contains: stalker!hollis,peeping tom,slow burn,smut (p n v), unprotected sex
a/n: i love stalker hollis. now someone make stalker mr.demma
he didn’t fall for you the way normal people do.
Hollis Frazier never did anything the way normal people do.
it wasn't a smile across a room or a shared joke or some spark that flared in the space between two strangers nothing sweet, nothing innocent. it began in a moment he wasn't even supposed to notice you. a tiny, stupid moment the universe tossed at him like a dare.
he remembers it down to the temperature of the air.
you were standing outside the gas station, purse strap slipping off your shoulder, hair tied up messy like you didn't have the energy to pretend today. you were juggling keys and your phone and a bag of chips like you hadn't slept enough, like the world had wrung you out. and you laughed at yourself, at the situation, whatever this soft, fed up little sound that shouldn't have hit him the way it did.
it hit him like gravity remembering his name.
and he saw you. really saw you. not as some girl in Los Angeles or some face he'd forget once he looked away. no you were a disruption. a glitch in the system.
something his brain grabbed onto and refused to let go.
Hollis would tell himself later that it was harmless curiosity. just noticing. nothing wrong with noticing.
and noticing turned into watching.
and watching turned into learning.
you had this rhythm to your days, a little crooked in the cutest ways. you always left five minutes later than you meant to, rushing out the door like time was mocking you. you drove with your windows cracked even when it was cold. you hummed while parallel parking always the same tune, half muttered like you didn't realize you did it.
he catalogued it all like devotion.
there was something about the way you moved through the world, soft and unguarded, like no one had ever given you a reason to look over your shoulder. it made something vicious in him settle. something hungry. something he'd spent years trying to drown finally found air through you.
he’d watch you laugh with people who didn't deserve to hear it. watch you drag your fingertips across the rim of your cup when you zoned out. watch you stand in front of your mirror, tilting your head at an outfit you ended up changing out of anyway.
and in that warped, aching maze of his mind, he loved it all.
God, he loved everything about you.
the way you scrunched your nose when you read something confusing.
the way you talked to yourself when you cooked, like narrating made it make more sense.
the way your anger was small but sharp.
the way your joy made your shoulders relax.
the way your sadness wrapped around you like an old coat you didn't know how to take off.
at least whatever version of love someone like him could feel.
and he wanted you. not lightly. not casually. not in the way people want things they plan to let go of someday. he wanted you like a secret he needed to protect. like a name carved into bone. like something that was already his and just didn't know it yet.
sometimes he'd slip by your house just to see if your light was still on, just to confirm you made it home safe, just to inhale the peace of knowing you were alive in the same world as him.
he memorized your routines the way some people memorize scripture softly, reverently, over and over until the lines were etched into him.
the way you always paused in your doorway like you were remembering something.
the way you hesitated at your car door, glancing over your shoulder before unlocking it.
the way you tilted your head when you laughed, like joy caught you by surprise every time.
he collected these pieces quietly, tucked them into the corners of his mind the way others tuck away photographs.
he liked knowing the shape of your days, the rhythm of your footsteps, the soft little habits you didn't think anyone noticed.
he didn't need you to see him.
he didn't need to be part of the picture.
he just needed you to exist in his orbit.
that was enough to keep his pulse steady, to keep the darker parts of him from tearing their way out.
because he thought of you constantly in the suffocating, burning way that didn't leave room for anything else, a devotion so obsessive it felt less like emotion and more like gravity bending itself around you.
you were the first thing his brain reached for in the morning and the last thing lingering in the dark before he fell asleep.
you were the reason he breathed deeper, the reason his hands shook less, the reason he felt alive in places inside him that had been numb for years.
he’d tell himself it wasn't obsession.
he'd tell himself it was fate.
some cosmic pull he wasn't meant to resist.
and every day, the truth sank deeper into his bones.
even if you didn't know it yet.
especially because you didn't know it yet.
some nights he parked down the street and waited for your light to go out, then let himself imagine you calling him to come over, voice sleepy soft, needy.
imagining you leaving the window cracked just for him, thighs already open when he slipped inside.
his mouth finding you in the dark, slow and worshipful, licking you open until you were shaking, gasping his name, fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him closer while you came on his tongue, half dreaming.
both of you breathless, laughing, saying, finally against your skin before he kissed his way back up to your mouth.
he thought about how you'd feel under him constantly not sweet, not gentle. he wanted to split you open on his cock and watch that soft, unguarded look in your eyes turn wide and shocked and his. wanted to feel you clench around him when you realized there was no part of you he hadn't already claimed in his head a thousand times.
he imagined pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while he fed you every inch, slow enough that you felt every throb, every vein, the way your body would fight and then surrender. he pictured the tears you'd cry not from pain, but from being seen so completely there was nowhere left to hide.
he wanted to ruin you for anyone else and then spend the rest of his life making you come so hard you forgot there had ever been a world before him.
because Hollis Frazier wasn't afraid of loving too much.
he was afraid of a world where he didn't get to love you at all.
you noticed it before you even reach the top step.
the box is small, too small to be from any store you actually buy things from and it's sitting dead center on your welcome mat like someone measured it out. the kind of deliberate placement that makes your stomach flip, because it isn't sloppy or random.
it’s... intentional. and the second you see the pattern on the wrapping paper, your heart lurches.
you know what's inside before you touch it.
because you spent five whole minutes in that little boutique downtown earlier today, turning that exact item over in your hands.
admiring it. debating it. wanting it. and then telling yourself you shouldn't spend money on something so unnecessary. you set it back on the shelf, walked away, and that was the end of it.
except apparently it wasn't.
your fingers hover over the box, and you swear the air feels heavier like someone is holding their breath with you. watching. waiting.
you unlock your door first, push it open, check the corners of your entryway like you always do now. then you go back and pick up the box with hands that feel too warm and too cold all at once.
inside the box is the exact thing you almost bought.
and that's when the slow dread starts pooling behind your ribs not the sharp, stabbing kind, but the heavy, sinking one, like your body already knows something your brain doesn't want to understand.
because this isn't the first time.
for months now, you've had this... feeling.
like someone's eyes were pressed between your shoulder blades.
like someone was just a few inches outside your peripheral.
like a presence that never fully leaves, just shifts.
at first, you told yourself it was stress. lack of sleep. too much caffeine, too little sunlight.
you brushed it off because the alternative the idea that someone could be following you sounded dramatic and paranoid and way too close to the plot of a movie.
but then the little things started.
a soft knock on your door at 10:00 p.m.
you opened it, heartbeat rattling your teeth no one there.
except a tiny seashell, placed neatly on the mat.
you hadn't gone near the beach that day.
but you had stopped by the pier on your lunch break and stared at the water for a while.
then another night, another knock lighter this time, almost playful.
just a folded piece of paper with a dried wildflower inside.
the same kind of flower you'd absentmindedly picked from the path on your walk home earlier.
and then the most unsettling one.
you had a day where you weren't yourself.
you sat in your car after work, hands pressed to your eyes, breathing slow, trying not to fall apart right there in the parking lot. no tears, just that crushing weight that made your chest ache.
but the next morning, there was a small box waiting.
inside: herbal tea packets labeled "calming," the exact brand you used to buy when you had panic attacks in high school.
just care that felt too intimate to be comforting.
you told yourself it had to be a coincidence
some glitch in the universe, some overly kind stranger who just happened to guess the perfect gifts, over and over, with impossible accuracy.
standing in your doorway, holding the item you looked at in a store only hours ago something no one else saw, something you didn't post about or mention or carry around long enough for anyone to notice, there's no comforting lie left.
whoever is doing this... they're watching you.
following you. studying you. learning the things you want before you even let yourself want them.
and for the first time in months, the quiet truth finally unclenches in your mind:
someone has been there the whole time.
close enough to track your footsteps.
close enough to know your habits.
close enough to want to be unseen... and still leave pieces of themselves behind.
as you stand there, holding the gift you didn't buy, you can't shake the feeling that whoever placed it on your doorstep...
...is still close enough to see the look on your face right now.
you sit cross legged on your bed, the soft glow of the desk lamp casting warm circles around your room like a quiet sanctuary.
the notebook's pages are worn, edges curling like they've been cradled in your hands for years because maybe they have.
tonight, you press the pen to paper, letting the words spill out like a whispered confession you're too scared to say out loud.
the name feels heavy on your tongue, like it carries the weight of a thousand things unsaid. you write it down, slow, deliberate, as if spelling it out might somehow make it more real or maybe less so.
you’ve had this crush for what feels like forever. it’s the kind of crush that colors your day in soft shades of hope and quiet longing. the way he laughs, like it's a secret meant only for you. the way his eyes catch the light just right, glinting with something unspoken and magnetic. how even the smallest glance from him sends a jolt through your chest, a spark you can't quite explain.
sometimes, you catch yourself watching him from across the room, pretending it's nothing, telling yourself you're just people watching. but really, you're tracing the curve of his jaw, memorizing the way his fingers curl around a coffee cup, the way his voice dips when he talks to you.
you tell yourself this is harmless. just a crush. just a little flicker in your heart that you can control. but deep down, it feels like a wildfire, burning quiet and fierce all at once.
and then there's the other side the shadow that creeps in when you're alone, when the world quiets down enough to hear the whispers of your own fears.
because you've been feeling watched. for months now. like there's eyes on you that don't blink, a presence that follows your every step. you’ve told yourself it's paranoia. anxiety. stress. anything but the truth.
the truth that someone is out there, lurking just beyond your line of sight, leaving those gifts, those signs that only you notice. the knock on the door when no one's there. the little trinkets that seem impossible to explain.
and you can't stop wondering what if this person finds out about Hollis? what if you drag him into this nightmare? you’d never want that for him. he doesn't deserve to be tangled in your mess, to be pulled into the chaos that stalks your days and haunts your nights.
you imagine telling him maybe when things get better, when you're braver but the thought twists your stomach. because what if he's scared? what if he runs? what if you lose the one person whose smile makes the darkness seem a little less heavy?
you bite your lip, scribbling furiously now, as if pouring your fears onto the page might somehow keep them contained. you write about the way your heart races whenever you see him, and how it's tangled with a fear you can't shake.
i don't want to lose the possibility of him.
you write that over and over, the words trembling with everything you can't say out loud.
and in the quiet of your room, with only the scratch of pen against paper, you don't notice the shadow pressed just outside your window. the silent watcher whose eyes trace every curve of your face, who knows every beat of your heart, and who waits patiently, obsessed, invisible.
because while you write about Hollis, not knowing the truth, he's already stepped into your world in ways you can't imagine.
watching. waiting. loving you in his own dangerous way.
the pen trembles in your hand as you pause, heart pounding with the weight of your own words. you glance up, blinking against the sudden sharpness in the air like the room just exhaled, and you weren't ready for it.
a shiver curls up your spine. the silence feels too heavy now, thick with something unseen. you lift your eyes to the window just beside your bed, the sheer curtain fluttering ever so slightly, but the street outside is empty, bathed in the pale glow of the streetlamp.
you tell yourself it's nothing. just the night settling in.
because out there, behind the glass, a shadow leans close, silent and still.
his eyes are fixed on you, tracing the way your fingers clutch the pen, the subtle tilt of your head, the crease that forms between your brows when you wrestle with your thoughts. he watches the soft rise and fall of your chest, the way the dim light sketches delicate lines across your face, revealing all the vulnerabilities you try to hide.
he’s there in every moment you think you're alone.
and yet, impossibly close.
you rub your arms, trying to shake off the prickling sensation crawling across your skin, but the feeling lingers, like a whisper just beyond hearing.
your breath catches, and your gaze darts around the room, searching for a presence that isn't there. the night wraps around you like a cold hug, and suddenly you're not so sure your sanctuary is safe anymore.
unknowingly, you're being watched not by some distant stranger, but by the one you've been writing about, the one your heart aches for.
he stays just beyond the light's reach, his expression unreadable, a mix of longing and something darker flickering in his eyes.
and as you turn back to your journal, unaware, he lets out a quiet breath, savoring the moment the closeness, the secret.
because in his mind, this is love.
and nothing will stop him from keeping you within his sight.
you turn into your driveway, headlights sweeping across the front steps before fading into the dark. the engine's still humming when you catch movement on the sidewalk a tall silhouette cutting through the warm glow of the streetlamp.
your stomach dips. not in fear in that stupid, dizzy way it always does around him.
you kill the ignition, heart thudding a little too loud, and step out of the car. you’re halfway leaning into the passenger seat, tugging your purse onto your shoulder and gathering the two grocery bags by their thin plastic handles, when you hear his voice behind you.
just that. soft, almost surprised. like he wasn't expecting to see you even though he most definitely timed this to the exact second.
you whip around, hugging your purse to your chest as the grocery bags dangle from your fingers. "oh-hi. what are you doing out here?"
he nods toward the cluster of houses down the block. "was at a friend's. i parked a few streets over."
he gestures vaguely behind him, casual but calculated. "then i saw your car go by."
your pulse skips. there’s something sweet about the way he says it. almost shy. almost.
"oh," you say, brushing hair behind your ear. "yeah. long day."
he steps closer, hands in his pockets, that lazy half grin tugging at his mouth. "do you need help?"
before you can answer, he reaches for you taking the grocery bags right out of your hands with smooth, confident ease, like he's done it a hundred times.
"i- you don't have to-" you start, but he's already walking toward your front door, glancing back like he's waiting for you to unlock it.
"come on," he says. "it’s late."
there’s something in his eyes that pulls you forward, something warm and magnetic and dangerous. you fumble with your keys, trying not to think about the fact that Hollis is standing on your porch with your grocery bags like it's the most natural thing in the world.
the door clicks softly behind you, sealing out the night. the familiar scent of home wraps around you like a worn blanket, comforting and safe. the silence between you feels thick, heavy with things unspoken.
Hollis moves toward the kitchen counter and sets down the bags with careful hands. he leans back against the edge, arms crossed loosely, eyes tracing your face with a quiet attentiveness that makes your pulse hitch.
"how’ve you been?" his voice is low, measured, gentle like he's offering a fragile lifeline you're not sure you're ready to grasp.
you swallow hard, the words lodged somewhere between your ribs. you want to be honest, to tell him about the exhaustion that seeps into your bones, the restless nights, the constant unease you push down beneath a smile. but it's hard to let him see that part of you.
hard to admit you don't have it all together.
"busy," you say finally, your voice a soft breath that barely fills the space.
he nods slowly, not pushing, just waiting, letting the silence stretch between you like a fragile thread.
you fiddle with the strap of your bag, fingers trembling just slightly. your gaze drifts to the window, to the dark outside, but you don't look away from him.
"things have been... a lot," you admit.
his eyes soften, warm and steady, like he wants to gather you up, hold the weight of whatever you're carrying without judgment.
"i get that," he says quietly. "sometimes everything just piles up, and it's hard to find a moment to breathe."
you nod, the tight knot in your chest loosening just a little. it’s comforting, the way he speaks like he understands the parts you don't say aloud.
there’s a pause, thick and electric. you feel the heat of his presence, the way his body leans just slightly toward yours, as if the space between you is charged with something unspoken but undeniable.
he studies your face for a beat too long, something soft settling in his eyes.
"if you ever need to talk," he murmurs, voice low and steady, "you can always talk to me."
the sincerity in his tone lands like a warm hand on your chest steadying, grounding, disarming.
you meet his gaze, and for a moment, the rest of the world slips away the noise, the fear, the secrets.
his eyes hold something vulnerable, something genuine that makes your heart ache in a way you didn't expect.
you want to tell him so much, but the weight of your secret the stalking, the gifts, the watching presses down, and you swallow it back.
instead, you offer a small, tentative smile.
"thanks," you say, voice soft.
he returns the smile, slow and sure, like a quiet promise.
for a long moment, you both just stand there wrapped in the silence, the soft hum of the house around you.
you feel his gaze tracing the line of your jaw, the way your eyes dart away and back again, the small tremble in your fingers.
and though no words are spoken, there's an unspoken question hanging between you, fragile and raw.
something deep and aching and full of hope.
"you seem... different," he says carefully, voice low but steady. "like there's something on your mind."
you stiffen, shoulders inching up the slightest bit as your breath catches. it’s the truth you feel frayed, like your edges are raw and exposed but it's also a question that digs too deep, too fast.
"i’ve been... going through a lot," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. the words taste bitter on your tongue, heavy with things you're not ready to say out loud.
his eyes soften. "if you want to... we can talk about it."
there’s no pressure in his tone just a genuine offering, like he means it, like he really wants to know.
you hesitate, heart hammering in your chest, the vulnerability tangling with something sweeter hope, maybe? the kind that makes your breath catch.
but you can't give him the whole story. not yet.
instead, you offer a small, wry smile.
he nods, unruffled by your evasion.
"complicated's usually where the best stories start."
his voice is gentle, sincere, and it makes your heart flip in a way you're not sure you're ready for.
you glance up, meeting his gaze, and suddenly the room feels charged like every breath is a secret waiting to be shared.
"i don't want to drag you into it," you say quietly, voice trembling just a little. "it's not something i want anyone to get caught up in."
he moves closer, slow and intentional, until the air between you hums with that charged, impossible tension. his eyes trace over your face the worry, the guarded edges, the fear you're trying to hide.
his voice drops, steady enough to quiet every frantic thought racing through you.
"you're not dragging me anywhere."
and suddenly the words don't feel like reassurance they feel like an anchor, like something he's staking himself to.
your throat tightens, and you swallow hard, nerves fluttering beneath your ribs like restless wings. every small movement between you seems amplified the subtle shift in his stance, the way his gaze doesn't flinch from yours. the room feels smaller, the air heavier, thick with a tension that's equal parts fragile and fierce.
your eyes flick to his soft lips, parted slightly as if waiting for something and in that moment, your heart skips, caught in the pull of something deeper than just a crush. it’s the kindness in his eyes, the way he listens, the way he gives you room to breathe without stepping back, like he sees all the layers you try to hide.
you think about how sweet he's been the way he noticed when you were tired, how he didn't rush you, how his presence is a balm against the chaos you're carrying.
it's a quiet kind of feeling, not loud or demanding, but patient and sure.
your breath catches as your thoughts swirl a mix of hope and fear, of wanting to reach out and connect but still holding back.
and yet, something unspoken tugs at you, a silent invitation that you can't ignore.
before your mind can talk you out of it, before hesitation can close the space between you, you lean in.
the world narrows to the soft curve of his lips, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest.
your lips meet his in a slow, tentative kiss gentle and searching, like a question whispered in the dark. it's filled with everything you haven't said, everything you're afraid to say.
he responds with a tenderness that takes your breath away, his hands coming up to rest lightly on your waist, steady and sure.
there's no rush, no pressure just a quiet affirmation that you're both here, right now, holding onto something fragile and precious.
the kiss deepens, his lips parting slightly against yours, a soft invitation you can't resist as his tongue brushes yours. his hands tighten just a fraction at your waist, grounding you as if anchoring you to this moment, this fragile connection that's been building in every glance, every word.
you inhale sharply, the warmth of him flooding your senses, and instinctively, your hands find their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. it’s steady. strong. familiar.
he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his touch growing more confident like he's been holding back and now, finally, letting himself fall in.
your body responds, every nerve alive, every breath hitching as the space between you dissolves. you take a small step backward, your hand slipping from his chest to slide along his arm, gently steering him toward the hallway.
he follows without hesitation, lips never leaving yours, his hands sliding up from your waist to cradle your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones. the heat between you intensifies, a slow burn that spreads through your veins.
the quiet of the house wraps around you both, but in this charged bubble, everything else fades. the shadows on the walls seem to flicker with the rhythm of your breaths, the unspoken promise in every touch.
you guide him softly down the hallway, heart pounding loud enough you're sure he can hear it. the world narrows to this him, you, the electric current that crackles in the space between.
When the door to your room closes softly behind you, the kiss breaks for just a moment your foreheads resting together, breaths mingling, eyes locked in silent conversation.
his hands drop from your face to your waist again, fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns that send shivers down your spine.
there’s a hunger in his eyes now, tempered by tenderness, and you realize this is more than just a kiss. it’s a quiet surrender to something deep and undeniable.
you lean in again, the kiss growing more urgent, more claiming, but never losing the softness that holds you both steady.
in that moment, everything you've been holding back the fear, the longing, the hope melds into something raw and beautiful, written in the language of lips and touch.
the air between you thickens, heavy with heat and tension, as his lips trail down your jawline, warm and insistent.
you don't even realize you've stumbled backward until the softness of your bed cushions your fall, the world tilting gently beneath you.
he’s on top of you now, his weight steady, grounding but his touch is light, almost reverent, as if afraid to break the fragile spell wrapping around you both.
his hands find your face again, fingers tracing the curve of your cheek with a tenderness that sets your skin alight. you close your eyes, losing yourself in the rhythm of his breath against your neck, the way his mouth moves like a whispered promise along your skin. the room shrinks until there's nothing but him, you, and the quiet symphony of your racing heartbeats.
but then something shifts.
amid the warmth and softness, a small, foreign weight slips free from the pocket of his jacket, falling silently onto the floor beside the bed. you don't notice it at first not until his mouth moves along your neck and your eyes drift open, hazy and unfocused.
a piece of cardboard, slightly bent at the edges.
your breath catches, sharp and sudden.
because you know exactly what it is before you even sit up.
the coffee sleeve you doodled on this morning.
the one you traced little stars across while zoning out at the café counter.
the one you tossed in the trash on your way out, not thinking twice.
now it lies on your bedroom floor.
placed so carefully it feels intentional like a signature.
your pulse stutters, a tremor racing beneath your skin as the realization slams into you.
you freeze, the warmth of his mouth still on your neck but suddenly feeling a thousand miles away. your body goes still beneath him, breath shallow, mind spiraling.
his hands pause, and he notices the way your gaze snaps to the object on the floor, the sudden stillness seeping into your every muscle. he follows your eyes, then looks down, seeing the tiny souvenir that's been your silent torment, the evidence of his unseen watchfulness.
his expression shifts surprise flickers, then something softer, more vulnerable.
the edge of something dark fades, replaced by something almost sorrowful. he leans closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead as he speaks, voice low and steady.
"i'm not gonna hurt you."
the words hang in the air, fragile but certain.
he strokes your face with the gentlest touch you've ever known, thumb tracing slow brushing over your cheek. his eyes search yours, sincere and open.
"i would never hurt you."
your throat tightens, a thousand emotions colliding fear, confusion, longing, disbelief. you swallow hard, struggling to make sense of the storm inside you.
finally, you whisper, barely audible, "if i asked you to leave right now... would you?"
his voice is calm, unwavering, filled with a truth you can't deny. you study his face, searching for anything but you find only honesty, a raw, desperate kind of love twisted in the darkness.
and despite every warning screaming inside you, despite the chaos of your own mind, you find yourself drawn to him again.
slowly, deliberately, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his once more.
the kiss is different now less tentative, layered with a fierce urgency that consumes you both.
it's a surrender to the messiness of desire and fear, hope and doubt, tangled together in a bittersweet dance only you two can understand.
and in that moment, nothing else matters except the fragile, burning connection that refuses to be broken.
the kiss is different now, no longer a question, no longer careful.
it's months of his breath held in the dark, finally spilling into your mouth, hot and desperate and reverent all at once.
you fist your hands in the front of his shirt and drag him down on top of you properly, thighs parting so he can settle between them like he was carved to fit there. he makes a broken sound against your tongue, half relief, half worship, and his hips roll once, slow and deliberate, letting you feel exactly how hard he already is.
he pulls back just far enough to look at you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and wet.
"are you scared of me?" he asks, voice raw, like the answer might kill him.
every rational part of you is screaming that you should be.
every rational part of you is screaming that you should be.
but the truth slips out before you can stop it, soft and steady and terrifyingly honest.
a pause. your fingers slide up into his hair, nails scraping his scalp. "i'm not scared of you, Hollis."
something fractures in his expression, something fragile and ferocious.
his forehead drops to yours, and he exhales your name like it hurts.
"fuck," he whispers. "say it again."
he kisses you again, deeper, filthier, tongue sliding against yours like he's trying to drink the words straight out of your mouth.
his hands are everywhere now, sliding under your shirt, palms spreading over your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts with trembling reverence.
when he finds you're not wearing a bra, he groans like he's been stabbed, cups you fully, rolls your nipples between his fingers until you're arching off the bed and gasping into him.
you tug at his jacket, frantic. he shrugs it off without breaking the kiss, lets it fall to the floor on top of the coffee sleeve that started this whole unraveling. then his shirt is gone and you finally get your hands on warm skin, muscle flexing under your palms as you drag your nails down his back hard enough to leave marks.
he hisses, hips jerking against you.
“i've been thinking about this every night," he rasps against your throat. “every single night i watched you through that fucking window, i imagined how you'd sound when i finally got my mouth on you."
his words should terrify you.
they flood you with wet heat instead.
he drags your shirt up and off, mouth descending immediately, kissing, licking, sucking bruises into the tops of your breasts like he's trying to brand you from the inside out.
when he closes his lips around one nipple, you cry out, back bowing, fingers twisting in his hair to hold him there. he stays for what feels like hours, switching sides, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, until you're writhing beneath him and soaked through your panties.
he lifts his head, eyes wild. "tell me what you need, baby. anything. i’ll give you anything."
you reach for the button of his jeans with shaking hands. he helps you, frantic now, kicking them off until he's naked and gorgeous and heavy between your thighs.
you wrap your fingers around him.
thick, hot, leaking at the tip.
he drops his head to your shoulder, mouth dragging hot and open mouthed up the length of your neck in one slow, reverent kiss, before the guttural sound tears out of him and vibrates through your whole body.
you stroke him once, slow, twisting at the head, and he thrusts into your grip like he can't help it.
"i need you inside me," you whisper, the words raw against his mouth. "every time i touched myself in this bed, i pretended it was you."
he makes a sound like he's dying and rips your shorts and panties down your legs in one rough motion. then his hand is between your thighs, two fingers sliding through how wet you are, spreading it up over your clit until you're shaking.
"this for me?" he asks, voice wrecked. "all this time you were dripping for the guy who watched you sleep?"
"yes," you moan, hips chasing his hand.
he pushes those two fingers inside you without warning and you clench around them so hard your vision whites out. he curls his fingers, finds that spot like he was born knowing it, and strokes slow, relentless, until your breath is breaking and your nails are digging red lines into his shoulders.
"look at you," he whispers, reverent, watching his fingers disappear into you again and again. "took me months to earn this. months of being so good, staying in the dark, keeping my hands to myself. and now you're letting me inside."
he pulls his fingers free, brings them to his mouth, licking them clean while holding your gaze. then he's nudging your thighs wider, lining himself up, the head of his cock dragging through your folds until you're both shaking.
he pushes in slow, so fucking slow, eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker across your face as he stretches you open inch by inch. when he bottoms out you both still, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air.
he lets out a shaky breath against your mouth, voice low and wrecked.
"fuck... you feel how perfect you take me?"
like you were waiting for this too.
long, deep strokes that drag over every sensitive place inside you, like he's memorizing the way you feel around him.
his hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together, pinning it to the pillow beside your head. the other hand slides under your lower back, tilting your hips so he hits deeper, and you cry out every time he bottoms out.
he never looks away from your face.
every thrust is paired with a confession, whispered against your mouth like communion.
"watched you cum on your own fingers thinking you were alone-"
"i wanted to crawl through that window and lick you clean-"
"jerked off in my car outside your house with your name on my tongue-"
"now i get to feel you fall apart on my cock instead. fuck, you're so perfect-"
your second orgasm builds slow and devastating, coaxed out of you by the drag of him inside you and the weight of his words and the way he's looking at you like you're the answer to every prayer he's ever had. when it crests, you clamp down around him so hard he groans like he's in pain, pace stuttering.
"cum for me angel," he begs, voice breaking. "i want to feel it-"
it rolls through you in waves, your thighs trembling around his hips, your back arching off the bed, his name torn out of you like a sob.
he fucks you through it, slow, relentless, drawing it out until you're oversensitive and clinging to him.
only then does he let himself go.
he buries his face in your neck, hips snapping hard and fast now, chasing his own release with desperate, filthy thrusts.
you wrap your legs high around his waist, nails raking down his back, and he cums with a choked sound that's half your name, half a prayer. you feel every pulse as he spills deep inside you, hips jerking, arms shaking as he holds you like he's scared you'll disappear.
for a long moment, there's nothing but the sound of your breathing and the thud of his heartbeat against your chest.
he stays inside you for a long, trembling minute, forehead pressed to yours, breathing like he just ran ten miles and found heaven at the finish line. when he finally slips out, slow, careful, reluctant.
you both exhale at the same time, like the air itself is mourning the loss. a soft, wet sound follows as he leaves you empty and aching, and he immediately lowers his mouth to yours again, kissing you deep and lazy, tasting himself on your tongue like he's greedy for every last piece of this moment.
his lips move over yours again and again, soft, reverent, endless, until your jaw aches in the sweetest way and you're dizzy with it.
eventually, he rolls to the side, pulling you with him so you're tucked against his chest, one of his arms locked around your waist, the other sliding up to cradle the back of your head. your legs tangle automatically.
the room is quiet except for the low hum of the fan and the slowing thunder of two heartbeats learning how to beat together.
you lie there in the dark, skin cooling, sheets twisted beneath you, his fingertips drawing idle circles on your bare back.
minutes stretch, thick and honey slow.
then you turn your face into his neck and whisper it, so soft it's almost nothing.
he stills. you feel the words settle over him like a blanket.
then his chest moves with a quiet laugh, warm against your cheek.
"i’ll just call you when i wanna see you now," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and something impossibly tender.
you pull back just enough to meet his eyes.
moonlight slips through the blinds, tracing silver across his cheekbones, the curve of his lips, the faint red marks your nails left on his shoulder. his gaze is soft, open completely unguarded in a way that makes your chest ache.
you both smile a small, secret smile, the kind that says maybe the thing you were too scared to believe is suddenly closer than you dared imagine.
he leans in again, lips brushing yours soft, slow. a kiss that feels like a quiet promise, not needing words because it already says everything.
and as the night stretches on around you, the world fades just enough for this moment to breathe raw, imperfect, and real.
nothing's certain, nothing's finished. but right now, this is enough.
just you. just him. and whatever comes next.
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