight, mouth set in that concentrated little frown he only ever wore when he was minutes from getting on a bull. You hummed at him.
”You say that as if you weren’t the same way your first time.” He scoffs.
”I don’t think I was that bad.” You didn’t reply, you just smirked, and shook your head, turning your attention back to the rail. But your eyes didn’t stay on the ring long. Not when he was standing that close.
Rhett had always been easy to be around–easier than most. He didn’t demand attention, didn’t fill the silence with noise unless he felt like it needed to be broken. And somehow he always made you feel like the most important person in the room without ever saying it outright. Your gaze drifted down his arms, the way the veins ran like fault lines beneath his skin, pulsing beneath the leather. The gentle scrape of stubble along his jaw. The way his shirt clung to the dip between his shoulder blades.
You knew how to look without letting it show. How to admire the little things from afar, memorizing them only to recall later in the quiet moments of your own space, when it was just you and the memory of him.
You’d gotten good at control.
“You okay?” He asked suddenly, glancing at you from under the brim of his dusty brown Stetson. His voice had shifted–still soft, but lower now. Quieter. You raised your eyebrows.
”Why wouldn’t I be?” You replied, he shrugged a little, pulling the strap of his glove tight.
”Been quiet since we pulled in…”
“I’ve been tired since we pulled in,” You said, deflecting with a tilt of your chin, “You yanked me straight outta the garage before I could give myself a cold shower to wake myself up.” He smiled at that, eyes crinkling at the corners like he didn’t buy your excuse but was willing to let you keep it.
“Well,” Rhett drawled, shifting his weight and giving you a side glance, “Thank you for joinin’ me all marinated in oil and tired. Really sets the mood.”You rolled your eyes, lips twitching as you looked away
“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I didn’t bring a wrench to throw at you while you’re on that big bull.” He chuckled under his breath, his gaze tracking the arena before flicking back to you.
”Gonna go sit with my family?” You let out a long sigh, eyes squinting at the stands like you were preparing for battle, seeing the Abbott’s were already together talking among themselves.
”Course…Always the best seat in the house. Front row for your brother talkin’ my ear off about his side hustles, and your dad telling me how the whole thing’s rigged against you, while Cecilia tries to ask whether or not I’m moving shops anytime soon.” Rhett huffed a laugh, shaking his head.
“Always happy to know you love bein’ up there with them.” His tone was thick with sarcasm, but his smirk was soft. Familiar. Like he was picturing it already–your boots kicked up on the railing beside Royal, his dad grumbling into a foam cup while you offered him your popcorn. You both shared a quiet chuckle, the kind that slipped out easily, like short breaths in cold air.
In the moment of silence, your hand slipped into your back pocket without thinking–it was instinct more than anything. You dug around until your fingers curled around the thin chain, the cool metal warmed by your skin. Rhett didn’t look at you, because he didn’t have to. He knew the moment you turned fully toward him that you were pulling out the necklace. His shoulders straightened slightly at the sight of it.
A thin gold chain, delicate as thread, with the charm your mother had worn nearly every day before she passed–the small, oval locket with a dent on one side. It was a gift that your father had given her when they were first going out, and now it was yours. But in moments like this–when the dust was thick in the air, when the circuit lights buzzed overhead and danger sat heavy in your chest–it was his.
Rhett always took it the same way: quiet, gentle, and like it meant something more than just luck and protection.
Because it did.
Your mother had loved Rhett like he was her own. She fed him when Royal was late picking him up, scolded him when he scraped his knees, kissed the crown of his head when he showed up on your porch with dirt on his boots and his heart on his sleeve. When she passed, he didn’t say much. But you remembered him standing at the far end of the church, knuckles white around his hat, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack.
He didn’t cry. He never had to because you had done enough of that for the both of you.
You placed the necklace in his palm gently, brushing your fingers along the inside of his wrist. A quiet exchange. A tradition that had started the first time he made it onto the adult circuit–when you pressed it into his hand before the gate opened and said, “She’s got you.”
And it stuck and became something neither of you ever had to explain.
“Think she’s watchin’?” Rhett murmured, voice rasped low as he curled the chain into his fist.
Your answer came easy. “Always.” He nodded, jaw ticking as he thumbed the charm once for good measure before tucking it into his shirt–over his heart, where it belonged. He gave it a soft pat, like he was anchoring her there. Like maybe she’d feel it, wherever she was.
“I dunno if she’d like that you’re still lettin’ me do this,” He muttered after a beat, offering a crooked little half-smile. “Ridin’, I mean.”
You scoffed lightly. “She wouldn’t like it,” You admitted, “But you know she’d still be yellin’ the loudest when they called your score.”He smiled at that, shoulders easing just a little. Like the weight of her was something warm instead of heavy.
“She always liked you better than me,” You teased gently, trying to keep your voice light even as emotion caught in your throat. “Pretty sure she would’ve traded me for you if she had the option.”
Rhett looked over at you then, really looked, and something in his expression softened so fully it made your stomach twist. “Don’t think you believe that for a second,” He mumbled quietly.
And you didn’t.
But it was easier than saying what you really meant–that you’d give anything to hear your mother talk about Rhett again. To hear her tell him to be careful. To bring him a sandwich while he leaned against the side of the truck, and to kiss your forehead and say, “You take care of him out there, alright?”
Because she’d known about your true feelings for him. She always knew.
“You better not get yourself broken tonight,” You warned, trying to talk the emotion out of your voice, attempting to shake it out, “I’m not scrubbin’ your blood outta your jeans again.”
Rhett laughed under his breath, the sound low and warm. “I’ll try not to, but I admire the fact you did it so well the last time…” He gave you a soft pat on the side of your arm, the leather of his glove cool against your skin. “Don’t worry too much though. I’ve got you, and I’ve got her. That’s a two-for-one deal even the devil can’t mess with.” You didn’t smile this time–but your eyes stayed on him, memorizing the curve of his mouth, the tilt of his hat, the line of his shoulders.
“Be safe,” You said, and it was quieter than anything you’d spoken all night.
Rhett nodded. Touched the charm through his shirt once more. And then he turned and walked toward the chute, back straight, shoulders squared, steps steady.
You watched him go.
And just as he disappeared behind the gate, swallowed up by the noise and the crowd–
You heard a voice you hadn’t heard in five years.
“I’ll be damned,” The voice called out behind you, thick with familiarity and a smile you could already picture even before you turned, “Didn’t think you’d still be hanging around here.”
Your entire body went still–like a switch had been thrown on, and your nerves froze under your skin. It wasn’t just the voice. It was the cadence. The tilt in the vowels. The lilt of amusement laced with old memories and summer sweat.
Maria Olivares.
You didn’t turn right away. You just stared straight ahead at the chute where Rhett had disappeared, your heart dropping like it had been cut loose from a string. The last time you’d heard her voice, it had been filtered through the cracked speakers of the high school PA system during her senior farewell speech–warm, confident, grateful for her small-town upbringing, even as she looked forward to city lights and bigger things.
She hadn’t come back. Not once in five years. Not for holidays. Not for spring break. Not even to visit old friends. Everyone figured she’d traded Wabang for somewhere with sidewalks and skylines.
And yet here she was.
You turned slowly, dragging your eyes up from the toes of a pair of spotless white sneakers, to a pair of high waisted black jeans that fit right, and a hoodie, jean jacket combo that looked warm and cozy. Her dark brown–almost black–hair was still long, and shiny, catching the circuit lights in ribbons as it spilled over her shoulders. There was not a wave out of place. She looked good, and that was always the worst part for you.
”Hey stranger,” She smiled, stepping toward you, her hands in her jacket pockets like this was just another Friday night and you were the one that vanished, “Didn’t expect to see a familiar face here when I rolled in.” You blinked, pulse throbbing somewhere behind your teeth. You could feel every streak of sweat dried into your collarbone. The grease under your fingernails. The smudge of oil you’d missed above your brow. The faded tank top clinging to your ribs.
“Maria,” You managed to say, trying to force something that resembled a smile on your face. It didn’t quite reach your eyes, “Didn’t know you were back in town…It’s been a long time.” She nodded.
”Five years.” She said softly, like she was trying the words on for size, as if she hadn’t known exactly how long it had been. There was a brief pause, heavy with memories you didn’t ask to revisit.
Then, with a little huff of breath, she gave a rueful smile glancing toward the arena.
”I got burnt out from college…Thought I’d come back to Wabang to try and get my life back together…” Her gaze flicked sideways, and then back to you, “And I heard around town that Rhett was riding tonight, so I thought I’d stop by to catch up and maybe say hi.” You felt your stomach twist up into knots.
You tried to keep your face neutral, tried not to flinch at the mention of his name on her lips, because Maria had always been nice to you and treated you well. She had never acted above you, even when she could’ve. She was sweet, and effortless, and the kind of girl that seemed built for being admired. People talked about her like she was a firework: bright, exciting, and temporary…And Rhett…Well…
Rhett had always looked at her like she belonged in the Louvre.
You remembered it so clearly–him leaning back on the bleachers during lunch period, eating a sandwich, baseball cap tilted low as he watched her laugh by the vending machines. He used to elbow you in the side and mutter something like “God she’s just…Look at her, would ya?” Or “If I asked her out and she said no, I think I’d have to walk into traffic.”
And you’d laugh. Pretend it didn’t bother you, and you’d joke back and say “You’d have to start a new life in the city or somethin’.”
Because what else could you do?
You were…You. The grease-monkey. The tomboy. The one who spit-shined carburetors instead of joining social clubs. The one who could drink the boys under the table, throw a punch better than half of them, and still knew the sound of Rhett’s laugh like the back of your hand. You were his best friend. His good luck charm. His midnight mechanic and his porch-sitting, star-watching, shit-talking ride or die. But you were never the girl.
Not in the way Maria had been–even though they didn’t date.
So when Maria left for college, it was like someone let the air out of Rhett’s chest. He didn’t say much–just got real quiet for a few weeks. Stayed out late, rode harder, drank more. Then one night, sitting on your porch with his head tilted back and his boots up on the railing, he let out a sigh and said, “Guess that’s that, huh?”
You didn’t ask what he meant. You just passed him the bottle and leaned your shoulder into his like you always did.
And little by little, he put himself back together. He didn’t talk about her anymore. Stopped bringing her name up at all. And a part of you–one you never said out loud–had hoped maybe he was finally looking at someone else now. That maybe he’d finally see you.
But now, she was here.
In the flesh. Smiling, radiant, all polished edges and big city warmth. And she’d said his name like she had every right to, like she’d never left a hole in him when she packed up and vanished.
You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her words settle somewhere heavy between your ribs.
“Thought I’d stop by to catch up and maybe say hi.”
You hated how those words clawed at the inside of your chest.
”Yeah,” You mumbled, voice tighter than you wanted it to be, “I’m sure Rhett will be glad to see you…It’s been a while.” Maria’s smile didn’t falter, not even for a second.
”We should go out for drinks after,” She suggested, casual and bright like this wasn’t a slow-motion car crash happening in front of you, “Maybe you two can come find me? I’ll stick around.” You swallowed hard enough that you felt it echo in the back of your throat like a gulp of warm soda going down the wrong way.
“Sure,” You managed to agree, forcing your lips up even more, “Sounds like a plan.” It came out flat. A little too fast. But she either didn’t notice or was too polite to mention it. She just glanced behind her, motioning toward a small group of people standing a few yards off, gathered near the funnel cake stand.
“I’m gonna head back to my friends,” She informed, “But I’ll see you after the circuit!” You nodded stiffly.
”Yeah, see you.” And with that, she turned, her sneakers scuffing quietly in the dirt as she made her way back to her group—hair bouncing lightly with each step, laughter already ringing in the air as one of her friends greeted her with an inside joke you didn’t get.
You didn’t watch her long. You couldn’t.
Instead, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and turned your gaze toward the bleachers, willing your legs to move. One step at a time. Your shoulders rolled once, then twice—like shaking off a weight. But the tension didn’t budge, not really. It stayed coiled up in your spine like something waiting to snap.
You stomped up the bleacher steps, boots loud against the metal, and found them all right where you expected: Amy munching on kettle corn, Perry fiddling with a foam cup of coffee, Royal with his arms crossed and a resting scowl, and Cecilia offering you a tight smile like she already knew you needed one.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Cecilia greeted first, scooting to make space. “We were wonderin’ when you’d show.”
“Hey,” you said, voice still low as you nodded to each of them.
Royal shifted over with a grunt, making room beside him, and Perry tipped his head back toward you in a silent greeting.
You sank down between the two of them with a heavy breath, letting the cool of the evening air wrap around your sweat-damp skin. Amy reached over and tapped your boot with hers.
“You smell like axle grease,” She said flatly.
You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Amy grinned back, and you leaned forward to prop your arms on your knees.
Royal glanced your way. “How’s your dad doin’ these days?”
You rubbed the back of your neck, grateful for the shift in subject. “Busy as usual,” You replied. “The shop’s been crazy for both of us, so I haven’t really been able to talk to him. Our faces are always under or inside cars.”
Royal chuckled low in his chest. “Well, a mechanic’s job is never finished until the last car is completely fixed.”
You snorted. “We’d be open till the end of time if we lived by your rules.”
That got a laugh out of Perry too, who clapped you on the shoulder. “Ain’t that the truth.” His eyes wandered casually over the crowd before something caught his attention. His chewing slowed, the foam cup crinkling slightly in his grip as he leaned in a fraction and nudged your arm with the back of his knuckle.
“Hey…” He muttered under his breath, keeping his voice low, “Is that who I think it is?”
You didn’t need to follow his gaze. You already knew. Still, your eyes drifted to the right, past the funnel cake stand and toward the little group of people laughing in the warm glow of the overhead string lights.
Maria was standing right in the middle, her smile shining like she’d never left, like she hadn’t cracked something in your chest just minutes ago.
“Yep,” You replied, the word flat and dry on your tongue.
Perry let out a soft whistle, eyebrows climbing. “Did Rhett see her?”
You shook your head slowly, thumb brushing your bottom lip as you glanced back toward the chutes. “Not yet… But I’m gonna have to be the one that breaks the news to him. As usual.”
Perry tilted his head, his expression shifting into something halfway between sympathy and disbelief. “She say why she’s here?”
”She said she got burnt out from college, now she’s back in town until further notice basically. She said she wants to go out for drinks after the circuit,” You explained. There was a beat of silence. Then Perry huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.
“Man… That’s gonna be pure torture for you, huh?” You flicked your gaze toward him, jaw tight.
He knew. Perry was one of the only people who did. You’d sworn him to secrecy years ago—right around the time you drank too much whiskey behind the barn one summer night and finally admitted it. He hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t teased. Just looked at you with those steady eyes and said, “Yeah…That tracks.”
And despite his reputation for being a smartass, Perry had never breathed a word of it to anyone.
“I could come with you guys,” he offered now, voice quieter. “Even out the numbers.”
You snorted, rolling your eyes. “You’re talkin’ like we’re goin’ to war.”
Perry shrugged one shoulder. “Aren’t you?”
You shook your head with a sigh and muttered, “I’m sure I’ll manage just fine.”
“Hey,” Perry said, raising his hands defensively. “Don’t say I didn’t offer. And don’t come cryin’ when you end up sittin’ between them, third-wheelin’ your own heartbreak.”
Before you could respond—before the knot in your chest could turn sharper—the PA system crackled back to life, cutting through the thick air.
“Next up, ladies and gentlemen—we got Rhett Abbott comin’ up in the chute!”
Your whole body snapped to attention, your eyes instinctively finding the chute where he stood, framed in gold and dust and determination. He was climbing the rails now, one hand on the edge of the gate, the other adjusting the brim of his Stetson. His back was broad beneath the weight of his vest, the number pinned crookedly to the fabric like it always was because he never let anyone else do it. Always asked you.
He didn’t look toward the stands. Not yet. His focus was on the bull–pure, burning concentration.
But your chest was a live wire.
Because he didn’t know she was here.
And when he saw her–when he looked up and caught sight of Maria’s soft smile and city-polished glow standing in the crowd–you didn’t know what it would do to him.
But you knew exactly what it would do to you.
Perry leaned back, a shadow in his expression. “Buckle up,” he said, almost like a warning. “Here we go.”
And all you could do was hold your breath…And wait.
————————
The crowd had started to thin, the night slipping gently into its last stretch–boots shuffling through kicked-up dirt, families gathering up folding chairs and foam cups, laughter tapering off into low murmurs beneath the buzz of the circuit lights. The arena was quieter now, calmer. A few riders lingered by the chutes, stripping off gear, comparing scores, cracking open lukewarm beers from coolers tucked behind the rails.
Rhett was still standing near the gate, dust clinging to the bottom hem of his jeans, his shirt sticking to the sweat that had dried down his spine. His hair was damp under his hat, eyes scanning the space like he was still riding the high of the eight-second count.
You moved down the bleachers slowly, like each step took effort, the cool night air brushing against the back of your neck, the gravel biting into the soles of your boots.
He saw you coming, and his face lit up in that familiar way it always did–soft around the edges, glowing just under the skin. Without a word, Rhett reached into the chest pocket of his shirt and pulled out the thin gold chain, the charm glinting faintly beneath the floodlights. He held it out gently, curled between his fingers like something sacred.
“Guess you two really did help tonight,” He commented with a crooked smile, placing the necklace in your open palm. “Probably one of my best performances.” You looked down at the charm as it settled into your skin, feeling the warmth of him still clinging to the metal. You managed a smile, small and tired.
“Yeah…You looked good out there.”
But it didn’t quite reach your eyes.
And Rhett noticed. His brow furrowed immediately, eyes narrowing with that uncanny instinct he always had for your moods.
“Somethin’ wrong?” He asked, pointing gently between his own eyebrows. “You’ve got that little crease here–means you’re thinkin’ too hard.” You tried to shrug it off, eyes dropping to the necklace as your fingers curled around it. But the weight in your chest didn’t move. You hesitated. Then you exhaled slowly.
“…Maria’s back.” You felt the moment he registered the name like a jolt–like it lit something under his skin. Rhett straightened a little, his whole posture shifting, just slightly. Perking up. Perking toward her.
“Really?” He said, his voice brightening in a way that made your stomach churn. “Where is she?”
You nodded toward the far end of the arena without lifting your gaze. “She told me to come find her after…Said she wants to go out for some drinks.”
There was a brief pause before he smiled, teeth flashing in the glow of the overhead lights. “Well that’ll be great! Would love to catch up with her.”
You nodded once. “Yeah. I thought so.”
Your voice was low. Measured. Your lips pressed into a thin, practiced smile–the kind you’d perfected over the years, the one you used when something stung but you didn’t want anyone to see it bleed.
Rhett didn’t catch it. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t know what to do with it.
You tucked the necklace into your back pocket, the chain coiling softly in your grip like a secret.
————————
The hum of the arena faded behind you as the three of you made your way down the gravel path toward the bar just off the main strip–The Rusty Spur, glowing amber beneath a flickering neon sign shaped like a bull skull. You’d been here a hundred times. After circuits, after slow nights, after heartbreaks that you never let show. It was familiar ground.
But tonight, it didn’t feel like home.
Rhett held the door open with one boot, gesturing Maria inside with a crooked grin, and you followed silently, your fingers still brushing the edge of your back pocket like the necklace might anchor you if you kept touching it.
The bar was low-lit and humming with half-empty pitchers and slow drawls. Music crackled low from the jukebox–old country, something about losing and loving in the same breath. You barely noticed. You were too busy clocking how close Maria stood beside Rhett. How she reached for his arm when she laughed at something he said. How his body naturally leaned toward hers, like it remembered the rhythm of it even if his heart didn’t quite know why.
You took the booth in the far corner. Your usual spot. Rhett slid in beside you, and Maria took the other side. It should’ve felt balanced. It didn’t.
Someone took drink orders–probably Rhett, but your ears were ringing too hard to catch the words. You muttered something about whiskey, and a moment later, a sweating glass was placed in front of you.
Maria was talking. Rhett was laughing. You were sitting in your grease-stained tank top, sweating in your spot, barely blinking as the two of them picked up where they left off–like no time had passed at all.
“Oh my god, do you remember that time at the bonfire?” Maria said, grinning, her knuckles brushing Rhett’s arm as she leaned forward. “When Perry and Jacob tried to jump the creek in that rust-bucket four-wheeler and we all thought they were gonna die?”
Rhett chuckled, elbow resting on the table, eyes crinkling. “Yeah, I think Perry still swears he cleared it by three feet.”
“He didn’t,” You muttered, voice low, more to your glass than to them. “He cracked the axle and limped it home with a broken taillight.”
Maria paused, then offered you a smile. “God, you’ve always had a better memory than all of us.” You gave her a small nod and took a slow sip, the whiskey burning just enough to keep you tethered to the moment. Rhett turned toward you briefly, nudging your boot with his under the table like a reflex.
“That was the same night you duct-taped the handlebars back on, right? Got the damn thing running again in fifteen minutes?”
“Thirteen,” You murmured, lips quirking just slightly.
“Course it was.” He grinned, bumping your shoulder lightly with his. But then Maria asked another question–something about Denver; a story you hadn’t been there for–and Rhett’s attention shifted back before you could respond.
You stared at the condensation on your glass.
Their conversation rolled on, easy and familiar in a way that twisted something in your chest. Not cruel. Not exclusive. But you couldn’t help but feel like a guest at your own table.
They laughed about old teachers. About some kid who used to bring his goat to show-and-tell. About a trip to a fair you barely remembered because you’d spent most of it alone, fixing a blown tire while they wandered off for cotton candy.
Every now and then, one of them would glance toward you. Ask a soft “Remember that?” or toss you a half-smile. And you would nod. You would smile back. You would pretend.
But it felt like watching them through a window.
At one point, Maria reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her nails painted a glossy wine red that caught the light. Rhett’s gaze lingered a second too long. You saw it. You always saw it.
You drained your glass.
The table blurred a little around the edges as you blinked slowly, pressing your fingertips to your temple.
“You alright?” Rhett asked quietly, finally noticing the way your shoulders had gone still. His voice was soft, too soft, like it might undo you if you let it. You didn’t look at him, you just gave the smallest nod.
”Yeah, guess the lack of sleep is catching up to me.” Maria stood then, smoothing out the front of her jacket. “I’m gonna head to the bar–get another round.” She motioned between the two of you. “You guys want anything?”
Rhett looked toward you. You shook your head. “I’m good.”
”I’ll take one more beer, I have a feelin’ I’ll have to drive this one home tonight.” He commented motioning to you. Maria smirked.
”Got a preference?” She asked, and Rhett shook his head, a boyish grin appearing on his lips.
”Nah, whatever they’ve got I’ll take.” Then Maria disappeared into the crowd, and the booth fell quiet. You sat back, arms crossed loosely, your eyes fixed on the edge of the table. Rhett shifted beside you, his leg brushing yours.
”You sure you’re alright?” You’re actin’ really weird…” Rhett shifted a little closer, the leather of the booth creaking under his weight as his knee knocked gently against yours again. You didn’t flinch. Couldn’t. Not with him this close. Not when the heat from his body was bleeding into your side and curling around your skin like something unspoken.
And then you caught it–that scent.
Faint, but unmistakable. A soft, masculine heat rising off his collar, sunk into the fabric of his shirt. It was that cologne he always wore for circuits–something low and woodsy, edged with spice, like cedar and cracked pepper and the memory of summer sweat. The kind of scent that lingered even after he was gone, that clung to his flannel when you borrowed it, that sank into your lungs and made your stomach tighten without warning. You’d never asked what it was. You didn’t need to. You knew it like you knew the sound of your name when he said it quiet.
And it always made you a little dizzy.
You blinked once, twice, trying to keep your face steady as your gaze finally flicked toward him.
“I said I’m fine, Rhett,” You murmured, a little firmer this time. “Just exhausted.” But he didn’t back off. Not completely.
His brows drew in slightly as he studied you, mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a frown. Those blue eyes–always a little too clear, always a little too honest—swept over your face like he was reading it in a language he used to speak fluently but hadn’t practiced in years. He looked at your cheeks. Your jaw. Your eyes. He tilted his head just a fraction, lips parting like he was about to say something and then thinking better of it.
And then, finally, he nodded–slow, thoughtful.
“Alright…” He started, voice quieter now, more careful. “After this round, I’ll take you home.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an offer. It was something softer than that. A promise tucked inside a sentence.
You opened your mouth to argue–to say you could take care of yourself, to brush it off like always–but before you could get the words out, Maria returned. She set a glass of water in front of you, and took one beer for herself and handed the other to Rhett, her fingers brushing against his. You watched him glance up with that familiar, easy smile.
“Appreciate it,” He said, nodding.
Maria slid back into her seat, eyes flicking between the two of you for half a second before she leaned in again, chin resting on one hand, and launched straight back into whatever story she’d started before–something about a concert she went to in Austin, a rooftop party of sorts.
You listened with one ear, the other still tuned to the quiet place inside your chest that was trying not to crack open.
You nursed your glass of water. You forced a smile.
And all the while, you felt Rhett’s leg still pressed against yours beneath the table, warm and unmoving.
As if some part of him still remembered you were there. Even if the rest had already started drifting.
Rhett nursed the last of his beer with an absent sort of slowness, fingers rolling the base of the bottle in tight little circles against the table like he was working something out in his head. Maria was still talking, still smiling–her voice soft and syrupy in the warm barlight–but his eyes flicked toward the clock above the jukebox.
And when his bottle hit the table with a soft thunk, you already knew what was coming.
“Well,” Rhett drawled, wiping his hands on his jeans and pushing up from the booth, “We oughta get goin’. Gonna be a long drive back to Wabang.”
Maria sat up a little straighter, her smile faltering just slightly. “Oh–are you headed out already?”
He nodded, casting a brief glance your way. “Yeah, gettin’ late. You need a ride back or…?”
She shook her head quickly, waving a hand. “No, no, I’m good. I’m stayin’ with some friends out here for another day or two. Figured I’d ease my way back into town life.”
Rhett grinned, all teeth and comfort. “Well, I’ll definitely call you.”
Maria bit her bottom lip–barely–but you saw it. Like punctuation on a sentence that didn’t need saying. “I’d really like that.”
Then her gaze shifted toward you, warm and easy. “We should all do this again sometime, eh?”
You gave her a nod. Tight. Quick. Polite. “Yeah. Definitely.”
She smiled one last time and turned away to rejoin her friends at the bar.
Rhett didn’t say much as you both made your way outside–boots crunching gravel, the cool night air curling around your ankles like smoke. The neon sign buzzed overhead, painting the parking lot in pale, flickering yellow.
You reached into your back pocket without a word, dug out his keys, and tossed them over. He caught them easily, looking at you like he wanted to say something, but you were already climbing into the passenger seat. The door slammed shut harder than it needed to, the echo of it biting into the quiet.
You leaned against the door, body turned away from him, cheek resting against the cool window as you stared out into the night.
Rhett slid into the driver’s seat, settling in with a soft exhale as he buckled in and adjusted the rearview mirror. He started the engine–it rumbled to life with the low growl of something familiar, something that usually made you feel steady.
Tonight though…It just made you feel even more tired.
“Hopefully you can catch some sleep while I’m drivin’,” He said, his voice low, maybe even a little hopeful.
“Yeah…” The word left your mouth flat and dull, dry as dust. Rhett turned to glance at you, the concern already knitting into his brow. But you were already reaching into the backseat, fingers curling around the flannel that always lived there–the dark blue one he sometimes wore when he was cold and you always stole when you wanted to feel his warmth. You tugged it over you, and didn’t glance his way for the rest of the ride, fading off into a sleepy haze.
————————
The shop smelled like motor oil, burnt rubber, and heat-soaked metal–the scent of long hours and too many worn-out engines trying to hold on. The radio murmured low in the corner, old country drifting from the busted speaker, the static crackling between verses like background noise to your every exhale.
It was just past noon, but the heat had already settled in for the day. The big bay doors were rolled open, sunlight spilling across the concrete in sharp streaks, cutting through the floating dust like gold through smoke. You were bent over the open hood of a ‘97 Ford Ranger, your shoulders glinting with sweat, black tank top sticking to your back in places where the fabric met skin. The sleeves of your navy jumpsuit were tied around your waist, the whole thing cinched low on your hips and streaked with oil from earlier jobs.
Rhett was sitting on the workbench a few feet away, his boots propped on the lower shelf, stool tilted back dangerously as he rocked on two legs like it didn’t matter if he tipped over. His ballcap was pulled low, his light brown hair curling out from the back, his jaw working absently around a toothpick as he talked–still talking–about her.
“…I mean, I dunno,” He was saying, shifting his weight again, “She called me last night after dinner just to talk–like real late too, almost midnight. We didn’t talk about much, just…Stuff. Nothin’ important. But it was nice, y’know?” He tapped his fingers against his thigh, voice casual, but his brows were slightly furrowed like the whole thing was keeping him awake.
You hummed a soft acknowledgment, eyes trained on the belt tensioner you were adjusting. The socket wrench in your hand clicked steadily with each turn, your knuckles smudged with grease, fingernails stained half-permanently. Sweat beaded on your lower back and slipped beneath the waistband of your suit.
“Anyway,” Rhett continued, “She said she might swing by the circuit again this weekend. Wants to grab coffee first. Think that means somethin’?” His voice dipped into something hopeful. “I mean, she doesn’t have to make the first move, but…It’s been weeks and I still can’t tell if she’s just bein’ polite or if she’s actually–y’know–interested.”
You blew out a slow breath through your nose, kept your eyes on the pulley system as you tugged the belt back into place. “Dunno, Rhett. She’s hard to read.”
He paused, like he was expecting more. When you didn’t add anything, he scratched at his jaw and pushed the stool back down flat.
“You ever notice how she touches my arm a lot when she laughs?” He asked, tone casual, but a little eager. “Like, not in a weird way, just kinda light. She’s always been touchy though. That don’t mean much, does it?”
“Not always,” You mumbled, wrench clacking again. “Could just be her way.”
Rhett leaned forward, elbows on his knees now. His gaze was drifting, not really focused on the cabinets or the tools. Not even on the truck. It was on you. On the way your tank top rode up just a little when you reached for a tool. The way your back muscles shifted beneath sun-warmed skin. How your hair clung to the nape of your neck in sticky curls. He took a sip from the bottle of Gatorade he’d barely touched, then swallowed slowly.
“You always been good at figurin’ people out,” He said after a beat, softer. “You’d tell me if I was readin’ into it too much, right?”
“Sure,” You replied, brushing a hand across your forehead, leaving a streak of dirt there without realizing. You stood up straighter to stretch your spine, a soft crack echoing as your hands went to your lower back. Rhett’s eyes flicked down your side–followed the way the tied sleeves of your jumpsuit tugged the tank top tight across your waist, the glint of your exposed hip where your shirt had ridden up slightly. He quickly looked away, rubbed the back of his neck.
“I just keep thinkin’ about how she left, y’know?” He muttered, almost to himself. “And now she’s back and it’s like nothin’ happened. Like we can just…Pick up where we left off.”
You finally glanced over your shoulder at him, one brow arched. “Did you leave anything to pick up?”
Rhett opened his mouth. Shut it and thought for a second, “No. I mean, not really. Not out loud. But I always thought…” He shook his head, letting the words trail off like a loose wire. “I dunno what I thought. I guess I just missed her.”
Your lips pressed together into a flat line, but you didn’t say anything. Not at first.
“I get it,” You finally muttered, wiping your hands on a rag. “She’s easy to miss.”
Rhett tilted his head slightly at the tone, like he was hearing something he wasn’t meant to catch. “You don’t like her much, do you?”
You paused, grip tightening just a little on the wrench.
“I don’t not like her,” You said slowly, choosing each word carefully. “She’s…Fine. Y’know how I am with people…” He squinted at you, suspicion tugging at his features like a loose thread. But then his eyes dropped again–to your neck, your collarbone, the bare line of your shoulder as you leaned over the engine again. He chewed the inside of his cheek.
“Was thinkin’ of askin’ her to come to the Fourth of July thing next week,” He said, casual but deliberate, watching for your reaction. “Figured it’d be nice to have her meet everyone again…Y’know, properly.” You didn’t flinch. You didn’t roll your eyes. You didn’t say anything cruel. But your fingers curled around your wrench tighter than before, the metal biting into your palm.
“Sure,” You said with a hollow shrug. “Bring whoever you want, I’m sure everyone would love to see her.”
Rhett watched you for a moment longer, unreadable.
“You ever gonna tell me what’s really goin’ on in that head of yours?” He asked, almost teasing, but his voice dropped just a little at the end.
You didn’t look at him. Just reached back into the engine block.
“Nothin’ is going on up here, I’m just payin’ attention to this customer's car.” Rhett knew better than to believe that.
He’d seen it with his own eyes–felt it in the air, even if you were too proud or too stubborn to admit it. You used to meet his gaze across a room and hold it, unbothered, cocky even, like you knew exactly what kind of effect you had on him. But now? Every time Maria’s name came up, you flinched just a little, like you were bracing for a hit. And whenever the three of you were in the same space–which was rare because you made it rare–you got quiet. Distant. You’d hover near the edge of the group, arms crossed, mouth pressed flat, eyes focused on anything but them.
And he remembered.
He remembered asking if you wanted to come out with him and Maria after that first weekend she rolled back into town. It had been a simple question, low-stakes. Just a casual invite.
But you didn’t even think about it–you just said, “Can’t. I’m busy.”
Didn’t even ask what night.
You’d turned him down so fast it had made his head spin. And after that, whenever he mentioned Maria, you got this far-off look like your mind had slipped into neutral. Like you weren’t even there anymore.
He shifted on the stool now, elbow digging into his knee, watching the way you moved with quiet precision–like you were using the engine block to avoid him. Like if you focused hard enough on the bolts and belts, you could keep the rest of the world from touching you.
Sometimes he wished he could read minds.
Not for anything big or cosmic–just so he could finally know what the hell went on behind your eyes when you looked at him.
What you thought when Maria’s name came up.
What you thought when he said she might come to the Fourth of July thing.
What you thought about him, period.
Did you think he was being desperate? Clingy? Chasing someone who didn’t deserve to be chased? Or did you just not care anymore?
“You sure nothin’s goin’ on in that head?” He asked again, a little quieter this time.
Still no answer. Just the soft click of your tools.
Rhett let out a slow breath, set his Gatorade bottle on the bench beside him with a soft thunk. He looked at the concrete floor, then back at you.
“Y’know, sometimes it feels like you’re playin’ wingman,” He said after a beat. “Only you’re not rootin’ for me to win.”
You froze for just half a second–barely enough for anyone else to notice–but Rhett caught it.
He always did.
Then you straightened up again, slow and careful, wiping the back of your neck with the same rag you’d used on your hands.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He shrugged, but it was tight. Guarded.
“Means you show up, sure. But you don’t really wanna be there. You say you’re happy for me, but I can tell you’re not. You act like you’re helpin’ but you keep your distance. It’s like…you’re close enough to see it all, but never close enough to be part of it.” Your jaw tensed, lips parting just slightly like you wanted to fire back something sharp–but nothing came. So Rhett leaned forward again, resting his forearms on his thighs.
“Do you want me to stop talkin’ about her?” He asked gently. “Just say the word, and I will. I swear I will.” Your eyes finally met his–steady, unreadable. And for a moment, he thought you might actually tell him. That you might finally crack open whatever it was you were hiding behind grease-streaked skin and bitten-off words.
But instead you said:
”I don’t care Rhett, you can talk about her till the cows come home.” And you turned back to the engine.
————————
The fireworks had already started by the time you sank into the corner of the worn-out couch, your dad’s recliner creaking as he shifted beside you. The TV was low, tuned to some classic western neither of you were really watching. Outside, through the screen door, you could hear the faint distant pop of celebratory explosions, followed by a round of cheers from somewhere down the road. The air was thick with summer—warm and buzzing with mosquitoes, smoke from backyard grills clinging to everything like memory.
You hadn’t told Rhett you weren’t coming.
You’d texted Perry earlier–just a short message, simple and vague.
“Can’t make it tonight. Not feelin’ great. Tell Rhett sorry.”
He sent back a thumbs-up emoji and nothing else, which was honestly a mercy. Your dad glanced over from where he was leafing through the town paper, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He didn’t look at you right away when he spoke.
“Didn’t you have plans tonight with the Abbotts?” He asked, casual but pointed. “Royal told me they were havin’ a Fourth of July party.”
You didn’t answer right away. Just shifted in your seat and tugged the throw blanket higher over your lap, even though it was too hot for it. Your voice came out low.
“Yeah. Just not feelin’ well.” That made him look up. He tilted his chin slightly, peering at you over the tops of his glasses.
“All of a sudden? You were fine at work today…Could’ve sworn you were elbows-deep in someone’s transmission this afternoon.” You shrugged, eyes fixed on the soft glow of the television.
“Guess it hit me late.”
He didn’t push at first. Just turned a page in his paper with a slow rustle, let the silence stretch like taffy. You thought maybe he’d drop it. But then–
“This ain’t about Maria comin’ back now, is it?” You groaned, throwing your head back against the cushion.
“Why does everything have to come back to her all the damn time? Can’t I just not feel good?” Your dad raised his brows like you’d just proved his point.
“Well,” He said slowly, “That answers my question.” You shot him a look, but it lacked heat.
“Are you jealous that she’s gettin’ Rhett’s attention?” He asked plainly, like he was asking about the weather. “I mean–I ain’t judgin’. You’ve always liked that boy, ever since y’all were knee-high and runnin’ around this place like wild dogs.”
“I have not,” You muttered, crossing your arms tighter over your chest.
“Sure you haven’t,” He teased, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And I suppose I imagined the way you used to light up like a damn Christmas tree whenever he’d show up on that beat-up four-wheeler.” You opened your mouth, then closed it, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, looking over at you again–not teasing now, just fatherly. Tired, maybe.
“Look, I know it ain’t easy. Watchin’ someone you care about look the other way. But if you want something different…You gotta say something different. Boy’s not a mind reader.”
“I know that,” You replied softly, after a long beat. Your throat felt tight. “I just…It’s not that simple.”
“Never is,” He agreed, settling back with a soft grunt. “But you keep sittin’ on your hands, and someone else is gonna take the spot you won’t claim.” You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really.
Because across town, Rhett was probably smiling at her the way he used to smile at you. Probably handing her a cold drink, nudging her shoulder when she laughed, leaning in a little too close like it was second nature. You could picture it too well. That easy charm. That golden light. The kind of warmth he didn’t even know he carried.
And maybe, just maybe, it used to be yours.
But not tonight.
Tonight, you were just a ghost in a room you used to stand in, watching from the quiet side of town as the fireworks bloomed without you.
You stayed curled on the couch beside your dad for another hour or so, the two of you watching the rest of the Western he had put on in a silent that wasn’t uncomfortable–but felt heavier than usual.
Every now and then, he’d make a quiet comment about the film or chuckle under his breath, and you’d hum in response, but your mind had long drifted elsewhere. You couldn’t stop picturing it: Rhett laughing under the glow of string lights, standing too close to Maria, that loose and familiar posture he used when he felt wanted. When he felt seen.
Eventually, the credits rolled, the TV dimmed, and the old western faded into static hum. You stretched slowly, working the tension from your shoulders before pushing to your feet.
“I’m gonna head out,” You said quietly, brushing your hand down the side of your sweatpants. “Gotta wash off the day.”Your dad didn’t look up from his recliner, but he nodded once, the paper still resting in his lap.
“Alright, kid. Tell the ghosts I said hi.”
You snorted softly. “Yeah, I’ll light ‘em a candle.” You stepped toward the front door and reached for the handle–then paused. Rain.
The sound hit your ears before you even saw it–soft, steady, the kind of slow summer drizzle that snuck up on you after sundown. You opened the door and stood in the frame for a second, watching the raindrops dance in the yellow glow of the porch light. The gravel was soaked already, puddles forming in the grooves where the driveway dipped, and the path to the loft looked like a slick, muddy mess.
“Well, shit,” You muttered, eyeing the way your breath curled in the humid air. “Rarely rains on the Fourth.”
Your dad made a noise behind you–somewhere between a grunt and a dry chuckle. “This is what happens when you decide not to celebrate it,” he called out, flipping another page in the paper. “The weather takes it personal.”
You huffed a laugh and grabbed your old black windbreaker from the coat rack, shrugging it over your shoulders. “Guess I’ll just have to make it up to the weather next year.” With that, you slipped out onto the porch, tugged the hood up, and jogged down the steps.
The mud squelched under your boots immediately, sucking at the soles with every step, but you kept going, ducking your chin down against the rain. Your loft stood about forty yards behind the house, nestled at the edge of the property where the grass met the tree line. The walk was familiar, even in the dark, and your feet followed the worn path instinctively–even if the occasional puddle slowed you down.
The rain soaked through your jeans by the time you made it to the porch. You slipped your key into the door and turned it, heart settling as the lock clicked open.
The smell hit you first–warm wood and lavender, the faint trace of engine oil clinging to the boots by the door. You stepped inside and shut the door behind you with a soft thud, shaking yourself off like a dog and dragging your hood down with a sigh.
The lights were low–just the ones above the kitchen sink and the little Edison bulb lamp you always left on beside the couch. You didn’t bother turning on the overheads. The place felt better dim.
The loft was everything you needed and nothing you didn’t.
It was open-concept, all one floor, no walls to separate everything–just beams and slanted ceilings, wood-paneled walls stained a soft, honeyed brown that caught the light like something out of a dream. Your father had built it himself for your eighteenth birthday, saying, “Every girl needs a place she can disappear to. Somewhere that’s hers.” He’d smacked the blueprints on the dining table with a grin and said he didn’t want to know who was coming or going, didn’t want to hear anything about late nights or early mornings. He just wanted you to have space. Independence. Freedom.
You had cried when he showed you the key.
The place was cozy–homey in a way that didn’t require explanation. The kitchen sat along the far wall, rustic cabinets painted sage green, an old farmhouse sink surrounded by chipped enamel counters, your mug collection hanging from hooks above the stove. To the right was your sleeping space–a big, soft bed piled with mismatched quilts and pillows, tucked beneath the loft’s only window. Books were stacked on the floor beside it like a makeshift nightstand, with a cracked old alarm clock resting on top.
The living area bled right into everything else: a wide brown leather couch which you had thrifted with Rhett at a decent price, a low coffee table you’d made from an old pallet, and your record player setup on a shelf near the armchair where you kept your journals. The only thing separating the zones was a long, faded rug with a southwestern pattern that anchored everything in place.
Boots were kicked off by the door. Your dad’s old denim jacket hung on the hook by the kitchen, next to the keys Rhett had left behind last winter and never came back for.
You took your time peeling off your soaked clothes, leaving your windbreaker to hang dry by the door. You padded barefoot across the wood floors to the kitchen, flicking the kettle on without thinking, craving something warm. Outside, the rain picked up a little, tapping softly against the windows like a quiet apology, before changing into a baggy t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts.
You leaned your hip against the counter, watching the steam curl from the spout, and let yourself breathe.
The kettle hissed softly behind you, steam whispering up into the warm air of the loft, curling like smoke from a slow-burning fuse. You were still leaning against the counter when you heard it.
Tires.
Crunching gravel.
Slow. Deliberate.
You straightened, eyebrows furrowing. You hadn’t heard anyone pull into the main driveway. The rain was still falling, steady and soft, a silver curtain beyond the windows–but the headlights cut through it in sudden streaks. Wide. Familiar. High off the ground.
A truck.
Your eyes narrowed as the engine cut. The lights went dark. A moment later: Three sharp knocks.
Not rushed. Not panicked. Just firm. Like whoever was outside knew they had every right to be here.
You let out a slow, tired sigh, and turned off the kettle.
“Perry,” You muttered under your breath, pushing off the counter. “Dumbass probably thinks I’m curled up cryin’ into a bottle.”
You crossed the floor barefoot, pulling your oversized tee down lower on your thighs as you passed the couch. The rain hadn’t let up–it was still falling hard enough that you could hear it pinging against the porch roof, a low murmur just under your breath. You reached for the handle, pulled open the door–and stopped dead.
It wasn’t Perry.
It was Rhett.
Soaked to the damn bone.
His shirt clung to his chest, heavy and half-translucent, his flannel abandoned somewhere along the way. His jeans were soaked through, dripping onto the porch. His hat hung limp in one hand, curls plastered to his forehead. Water streamed from his jaw, his shoulders, his eyelashes.
And his expression…He looked furious.
He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, boots thudding onto the hardwood as he slammed the door behind him. His chest rose and fell hard, breath sharp in his nose. And when he looked at you–it wasn’t his usual warmth.
It was a supernova.
Frustrated. Scalding. Desperate.
“What the hell is goin’ on with you? Hmm?” he snapped.
You blinked at him, stunned. The loft felt suddenly too small, too quiet except for the rain beating against the roof. Rhett kicked off his boots without breaking eye contact, his wet jacket hitting the floor with a heavy slap.
“Wow,” You started, raising your eyebrows. “No, ‘hi, Y/N, how are you?’ Not even a ‘how’s your night goin’?’”
But he didn’t bite.
He just stared at you–blue eyes sharp, tense, unreadable.
“Right now ain’t the time for games.” His voice was lower now, but no less intense. “What the hell is goin’ on with you?”
You froze in place.
“First you don’t wanna come out with me anymore,” he continued, stepping closer, water still dripping from his sleeves. “Then you start pullin’ away like I did somethin’ wrong, and now you ditch the Fourth of July party and say you’re fuckin’ sick?” His voice cracked faintly on the last word. Not in anger. In something closer to hurt.
“Tell me what the fuck is goin’ on.”
You couldn’t answer. Not immediately.
You just stared, mouth dry, trying to find footing in the storm that had followed him inside. He tossed his wet hat off to the side, ran a hand through his dripping hair, like the mess of it might let him breathe. It didn’t.
You swallowed.
“I…” You cleared your throat, tried again. “Let me go grab you a towel, alright? You’re soaked, and you’re gonna–”
You moved to brush past him–but his hand came out gently. Just enough to stop you.
He caught your wrist.
Not hard. Not angry.
Just… steady.
Warm fingers curled loosely around your skin, grounding you.
“I don’t need a towel right now.” His voice was quieter now. Less heat, more gravity. “What I need–” He met your gaze fully, voice low and razor-sharp with feeling“–is for you to tell me the truth.”
And for the first time all night, you realized–he wasn’t mad because he didn’t care. He was mad because he did. Because he had been confused. Lost. Hurt. Because something had shifted between you, and you’d never let him see it.
And now he was here–dripping, shaking, looking at you like you were the one thing he couldn’t figure out how to fix.
The air inside the loft had thickened–saturated with rain and tension, heavy with every word you hadn’t said and every moment that had gone sideways between you.
Rhett’s hand still circled your wrist, warm and unrelenting, grounding you in place like he was afraid you might bolt. You could feel his pulse through his fingertips–fast and strong, matching the thunder of your own heart. His eyes locked to yours, demanding something, anything, while water pooled beneath him on the floor.
Then his voice cut through the quiet, low and sharp:
“Is this whole thing about me and Maria?”
Your chest cinched tight. Your jaw tensed automatically–every muscle bracing like your body knew how dangerous the truth might be. You didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared at him, and in that silence…Your face dropped. Just barely. The kind of shift only someone who knew you like the back of his hand could notice.
Rhett saw it.
And something in his face snapped–not in rage, but in clarity.
He stepped closer. Just one step. Enough to make the air crackle.
“Look at me in the eyes, Y/N,” He said, voice firm now–stern in a way that made your stomach twist, the dominance in his tone curling heat into your spine. “And tell me that isn’t what this is fuckin’ about.”
It wasn’t a question.
It was a command.
You tried to hold it together. To keep your eyes from betraying you. But he was right there, soaking wet and burning with something you hadn’t seen in him in years. And when you finally looked up at him, really looked…Everything cracked.
Your breath caught. Your throat tightened. The words didn’t come.
They couldn’t.
Because how the hell were you supposed to lie with him looking at you like that? Like your silence was the final piece of a puzzle that had been driving him insane.
“I knew it,” He said softly–more to himself than to you. “Christ.” He raked a hand through his wet hair again, exhaling hard. “All this time, you’ve been walkin’ around pretendin’ you don’t care… Pretendin’ it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”
You yanked your wrist free–not violently, just enough to take a step back. “What was I supposed to do, Rhett?” Your voice cracked open like a dam. “Watch you chase after the one girl I could never compete with and just smile about it?”
He stared at you–stunned, but not surprised. Like some part of him had known this truth existed, buried deep beneath the grease-stained tank tops and quiet sacrifices.
“She left,” You snapped. “She left and you broke for a while and I helped put you back together piece by piece. I sat on that goddamn porch with you night after night while you pretended you didn’t care she was gone. And I was there when you started laughing again. When you started living again.”
Your voice was rising now–shaking, furious and breaking apart all at once.
“And then she shows up, all pretty and polished and fuckin’ effortless, and you just light up like nothing ever happened. Like I wasn’t even there.”
Rhett’s mouth parted slightly, but you didn’t stop.
“I’ve been right here, Rhett,” You whispered, stepping forward now. “All this time. Loving you so quietly it damn near killed me.”
And there it was.
Out in the open.
The words you’d never dared say. Hanging between you like smoke in a thunderstorm.
Rhett didn’t move at first. His chest rose and fell, slow and ragged. Water still dripped from his jaw, but he didn’t wipe it away. His eyes were locked to yours, blue and searing.
“I didn’t know,” He shot back, voice low. Raw. “I swear to God, I didn’t know.”
You let out a bitter laugh. “You didn’t want to know.”
“No,” He said, stepping toward you again, shaking his head. “No, that ain’t fair. Don’t you put that on me. I looked for signs, Y/N. I did. But you–you shut me out. Every damn time I tried to get close, you’d change the subject or pretend it was nothin’.” Your footsteps echoed in the silence between you, the sound of your breath sharp in your throat as you turned to face him fully–eyes blazing, rain still dripping off the ends of his curls and onto the floor like the storm had followed him inside.
“I didn’t avoid any conversations with you,” you snapped, voice raw and loud in the warm wood space. “You never thought to say anything! You think I’m just supposed to read your fuckin’ mind?!”
Rhett’s jaw clenched, teeth flashing as he stepped forward again, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “And why does it have to be up to me to say anything?! I didn’t know this was a one-sided friendship. Last time I checked, there was two of us in this!”
That did it. You surged toward him with fire in your chest, your pointer finger jabbing hard into the middle of his chest–right against the damp fabric that clung to him, warm and heavy over his heart.
“Because you’re the one who kept chasing Maria all through high school, Rhett! You never gave me a chance!” The words landed hard, thick with years of held-back ache. “You were so wrapped up in her smiles and her perfect little skirts and how she looked in the goddamn sunshine, and you never once looked at me!”
And then–before you could step back–his hand caught your wrist again.
But this time?
This time it wasn’t to stop you.
It was to make you listen.
He held your arm firm, water trailing down the slope of his forearm, his eyes locked to yours like the rest of the world had disappeared.
“And why do you think I went after Maria in the first place, huh?” He bit out, chest heaving. “You weren’t that fucking easy to read, sweetheart. You hid your feelings real damn well. So how else was I supposed to move on from somethin’ I thought I’d never have?”
You froze.
Every word struck like thunder in your gut.
Your mouth parted. Your heart tripped.
He’d said it with such certainty. Like it had always been true. Like it had been sitting under the surface of every glance, every late-night porch talk, every ride home in his truck when the silence said more than either of you dared.
“Does everything make sense to you now?” he asked, voice low and scorching.
And it did.
You stood there in the hush of your little loft, the rain pounding like a drumline on the roof, and everything finally clicked into place.
And before you could think, before you could breathe, before your heart could scream for you to slow down–
You launched forward and kissed him.
It wasn’t soft.
It was heat and breath and years of longing breaking open all at once. His mouth met yours with a desperate groan, his hand leaving your wrist to grab your waist, yanking you into him like he needed to feel every inch of you, like just touching wasn’t enough. You could taste the rain on his lips, the bitter edge of frustration still lingering in the way he kissed you–hungry, fierce, like he was starved for this.
Your fingers curled into the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as you gasped against his mouth. The warmth of his chest bled into yours, soaked cotton clinging to skin as he spun the both of you until your back hit the wall beside the door.
“God, you don’t even know,” Rhett growled against your mouth, his nose brushing yours as he leaned in again, kissing you deeper, rougher. “You don’t even fuckin’ know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
His hands ran down your sides, settling heavy and possessive on your hips, thumbs digging into the waistband of your shorts as he pressed into you, chest to chest, thigh slipping between your legs like he had every right to be there. You moaned softly, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he leaned in harder, kissing you like he was trying to make up for every year he didn’t.
And all you could think was: finally.
Finally, he was holding you like he meant it. Kissing you like he wasn’t afraid anymore. Like the truth had broken loose and there was nothing left to hide behind.
You gasped as his hand slipped under your shirt, warm and rough against your rain-chilled skin, dragging a trail up your ribcage. Your body arched into him instinctively, your legs going weak under the weight of it all.
“Tell me you want this,” He murmured against your jaw, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me I’m not the only one who’s been goin’ crazy.”
You grabbed him by the collar and pulled him right back to you.
“Just…Shut the fuck up and kiss me again.” You whispered, your voice ragged, nearly breaking, while your mouth was already bruised and hungry. Rhett’s breath hitched, and then he laughed—low, hoarse, and a little cocky. That boyish, infuriating smirk of his twitched at the corner of his lips as his forehead pressed to yours. His hand still clutched your waist, anchoring you like he’d drown without it.
“Well, hell,” he drawled, voice thick with heat and years of wanting, “You sound a little desperate, sweetheart.”
“Rhett,” you warned, already chasing after his mouth again.
But he kissed you before you could even threaten him further—kissed you like he was starved, like the sound of your voice made his restraint unravel. His hands slid back under your shirt, dragging up your ribs and then lower again, palms rough and reverent all at once. He gripped the back of your thighs, strong and certain, and then—
You yelped softly as he lifted you off the ground.
Your legs wrapped tight around his waist on instinct, like they’d done it a hundred times before, and your arms flew around his neck—one hand diving into his soaked curls, the other cradling his jaw like you needed to make sure he was real. His lips never left yours as he staggered forward, blindly navigating the loft until your back hit the bed in a messy sprawl.
You bounced once against the soft quilts, dazed.
Then Rhett was above you, peeling off his drenched shirt in one fluid motion, flinging it somewhere across the room with a wet slap. He stood over you for a moment, his chest rising and falling, water still dripping from the line of his collarbone, his abs heaving with every breath. His jeans clung to his hips, soaked dark and hanging low, every muscle in his body cast in golden light from the lamp on the nightstand.
You had seen him shirtless before. Plenty of times.
But not like this.
Not with your lips swollen from his kiss. Not with your thighs still tingling where his hands had gripped them. Not with your body burning for him in every place you had tried to forget existed.
He caught the look in your eyes—hungry, reverent, awestruck—and his smirk faded into something darker. Something heady.
He crawled onto the bed without saying a word, muscles shifting as he moved between your knees, spreading them apart with his palms like he had every right to. His fingers dug into your bare thighs, holding you open as he settled his hips against yours, weight pressing down with purpose.
Your breath hitched. Your hands slid up his chest–feeling the heat, the muscle, the scar near his ribs you knew by heart–and you kissed him again like you were trying to make up for every single day you hadn’t.
This one was feral.
Messy and frantic and clumsy in the best way. Tongues sliding, teeth grazing, mouths parting on gasps and moans as your hands moved like you couldn’t decide where to touch first. His fingers slipped beneath your shirt again, dragging the fabric up your sides and pushing until it bunched around your ribs.
You barely noticed. Too busy tangling yourself in him.
His hands found your hips again–then your jaw–then your ass. He was everywhere at once, and you couldn’t stop moaning into his mouth, couldn’t stop arching up to meet every roll of his body against yours. His jeans were soaked, and yours were barely on, and the heat between you was enough to dry everything that had been soaked by the storm.
It was the kind of kiss you didn’t come back from.
The kind that set fire to memory, that branded your ribs from the inside out.
You were breathing so hard you couldn’t tell where your lungs ended and his began, couldn’t remember a time before this–before his tongue was in your mouth and his hips were grinding against your core like he’d been waiting his whole damn life to do it.
And maybe he had.
“Fuck,” Rhett panted, his forehead pressed to yours again, voice thick with disbelief and hunger as his thumb stroked just beneath the edge of your shirt, “You got any idea what you do to me, do you?”
You barely had time to answer.
Because he kissed you again like you were oxygen and he’d been drowning all these years.
You moaned into the kiss, your body arching instinctively against his as your hand slid up his chest–not to push him away, but just to slow him, to breathe, to feel. Your palm pressed flat against the warmth of his skin, just above his heart, and Rhett stilled.
He pulled back enough to look at you, eyes dark but gentle, the storm in his chest quieting just a little.
“You okay?” He asked softly, thumb still brushing your waist.
You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers curling lightly into his damp curls. “Yeah,” You whispered, voice shaking with heat and adrenaline. “I just wanna take my shirt off.”
Rhett blinked, and then leaned back slightly, palms splayed beside your hips on the bed. “Yeah?” He asked, husky and reverent, giving you space.
You sat up on your elbows just enough to pull the oversized tee over your head in one quick motion, your breath catching as the cool air of the loft met your flushed skin. The fabric hit the floor with a quiet thud, and then you were left in nothing but your sleep shorts–bare from the waist up, your chest rising and falling with every ragged inhale.
Rhett didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just stared.
“Jesus Christ…” He muttered, eyes locked to your chest like he couldn’t decide if he should worship you or fall to his knees. “Holy crap.”
You let out another quiet laugh, flustered but aching, warmth blooming in your cheeks. “You okay there, cowboy?”
His eyes snapped up to yours. And then he leaned in again like he’d just remembered he could. Like the sight of you had lit something under his ribs.
“I’ve dreamed about this,” He breathed against your mouth before kissing you again, slower this time, reverent. His lips moved down your jaw, then your throat, then lower–pressing heat into every inch of skin like he was branding you with it.
You gasped as his mouth trailed to your collarbone, lips brushing, teeth grazing the dip there before he murmured, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, you know that?”
Your hands found his hair again, tangling in the damp curls, anchoring him as he kissed his way down the slope of your chest. He paused at the top of your breast, glancing up with heat in his eyes, waiting–making sure.
You nodded.
That was all he needed.
His mouth closed over your breast, warm and wet and full of want, and you cried out softly as he sucked, his tongue flicking over your nipple until it peaked beneath his touch. His hand came up to cradle the weight of the other, thumb circling slow and steady as he dragged his mouth from one to the other, leaving open-mouthed kisses and a few soft marks in his wake.
You were already trembling. His mouth stayed latched to your breast, tongue dragging slowly over the sensitive peak, lips sucking just hard enough to make your back arch off the bed. And he didn’t look away–not once. His eyes burned into yours, half-lidded and dark with want, jaw working like he was savoring every fucking second. Every twitch. Every breathless sound you made.
And then he ground his hips into you–slow and deep, the press of his soaked jeans meeting the heat between your thighs in a rhythm that made your whole body jolt. You gasped, your thighs clenching around his waist instinctively, the friction too good and too much all at once.
“Fuck, Rhett—” you breathed, your fingers flying to his shoulders, nails dragging down his skin without thinking. You didn’t even realize how hard you were clutching him until he moaned.
Loud.
Right against your nipple.
The vibration of it sent a shock straight through your core, your breath catching as he pulled off with a wet pop, a string of spit connecting his mouth to your skin before it snapped and fell away.
His lips were pink and swollen. His chest was heaving. His hands still held your hips like they belonged to him.
And then—he licked his lips. Smirked a little. That cocky, heartbreaker smirk that always used to get him out of trouble when you were kids, only now it looked feral. Possessive. Dirty.
He dipped his head to the other side of your chest and gave the second nipple the same worship he’d given the first—slow, wet, reverent, his tongue flicking and swirling and teasing until your legs were trembling around his hips.
You could feel him growing harder with every second, the denim of his jeans rough against your thin sleep shorts, but neither of you moved to get rid of anything yet. You were too busy drowning in this.
In him.
His mouth. His heat. The way he held you like he’d been starving for this since the beginning of time.
He sucked harder, his teeth grazing the swollen bud just enough to make you whimper, and then he pulled off that one too–again, with a lewd, wet sound that left another line of spit trailing down your skin. His voice was rough as gravel when he finally spoke, eyes still locked to yours, lips slick and panting.
“I just wanna keep tasting you,” He rasped, his hands stroking up your sides like he needed to memorize you with his palms. “I wanna taste every fuckin’ inch of you. Wanna see what you’ve been hidin’ under all those smart-ass jokes and mechanic suits.” Your chest stuttered with a broken laugh, your nails still dug into his shoulders, dragging light lines down his back that made him shudder. His hips rolled into you again, more desperate this time, like he couldn’t help it, like the thought of you beneath him in nothing but your shorts was driving him insane.
“Go on then,” You whispered, voice wrecked and teasing and vulnerable all at once. “See for yourself.”
He growled low in his throat, and kissed you like it was a promise. Like he was going to do exactly that.
Rhett pulled back slowly, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide as his gaze dragged down the length of your body like a man about to sink his teeth into something he wasn’t sure he deserved. His hands slid down your thighs–slow and warm, worshipful–and hooked just beneath the waistband of your shorts.
“You sure?” He asked, voice low and rough, throat tight with restraint even as his eyes burned with hunger.
You nodded.
That was all he needed.
He tugged the sleep shorts down your hips, inch by inch, until they peeled away from your skin like a secret being revealed. His eyes never left you–not even when the cotton slipped past your knees and off the edge of the bed. And when he saw what you weren’t wearing beneath?
His breath caught.
“Fuck me,” He groaned, so low it was almost a growl, his fingers tightening around your thighs. “You were just walkin’ around like this?” His voice dropped darker, hotter. “No fuckin’ underwear? Just wet and waitin’ under those shorts, huh?” You bit your bottom lip, heart hammering, skin blazing under his stare.
Rhett sat back on his knees between your legs, pushing them apart with both hands—broad palms sliding under your thighs to lift and spread you just a little more, until your heels dug into the mattress and you were completely, utterly bare for him.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Just stared like he was being given a miracle he hadn’t earned.
“Jesus, baby…” He whispered, voice gone reverent. “You’re fuckin’ drippin’–look at you.” His tongue darted out across his bottom lip, his breath shaky. “Bet you taste so goddamn sweet.”
You whimpered at the praise, back arching involuntarily as his grip on your thighs tightened. One hand slid down to grip behind your knee, pushing it gently up and open, his thumb stroking the soft skin there like he was trying to soothe your trembling.
Then–without warning–he dove in.
His mouth hit you like a man starved, tongue flattening and dragging up the length of your soaked heat with a groan that shook through your whole body. You gasped–hips jerking up off the mattress, but he was ready. His hands flew to your hips, pinning you down hard into the sheets.
“Just stay still…Lemme take care of you hmm?” Your fingers flew to his hair, gripping tight as his mouth slowly sealed around your clit. Rhett sucked hard–just once–and then started working you with his tongue like he’d been waiting his whole life to make you fall apart on his face. Long, slow licks. Then fast, eager circles. He switched between the two like he was chasing every sound you made, every gasp, every twitch of your thighs like it was a map.
“God–Rhett–” Your voice hitched, your hips trying to grind against his mouth again, your thighs trembling under his hold. He pressed them back down firmly, groaning against you.
“I said stay still,” He growled, so rough and low it vibrated straight through your core. You whined, writhing under the weight of his mouth, your thighs beginning to tremble.
His tongue flicked your clit again, fast, and then he pressed in deeper–his nose brushing your mound, his tongue fucking into you slow and deep, like he was drinking you down.
Your thighs clamped around his ears, but he just groaned–louder–and pressed in harder, his arms locking around your hips, holding you open for him like you were something holy.
You couldn’t stop moaning–couldn’t breathe around the pleasure curling tight in your gut. Your hands were still tangled in his hair, tugging, pushing, desperate and greedy as your hips rocked against his mouth without thinking.
Then he growled, pulling his mouth back just enough to speak–and the sight of him, lips shiny and jaw slick with your arousal, was filthy.
“I said stay still,” He rasped, grabbing your hips and pressing them back into the mattress with just enough force to make you cry out. You whimpered–your body shuddering at the dominance in his tone, the possessive heat of it—and nodded.
“Words, sweetheart,” He said, licking a slow stripe up your core. “I wanna hear it.”
“Yes,” You gasped. “Yes, Rhett–fuck–I’ll stay still–please, just–please don’t stop.”
He smirked into your core.
“Didn’t plan on it.”
And then he buried his face in you again–harder this time–his mouth moving like he was trying to tear the climax from your body with his tongue alone. His grip on your hips was iron, keeping you right where he wanted you, no escape, no mercy.
You came with a loud, shattering cry, your whole body jerking against the bed as pleasure tore through you like lightning, your thighs trembling against his shoulders.
Rhett didn’t stop.
Not through your first wave, or the second.
He kept licking, savoring you, sucking gently, coaxing every last tremble from your hips until you were shaking and soaked and boneless beneath him, your fingers still tangled in his hair like you didn’t know how to let go.
When he finally pulled back, his mouth was glossed with you, his jaw shining, his eyes wild and dark and full of need.
“Sweetest thing I’ve ever fuckin’ tasted,” He whispered, breathless, licking his lips as he hovered above you again.
And then he kissed you.
Messy. Deep. Dirty. Tongue sliding against yours, lips slick with your own arousal, like he wanted you to taste yourself on him.
You moaned into his mouth, and that sound lit him up from the inside. He pulled back just enough to let you breathe, his lips still glistening, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run flat-out for miles. You watched the way his tongue darted out across his bottom lip, savoring the taste of you one last time like he couldn’t help himself. Then his eyes flicked up to meet yours–warm, slightly sheepish–and his voice dropped, rough with apology but still trembling from the high.
“Sorry ‘bout bein’ a little rough…” He murmured, thumb tracing your hipbone. “I… I couldn’t really control myself once I got a bit of a taste. Sorry.”
You blinked at him, breathless, your cheeks flushed from everything he’d just wrung out of you. And then you laughed—a soft, low sound, all wrecked and wrecking. You reached up to brush the damp curls from his forehead, still tangled in the storm.
“It’s okay…” You whispered, lips twitching into a lazy smile. “It was pretty hot. Not gonna lie.”
That made him laugh—quiet and stunned, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that. His dimples showed through his scruff, and it lit him up from the inside out, that boyish grin making a brief return before it got swallowed by something deeper. He leaned in and kissed you again—slower now, lingering, lips brushing yours like he was memorizing the taste of your relief, your want, your voice wrapped around the words I need you.
And then he paused.
Just enough to pull back again, gaze searching yours, soft and careful.
“…You still okay?” he asked, voice quiet now. “Do you…Wanna stop here?”
Your heart clenched at the way he asked it–like it physically hurt him to offer the out, but he’d take it in a second if you needed it.
You shook your head immediately, voice low and steady.
“No,” you breathed. “No, I want to feel you. I need you more than ever right now.”
Rhett froze like he hadn’t expected that. His breath caught, visibly, audibly–and then his face flushed, blooming red across his cheekbones and down his throat. He blinked at you like you’d just shattered him with a single sentence.
“I’ll do anything you fuckin’ want,” he said hoarsely. “Anything.”
He leaned back onto his knees, hands sliding down your thighs once more as he slowly stood on his knees between them. You watched with wide eyes, breath caught behind your ribs, as his hands went to the waistband of his boxers. His fingers hooked into the elastic, and he hesitated–just for a second–like he needed to be sure one last time.
Then he pushed them down.
The fabric peeled away, soaked and clinging, and your mouth went dry.
Your breath hitched as your gaze dropped–then stalled.
Because Jesus Christ.
He was thick. Long. Heavy even before he touched himself–his cock flushed red, the head already leaking and shining in the low light of the loft. It hung low between his hips, resting briefly against his thigh before springing forward slightly, and your whole body reacted before your brain could catch up.
Your mouth actually watered.
You shifted on the bed, thighs spreading wider like your body already knew what it wanted, what it was about to take. The stretch… God, you could already feel it–imagine it–him splitting you open slow, his hips rocking forward while you clawed at his back. You wanted to feel him press in inch by inch until you were full–until you couldn’t think straight. You wanted all of it.
Rhett saw the look on your face–the hunger, the awe, the way your chest heaved and your lips parted–and his blush deepened, but his cock twitched in response, proud and aching.
He leaned down again, bracing one hand beside your head as he hovered over you, breath hot and voice trembling.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” He whispered, eyes locked to yours. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
You reached down, wrapped your fingers around the base of him, and watched as his jaw clenched tight, a guttural sound ripping from his throat.
“Don’t worry,” You whispered, He exhaled ragged against your cheek as you guided him closer, your fingers wrapped around the base of him–slow, sure, trembling just slightly. Rhett’s breath hitched again as the thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance, heat meeting heat, slick and swollen and pulsing with need. He braced a forearm beside your head, the other curling around your hand on him, intertwining your fingers like he needed to anchor himself.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” He whispered, voice hoarse, reverent. “You’re so fuckin’ wet–gonna slide in like you were made for me…”
You whimpered–because he was right.
Then, with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, he started to push in.
The stretch was immediate–hot and deep and toe-curling. Your lips parted on a breathless gasp, your head tipping back as your body opened for him inch by inch. Rhett groaned low in his throat, jaw clenched, eyes locked on where he was disappearing into you.
“Fuck–goddamn,” He hissed, gripping your hand tighter. “Tight little thing, huh? Grippin’ me like you never wanna let go…”
You moaned, your legs wrapping around his hips instinctively as he pushed deeper. His cock stretched you wide, the pressure sharp and perfect all at once, your body pulsing around him in greedy aftershocks. He paused halfway in, resting his forehead against yours, sweat and rainwater dripping down his temple.
“You okay?” He murmured, his voice shaky but tender.
You nodded, chest rising fast. “Don’t stop,” You breathed. “Please. Keep goin’. I need all of you.”
That broke him.
Rhett let out a ragged sound–half groan, half whimper–and pushed in deeper. You felt every inch of him drag against your walls, slow and thick, until finally, finally, his hips met yours, your bodies flush and trembling with the sheer weight of it.
He was fully inside.
You both stilled for a moment–just breathing, savoring it. You could feel him throbbing deep inside you, every twitch of him making your insides flutter. Rhett’s hand squeezed yours like a lifeline, and he brought it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles before resting it on the mattress between you.
“Goddamn,” He whispered, voice barely there. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven.”
You laughed, breathless and ruined, eyes glassy with heat and disbelief. “You sound like you’re about to cry, cowboy.”
He let out a half-choked chuckle, his hips giving an experimental roll. You both moaned at the same time, your bodies clutching together again like magnets. Rhett looked down at you, completely wrecked–his hair dripping, cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide with awe.
“Fuck—you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, shifting his weight back slightly.
He let go of your hand only long enough to bring the other up to your throat—just resting it there, fingers spread gently, reverently. His thumb stroked along the underside of your jaw, so tender it made your heart lurch.
”You are too,” You whispered, lips brushing his. “Every fuckin’ inch of you.”
His hips rocked again, deeper this time, and you arched into him with a soft cry, your nails digging into his shoulders. He kissed you hard, his hand at your throat grounding you, guiding you.
“That’s it,” He panted, voice rough. “Take me, baby. You’re takin’ me so damn well.”
“You’re fillin’ me so good,” You moaned, hips rising to meet every thrust. “I can feel you so deep–fuck, I swear I can feel you in my fuckin’ soul, Rhett.”
He let out a strangled noise–somewhere between a growl and a whimper–and his rhythm stuttered for just a second.
“You can’t say shit like that,” He gasped, laughing through it, completely undone. “You tryin’ to make me lose my damn mind?”
You grinned breathlessly, kissing him again, still giggling softly against his mouth as he started moving again–deeper, slower, more confident now.
And with every thrust, every filthy word, every moan tangled between you–it felt less like something you were giving and more like something you were reclaiming.
His rhythm stuttered again–once, then twice–like he was losing the reins. Like everything he’d been holding back was breaking loose all at once.
You could feel it in the way his hips began to roll faster, less controlled, more chaotic. His thrusts hit deeper, harder, the slick sounds of your bodies crashing together filling the space like a drumbeat under the rain.
“Rhett,” You gasped, voice high and trembling, your fingers clawing at his back now, digging in like you needed to anchor yourself before you flew apart again. “Fuck–you’re gonna make me come again–”
That did it.
His mouth crushed yours in a frantic kiss, all tongue and teeth and heat. He bit down on your bottom lip–firm but careful, pulling it between his teeth like he couldn’t help himself. You moaned into his mouth, loud and wrecked, and he swallowed it whole like he wanted to keep it forever.
“Good,” he growled against your lips, voice tight and broken. “Want you to. Wanna feel you come on me again–need it, baby, I need it–fuck–I’m close too–“
You could barely think. His hips were slamming into yours now, rough and desperate, each thrust so deep it sent sparks exploding behind your eyes. Your legs wrapped tighter around him, your back arching off the bed as his hand slid under your thigh, lifting it higher to get even deeper.
The room was filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, the creak of the bed frame, the relentless rain outside–and your moans. Loud. Wild. Unfiltered.
“Oh my god–Rhett–Rhett–I’m–”
Your climax hit like a lightning strike.
You cried out–loud and raw–your whole body locking around him, legs trembling, hands clutching at his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your pussy pulsed around him, gripping him tight, dragging him over the edge with you.
And he broke.
With a strangled groan, Rhett buried himself as deep as he could go and came hard–his whole body jerking against yours as he spilled inside you. His arms locked around you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he moaned low and desperate, his breath ragged and hot against your skin.
“Fuck, fuck–Jesus–” He gasped, whimpering softly as the pleasure rocked through him, his body trembling with the force of it. He gave one last shallow thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and then went still–completely spent, panting hard into the crook of your neck.
You both just laid there for a second. Breathing. Shaking. Floating.
The rain hadn’t stopped outside, but it felt quieter now, like even the storm was giving you a minute to collect yourselves.
Rhett eventually lifted his head, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes dazed and still wide with the aftershock. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking gently across your cheek.
“You okay?” He asked softly, voice hoarse.
You nodded, breathless. “More than okay,” You whispered, your fingers pushing a strand of hair off his forehead. “I think you broke my brain a little.”
He laughed–weak and stunned and fucking glowing.
“Yeah?” He murmured, leaning in to kiss your nose. “Well…You wrecked me. So. We’re even.”
You both chuckled, quiet and wrecked and tangled up in each other. His weight was still resting on top of you, warm and solid and perfect, and you didn’t want him to move.
He kissed you again–soft this time, slow and sweet. Just once.
Then he pulled back slightly to look down at you, his eyes filled with something tender. Something quiet and wide and full of meaning.
“I swear to God, I’ve never felt anything like that,” He whispered. “Not ever. You ruined me, darlin’. In the best fuckin’ way.”
And somehow, that felt more intimate than anything else.
Summary: You haven’t had much luck when it comes to dating and sex which has inadvertently placed you in a position of being wholly inexperienced with the whole scene in general. But when your long time friend Rhett Abbott offers you a way to experiment safely to figure out what to do, you immediately jump at the opportunity–desperate to learn and get more experience.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers? Hell yeah! Reader is inexperienced and actually has a safe space to actually experiment. The dynamics between Rhett and Reader are extremely comfortable (they talk about a lot of personal things), They’ve been friends for a while (high school acquaintances turned adult friends), Mentions of Violence (kind of vague as well), Rhett is Mentioned to be Protective
Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all…), Oral Sex (fem! And male! Receiving), Fingering, Biting (leaving marks), Dirty Talk, Hickeys and Love Bites, Cum Play, Swallowing, Hair Pulling, Choking, Overstimulation, Semi–Public Sex (Truck Sex y’all wahoooo lol), Handjobs, Riding, Making Out, Thigh Riding, Praising/WorshippingTeasing (physically), Begging, Reader is described as being inexperienced they have had sex though, just really bad sex, Very Soft Dom and Sub dynamics that switches, Finger Sucking, Gagging (very brief moment, nothing extreme), Good Girl is used.
Author’s Note: Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of smut warnings lol. I loved writing this, I buy into the friends to lovers trope so much, but I also enjoy the ‘I’m teaching you new things about yourself and we’re slowly falling for each other’ trope lol. Did I go off on this and have to change my keyboard midway through because the A, D, F and G keys break? Yep. But holy hell did I enjoy writing this new segment of RAF and I’m so excited to keep writing for this man!
Word Count: 13,962
It was painfully evident that you didn’t have much luck with men. You used to think maybe the first one was just a fluke–that one high school boyfriend who didn’t know the first thing about tenderness and treated you like a friend more than a lover. But as the years went on and the faces changed–first dates, flings, those awkward two-month situationships that ended with unread messages or cold shoulders–it became harder and harder to ignore a simple, infuriating truth:
You attracted a certain type of guy, and unfortunately, that type of guy brought on heaps of trouble to you.
Rhett had told you as much–in different ways, tones, and situations.
”I can tell just by lookin’ at ‘em,” He’d mutter over his beer, eyes narrowed at whoever was looking at you, or whoever had come to pick you up from his ranch when you would hang out, “Ain’t no way that one’s gonna treat you right.” But you never listened to him. You had told him–and yourself–multiple times that he was just being overprotective, and looking too deeply into things.
But the truth was, he was right, you weren’t being treated right. Not even close.
In bed, it was glaringly worse. You didn’t come first–literally or metaphorically. The guys you saw acted like just showing up was enough, like their presence alone should’ve sent you spiraling into pure ecstasy–like you were supposed to be grateful that they were blessing you with the experience of having them between your legs.
You definitely weren’t. Not even once.
You could actually count on one hand how many times you’d almost felt an orgasm building. And the only time someone even offered to go down on you–and even then, he was half-assing the job, and made it feel like a formality rather than something he actually wanted to do. You barely felt his mouth. But you pretended it was good, just so it wouldn’t be another disappointment.
For a long time, you thought maybe something was wrong with you, that maybe your body was broken or maybe you were just one of those people who didn’t get much pleasure from these types of things and needed simpler acts to truly experience something even close to sexual pleasure. So. You stopped trying, stopped dating, and stopped chasing what felt more like punishment than passion.
And within the quiet that followed your dating celibacy, you had found yourself spending more time with Rhett.
Neither of you were truly close with each other before that.
Sure, you’d gone to the same high school, crossed paths in hallways, shared the occasional class where you’d borrow a pencil or flash him a smirk when he got caught nodding off mid-lecture. But he ran with the rodeo kids, and you–well, you drifted between circles, kept mostly to yourself, caught up in extracurriculars and jobs and the kind of boys Rhett always ended up warning you about years later.
It wasn’t until a spur-of-the-moment decision–one boring Friday and a reckless text to your old classmate–that you ended up at one of his circuits. You hadn’t seen him ride since high school, and you figured, why not?
You didn’t expect much.
But then you saw him in the dirt and the dust, bronzed under the stadium lights, laughing with his hat tipped back and his knuckles split open. And something shifted.
You stayed longer than you meant to that night. Helped him limp back to his truck. Got late-night fries together. Talked about everything and nothing, just like people who didn’t know yet that they were about to become each other’s person.
After that, it became a routine. A quiet, natural rhythm. The two of you set aside one day a week for bar hopping–usually Tuesdays, when the crowds were thin and the drinks were cheap. But when you gave up on dating for a while, something in that rhythm expanded.
You weren’t just hanging out once a week anymore. You were showing up at circuits again, slapping the rusted fence rails as he rode past, grinning like you were seventeen again and seeing him for the first time. You started meeting his friends. Familiarized yourself with his family again–Amy’s quiet greetings, Perry’s tired but kind nods, Cecilia’s slightly surprised but not unwelcome smiles when you appeared in their kitchen one Sunday morning, still rubbing sleep from your eyes in Rhett’s oversized hoodie, and Royal’s glares that he shot at Rhett.
You became a fixture in his life. A known presence.
Especially after long nights of drinking, where you’d inevitably end up back at his place, curled up on his bed groaning because a headache was already brewing.
And with that bond that grew came something that bloomed slowly but powerfully: his protectiveness.
It had always been there–coiled beneath the surface, stitched into the way he watched you, waited for you, walked you to your door even when he was half-asleep himself. But when he started to piece together the kind of experiences you’d had–the disappointments, the lack of care, the way men made you feel like an afterthought–it shifted.
It changed the way he looked at you. Like you were fragile, but not weak. Like he wanted to wrap his hands around every bad memory and crush it.
He never said much when you opened up about it. Didn’t need to. The silence was heavy enough.
”You don’t deserve that,” He said once, soft as gravel, not looking at you. It had hit you harder than you expected. Not because of the words–but because of how he said them.
When you broke it to him that you were taking a break from dating, he didn’t even hesitate before saying “Me too.” You hadn’t expected that. You had laughed, asked him why– saying you’re Rhett Abbott, don’t you have girls throwing themselves at you every other week?–but he just shrugged, scratched the back of his neck, and muttered something about solidarity.
What you didn’t know though was that Rhett Abbott was relieved by this news.
It meant peace. No more stepping in between you and men who didn’t deserve to speak your name. No more black eyes or busted knuckles or security dragging him out of bars with the same tired “Abbott, we warned you.” No more cold rage coiled in his chest when you came to him with a new dating story.
But more than all of that–it meant he had more of your time again, and that you were his once more.
Not in the traditional sense. But in the quiet, easy way where he got to have you beside him. In his truck. At his kitchen table. Laughing on his porch. Falling asleep in his living room. Talking to him about things you didn’t tell anyone else.
He got to watch you laugh with his family. Got to listen to you hum in the passenger seat. Got to see you when you weren’t trying anymore–when you were just being you.
And lately, Rhett had been thinking about things. Dangerous things.
About what it would feel like to be the one to show you what good could be. About how his hands would never treat you like an obligation. About how he’d never rush you, never expect anything, never make you fake a damn thing.
He’d been thinking about you in ways he shouldn’t. Imagining things he wasn’t proud of. But he never said it. Never crossed that line.
Not until you did.
——————————
The bar was louder than usual, the kind of noise that sank into your bones, all thudding boots and clinking glasses and low country twang pouring from speakers that surrounded the walls of the drinking areas. You and Rhett were squished together in a booth that barely had enough space for one of his thighs, let alone two. He was pressed against your side, the warmth of his arm brushing yours every time either of you reached for the second pitcher of beer you’d ordered.
You’d been sipping slowly at first–well, pretending to–but somewhere between your third and fourth shared laugh, the drinks started going down faster. Something about being shoulder-to-shoulder with Rhett always loosened you up. Maybe it was the way he leaned in when he talked. Or the way his voice dropped just slightly in the middle of a crowd, like everything else was just noise unless you were listening.
By the time the second pitcher was empty, your head was spinning, your cheeks hot, and Rhett was nudging you with his knee.
“Guessin’ it’s time we call Perry?”He suggested, raising an eyebrow and pushing his light brown hair out of his face. You groaned.
”Can’t we just sleep in your truck?” And he let out a small laugh, shaking his head slowly.
”You’re too pretty to get eaten by coyotes, sweetheart. C’mon, I’m sure my place is more comfy than the leather seats of the truck.” He teased, as he pulled out his phone.
You both slurred your way through the call–Rhett taking the lead while you giggled beside him, repeating his name like a chant until Perry muttered, “Jesus Christ, I’m on my way.”
The drive back to the ranch was a blur. You’d nodded off on Rhett’s shoulder. He smelled like leather and dust and whatever cologne he always swiped across his throat before circuits. He didn’t say much on the way home, but his hand never left your thigh–more because in his drunken stupor, all he wanted to do was feel your skin against his, even if it was seen as an accident.
When Perry’s truck pulled up to the house, it was as if your bodies had already memorized the path inside.
You and Rhett stumbled up the steps, bumping into one another in the narrow hallway, muffling your laughter behind lazy hands and hushed voices. His hand settled low on your back, fingertips resting just under the hem of your top, warm and heavy with quiet intention–though he played it off like it was nothing. Like he always did.
His legs bumped into the frame of the hallway table and he cursed softly, grabbing onto your arm to steady himself.
“Shh,” You whispered, glancing behind you, “You’re gonna wake your parents.” He waved his hand.
”It’s okay,” He murmured, his breath brushing your hair slightly, “I’m sure they’re used to it by now.” You reached his room like it was second nature–your bodies moving together in a practiced rhythm, like you’d done this dance before. And you had, in bits and pieces. Just not like this. Not with this kind of tension buzzing just beneath your skin.
You practically fell through the doorway first, catching yourself on the edge of his bed with a half-giggled groan. Rhett followed close behind, his shoulder knocking lightly into the doorframe before he caught himself and dragged it shut behind him with a soft click.
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the pale moonlight bleeding in through the slatted blinds. Familiar shadows painted across the floorboards and the messy sprawl of his clothes on the chair. The scent of him clung to the room–warm skin, worn flannel, the faint tang of sawdust and leather.
You kicked off your boots, one thudding softly against the wall, the other tumbling onto its side. He mirrored your movements, stepping out of his own boots with less precision, letting out a groan of relief as he did so. You tossed your clutch onto the side table–just beside the lamp he never used–and sank onto the edge of his bed with a quiet sigh.
“Here,” Rhett said, reaching for the top drawer of his dresser, “Take these.” He tossed a soft, well-worn T-shirt your way–gray with faded black lettering you didn’t bother reading–and a pair of boxer shorts that still held the shape of his body in their fabric. You caught them against your chest, fingers curling over the cotton, the residual warmth of his drawer somehow sinking into your skin.
”I’m gonna go grab some water,” He added, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice low, but clearer now–more focused, or sobered up, “You get changed.”
Then he disappeared down the hall, the sound of his footsteps padding softly away as the door swung gently shut behind him.
You sat in the quiet for a moment, the distant hum of the house settling around you. Your pulse felt louder than it should’ve. Your fingers trembled slightly as you peeled off your tank top, the material catching on your shoulder before slipping free. You dropped it beside your clutch, then shimmied out of your jean shorts–tight and damp from the heat of the night, catching slightly on your thighs before falling to the floor.
The air kissed your bare skin, cool in contrast to the heat that had begun to build in your chest.
You tugged Rhett’s shirt over your head. It was too big, the hem falling just below your hips, the neckline gaping enough that the slope of your collarbone peeked out. You ran your fingers down the faded cotton, breathing in the faint scent of him lingering in the fabric–clean, woodsy, unmistakably him.
The boxers came next, soft and worn from a thousand washes. You slid them up your legs, the waistband resting low on your hips, baggy and comfortable in a way that made you feel small and safe all at once. You folded your other clothes neatly into a pile beside the bed, then sat back on the mattress just as the door creaked open again.
Rhett stepped in with two glasses of water, his knuckles curled tightly around the rims to keep them steady.
He paused when he saw you.
There was nothing particularly sexy about it, nothing overt or posed. Just you sitting on the edge of his bed in his boxers and his old shirt, legs bare, hair a little messy, your lips parted slightly as you took in a few deep breaths from the buzzing that tingled over your skin, and the shift in energy that floated through the room.
But something in his expression changed. His jaw flexed, and his eyes softened–the tension in his brow melting away the more he looked at you.
”Got you some water,” His voice was quieter now, more rough. You reached for one of the glasses, your fingers brushing his as you took it, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
”Thanks.” You took a sip of the water, the coolness of it sliding down your throat and settling somewhere just above your ribs. You sighed through the swallow, then leaned back slightly on one hand, blinking slowly at the ceiling as your head gave the first warning pulses of what would no doubt be a brutal morning.
“Jesus,” You muttered, placing the glass on the floor beside the bed, “I can tell I’m gonna have such a bad hangover in the morning…My head is already pounding.” Rhett hummed in agreement, moving toward his dresser again.
”Wouldn’t doubt it,” He mumbled, “I feel it too.” You watched him open the top drawer, his back partially turned to you. He didn’t say anything else–just reached in for another t-shirt. Then, without warning or hesitation, he grabbed the collar of the one he was wearing and tugged it off in one smooth motion.
And just like that, your breath caught.
You’d seen Rhett shirtless before. Once, maybe twice–at the lake, when his whole family had piled into trucks and driven down with coolers and towels and floating chairs. But those times had been quick, and you’d always looked away out of caution. Too many watchful eyes, too much risk of your gaze being caught. Too much danger in what you might feel if you stared too long.
But now?
Now there was no one watching.
No one except him.
And he wasn’t looking at you.
He stood a few feet from the bed, half in shadow, and your eyes swept over the length of his bare back, over the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the slight arch of his spine as he leaned forward into the drawer. You barely breathed.
His skin was pale where the sun hadn’t kissed it, but scattered across his chest and along his ribs were bruises–real ones. Deep and blooming like brushstrokes of ink and wine. Purple that melted into faded yellow. Green along the edges. Some were new, still fresh and angry. Others had already begun to fade, ghosting into the gentle gold of healing. They streaked across his ribs in uneven patterns, coiling beneath the planes of lean muscle, dipping into the shadows of his collarbones and clinging to his hips like the remnants of a war.
It was violent. And somehow, beautiful.
Because it was him.
It was the proof of everything he did, everything he gave. The risk. The pain. The stubborn pride that kept him getting back on the bull even after it had thrown him into the dirt. You’d heard the groans he swallowed, watched him limp back to the chute with blood on his jeans and dirt on his teeth, but you hadn’t seen this. Not up close.
Not in the quiet.
Your eyes traced the line of one particularly stark bruise that stretched from the edge of his left pectoral down to his ribs. The skin there was darker, tight. Raw. And still, your gaze followed it like your fingers wanted to.
And God the urge to touch him was burning through you.
You wanted to trace every edge, every mark, every scrape and wound. You wanted to know if his skin was as warm as it looked. If his chest would rise faster beneath your palm. If he’d shiver when you pressed your lips to that bruise just below his ribs.
Your thighs pressed together slightly, feeling your stomach tighten as you began to flush under the confines of your own thoughts.
Rhett tugged the fresh shirt over his head and ran a hand through his light brown hair, slicking it back out of his face before finally turning back to you. His eyes flicked up–just for a second–and he caught your transfixed gaze.
“You okay?” He asked softly, voice thick. You cleared your throat, heat climbing up your neck as you dropped your gaze for a moment, pretending you hadn’t just been caught practically devouring him with your eyes.
“Yeah…Totally fine,” You muttered, fingers fumbling for the glass on the floor, bringing it back up to your lips. You took a long sip–longer than necessary–as if the coolness of it might extinguish the warmth that was flooding your chest. Or the way your thighs were still shifting together beneath his boxer shorts like they had a mind of their own.
Rhett didn’t move, and didn’t say anything for a second, his blue irises scanning over you for a moment, seeing the little movement that your thighs were making, a little tell that he had seen before from other women. He licked his lips slowly, like he could still taste your gaze on him. His voice dropped just a little as he said it–casual on the surface, but thick beneath. Heavy with the kind of tension that had been building between the two of you for months.
“You were starin’.” Your breath caught in your throat, and you looked down instinctively, the corner of your lip twitching with something between embarrassment and defense. Still, you shrugged like you could play it off.
“Well…It’s kind of hard not to when you’re all bruised up from the bull,” You murmured, trying to keep your tone light. “Didn’t know they were that bad.” He hummed at that–low and dry, like he didn’t quite believe your answer.
“You’ve seen ’em before,” He said, voice gravel-thick, head tipping slightly. “Shouldn’t be a surprise to you at this point.” You lifted your glass again to stall, sipped slower this time, letting the water cool the heat that was quickly rushing to your cheeks. Then you glanced at him again and gave a one-shouldered shrug.
“I think you’re making it a bigger deal than it actually is, Rhett. I think the beer is getting to you.” That made something shift behind his eyes. He tilted his head a fraction, just enough to cast a slanted shadow along his cheekbone.
“Really now?” He murmured as he stepped closer, the floor creaking faintly beneath his weight. “You’re gonna tell me that I’m not seein’ straight?” He asked, pointing at himself. You nodded, your laugh shaky but still defiant.
”That’s exactly what I’m saying, Rhett.” He didn’t reply right away. He just stared down at you, long and quiet. Then, wordlessly, he stepped the rest of the way to the bed and placed his fist down–slowly, deliberately–on the mattress beside your thigh.
He didn’t touch you.
But the air between you shifted.
His knuckles were close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the tension in his arm. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes followed the shape of his forearm, the way the muscles tensed beneath the skin, until they traced up to meet his face again.
You tilted your head up to look at him, and he was already there–already watching you.
His gaze locked with yours, blue eyes shadowed and steady, but flickering with something sharp, something knowing. Your stare skimmed over the details of his face–so close now, you could count the flecks of gold in his irises. The stubble along his jaw. The faint creases near the corners of his eyes that deepened when he laughed. The way his bottom lip jutted out just a little more than the top one, wet from where he’d just licked it.
“You’re a little liar,” he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching into a slow, crooked smirk. “I can see it in your eyes.”
The words hit low in your stomach.
You wanted to deny it–wanted to scoff, roll your eyes, tell him he was being ridiculous–but all you could do was hold his gaze and feel the heat crawling higher in your cheeks.
Still, you stayed composed. Barely.
“I think you need to sleep off your drunken stupor, Rhett,” You commented, chin tilting upward in subtle challenge. “You’ve got beer goggles on, and you really are seeing things now.”
He didn’t back off.
Instead, he leaned in closer. Slowly. Deliberately.
His face hovered just inches from yours, his breath warm and smelling faintly of beer and mint as it fanned over your lips. Your lashes fluttered, but you didn’t look away. You didn’t move. Not even when your breath caught slightly in your throat.
You just kept your eyes on him.
“…Guess I really do need some sleep,” He murmured after a beat, his voice quieter now. Rougher. But when he pulled back, he was grinning.
Cocky.
Like he knew you weren’t as unaffected as you were pretending to be.
Then he straightened, turned slightly toward the dresser again, and asked casually, “You stayin’ in the bed with me? Or you movin’ to the spare room?”
Your lashes fluttered quickly, and you swallowed hard before clearing your throat.
“I’ll stay here,” You said, trying to sound nonchalant, even though your entire body was still tense from how close he’d just been. “Probably won’t make it to the spare if I get up.” He nodded once, like that was the answer he expected, then reached for his belt buckle
“Alright,” He replied. You quickly looked away as his fingers moved to undo his belt, the subtle clink of the buckle sending another unwanted jolt of heat through your chest. Before your mind could wander any further–before you could accidentally lock eyes with the line of his hips or the way his thumb hooked into the waistband of his jeans–you padded toward the head of the bed.
You placed your water glass beside your clutch on the nightstand with a soft clink, keeping your movements slow, and controlled. Like that would help rein in the sudden buzz running beneath your skin.
The sheets were cool as you slipped under them, the scent of his laundry soap mingling with the lingering smell of him on the pillow. You shimmied slightly to get comfortable, dragging the duvet up to your waist and tucking one arm beneath your head, the other laid loosely across your stomach. You stared up at the ceiling.
Behind you, the sounds of him undressing were harder to ignore than you’d hoped.
A soft rustle of denim. The unmistakable swish of fabric sliding down over skin. A low breath–just a little ragged, like maybe even he was feeling the same pressure you were. You swallowed.
Then the mattress shifted.
He moved carefully, like he didn’t want to jostle you, but you felt him all the same. The bed dipped slightly with his weight, and the warmth of his body immediately spread beneath the covers, replacing the cold air you’d just tucked yourself into.
He settled on his side–close, but not touching. Or at least, not exactly. His arm stayed to himself, his shoulders turned slightly away, but your legs…Your legs brushed.
Bare skin to bare skin. Just barely.
You didn’t move. Neither did he.
The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. Not anymore. It was full of tension, sure–but there was something else in it too. Something gentle. Something known.
“G’night,” He murmured, voice low and sleepy, already starting to sink into the mattress.
You turned your head a little, just enough to look at the back of his shoulder, then whispered, “Night.”
Your eyes lingered there for a moment. On the curve of his neck, and the slow rise and fall of his breath.
And maybe you were imagining it–but his leg seemed to press a little firmer into yours.
A quiet, tentative contact.
And neither of you pulled away.
——————————
You woke up to your alarm going off like a goddamn air raid siren, the high-pitched chime echoing through the quiet room like it had been waiting to give you a heart attack.
Your eyes shot open.
A groan ripped from your throat as you reached blindly for your clutch, limbs still tangled in the sheets and your brain pulsing with a headache that had already staked its claim behind your eyes. The light from the phone screen stung, but you silenced the alarm with a few taps, your movements sluggish and mechanical.
From behind you, Rhett let out a muffled groan of his own.
“Who the hell sets an alarm on a Saturday?” He mumbled, voice gravelled and sleep-heavy.
You ignored the ache in your skull long enough to fish out the familiar blister pack from the depths of your clutch, thumb already popping the next pill loose. You brought it to your lips and dropped it onto your tongue, reaching lazily for the lukewarm water glass on the nightstand.
“It wasn’t to wake us up,” You muttered, taking a small sip and swallowing. “It’s my birth control reminder.” The bed shifted behind you. A soft rustle. A new weight.
“Birth control?” Rhett’s voice had sobered slightly, still low, but laced with something else now. Confusion, maybe.
You placed the glass back on the table and rolled onto your side, glancing over your shoulder–and promptly noted two things: one, he’d taken his shirt off during the night, and two, he was looking right at you.
His eyes were a little narrowed. Brow furrowed. His hair was a mess, and his voice hoarse.
“Yeah…Birth control,” You replied slowly, letting the words hang in the air as you watched his expression closely. “You know…The thing that women take to help their periods and prevent pregnancy?” He rolled his eyes, though the motion lacked bite.
You raised a brow. “So what’s with the third-degree, Abbott?”
He shrugged lazily and turned onto his back, his arm behind his head, jaw tight. “Didn’t think you were on it, that’s all. Never seen you take it before.”
You smirked. “Well, I’m usually out of your house by this time. Or I’m in the bathroom and take it there.”
And that was all it took.
That one sentence cracked something open in his chest and sent his thoughts freefalling.
You were on birth control.
The implications settled into him like wildfire. No condom. No consequences. Just skin to skin, you wrapped around him, begging, whispering–he could come inside you and not think twice, could bury himself so deep you’d feel it for hours. He could grab your hips and pull you down hard against him, his hands splayed over your stomach as he fucked you slow and steady until you were begging him to finish. No pulling out. No holding back. No guilt.
He wanted to kiss your thighs open, drag his tongue along your folds, taste every part of you while you whimpered into his pillow. He wanted to hear your breath hitch when he whispered let me do it right this time, to watch your expression when he sank in–slow and thick and deep–and told you how tight you were, how good you felt, how he’d dreamt of this.
He wanted to mark you up. Leave bruises on your neck, your hips, your thighs. Paint you with proof that someone finally gave a damn.
He’d be quiet about it, though. You’d both have to be quiet.
His parents were probably still in their room. Hell, Perry might be awake. So you’d press your mouth to his shoulder, muffle your moans against his skin, and Rhett would whisper filth in your ear with every lazy roll of his hips, voice ragged and barely restrained, telling you not to stop squeezing him like that. Not unless you wanted him to come right then and there.
His cock twitched against his thigh–sudden and sharp under the weight of his boxers.
Shit.
He shifted slightly under the blanket, adjusting himself, trying not to groan at how sensitive he suddenly felt. But the mattress wasn’t forgiving, and the movement wasn’t subtle.
“You alright?” Your voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. Curious. Careful. “You’re all red.”
He cleared his throat. A little too quickly.
“Mhm. I’m okay.”
You turned toward him more fully, propping yourself up slightly on one elbow, your hair flattened on one side from where you had slept on it. Your eyes narrowed, playful. Familiar.
And then–your voice softened to a whisper, full of teasing promise. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were staring at me.”
He blinked.
You were close. Too close. Your face inches from his, lips parted slightly, breath warm against his cheek. It mirrored what he’d done to you last night, except now the tables were turned–and he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself.
“I’m not,” He said quickly, voice cracking.
But you didn’t back off.
You just tilted your head slightly, and then–without meaning to–your thigh brushed his, and you felt something.
You stilled.
Your breath caught.
And your eyes went wide.
“…Oh,” You breathed, heat crawling up your neck.
“Sorry,” You whispered a second later, but your voice was breathy and full of implication.
Rhett swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared at the ceiling. “It’s alright,” He said, quietly. Voice a little higher now. Tight.
The tension between you thickened like syrup, slow and sticky and impossible to ignore.
Neither of you looked at each other at first. It was safer that way. Eyes stayed on the ceiling, the far wall, anywhere but the quiet place in the middle of the bed where everything had shifted. Where your thighs had brushed, where your breath had caught, where Rhett was still hard and trying to will himself down with a silent prayer and clenched jaw.
But then you shifted again.
Not a lot. Just enough that the blankets rustled and your voice came out–low, almost shy.
“Do…Do you want some help with that?”
His eyes snapped to you like a whip. His entire body went rigid.
“W-What?” The word cracked in the middle, like it hit the back of his throat too fast to smooth out. His brows pinched together, mouth parted, lips dry as hell.
You sighed–soft and nervous–and pushed yourself up a little more, bracing your weight on your elbow so you could look him in the eye.
“I said,” You repeated, quieter now, more deliberate, “Do you want some help with that?” Rhett sat up a little too–mirroring you without realizing it, like his body needed to be closer. His face hovered just inches from yours now, the tension rolling off him like heat off pavement.
“Are you bein’ serious?” He asked, voice hoarse.
You nodded slowly, searching his face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His gaze darted away for the briefest second, scanning the room like it might offer him a better answer than the one sitting right in front of him. But when he looked back, his expression was tight. Unreadable. Barely holding something back.
“Well, I mean…We’re friends…”
You raised your brows, your face still close, voice low but firm. “And we haven’t really been going out with other people. And sexual frustration is a thing, Rhett.”
He squinted slightly, more in thought than judgment. “You’re the one that said you wanted to take a hiatus from dating and stuff. I thought that meant physical things too.”
You shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That was more meant for me because I really don’t feel much when…Y’know…Things are happening.”
Rhett stilled.
His lips parted just slightly, his breath hitching. Then his jaw flexed and he leaned in even closer, until the space between your mouths was damn near nonexistent.
“You what?” He asked, barely above a whisper. His voice sounded gutted–like it hurt him to even imagine it.
You swallowed thickly, heart rattling inside your chest. “I…I don’t feel much when I’m being intimate with someone.” There. It was out. A truth you rarely admitted out loud, even more rarely to a man.
Rhett’s jaw tensed. His throat bobbed. Something wild flickered in his eyes–something that looked a lot like heartbreak, but deeper. Protective. Personal.
“…How about I make you a deal,” He said suddenly, his voice husky and serious.
You tilted your head slightly, cautious. “What kind of deal?”
“Let me try somethin’,” He murmured, watching your expression with unshakable intensity. “And then you can do whatever you want to me after. Or nothin’ at all. You don’t owe me a thing.”
Your lips parted. “W-What do you want to do?” He reached up slowly–like he was afraid to spook you–and let his fingertips brush beneath your chin, giving you the softest touch he could with the calloused pads of his fingers.
”Lay back,” He whispered, “And I’ll show you.” You stared at him for one long, charged heartbeat–your skin prickling, your thighs already pressing closer, the ache in your core blooming slow and warm at the tone in his voice.
Your face burned as soon as the word left your lips.
“Okay.”
It was soft, nearly swallowed by the quiet tension in the room–but Rhett heard it. His eyes didn’t leave yours. Not for a second. His hand drifted from your chin to your shoulder, then eased you gently back onto the pillow. The mattress dipped beneath the shift of your weight, the sheets cool against your skin–but Rhett’s hand never stopped touching you. He moved with patience. With care.
And then he did something unexpected.
He slipped his arm under your neck–not in a way that caged you in, but cradled you. Like he wanted to hold your head up, protect it. His fingers curled gently into your hair, and his thumb brushed over your cheek. Slowly.
His voice came next, low and laced with something close to a smile.
“Remember that time…In high school, when we ended up kissing in Marley’s closet during seven minutes in heaven?”
Your stomach flipped violently, a swarm of butterflies bursting awake.
You narrowed your eyes. “You said you’d never bring that up.”
He chuckled, soft and rough. “It’s been long enough that I think I’m allowed to bring it up.” His thumb grazed your cheek again, and you swore it soothed something in you you hadn’t known was wound tight. “But anyways…Remember when you said you were nervous? Because you didn’t know what to do?”
You nodded slowly, your voice nearly a whisper. “Yeah…”
“And I told you to just breathe. Don’t even think about what was happenin’. Just breathe.” Your lips parted a little, your heart thudding louder.
“Yeah,” You whispered again.
His gaze held yours, warm and steady. “Well… Just do that again, alright? Just breathe. Think about something else. Got it?”
You hesitated. Swallowed.
“Rhett…Are you sure you want to do this? It’s going to be a waste of your time.” Your voice cracked near the end, thick with embarrassment and doubt you’d carried for too long.
His expression shifted. Not angry. Just…Struck.
He leaned down slowly, and before you could say anything else–before you could panic or second-guess–he kissed you.
It was soft. Just lips brushing lips. But it stunned you all the same.
You gasped faintly into the contact, breath hitching, body going still under the gentle pressure of his mouth on yours. He lingered for only a second before pulling back, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours again.
“I’m positive,” He murmured, voice low and resolute. “Now just relax, okay?” You nodded, even though your heart was pounding. You let your hands rest by your sides, fists curled lightly in the sheets as Rhett shifted closer, keeping his arm under your neck, still holding you, still touching your cheek.
His other hand drifted down. Slow.
He didn’t go for the obvious. Didn’t grab. Didn’t grope. Instead, his fingertips brushed along the hem of the shirt you wore–his shirt–lifting it just a few inches before slipping beneath. You shivered instantly, the cool air meeting your heated skin, and then–
His fingertips touched your stomach.
Barely there. Like the ghost of a thought.
They dragged gently across your skin, dipping just beneath your ribs, pausing, then continuing downward. Featherlight. Reverent. You sucked in a breath as goosebumps erupted along your arms and legs, your thighs pressing closer together as he traced the soft curve of your waist with maddening patience.
“Still alright?” He asked, his voice low, lips brushing your temple now. You nodded quickly, breath stuttering. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
His hand moved again–back up first, over the flat of your stomach, the pads of his fingers gliding like silk. He circled your navel once, slow and hypnotic, then dropped lower again.
And lower.
Until he reached the waistband of the boxer shorts.
His fingertips paused there, resting lightly on the elastic band.
He kissed your temple. Then murmured against your skin: “Can you lift your hips for me?”
You did–slowly, your legs tensing slightly as you pushed up just enough. Your breath hitched as the cool air rushed between the fabric and your skin when Rhett tugged them down, slow and smooth, watching your face the entire time. Your body sank back down onto the mattress as he pulled the boxers down your thighs, past your knees, until they slipped off entirely.
Rhett paused for just a second, the boxer shorts now discarded somewhere at the foot of the bed, the room still and warm as his gaze settled on you—completely bare in the soft hush of the early morning light.
His eyes traveled up your legs, over the subtle dip of your hips, and down again to the place between your thighs–and the air left his lungs like he’d taken a punch to the gut.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of it. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”
You swallowed hard, your eyes still locked with his, every inch of you humming beneath the heat of his gaze. The sincerity in his tone–thick, reverent, gutted–made your breath catch.
Then, slowly, Rhett reached out. One of his hands cradled your knee, coaxing your leg outward, and he shifted down the bed as he gently murmured, “Spread your legs for me, Y/N.”
Your heart thudded. You hesitated—but only for a beat. Then, you nodded, slowly letting your legs fall open, nerves twisting in your stomach like warm thread as cool air hit you, followed almost immediately by the heat of his body slotting between your thighs.
His skin was warm against the inside of your legs—his shoulders wide and strong, his bare chest brushing the backs of your thighs as he settled in. You saw his eyes trail up your body again—slow, careful, like he was trying to memorize you. Then he looked up.
You’d closed your eyes.
Breathing slowly. Deeply.
Trying not to shake.
“Hey,” Rhett said softly, and you felt the mattress shift as he reached for you. His hand found yours where it lay clenched beside your hip. He interlaced his fingers with yours carefully and held on tight.
Your eyes fluttered open just as he leaned forward–and kissed the inside of your thigh.
A soft press. Then another. And another. Working slowly upward, like every inch of your skin deserved a proper hello. His breath was warm, his mouth even warmer, and every brush of his lips sent a new wave of heat coiling through your stomach.
By the time his mouth reached the top of your thigh, you were barely breathing.
Then–he tilted his head.
And he kissed you right against your core, and your whole body jerked.
Your hips twitched against the bed, your hand tightening in his, a quiet gasp slipping out of your mouth. His tongue traced a slow, deliberate line through your folds–like he was savoring you already. Like he was trying to learn what made you shake.
He kissed you again. Then again. Languid, like he wasn’t in any hurry. Like this wasn’t something to get over with–it was something to cherish.
His tongue moved with devastating patience, lapping and sucking gently, drawing shapes that made your thighs clench around his head. His hand gripped yours tighter.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, the words barely audible. Your back arched slightly, and you felt Rhett moan into you—actually moan—like your pleasure was feeding his. The vibration of it sent another jolt of electricity straight through your spine.
Then—his mouth didn’t leave—but you felt his fingers press gently against your entrance. He didn’t push in right away. Just teased. Traced. His tongue circled your clit once more—slow and wet—and then his finger slipped inside.
Your breath hitched, a sharp little gasp escaping you as your hips rocked upward without thinking.
Rhett stopped instantly, lifting his head slightly. His mouth was shining.
“You alright?” he asked gently, his voice low and rough and just a little breathless.
You looked down at him with wide, wild eyes and nodded quickly. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice cracking with need. “Oh my god, Rhett…yes.”
His mouth pulled into a crooked smile, his eyes still locked on yours. “Feel somethin’ now?” he murmured, teasing, affectionate.
You reached out and threaded your free hand through his hair–fisting it lightly at the crown, your hips rising up just slightly. “It’s witchcraft,” You whispered shakily, overwhelmed and already trembling.
Rhett laughed quietly, the sound sending shivers across your skin. “Nah,” He said, leaning in again, voice warm and sinful against your core. “It’s actually just me wantin’ to feel you come on my tongue, sweetheart.”
And then he dove back in.
This time, with more pressure. More hunger.
His tongue flattened against your clit, slow and firm. His finger curled inside you—and then he added another, stretching you just enough to make your breath come in shallow, frantic bursts. His pace increased, mouth and fingers working in tandem—sensual, focused, a little rough now.
Your thighs began to shake.
Your hips lifted and he pressed his arm across your waist to pin you gently down, grounding you while he devoured you like a man starved.
The noises he made—low, greedy groans—only made the tension build faster. Like your pleasure was his. Like getting you to break apart in his mouth was the only thing he cared about.
“Rhett,” You whimpered, barely able to breathe.
And then–he curled his fingers just right.
Your whole body seized. You let out a strangled moan, your mouth falling open against the pillow, your hand clutching his hair, the other tightening in his grip so hard you felt the tremor run down his arm.
Your orgasm hit like a freight train. Sudden, shaking, relentless. Your thighs clamped around his head and your hips bucked up into his mouth–and he didn’t stop. Not for a second.
He kept licking, groaning against you, working you through every last second until your legs twitched and your body slumped, utterly spent.
When he finally lifted his head, his lips were swollen, his chin slick. He looked completely wrecked–and proud of it.
His hand slipped out from between your legs, fingers soaked with your arousal as he licked them clean, before brushing his wet fingers against your trembling thigh. You were still panting, still half-blind with aftershocks. And he leaned over you again, eyes wild but soft.
”You alright, darlin’?” He asked, bringing his mouth to your cheek. You laughed–half a breath, half a sob–and nodded.
”Fuck, Rhett…Let me try and return the favour please…That was so fucking good.” He blinked down at you like he hadn’t expected it, like your voice alone could unravel him all over again. Then he let out a slow, ragged breath and leaned down, kissing you–soft, slow, indulgent. A thank you, a yes, a prayer.
“Okay,” He murmured against your lips, voice husky, “Yeah…okay.”
He eased onto his back beside you. The sheets shifted around you both as you rolled onto your side and slid your hand across his stomach, your fingertips brushing the light trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers.
He watched you carefully, gaze gentle but burning. “You don’t have to, you know,” he said softly. “You already gave me enough just by lettin’ me–”
“I want to,” You cut in, voice quiet but certain. That stopped him. His jaw flexed slightly, his breath caught, and his hand reached up to cup the side of your face for just a second–his thumb brushing your cheek in a quiet, gentle pass. You kissed him again before shifting down the bed, your heart pounding as your thighs pressed together beneath the oversized shirt. You settled between his legs, your hands sliding up the tops of his thighs as he let out a low, shaky exhale. His skin was warm and soft beneath your palms, his muscles tense beneath the surface.
You hesitated just a little, fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers.
Rhett’s hand came down gently, resting over yours. His voice was low, coaxing.
“Go ahead, sweetheart. You’re doin’ fine.”
You pulled the fabric down slowly, watching as his cock sprang free, thick and flushed and already hard from the weight of everything he’d just felt and everything you were about to do. You swallowed nervously, staring for a second too long.
Rhett noticed.
“Here,” he said softly, sitting up just slightly. He wrapped his hand around himself first, guiding yours over his. “Just like this. Nice and slow.” His fingers slid away, letting yours take over, his breath catching the second you squeezed him.
You started slow, pumping gently from the base to the tip. The skin was hot under your palm, smooth and taut, and you watched in fascination as he twitched beneath your touch. His head dropped back onto the pillow with a thud, a low groan tumbling from his throat.
“Yeah,” he breathed, “That’s it. Just like that.”
You tightened your grip a little, experimenting, and Rhett’s hips lifted off the bed slightly. He let out a quiet, broken moan. “Fuck, darlin’–you’re already drivin’ me crazy.”
Emboldened by his reaction, you leaned forward, licking a slow, uncertain stripe up the underside of his shaft. He hissed between his teeth, his hand flying to your hair, not pushing–just holding. Anchoring.
“You sure?” He asked, voice tight.
You nodded, lips brushing the tip. “I’m sure.”
Then you took him into your mouth.
Just the head at first–soft and careful. The taste was salty and clean, a little musky, faintly bitter, but not bad. Just…Him.
You swirled your tongue around the tip, feeling his thighs tense under your hands, and then took him a little deeper, bobbing your head slowly, finding a rhythm.
Rhett cursed under his breath, his grip tightening in your hair.
“Jesus, Y/N,” He rasped. “You feel so good…So fuckin’ good.”
You kept going, learning by the way he moaned, by how his legs twitched, by the way he tugged at the sheets. You tried to take him deeper–and gagged, just slightly, your throat tightening around him. You pulled off, coughing softly, lips slick and eyes watering.
Rhett sat up a little too fast.
“Hey, hey–Y/N, you don’t have to do that,” He murmured, pushing your hair back, “Take it easy on yourself, alright? You ain’t gotta prove anythin’.”
You nodded, catching your breath. “I’m okay,” You whispered, voice breathy but determined.
And then you went back down.
This time slower. More confident. You pumped with one hand and sucked gently, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. Rhett’s breath went ragged again, his voice wrecked.
“Fuck, you’re–goddamn, you’re so good at this,” He groaned, hips twitching against your hand.
It didn’t take long after that.
You felt his thighs start to tremble, the hand in your hair tightening as he gasped, “Shit–I’m gonna come–“ It was more of a warning than anything, but you didn’t pull away. You just kept going.
His climax hit with a low, drawn-out moan. His hips stuttered and you felt his warmth spill over your tongue–salty, thick, slightly bitter with a sharp edge that made your throat clench. You swallowed instinctively, slow, letting it slide down, feeling him shudder beneath you.
When you pulled off, your lips were slick, your eyes glassy.
You licked your lips once and blinked up at him.
“…Did I do good?” You asked softly.
Rhett stared at you like he was about to lose his goddamn mind.
Then he sat up, grabbed your face with both hands–his touch tender but firm–and kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue massaging yours, tasting himself on you and you on him. He pulled back breathless.
”You were fucking perfect…So fucking perfect.” You collapsed back onto the mattress with a soft, stunned laugh, breath still coming in shaky waves as you wiped at your lips with the back of your hand. Rhett was beside you in a heartbeat, his strong arms already tugging you toward him like he couldn’t stand to have even an inch of space between you anymore.
You let him pull you into his chest–his skin still warm, heartbeat steady but strong beneath your cheek. His arm draped low over your waist, the other curling behind your shoulders like he was trying to wrap around as much of you as he could.
There was no tension now. No nerves. Just the quiet intimacy of skin on skin and breath against breath.
Rhett sighed softly into your hair, his mouth grazing your forehead before murmuring, lazy and fond, “We should do this more often…”
You let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle against his collarbone, your voice soft. “Yeah… I completely agree.”
There was a pause. The kind that felt full–not empty. Like something was waiting behind it.
You lifted your hand slowly, tracing a fingertip along his chest without looking at him. Then, voice smaller, more vulnerable:”You’re so…Safe.” Rhett went still beneath you.
Not tense. Just…Quiet. Like your words had caught him off guard and gone somewhere deep.
Then he smirked–soft and slow, the kind of smile you’d only seen a handful of times before. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, barely more than a brush of lips against skin, but it made you shiver.
“We can do whatever you want together,” He murmured, his voice like warm honey. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
That–his reassurance, his promise–settled something in your chest. Something that had been unsettled for a long, long time.
You turned your head just enough to look at him. Your nose nudged his jaw, and your lips were still curved when you whispered “You really mean it?”
“Of course I do.” He said simply. You couldn’t help the smile that rose up then, soft and wide and honest. It spread slowly, uncontainable, tugging at your cheeks as your hand splayed over his chest and you cuddled in closer.
Rhett exhaled against your hair, one hand trailing up and down your back in soothing strokes.
“You know what?” You whispered, voice thick with something more than just affection now–something raw and real and aching to be spoken aloud. “I think this is the first time I’ve felt like…Maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe I’m not the broken one.”
His fingers stilled. Then tightened gently at your waist.
“It was never you,” He said, quiet but firm. “They just didn’t know how to do things.” Your eyes welled unexpectedly. But you didn’t look away.
And Rhett didn’t look away from you either–not even when you whispered, “Thank you.”
“For what?” He asked.
“For…For showing me what it’s supposed to feel like.”
Rhett’s brow creased slightly, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against your forehead again, like he was sealing the moment there.
Then, against your skin, he murmured, “Ain’t even gotten started yet, darlin’.”
————————
You and Rhett made an effort to see each other every other day after that morning.
It wasn’t always planned. Sometimes it was just a lazy drive that ended in a shared milkshake and quiet conversation. Other times it was louder–pool hall banter, bar games, him showing up at your place just to fix the damn sink he swore wasn’t level. But no matter what it started as, it always ended the same:
With your bodies pressed together. With your hands on his chest. With his lips parting against yours like he’d been starving all day.
The first time it happened again was at the drive-in.
You wore cutoff shorts and one of his flannels tied loose at your waist, and you didn’t even make it halfway through the previews before your legs found his lap. The movie faded behind you like static. His palm settled low on your back, and your mouth found his in the kind of kiss that made your teeth knock and your fingers curl in his shirt.
You didn’t even remember what was playing. All you remembered was the sound of your breathing turning into gasps when his hand slid between your thighs, his voice rough against your ear.
“You gonna let me feel how worked up you are already?”
You reached down, grabbed his wrist, and guided him to the apex of your thighs–slow, sure. His fingertips pressed against the damp heat soaking through your thin cotton panties, and Rhett exhaled like he’d been punched.
“Jesus,” He murmured, his forehead tipping against yours as his fingers flexed, just barely moving. “You’re soaked.”
You nodded, breath already hitching as you shifted slightly in his lap, grinding your hips forward just a touch. The thick muscle of his denim-clad thigh was already pressing against your core in the most devastating way.
“I wanna try something,” You whispered.
His eyes flicked up. Searching. Heated. Still trying to catch up with this version of you—bold, direct, knowing what you wanted and how you wanted it.
“I’ve always wanted to do it,” You admitted, your voice breathy but firm. “Especially with you.”
His lips parted. His chest rose.
And then he smirked.
“Okay,” He said simply. “You can do whatever you want with me.”
That’s all it took.
You adjusted your knees on either side of his lap, straddling him completely, your hands pressed to his shoulders for balance as you positioned yourself just right. His thigh was firm beneath you–years of riding and wrangling muscle. And you sank down onto it slowly, the seam of his jeans dragging perfectly against your soaked panties.
A quiet gasp escaped your throat.
Rhett groaned, hands rising to grip your hips–gentle, grounding, but not controlling. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles over your waist as he watched your eyes flutter, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.
“You good, sweetheart?” He murmured.
You nodded, barely able to breathe. “So good.”
You started slow. Grinding gently against him in small, slow circles–testing pressure, building friction. The thick denim created just enough resistance to drive you mad, the fabric catching on your clit with every pass.
You rolled your hips again. And again. Shakier each time.
Rhett’s grip tightened, guiding you just slightly–his hands molding to your curves like he was born to hold them. “That’s it,” He breathed, voice almost reverent. “Just like that… Goddamn, you’re beautiful.”
You whimpered, burying your face in his neck for a moment as the sensations built, wave after wave, hot and pulsing and slow. Your hands curled into the flannel on his chest, and you swore you could feel his heart hammering.
Then you pulled back just enough to kiss him.
Hard.
He groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, encouraging your movements, letting you use him–letting you take your pleasure from him like he wanted nothing more. Your hips began to rock faster, your thighs trembling, the damp patch growing darker on his jeans with every pass of your soaked panties.
“Fuck, darlin’,” He gasped, his forehead pressed to yours. “You’re gonna come just like this?”
You nodded, dizzy, breathless. “I can’t stop…Rhett–I’m gonna–”
He kissed you again–slow this time, anchoring you as your hips faltered and your whole body seized up.
You came on his thigh with a broken sob of his name, shaking hard against him, every nerve burning, clenching around nothing as your hips twitched one last time and stilled.
Rhett held you through it, murmuring sweet things against your temple as you slumped forward, boneless and buzzing.
“That was…” You panted, barely able to form a sentence.
“Yeah,” Rhett said, his own breath shaky as he kissed the side of your head. “It was fuckin’ perfect.”
From that moment on, it was like you couldn’t stop.
The next week, he was driving you home, windows cracked, your hand resting on his thigh like it was second nature now. And somewhere between a curve in the road and a long silence, you leaned over, unzipped his jeans, and slipped your hand inside.
He choked on a breath. “Jesus, Y/N–what are you doin’?”
“Helping,” You said, voice teasing and low as your fingers wrapped around him.
You stroked him slow, lazy, while he tried to keep his eyes on the road, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. When he came–hot and fast–you licked it off your hand and the skin of his stomach without hesitation.
Rhett nearly crashed the damn truck.
Another time, you just climbed into his lap without warning. No teasing. No warm-up. You just needed him–needed the weight of him, the heat of his mouth, the security of his hands cupping the back of your neck like if he let go, you’d vanish.
You kissed him like you were going to disappear if he didn’t hold you tighter.
And he did.
Every time, he did.
He was addicted to you.
And you were addicted to him.
Yet somehow, you still hadn’t had sex.
Not because you didn’t want to. But because you kept finishing each other off before either of you could think straight.
It was chaotic. It was messy. It was you and Rhett–tangled in passion, steeped in something deeper neither of you had put into words yet.
Until one quiet evening when the summer air hung low and warm, and you turned to him and said:
“Wanna look at the stars with me?”
He blinked. Smirked. “Like, right now?”
“Right now,” You said, already sliding your shoes on. “Bring pillows and a blanket for the truck bed.” Rhett raised a brow, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth curving into something crooked and full of knowing.
“Oh,” He drawled, slinging an arm around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, “You’re plannin’ somethin’.”
You only grinned as you wiggled out of his arms, walking out ahead of him before calling over your shoulder:
“Damn right I am.”
———————————
You and Rhett had a specific place you would go to when you wanted to look at the stars.
It was a lookout you had both found randomly one night, years ago, when you’d gotten lost coming back from a circuit. The GPS cut out somewhere along a winding dirt road, and the two of you had been bickering about turns when the trees finally gave way to a clearing so wide and open it looked like the sky had cracked open just for you. The ridge overlooked a valley, endless and quiet, the stars so close it felt like you could pluck them from the sky if you reached high enough.
That was the place he drove to tonight.
His hand was on your bare thigh, squeezing gently, fingers skimming just beneath the hem of your shorts. The low hum of the truck’s engine mingled with an old country song playing through the speakers–something slow and warm, full of steel guitar and dusty longing. The cool summer air flowed through the open windows, tousling your hair, raising goosebumps on your arms. But Rhett’s palm was warm and steady against your skin, his thumb tracing little circles lazily.
You shifted slightly in your seat, thighs parting just a little more, and he immediately took notice.
His fingers drifted inward–just a little. Just enough to make your stomach clench.
Then he started tracing letters.
Soft. Slow. One at a time, with the very tip of his finger, like he was spelling a secret across your skin.
“What’s that one?” He murmured, not taking his eyes off the road.
You blinked. Swallowed. “Uh… An S?”
“Wrong,” He smirked, squeezing your thigh.
“An E?”
“Nope.”
You glanced at him, raising a brow. “Then what was it?”
“Not tellin’,” He said, dragging another letter right after it, slower this time. “Guess again.”
You stared down at his hand, heat blooming low in your belly. “D?”
“That one was,” He said, a low chuckle caught in his throat. “But not the one before it.”
Your cheeks burned. You knew what he was spelling now.
He leaned closer, his voice thick. “Want me to keep goin’?”
You nodded, breath hitching. “Yeah…Keep going.”
He traced another letter.
And another.
You were just about to reach for him–just about to say screw the stargazing and climb into his lap right there in the cab–when the headlights hit the edge of the clearing, and the trees broke apart.
You both went still.
The lookout was exactly how you remembered it: tall grass, wildflowers curling in the moonlight, and the stars above glowing like soft embers in an old fireplace. The valley stretched below, dark and quiet, and the only sound was the breeze rustling through the open windows and the soft creak of the truck tires crunching over gravel.
Rhett cut the engine.
The music died.
Silence swelled between you, not heavy–just full. Like both of you were thinking the same thing and neither of you wanted to ruin it by saying it out loud.
Then Rhett opened his door and climbed out. You followed, your legs shaky as you stepped onto the grass, the air cool against your thighs. The tension was still simmering in your veins, but now it had space to breathe.
You grabbed the first blanket from the backseat while Rhett grabbed the pillows and the top blanket.
The two of you worked in an unspoken rhythm.
You laid the first blanket down flat across the truck bed, smoothing the edges with your palms. The metal beneath was still faintly warm from the earlier sun. Rhett climbed in beside you, placing the pillows near the cab, his knee brushing yours as he tossed the second blanket over your shoulders.
You didn’t speak as you climbed under it together.
You didn’t have to.
His body curved naturally around yours as you settled onto your sides, facing each other, the warmth of the blanket sealed around your bodies like a cocoon. Your foreheads almost touched. Your breath did.
Rhett’s hand found your waist under the blanket. His palm spread slow and deliberate, thumb grazing your hip, before lazily dragging across your stomach, the pads of his fingers skimming your skin like he was reading a prayer written in braille. You reached up and brushed his hair back gently, smoothing the strands that always stuck up in crooked directions. He sighed—low, content, eyes fluttering shut like your touch alone could unravel him.
His fingers slipped higher beneath the hem of your shirt, slowly, carefully. He tugged it up until you sat up and peeled it over your head. The night air kissed your bare chest, nipples tightening instantly under the sudden exposure—but you weren’t cold. Not with the way Rhett looked at you.
He stared like he was witnessing something sacred.
Then he leaned forward, lips parting just enough to drag across your collarbone before his teeth sank in—not too hard, just enough to make you gasp.
“Painful?” he murmured against your skin.
You shook your head, your breath shaky. “Stings a bit, but nothing I can’t handle.”
He smirked—something soft and sinful—and lowered his mouth again, kissing just beneath the mark he’d left behind. His tongue laved the spot slowly, like an apology and a promise all at once.
Then, his voice was velvet-wrapped gravel against your skin.
“Is there anything else you want to do with me? Any ideas you’ve got in mind?”
You shook your head slowly, eyes locking with his in the low, starlit dark. “I just want you to fuck me.”
He stilled. Just for a beat. Then smiled against your chest—slow and deep and pleased.
“Yeah?” he rasped, lifting his head to look you in the eye. “You want me to fuck you?”
You nodded, your heart pounding.
He leaned toward your jaw, kissing a soft trail until his lips brushed your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “Beg for it.”
You bit your bottom lip, breath catching, heart stuttering at the sheer weight of the way he said it. There was no mocking in it. No arrogance. Just pure, overwhelming need–controlled only by the thin thread of his patience.
His eyes shimmered in the moonlight, pale blue burning like lightning behind clouds. You leaned in and kissed him–soft, needy–and whispered against his lips, “Please…Fuck me…”
He shook his head, grinning with that maddening, slow confidence. “Gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart.” You kissed him again–more desperate now–and as you pulled back, his hand came up to your face. He cradled your cheek like you were breakable, his thumb tracing the soft curve of your bottom lip.
“Open up,” He murmured.
You obeyed.
Your lips parted, and he slid his thumb into your mouth, pressing the pad against the back of your tongue. Instantly, your mouth watered, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked him gently. His eyes darkened, watching you like he could come undone just from this.
He pulled his thumb out slowly, a glistening trail connecting your lips to the pad of his finger, then dragged it down–past your chin, your chest–until it disappeared beneath the waistband of your shorts.
His soaked thumb found your clit in one perfect stroke.
You gasped. Bucked.
“C’mon, Y/N…” He coaxed, voice a rasp as he rubbed slow, tight circles. “You want it, right?”
“Yes,” You whimpered, your hips grinding helplessly into his hand. “God, Rhett–yes–please–I need you–”
He groaned at the sound of your voice, fucked-out and pleading, and pressed his thumb harder.
“Keep talkin’,” He muttered, eyes flicking down to where his hand moved beneath your waistband. “Want to hear you beg while I’ve got you all worked up like this.”
“I want you to fuck me,” You gasped, your palm reaching for his lap now, squeezing his cock through his jeans. He was already hard–thick and burning hot under your touch. “I want you inside me–I want to feel it, Rhett. All of you. I want you to ruin me slow.”
He swore under his breath. “Jesus Christ.”
You kept rubbing, palming him harder now, feeling him twitch and grow impossibly harder.
“I want you to come inside me,” You whispered, eyes glassy. “I want to feel you finish deep. I want you to fill me up until I’m sore. Until I’m dripping with it.”
Rhett’s jaw clenched, his breath shuddered–and his thumb didn’t stop moving. Every nerve in your body was locked on the delicious, unrelenting drag of his thumb over your clit–your underwear now utterly ruined, soaked straight through, clinging to your folds in the most humiliating, erotic way.
Rhett kissed you again–hotter this time. Sloppier. The kind of kiss that made your teeth knock and your breath catch. His tongue slid past your lips, curling against yours with growing desperation, and when he finally pulled back, he did so only far enough to breathe against your mouth:
“Take off your shorts,” He rasped, voice wrecked. “And get on top.”
You nodded so fast it almost hurt, fumbling to shimmy them down. Your panties peeled off with them, sticky and wet between your thighs. You didn’t even try to hide the way they dropped to the side of the bed. Not with the way Rhett was watching you. Not with how he was already ripping open his jeans and pushing them down with his boxers in one rough, desperate tug.
His cock sprang free, flushed and hard and leaking at the tip, the moonlight catching on the slick sheen of it.
Your whole body ached as you climbed into his lap and straddled his waist, your knees bracing against the warm metal bed of the truck, the soft blanket bunched beneath them. You sank down slightly–not to take him in just yet, but to rub your soaked core along the full length of him.
The heat of him–thick and pulsing against you–dragged across your folds, every ridge and vein grinding right where you needed it. You tilted your head back with a breathless moan, your hips moving in slow, teasing circles, coating him in your arousal.
“Fuck,” Rhett groaned, his hands flying to your hips, holding you there, letting you grind against him like he was made for it. His eyes trailed up your body, pupils blown wide, chest heaving. Then he reached up and cupped your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples.
“You look so fuckin’ beautiful up there,” He rasped, voice trembling with restraint. “You like that? Like rubbin’ yourself on me like a good girl?”
You nodded frantically, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. “Fuck, Rhett…You already feel so good. I can’t wait any longer.”
He gave your nipples a teasing pinch, and you nearly came undone right there.
“You don’t have to wait anymore,” He murmured, voice thick with care and gentleness. “Take what you need from me, Y/N.” You reached between your bodies, wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, and guided him through your folds once more–wet and slow–coating him thoroughly before lifting your hips.
Then you aligned him with your entrance, and with one long, shaky breath…You sank down.
The head of his cock stretched you open, dragging against your walls in a way that made your whole body lock up. Your gasp cracked through the night air as you grabbed onto his wrist with both hands, using it as leverage while your head tilted back and your mouth dropped open.
“Shit,” You whimpered, your voice trembling. “So big…”
“Fuck,” Rhett gritted out beneath you, his jaw tight, his knuckles white where he gripped your hips. “You’re tight, sweetheart…Jesus Christ, I can feel every part of you.” You kept lowering yourself slowly, inch by inch, your inner walls gripping him like a vice as you took him in deeper, stretching around his girth with a burn that made your eyes flutter.
“Rhett–” Your voice cracked, pleasure blooming slow and low in your belly, “–Feels so full… So deep…”
He looked absolutely wrecked beneath you. His head tipped back for a second, the cords of his neck flexing, jaw clenched as he tried not to buck up into you too soon. His hands left your hips only to return to your chest, massaging your breasts again with wide, reverent palms, his thumbs brushing your nipples in slow circles.
“God, you’re perfect,” He rasped, his voice shaking now. You whimpered again as you bottomed out, the base of him pressed flush against you, the stretch relentless. Your thighs were trembling already.
Then his hand came up–slow, gentle–and wrapped lightly around your neck.
Not choking. Not restraining.
Just holding you there, grounding you, letting his thumb graze your jawline.
“You okay?” He whispered.
You nodded, lips parted, barely able to get the words out. “So okay,” You breathed. “You feel so fucking good inside me, Rhett.”
He groaned again, like your words alone could push him over the edge. His fingers curled slightly around your neck, just enough pressure to make your walls flutter around him.
“That’s it,” He whispered, eyes burning into yours. “Take me. Use me. Fuckin’ ride me Y/N. I’m yours.” He watched you with something close to awe–his pupils wide, breath ragged as your hips rolled in that uneven, desperate rhythm, your thighs quivering from how much you were feeling, from the stretch and heat and weight of him pulsing deep inside you.
“Fuck, Y/N…” Rhett groaned, his voice strained and reverent, one of his hands gripping your hip as you moved. “You’re so fuckin’ tight like this…Every time you come back down, I feel your pussy clutch me like it doesn’t wanna let go.”
Your breath hitched.
You whimpered again, high and shaky, your hands splayed on his chest for balance as you tried to keep going, but your rhythm faltered, hips stuttering with every twitch of your muscles. Every drag of his cock against your inner walls made you cry out a little louder.
That’s when his hands slid lower.
“Let me show you somethin’,” Rhett murmured, voice gravel-smooth as he sat up slightly and wrapped both hands around your waist. His grip was firm but gentle, like he was grounding you–like he was giving you something to fall apart against.
He pulled your hips forward, grinding you down slow, dragging your clit along the thick patch of hair above his cock.
You gasped, your eyes flying wide, hands bracing hard against his shoulders.
“Jesus fucking Christ–Rhett,” You gasped, your head falling back as your thighs quaked around him. “Oh my fucking god–”
“That’s it,” he breathed, dragging you again, slower now, more deliberate. “Feel that? Right there? That’s where I want you. Grind on me, sweetheart. Just like that.”
Your whimpers melted into full-bodied moans as he kept your hips moving in that rhythm–circling and dragging until you were damn near sobbing against his mouth, your clit raw and throbbing with every glide across the coarse hair and the thick base of his cock.
He didn’t stop until he felt your hips start moving in sync on their own. He let his hands slip back up to your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your nipples again as you rocked into him like you were losing your mind.
“Good girl,” He groaned, voice deeper now. “Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect. Soaked for me…Riding me just the way I like.”
Your breath hitched, your hands tangling in his hair as he leaned in, kissing up your throat–sloppy, hungry, and hot.
Then–suddenly–he sat up fully, his hands grabbing your ass and pulling you closer, forcing you to stay pressed tight against him as his mouth found your neck.
He gripped your hair and yanked it gently, exposing the smooth column of your throat.
And he started kissing. Licking. Biting.
Not enough to hurt–just enough to make you whine.
“Bet none of those assholes ever touched you like this,” He growled into your neck, rutting up into you now–slow at first, but deep. “Bet none of ‘em knew how to fuck you right.”
You gasped as he hit that spot again, your nails digging into his shoulders. “They didn’t,” You whimpered. “Fuck, Rhett–they didn’t. You’re the only one who’s ever–”
“Damn right I am,” He snapped, his teeth grazing your throat. “You hear that? That’s what you sound like when someone actually gives a shit about makin’ you feel good.”
He slammed into you again, this time rougher–deep and hard and relentless–and your whole body jolted forward, your nails dragging down his back through the thin fabric of his shirt.
He groaned at the sting. “Mark me up, Y/N. Let me feel it.” You were crying out now, your rhythm breaking down into messy, frantic movements, grinding and bouncing as best you could with how hard he was gripping your waist, how deep he was rutting up into you.
“Gonna come, Rhett–fuck–I’m gonna–”
“Come for me,” He rasped, slamming into you harder. “Soak me. Make a goddamn mess, sweetheart.”
Your vision blurred.
Your body locked up.
And then everything broke open.
You screamed his name as your orgasm ripped through you–wet and loud and overwhelming. You trembled violently, your whole body twitching as you felt yourself gush around him, soaking his lap and thighs, your slick coating every inch of him.
“Goddamn,” Rhett growled, his breath breaking into ragged pants. “Fuck–Y/N, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight–shit, I’m gonna–”
Then his hands flew to your hips.
He slammed you down against him one final time, holding you there with a bruising grip, his voice guttural and feral as he cried out:
“Fuck, I’m gonna come inside you–fill you up–gonna stuff you full of it, darlin’, so you’ll still feel me dripping out of you tomorrow–Jesus Christ–”
You gasped as you felt it.
The twitch. The pulse. Every thick, hot rope of cum flooding you so deep it made you clench again. He buried himself as far as he could go, his hips bucking wildly against you as he spilled every last drop.
You scratched your nails down his back again–hard.
He didn’t stop you. If anything, he moaned louder.
“Fuck yes, baby. Just like that.”
You collapsed forward, breath shaking, your chest pressed to his, your bodies fused together–hot and slick and shaking.
And he held you.
Tight.
Like you were the only thing tethering him to this goddamn earth.
Neither of you spoke at first.
Just heavy breathing. Soft trembling. The sound of your heart pounding where it pressed against his.
Then–barely audible–Rhett whispered against your ear:
“Guess what I’m writing?” Your breath was still ragged. Shallow. The tremors hadn’t stopped yet, and your chest was still rising and falling in uneven waves as you lay sprawled over him, your body warm and slick against his, your heart pounding so hard you swore it was echoing in his chest too.
“…Okay,” You whispered hoarsely, your voice barely carrying above the rasp in your throat.
Rhett didn’t say anything at first. He just smiled. One of those slow, crooked, half-cocky ones he couldn’t control when he was too soft to be smug and too smitten to pretend he wasn’t.
Then you felt it.
The gentle press of his fingertip against your outer thigh–bare, slick with sweat and still trembling slightly from aftershocks.
He dragged a slow line into your skin.
“I,” You breathed, voice soft and cautious.
He nodded, the tip of his nose brushing your jaw as he traced another.
“L,” You murmured, and he smirked faintly.
“Yeah,” He whispered against your cheek, his lips grazing your skin.
You didn’t breathe as he drew the next one–round and smooth.
“O.”
Another nod. His smile grew, quiet and reverent, the kind he only ever gave you when you were laughing in his passenger seat or half-asleep in his flannel.
And then he traced the last letter. Angled. Sharp. Deliberate.
“V,” you whispered. And this time, you stilled.
You pulled back just enough to look down at him, your hands sliding up to cradle his face. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide. Just met your gaze with those wide, ocean-blue eyes–like he was terrified and relieved and stunned that he’d said it at all.
Your thumbs brushed the corners of his mouth, your fingers curling gently along his jaw.
And your smile–God, your smile–was soft and sure and finally at peace as you leaned in just close enough for him to hear you when you said:
“I love you too, Rhett.”
The air shifted.
He exhaled like he’d been holding it forever, his brows twitching with something emotional and overwhelmed, and then he leaned up, kissing you–soft and slow and messy with gratitude.
When he pulled back, his voice cracked.
“You’re so good, Y/N…”
You smiled again, barely able to speak as your hands continued to caress his cheeks, your fingertips memorizing every inch of him like a prayer.
“You’re perfect, Rhett,” You whispered. “I couldn’t have asked for a better person to be in my life.”
And this time–neither of you said anything after.
Because everything that needed to be said had already been written across your skin.
jacobvanloon
prguitarman
gummygunk
areudirty
yousharknotpass
dailybridgerton
