at the strip club, I think the stripper likes me! (ch5)
summary: stoplight party at the Chi Sigma Wave house. shit kinda hits the fan?
rating: 18+, minors DNI!!!!
cw: piv sex!! (finally🤑), w/ protection, oral sex (m receiving), Caleb is a whiner and a beggar! mentions of stalking, reader lowkey gets physically+verbally assaulted (one (1) shove, name-calling), profanity, short short short mention of underage drinking? Gideon also makes an incestuous type one-liner.
wc: 14.2k
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@/calebxia accepted your follow request.
@/calebxia started following you.
The notifications roll in late Thursday night, a full day after he sent the request from your account. Lounging in bed, pajamas on, ice water at the ready, you're about to call it a night. But the access to his instagram account has you perking up, ready to investigate.
He only has 3 posts. The most recent is a couple pictures from the frats spring break trip a few months ago. Majority of the photos in the carousel don't even include him, there's one of the lake house they rented, a couple dudes on a boat, just absolute boy photos. Corny ass caption, "Only thing they can take from us are notes."
You giggle internally. What a fucking dork.
The one below that looks like it's from Lunar New Year a few years ago, just a single picture of Caleb and who you can assume is his grandma. The oldest must be from when he graduated high school. A scrawnier, more immature looking Caleb stands with a couple equally youthful looking boys.
It's kind of jarring actually. The photo is barely three years old. And yet, he looks like he weighs about 90lbs soaking wet. He's got a few rogue zits and pimples on his face, and... is he wearing a retainer?
What the fuck have they feeding been him at Chi Sigma Wave?!
So he doesn't post often. Once a year, if that. And they aren't even the most interesting pictures.
Not as interesting as the posts on the fraternity account, at least.
@/calebxia replied to your post: Hot
The notification derails your train of thought, clicking the alert to see what post he was responding to.
It also happens to be a picture from your spring break. You're at your hometown beach, cute little pink bikini, paired with a floppy, straw sunhat. Just a selfie, adorable small smile as you lay on your beach towel, waves rolling in the background.
You open the new conversation string with @/calebxia to respond.
@/you: stalker
He hearts the message before replying.
@/calebxia: Like you aren't stalking my account rn
@/you: stfu
He could see the way you're probably rolling your eyes right now. On the other side of the small college town, Caleb sits at his desk, dynamics work abandoned on his monitors, as he scrolls through your instagram. The bedroom is dark besides for the fluorescent computer screens, dorky RGB keyboard shifting colors every so often.
Leaning way back in his chair, a knock at the door has him pushing his headphones off an ear.
Gideon pokes his head through.
"She was just at the front door again. Otto told her you weren't home."
Caleb tugs his headphones completely off his head and sets them on the desk, a deep sigh rumbling in his chest.
"Stop telling her 'I'm not home.' Tell her she can't keep showing up here."
"You know how that ended last time." Gideon pushes the door the rest of the way open. "No one here wants to keep dealing with a crying girl on the porch every night."
"Call the fucking cops next time, I don't care." Caleb's fingers snake under his glasses to rub his eyes.
"The cops said they won't come unless she's threatening to hurt herself or one of us." Gideon crosses his arms over his chest with a tense shrug as Caleb groans in frustration. “She mentioned your girl.”
Caleb freezes, pushing his glasses up on top of his head and turning to look at Gideon.
“…What do you mean.”
“I don’t know, bro. She said she knows you’re seeing her.”
“And?”
“That’s it man! Then Otto intervened and yelled at her to leave!”
He’s throwing his head back with an angry groan. Before he gets up to end the conversation.
“Next time she shows up, come find me.” And with that, he’s shutting the door in Gideons face.
Friday morning, lecture unbearably early. As usual. But it’s Friday. On top of having the weekend to look forward to, you also have a party tonight. At Chi Sigma Wave.
At Caleb’s.
Sigh, Caleb.
The boy that you just haven’t been able to get your mind off of. Especially over the last two days.
Especially since he buried his face in your cunt, sleep-mussed hair wild under your fingers as his pussy-drunk gaze watched your every expression.
Sigh, Caleb.
The boy that’s currently taking the steps two at a time, big greek letters spanning the chest of his sweatshirt, even bigger grin spanning his handsome face.
“Hey, pretty lady.” He’s scooting past you, dropping a peck into your hair as he sits down. “How’s your morning been?”
“Too soon to tell.” Trying not to yawn as you acknowledge just how brutally early it still is. “Midterm’s in a week, you know. Might actually have to pay attention to the next few lectures.”
“He’ll post a study guide like he did last time, it’ll be cake.” He shrugs, so nonchalant. “We should still ‘study’ for it, though.” Wiggling his eyebrows as you pinch the bridge of your nose.
“I thought you go to the gym after Friday lectures.” Quick diversion of a conversation that was rapidly heading into the gutter.
“Going later in the day, so I’m pumped at the party tonight.”
“Oh my god, you’re the worst person ever.”
“Speaking of the party, what color are you gonna wear?” He strums his fingers on your knee.
“Probably green.” You tease, looking over to catch his reaction. Caleb can only let his jaw drop at your audacity.
“Shit. It’s because I suck at pool, isn’t it?” He shakes his head, tutting. “Could have sworn I made up for that, you know.”
“Almost.”
“Almost? How can I settle the score, then?”
“I don’t know. That’s for you to figure out.” He’s letting out a quiet groan, not to draw the attention of the other students preparing for lecture.
“You’re an evil woman.”
Classes breeze by, and you’ve found yourself standing in front of your closet, hair still wrapped up in a towel, bathrobe on, trying to figure out what you’re going to wear tonight.
More specifically, what color you’re going to wear tonight.
It’s either yellow or green. You can’t wear red, because you’re not in a relationship. Obviously.
Green means you’re open to explore. But, I mean, are you? You’ve made out in the hot tub, he took you on a date, he ate you out within an inch of your life. You’d hope it all meant something, and so not wearing green would indicate that yeah, maybe this is the beginnings of something good.
Yellow has to be the right answer. He’s not your boyfriend. He’s someone you’re romantically interested in, and you’re pretty sure he’d say the same about you. It’s not that you're open to explore, it’s more to show that there is someone you are exploring right now.
Caleb is probably gonna wear yellow, too. Right? The same logic applies to him. Not his girlfriend, but not totally desolate in the interview stage.
The decision makes you sigh in defeat. Not because you’re conflicted with the status of you and Caleb. But because you’d have so many more outfit options if you went with red or green.
You're still proud of the outfit you scrounged up, with the help of Tara. A cute, daffodil yellow, babydoll-style tube top, with a smaller-than-small denim mini-skirt. Tara had these ultra cunt yellow wedges, the yellow mesh detailing pairing so nicely with the cork heel. Some gold jewelry, body glitter, warm and glowy makeup, and you were set.
Tara went with this green crochet poncho situation, a white lacy balconette bra underneath and some dark wash bootcut jeans.
The two of you sit on the couch, sipping your pre-game cocktails, waiting for the buzz to hit.
"What color did Caleb say he was wearing?" Tara asks, sipping her coke and Malibu. You shake your head as you take another swallow of your vodka sprite.
"I don't know, I didn't ask. Probably yellow, too, right?"
"Wait, why wouldn't you ask?" She puts a hand up in confusion, pinching her brows together.
"I mean, I thought it was kinda obvious. Just because we went on one date doesn't mean we are closed off."
"Yeah, I get that. But, you don't think he might wear green?"
"Uhh, I don't know. Do you think he would?"
"I'm not sure. It's not like you guys have, like, explicitly discussed your expectations for whatever situation you have going on right now."
"Yeah, but I've mentioned multiple times that I'm not a casual hook-up girl. I kinda assumed that, you know, the other morning would tell him I like him."
"Okay, but boys are stupid. I wouldn't count on anything unless you literally spell it out and stamp it on his forehead."
"Wait, do you think I should change, then?" You look down at your outfit, setting your glass on the coffee table.
"No, I like your outfit a lot, actually. And it's not like anyone would know that it's Caleb you're supposed to be matching with. If anything, the yellow just makes you look like a hot commodity." Tara explains, so proudly.
She has a point. If anything, a mismatched outfit might just open the conversation for your expectations with him, and his with you.
"Okay, I'm calling the uber before I lose my mind overthinking this."
A short lift across town, and you and Tara have your elbows linked as you approach the porch of the frat house.
You texted Caleb when you left your place, to which he hearted the message. His response had you expecting his face to be the first one you see, but alas, he’s no where to be found when you enter the living room.
It’s just as crowded as it was during the last themed party. Shoulder to shoulder, people dancing and stumbling through the hoard. Although, you have to admit, the smog that lingered over the crowd is much thinner. Scanning the room, you realize each window is wide open.
It's a small gesture, but it doesn't go unnoticed.
Upstairs, looking down into the throng of people dancing in the living room from the interior balcony, Caleb watches you amble through the entryway. Like a sunflower standing tall amongst a sea of green weeds.
A sunflower. Yellow. As in "it's complicated, but open to new connections." The frat boy bites the inside of his cheek where he leans against the railing. Finishing off the last of the beer in his hand, he takes a deep breath before heading downstairs.
Not before removing the red hat on his head, pushing shaggy black hair back, and flipping it backwards.
It doesn't take him long to find you. Pushing past drunk partygoers, brushing off girls trying to talk to him. Can't they see he's wearing red!
When he finally reaches you, your back is to him, immersed in conversation with Tara. A hand slithering around your hip has you jerking away, whipping around to see what fucking creep is touching you.
Normally, the sight of Caleb wouldn't make you tense up. But seeing the color of the hat keeping unruly hair out of his face, your throat goes dry.
"Hey." His voice comes out so soft, despite the electronic house music blowing out the speakers on the other side of the room.
"Hi." It comes out more panicked than intended, unable to pull your gaze from the bright red piece of headwear.
"You're wearing yellow."
"And you're not."
Tara stands awkwardly between the two of you, like a child of divorce, before clearing her throat.
"I'm gonna go find something to drink. Can I get you something?" She bumps your hand with hers.
"I've got her covered. She'll come find you later." Caleb responds for you, without taking his unreadable gaze off your outfit. Tara looks at you for confirmation, and you nod as silent affirmation. She disappears into the sea of people, leaving you alone with Caleb.
"Come on, let's get you a drink." He grabs your hand, keeping you close as the mob of people part like the Red Sea to let him through to the kitchen.
Fuck. Fuck! You feel like shit. He's not doing a very good job at hiding his disappointment, and you feel guilty. You were the one that said you didn't do casual. You were the one skeptical of this whole situation, of his interest in you. And yet, he's the one who's closing himself off right now.
You were afraid of looking like an idiot, taking yourself off the market for a boy like him. But now, he's the one with all his eggs in one basket. In your basket.
A different group of boys operates the makeshift bar this time, some of which you recognize from the kickback last week.
"I have to go find Jenna for something really quick. Wait here til I get back?" He bends slightly to say it into your ear, hand braced on the counter behind you. You're nodding up at him, to which he gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Otto, keep her company, please?" He daps up the boy behind the bar, before heading back in the direction you just came from.
You turn to the younger looking fraternity member, green hairspray streaking platinum blonde hair, as well as green face paint applied like eye-black on his cheeks.
"Guest of honor gets whatever she wants." He chirps, both hands on the bar surface. The title makes you chuckle.
"Do you have Coronas?"
"Sure do. Ever had a Corona Sunrise?" You shake your head. "It's like a tequila sunrise, but with beer.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
You watch, very carefully, as Otto makes the cocktail. He pops open the cold Corona, dumps a little out, adds a shot of tequila, orange juice, and a splash of grenadine. The result is a perfect red-to-yellow gradient of liquids inside the glass bottle.
“Ta-da!” He holds it up for you to admire, giving you a full 360 of the drink.
Before slipping it into a red beer koozie.
“Aww, I liked looking at it.” You pout, accepting the drink from him.
“Sorry. Under strict orders to make sure your drinks stay in a red koozie or a red cup.”
That little bastard.
You scoff, taking a sip of the mixed drink. It’s pleasantly sweet. The citrusy orange juice compliments the beer well, and the tequila adds a nice kick.
“Mmm, this is good, actually!” Otto laughs.
“Were you expecting it to be bad?”
“I’ll be honest, the tequila-beer combo had me a little nervous.”
“Never doubt my bartending expertise.” He proudly puts his hands on his hips, chest out and chin high. “You know, being put on bar duty is supposed to be a punishment, but I kinda prefer it over being forced into 30 games of rage cage.”
“Ugh, I hate rage cage. The first time I ever played, of course I had to drink the bitch cup.” The thought makes your nose scrunch in disgust.
Only a group of underage high schoolers could conjure up that horrible mix of liquors, seltzers, and condiments. Bleugh.
“Last year, someone made the bitch cup half whiskey, half hot sauce. I’ve literally never played since, and I vowed to never play again.” You cover your mouth at the vile drink.
“So are you here on punishment or did you volunteer for this?” You gesture to the improvised bar spread out on the kitchen counter.
“Punishment this time, unfortunately.”
“Uh oh, what’d you do?” You’re laughing as you go to take another sip of your beer.
“That’s confidential information. Brotherhood drama.” The blonde boy gives you a tight-lipped grimace, right as his gaze flicks to something behind you. Following his line of sight, honing in on the giant Caleb weaving through the cluster of people.
“Hey.” His hand slides into the back pocket of your jean skirt. “Come with me upstairs for a second?”
“I literally just got here, Caleb.” You retort, raising an eyebrow.
“Not for that, you little pervert. It’ll just be a minute, promise.” He’s already gently tugging you in the direction of the stairs. You roll your eyes, before turning to give Otto a goodbye wave.
“Nice meeting you!” He shouts back over the loud music, boyish grin on his face as Caleb leads you towards the staircase.
You follow him up, watching him nod at the poor pledge posted at the top of the staircase, sole job to deter the horny drunks looking for a bed. There’s a whole second living room on the top floor. The couch looks way nicer, a couple bean bags, the biggest television you’ve ever seen, even a few gaming consoles. The frat must keep their nicer stuff upstairs, away from the general public.
Caleb’s room is at the end of the hallway. He pulls a key from front pocket of his jeans to unlock the door.
“You seriously have to lock your door?”
“When Liam was in this room, he found a group of people having a threesome in his bed. I am not taking any chances.” He snorts, opening the door and letting you in first.
It’s very spacious, at least double the size of your own bedroom. A big queen mattress sits centered on the wall, under an even bigger window, blinds closed. Closet is wide open to the room, no sliding door or curtain to separate it. There’s a desk, bulky PC planted on one side, with dual curved monitors taking up the rest of the surface area.
A bookshelf, filled with some textbooks, a couple model airplanes, framed pictures. There’s a pennant with the Chi Sigma Wave logo over the doorframe, along with some assorted band and… fighter jet posters? Some light filters in under the door to what you assume is the en-suite bathroom he mentioned. You slowly walk over to the desk.
“Nice light-up keyboard, dweeb.” You coo, right as you feel a backwards hat flop onto your head. “Hey!” You argue, turning around to face Caleb.
But he’s quickly pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it into his laundry hamper. He reaches behind him, and you think he’s about to take his pants off, too.
“Whoa, whoa, you said this wasn’t that type of thing!”
“Will you fucking relax? It’s not…” Turns out he’s not pushing his jeans down, he’s reaching into his back pockets. Retrieving what looks like a small container of red body paint, and a tube of red lipstick. “Pick your poison.”
“I’m not painting myself red, Caleb.” You tilt your head at him in confusion.
“It’s not for you, you have red now.” He jerks his head towards the hat he just placed on you. “You took my red, now I need more.” Holding out the body paint and lipstick for you.
“What if I don’t wanna wear the hat?”
“Then I’ll drive you home right now so you can change, I don’t know.” The offer makes you sigh in guilt.
“You’re upset I’m not wearing red.” Caleb just stares at you for a moment, before dropping his hands to his sides.
“I’m not upset, I’m just… I don’t know. Confused.” He shrugs a shoulder. “You said you don’t do casual hook-ups, and so I thought we were like… you know. A thing.”
“I know, I feel the same way! I just thought yellow meant like, pre-relationship, situationship type thing.” You gesture to your own outfit. “And red was for real relationships. Boyfriend girlfriend stuff.”
“I thought red meant you aren’t open to new connections.” Caleb narrows his eyes in confusion. “Are you open to seeing other people?”
“No? I’m seeing you.”
“Okay then why are you wearing yellow?”
“Because we aren’t in a relationship?”
“But you’re only interested in seeing me?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not keeping your options open?”
“Right.”
“Okay, then you should be wearing red!”
“But we aren’t dating!” Caleb looks up at the ceiling, eyes shut, deep sigh racking his lungs.
“Okay. Say a guy comes up to you tonight. He thinks you’re pretty and wants to get to know you. What are you saying to him?”
“I’m telling him I’m already seeing someone.”
“Okay, but you do realize that you wouldn’t have to deal with that interaction if you were wearing red, right?”
“But shouldn’t people see the yellow and know that I’m kinda seeing someone?”
“Oh my god, you’re killing me.” He drags his hands through his hair.
“So, you’re wearing red because you don’t want to be approached tonight.”
“Yes.”
“And I should also be wearing red even if I’m not in a relationship?”
“That’s correct.”
“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “This is a stupid party theme.”
“I told you. It was this or DILFS and MILFS.”
“I’d rather be dressed as a MILF right now. Whatever that looks like.”
“You’d be a hot MILF.” He smirks, sauntering a little closer.
“Just give me the paint, Caleb.”
“Fine, fine.” He holds out the small tube of body paint, along with the red lipstick. “Handprints or kisses.”
“I don’t want to look like a clown when I can’t get the lipstick off.”
“There’s makeup remover in the downstairs bathroom.”
You raise an eyebrow at him.
“Some of the guys got really into the whole looksmaxxing thing, started wearing tinted sunscreen and shit.” You continue to silently judge him. “I, personally, did not partake.”
“Can you go get it before I do this?”
“Yes ma’am.” And he’s stealing a kiss before near skipping out the door.
He leaves you alone for 60 seconds, max. Enough time for you to realize this guy really likes planes. I mean, he's got model planes, posters of planes. One of his pillowcases has little planes on it.
How cute.
Caleb quickly returns with a pack of makeup wipes, eager smile on his face.
"Smooching time!" He's cheesing as he leans in for a kiss.
"I don't even have the fucking lipstick on yet, you bitch." A single hand pushes him back by his chest. "Let's do handprints first."
"Can I have a kiss to hold me over, though?" You pinch your eyebrows together.
He is so fucking dramatic.
But you oblige, leaning in to land a soft kiss on his lips. Of course, he tries to take more, but you pull away before you get too distracted.
"Okay, I'm ready now." He brings his arms straight out to his sides, like a kid waiting for their mom to put sunscreen on them at the beach. Watching you dispense a small amount of paint into your hand, rubbing them together to spread it around.
"Where do you want them?"
"I don't know, wherever you wanna put them." He quips, clearly excited to just have your soft hands touching all over him.
You take a moment to strategize, before moving in for the first set of handprints. Reaching around, you wrap your arms around him in a hug, letting your paint-covered hands settle on the broad planes of his lats.
Also taking advantage to press your cheek against his bare chest. Because how could you not? He smells so... Caleb. Like warm, spicy sandalwood, mixed with something so musky and masculine. It's like crack.
"Stop sniffing me and keep going." He laughs, chest rumbling under your face.
The next pair of handprints go straight onto his chest, giving his pecs a short squeeze, to "get a solid handprint."
Let's be real. You just wanted to squeeze them.
Another set on his perfect, washboard abs. A few on his shoulders and arms.
"Is this stuff washable? Is it gonna come off if I get it on your clothes?"
"It's for skin, so. I hope it doesn't stain."
Your grin turning devilish as you circle around to his backside, smacking two firm handprints onto his ass. He flinches at the contact, hips bucking forward.
"Okay, enough handprints. Pucker up." He looks at your artistry in the mirror hanging off the back of his door.
"Whose lipstick is this, anyways?"
"Jenna's. No boy cooties, I promise." You chuckle. Thank God it's not from the frat's looksmaxxing era.
"Let me wash this off my hands, first." He nods over to the bathroom, and your pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness. No water stains on the glass shower door, streak-free mirror, apple-scented foaming hand soap next to his toothbrush cup.
Not at all what you expected for a fraternity house bathroom.
You use the squeaky clean bathroom mirror and crisp lighting to apply the cheap red lipstick, smacking your lips together as you reenter the bedroom. Caleb's still ogling the handprints all over his torso and back.
"Ready?"
"Of course I am." He smiles, predatory grin drinking you up as you approach. Soft hands snake up to the sides of his neck to pull him closer.
A kiss on his cheek. On his nose. A couple on his forehead. The hinge of his jaw. His chin.
His face is covered in kiss prints. They litter nearly every inch from his forehead to his collarbones. You're about to finish up, when he holds you against him.
Caleb is having the time of his life. This is better than the damn rager going on downstairs. First, you felt him up, then you covered him in kisses! Eyes glossed over and half-lidded, absolute bliss written all over his features.
"Aren't you gonna put one on my lips?"
"It's just gonna get all smudged."
"Yeah, that's kinda the point."
His hand comes up the back of your neck, resting just at the base of your hair as he pulls you into a heated makeout.
Rouged lips slipping and gliding across his, makeup transferring all over. He slowly backs you against the wall, warm hand sliding over your waist as the other braces against the solid surface. Wet tongue sneaking into your mouth, you can just barely hear soft little whimpers over the music bumping downstairs.
It's short-lived, pulling away to look up at the frat boy.
He's an absolute mess.
Red lipstick smeared all around his mouth. Dilated pupils blocking out nearly all the color in his lustful, heavy-lidded eyes. The red kiss prints accentuate the pink flush in his cheeks.
"Can we just stay up here?" He asks, so politely.
"Where's the fun in that?"
"It's me. I'm the fun." He pouts.
"Don't you wanna show everyone your look?" He groans, throwing his head back.
"Fine. Go fix your lips."
If you thought his lips were bad, yours are fucked. It takes a minute or two just to completely remove the cheap red lipstick from your face. But, instead of reapplying your own lip combo, you neatly put the red lipstick back on, along with a little bit of your own lipliner and gloss. With your thumb, you smear the makeup on your bottom lip, dragging a streak towards your jaw.
You hang your purse off the armrest of his desk chair, before walking to stand between his legs where he sits at the foot of the bed.
"You don't want to put your own lipstick on?"
"We can match like this." He softly grabs your hands, trying to tug you on top of him. "You're not being slick, Caleb."
"Just like, 5 minutes, please."
"It's never just 5 minutes, and you know that." You pull his obnoxiously heavy body up with a grunt. "I wanna kick someone's ass at beer pong again."
"Ugh. A woman after my own heart."
He gives you one last kiss, probably smudging your lipstick even more, before the two of you are rejoining the party downstairs.
The energy is at its peak. The DJ is throwing down, people are dancing, playing drinking games. Majority of the partygoers are wearing green, there's a few yellows, even fewer reds. You watch from the interior balcony for a moment before going down.
Caleb holds your hand as you weave through the crowd, towards the backyard. Girls dressed in all colors ogle the frat boy with wide eyes and mouths agape, the muscular man covered in red kisses and handprints a sight for sore eyes.
That sweet twang of possessiveness runs down your spine. Its... empowering. To know those are your hands on his abs, your lips all over his face.
You hope the girls can make the connection, that the girl he's guiding through the hoard of people is the one responsible for those marks.
The backyard is even more packed than the inside. Despite it being nearly midnight, at least a dozen people are still splashing around in the pool. Another dozen cram themselves into the not-so-spacious jacuzzi. Drunk college students line the edges of the pool, a lifeguards worst nightmare come true. Pairs of dangling legs scattered along the perimeter of the patio awning.
How the fuck did they even get up there?
Similar to the kickback, the turfed lawn behind the pool is the designated drinking game space. Three tables, one for rage cage, die, and cup pong spread amongst the faux grass.
Two teams of male duos go against each other at pong. Either they’ve just started, or they’re both really bad, because only one or two cups are gone from each side.
Caleb approaches one of the duos, some kind of weird handshake greeting. Getting a good look at them, you realize they must be identical twins.
“We got winners.” He announces to both teams, they seem to share some kind of unspoken acknowledgement, before they’re continuing the game.
The twins mop the floor with the other duo, game finishing within 20 minutes, and multiple cups still on the table for the losing pair.
"Alright, game time, hot stuff." A soft pat on your ass guides you towards the game. You watch as the boys reset the table, rationing a couple beers amongst the playing cups.
Your opponents introduce themselves as Kieran and Luke. You're about to ask Caleb if they are part of the fraternity, but he beats you to it.
"Not to stress you out, but we literally cannot lose this game." He says into your ear, making you turn to him in concern. "They aren't from Sig Wave. And the house always wins."
"They're going down." You smile back up at him, his flushed cheeks bright under the neon lights coming from the house. He mirrors your expression, landing a gentle kiss on the red hat, still on your head.
"Ladies first." One of the twins snorts from across the playing field, unsure if it’s Kieran or Luke.
Famous last words.
Of course you fucking beat them. Losing was not an option, and you've got a win-streak to defend! Granted, it's a win-streak of 1. Out of 1 game ever played. Still! Undefeated!
Caleb was basically guaranteed to sink his shot if he had a hand on you. You were almost guaranteed to make your shot if you had just taken a drink. The two of you were an unstoppable force.
The vice president was pulling new rules out of his ass, under the guise of “House Law.” Like one shot counted for two cups if he shot with you on his back. It was the most ridiculous shit, and he was definitely only declaring these playstyles to one, piss off Luke and Kieran, and two, have an excuse to touch you.
It was a close game. Even with the insane rules, the twins held their ground, and were doing pretty well at keeping up with you and the frat boy.
But they were doomed the moment the game started.
Because Caleb is Caleb. And you are you.
It was you that hit the winning cup. The crowd watching the game was much larger than the group at the kickback last week, and the energy when you and Caleb won was 10 times more thrilling.
He picks you up, your legs clinging around his waist as he jumps up and down. How he was getting any air with you hanging off him was a question for another time. The two of you laughing and yelling to boast the victory to Kieran and Luke.
"Fuck, you're so sexy when you win." The boy whispers into your ear as he sets you down. Each muscle in his body itching to grope every part of you. Being the respectful man he is, he resists.
"You won, too, Caleb." You're grinning so brightly at him, a game full of drinking luring you out of your shell. "Kinda surprised you aren't begging for your 'reward.'"
"Take me upstairs and reward me, then."
"Maybe later." Lashes batting up at him. Unaware of the way the lipstick spread all over his face has slowly spread to yours over the course of the game, light kiss prints dusted across your cheek and neck. "I wanna dance."
"Okay, let's go dance then." He grasps your hand to pull you in the direction of the house, not before you thank your opponents for the game.
"They don't deserve your kindness." Caleb says into your ear as he guides you in front of him, making your way through the swarm of people on the patio.
"Do you have beef with their frat or something?"
"Kinda. Pi Theta Dusk is usually our biggest competition when all the frats get together to do fundraisers and shit."
"That's it?" You cross the threshold inside, the temperature shift catching you off guard.
"It's frat drama, I don't know." The two of you find yourselves in the middle of the dance floor, the DJ spinning something slower as the party runs deeper into the night. A sea of green moves as one on the floor, the purpose of the stoplight party clearly taking effect. Caleb spins you by your belt loops to face him, a silent plea to dance with him.
Soft hands snake up his bare chest to wrap around his shoulders, as his own hands pull you against the hard plane of his body. He follows your lead, feminine hips swaying to the rhythm of the music.
No words shared, just the movement of your bodies against each other alongside the sultry R&B purring from the speakers. Calebs keeping his grip on you respectful, no vulgar groping or squeezing, just smooth caresses of your waist, hips, and ass.
Song after song, he holds you closer to him, occasionally craning his head down to land a sensual, wet kiss to your neck.
"I should probably go check in with Tara soon." You murmur against his cheek, turning in his grip to press your backside against his hips. Your words say you need to leave, but the continuous sway and roll of your hips say otherwise. Caleb doesn't even acknowledge what you're saying, drunk off the feeling of your body against his.
You reach a hand up, carding through the hair at his nape. A turn of your head over your shoulder, you're looking at him through thick lashes and half-lidded eyes.
Jesus Christ.
Caleb doesn't know if he's under the influence of alcohol. Or under the influence of the little fucking minx dancing and grinding on him so seductively.
"I'm gonna kiss you." It's not a request, it's a statement. And it has you nodding, big doe-eyed gaze locked on the frat boys red-stained lips.
The kiss is so hot. The way he towers over you. His hand on your jaw, holding you in place for his enjoyment, another hand squeezing your hip. The people all around you, still dancing and moving with their own purpose.
And it's just so messy. It's unlike any kiss you've shared until now. Tongues clashing for dominance. You don't know where his mouth starts and yours ends. Gently biting on his lower lip and tugging as you pull away.
"You have lipgloss all over you." Smile warm as you reach up to thumb away some of the product. He stops you.
"Spend the night." The demand totally ignores your comment. He spins you back around to face him, a hand on your waist keeping you tight to him, another hand on the side of your neck. "Please?"
Well. You'd be skeptical if you hadn't seen his room before this. It's expansive, quiet, and clean. So clean. Cleaner than your own space at home.
And he's been a good boy. All of his undivided attention on you. Keeping you safe in the chaos of the rager.
And he looks real fucking edible covered in your kisses and handprints.
"I need to make sure Tara has a way home."
"I'll call her an uber." Caleb offers, a kiss pressed against your neck.
"Let me find her first. Meet me by the stairs?” He nods, one last kiss to your cheek before letting you disappear into the slow-moving crowd of people.
You could have sworn you saw her outside when you were playing cup pong, so the backyard is the first place you check. Lo and behold, Tara stands near the edge of the pool with a few girls, giggling and chatting away. Jenna is one of them, you recognize, you don’t know the other two. You come up behind her with a soft double tap to her shoulder.
“Hey, how are you?” She turns over her shoulder, insobriety plastered all over her face.
“I’m doin great! You’re so… red!” Slow-moving eyes glance over your face, covered in barely-there lip prints.
“Yeah, I should’ve worn red to begin with.” Smiling sheepishly to yourself. “Caleb’s asking me to spend the night. Do you—“
“Ayyyeee, get that dick girl!” Tara drunkenly interrupts, slightly slurring. “My little baby angel is growing up so fast…” She coos, cold hands coming up to pinch at your cheeks. You grab her wrists to stop her.
“I’m asking if you have a ride home. Caleb also offered to pay for your uber.” Giggling as you lower her hands back down to her sides.
“I can take her home, I’m not drinking.” Jenna chirps, just a foot or two away.
“You’re a lifesaver, Jenna.” And you’re taking a step towards her, arms out for a hug.
When a solid shove throws you off your balance, and into the pool.
It's cold. Like, so cold. "Sucks the air out of your lungs" type of cold. Your head is under the water for two seconds maximum, the muffled music and chatter drowned out under the surface. Thank God you'd decided to leave your phone and purse upstairs.
You had been pushed into the shallower side of the pool, your head emerging from the water as you find your footing.
Unintelligible yelling. It's all your brain can pick up as you gently rub the water out of your face, trying not to get mascara in your eye. Through blurry vision, dozens of people peer down at you in the pool.
On the other side of the backyard, a game of die gets put on pause at the sudden splash. Distinctly female voices argue and scream at each other as Gideon stretches onto his toes to evaluate the situation.
"Oh, shit."
Standing at the edge of the pool, Tara shouts in the face of the girl that has absolutely terrorized the Chi Sigma Wave house for the past 2 weeks, Jenna doing her best to hold her back.
His feet start moving before he can think, pushing through the quickly densifying throng of people trying to witness the drama.
Where the fuck is Caleb?
He's not with you at the pool. He's not playing any of the drinking games. Not in the jacuzzi. Not sitting on the awning. Fuck!
Gideon is shouldering past the flow of people trying to get outside. He finally spots Caleb a few steps into the living room, waiting by the stairs. His head is perked up, alerted by the commotion coming from the backyard.
"Caleb!" Gideon shouts over the music, waving his hand at the vice president. "We need you!"
He's immediately springing into action, weaving through the crowd to get outside. When he crosses the threshold into the backyard, his stomach lurches.
Because he sees you, pushing yourself onto the ledge and out of the pool, Tara and Jenna blocking that fucking psychopath from attacking you.
"That fucking whore ruined everything!" She's drunkenly slurring at the two girls protecting you from her wrath.
"Hey!" Caleb's booming voice sounds over the uproar, every head in the yard turning to him, including the three girls at the edge of the pool. The sight of the frat boy has the unknown woman coming at him instead of Tara and Jenna.
"You fucking dick!" Hands shoving at the mans chest, like shoving a brick wall. "I fucking hate you!"
"Emcee, you need to leave. Now." Tara and Jenna take the opportunity to help you stand up.
"No! You've been fucking ignoring me for the past two weeks! Because of that little fucking skank!" Her finger juts over his shoulder at you, and finally being able to look at her with clear eyes, her face becomes familiar.
Astras. The campus coffee house.
Her monochrome green outfit triggers one of the first memories you have of Caleb.
All she needs is her little silver bobbling headband to complete that extraterrestrial look.
It's the girl you watched Caleb take upstairs at the Cowboys vs. Aliens party. You've been seeing her everywhere, and you didn't even realize it.
She's been watching you and Caleb.
"She has nothing to do with this. Because 'this,'" he gestures between himself and the girl, "was never happening. And I told you that before I even took you up there!" He points to the second story of the house. Gideon comes up behind you with a dry towel, wrapping it around your shivering shoulders.
"Come on." Gideon quietly urges you, trying to guide you inside. But you remain where you are, wanting to hear the rest of the conversation.
"Fuck you, Caleb! You fucking... lead me on! You treated me like I was special and then fucking ghosted me!" Emcee cries, totally ignorant to the dozens of people witnessing this whole hubbub go down.
"I didn't mean to make you feel that way! And I didn't fucking lead you on because I told you it was just a fucking hook-up! A one night stand!" He's throwing his hands up. "And you've shown up at this fucking house ever since then!"
"Because you won't fucking talk to me! You've been hiding like a pussy ass bitch!"
"There is nothing for me to say, Emcee! I never would have slept with you if you hadn't agreed that it was a one-night thing! But you explicitly told me it was just sex!" He turns his body to point at you, body vibrating in the chilly breeze as Gideon keeps a protective arm around you.
"And now you're terrorizing her, because you can't fucking move on!"
"You wouldn't even be fucking acting like this if it wasn't for her. That fucking slut--"
"Do not call her that." Caleb snaps. The name makes your eyes well up, a sniffle racking your frame. Gideon takes the opportunity to pull you away from the drama. He lets you pause to take your wet wedges off at the door.
Sorry Tara. Hopefully the cork on those shoes dries properly.
Conversation slowly fading away as he leads you back inside and up the stairs, into Caleb's room. He tries the door, locked handle jiggling under his grip.
"Shit. Umm, here." He lets you sit on the upstairs living room couch, cushion sinking as he takes the spot next to you.
The two of you sit in silence, the party downstairs still rowdy.
"Does this happen often?" You ask, very quietly.
"No, never. That girl has been showing up here every night for the past week or two." Gideon shakes his head. "Police won't do anything either. Because they don't believe a twenty-something year old girl is capable of torturing a house full of men."
You hum, clutching your towel a little tighter.
"I'm sorry you got dragged into this." He apologizes, picking at his cuticles.
"It's not your fault, Gideon."
"I don't want you to blame Caleb, either." He reasons, gaze still downcast at his hands. "It's his first time dealing with something like this."
You don't know how to feel about the shit that just went down. I mean, you're a girl. You have a predisposition to side with the girl in these types of situations.
Was Caleb really not honest about his intentions with her? Why else would she continue to show up at the fraternity house? She said he made her feel special. You want to know what he did to make her feel that way.
But her hostility towards you was confusing. You don't even know her. And yet, she was so quick to blame you for Caleb's disinterest. Even quicker to embarrass you in front of everyone by shoving you into the pool and degrading you.
"And I'm sorry for telling you Caleb doesn't do relationships." He adds with a shy shrug. "He's just, like, never really shown any interest in girls like that. Like you."
"You say that like he's into guys." You laugh softly, a small sniffle escaping you.
"Well. Everyone in the frat is a little gay for each other." He bumps your shoulder with his, chuckling. "We're brothers, after all."
"Uhh, I don't think brothers are supposed to love each other like that." You raise an eyebrow at Gideon, right as footsteps come up the stairs.
Caleb trudges into view, shoulders sagging and feet dragging. Gideon stands, walking around the couch and towards him at the top of the staircase.
"Thanks, G." He sounds so... defeated. Gideon shoots you one last small smile as he leaves you and Caleb alone.
The frat boy takes a few steps over to the couch, stopping at the armrest.
"Can I talk to you?" He nods in the direction of his room, to which you stand from the couch and follow him to the door, towel still wrapped around your shoulders. Digging the key from his pocket, he opens it and lets you in first. "You can sit." Gesturing to the foot of the bed.
"I don't want your bed to smell like chlorine." He takes a deep sigh, dragging his desk chair over, motioning for you to sit. At which you do.
Caleb sits at the edge of the bed, knees just an inch or two away from yours. Shoulders tense as he looks downward.
"I know you have questions, and I want to answer them." A solemn gaze meets yours. You bite the inside of your cheek before taking a deep breath.
"I don't know, Caleb. I wanna know what you did to make her 'feel special.'"
"I'm not really sure, if I'm being honest. She came up to me at our last party, we chatted for a bit. And then she asked if I was down to fuck." He pinches his lips together for a moment. "Before we even went upstairs, I told her I wasn't looking for anything more than just... something fun."
"And she agreed?" He nods.
"She told me it was casual for her, too. Said she had just gotten out of a relationship and needed to get her mind off the guy."
"How was the... you know. You didn't say anything weird to her?"
"It was pretty vanilla, if we're being honest. Not really any... dirty talk or anything." He looks kind of uncomfortable talking about his experience with another woman. With a crazy woman, at that. "I didn't even let her stay the night. You can ask the guys, they were all in the living room when she left."
"Gideon said she's been coming to the house every night."
"Yeah. The first time she showed up, she told one of the guys she forgot something. And so they let her in here, let her look around, whatever." He runs his hands through his hair. "Second time, she tried to tell them that I texted, asking her to come over."
"Did you?"
"No, I didn't even get her number after we hooked up. I wasn't home, either, so that's when we all started getting a little suspicious." He leans back on his palms. "It was always some excuse, trying to get inside. After the fourth or fifth day, she stopped making excuses and would just beg to be let in."
"I didn't see her at the kickback last weekend, though."
"These big parties, we usually don't have anyone manning the door. Anyone can just walk in. When we host smaller things, someone from the frat has to let you in. Invite only type shit." You hum in understanding. Taking a second to breathe before asking one final question.
"Why didn't you tell me?" His head rolls to the side, resting on his shoulder. Another deep sigh.
"I don't know. I just thought... it was my baggage to deal with. And you already thought I was, like, a player." His expression looks guilty. Like a dog with their tail between their legs. "I guess I was scared it was gonna make you regret giving me a chance."
It's... upsetting. That he's so worried about your perception of him, he would put himself through 2 weeks of nightly harassment. That'd he defend you in front of a backyard full of people. For you. Someone he hasn't even been talking to for a month.
You move from the desk chair to the space next to him on the bed. There's a pause as he reads your body language, before slumping over, head landing in your lap. Your hand coming to stroke his hair.
"I'm giving this version of you a chance, Caleb." Nails scratching his scalp, brushing hair out of his face. "I'll be honest, if she hadn't pushed me into the pool and called me a slut 10 different ways, I might have believed her."
"I don't know what I did wrong."
"I can't answer that. I don't know what you said to her or what she said to you." His shoulders shake from an intense exhale.
"I wouldn't have even talked to her if I knew it was gonna turn into this."
"I wouldn't either."
And the two of you sit in silence, petting the shaggy, deep brunette mop of hair in your lap. Watching the rise and fall of his back. You think he might be asleep, the intervals between each breath slowly increasing.
The party downstairs has died significantly, at least enough for it to be pretty quiet in Caleb's room. Your clothes feel crusted to your skin under the towel, and you're just now realizing the hat might have come off in the water. It's probably sat at the bottom of the pool, a soggy, sad, little crimson lump.
"Do you still wanna spend the night?" The soft baritone voice is a gentle tug from your dissociation. "I asked Tara and Jenna to wait, just in case."
"Only if I can use your shower." He lets out a puff of laughter, lifting his head.
"Yes, you can use my shower." He stands up from the bed, a hand offering you help up, too. You take it, shrugging your towel off as you get up.
Caleb lets you go back downstairs, finding Tara and Jenna lingering in the kitchen. The frat had begun to rearrange the furniture, the makeshift barricade gone from the walkway into the kitchen. Tara nearly gasps at the sight of you.
"Hey, girlfriend. How are you feeling?" She questions, concern written all over her features.
"I'm okay, Tara." You laugh, her inspecting you like a mother hen.
"Girl, I almost beat the fuck out of that bitch, Jenna was hella holding me back." Jenna crosses her arms, leaning against the counter. The comment has all three of you giggling. "I didn't even hear her sneak up on us, bro."
"Girl, I love you." You smile, wrapping an arm around her, head on her shoulder. "I'm still gonna stay the night, though. I just wanted to come and tell you."
"Use protection, sista'." She quips, making you blush.
"Girl, get the hell out of here." You shove her gently. "Thank you again, Jenna." To which she nods, exhaustion plastered on her face as she starts to guide Tara out the door.
"Mommy loves you! I'll come pick you up in the morning!" She drunkenly slurs. The way her words were mashing together, you'd be shocked to see her awake before noon.
"Text me when you get home." You shout back, watching the two girls vanish from sight through the entryway.
Secretly excited feet are carrying you back up the stairs, down the hallway into Caleb's room.
Locking the door behind you.
He's sat back down at the foot of the bed, looking at something on his phone, gaze lifting at the sound of you reentering the room. The chlorine-soaked pool towel rested on the edge of his laundry hamper. A clean towel, tshirt, and a pair of boxers sit on his lap.
"I got you clean clothes and a towel to shower." He stands to lead you into the bathroom, setting the clean items on the counter. "Pull the knob to turn the water on, push it to turn it off. Clockwise makes hot water, counter makes cold." You watch him lean into the shower to turn the water on for you, adjusting it to what he can only assume is your likings.
He's still covered in handprints and kisses, the marks littering his shirtless torso. The way his muscles flex and contract under the bright bathroom light. The way he's still doing his best to make you comfortable.
He straightens up, leaving the shower door open for you before moving back towards the bedroom. And he's shutting the door, leaving you alone in the steamy bathroom.
The makeup wipes are still on the counter from earlier. You're removing the smudged mascara around your eyes, a few rogue black streaks running down your cheeks.
Fuck fuck fuck. As you swipe away all your makeup, you just can't help thinking about the boy on the other side of the door. The one covered in crimson red paint. All down his back too.
He definitely needs a shower, as well. And he probably needs help getting those handprints off his back.
The sound of water running gets louder as you open the bathroom door, poking your head through.
"Don't you need to shower, too?"
The question has him frozen on the spot.
I mean. Let's be real. He wanted to shower with you. He wanted to so badly. But he didn't want to make you feel like you had to shower with him. If it was going to happen, you were going to have to ask for it.
And he's so glad you did.
"Can I shower with you?" Your cute little nod, an even cuter smile, and the frat boy is almost tripping over his own pants as he shoves them off. You're pulling the chlorine-crusted tube top over your head, pushing the tinier-than-tiny denim skirt down, and the two of you are left completely nude as you step into the running stream of warm water.
It's hot. Literally. Whorls of thick steam curl around the both of you as the glass door continues to fog over. You let him under the shower head first, broad shoulders blocking the spray of water from reaching you.
Deep brunette hair turning black under the water, Caleb rakes two big hands over his head, pushing the shag out of his face.
It's difficult not to ogle the way little droplets run rampant down his physique. Each one taking a different path around solid pectorals, defined abs, a pronounced v-line. Red handprints bleed under the flow of hot, steaming water.
Neither of you are touching each other. Not even making a move to touch each other. Just admiring the way water skips and skims over the others figure. Chests rising and falling with each heavy breath.
And just when you think he’s going to break the ice, his hand is moving past you, grabbing a bottle of shampoo from the small shelf. In silence, he’s flipping the cap open and holding it out for you. Soft hands accept a light squeeze of product, and just as he’s about to dispense some for himself, you’re stopping him.
“Turn around and look up.” And he listens, like the well-behaved boy he is. You work the shampoo into a thick lather, fingers running through onyx locks as the suds multiple. Rich foam slides down his spine as you continue to spread the soap through his mane.
You spin him around and guide him back into the stream, letting the shampoo rinse down his shoulders.
“Your turn.” And he’s switching places with you, letting the running water wash away chlorine before callused hands are massaging the musky shampoo into your scalp.
“I’m pretty impressed you’re not giving me the 3-in-1 special.” You giggle as dexterous fingers slave away at your hair.
“I was raised by a woman. I take my hygiene very seriously, thank you very much.” He quips back, letting you rinse out the product.
The same procedure goes for conditioner. He lets you do him, then he does you, nothing more than teasing, giddy comments shared between you.
When it comes to body wash, he doesn’t give you the opportunity to go first. He’s dispensing that familiar smelling, woody sandalwood gel onto a washcloth. And spinning you to face the wall.
His presence behind you is overwhelming. The heat radiating off his body gives you gooseflesh. Slow, tender strokes start at your shoulders, bubbles mesmerizing as they glide over supple skin. One hand maneuvers the sudsy cloth, the other wraps your clean hair around his fist to keep out of the way.
The washcloth slowly makes its way down your body, smoothing down the dip of your spine, the curve of your waist, the soft flesh of your ass. He’s scrubbing all the way down to your ankles, before a gentle hand is urging you to spin and face him.
And holy shit. What a fucking sight.
Caleb’s on his knees in front of you. Wet hair slicked back, rouge kiss prints barely visible on his face. Splotchy remnants of red handprints scattered across his torso.
Soapy cloth runs up and down the length of your legs, from your ankles, to the flesh just shy of your pussy at the inside of your legs. Watchful gaze focused on each little puff of air that escapes you under his wandering hands.
A few wet, sensual kisses to the front of your pelvis before he’s scrubbing the area down, standing to full height. Greedy hands grope and squeeze the fat of your breasts, letting the rich lather coat perky little nipples.
He’s so big. His shoulders are so broad, his chest is so solid. He makes you feel so dainty and feminine, the way he’s towering over you as he finishes washing your chest and arms.
You don't realize how hard he is until you're washing him. Letting the washcloth rub away the paint and lipstick on his body. Watching deep pink droplets skitter down his torso, past his stiffening dick.
You guide him to face the wall before moving the rinse the handprints off his back. Wide lats twitch and tense under your gentle motions, he places his palms on the tiled surface in front of him. He's putty under your touch.
Hanging the washcloth off the water knob, you press your chest against his back, hands navigating around to his abs.
And down to his pretty, pink cock.
You feel his breath catch, your cheek against his back, as your wet hand wraps around the base of his length. Slippery tits glide and brush over his spine, warm from the steaming water.
It starts leisurely, slow strokes from base to tip. Adding just a tad more pressure at his head, using your thumb to trace little circles into his frenulum. You can't see his face, but you can feel the way his body reacts. Broad planes of his back quivering with each soft squeeze from your silky hand. His head drops to hang between his shoulders.
"Haahh--" The groan bounces off glass and tile walls as your pace quickens. An occasional kiss to the dip between his shoulder blades. Your free hand also slithers around to his front, caressing his flexed abs. "Ungh, fuck."
It's just so much for him. Your velvety smooth, wet hand stroking his achingly hard cock. Even wetter tits slipping and pressing into his back.
"You're so hard." It's a seductive little coo, one that has him whimpering even louder. Eager hips lightly thrust into your grip, chasing even a sliver of relief.
"Faster." Caleb pleads, trying not to outright fuck your hand. You tease him a bit, thumb dragging over his tip before slipping back down his shaft to jerk his length. His arms wobble where they hold him up against the wall.
He thinks he might cum right here. Let thick spurts paint the tiles. His abs spasm with each intense squeeze around the head of his dick. Back rising and falling under your cheek like some kind of animal.
And he'd be happy to watch his cum drip down the wall. Because he'd still get to see you put on his clothes, crawl into his bed, and fall asleep with him.
He's so fucking close. He can feel the way his balls clench tighter and tighter under each stroke.
So when your grip vanishes, and he no longer feels your chest leaning against his back, his legs nearly give out from under him.
But seeing you step around between him and the wall, and drop to your knees in front of him. The boy can only hold his breath as he watches your tongue come out to lick a thick stripe up his length.
His face is so flushed. Not from the lipstick, that's all been washed away. Caleb's cheeks are so red with lust, eyes half-lidded and glossy as he looks down at you.
Suckling on his tip as your eyes watch the way his eyebrows pinch together, mouth slightly agape. His hands remain planted on the wall in front of him, head hung to watch you kiss and suck on his fat dick.
"Wait, wait. You’re gonna make me cum, oh my god." He whines, your lips wrapped around his cock, tongue tracing the pulsing veins that run from base to tip. You're so cute, big doe eyes blinking up at him as you leave gentle smooches all along his shaft, cheeks hollowing as you suckle on his pretty dick. Lewd slurping and gluck gluck glucking drowned out by the spray of water against the tiles.
Even if he wasn't already on the brink of blowing his load, the picture painted before him, the sweet little thing on her knees with his cock in her mouth, would launch him into his orgasm quicker than he'd like to admit.
And he's being so good. He's letting you have your fun, letting you decide how deep you take him down your throat. No head pushing, no face-fucking. Just trusting that you know what he needs right now.
"Please, I wanna cum. Please— ngghh…" His forearm braces on the wall as his muscles get weaker and weaker.
"Where?" A simple question, but he knows what you mean. You ask it as your lips continue to rub and glide over the head of his dick, hand still jerking him off.
"On-on your tits." He strains to get it out, and you're stroking him faster, watching the way his balls tense up.
And letting him shoot creamy ropes of pearly white cum all over your perky breasts.
"Fucking... aangh!" Caleb's leaning his forehead against the cold shower wall, Adams apple bobbing with each drawn out grunt. Spurt after spurt, he's cumming all over your chest as his muscles contract with each pulse.
He finally looks down at you with glazed eyes, slow blinks, and pink ears. You're so beautiful with his cum on your chest, putting on a show for him by spreading it around your wet tits.
When you’re standing up, between him and the wall, and soft little hands snake back around his shoulders to pull him down for the sloppiest, messiest kiss, Caleb can feel the blood rushing down to make him hard again.
"Please let me fuck you." He's whining against your lips, not a care in the world that your kisses taste like his own dick.
"Not in here." Raking your nails through sopping wet chocolate locks. "Lemme rinse your cum off." You're smiling through his kisses, before slipping out from between him and the wall, and reusing the washcloth to scrub your chest.
Caleb, reluctantly, gives you your space, stepping out of the shower to wrap a towel around his waist. But he watches you, so keenly, wash the last of his sperm off your tits, quickly wash your face, and shut the water off.
Ravenous eyes stare you down as you wrap a towel around yourself, letting the fluffy fabric absorb the water from your body. The air is so fucking charged, Caleb watching you meander through your post shower duties.
Oh-so-slowly towel drying your body, using your fingers to comb through your hair. Would it be irritating to ask if he has any body lotion?
"Where's your mouthwash?" You turn to where he leans against the counter, arms crossed over thick pectorals. He pulls it out from under the sink, letting it thunk onto the counter. The boy lets you take a swish, then he takes one. Swirling the minty liquid in your mouth, before spitting into the sink in front of you. He does the same.
You didn't even realize how he's been inching closer, until his chest is just inches away from your face, that hungry gaze still watching your every move in the mirror.
"Do you have any face moisturizer?" He's reaching into the drawer and pulling out a small tube.
As you slowly squirt a dollop onto the pad of your finger, Caleb knows what you're doing.
You're teasing him.
There's no way you don't notice the way his towel tents over his erection. He was hard when he got out of the shower, and seeing you fuss and pamper yourself, totally unaffected by him beside you.
God, his dick is going to fucking explode.
"Do you need some?" You're seriously offering him some of his own moisturizer. And he's accepting it. With a soft "thank you."
"Can we go to bed now?" He's asking for permission to go to sleep. In his own house. In his own bed. Holy shit.
He is wrapped around your fucking finger.
"Okay." And you're reaching for the clothes he set out for you, but he just can't take it anymore.
"No clothes." You pause, looking up at him.
"... No clothes?" You parrot back at him.
He doesn't even respond. He just takes the clothes sitting on the counter, and takes them back into his room. Tossing them into his hamper, before sitting down on the edge of his bed.
You can't even ignore the bulge growing under his towel. It's the only thing you're focused on as you cut the distance between you, sauntering towards him like a fucking panther, coming to stand between his legs.
Warm, callused palms slide up the back of your thighs, under your towel, stopping just shy of your ass. He slowly tugs you toward him, big, pleading eyes looking up at you. There's no where for you to go, letting him pull you onto his lap.
Towel riding up slightly around your hips, the tent under his own towel brushing against your painfully empty pussy.
"Can I take this off?" He's asking, so well-mannered, as two fingers hook under where it's tucked around your chest. A seductive little nod, and he's releasing it from your figure, letting it fall to the floor behind you.
Eager hands immediately move to grope your breasts, an even more eager mouth sucking a breast into his mouth. Nipping and licking at one nipple, nimble fingers pinching and teasing the other. Your hand finds the back of his neck, keeping him close as he plays with your tits.
A strong arm slings around your waist, taking you with him as he scoots further onto the mattress, shedding his own towel in the process.
Fuck, his dick is so fucking perfect. It's bigger than anyone you've ever been with. And it's beautiful. Perfectly curved upwards, thick pink head, pulsing veins snaking up the shaft.
It made you drool when you watched him jack off into your bed sheets. It made you drool when your tongue had him whining and whimpering into the shower wall. And you're drooling as you perch yourself, so prettily, onto his lap.
Nimble hands reach down to let his fat dick slip and slide between your folds. Yes, Caleb was eager to feel your silky lips brush against his cock. But, feeling just how fucking soaked you are.
He knows you're just as eager.
Your sweet hips roll and writhe over his length, coating him with your slick. You take his hands, pinning them by his head. He could easily escape your grip, overpower you and flip you under him.
But letting you take the reigns, forfeiting all control to you. It gets him so fucking hard.
"Condom." You're muttering into his cheek, still letting him rub himself through your folds. A long arm reaches over to his bedside nightstand, blindly opening a drawer, and pulling out a fresh box of Trojan Magnum Bareskins. The grin on his face can only be described as prideful, as he tears into the unopened box.
"I went straight to CVS after your place on Wednesday and bought, like, three boxes of condoms." He's smiling, and you can't help but chuckle at the sentiment. Condom between his teeth to rip into the package. "Some for here, some for my car, some for my wallet, some for you."
"You're such a dork." And he's blindly tossing the box off the side of the bed, condoms spilling everywhere.
"Put it on, baby." Your fingers pull the opened condom from his teeth, scooting off his lap to roll the latex onto his dick. Breath catching as your hands stroke down his sensitive cock. "Please ride my fucking cock, oh my god."
You’re lifting yourself up to situate his tip at your entrance, blunt head pushing against your tight little hole. And shit. The pop of his head moving past that initial ring of tight muscle. It makes you realize just how long it’s been since you had sex. And even then, you were not dealing with something of this caliber.
His fat tip is stuck in the shallow cavern of your pussy, walls clenched too tight to let him in. You want to let him in, you really do. Trying to slowly grind his dick deeper inside you.
“Please, put me inside.” Caleb whines, trembling hands finding purchase on your plush hips. “Bounce on my dick, baby. Use me.”
“I’m trying.” It comes out a little snappier than you intend, frustrated that your own body would deny you such pleasure. But your pussy is just so tight, so tense. “Caleb…” it’s a call for help, an indirect one at that. Such a stubborn little girl.
Maybe if you hadn’t made him wait earlier, he’d tease you a little. But Caleb is equally as inpatient as you in this moment.
“It’s okay, I know.” A thumb finds your clit, tracing smooth, quick little circles. Another hand keeps on your hip, holding you in place as his own hips begin to slowly thrust up into you. “Shit, you’re fucking tight.”
Each light punch has him sinking you just an inch deeper onto his length. He can feel the quiver of your thighs against his pelvis, the shaking of your hands pressed into his abs.
This headstrong little minx is struggling to take his cock. And yet, you don’t cry and complain for help, you don’t give up. You just take it.
“Anngh, Caleb—“ The honey-sweet whimper of his name has him bucking up just a little harder, almost completely sheathed inside you. “Fuck…”
The frat boy is mesmerized by the disappearance of his dick between your thighs. The way you’re completed seated on him, head hung, trying to just breathe. He can feel your pussy dripping onto him, dousing his pubes in your slick.
“Please, keep going.” Still rubbing your little bundle of nerves, he continues to lightly thrust up into you, urging you to set your own pace.
It starts slow, just barely lifting yourself up to drop back down onto him. It’s killing him, the anticipation and the primal urge to have you bouncing on his cock like a bunny. His hand leaves your clit to help you move, raising you off his lap and letting you drop.
It only takes a couple strokes for you to find your rhythm, hips swirling and undulating with precision. Small hands leaving his abs to plant on his legs behind you, letting your tits jiggle with each crash of your hips into his.
Head thrown back, wanton moans floating through his bedroom, you grind on Caleb’s fat cock like a fucking porn star. At least, that’s what he thinks. You’re just so addicting, the recoil of your plush thighs smacking against his hips, the sway of deliciously perky breasts, the little moans you let out when his tip punches your cervix.
“Oh my fucking god, you’re so pretty. Mmm—” He babbles under you, damp hair pushed out of his face, leaving a spot on the pillow below his head. “Yeah, ride this fucking dick— Uhhngh…”
“Caleebb—“ You whine, hips rolling and grinding onto him. Head rolled to one shoulder, body still shiny from the hot shower, you’re giving him the full fucking production, a performance he’s never seen before.
And he’s so deep inside you. Scratching that itch you’ve had for so long, thick veins rubbing just right against your velvety walls. Your legs are starting to burn from the repeated hump and bounce, but his cock is so fucking delicious.
Your hands fly forward to plant themselves beside his head, and he knows you’re getting gassed. Throwing your hips back to meet his lap, trying not to totally collapse on top of him.
You want to give him a show. To just take what you want. But he’s just so fucking big everywhere. Even the width of his lap has your inner thighs stretching to accommodate him, making your muscles fatigue much faster. He must be able to tell, either by your slowing pace or your twitching legs.
“Fuck, baby, it’s okay. I’ll help you, it’s okay.” He’s prattling on as strong, muscular arms wrap around your waist, pulling you down against him. Forceful hips thrust up into your pussy, driving his cock even deeper than before. Round tits bounce and jiggle in his face as he fucks into you.
“Ahhn, fuck!” You moan, unfiltered. Below you, Caleb watches your every expression with wide, yearning eyes. Hands slipping down your back to grope and pull at your asscheeks. Your spine arches into him, letting the frat boy bury his face in your jumbling breasts.
You can feel the vibrations of his unashamed moans into your chest, as he continues to drill into you.
“Ca-Caleb— I think I’m gonna cum!” You’re groaning at the ceiling, eyes screwed shut as the man below you fucks your brains out.
“Fuck, cum— cum on me— cream on this fucking cock, oh my god.” His voice shakes, clearly trying to postpone his own orgasm as much as he can. And one harsh grind of his hips into yours, tip of his fat cock mashing into your cervix, has you tumbling over the edge.
Uncontrollable moans flow out of you as you clench down on his dick, gut twisting and contracting as his pace doesn’t let up.
He holds you by your hips on him, just continuing to grind you back and forth over his still hard length. It’s only when you pushing away from him on shaky legs does he let up, stiff cock slipping out of you with a muffled grunt.
But instead of letting you collapse next to him, he’s manhandling you onto your stomach, into prone. He settles right behind your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to watch the way your drooling hole twitches and spasms.
“I just need a little bit more, promise.” Sliding his latex-wrapped cock through your lips, once, twice, before slipping inside you with a single push. His hands press into the mattress on either side of your head to hold him up, as he kisses between your shoulder blades.
Strong hips batter into you from behind, feeling hot pants tickle your nape. Your legs remain together, his thick thighs bracketing your ass. The obscene sound of skin slapping skin fills the room.
“Shit, you’re still so fucking tight.” His chest is just inches away from smothering your back. “Please, feel good… please—”
“Harder.” You turn your head to demand, Caleb taking the opportunity to finally collapse on top of you, covering your neck and jaw in filthy wet kisses.
He’s absolutely plowing you into the bed, massive frame crushing yours as he just rams his hips into your ass. He’s moaning unashamed into your ear, like the most beautiful melody you’ve ever heard.
“Tell me how good I’m doing.”
His baritone voice rumbles against your cheek. His hips aren’t even disconnecting from your ass to thrust, he’s grinding into you.
“Fuck, Caleb. You’re fucking me so good. You’re— you’re…” You can’t even get it out, the upwards curve of his cock just punching that sweet spot inside your pussy that has you seeing God.
“You’re such a good boy.”
And from the arrhythmic stutter of his thrusts, the way his moans get just a little higher pitched.
You know that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Say it again.” He’s whining against your ear, fat biceps snaking around your neck, not to choke, but to hold you even closer than you thought was possible.
“You’re s-such a good boy for me, Caleb.” He’s close. You’re close too, never truly recovered from your last orgasm. “Making me feel so fucking good.”
“I’m gonna fucking cum, holy shit.” He hiccups, pressing his forehead into the base of your neck. Nipping and kissing at your shoulders. “I’m a good boy, I’m such a good fucking boy—“
He’s chanting it to himself like a fucking maniac, while the only thing you can do is grip his bedsheets like your life depends on it, as your second orgasm of the night wracks your body.
“Be a good boy and cum for mee— ngh!” And he’s pushing his cock so deep into your pussy, you can feel it in your throat. His entire body feels like it’s trembling above you as he lets out the loudest groan he’s made all night, certain the rest of the house knows exactly what’s going on.
He blows his load into the condom, hips twitching and jerking as if he’s actually filling you up. He remains on top of you, broad chest smothering you into the mattress. Maybe 45 seconds of silence pass, until he’s pulling his softening cock out with a wince, flopping down beside you onto his back.
Caleb peels off the condom, ties it closed, and blindly tries tossing it into the small bin in the corner of his rooming, missing.
Heavily panting, the frat boy stares at the ceiling, while you lay motionless next to him on your stomach. After about a minute or two, he turns his head to look at you.
With probably the most boyish, giddy smile you’ve ever seen from him.
“Holy shit.” He’s grinning ear to ear, a warm hand lifting to knead your ass. “I think that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
You can barely open your eyes to look at him, muscles completely limp from head to toe.
“The ‘good boy’ thing was totally out of left field, I’ll be real.” You tease softly, not an ounce of embarrassment written on Caleb’s face.
“Yeah, that was new for me. I liked it a lot, though.” He’s turning onto his side, propping his head up on a fist. “Was there anything you didn’t like?”
“No. I came really hard. Twice, too.” He hums, satisfied with your reaction. “Fuck, I’m gonna be so sore.” He smirks proudly. If your arms weren’t so weak, you’d reach over and smack him. You just roll your eyes instead.
“Come here.” He’s murmuring, although he scoots to you, maneuvering your exhausted figure to tuck into his side. An arm under your waist, fingertips tracing pointless shapes. His other hand pulls your leg over his lap.
The skin-to-skin feels amazing. The two of you just a little sticky, from the warm shower and from fucking each other like animals. His broad chest makes for the perfect pillow.
“Can I cook for you tomorrow morning.” The comment has you looking up at him, chin on his chest, and raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to.” You laugh, his jaw dropping amusedly.
“What? Why not?” He’s grinning wide.
“Umm, frat guy, cooking in a frat house, I don’t know. Sounds unsafe.” And he’s scoffing, in faux offense.
“I am a great cook, excuse me. My grandma made it her life’s mission to make sure I could cook.” You giggle.
He’s so cute.
“Okay, what’s on the menu?” His hand runs up and down the thigh thrown across his lap.
“Hmm, sweet or savory breakfast?”
“Savory, definitely.”
“Then I’m making breakfast burritos. Egg, bacon, cheese, potatoes, hot sauce, and my secret ingredient, honey.” He states, so matter-of-factly. “Not enough people appreciate what honey brings to the table in a breakfast burrito.”
“Mmm, sounds buss, actually.” You murmur, readjusting to settle your cheek on his chest. “And you have everything you need?”
“Yup, went grocery shopping yesterday.”
“Wow, so prepared.”
“How could I not be when I have a beautiful woman in my bed?” You turn your head to look at him again.
“But you didn’t ask me to spend the night until tonight.” He averts his gaze sheepishly, just for a moment.
“I mean, I knew I was gonna ask you. Just didn’t know when.”
“But obviously you were counting on me to say yes. Or you wouldn’t have gotten stuff to make breakfast.” You counter, narrowing your eyes at him.
“Okay, and? Here you are.” He’s cheesing.
“Cocky bitch.” And he’s laughing, letting you plant your cheek on his pectoral once again. His ultra cushioned, uber plush chest.
It has to be near 3am. The party downstairs is long gone, no music rattling the walls or yelling coming from the backyard. It’s so peaceful. Just you and Caleb.
“You’re so comfortable.” You sleepily mumble. “Your boobs are so soft.”
“My pecs, you mean.” And he’s flexing them, making your head shake a little.
“They’re like, huge, though.” Your hand slithers up from his abs to squeeze one. “D-cups, at least.”
“I do a lot of chest flys.”
“I can tell.” His lungs rumble in silent amusement.
“What was your favorite muscle to hit when you worked out?” It warms your heart that he remembers little details about you.
“I liked shoulders.” He puffs out a laugh, hand sliding down to your hip.
“Not legs?” He pinches your ass for emphasis, making you jolt.
“Legs are cool too, I guess.” You shrug. “Shoulders are cooler.”
“We’ll have to hit shoulders together.” The sentiment is sweet. He wants to help rekindle that enjoyment of working out. And it’s something that he enjoys, and wants to share with you. But the thought of doing anything other than passing out right now has you groaning.
“Mmmm, too tired to think about that right now.” He chuckles, hand continuing to run soft touches up and down your waist.
“I’ll take that as a yes to cash in later.” He’s murmuring into your hair.
The silence is nice. Caleb continues to brush warm fingers across your skin, tickling your back. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open. The heat radiating off the boy under you, paired with the gentle rise and fall of his plush tits chest, has you nodding off.
“I like you.” He’s whispering, alongside a whisper of your name. “I really like spending time with you, and getting to know you.”
The hand on your waist drags upwards to tilt your chin up at him. Tired, heavy blinks meet his gaze. His smile is so soft, so genuine for the sweet girl who’s barely staying awake in his arms.
“I like you too, Caleb.” And he’s pressing a tender, innocent smooch to your lips, another to your forehead.
“Do you need anything right now? Water, a shower, another round…?” He’s smirking as you grumble tiredly at the joke.
Well, you think it’s a joke.
He’d definitely fuck you again if you asked him to.
“Water, please. With ice.”
“Okay.” One last kiss, before he’s reluctantly shifting out from under you, throwing on the nearest pair of sweatpants, and disappearing out the door.
You scoot over a little, into the warmth he left behind. His sheets smell so strongly of him, so masculine and sandalwood-y. You get a closer look at his plane-covered pillowcase. They’re tiny little orange propeller planes. So small, very discrete.
Damn. You just fucked someone with plane-themed pillowcases. And an RGB keyboard. And it was really good.
The dork in question is promptly returning with your water. He brought a straw, too. What a gentleman.
You barely sit up to drink, just moving to prop yourself up on your elbows, still laying on your stomach. He holds the cup for you, big fingers keeping the straw steady.
"Do you want clothes or are you a naked sleeper?" Setting the glass down on his nightstand, he's walking into the bathroom for a moment, only to come back with a warm, damp washcloth. "Legs."
He gently spreads your legs, even more tender touch as he cleans you up. You're still so sensitive, your hips involuntarily jerk at first contact. The cloth gets tossed into his laundry hamper when he's done.
"I'll have a shirt." And he's grabbing some tshirt from his dresser, big Greek symbols across the front of it. You're sitting up to accept it from him, but he wants to put it on you himself.
"Arms up." You listen as he slips the shirt over your head, letting you situate your arms through the sleeves.
"Thanks." You murmur softly, his doting making you feel kind of bashful. He flips off his bedside lamp before peeling back the covers, letting the two of you slide in.
“Can I be little spoon?” He’s asking, so shyly, pulling the sheets over you.
“You’re like, twice my size.” And he’s not even giving you any other option, just turning over onto his side, back to you.
“You’ll be my backpack then.” He’s whispering over his shoulder, waiting patiently to be held. You give in, scooting closer to press yourself into his back. He hums in satisfaction as you place a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades.
“I like this.” He’s mumbling, face pressed into the pillow under his head.
“Yeah, this is kinda nice, actually.” Your eyes slowly become heavier and heavier, the rise and fall of his back like a sirens call to sleep.
“Mmm, goodnight.” Paired with a low murmur of your name, before the drowsiness claims you both.
wait guys I feel like I overhyped this lowkey im embarrassed
also, stating this for the record. caleb and reader are in their third year of university. they are both of legal drinking age!!
also i totally had something in mind for the end but figured it would be a great way to start ch6 wink wink😉😉😉
pls leave ur honest feedback!! constructive criticism makes me hard
your ex used to say that you were “too loud” during sex… but he says, “the louder, the better!”
feat. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb x fem!reader (no valko yet ‘cause i don’t wanna mischaracterize, and i’m still holding onto the hope that he WILL be back)
cw: smut; dirty talk; oral sex (fem receiving); fingering (fem receiving); cowgirl; doggy; hair pulling; belly bulge + size kink; missionary; biting; slight masochism (caleb); the “ex” in question is implied but not explicitly mentioned, so this can just be read as someone who is embarrassed to moan in front of their partner teehee
notes: birthed this concept whilst in the shower, actually. signed as someone who has never had a toxic ex but does live in a house with thin walls <3
nsfw content below the cut! minors dni
“mmf…”
the low, needy moan resounds from between your thighs. it sends mind-numbing vibrations up your spine.
xavier almost looks like he’s enjoying this more than you are.
your legs, bent at the knees, are thrown over his shoulders. his hands are at your hips, fingers dug desperately into the softness of your thighs like he needs to anchor himself to reality. to you.
the only sounds filling the room are his hot, heavy breaths and the obscene slurp of his mouth against your pussy. he eats you out like it’s the only thing he was put on this earth to do.
in his mind, that’s a pretty good life purpose to have.
he flattens his tongue against your folds before licking a slow stripe upwards. then, he flicks the tip of it right over your clit.
you throw your head back and gasp. your fingers curl around the sheets.
he seems to perk up at the subtle hitch in your breath. suddenly, he lifts his head away from your wet heat. you swallow back the whine of protest that almost crawls its way up your throat.
the lower half of xavier’s face is shiny with slick. his eyes are hooded, pupils blown so wide that his irises are nothing but slivers of blue. he licks his lips, looking absolutely debauched and just like sin incarnate.
“come on, starlight,” he says, voice hoarse and a little breathless. “i know you can do better than that.”
instantly, you flush.
“xaviii,” you whine. “it’s embarrassing…”
your boyfriend doesn’t respond.
instead, he just dives right back in.
with the way his mouth is moving, it seems as though he’s trying to force every moan out of your throat through your pussy. he shoves his tongue into your entrance and swirls it around inside. his arms lock a little more securely around your thighs.
he’s determined, you’ll give him that.
your mouth falls open, but the only noises spilling from those pretty, perfect lips are your labored breaths. your chest heaves as you struggle to suppress the wave of pleasure that threatens to swallow you whole. all you can do in your attempt to fight it is squeeze your eyes shut.
xavier is having none of that.
the lascivious sound of him making out with your cunt intensifies. it’s like he’s trying to wring out every sound that he can get. he’s relentless in his pursuit. he licks and sucks and groans, eyes rolling back in bliss at the taste of you. his nose bumps against your clit, and you jolt.
“xav… hah, x-xavi…”
“mmh.”
his reply is halfhearted at best. the way he sucks your clit into his mouth is anything but.
“xavier!”
your back arches off the mattress as his teeth graze over the sensitive bud.
the cry of his name has his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. his eyes light up for a moment before darkening with arousal.
he shoots you a grin that is very unbefitting of his sweet, boyish features.
“that’s it, angel. give me more.”
zayne has always been quiet during intimacy. usually, the most you’ll get out of him is a low grunt or groan, a whisper of your name or the occasional expletive muttered under his breath. so it was only natural for you to assume that he would also be turned off by a partner who is vocal in bed.
you couldn’t have been more sorely mistaken.
“darling.” his voice is deceptively calm, even as two of his fingers scissor relentlessly in and out of your dripping hole. “please remove your hand from your mouth.”
you barely hear him through the blood rushing in your ears. and even if you could hear, you doubt you’d be able to comprehend it. your brain already feels like it’s melting into a puddle of mush in your skull. when he crooks his fingers upwards, your whine is muffled against your palm.
zayne clicks his tongue.
“don’t make me repeat myself.”
his words are laced with an icy-cold edge that wasn’t there before. you know that tone. you know it means business, and promises punishment if you don’t behave.
so you swallow your pride and ask.
“… huh?”
well, you try to, at least.
ever-gracious and oh-so-patient, he reiterates his request. this time, you catch it.
slowly — hesitantly — your hand drops down to your side.
he hums. “good girl.”
his fingers continue to pump in and out of your sopping cunt. the wet shlick, shlick, shlick that hits your ears makes you want to close your thighs around his wrist.
“zayne,” you gasp. “pl-please, zaynie, i—”
“shhh…” his hand skims up your side, calloused palm sending shivers up your spine. “relax, my love.”
“b-but… i can’t…” you choke on a sob, squirming uncontrollably beneath his touch. “i can’t help it…!”
“i know, darling,” he says. “go on. let yourself go.”
your cheeks flush. adamantly, you shake your head. when the tips of his fingers graze your g-spot again, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to muffle your whimper.
a quiet sigh escapes from zayne’s lips. it isn’t a sound of anger or frustration or even disappointment. it almost seems pitying, really, when coupled with the sudden softness of his gaze.
the hand that was once a grounding presence at your waist finds a new home at the curve of your jaw. he gently tugs at the corner of your mouth, coaxing you to release your bruised lip from between your teeth. when you finally heed his silent command, he immediately slides his thumb past your parted lips.
“there,” he murmurs, half to himself. “keep it open. just like that.”
your brows furrow in confusion as your sex-addled brain struggles to comprehend why his grip on your jaw has become so firm.
you don’t get the chance to figure it out before he slips another long finger into your fluttering pussy, angling all three upwards until you’re seeing stars.
the moment the heel of his palm grinds down over your clit is the moment that finally breaks you.
“ah!”
the moan you let out is embarrassingly loud, thanks to the way your mouth has been pried open against your will. your entire face feels like it’s been set on fire.
zayne, of course, hardly reacts. only the faintest twitch of his lips and the glint in his eye gives him away. but you can tell he’s pleased, because the next words out of his mouth are gravelly, rough, and a little bit strained.
“good girl.”
for someone who dedicates his life to the pursuit and creation of art, you think that rafayel himself rivals even the most stunning masterpieces currently in existence. especially when he’s sprawled out on the bed beneath you.
a beautiful rosy hue is painted across his cheeks, reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. his eyes are half-lidded and hazy with bliss. his jaw is slack, lips parted around the prettiest moans you’ve ever heard. just the sound of them causes heat to flare up in your gut.
and yet, you still haven’t let out a single pleasured sound of your own. not because he isn’t making you feel good; in fact, quite the opposite is true.
old habits die hard, as the saying goes.
your hips slow to a near-complete stop as you grind yourself languidly against him. you’ve been riding him relentlessly for nearly twenty straight minutes, and your thighs are beginning to ache.
rafayel lets out a whine of protest at the sudden lack of friction.
“cutie,” he whimpers, voice breaking around the syllables. “d-don’t tease. you’re killing me here.”
“i know,” you say. “fuck, ‘m sorry, raf, just— give me a sec…”
his hands tighten around your waist. you can tell his patience is starting to wear thin.
you’re thankful that your hands are already braced on his shoulders for stability. if they weren’t, you would’ve toppled forward the second he started moving.
you hadn’t even noticed the way he planted his feet on the mattress until he begins to jackhammer up into you. he immediately sets a downright brutal pace, hips colliding mercilessly with your own. his fingers dig into the plush of your ass, bouncing you up and down on his cock. he’s not so much guiding you as he is pulling you down — like a siren dragging an unlucky sailor to their demise.
you, of course, are far from unlucky. but you do feel like you’re drowning, with the way he leaves you gasping for air.
“raf— w-wait, slow down…!”
but he can’t. he’s already too far gone, lost in the heat between your legs and the way you clench so perfectly around his length.
his thrusts are sloppy, mindless and desperate. he needs you even more than a fish needs water to breathe. but the fervor with which he ruts up into you is almost punishing, as if he’s trying to say, look at what you’ve done to me. look at how you ruin me.
he’s a wreck. your wreck. and you love it almost as much as he does.
you’re pretty sure you’re going to find bruises in the shape of him tomorrow morning.
“sh-shit, shit, shit,” rafayel warbles, “you’re so beautiful… perfect… gorgeous… my muse…”
each word is punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips. your fingernails dig into his shoulders until red, crescent-shaped indents mar his milky skin.
his moans are unabashed, and oh, so loud. you feel every sound like a vibration in your very soul. you’re lucky he has no neighbors. you still half-expect to receive a noise complaint.
the bedroom is filled with just that — the echoes of his pleasure and the wet slap of skin on skin and your heavy breaths laced with faint whimpers that refuse to fully form.
that is, until he shifts his angle. the swollen head of his cock slams against your spongey front wall, and you shriek.
the sound is so abrupt, so raw, that it feels like it was torn from your chest. mortified, you clamp both hands over your mouth in shock.
rafayel’s pace falters. for a moment, he stills. and for the first time since you took him to the hilt tonight, he’s silent.
the air between you is thick, charged with electricity and something more.
your brain screams at you to do something. apologize, or push yourself off of him, or bury your face in your hands and vow never to look him in the eye again out of sheer embarrassment. anything.
then, he smirks.
he doesn’t even give you a chance to blink before your positions have flipped. the air is knocked out of your lungs as your back hits the mattress, in the exact spot he lay mere moments before. the sheets still carry the warmth of his body. you can’t even fully process the loss of his cock or the emptiness that follows, because in an instant he’s already shoving back into you with a force that makes your back arch and your throat go hoarse with the weight of your scream.
“yes,” he gasps, “that’s exactly what i need. come on, cutie, let me hear how good i make you feel.”
of all the positions sylus has put you in, you think you like this one the best.
not because he reaches the deepest like this, although that certainly is a perk. not because it’s the most comfortable, because if you’re being honest, your knees are starting to hurt.
no, it’s because in this position, you can afford to be as loud as you want.
your hands fist the sheets beside your head as you bury your face a little further into the pillow. the loud moan that rips through you as his hips collide with your ass is completely muffled.
and sure, your drool stains the pillowcase. your teeth catch on tear-stained silk every time the pleasure grows impossible to bear. and yes, you have to admit that it’s getting harder to breathe.
but it feels so good, you forget to care.
“kitten,” sylus groans out from somewhere above you. “if you keep squeezing me like that… this will be over sooner than you think.”
all you can do in response is whine and grind yourself back against him, forcing him deeper until you damn near feel him in your womb.
his grip on your waist tightens, fingers leaving indents in the pliant flesh.
“you’re determined to push every single one of my buttons tonight, aren’t you?” his voice never wavers, though it takes on a new timbre.
your back arches a little deeper. you try to mumble out a response — really, you do — but the only thing you can manage is a choked-out sob into the pillow. the sound vaguely resembles his name.
the obscene squelch of your cunt and the heady smell of sex permeate the air. combined with the considerable lack of oxygen in your lungs, the whole situation is making you feel somewhat dizzy.
another hard thrust drives his tip just below your cervix, and the cry you let out turns your throat raw. you claw desperately at silken sheets, scrabbling for purchase. part of you wishes your nails were raking down sylus’s back instead.
he leans down until you feel the hard planes of his chest against your shoulder blades. his breath is hot as it fans enticingly over the shell of your ear.
“that’s it, sweetie,” he all but growls, “take it. all of it.”
your jaw goes slack as you keen.
before you realize what’s happening, one of his hands is sliding down your body — from your waist to your front, right where your pelvis is canted up at an angle and away from the mattress beneath you. the tips of his fingers trace the curve of your stomach. they linger just below your bellybutton, applying the slightest pressure until—
there.
he feels it. the slight swell that protrudes from your tummy every time he surges forward. his palm flattens over the area. partially for support, keeping you upright, but mostly just to feel the physical evidence of his size and what it does to your body.
a strangled whimper escapes your throat.
you’re getting close. you can feel it. the tightening in your core, the way your pussy squeezes around him like it’s trying to suck him in even deeper.
sylus feels it, too.
you barely have time to process the momentary high before you’re falling over the edge, the pleasure wracking through your body like a tidal wave.
the noise that falls from your lips is strangled and undignified, voice cracking into something unrecognizable as your own.
you don’t register the sudden rush of air that hits your lungs until it’s too late.
the pillow is no longer pressed against your face. silk is no longer clenched between your teeth.
instead, a fistful of your hair is tugging at your scalp, held up by sylus’s hand. the other is still at your stomach, helping to hold you upright.
you can’t see it, but sylus has that signature devilish smirk of his painted across his infuriatingly handsome face.
“there we go. that’s what i wanted to hear,” he says, sounding much too smug for his own good. “now, i want you to do it again.”
sometimes you wonder how your loving boyfriend can be so damn mean.
caleb is unbelievably sweet in all other aspects of your relationship. seriously, he checks every box. he cooks, he cleans, brings home flowers, opens the car door, pays for all your dates, lavishes you with all the love and affection you could ever want or ask for… et cetera, et cetera, so on and so forth. all of it. the works. he’s at your beck and call.
but right now, he’s fucking you like he hates you. he’s got your legs hooked over his hips, knees locked around his waist and ankles crossed at his back. his cock pistons in and out of your dripping hole like he’s trying to drill his way up into your stomach.
not that it’s a bad thing, of course. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it.
but he’s making it really hard to stay quiet.
your teeth sink into his shoulder. it’s the only way you can think to muffle the needy whine that almost falls from your lips.
caleb grunts in pain. or it could have been a low moan of satisfaction. you wouldn’t put it past the masochist in him. and you’d hardly be able to tell the difference, anyway, since it feels like your head is stuffed with cotton.
he slams into you again, and you bite down a little harder. if you were anywhere near coherency, you’d probably be afraid of breaking skin. not that he cares if you do.
his hands are clenched into tight fists, biceps flexing on either side of your head as he digs his nails into his palms. it’s all he can do to ground himself — and to keep from cumming too fast, but that’s a secret that will stay with him.
his chest is flush against yours. he can practically feel every breath you take, the thrumming of your heart against his own… and, of course, the soft curve of your breasts, the tantalizing way they slide and bounce with every move.
admittedly, the latter is taking up a large portion of his attention.
your entire body jolts with every roll of his hips. you’re pretty sure you’re drooling against his shoulder.
it’s not enough for caleb. he's greedy. he wants more.
he wants to see your face. he wants to see your pretty little fucked-out expression, with your eyes rolled back and your tongue lolling out of your slack-jawed mouth. but that would require separation. pulling his sticky, sweat-slicked skin away from yours. drawing back from the heat of your body. and he doesn’t want that. oh, no. that's the last thing he wants.
he supposes that some sacrifices must be made.
so he squeezes his eyes shut, lest he succumb to the temptation. and then, he picks up speed.
the sudden change in pace almost breaks you. the whine catches in your throat.
he notices.
“c’mon, pips…” he’s panting like a dog. “i know you can— fuck— g-give it to me… i want to hear that pretty lil’ voice.”
your nails scratch at his arms, as if in protest of his words. you shake your head weakly. he chuckles, the sound dark and throaty and laced with danger.
“aww, don’t be embarrassed. i— ah, i like it when you get loud.”
caleb knows you like the back of his hand. every thrust is full of intention, the angle of his hips precise. it has sparks exploding across your vision and a moan on the tip of your tongue.
“you’re close, aren’t you? i can feel you clenchin’…”
your pussy lets out a lewd, slick sound in response, answering his question for you.
“that’s right, baby,” he groans. “tell me how much you love my cock.”
you’re pretty sure he isn’t even talking to you anymore.
your head falls away from the junction of his neck, the tip of your nose tracing along his jawline. you inhale deeply, and the scent of his skin fills your lungs.
“caleb,” you slur, lips brushing over the shell of his ear. “please— hck! w-wanna cum…”
you can almost hear the wicked grin in his voice as he responds.
“hmmm… i dunno, pips,” he says, pretending to mull it over. his pelvis grinds over your clit, and you sob.
“maybe if you say it louder, i’ll consider it.”
final remarks: phew, baby's first smut fic posted to the big tumblr dot com. ngl i think i did xavier kinda dirty here, his portion had the shortest wc at 507 :(
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