pairing – garrett graham x kitty!reader
summary – garrett learns that kitty has left a trail of devastated men across briar, and takes it as proof that what they have is different.
warnings – lowkey misogyny, slut-shaming, references to multiple past hookups, emotional distress discussed humorously, implied sexual content, sex toys, hickeys, nail marks and biting.
notes from me – oh i'm kind of obsessed with this i won't lie. garrett baby a storm is coming.
word count – 1.5k
navigation – masterlist | MBF masterlist
The dining hall had reached its lunchtime maximum capacity, which meant every table was crowded, the cutlery station had somehow run out of forks, and the air smelled like coffee, fryer oil and the wet wool of a hundred winter coats dragged in from outside.
Garrett sat opposite Dean with one elbow planted beside his tray, peeling the label from a bottle of water while Dean explained, in unnecessary detail, why Saturday’s game would be significantly easier if Coach simply allowed him to express himself.
“You mean ignore the play,” Garrett said.
“I mean respond instinctively.”
“You went offside four times at practice yesterday.”
Dean pointed a fry at him. “Because my instinct cannot be restrained.”
Garrett snorted, glancing toward the television bolted high in the corner, where muted footage from last weekend’s game was playing beneath a row of university announcements. “Tell Coach that. I’m sure he’ll love it.”
“I have. He lacks vision.”
Garrett was halfway through telling him Coach had every reason to be afraid when a shadow fell across the end of the table. Three guys stood there in Briar football sweats. Garrett recognised one of them from Beau’s frat – a receiver, maybe, with a familiar square jaw and the permanently dazed expression of someone who had been hit for sport since childhood.
“Graham,” the guy said.
Garrett nodded once. “What’s up?”
The three of them looked at one another. There was communication happening in the silence. A full, bleak committee meeting carried out through widened eyes and tiny movements of the mouth. Dean lowered his fry.
The guy from Beau’s frat cleared his throat. “We heard who you’re, like, dating.”
Garrett frowned before he could stop himself. He said her name, careful and automatic, then added, “I’m not dating her.”
Dean’s eyes slid toward him, but Garrett ignored it. He didn't need commentary from a man who had once called forcing Tucker to Venmo her for mozzarella sticks husband behaviour.
The football player’s expression tightened with something close to pity. “Don’t.”
Garrett blinked. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t do it, man.”
One of the others – a massive guy with a healing split through one eyebrow – nodded hard enough to move his entire upper body. “Seriously. She fucked us up.”
The third guy hadn't spoken yet. He stood clutching a sports drink against his chest with both hands, staring at Garrett as if he had arrived too late to prevent an industrial accident. “I think I have legit PTSD, bro.”
Dean’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Garrett slowly put the water bottle down. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
The guy with the split eyebrow dragged a hand over his face. “I cried in bed for, like, a week, dude.”
“You cried?”
He nods earnestly. “My mom had to come get me.”
Dean made a choking sound and covered it with a cough that fooled nobody.
The first guy pointed at Garrett, growing more urgent now that the testimony had begun. “She’s so fucking fine, right? Like, insanely fine. But that’s what gets you. It’s deceiving.”
“Her face is deceiving?” Garrett asked.
“The whole thing,” the guy with the sports drink said grimly. “The little skirts. The hair. The way she smiles at you like you’re the only person in the room.”
Garrett pictured that smile. Usually right before she said something designed to make his blood pressure spike.
The guy continued, “Then two weeks later you’re apologising for shit you didn’t even know men could do wrong.”
“I don’t believe in love anymore,” Split Eyebrow added.
“You dated her?” Garrett asked.
“Not officially.”
Dean’s head came up. “Oh, so she wasn’t dating you.”
The guy looked wounded by the distinction. “We were together all the time.”
“For how long?”
“Three weeks.”
Dean pressed his lips together, nodding as though this had answered several important questions about the plaintiff.
The first guy leaned closer to Garrett. “She’s a maneater, man. She'll chew you up and spit you out. She's like a–” He snapped his fingers, looking to the others for help. “Like a viper.”
“A viper doesn’t chew you up,” Dean said. “It injects venom.”
All three football players looked at him.
Dean lifted one shoulder. “Accuracy matters.”
“Whatever,” the guy insisted. “You know what I mean. She’s crazy.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose. “You’re talking about Kitty?”
“What?” Split Eyebrow said.
“Kitty,” Dean repeated.
Garrett huffed, shaking his head before the nickname could develop its own campus folklore. “It’s a nickname. Never mind.” He looked back at the three men gathered around his lunch like shell-shocked survivors at a support group. “So what, you came over here to warn me?”
“Yes,” they said together.
Something deeply uncharitable warmed behind Garrett’s ribs. He nodded with as much solemnity as he could manage. “Right. Thanks for the warning.”
The relief on their faces was almost offensive. The first guy clapped him on the shoulder, told him to stay strong, and led the others away through the tables, sports drink still held protectively against the third guy’s sternum.
Garrett watched them go.
Across from him, Dean had gone completely still, eyes fixed on Garrett’s face. “You look unbearable.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” Dean leaned back in his chair, studying him with open disgust. “You’re doing that smug little captain thing.”
Garrett picked up his water. “Maybe I’m glad people care about my wellbeing.”
“No. You’re sitting there thinking you’re different.”
Garrett took a drink.
Dean pointed at him. “You are.”
Garrett shrugs. “She likes me.”
“They probably thought she liked them too.”
“She does like me,” Garrett said, because that part was not arrogance. Or not entirely. He knew the difference between her looking at somebody and her looking at him.
He knew the exact little pinch that appeared between her brows when she was pretending not to be bothered, the sound her nails made when she tapped them against his phone and asked who was texting him, the way she crawled into his bed already complaining and then stole his pillow before she fell asleep.
Dean narrowed his eyes. “You know she’s going to ruin your life.”
Garrett’s mouth twitched. He had heard her threaten bodily harm because Logan drank the oat milk she liked. He had watched her make a sophomore cry using only words. She could dismantle a man in public without raising her voice, all glossy lips and long nails and a sweet expression that made the damage worse.
But Garrett also knew what happened when the bedroom door shut. She talked a big game. She arrived with that sharpened little smile and called him hockey boy like she hadn't spent half the week wearing his clothes.
Then he got his hands on her, and the whole performance loosened one breath at a time. Her insults broke apart. Her grip changed. She ended most nights clinging to him and saying his name like it was the only word she had left.
Garrett shrugged. “I’ve got it under control.”
Dean stared at him for a long moment. “That's what every guy says immediately before an animal mauls him.”
Hours later, Garrett was lying on his back beneath the low amber light of his bedside lamp, one arm crooked behind his head and the other spread over the warm curve of her spine.
Her body was folded into his side, boneless with sleep and whatever was left of the attitude she had arrived with. One bare leg rested across his thighs. Her cheek was pressed to his chest, hair tangled over his shoulder, and she had been quietly playing with the chain around his neck for several minutes without seeming entirely conscious of it.
The room carried the soft, overheated stillness of aftermath. Clothes across the floor. Douglas abandoned near the pillows. The faint sound of Logan laughing downstairs, blurred by the walls.
She slid the chain between two fingers, watching it catch against his skin with heavy-lidded concentration. Then she leaned up and pressed a small, absent kiss beneath his jaw. Another followed near his chin.
Garrett smiled at the ceiling.
His shoulders and chest were covered in evidence, half-moons from her nails, a dark mark near his collarbone, another pulsing beneath his jaw where she had held him still with one hand and bitten down like she had something to prove.
His back would probably look worse. The guys would see it tomorrow in the locker room and Dean will become impossible to live with.
She kissed his jaw again, softer this time, and murmured something that dissolved against his skin before it became language.
Garrett lowered his chin. “What was that?”
Her eyes stayed closed. “Nothin'.”
“Sounded like something.”
“Go to sleep.”
Her voice had no edge left in it. Barely enough volume to qualify as a command. She tucked her face more firmly into the side of his neck and curled her fingers around his chain, holding it as though she had decided it belonged to her too.
Garrett’s hand moved slowly up her back. She sighed and melted closer, warm mouth brushing his skin in one last drowsy kiss.
Maneater, his ass.
He looked down at the marks covering him, then at the woman sleeping with her whole body wrapped around his and one hand possessively closed around the chain at his throat.
He had this completely under control.
to be notified when i post new fics, follow @kooksandpearls-library and turn on notifications! i no longer use a taglist for garrett fics.
summary - you and garrett celebrate your four year anniversary in a hotel room
pairing - boyfriend!garrett graham x reader
word count - +2.8k
a/n - not spicy i apologise in advance
There’s just something about a hotel room that makes you feel like the main character.
Whether it’s the fact you’re somewhere new (most likely), or you’re in a room that is so different to the one back home, you’re not sure, but there’s definitely something special about it.
It’s made extra special when you share a hotel room with your boyfriend, Garrett. There was something so romantic about it - like the world just revolved around you both for the night.
You and Garrett were spending the night at a hotel together, to celebrate your anniversary. It was nothing extremely fancy, but it was nice enough.
You’d just checked in and Garrett, ever the gentleman, was carrying your bags up to the room. He’d kept glancing at you in the elevator up and you’d tried your hardest not to blush under his gaze. Four years and he still made you nervous.
You followed along behind him as he chauffeured you to your room. It was hard not to drool at how imposing he looked in the dark and narrow corridor.
Once the door was open, he let you through first.
The room was lovely. A big bed with soft-looking white sheets. A huge TV on the opposite wall. A typical desk that you won’t ever use and a door that presumably led to the bathroom.
“This is nice!” You smiled, dropping your tote bag to the floor without a care.
Garrett quietly shut the door behind you, dropping his own bags off next to the door.
“Yeah.”
“No petals on the bed? You’re slacking, Graham.” You teased.
Garrett came up behind you, wrapping his arms underneath your jumper around your waist. You let out a laugh and your neck automatically rolled back when Garrett started kissing you there.
“I can be more romantic than rose petals, baby.”
“Oh yeah? A bubble bath? Bottle of champagne?”
Garrett nipped at the skin on your neck, which would no doubt leave a lasting mark. He didn’t let you out of his hold no matter how much you wriggled.
“How about a night in? No fancy dress up or expensive meal. Just us. Here. Take-out and board games.”
You spun around but Garrett kept a close hold on you.
His eyes searched for something in yours, no doubt curious as to what you were about to say.
“You might as well have just asked me to marry you.”
Garrett wasn’t nonchalant enough to hide the smile on his face. In fact, he beamed. His smile was wide and the little creases in the corner of his eyes proved how happy he was.
“One day.”
He leant down to kiss you, your hands immediately coming up to the back of his neck as leverage to keep him down. The kiss was slow and hot. It was the kind of kiss that felt like you’d both been waiting years for it - when in reality it had been about ten minutes.
Garrett’s teeth accidentally clashed against yours and you both pulled away laughing, breathing heavy from the kiss.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Garrett kissed you once more before you let each other go.
You were both quiet as you unpacked various bits. Your suitcase was open on the bed - a suitcase that Garrett had teased you relentlessly over considering you were only here for the night. He’d only brought a backpack.
Your eye caught on your burgundy, silk, slip dress that you’d brought in case you went out for a fancy meal. You took it out of the suitcase and held it up against your body.
“I have no reason to wear this now we aren’t going out.” You said, waiting for Garrett to come out of the bathroom to look.
His eyes visibly darkened when he saw the dress.
It was one you hadn’t worn yet, but one that Garrett was eager to see you in.
“You can still wear it.” His jaw ticked as he tried to control himself.
“Right. Me in a silk dress and you in joggers.” You laughed sarcastically, putting the dress back in your suitcase.
“I brought nice clothes. I can get dressed up for you, baby.”
You walked the distance over to him, hooking your arms around his middle and tilting your head back to look at him.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He smiled, “I’d be stupid to pass up the opportunity of seeing you in that dress.”
“You would.”
“Okay then. Looks like we’re dressing up.”
Garrett leaned down to kiss you softly, which was ruined by you smiling too much to keep your lips together.
——
Garrett after a shower made you weak at the knees.
You had gotten ready in the bathroom at the same time that Garrett had a shower, and barely had the brain to concentrate with him there.
It was outrageous how hot he was, especially fresh after a shower with a white towel wrapped around his waist - like he had right now.
“You okay?” He asked.
He knew what he was doing, that was the rude thing about him.
His arms placed on the bathroom counter, either side of you, his muscles flexing and veins surfacing. Fuck.
“Can you please leave.”
“Leave?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes. Goodbye.”
You tried to go back to continuing your makeup routine, but it was hard to focus on anything other than him pressing up further into the back of your. Your breath shuddered at the feeling of him pushing against you.
You made brave eye contact with him through the mirror. He had a challenging look on his face, clearly ready to fight you on this topic of conversation.
“Why?” He rolled his bottom lip inwards with his tongue.
“You know why.”
“Enlighten me.”
His face came down to your neck, his nose moving along the bare skin there. He loved that you smelt consistently of your favourite shower gel and body cream combination. It was a comforting smell to him, and you loved how obsessed it made him about you.
Goosebumps covered your skin as he slowly moved his nose down, before he stopped in one spot to kiss you delicately.
Your mouth parted in an involuntary gasp.
“This… Is why.”
Garrett paid no attention to you and continued to work his lips over the patch of skin he’d taken a liking to. He would no doubt leave a red mark that he’d be proud of.
You closed your eyes and involuntarily tilted your head back against his shoulder, giving him more room to kiss you.
The span of his large hands settled over your front, smoothing up and down your stomach. He made you so hot and dizzy just from touch alone.
Your breath hitched as his teeth nipped your skin.
You could feel the smugness radiating off of him as you physically reacted to his touch.
He planted a final kiss to the spot he’d been working on, “Still want me to leave?”
“Y-yes.” Your eyes fluttered open.
“You sure? You don’t sound confident.”
Your eyes zeroed in the spot on your neck where he had just been and huffed at the size of it.
“Garrett!” You exclaimed, “I’m going to have to cover that up now, you dick.”
Instead of your boyfriend grovelling, he laughed to himself as he watched you lean forward towards the mirror and assess the damage.
“Cover it for who?” He questioned.
“Not the point.” You turned around and pushed him back with pathetic force. “Out.”
“Ba—.”
“Out!” You shut the door on him before he could say anything else. Only when the door was closed did you let yourself smile at how much of an idiot he was but also how much you loved him.
——
Garrett was laying on the bed in a smart dress-shirt and fitted trousers when you exited the bathroom.
It looked like he had been doom-scrolling on his phone to pass the time. No matter how hard you tried, you could not get him to read a single book. He often preferred to just listen to you read instead.
You cleared your throat, letting him know you were now ready.
Garrett lifted his head. His face visibly softened when he took you in, stood there in a beautiful dress and dolled-up just as you liked.
His phone immediately got dropped to the bed as he sat up, not once taking his eyes off you. He let out a small smirk and a soft shake of his head, making you look down at yourself briefly to check everything looked okay.
“What?” You asked, nervously.
Garrett continued to shake this head as his tongue rolled over his bottom lip. “Come here.”
“Why?”
“Please.” He held out a hand for you.
You pursed your lips, trying to hide your smile, and walked across the room towards his outstretched hand. Your palm fit into his perfectly and he pulled you towards him carefully.
Garrett’s other hand took the time to pull you in by your waist, and then travel slowly down your back to rest in the divot at the bottom of your spine.
He looked up at you like you were some Goddess he worshipped.
He made you feel like a deity.
“What?” You asked again, this time as a whisper. You noticed how his eyes never left yours. His attention was on you and you alone. “Say something.”
“There’s nothing I could say that would be deemed good enough to describe how beautiful you are.”
“I’d say that was pretty perfect.” You couldn’t help but blush.
Garrett chuckled and stood up so his gaze now looked down upon you. It didn’t make you feel any less or any smaller. You still felt seen and beautiful.
His hand ran up the back of your dress, up your spine and to the back of your neck. You couldn’t help when your breath hitched as he moved his hand. Curse men and their damn hands.
Garrett wasted no time in pulling your face towards his as he leant down to kiss you.
His lips were as soft as always and you no doubt tasted of the cherry chapstick you’d just reapplied. The kiss was everything.
You moved your hand up so you could cup his jaw. Your touch was featherlight, but it let you keep his face close to yours and his lips selfishly pressed to yours.
You couldn’t help but smile, unintentionally breaking the kiss.
“What?” Garrett laughed quietly, keeping his forehead pressed against yours.
It was your turn to shake your head softly. You looked up into his eyes and could see reflected everything that you also felt.
“I love you.” You whispered against his lips, ghosting the words into another kiss.
“I love you too.” He returned the sentiment, pressing his lips harder against yours this time.
Your hand slid from his jaw back to the curls on the nape of his neck. You tugged on them as he deepens the kiss, his jaw tilting slightly to angle the kiss better. It was extremely satisfying to hear Garrett moan moments later.
He pulled away, like he could tell that you were only going to tease him if he continued getting loud over something as simple as a kiss. Then again a kiss was never simple between you two - They were so much more than that.
“You look handsome, by the way.” You said, keeping his face close to yours.
His hand in yours squeezed tight.
“Thank you.”
“This the shirt we bought the other weekend?”
“Mhm.”
“I told you that blue and white striped shirts were a girl's wet dream. You look like Colin Firth in Mamma Mia.”
“Should I be offended that you’re thirsting over Colin Firth in Mamma Mia?” He furrowed his eyebrows.
“More like, should I be offended that other girls get to see you wearing it?” You tutted, pulling your hands out of his hold to wrap them both around the back of his neck. Garrett’s hands swiftly followed to both rest around your waist.
“I’ll only ever wear it for you. That sound like a plan?” He kissed you quickly.
“I could live with that.” And you kissed him right back.
——
“You bought a couples card game?” You watched as Garrett unpackaged the new card game from its box, “This is our 4 year anniversary, babe.”
Garrett smirked as he tossed the plastic packaging aside, sitting on the floor with his back against the foot of the bed. You lay on your front close by, next to the picnic blanket full of empty food packets and pizza boxes.
“Just…” Garrett silently told you to trust him. “We literally just pick up cards and ask each other the questions on them.”
“Okay.”
“Ladies first.” He gestured to you. Ever the flirt.
You picked up the first card in the deck and flipped it over to read it. You hummed to yourself.
Maybe this was a good game after all, because you didn’t know Garrett’s answer to this question for example.
“Have you ever dreamed about me? What was it about?” You smirked and raised your eyebrows, placing the card back down in a new pile of its own.
You watched Garrett tip his head back with a laugh, laughing up at the ceiling. He clearly had something on his mind to share as an answer.
He looked back towards you.
“Yes.” He licked his lips and clasped his hands, in his lap, in front of him, “Quite a lot.”
“Do tell.”
“Well I vividly remember the dreams I had of you leading up to the first time we slept together.”
“Charming.” You rolled your eyes with a laugh.
“Was never as good as the real thing.”
“You’re an absolute pig.” You reached your hardest to slap his leg, but it was a little pathetic. Garrett laughed at your effort. “Thought this was meant to be a romantic game.”
“Well what do you want me to say?” Garrett argued, “You want me to give you the details? Like how I remember one dream was literally just me watching you get ready in the morning, because I used to fixate on how you managed to look so perfect every day.”
“Okay, now you’re laying it on too thick, Romeo.” You laughed, pointing to him to pick up a card from the pile to ask you a question next.
Garrett picked up a card and took his time to read it.
“If I need to move somewhere really far away, would you consider having a long-distance relationship or would you follow me?”
You gave your boyfriend a somber smile to a topic of conversation that had come up too many times to count throughout your relationship.
Garrett placed the card down on the new used pile of cards, letting you take a moment to answer.
“You know I’d follow you anywhere.” You answered honestly.
“As long as you never put me or my career above your own, I’d love having you with me.” Garrett said.
You had both fought quite a few times over this topic, and Garrett had always made it very clear that he never wanted you to follow him because you thought you had to. He wanted you to follow him because you wanted to and it wasn’t going to cut you off from any opportunities.
You picked up a card next.
“Tell me something I texted you that made you smile.” You said, placing the card down.
“Probably when you text me ‘Morning’ every day.” He beamed.
“Good answer.”
Garrett picked up a card, “What does it make you feel whenever you hold my hand?”
“Safe.” You answered instantly.
——
A couple of hours and a few rounds of sex later, you’re both laying in bed. Garrett’s laying on his side, looking down at you, whilst you’re laying on your back.
Garrett had made sure to pull the sheets up over your chest, not because he wanted to hide any part of you but because you always got cold after sex.
Garrett’s curls fell over his forehead, because his head was tilted down to watch you speak. It never failed to amaze the both of you how chatty you were after several orgasms.
“There’s something about a hotel room that feels so sexy.” You admitted, taking a long look away from Garrett to survey the dark room. Only the light from the bathroom was on and dimly at that.
“Yeah?” Garrett chuckled.
He didn’t bother to look at the room. He’d seen it all before and you were far more interesting.
“Mhm. Makes me feel closer to you, because we’re the only ones we know here.”
“I see.”
“You’re not listening to me, are you?”
“Not since you said the word sexy.”
“I wasn’t calling you sexy.” You rolled your eyes with a smile.
“Huh. Could’ve sworn you did.” Garrett frowned and furrowed his eyebrows, messing with you like he often did.
The room went quiet after you giggled.
You focused on your fingers that were twisting the sheets in front of you, smiling as you thought back on how perfect the evening had been.
“Baby?”
You took your time refocusing your gaze on Garrett, “Hm?”
pairing – garrett graham x kitty!reader
summary – the plan is simple: take garrett home, satisfy the curiosity and move on. the plan fails spectacularly.
warnings – 18+, smut, protected sex, fingering, oral stimulation, multiple orgasms, praise, scratching and biting, playful banter
notes from me – the first fic in this series!! so excited for you guys to read this one and let me know your thoughts! this fits in as the first time kitty & garrett sleep together! <3
word count – 7k
navigation – masterlist | MBF masterlist
The red wine has made the pavement look shinier than it is. That’s the only explanation she can come up with for the way everything seems slightly richer around the edges when they spill out of the restaurant into the December cold: taxi lights dragged gold over wet asphalt, steam breathing from a grate near the kerb, the dark windows above Mercer Street reflecting little broken pieces of the city back at itself.
Her friends are laughing about something that stopped being funny inside, all three of them crowded beneath the awning while the hostess tries to arrange cars nobody actually wants yet.
She pulls her coat tighter around herself, black fur swallowing the narrow straps and short hem of her dress until she looks significantly more prepared for the weather than she feels.
The cold catches instantly at her bare knees. Her heels click against the pavement when she steps aside for a couple pushing past, and she’s halfway through telling one of her friends that they are absolutely not going uptown yet when Sophie grabs her forearm hard enough to interrupt the sentence.
“Wait. Oh my God. Hey!”
She follows Sophie’s line of sight mostly because the girl is already waving both arms like she’s flagging down a rescue helicopter.
A group of guys is coming toward them through the foot traffic, broad shoulders and dark coats breaking apart the smaller bodies moving the opposite way. Dean Di Laurentis is the easiest to recognise. His coat is open despite the cold, his hair still perfectly arranged, one hand lifted in answer to Sophie’s wave.
Beside him are Tucker and Logan, both familiar enough from Briar parties and the occasional photograph Dean has posted from some ski trip or boat or stupidly expensive dinner. Beau is there too, laughing at something Logan says.
And then there’s Garrett Graham. Her eyes pass over him once, then come back. Then, humiliatingly, leave and return for a third time as if the first two inspections could not possibly have collected enough evidence.
Oh. The plot has thickened.
Garrett had been hot at the hockey house. Obviously. She hadn’t mistaken him for an accountant while he leaned against the wall in his own team sweatshirt and tried to call her Madison.
She had seen the curls, the shoulders, the grin. She had noticed enough to let him spend nearly an hour asking around for her name rather than simply walking away and forgetting he existed.
But that had been hockey-house hot. Campus hot. A little drunk beneath ugly lighting with a red cup in his hand and an entire building arranged to remind everyone he was important. This is something else.
The dark knit sweater sits snug across his chest and arms, fitted enough to show exactly how much body is hidden beneath it. A thin chain catches at the base of his throat whenever he moves. His jeans are loose, riding low over heavy tan Timberlands, and he walks with an easy, grounded weight that makes the women coming toward him shift aside before they consciously decide to.
He walks, she thinks faintly, like whatever is happening beneath those jeans requires consideration.
Which is a disgusting thought to have on a public street. She has it twice.
Garrett sees her just as Dean reaches them. There’s a flicker of recognition across his face, quick but unmistakable, before his mouth curves.
Dean sweeps Sophie into a hug and kisses the side of her head. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I live here, idiot.”
“No, you don’t. You live at school nine months of the year and terrorise Manhattan recreationally.”
Sophie rolls her eyes. “That’s still living here.”
He laughs and turns, attention landing on her. “There she is.”
Dean hugs her with the easy familiarity of someone she has known through Christmas parties, charity dinners and summers where both their families kept ending up in the same places without anyone admitting they had coordinated it. He smells expensive and cold from outside.
“Your mother told mine you were home,” he says as he releases her.
She scrunches up her nose. “That sentence made me want to walk into traffic.”
“Yeah, well, our mothers are obsessed with each other,” Dean grins, then gestures carelessly at the men behind him. “You know everyone, right?”
She looks past him. Garrett’s still watching her.
“Yeah,” she says, because her voice has apparently decided to become perfectly normal at the least convenient moment. “More or less.”
Logan leans in for a quick hug, Tucker offers her a warm, slightly apologetic smile as though he already knows whatever Dean is planning will become everybody’s problem, and Beau greets Sophie by name. Garrett waits until last.
Up close, the sweater is worse. His shoulders are worse. The little glimpse of chain at his collar is so much worse she briefly considers whether she has been unknowingly ovulating for the entire length of Mercer Street.
“Hockey boy,” she says.
His smile pulls wider. “Manwhore girl.”
Her friends go silent with the speed and precision of animals spotting movement in tall grass. She arches one brow. “That isn’t what I called myself.”
“No, but it’s the only name you gave me.”
“I gave you my actual name eventually.”
“After I conducted a campus-wide investigation.”
She rolls her eyes. “It was forty minutes.”
“Forty-seven.”
She stares at him. “You timed it?”
Garrett’s eyes move over her face, dark and amused, then dip for one brief second to the fur folded at her throat. “Maybe.”
“Oh, that’s embarrassing for you.”
“It worked.”
Before she can answer, Dean looks between them. His head turns once toward Garrett, once back toward her, his expression brightening with a level of interest that should legally require a permit. “You two know each other?”
“Barely,” she says.
“At a deep spiritual level,” Garrett says at the same time.
She gives him a flat look. “You forgot my name while speaking directly to me.”
“And then I learned from adversity.”
Tucker makes a quiet sound that might be a laugh. Logan looks delighted already. Dean, naturally, looks ready to cancel every other plan he has ever made. “Okay. Great. We’re all going out together.”
“We’re already going out,” Sophie points out.
“Perfect. So are we.”
“To where?” her other friend asks.
Dean gestures vaguely down the street, as if New York has been waiting for him to choose from it. “Next place.”
“That’s not a place,” Tucker says.
“It will be when we get there.”
There’s some discussion about a club downtown that Sophie knows, another place Logan heard about from a guy on the team, and whether the table Dean has access to is real or the result of him once again treating his surname as a universal keycard.
She hears almost none of it. Garrett has shoved his hands into his pants pockets, which pulls the knit tighter over his arms. He’s standing half-turned toward Dean, listening, his weight settled back on one heel.
Every now and then his eyes return to her, not lingering long enough to be called staring, but doing it often enough that she feels each glance like the brush of fingers along the exposed skin above her dress.
It’s been a little while since she has had sex.
Not an alarming length of time, nobody needs to establish a welfare committee. She’s been busy, and the last man she entertained spoke about venture capital for twenty-two uninterrupted minutes.
Still. It’s been long enough. Getting back on the horse is healthy. Sensible, even. Her eyes drift down Garrett’s body once more, taking in the heavy boots and the loose denim and the sheer size of him.
That’s a very large horse.
“Are you coming?” Garrett asks.
Her gaze snaps to his face. His mouth is twitching.
She narrows her eyes. “Where?”
“The club.”
The bastard knows she was looking. She steps closer as the rest of the group starts moving, letting the fur coat fall open just slightly at her throat. Garrett’s eyes drop before he catches them. Better.
“Try not to lose track of my name on the way,” she says.
His smile turns slow. “Think I’ve got it now.”
The club is beneath a hotel with no sign outside and a doorman who looks at Dean for approximately two seconds before unclipping the rope.
“See?” Dean says, glancing back at Tucker as they descend the narrow stairwell. “Real table.”
The music reaches them before the room does, bass climbing through the stairs and into the bones of her feet. Downstairs, everything is low red light and mirrored walls, bodies packed beneath a ceiling deliberately made to feel too close.
Someone takes their coats. Someone else appears with champagne Dean insists he didn’t order, which means he absolutely ordered it.
She turns away from the coat check, smoothing one hand down the side of her dress. Garrett stops speaking.
It’s subtle enough that nobody else catches it. Logan is arguing with Dean about the table. Beau has already disappeared toward the bar. Her friends are being drawn into a conversation with girls they know from Spence. But she sees Garrett’s mouth close.
The coat had hidden most of the dress. Without it, the black silk skims close over her body and ends high against her thighs, while lace climbs over her chest in thin, delicate shapes that reveal skin. The back dips low. She had chosen it because it made her legs look excellent and because her mother had once called it a little severe, which had been all the encouragement required.
Garrett looks from her heels to the lace at her chest, then drags his eyes back to her face with visible effort.
She pretends to check her bag. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
She tilts her head, smiling. “You look confused.”
“I’m adjusting.”
“To what?”
His gaze flicks down once more, quick and unrepentant now. “New information.”
Heat slides pleasantly beneath her skin. “Try to keep up.”
He huffs a breath. “I’m trying.”
Dean pushes a glass of champagne into Garrett’s hand, breaking the line between them. Garrett takes it without looking away from her.
The first half-hour passes around them rather than through them. Their group expands and contracts as people recognise Dean, then Logan, then Garrett. Girls approach the table with that particular bright confidence athletes attract, already knowing the answer they want before asking a question.
Garrett is polite. He smiles. He leans down to hear people over the music. He doesn’t touch anyone. She notices this despite having absolutely no reason to.
She also notices when he notices a man at the bar offering to buy her a drink. Garrett’s jaw shifts once before he lifts his own glass to his mouth.
Interesting.
She refuses the drink, because she already has one and because the man has a scarf tied around his neck indoors. Then she turns back toward the table and catches Garrett watching.
“What?” she asks when she reaches him.
“Nothing.”
“That looked like something.”
He takes a slow sip of whiskey. “Thought you might’ve found your next victim.”
She glances back at the scarf. “Please. I have standards.”
Garrett looks down at her. “Do you?”
Her mouth opens in theatrical offence. “You’re standing dangerously close for someone who’s saying things like that.”
The music shifts, something heavier moving through the speakers. Around them, the dance floor packs tighter, hands lifting through red light, the mirrored wall flashing pieces of skin and jewellery and open mouths.
Garrett leans closer, his voice warm near her ear. “You gonna threaten me all night?”
A shiver moves over the back of her neck, too quick and fine to hide. She turns her face toward his. They’re close enough now that she can see the faint shadow along his jaw, the small movement of his throat above that stupid chain.
“Depends,” she says. “Are you going to do anything worth threatening?”
His eyes drop to her mouth. Something settles over his face, darkening the amusement without removing it.
“You tell me,” he says.
She could stand there and keep sparring with him. She could let the entire night collect itself in little looks and unfinished sentences, then return home alone and think about his shoulders while pretending she had made a point.
Instead, she puts her glass on the table and holds out her hand. “Come dance.”
Garrett looks down at her fingers, then back up. “You ask everyone like that?”
“No.” She curls her fingers once. “I usually don’t have to ask.”
His hand slides into hers, large and warm enough to swallow it entirely. “Lucky me.”
She leads him into the crowd before her body can do anything humiliating about the contact. The dance floor is hotter near the centre, all perfume and sweat and the sweet chemical fog spilling from a machine above them.
Garrett stays close behind her as they move through, one hand briefly touching the small of her back whenever somebody presses too near. It should feel presumptuous. It feels useful. Worse, it feels natural, his palm broad and steady against the bare dip above her dress.
She finds a pocket of space and turns to face him. For the first minute, they’re almost respectable.
Garrett moves better than she expects. Easy in his body in the way athletes tend to be, shoulders loose, weight shifting naturally beneath the music. His eyes stay on her, mouth curving whenever she catches him watching.
She steps closer. He looks down at the diminishing space between them. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You always this friendly in New York?”
She smirks. “I’m being welcoming.”
“To the city?”
“To you.”
Garrett’s eyebrows lift. “That so?”
She turns before answering, putting her back to his chest. His hands catch her hips on instinct. The reaction moves through both of them at once. She feels it in the way his fingers tighten against the silk, then deliberately loosen as if he’s giving her space to change her mind. She doesn’t. She settles back, letting the music move through her knees and hips, the hard length of him aligned behind her.
Jesus Christ. He’s even bigger from this angle.
His chest brushes her shoulders when he bends, mouth near her ear. “This your idea of welcoming?”
She grins, though he cannot see it properly. “You complaining?”
“Trying to understand local customs.”
“Keep your hands where they are and you’ll learn.”
A laugh leaves him, low and warm against her neck. His thumbs move once over her hips, almost absent, and her stomach tightens. She starts slowly because she’s not completely cruel. Then the chorus drops, bodies surging around them, and she rolls her hips back into him.
Garrett’s breath stops. It’s only half a second, a small interruption against her hair, but she feels it. Feels the way his hands clamp more securely around her, the heavy press behind her turning unmistakable beneath those baggy jeans.
There you are.
She does it again.
His mouth touches her ear when he says, “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
He laughs without much humour. “Right.”
She turns her head just enough that her cheek brushes his jaw. “You seemed very confident at your party.”
“I am confident.”
“Are you?”
His fingers spread over her waist, thumbs nearly meeting beneath the lace at her sides. “You want proof?”
The words settle low in her body. Heat pulses between her thighs, thick and immediate, and suddenly the red wine explanation seems stupid. The pavement hadn’t made him look better. The city hadn’t done anything. Garrett is simply built like a personal failing and currently hard against her ass.
She looks back at him over her shoulder. His eyes are darker now, the teasing dragged thin beneath something focused and hungry. He’s still letting her control it. Still waiting, even with his hands on her and his body saying something much less patient behind her.
That restraint does more to her than it should. She turns in his arms. Garrett makes room, but his hands remain at her hips. Their bodies stay close enough that the lace over her chest brushes his sweater with each breath.
She slides her hands up his chest, feeling the dense muscle beneath the knit, and nearly loses the next sentence to the fact that he’s even harder than he looks. “Come home with me.”
Garrett goes very still. The music keeps pounding around them, light moving over his face in red and black. His hands tighten once at her waist. “How much did you drink?”
The question surprises her enough that she blinks. “Excuse me?”
“You were drinking before, and champagne here.”
“I had two glasses of wine over dinner and approximately four sips of champagne because Dean ordered one that tastes like shit.” She tilts her head. “Are you rejecting me?”
Garrett’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t let the joke move him off the point. “I’m asking.”
She studies him for a moment. The confidence is still there, but it’s no longer careless. He wants her. She can feel exactly how much. He’s simply not going to make wanting her the only relevant fact in the room.
Something unexpectedly warm shifts beneath her ribs. “I’m not drunk,” she says. “I’m making a completely sober bad decision.”
“That supposed to reassure me?”
“No. It’s supposed to get you into a car.”
His grin returns slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” He bends until his mouth is near her ear again. “Let’s make your bad decision.”
They don’t tell everyone immediately because Dean would become unbearable. She retrieves her coat while Garrett finds his. By the time they reach the stairs, Tucker has noticed anyway. His eyes move from Garrett’s face to her hand wrapped around his sleeve, then lift with quiet understanding.
“You leaving?” Tucker asks.
Garrett nods once. “Yeah.”
Tucker glances at her, not judgemental, only checking something she cannot quite name. She gives him a small, easy smile.
“Have fun,” he says.
Logan hears that and turns. “Who’s having fun?”
“No one,” Garrett says.
Dean looks up from the table. His eyes sharpen instantly. “Wait.”
She pulls Garrett toward the stairs. “Goodnight, Dean.”
“Wait. Are you guys–”
The music swallows the rest as the door shuts behind them. Outside, the cold hits her hot skin so violently she laughs. Garrett looks down at her while the attendant brings their coats, his cheeks faintly flushed from the club, curls pushed messier than before.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“You keep looking at me weird.”
She accepts her coat, then lets Garrett hold it while she slides her arms into the sleeves. His hands settle briefly at her shoulders, adjusting the fur around her before stepping back.
“I’m processing new information,” she says.
He recognises his own line and laughs. “About?”
Her eyes travel pointedly down the front of him.
Garrett’s face changes. “Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“You’re not subtle.”
“I’m wearing lace to my waist in December. Did I seem committed to subtlety?”
The car ride uptown is fifteen minutes of concentrated poor judgement. She takes the middle seat despite there being no reason to, her thigh pressed along Garrett’s while Manhattan moves silver and black outside the windows. His hand rests near his knee at first.
Then she places her own over it. His fingers turn beneath hers, threading through. It’s a strangely intimate thing to do on the way to have sex with someone she barely knows.
That thought arrives, waits for her to feel alarmed, then leaves when Garrett’s thumb strokes once along the side of her finger.
Her building rises above the park in pale limestone and glass, every window lit warm against the dark. The doorman greets her by name, opens Garrett’s door and very carefully doesn’t look at their joined hands.
Garrett tips his head back as they cross the lobby, taking in the stone, the enormous arrangement of white flowers, the chandelier descending through three floors of open space. “This is where you live?”
“One of them. This where I live when I’m home.”
The private elevator doors open. She steps inside and presses the button for the penthouse. Garrett looks at the single option above the lobby, then at her.
She folds her arms. “Don’t.”
His laugh bounces softly off the mirrored walls. “One of your homes is the most– like, Dean answer you could’ve given.”
“Do not compare me to Dean while I’m trying to sleep with you.”
“That’s fair.” Garrett steps closer as the elevator begins to rise. “Really kills the mood.”
She looks up at him. “Is the mood dead?”
His gaze drops to her mouth. “Not even a little.”
He kisses her before the doors open. There’s no careful beginning to it. His hand comes around the back of her neck, warm beneath her hair, and his mouth finds hers with the confidence he’s been holding behind his teeth all night.
She catches the front of his sweater in both fists, dragging him closer until her back touches the mirrored wall and his body settles against hers. He kisses like he talks: a little smug, a little demanding, deeply pleased whenever she pushes back.
Her lips part beneath his. Garrett makes a low sound into her mouth when she bites his bottom lip, and the noise sends a quick, molten rush through her. One of his hands slips from her neck to her waist, pulling her flush against him.
The elevator chimes. They separate by approximately two inches, and the doors open directly into the penthouse.
Garrett looks past her at the dark sweep of the living room: floor-to-ceiling windows, the park below them, pale furniture arranged around a low marble table, art her mother bought because somebody in Paris said it mattered.
“Holy shit,” he says.
She grabs his hand and pulls him inside. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird. Your elevator opened into your house.”
She nods seriously. “Our neighbours are very dangerous.”
His head whips toward her. “Your neighbours can access your living room?”
“No, but it sounded mysterious.”
He laughs as the doors close behind him. The apartment is silent. Her parents are in Palm Beach until after New Year’s, the staff gone for the night, every lamp controlled by a panel she cannot operate properly despite growing up here. She hits three buttons before the lights near the windows soften on.
Garrett shrugs out of his coat. She takes it and drops both of theirs over a chair that’s almost certainly not meant to hold coats. His eyes track the room once more, curious but not impressed in an overeager way. He doesn’t start asking what things cost. He does not look at her differently.
Instead he glances at the enormous abstract painting above the fireplace and says, “That supposed to be anything?”
“My mother says it’s about grief.”
“It looks like ketchup.”
She stares at him for one second, then laughs so suddenly she has to press her lips together.
“What?” Garrett asks.
“Nothing. I’ve been saying that for four years.”
“So I’m right.”
She shoots him a look. “You’re definitely not cultured enough to be right.”
He steps closer. “You gonna throw me out?”
“Maybe.”
“Before or after?”
Her breath catches slightly.
Garrett’s gaze drops to the lace over her chest. He reaches up, not quite touching, one finger tracing the air near the delicate edge at her collarbone. “This dress has been making my life difficult for two hours.”
“Only two?”
“Started when the coat came off.”
She slides both hands beneath the hem of his sweater, palms meeting warm skin at his waist. His stomach contracts beneath her touch.
“And the sweater?” she asks. “That was an accident?”
Garrett glances down at himself. “It’s a sweater.”
“It’s working very hard.”
His mouth curves. “You’ve been staring all night.”
“So have you.”
“Yeah.” He takes her face in both hands, thumbs resting near her jaw. “I have.”
Then he kisses her again. They nearly knock over the lamp beside the sofa. Garrett catches it one-handed without taking his mouth completely from hers, setting it upright with a muffled laugh when she pushes him back into the console behind him.
“That expensive?” he asks against her lips.
“Probably.”
“Great.”
“Stop backing into things,” she murmurs, her lips brushing his.
His hands slide up her dress, then stop. “Bedroom?”
She looks toward the hallway. “That’s very efficient.”
“I’m trying to protect your furniture.”
She smiles. “How responsible.” She takes his hand again and leads him down the hall.
Her room has barely changed since she left for college, except that her mother replaces things whenever she decides they no longer represent the adult daughter she imagines having.
The bed is enormous and neatly made, the windows looking south over the city, her old photographs arranged beside newer perfume bottles and jewellery trays. Garrett pauses in the doorway.
She turns. “What now?”
His eyes move over the room, then settle on a framed photograph of her at sixteen in riding clothes, one hand resting on the neck of a chestnut horse.
A grin spreads across his face. “You ride?”
She follows his gaze. “Don’t.”
“You actually ride horses.”
“I used to.”
She grabs his sweater and pulls it over his head. The laugh disappears. So does most of her ability to form language.
Holy fuck.
His body is broad in a way clothing had only suggested, shoulders packed with muscle, chest solid and warm beneath her hands. His stomach is leaner, cut deeply above the waistband of his jeans, a faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the loose denim. She stares.
Garrett drops the sweater near his feet. “You okay?”
“No.”
His eyebrows lift.
She reaches for the button of his jeans. “This has become a much more serious situation.”
He catches her wrist, smiling. “Thought you had standards.”
“I have eyes.”
“That’s romantic.”
“I’m not trying to romance you.”
“No?” His hand slides around her waist, fingers finding the zip at the back of her dress. “What are you trying to do?”
She leans closer until her mouth brushes his. “Take a guess.”
Garrett pulls the zip down. The dress loosens over her body, silk slipping from her shoulders beneath his hands. He watches it fall, and this time the expression on his face is not playful at all. His eyes move slowly over the black lace beneath, over her waist and hips and bare thighs, the look so open and concentrated that her skin warms everywhere it touches.
“Fuck,” he says quietly.
The single word does more than an entire prepared speech could have. She steps out of the dress and pushes him backward toward the bed. Garrett lets her. Mostly. His hands remain on her hips as he sits, pulling her between his knees.
Up close, his lashes look offensively dark. His mouth is already swollen from kissing her. She puts one hand beneath his chin and tilts his face up.
“You’re very pretty,” she says.
Garrett’s hands tighten. “Pretty?”
“Mhm.”
His brows furrow. “I’m six-two.”
“Congratulations.”
“I play hockey.”
“I’m sorry.”
He laughs and turns his head, kissing the inside of her wrist. The gesture is so casually soft that she goes still for half a second.
His eyes lift to hers. “Still good?”
The warmth beneath her ribs deepens by a degree. “I’m good.”
His mouth presses to her stomach just above the lace, then lower, one slow kiss near her hip. Her fingers slide into his curls before she’s decided to touch him there.
Garrett looks up. “You want me to slow down?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I invited you into my parents’ home and took off your clothes.”
“Technically, you only took off my sweater.”
She reaches for his belt. “Do you want to keep arguing?”
“Little bit.”
She opens the buckle. “I can send you back to Dean.”
Garrett immediately catches her around the waist and flips her onto the bed.
A startled laugh breaks out of her as her back hits the duvet, his body coming over hers without crushing, one knee pressing between her thighs. “That was rude.”
“You threatened me.”
Her brow arches. “With Dean.”
“Exactly.”
His mouth finds her neck. She turns her head, giving him more room before she can pretend otherwise. The first drag of his lips beneath her jaw sends heat rushing down her spine. Garrett kisses lower, slower than she expects, one hand spreading over her waist while the other braces beside her head.
For someone with manwhore energy, he’s irritatingly attentive. He watches every small reaction. The way her stomach tightens when his fingers skim beneath the lace. The hitch in her breathing when his mouth closes over her breast through the fabric. The sharp little pull of her hand in his hair when he finally moves the lace aside and takes her nipple into his mouth.
“Garrett,” she breathes.
His eyes lift. The smugness there is unbearable.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
He drags his tongue slowly, making her back arch before she can stop it. “Hard not to.”
She tugs his hair. Garrett groans against her skin, and the sound goes directly between her legs.
“There,” she says, breathless but triumphant. “Better.”
“You like hurting people?”
“Only athletes.”
“Specific.”
“You’re very annoying,” she gasps.
His hand slides down her stomach. “You’re very wet.”
Her next answer disappears. Garrett pauses at the edge of her underwear, eyes on her face. She nods before he asks, and his fingers move beneath the lace.
The first touch is slow. Almost cautious. Then he feels exactly how ready she is and his forehead drops briefly against her ribs. “Jesus.”
She smiles at the ceiling. “Problem?”
“No.” His fingers slide through her again, gathering the slick heat there before pressing with more purpose. “Just adjusting to new information.”
Her laugh catches when one finger eases inside her.
“Still funny?” he asks.
“Still hate you.”
“Sure.”
He takes his time, which she both appreciates and resents. One finger, then two, curling until the pressure catches somewhere that sends her hand flying to his shoulder. Garrett watches her face as though this is the only subject he’s ever studied seriously, his thumb moving in slow circles that make her thighs tense around his wrist.
It’s been a while. Her body is making that information humiliatingly clear.
Garrett bends and kisses her, swallowing the sound that escapes when he finds the angle again. She grips the back of his neck, dragging him closer, kissing him harder because every careful little stroke of his hand is pulling her apart too quickly.
“You always this impatient?” he murmurs against her mouth.
“You always talk this much?”
“Usually more.”
She bites his lip. His fingers press deeper in retaliation.
Her hips lift. “Fuck.”
“There she is.”
“Don’t start.”
“At the party you looked at me like I was wasting your time.”
“You were,” she mumbles.
His thumb moves faster. “Am I wasting it now?”
The answer breaks into a moan before it becomes a word. Garrett’s mouth curves against her throat, but whatever smug thing he might have said stays there. His other hand slips into hers against the mattress, fingers locking, and he keeps touching her until the tension low in her stomach twists too tight to hold.
It hits quickly enough to embarrass her. Her thighs close around his hand, breath breaking as the room goes white and soft at the edges. Garrett kisses beneath her ear, his fingers slowing but not stopping, working her through the sharpest part until she pushes weakly at his shoulder.
“Okay,” she gasps.
He lifts his head. “Okay good or okay stop?”
“Stop.”
His hand stills immediately. The obedience of it lands strangely. Comfortably. She lies beneath him breathing hard, skin hot against the cool sheets, and Garrett waits without crowding her, pressing a brief kiss to her jaw.
“You good?”
She looks up at him. His hair is wrecked from her hands, mouth damp, shoulders filling the space above her. “Very irritatingly good,” she says.
His grin flashes. “Yeah?”
“Take your jeans off before I reconsider.”
Garrett stands beside the bed, and she props herself onto her elbows to watch. He opens the button. Pushes the jeans and boxers down together. Her eyes widen.
Oh.
Oh, he had not been exaggerating through the denim.
Garrett catches her expression and looks down at himself, then back at her. “What?”
“You’re kidding.”
A laugh escapes him. “That bad?”
She considers the size of him with the grave concentration of someone reviewing building plans. “I have things to do tomorrow.”
He drops his head, laughing into one hand. “Holy shit.”
“This isn’t funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
She points at him. “You should disclose that before leaving the house.”
“Put it on my medical alert bracelet?”
“Something tasteful.”
Garrett climbs back over her, still smiling. “We can stop.”
She wraps one leg around his waist. “Don’t be stupid.”
His expression settles. “Condom?”
She points toward the bedside drawer. “There.”
He reaches for it, finds the box and glances at her. “You keep these in your childhood bedroom?”
“I’m wealthy, Garrett, not irresponsible.”
“Very inspiring.”
Her eyes narrow at him. “You have one in your wallet, don’t you?”
He pauses.
She gasps. “Of course you do.”
“I went out with Logan and Dean. It felt responsible.”
“Manwhore,” she mutters.
“You started it.”
He tears the packet open, then looks at her again when he is ready, the humour easing from his face. “Tell me if you want me to slow down.”
“I will.”
“Or stop.”
“I know.”
Garrett settles between her thighs, one hand beneath her knee. The first press of him makes both of them go quiet.
She’s warm and loose from his fingers, but he’s still a lot, the stretch sharpening enough that her nails catch at his shoulder. Garrett stops immediately. “Too much?”
“No.” Her eyes close briefly. “Just wait.”
His hand smooths over her thigh. “Okay.”
He stays there, perfectly still despite the tension running through his body, mouth pressing slow kisses to her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her lips. Her body eases around him by degrees.
She opens her eyes. “You can move.”
“You sure?”
“Garrett.”
“Right.”
He pushes in slowly. The breath leaves her in a long, shaking pull. Garrett’s forehead drops to hers, his own breathing rougher now, control showing in the hard line of his shoulders and the careful grip of his hand at her thigh.
“Fuck,” he whispers when he is finally all the way inside her.
She cannot make fun of him because her entire nervous system is busy reorganising itself around the fact that he feels even bigger than he looked, which seems unfair.
“You okay?” he asks.
Her eyes narrow faintly. “I’m good. You’re just… whoa.”
His laugh comes out strangled. “Whoa?”
“Move before I insult you properly.”
The first stroke is slow, drawing nearly all the way out before he pushes back in. Her head tips into the pillow. His mouth catches hers, kissing her through the second, then the third, each movement loosening into something deeper and steadier as her body adjusts.
He feels good. Good in a way that catches her by surprise. The weight of him over her. The broad palm holding her thigh. The warmth of his mouth and the small, involuntary sounds he makes whenever she drags her nails over his shoulders.
She had expected a performance from him. Something polished and self-satisfied, Garrett Graham proving why half the campus knows his name.
Instead he gets messy. His curls fall into his eyes. His breathing breaks whenever she tightens around him. His jaw goes slack when she pulls him closer with both legs and he drives deeper, the practiced control slipping just enough to show her what she’s doing to him. That’s better than confidence.
She scratches lightly down his back. Garrett’s hips snap forward, harder than before. The bed shifts beneath them.
“Oh,” she says, delighted despite the breathlessness. “You like that.”
His eyes open. “Careful.”
She does it again.
“Fuck.” He drops his face into her neck, laughing once without humour. “You’re a problem.”
“You followed me home.”
“You dragged me.”
Her laugh turns into a sharp moan when he changes the angle, lifting her thigh higher over his arm. Garrett’s mouth curves against her throat.
“Not funny now?”
“You’re still annoying.”
“But?”
She digs her nails into him. “Don’t fish for compliments.”
He kisses her hard, rhythm roughening as the humour burns back into heat. The headboard begins tapping softly against the wall. His chain swings between them, cool metal brushing her chest before warming against her skin.
Her hands move everywhere they can reach: his back, his hair, the hard line of his arm beside her head. Garrett watches her whenever he can, eyes dark and intent, catching each shift in her body until he recognises the pressure beginning to build again.
His hand slips between them. The first circle of his thumb makes her hips jerk beneath him.
“Yeah?” he murmurs.
“You sound smug.”
“I sound focused.”
“You sound–” The next word disappears when he does it again, pressure firm and exact while he keeps moving inside her.
Garrett’s mouth finds her ear. “What do I sound like?”
She turns her head and bites his jaw.
His groan shudders through both of them. “Jesus Christ.”
“There,” she breathes. “Now you sound better.”
He laughs, ruined and low, and thrusts harder. The room narrows around them. The dark windows. The city spread in lights beyond the glass. The expensive quiet of her parents’ apartment being steadily dismantled by the soft knock of the bed and Garrett breathing her name against her throat.
Her orgasm climbs slower this time, building beneath every stroke until her entire body feels pulled tight around it. Garrett senses the change. His arm slides beneath her back, holding her closer, his mouth moving along her jaw in kisses that become less coordinated with every breath.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
The words should be too intimate from him. They’re not. Her legs tighten around his waist. The pressure breaks bright and hot, dragging a cry out of her before she can swallow it. Garrett kisses her through it, hand steady between them, body moving until she starts trembling beneath him.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s it.”
She clings to him through the aftershocks, nails biting into his shoulder. Garrett’s rhythm loses its careful shape. His face presses into her neck, breath coming apart against her skin.
“Where?” he asks, voice rough.
“Inside.” She catches his jaw, making him look at her. “Condom, remember?”
Something flashes through his eyes. “Yeah.”
A few more uneven thrusts and his whole body locks over hers, mouth falling open around a low, broken sound. She watches the last of his control go, watches his brows pull together and his forehead drop to hers as he comes.
For several seconds, neither of them moves. Garrett’s weight settles carefully onto one elbow. His chest rises hard against hers, chain lying warm between them. She can feel the rapid beat of his heart where their bodies meet.
He lifts his head eventually. His hair is a disaster. There’s a red mark beginning near his shoulder from her nails. His mouth looks thoroughly kissed and slightly stunned. She smiles before she can stop herself.
Garrett narrows his eyes. “What?”
She traces the scratch with one fingertip. “You look a little less confident.”
He glances down at her, still beneath him, legs tangled with his. “Do I?”
“A little.”
“Interesting.” He rolls his hips once, barely. Her breath catches. Garrett’s grin returns.
“You’re deeply irritating.”
He laughs and kisses the heel of her palm before carefully pulling away.
She watches him deal with the condom, expecting the strange shift that sometimes follows. The sudden awareness of a near-stranger in the room. Clothes on the floor. The body beside hers no longer obscured by wanting.
It doesn’t arrive. Garrett comes back with water from the bathroom, naked and completely comfortable, passing her the glass before climbing into bed again.
“You found the glasses?” she asks.
“There were twelve beside the sink.”
“My mother thinks hydration should feel formal.”
He settles against the headboard. “Your bathroom’s bigger than my bedroom.”
“Don’t tell Dean. He’ll become competitive.”
“Dean’s bathroom’s probably bigger than my house.”
She drinks, then hands him the glass. Garrett takes a long swallow from the same side without thinking about it. That shouldn’t feel intimate either.
She shifts beneath the sheet, studying the scratches along his shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”
Garrett looks down. “No.”
“You hesitated.”
“It stings.”
Her brows lift. “So I hurt you.”
“You say that like you’re proud.”
She tilts her head. “I’m… collecting information.”
“About?”
She drags one nail lightly over his chest. Garrett’s stomach tightens. “New information,” she says.
His gaze drops to her hand. “You planning a follow-up study?”
She looks at him. This was supposed to get him out of her system. That had been the point somewhere between the restaurant and the club, before the sweater came off and his hand stopped the second she asked and he kissed her like her reactions mattered more than his reputation.
Instead, Garrett’s sitting naked in her childhood bed, drinking from her water glass, hair destroyed by her fingers, looking far too pleased by the possibility that this might happen again.
The plot hasn’t merely thickened. The plot has developed shoulders, put on a chain and followed her home.
She takes the glass from his hand and sets it on the bedside table. “Maybe.”
Garrett catches her waist when she moves toward him, guiding her into his lap beneath the sheets.
“Good,” he says.
She settles over his thighs, trying not to react to the first unmistakable sign that they might not be finished for the night. “Don’t get cocky.”
His hands move slowly up her back. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He’s lying, obviously. She kisses him anyway.
to be notified when i post new fics, follow @kooksandpearls-library and turn on notifications! i no longer use a taglist for garrett fics.
summary: you and your best friend decide to try something new during a movie night at home
warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, piv cockwarming, piv sex, creampie, very soft dom!garrett, mutual pining, jealousy, mixed pov, best friends to lovers, fluffy ending (word count: 3.7k)
a/n: inspired by this post <3
masterlist
As the bone-chilling screams of terrified sorority sisters filled the darkened living room, you covered your eyes with one hand to peek at the television screen through your fingers.
“Garrett, this movie is way too scary,” you whimpered.
To emphasis your displeasure, you squirmed a little in your seat in your best friend’s lap, the motion causing him to groan under his breath as he subtly shifted his weight beneath you.
Grabbing ahold of your thighs, Garrett spread them a bit wider over his own to hold you in place. The steady warmth of his breath against the back of your neck made you shiver as he smoothed one hand along the curve of your hip, fingers digging into the flesh in desperation to ground himself.
“Baby—you’ve got to stop moving. If you keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.”
Garrett was starting to sweat, a thin sheen of perspiration already shimmering on his brow.
Leaning his head against the back of the couch, he ran a hand through the disarray of dark curls sticking up off the top of his head in all directions, too far gone in the moment to care how he looked.
He was so close. Too fucking close.
You were just so warm and wet. So tight—so much tighter than he’d ever imagined you would be. It was like your walls were clamping down around him, squeezing his cock to within an inch of its life.
“I’m not doing anything,” you pouted, exposed skin glowing with a hint of perspiration. “I just don’t like this movie. Can you switch it to something else, pretty please?”
You turned to glance back at him over your shoulder, fluttering your lashes and flashing your most angelic smile—the kind of thing that usually worked like a charm on your adoring best friend.
But this time he was trapped.
“The remote’s on the other end of the couch—I can’t reach it,” he gritted through clenched teeth, shutting his eyes for a moment to try to center his train of thought on something other than your long lashes and pouty lips.
Counting backwards from ten, he tried to force himself to think only the unsexiest of thoughts. To focus on anything other than the graceful curve of your hips or shapely swell of your ass—currently sitting astride him so pretty while he split you open on his cock.
When he felt himself twitch inside you, he knew it wouldn’t be long before he succumbed to the overwhelming sensation of being buried deep in your pussy—and that wasn’t an option.
He needed to regain some control.
It had started with a question—well first, it started with an injury.
Garrett had been forced to sit out the Hawks’ away game that weekend due to a mild ankle sprain and was being a huge baby about the whole situation. Stuck at home alone while the rest of his teammates were out of town having fun, he bombarded you with endless text messages, complaining that he was lonely and dying of boredom.
As his best friend, you offered to play nurse for the weekend and you faithfully doted on your patient—bringing him snacks, changing his ice packs and even volunteering to massage his sore muscles.
“Nobody has hands like you,” he gushed with an adorable a grin that made your cheeks heat up and sent your heart soaring.
As much as you teased him about being so needy, you secretly loved that you had him all to yourself for a change. Garrett had so many available options for company, it felt good to know you were the girl he wanted more than anyone else in his time of need.
You liked taking care of him.
Since Garrett was supposed to stay off his ankle, it limited your choice of activities for the evening, so you suggested staying in and watching a movie at home. He had been in the mood for something scary, so you didn’t protest when he picked his favorite slasher even though you weren’t much of a horror fan—you usually preferred something a little more fluffy and romantic.
With the lights in the living room turned down low, you snuggled into Garrett’s side as the opening credits played, taking note of his pleasant woodsy cologne and the softness of his sweatpants as your hand brushed against the material. And maybe it was just a trick of the light, but when you glanced down at his lap, you swore you could make out a thick outline under the cotton that caused your heart rate to pick up a little bit.
Clenching your thighs together, you thought of the question you had been meaning to ask Garrett all night but just hadn’t found the right time. You were a little nervous about how he might react, but the silence while waiting for the movie to start seemed like the perfect opportunity.
So you took it.
“Remember how you told me if I ever had questions about sex or dating, I could come to you?” you asked him sweetly, noting the dark cloud that immediately passed over his face when he turned his head to look at you.
“Why? Do you have a date?” His words came out too rushed to sound casual, so he cleared his throat to mask his surprise.
You hadn’t mentioned being interested in anyone in a while, and the prospect of you going out with another guy had completely caught him off guard.
Garrett had been harboring a secret crush on you ever since you’d met during your sophomore year of college, but you had kept him in the friend zone for so long that he’d nearly lost all hope. Being something of a big man on campus and very popular with the ladies, he wasn’t used to dealing with rejection and it had been a hard pill for him to swallow. Even worse, you obviously had a thing for his roommate Dean, always giggling and flirting shamelessly when he was around—which was understandable, but it still stung.
As a way to distract from his unrequited yearning, Garrett spent his time pursuing one night stands and brief flings with girls who didn’t mean anything to him. He claimed he had no interest in love or relationships, but that was only a lie to protect his heart—he wanted you to be his. And he wanted you bad.
“No, not a date.” You giggled, enjoying the hint of jealousy in his voice. Your best friend was always so overprotective when it came to you and other guys. “Do you remember the new girl who started working at the store with me a few months ago?”
He nodded noncommittally, relief relaxing his features. “I think so, sure.”
“Well, she was telling me about this thing she tried with the guy she’s been seeing. Have you ever heard of cockwarming?” you asked with a curious tilt of your head.
Ever since your co-worker had confided in you about her experience one day on your lunch break, you hadn’t been able to get what she’d said off your mind. It sounded so hot—the control and restraint. The closeness and heightened sensations. Just imagining being dominated in that way by someone made your head feel a little fuzzy.
“No, can’t say that I have.” Confusion wrinkled Garrett’s brow. “What is it?”
You could hardly believe that for the first time in your life there was something you knew about sex that the Garrett Graham didn’t know. Having been well explored by the eligible ladies of Briar over the years, he was quite a bit more experienced than you and a bit cocky in that regard. It felt good to finally stump him.
“Well, it’s kind of like sex except she said once the guy is inside, you both try to stay still and not move. I guess it can get pretty intense after a while?” You raised your eyebrows suggestively.
“Really?” Garrett asked with a chuckle, not sounding convinced. “But moving is the best part? I don’t know…doesn’t sound that fun to me.”
When you huffed at his quick dismissal of the idea, a mischievous smile brightened his face.
“Why? Do you want to try it with someone? You would never be able to sit still—you’re too wiggly,” he teased, reaching out to tickle your side as you crossly swatted his hands away.
“Am not,” you shot back in a huff, narrowing your eyes in playful indignation. “I could do just fine.”
When he tried to snuggle up with you again to resume watching the movie, you sniffed as if offended and pulled away.
“I only mentioned it because I thought it would be perfect for someone in your condition,” you pouted, gesturing at his ankle brace. “You could sit there without moving or worrying about hurting yourself—I was just trying to take care of you.”
An awkward silence hung heavy in the living room as Garrett stared at you with a bemused expression, perplexed by what was happening. He couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed like you were suggesting that you wanted to try it out. With him. Right there.
But that couldn’t be, could it?
Appearing to consider for a moment, he eventually tipped his head and gave you a sly grin. “Taking care of me, huh? You actually think you could make it to the end of the movie without moving?”
When you gave a determined nod and bit down on your lip, Garrett’s eyes seemed to grow darker in an instant.
“Yeah? Fine, then. Show me.”
The haunting score of the slasher movie suddenly soared in volume during a gruesome scene, causing you to shudder.
“If we can’t watch something different, can I at least turn around? It’ll only take a second,” you implored, looking over your shoulder at Garrett with wide pleading eyes.
You had insisted on starting out facing away from him in reverse cowgirl so you both could see the television, but you weren’t enjoying the movie and he imagined you must be getting uncomfortable with your legs draped over his thighs to hold yourself in place.
In his current precarious state, he knew a maneuver like switching positions would create a dangerous amount of friction, but at the same time, you were asking him so sweetly. Who was he to argue?
“Fine,” Garrett offered in a halting voice, secretly desperate for the small bit of motion the switch would provide despite knowing it was likely a bad idea. “Just warn me before you move.”
“Mmhm.” You nodded. “I’m ready now—are you?”
“Yeah, go for it.” Sucking in a deep breath, he released his grip on your waist. When you lifted yourself up and out of his lap in a smooth motion, the resulting slow drag of his cock against your walls was so pleasurable, he had to bite back a moan.
“There, that’s better,” you cooed, turning around to straddle his lap. Feeling warm and slick between your thighs, you wrapped your hand around his rigid cock, humming with satisfaction when you felt its angry pulse against your palm. Impressively long and thick, his shaft was coated in your arousal, slippery and shiny as it throbbed your hand.
You couldn’t resist using the pad of your thumb to swipe the beads of precum from his leaking tip, causing him to buck his hips as he hissed at the sensation.
“Shit—you can’t just do that,” he gasped, grabbing a nearby throw pillow off the couch and clenching it in his fist.
“Sorry.” You stifled a giggle before giving him your most convincing puppy dog eyes. “Are you ready for me now?”
Nodding with his gaze locked on yours, you heard his breath hitch as you lined him up with your entrance then sank down on him slowly, watching his eyes widen as you took each thick inch.
“Fuck—” He let out a shaky breath as you bottomed out, filled with him to the hilt. “Baby—you feel so fucking good.”
Your pussy was already dripping, so the stretch of his cock wasn’t quite as noticeable as before, but Garrett was so big that it still took a few moments for you to adjust to his size and the sensation of fullness. Without him inside, you had felt so empty.
Grasping at you like he was holding on for dear life, Garrett’s fingers pressed hard into the soft flesh of your ass and hips. Your best friend was always so put together and confident that you couldn’t help but feel a bit smug while looking down at his wrecked expression, eyes blown wide with desire.
Letting out a contented sigh, you ran your hands over his bare chest and strong shoulders—your new view much more agreeable than the silly old horror movie you’d been forced to watch against your will. Garrett’s body was a work of art, and even as his best friend, you weren’t oblivious to how attractive he was. You had always admired him from afar, but having him right there with his fat cock throbbing inside you was so much better.
Still, you found yourself wanting more.
“It’s hot in here…how come you’re the only one who gets to be topless?” You gave him a coy smile, toying with the gold chain around his neck—just one more thing about him that was so effortlessly sexy.
Saying nothing, Garrett swallowed hard as you grabbed the hem of your top and started to pull it off over your head, his grasp on you growing even tighter as you wiggled in his lap.
When you tossed your shirt to join his on the couch, he tried his best not stare at your tits, sitting so pretty in the sheer lace cups right in front of his face—a dangerous sight in his current state.
You weren’t playing fair.
He closed his eyes, breathing in your soft perfume, a sweet scent that was so distinctively you that he could have recognized it anywhere. He wanted to inhale it—drink it and bathe himself in your fragrance so it would never fade away.
As every quiet second passed between you, he became more and more aware of each tiny movement of your body; the rise and fall of your chest, the slight tickle of your breath on his skin and the rhythmic pulse of your warm cunt around his cock—steady and unrelenting.
It was taking every ounce of his strength not to throw caution to the wind, roll his hips up off the couch and thrust up into you deeper, feel himself glide in and out of your dripping pussy as your perfect tits bounced in front of his face.
As if you could read his mind, you let out a soft whine, grinding against him ever so slightly in desperation.
“Garrett, please. Just need a little—” you whined, rocking your hips in an attempt to create some friction against your aching clit. “It’s too much.”
And he wanted to give you what you wanted, but he also wanted to regain some control. Take the upper hand.
He tightened his grasp on your waist, looking up at you with heavy half-lidded eyes.
“Come on, baby. Need you to be good for me and sit still,” he coaxed with a condescending smirk. “Thought you said you could make it to the end of the movie?”
The soft command in his words spurred an involuntary clench of your walls around him and made your pussy gush, arousal dripping down between your thighs to soak his heavy balls. You had never thought you’d like to be dominated by anyone in bed, but the way your body was responding to Garrett couldn’t lie.
Reaching to play with his chain once more, you pouted. “You’re being so mean.”
He chuckled softly, removing one hand from your waist and letting it trail down to the wet warmth where your bodies met. “No, baby. If I was mean, I’d do something like this.”
With that, he started to draw slow circles over your swollen clit with the pads of his fingers, lips hovering just over yours, smiling as you let out a breathless gasp.
“Don’t move,” he whispered in warning. “Keep your eyes on me or I’ll stop.”
“Garrett—oh god,” you whimpered, electric sparks coursing through you with each touch of his fingertips. “F-feels too good.”
Dizzy with pleasure and no longer worried about staying still, you grabbed ahold of his chain and pulled him closer, crashing your lips into his with a reckless urgency. Eager to taste you, his tongue swirled, exploring yours as he groaned into the kiss.
Garrett could be mean. But he could also be nice.
“Want you so bad,” he whispered, pulling back to look up at you through his lashes. “Tell me you want it too.”
“I want it,” you whimpered. “Want you to fuck me, Garrett.”
Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you gave a tentative rock in his lap and he answered with a slow roll of his hips, the deep thrust of his cock hitting a spot inside that caused an unexpected shockwave of pleasure to surge through you, making you cry out.
Reaching behind your back, he unfastened your bra, watching with dark eyes as the lace cups fell away to reveal your perfect breasts. As you started to slowly grind on him, he pressed wet kisses over the soft skin, expertly swirling and flicking his tongue over your pert nipples while you sighed, arching your back as you ran your fingers through his messy curls.
When he released your breast with a slick pop, you sat up straighter and started to ride him faster, tits brushing the tip of his nose with each fluid roll of your hips. He guided your movements with a firm grip on your waist, the delicious glide of his cock against your walls almost overwhelming.
“Fuck yeah, that's it,” he praised, leaned back in his seat to watch you move astride him, smiling as you let out the sweetest little sighs and gasps with each bounce in his lap. “Ride it. Take what you want.”
“Mhm,” you whined, glassy eyes fixed on his. “Need more.”
He smirked, dark curls falling into forehead with the effort of lifting his hips up off the couch to meet your thrusts, breath growing ragged.
“Yeah? You want more?”
Standing up carefully due to his sprain, he lifted you with him, wrapping your legs around his waist. Then he laid you down on your back on the couch, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he took in the sight of you spread out beneath him. His toned body was heavy over yours, chest squishing your breasts as he pinned your wrists over your head and parted your soft thighs with his hips.
Buried in your warmth, he gave a powerful snap of his pelvis against you and then another, slightly swirling his hips.
“This deep enough for you?” he rasped with a cocky grin, the muscles in thighs and ass flexing with the effort of each stroke as he began to set a punishing pace.
The only answer you could manage was a breathless whimper of his name as each thrust punched the air from your lungs. Letting go of your wrists, he reached down between your bodies to rub two thick fingers over your clit in time with each stroke.
Since you’d both been edging yourselves for what felt like an eternity, it didn’t take long before you could feel your climax approaching, the pleasure rapidly building in waves.
“That’s it baby, cum for me.” His words in combination with the rhythmic movements of his fingers and his cock soon brought you hurtling to the edge.
“Oh god—” you cried out, grasping onto his shoulders, nails biting into the flesh as the white hot pleasure hit you, washing over you in wave after wave.
Looking down with a breathless smile, he watched each and every change of your expression as you rode out your high.
The way your cunt was squeezing and pulsing around his cock was too much for him to withstand, and he couldn’t hold himself back any longer.
“I’m so fucking close, baby,” he warned, breath hot against your neck. “Where do you want me?”
“Inside,” you whimpered. “Need to feel you.”
And your best friend always gave you what you wanted.
His hips soon stuttered, finally losing their rhythm as he approached his high. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he let out a throaty growl as his pelvis jerked against you, filling you with hot ropes of his cum.
After a few more slow thrusts, he finally collapsed his weight on top of yours, wrapping you in his arms with a contented sigh. You could feel his heart beating against your chest as his warm cum dripped out of your cunt and down your thighs.
He didn’t move to pull out right away, so accustomed to the feeling of being inside you that the absence would have seemed unnatural.
“Well…that was unexpected.” You giggled, breaking the silence.
“Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat, furrowing his brow. “Listen, I know you like someone else, but I really—”
“What?” you cut him off in confusion. “Who do you think I like, Garrett?
“Well, Dean. Right?” he asked, soft eyes filled with restrained emotion. “You’re always smiling when he’s around and looking at him all dreamy. It’s ok. I get it.”
Surprised, you let a little laugh escape at the idea that Garrett thought you had a crush on his roommate and friend. Dean was definitely cute and had a way with words, but you’d never had any interest in him.
“I don’t like Dean,” you whispered, voice breaking with emotion as you stared deep into his eyes. “It’s always been you.”
Garrett couldn’t hold back the sheepish grin that broke over his face. “Yeah?”
Just as you were about to confess all of the pent up feelings you’d been hiding from him over the years, you were rudely interrupted when the final credit music of the forgotten horror movie started blaring from the television’s speakers.
Garrett looked down at you, eyes twinkling with amusement. “See, I told you that you’d never make it to the end of the movie.”
And you rolled your eyes with a playful groan, reaching up to stroke his cheek as you giggled at his teasing smile.
-warnings: smut, slight degradation nd praise, slapping, possession kink. + no mentions of yn
You knew Rafe Cameron was an asshole, and one of your biggest haters. You could not breathe near him, he would go out of his way to make you suffocate. So you decided to go to parties, trying to escape him, but how can a frat boy like Rafe Cameron not be in every single party you went to, it was like he teleported everywhere.
“You're not coming here.” he stands beside the door of the frat house, one hand on the doorway, blocking your entry.
“Says fucking who Rafe? You don't own this house.” you snap back, crossing your arms, steam ready to blow out of your ears.
“No, but I live here, you're not stepping foot here.”
“Im entering this goddamn house if i want to and im going to flirt with all of your brothers and youre just going to have to cuck and cry, now fucking move!”
“Thats exactly why you're not entering.”
“Are you serious right now? They are all yours buddy, no need to be jealous.” you say in a fake, sarcastic tone, rage filling your body.
He chuckles, brushing his hair back with one of his hands, face dropping back to serious in seconds. “I don't care about that, YOU aren't flirting with them, not under my watch.”
You groan, stomping one of your heeled boots at the concrete ground. “What the fuck?! You don't have a say at this, Rafe, you're not my boyfriend!”
“No, im not.”he lowers his head, maining eye contact, millimeters away from you
“But i fucking own you.”
….
You're folded in half, one firm hand gripping your left hip so hard you're sure is going to bruise later, his other hand above you as he pounds into you, relentlessly, you keep squirming under his touch, his dick hitting your spot occasionally, making your hips jump. He grunts, wasting no time to move one hand and wrap it on the side of your neck, keeping you secure in place as he continues to pound furiously inside you, making the bedframe crash with the wall.
“Fuck, fuck, Rafe, im so so close.” you moan his name like a prayer as he hits your sweet spot over and over again. He grunts in response, “Cum on my dick, pretty. Show me how much of a slut you can be for me.” hips moving faster than you thought they could. Every sensation, his brutal pace, the slight curve of his hips at the movements, his words, the sweat forming on your chest and forehead, his gaze burning yours, it's tipping you over the edge by each passing second. Your eyes shut as you feel your orgasm washing through, you clench around him, preparing for that knot in your stomach to unravel. But he pulls all the way out, making you gasp, and before you can open your eyes in surprise, a slap across your face does the job. As you're about to ask, he cuts in.
“Look at me when I ruin you, I told you I fucking own you, and that means your going to do as I say, now lets try again.”
summary: reader has been having casual sex with logan and dean separately for some time. the knowledge that one of them is in a room nearby while she’s with the other has started to make her want…both? unbeknownst to her, they’ve been considering the same thing. (this is just pure menage a trois filth)
warnings: 18+, threesome, fingers in mouth (briefly), (m) hand on (f) neck, tits in mouth, dry humping, hand job, eiffel tower, unprotected piv, oral sex (m receiving), a little fingering, pet names ('doll', 'baby', 'good girl')
word count: 3.3k
an: these are my two favourite off campus boys so i just had to do it i've never written anything like this before so i hope it turned out good 😓
I’ve been fucking Logan for a couple weeks now.
I’ve also been fucking Dean (every now and then) for a couple months.
Neither of them knows I’ve been messing around with the other. It’s not like I’m cheating on them—both agreed that the relationship is strictly sex, no strings attached.
I know Dean has been with other girls for a fact, so I don’t feel guilty on his side of things.
Logan’s newer, though. I haven’t seen him with someone else, but I’m still sure he’d be fine with me being with others.
But, I do have one problem.
I’ve started thinking about Logan every time I’m with Dean. And I’ve started thinking about Dean every time I’m with Logan. Recently, the two of them have started occupying all of my thoughts.
I know it’s wrong. I know I can’t want both. But that’s doesn’t mean I don’t.
The thought has my thumbs tapping my car’s steering wheel nervously as I look at the hockey house next to me. I’ve been parked outside for five minutes, guilt gnawing at me about my feelings.
I’m supposed to be ‘hanging out’ with Logan today, but I can’t help thinking about how I wish Dean would be there too.
Finally, I force the thoughts to the back of my mind, shaking my head as I let out a deep exhale. I am going to go in there and just have fun with Logan. Nothing else.
No one else.
I make my way to the door, straightening out the baggy leather jacket the covers what my thin tank top doesn’t. After months of visiting this house, I know better than to knock, so I let myself in and make my way to Logan’s room. I breathed a sigh of relief at the empty space, grateful that Dean isn’t here to see me—it feels too awkward to explain I’m not here for him.
Outside Logan’s room, I knock on the door, nervously surveying my surroundings.
“Come in,” he called out in response.
I enter his room and he sits up from where he was lying on his bed.
“Hey!” He beams at me, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be late,” I apologised, thinking back to my momentary nervous breakdown in the car.
“Nah, don’t worry about it.”
After kicking off my shoes in the corner of his room, I take off my jacket and throw it on the back of his desk chair. The way Logan’s eyes travel over my bare shoulders and the lace of my bra peeking out from beneath my tank isn’t lost on me. My breath hitches in anticipation of what we’ll no doubt be doing later.
I plop down onto Logan’s bed, lying across it horizontally while he remains sitting near me. Cold air brushes against my midriff and I can tell that my tank top has ridden up enough to catch Logan’s attention. His eyes search over my body before meeting my gaze again.
“You’re annoyingly beautiful, you know?” His deep voice is like music to my ears.
The compliment makes me blush despite myself.
Forcing a cool expression, I reply, “Show me just how annoyed you are, then.”
Logan moves to hover over me, one hand resting next to my head, the other grazing the bare skin of my waist. His eyes pierce into mine, a mischievous glint dancing in them. Slowly, he begins to move his hand up from my waist, brushing past my chest before gently holding my neck.
He’s never done this before but, boy do I love it.
Settling on his knees between my spread legs, he shifts his weight so that he can use his spare hand instead of resting on the mattress. The lust in his gaze intensifies, clear in the way his pupils dilate. One hand still on my neck, he uses the other to caress my face, pushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
“Open your mouth,” his voice is low, almost a whisper.
I look up at him, slightly intimidated, and take in the sight of his chain dangling near my face, his hair falling into his eyes. He looks so good, I’m willing to do whatever he wants.
Unsure of exactly what he wants to do, I part my lips, slightly opening my mouth. Logan’s thumb moves to trace a line along my lower lip.
Pulling my lip down slightly with the pad of his thumb, he begins to move the finger into my mouth, “Just a little more.”
With the help of his thumb, I open my mouth more, allowing him to enter it fully. Instinctively, I begin sucking at him slightly, feeling encouraged by the way his lips curve into a small smirk.
“You’re gonna be a good girl for me, okay?”
I nod slightly, constricted by his thumb in my mouth and hand on my neck.
He pulls his thumb out of my mouth, replacing it with his lips as he begins to kiss me passionately. My neck remains underneath his hand and I bring my own hand to his wrist, hoping to keep him close.
His tongue slips into my mouth, desperate to deepen the kiss. Bringing a hand to clutch the hair at the nape of his neck, a small sound escapes my lips as our tongues begin to move against one another.
I feel my eyes rolling back slightly, the heat of the kiss dampening my panties. Before I can help it, my mind drifts to Dean and I’m suddenly yearning for his hands on me, too.
The sound of Logan’s bedroom door opening snaps me out my thoughts, and Logan quickly pulls back. Out of breath, I turn to the doorway and feel my heart fall out of my ass. Dean stands there, an amused smirk on his face as he takes in the compromising positions of me in Logan.
I open my mouth, hoping to come up with something to say, but Dean beats me to it.
“Hot makeout sessions without me? I’m wounded,” he pouts teasingly.
Logan chuckles, looking entirely too amused about this. “What do you want, Di?”
“Well, I came looking for duct tape, but now I think my plans have changed,” he says, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him.
Dean and Logan share a knowing look while I look back and forth between the two of them, bewildered. I’m still almost lying down, propped up slightly by my elbows. I can’t decide if I’m living in my wildest fantasy or my worst nightmare right now.
Logan meets my eyes again, registering my confused expression.
“Oh, I know you guys have been fucking,” he admits casually.
Dean chimes in from where he stands. “Yeah, I also know about you two,” he says, gesturing between me and Logan.
“Uh,” I pause, madly confused by what’s happening right now, before managing, “…how?”
Dean chuckles at my disorientation, crossing his arms over his chest as he begins explaining, “Doll, me and Logan live in the same house. It didn’t take long for us to realise your visits weren’t just for one of us.”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I move to sit upright.
“Not that that’s a bad thing,” Logan cuts in, his hand reaching to caress my leg comfortingly. “We’ve actually talked about it, you know. About you.”
His gaze flicks to Dean’s. My heart rate picks up.
“What he’s trying to say is: if you want both of us at the same time, we’re down,” Dean says nonchalantly.
My stomach flips intensely and I can feel my cheeks turning bright red.
“I could also just leave, if you want,” he continues, aware of my flustered expression.
“No!” I blurted out. “Sorry— I just… I mean— I don’t think you guys know how badly I want this,” I forced myself to speak, suddenly feeling very out of breath.
“Fuck yes, I’ve dreamed about this.” I laugh nervously.
“What can I say, I make dreams come true,” Dean drawls sarcastically, now walking over to the bed.
Rolling my eyes, I respond, “Shut up, Dean.”
He leans in, his face inches from mine. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he smirks, “Make me.”
I crash my lips onto his, pulling him close by his shirt. He stumbles next to me, sitting on the edge of the bed while my hands find his neck. Suddenly remembering Logan sitting nearby, I pull away from Dean, heavy pants filling the space between us. Moving over to Logan, I push him back to lean against the headboard then straddle him as my lips find his.
This opportunity to have both of them has me riled up. I’m kissing Logan with a newfound vigour, my lips moving hard against his while my hands slide up to the back of his neck, pulling at his hair. He lets out a groan, tilting his head back and releasing my lips as a result of my grip. His eyes are glinting with hunger as his lips crash back onto mine, biting my lower lip before slipping his tongue into my mouth. I welcome the familiar feeling, deepening the kiss further until it’s sloppy and wet.
I can feel my soaking panties, and my hips start to grind against Logan instinctively. Dean’s hands meet my hips from behind, slipping up underneath my tank before drawing lazy circles on my skin. Once me and Logan pull back to catch our breath, Dean begins to roll my shirt up in an attempt to take it off. I help him, grabbing the hem and ripping it over my head leaving me in my white lacy bralette. The fabric does little to cover me up, basically giving Logan a full view of my tits. His lips part slightly when his eyes meet mine, his gaze darker than before.
Still straddling Logan, I turn slightly and pull Dean in, resuming our kiss from before. He’s moved closer to sit on his knees next to me and Logan, and I notice how the fabric of his pants strains over his thighs. I move my hands down to tease him, lightly grazing his crotch before moving my hands underneath his shirt to trace the lines of his abs.
Meanwhile, Logan reached behind my back to unhook my bra, then began kneading my breasts between his fingers. He presses a few kisses to my sternum and my stomach before focusing his attention back on my chest. Eagerly, he takes one tit in his mouth, swirling his tongue around my nipple while I help Dean take his shirt off.
The feeling of Logan’s mouth on me makes my head lean back and a sigh escape my mouth. Dean moves impossibly closer and begins kissing my neck, nipping at the skin until he finds the spot that makes me squirm in pleasure. He continues to suck at the sensitive skin and I bring a hand up to clutch the back of his head, encouraging him to keep going.
Pushing Logan away from my tits, I start tugging at his shirt, eager to feel more of his skin. He obliges, swiftly pulling his shirt off before his hand finds my neck again. The action releases my neck from Dean’s mouth, but Logan continues to pull me close as his lips find mine again.
Dean lets out a disappointed sound, and I can hear the pout on his face. His hands grip at my waist in an attempt to have more of me and I can’t help but giggle. Moving my legs off from on top of Logan, I turn to Dean smiling.
“You’re so spoiled,” I scolded mockingly, pushing him to lie down.
I begin kissing from his neck down his chest, spending as much time on his abs as possible (even using my tongue in the way I know drives him crazy) before reaching the bulge in his jeans. My mouth hovers over him, intent on teasing him as much as possible, before pressing a kiss to the fabric. His eyes never once leave mine, entranced by me doing as I please.
Sitting up on to my knees, I start to unbuckle Dean’s belt, before undoing his jean button and zip. Lifting his hips, he helps me pull off the clothing, leaving him in his boxers. From behind, Logan is pressing kisses to my back, his hands roaming my torso freely. I begin taking off my own jeans when an idea pops into my head.
Keeping my panties on, I shuffle over to straddle Dean, pressing my hands to his abs for support. I give no warning before dropping my hips to brush my covered clit and against Dean’s clothed erection. His reaction is immediate, a whimper leaving his lips before he regains his senses.
“Fuck, are you seriously gonna dry hump me?”
“Maybe,” I tease, knowing that is exactly what I’m planning on doing.
“You filthy woman,” Dean mumbled as my hips lowered again, making his head tilt back.
I begin rolling my hips, slowly creating friction between me and Dean’s underwear. Sparing a glance to Logan, I meet his eyes as he stands and begins undoing his belt. At first, he just takes off his jeans and leaves his boxers on. Continuing to grind against Dean, I gesture to Logan’s boxer with one hand.
“Off,” my voice is breathless.
Logan tilts his head with intrigue but happily obeys, leaving him completely naked.
“Come here,” I demanded, curling my finger.
Logan crawls onto the bed, stopping to sit on his knees a little behind me, to the side of Dean’s legs. He reaches his hand to squeeze my ass before continue to draw patterns on my bare skin. Keeping one hand on Dean while I move my hips against him, I move my spare hand back to hold Logan’s erection.
He freezes for a split second before leaning in to press a kiss on my shoulder. I start to move my hand on Logan, stroking him softly while his kisses travel all over my back. With my attention divided, my efforts with Dean slow, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He simply grips my hips, keeping me where I am on top of him and assisting my movements.
My grip around Logan becomes firmer as I begin to pump my fist on him. A strained groan escapes his throat, dampening me more in response. I slow my hips further, settling for a slight roll on Dean as I focus on Logan. His breathing deepens as he desperately grips onto my waist for support.
“I’m close,” he mumbles, breathing erratic.
I immediately stop and release Logan from my grip.
Letting go of my waist, he drops to lie down and groans in frustration, “Fuck, why did you do that?”
“Well, we can’t have you making a mess, can we?” I shrug, suppressing an amused smile.
Growing impatient, Dean grabs my waist and flips himself on top of me.
“Okay, doll, you’ve had your fun. Now, you’re gonna be a good girl and do as I say.”
Nodding, I gulp, nervous about where this might go.
“Get on all fours.”
Obeying Dean’s demand, I get up onto all fours, my ass lining up with his crotch. Logan leans over to kiss me before moving in front of me, leaving his hard dick in front of my face. Dean pulls down my underwear, before pulling off his own, releasing his erection to tease my entrance.
This time it’s Logan’s gravelly voice that makes a demand, his hand tilting my chin up so we make eye contact. “Open up, beautiful.”
My lips part as I bring a hand up to graze his skin, guiding him into my mouth. A small sound escapes him while his head begins to tilt back in pleasure.
Strong hands gripping my hips tightly, Dean speaks from behind me. “You ready?”
“Mhm,” I hum, making Logan shiver.
Slowly, Dean slides into me from behind, stretching me out with his width. My moan is muffled by Logan’s dick in my mouth. One of his hands still holds my chin, the other is now gripping my hair.
“Just tap me twice if you want out, okay?” Logan says, stroking my face with his thumb.
I hum around him again, but his consideration just makes me want him more. I start to swirl my tongue along him, moving my head back and forth to build friction. Dean has started to pound into me from behind and I clutch at the sheets beneath me.
Unable to focus on my mouth’s movement anymore, Logan begins to roll his hips instead, grazing my throat. My back quickly begins to arch, my body and senses overwhelmed. The sound of Dean’s hips meeting my ass echoes around the room. His pace begins to quicken, and my eyes start rolling back in my head.
Logan’s voice pulls me out of my daze. “Eyes on me, baby.”
I force my eyes open, eyelids fluttering with the effort it takes. Dean starts to move deeper and harder, and I can feel the coil tightening deep in my core. Logan continues to clutch at my hair, speeding up his movements in my mouth, making me whimper.
“You’re taking this like such a good girl,” Dean coos from behind me.
Logan hums in agreement. “You look so beautiful with your mouth around me.”
His breathing grows more ragged, and soon enough, he’s coming in my mouth. I’m slightly surprised at the sensation but then Logan orders, “Swallow.” and I immediately listen. Taking himself out of my mouth, he moves to lie down, clearly feeling spent.
Now with more freedom to move, I press my head into the mattress, titling my ass higher into the air. The shift in angle allows Dean to thrust impossibly deeper into me. A loud moan begins to slip from my mouth, so I turn into the sheets to muffle it. Dean releases one hand from my hips to grip my hair and tilt my head back to the side.
“Let me hear you.”
His dick continues to drive into me and I make no attempt to suppress the sounds that come from deep in my throat. After getting a chance to catch his breath, Logan’s hands begin to wander over me again. His fingers tease my nipple before he reaches down to graze my clit. I gasp, the extra sensation perfectly inching me closer to my climax.
Logan continues to rub my clit, making me scream in pleasure.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” I whine, my knuckles turning white with how hard I’m gripping the sheets.
Dean forces himself to push deep into me one more time, but his movement grow sloppy and he comes inside of me, groaning loudly. Logan’s rough stroking on my clit continues, making me orgasm soon after. Dean moves to lie down on the opposite side of me to Logan, and after Logan moves his hand away from me, I fall flat on my stomach.
Our heavy pants fill the room as I move to rest my head on my folded arms. My eyes meet Logan’s and I can’t suppress my smile.
“What?” he chuckles softly.
“Nothing,” I mumbled, moving to kiss him.
Dean’s playful whining ends the moment. “Don’t I deserve a kiss, too?”
I turn to him and press a begrudging kiss to his lips. “You really make me wonder why I even entertained you in the first place.”
Glancing down briefly, he retorts, “You know why, doll.”
I scoff, shoving his shoulder teasingly before lying flat on my back. As I stare at the ceiling, I can only think one thing.
“Wait, lemme fix this up” He spoke, squinting his sight as his gaze remained focused on your math homework, with the intent of helping you figure it out.
“You see this symbol?” He paused, making sure you two were on the same page by catching your gaze in his. “It means that you’re supposed to use that method right there, not this one” he stated patiently as his fingers stood in pointing position, tapping on your sheets and trailing invisible logical connections along the white paper, while his tone was clear as water.
“M’kay..” you acknowledged, nodding slightly as your eyes met the same spot as his on the written surface. “Okay, yeah - got it.” You bit your lip, memorizing the explanation and stealing the pen from his hand, processing the next step for the calculation.
“Thank you Ray” Your voice sweet and reserved as usual. Your eyes met his, glistening in admiration as you basically saw in him your savior. Rafe had been helping you in math for quite a minute now, and he has made somehow everything lighter for you to handle. He was present when you though you were failing and when you thought it was over. He was there when you succeeded too, slowly feeling more and more proud of you for learning.
He reciprocated the kind smile that grew on your lips, meeting your gaze. “it’s nothing, I’m more than okay with helping you as long as you learn”
Now that your knowledge was sufficiently developed, you didn’t need him anymore as much as you used to. He was still helping though, cause he craved every single moment he spent with you. Staying by your side was his perfect little habit by now.
Without thinking, you leaned in his personal space as your lips split in a seductive smile, locking your eyes with his. Your voice lowered as you dissolved the distance from his lips to yours almost completely in a slow motion. “You’re so smart and talented… You ain’t just a pretty face, you know?”
You attempted with your compliment as Rafe simply chuckled, his gaze jumping up from your lips to your eyes, the corners of his lips sharpening as confidence slowly marks his features.
“Yeah? Wanna see how much more I can do?” His eyebrows slowly raised, eyes smoothing with certainty as he never lacked a cocky comeback.
You chuckled, as if your flirting was a joke. As if you’ve not already replayed this in your head every night for the past months. “What can you do, huh?”
——————————————————————————
“Oh- oh my god” your voice cracking weakly as you yelped mindlessly, your spine arched at its maximum width while your thighs were growing limp and barely squashing into his cheekbones for stability anymore. Your fingers pulling at his damp frontal hair pieces in a desperate rush of satisfaction.
His tongue struggling to keep its pace as it fought your silky walls squeezing tightly around the wet muscle, imploring for more stimulation while all you could do was jolt your hips rhythmically, led by his rapid motions inside of you that had you curling your toes in ecstasy.
You moaned and whined with no filter as your head fell back without a trace, your thighs trembling as your muscles froze in a light shade of soreness.
His name rolled out of your lips frenetically as your breath came out in short gasps, your bodily reactions manipulated by his actions.
His fingers wandered up around your waist and torso, having a shiver creep up your spine and shoulders. His fingers crawled up to the swell of your breasts, where he reached and rolled one of your nipples between his thumb, between the squeezing of the soft skin and the itchy teasing to your peaks.
His eyes devoured every single contraction of your features, sight blinded by the distraction of your body twisting and being responsive around his tongue to his twisted liking.
Your liquids rolled dangerously further into his mouth with the way you thrust your hips, chasing his movements as much as your body claimed.
The outer peak of his tongue spasming against your folds and clit, your juices flowing down his chin as a result of his not so gentle fraction.
You ground your folds against his lips, more and more frenetically as you felt the orgasm approaching, clearly not controlling the way your body visibly trembled and froze in place, about to explode in a shaking vulnerable mess.
Your moans came out in quick, leading gasps as the grip on his hair began to grow more solid and demanding. Your warmth spasmed around his tongue, dragging it further up as your eyes turned glossy.
Overstimulation crashing over you just as soon as your orgasm hit you, making your hips twitch against the fraction of his mouth and your ribs to expand in a desperate gasp.
You squeezed your eyes shut as his hands dug into your hips, keeping you grounded as he kept devouring and torturing you through your climax.
You moaned in short sighs, slowly angling your head down to see Rafe, to make sure he was aware of what he just did to you.
He pulled his tongue out, dragging it up your sensitive folds with a lewd lick, brushing against your swollen clit, making you whimper and jolt against his face.
“Fuck..” His voice raspy and almost amazed, coming from between your thighs. His grin noticeably wider than when you got through an exercise without his intervention.
His chest dropping and raising gradually while he tried to catch his breath after almost suffocating in your pussy. You inhaled, air itching in your sore throat as you still came down from the orgasm.
Your knees lifted off the bed, dropping your body on the soft duvet as you landed on your back, turning your head to him, hoping he’d say something while you waited for your lucid reasoning to return back to you.
“Am I still just a pretty face?” Rafe asked grinning, shifting on top of you, with his chin on your stomach as his elbows dug in the soft fabric near your bare hips. His eyes glistening as he looked up at you, his fingers brushing intimate paths on your ribs.
Your eyebrows still facing up in a knot, lips swollen from all the biting. Your hand digging through his hair as you sighed, physically strained.
“No..” you breathed, legs tangling together under his chest, fighting the ache you had been left between you thighs. “Fuck, you’re not…” you scoffed, amazed and still breathing laboured.
pairing – garrett graham x nursing student!reader
summary – garrett finds out his girlfriend got his number tattooed on her body and reacts about as calmly as anyone could expect.
warnings – 18+, explicit smut, oral sex, fingering, rough sex, doggy style, spanking, praise kink, dirty talk, tattoo reveal.
notes from me – ANYWAAYYYYYYY!!!!!! as promised, yeah sorry i had to do it. this comes at the most 'recent' end of their timeline!! so i'll be going back and filling in gaps now, i was just desperate to post this!
word count – 6.9k
navigation – masterlist |
The second-skin comes off on Tuesday morning in the shower, which is less ceremonial than the tattoo probably deserves. She peels it carefully from one corner beneath warm water, watching the clear film lift away from her lower back in the fogged mirror with the awkward concentration of somebody trying to inspect a body part positioned almost specifically to prevent self-assessment.
The little forty-four underneath is darker than it will be once it settles completely, the skin around it faintly pink and shiny, but the numbers are clean. No leaking. No angry redness. No warmth beyond what she would expect from a healing tattoo and a hot shower.
She pats it dry with a clean towel, applies a thin smear of unscented moisturiser and spends the next two days pretending she hasn’t developed a habit of turning sideways every time she passes a mirror.
Garrett still doesn’t know. That part becomes funnier with time.
He spends Wednesday night in the hockey-house kitchen complaining that she’s been suspiciously affectionate since the weekend, as though her sitting sideways across his lap is evidence of organised crime. He pulls her closer each time she tries to stand, mouth finding the side of her neck while Dean watches from across the island with the hollow expression of a man being punished for sins committed in a previous life.
“What’re you hiding?” Garrett murmurs against her skin.
“Nothing.”
“You said that too fast.”
“You ask stupid questions.”
His hand slides under the back of her sweatshirt, warm palm settling over the curve of her waist less than an inch above the tattoo. She goes still for one sharp second, then catches his wrist and drags his hand around to her stomach before his fingers can wander lower.
Garrett narrows his eyes. She kisses him before the investigation can advance.
By Friday, the secret has begun to feel hot, because it’s his. A tiny private mark resting beneath her clothes while Garrett walks beside her across campus with one hand hooked through the strap of her bag, completely unaware that forty-four is inked into her skin.
He complains about practice. She complains about an exam question that used the phrase most appropriate intervention despite three answers being clinically reasonable. His thumb finds the bare strip of her wrist where her sleeve has ridden up. All the while, his number is sitting just above the waistband of her jeans.
The thought stays with her when he arrives at her dorm that night.
Her roommate has gone to visit her parents for the weekend, and Garrett appears just after nine in grey sweats and a black hoodie and cheeks pink from the cold. He has a backpack over one shoulder, though she doubts it contains a single item remotely connected to studying. The last time he brought a textbook to her room, it remained unopened beneath her desk for three days while Garrett insisted proximity counted as academic effort.
“Hi, baby,” he says when she opens the door.
She barely gets the lock turned before his hands are on her. It begins with one kiss, which is how most of their poor decisions begin now. Garrett catches her waist and pulls her into him with the deep, satisfied exhale of someone who’s spent the whole walk across campus anticipating exactly this.
His mouth is cold from outside and warm beneath it, lips moving over hers slowly while she hooks both hands into the front of his hoodie and walks him backward toward the bed.
“You missed me,” he murmurs.
“I saw you this morning.”
“Exactly.”
“You slept in my bed.”
He shakes his head. “Not long enough.”
The backs of his knees hit the mattress. Garrett sits and draws her down with him before she can pretend she intended anything else, her legs opening around his hips as she settles over his lap.
The first press of him beneath her is enough to strip whatever remained of the evening’s patience. He’s already half hard through the soft fabric of his sweats, heat and shape caught between them when she rolls her hips forward.
Garrett’s head tips back slightly. The smile that moves across his mouth is slow and knowing, his hands spreading over her hips beneath the oversized hoodie she’s stolen from him so many times it’s practically transferred ownership.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
She catches his curls at the back of his head and brings his mouth to hers before he can become any more pleased with himself. The kiss turns wet and deep almost immediately, Garrett’s tongue sliding over hers while she grinds down again, a little harder, friction catching warm between her thighs through the thin cotton of her sleep shorts and underwear.
He groans against her mouth. His fingers tighten. “Fuck, baby.”
Her hoodie is too warm suddenly. The dorm room is too small, too dim, the little lamp beside her bed throwing everything into soft amber while rain ticks faintly against the window. Garrett’s shoulders fill the space beneath her hands. His thighs flex under hers every time she moves, and she can feel him becoming fully hard beneath her, thick and insistent and still separated from her by several deeply unnecessary layers of clothing.
He kisses across the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, down the side of her neck with the greedy familiarity of someone returning to a favourite argument. His teeth scrape lightly beneath her ear.
She inhales and tightens her fingers in his hair. “Garrett.”
“Mm?”
“That feels good,” she breathes.
“I know.” His mouth drags lower. “You’re humping me like you’re trying to start a fire.”
She rolls her hips again because Garrett’s smugness has always been more effective encouragement than he understands. His hands guide the movement, pulling her forward over the hard line of him and then back, slower on the return so the pressure catches exactly where her body has already become embarrassingly sensitive.
Her next breath breaks against his cheek. Garrett smiles into her throat. “Yeah?”
“Don’t.”
“Wasn’t saying anything.”
She tugs hard enough on his curls to lift his mouth back to hers. Garrett laughs into the kiss, low and rough, then grips her beneath the thighs and stands. The movement steals a startled sound from her. Her legs tighten around his waist on instinct, arms locking behind his neck while Garrett takes one step, turns and lowers her onto the mattress. The bed gives beneath their combined weight, springs creaking a small complaint that neither of them acknowledges.
He comes down over her immediately. Their mouths meet badly at first, teeth knocking, her laugh caught between them while Garrett braces one hand beside her head and uses the other to drag her higher beneath him. Then the angle settles and everything goes hot again. His body fits heavily between her thighs, hips pressing down until she can feel the full hard length of him through his sweats.
She arches into it. Garrett’s breath catches. “Jesus.”
His hoodie becomes an obstacle. He sits back just long enough to grab the hem and strip it over his head, hair coming up with it in a dark, disordered mess. The shirt underneath follows, both pieces dropped somewhere near the foot of the bed while she pushes herself onto her elbows to watch.
Garrett catches her looking. His grin flashes. “See something you like?”
“Not especially,” she grins.
“Liar.”
He climbs back over her before she can improve the insult, one hand sliding beneath her hoodie and over her stomach. His palm is hot against her skin, callused fingers spreading over her ribs while he kisses her again and starts working the fabric upward.
She lifts her arms. The hoodie catches briefly around one wrist. Garrett frees it with a sharp tug and tosses it toward the chair, where it lands halfway over a clean pile of scrubs.
The air moves cool over her bare stomach and the little green lace bra she chose that morning with absolutely no ulterior motive. Garrett stills above her. His gaze drops. His eyes travel slowly over the lace, the soft rise of her breasts above the cups, the way her nipples have tightened beneath the fabric from cold air and attention.
“Fuck,” he says.
Her face warms. “You’ve seen this bra.”
“Don’t remember.”
She tilts her head. “You took it off with your teeth.”
“Must’ve been distracted.”
He bends before she can answer, mouth closing over one breast through the lace. Her head drops back. The thin fabric turns damp and warm under his tongue as he mouths her through it, one hand slipping beneath the other breast to lift it while his thumb presses over the sensitive peak. He sucks harder. Pleasure catches bright and immediate low in her stomach, dragging a helpless sound from her throat.
Garrett hums against her, he likes this part too much. Seeing the change in her breathing. Feeling her thighs shift more restlessly around his hips. Learning which pressure makes her voice climb and then repeating it with the focused persistence he brings to anything he has decided matters.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, mouth moving across the centre of her chest. “Know what you looked like all week?”
She swallows. “What?”
“Like you were thinking about me.”
“I was doing other things.”
“Mm.” He slips one finger beneath the edge of the bra and drags it slowly along the skin there. “Didn’t say you weren’t.”
His mouth finds the other breast. One hand reaches behind her, and the clasp opens with the efficient little flick he’s far too proud of having mastered. Garrett pulls the straps down her arms, drops the bra beside them and immediately puts his mouth back on her.
His lips closing around one nipple while his hand covers the other, squeezing and rolling it between two fingers until her whole body pulls tight beneath him. She grabs at his curls. “Oh, fuck.”
Garrett looks up at her without lifting his mouth, dark eyes warm and wicked beneath the hair falling over his forehead. He gives one slow suck, then releases her with a wet little sound. “Sensitive tonight.”
“It’s been days,” she whines.
“Four.”
“That’s days.”
“My poor baby.” His voice drops into false sympathy while his thumb circles the damp nipple he has left behind. “Been walking around all needy because her boyfriend had practice?”
“I’ve had exams.”
“Those are over.”
“Exactly.”
His grin presses against the skin beneath her breast. “So now you’re mine.”
The words send a hot, liquid pull through the centre of her body.
Garrett feels the way she shifts against him. His hand slides down her stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of her shorts. “These off?”
She lifts her hips. He drags the shorts and underwear down together, impatient once they catch around her thighs, his mouth following the movement over her stomach and hip. The clothing disappears over one ankle and lands somewhere beyond the bed.
Garrett spreads her knees. The air touches her first. Then his eyes, and his face changes.
There’s something shamelessly gratifying about Garrett looking at her like this, the same boy who can stand beneath arena lights in front of thousands of people without blinking now visibly losing the thread of his own breathing because she is naked on a dorm bed. He presses one palm against the inside of her thigh and opens her wider. “Baby.”
She covers her face with one arm. “Don’t make it weird.”
“Make what weird?” His thumb skims along the crease where her thigh meets her body, close enough that her hips lift toward it. “How wet you are?”
Her entire face heats behind her arm.
Garrett laughs softly, then kisses the inside of her knee. “That’s not weird. That’s hot.”
“Garrett.”
“Been like this since I got here?”
She lowers her arm just enough to glare at him.
His mouth curves. “Longer?”
“Come here,” she groans.
“I am here.”
“Higher.”
“No.” He presses another kiss farther up her thigh, then another, slow enough to make every inch between his mouth and where she needs it feel deliberate. “Like it down here.”
She knows that. Everyone in a three-mile radius may know that.
Garrett Graham treats getting his mouth between her thighs less like foreplay and more like a personal calling. He’s arrived late to parties because he refused to stop. He’s missed the beginning of a movie, let Tucker’s dinner go cold and once remained there long enough that she had to pull him up by the hair and remind him she possessed other body parts.
Now he settles onto his stomach like this is where he intended to spend the evening, one arm hooking firmly around her thigh while the other hand spreads her open.
His first lick is slow. It moves from low to high with the flat of his tongue, collecting the wetness already gathered there before pressing deliberately over her clit. Her hips lift from the mattress. Garrett keeps her there with his forearm and does it again.
“Fuck,” she breathes.
His mouth closes over her. There’s nothing tentative about the way Garrett eats her out. He licks like he’s hungry and has never been embarrassed by appetite, tongue circling and flattening and flicking until her legs are tense around his shoulders and the fitted sheet has begun to twist beneath her hands. He kisses her between strokes, wet open-mouthed presses that feel obscene in the quiet room, then drags his tongue lower and pushes it inside her.
Her breath punches out. Garrett groans into her. The sound vibrates through her body, low and rough, while he fucks his tongue into her with one hand still holding her open. She reaches down blindly, finds his curls and pulls, to keep him exactly there.
He understands. His fingers tighten around her thigh. “Missed this,” he murmurs against her, the words broken by another slow lick.
“You saw me yesterday.”
“Didn’t do this yesterday.”
His mouth closes over her clit again before she can argue, sucking with enough pressure to make her legs jump. She gasps his name. Garrett answers by pressing two fingers against her entrance.
He pushes one in first, slow only because her body is already clenching around the intrusion. The second follows quickly, stretching her with the familiar pressure that makes her thighs fall wider even as the rest of her pulls tight.
His fingers curl. Pleasure strikes deep and sharp, the angle exact enough that her back arches from the mattress.
“There,” Garrett murmurs.
She makes a sound that has no language left in it. His fingers begin moving properly, pumping into her while his mouth stays fixed on her clit, the rhythm deliberately uneven at first as he listens to her breathing and watches the twitch of her stomach. Then he finds it. The pace that makes her hips start chasing him, makes her fingers clench in his hair and her other hand grab uselessly at the pillow beside her head.
The room has narrowed to wet heat, the sound of Garrett’s mouth and the steady drag of his fingers and rain brushing softly at the window like the whole campus has agreed to look away.
“Oh my God,” she whimpers. “Baby, I’m–”
Garrett moans against her, his fingers curling harder. He knows. The fact that he knows makes it worse. She comes with her thighs clamping around his head and his name breaking high out of her throat. Pleasure rolls through her in hard, pulsing waves, stomach tightening beneath the drag of his forearm while Garrett keeps licking her through it, slower only when her body begins jerking away from the sensitivity.
By the time he lifts his mouth, she’s breathing like she’s run somewhere.
Garrett wipes the lower half of his face against the inside of her thigh with no dignity whatsoever and starts kissing his way back up her body. Her skin feels loose and over-warm beneath him, every place his mouth touches sparking faintly in the aftermath.
He kisses her stomach, between her breasts, the base of her throat. Then he comes over her and catches her mouth.
She tastes herself immediately. Garrett doesn’t ease her into it, tongue sliding between her lips while one hand wraps around the side of her neck, thumb resting beneath her jaw and fingers spread gently along her pulse.
The hold is firm without pressure. Familiar. Enough to keep her face angled exactly where he wants it while he kisses her slow and filthy, swallowing the little post-orgasm sound she makes when his hips settle between her thighs again.
He pulls back by half an inch. “Hi,” he murmurs.
Her mouth curves before she can stop it. Her body is still humming, muscles heavy against the mattress. “Hi.”
Garrett kisses her once more, quick this time, then brushes his nose over hers. “Roll over.”
His eyes are dark, cheeks flushed and mouth still wet from her. Whatever version of Garrett arrived smiling at her door has disappeared beneath something rougher and hungrier, the easy confidence sharpened now that he has her naked and loose beneath him.
She turns. The movement exposes the tattoo before she remembers it exists.
For the last twenty minutes, she’s been too occupied by Garrett’s mouth to think about anything except Garrett’s mouth. Now she settles onto her stomach, forearms folding near the headboard while the cool air brushes over her back.
Behind her, the mattress shifts. Garrett stands long enough to shove his sweats and boxers down, fabric dragging over his thighs before landing somewhere near the edge of the bed.
Then his hand slides over the back of her thigh. He lifts one knee onto the mattress, catches the pillow near her head and says, “Up a little, baby.”
She raises her hips obediently. Garrett tucks the pillow beneath them, adjusts her with both hands and goes completely still. Every muscle in her body remembers at once.
Her eyes widen into the pillow. “Baby–”
Garrett’s hands close over her hips before she can turn. Firm enough that the message is immediate. Stay.
She swallows. The room is silent behind her.
Garrett’s thumbs rest on either side of her lower back, just beneath the small square of skin where the tattoo sits. She can feel him looking at it. The attention is almost physical, a line of heat dragging across the freshly settled numbers.
“Fuuuck,” he says eventually.
The word leaves him slowly, low enough to move through the mattress. She tries to glance back over one shoulder. His grip stops her from twisting too far.
“Is that real?”
The disbelief in his voice makes her want to laugh, though her stomach has gone tight beneath the pillow. “Mhm.”
“Is that…” He trails off. His thumb moves closer, hovering beside the tattoo without touching the healing skin. “That’s forty-four.”
She presses her face into her forearm. “Yeah.”
“When?”
“The other night.”
“What other night?”
“The girls’ night.” She bites her lip. “When we went out to the bar.”
Garrett says nothing. The silence stretches long enough that the heat in her body begins rearranging itself around nerves. She had imagined Garrett shocked. She had imagined him smug, turned on, maybe insufferable enough that she would have to threaten to remove his number with a vegetable peeler.
She hadn’t imagined silence.
She pushes herself onto one elbow. “Baby, are you… are you mad?”
“Mad?” His hands tighten and release against her hips. “I mean– shit. It’s…” He breathes out hard through his nose. “Baby, that’s a tattoo.”
“Yes.”
“That shit’s permanent.”
“I know how tattoos work,” she breathes.
“I’m just saying.” He sounds dazed. “You put my number on you.”
She turns her face enough that she can see part of him over her shoulder: broad chest, flushed skin, curls fallen over his forehead, eyes fixed helplessly on the tiny forty-four as though it's altered the known structure of the universe.
“Well,” she says, and the laugh caught in her voice makes it softer than she intended. “I love you.”
Garrett’s gaze lifts to her face.
She shrugs carefully beneath his hands. “And I think it’s hot.”
His mouth opens. Closes. Then his hand slides over her ass. The touch is slow, almost absent at first, his palm following the curve of one cheek while he continues staring at the tattoo. His thumb presses into the soft flesh. His fingers spread wider.
“Hot,” he repeats.
“Mhm.”
“You think this is hot.”
“I did when I got it,” she nods.
Garrett bends. His mouth lands on the curve of her ass, one open kiss followed by another. She gasps softly when his teeth catch the lower edge of one cheek, biting just enough to sting before his tongue smooths over the mark.
“Garrett.”
He kisses higher, across the small of her back, careful when he reaches the tattoo. His mouth stops just beneath it, breath warm over the healing skin without touching.
“No liquids on this yet, right?” he asks, voice rough.
A giggle slips out of her before she can stop it. “Not yet.”
Garrett closes his eyes. She feels the exhale against her lower back. “Fuck.”
His hands move suddenly. One catches beneath her hip and pulls her higher over the pillow. The other spreads firmly between her shoulder blades, pressing her chest down as Garrett shifts closer behind her.
She feels the blunt heat of him at her entrance. “Baby–”
He pushes in. The first thrust is controlled only in the technical sense that Garrett doesn’t injure either of them. He fills her in one hard, steady drive, stretching her around him so quickly that her mouth falls open and the sound tears out before she can soften it.
“Oh, fuck, Garrett.” His fingers dig into her hip. “Holy shit.”
He withdraws nearly to the tip and drives back into her. The force sends her forward against the pillow, breasts dragging over the sheets while pleasure catches deep and hot through her body. She reaches blindly for the headboard. Garrett catches her other hip and sets a rhythm before she has finished taking the second breath.
Hard. Fast. No adjustment period because her body is already wet and open from his mouth, already clenching around him with every rough stroke. The bed knocks softly against the wall. Her dorm mattress squeaks beneath them with increasing distress.
Garrett’s breathing turns ragged behind her. “This is…” Another thrust drives the sentence out of him. “Shit. This is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
She whimpers into the pillow. His palm comes down against the side of her ass – a sharp, hot smack that makes her body jerk and tighten around him.
Garrett groans. “Fuck, baby.”
Her hands lose their grip on the headboard. One slips back toward him, finding nothing but his thigh for half a second before Garrett catches her wrist and pins it against the centre of her back. The position lifts her shoulder slightly and arches her deeper over the pillow. Garrett looks down at the curve of her ass. His cock disappearing into her. His number sitting neat and dark above all of it.
Something in him breaks. He fucks her harder. There’s no uncertainty left in the movement now. Garrett’s hips slam against her with enough force that the bed shifts beneath them, one hand holding her wrist while the other grips her hip and drags her back to meet every thrust.
The room fills with the wet slap of their bodies, her broken moans and the low, filthy things Garrett keeps saying every time the sight of the tattoo seems to hit him again.
“My fucking number.” She nods into the pillow, though he cannot see it. “On this ass.” His hand tightens around her hip. “Jesus Christ. You’re insane.”
The laugh that tries to leave her turns into a cry when he changes the angle, lifting her slightly higher and driving in deeper. “Oh God!”
“That it?” Garrett’s voice is rough and breathless now, all the usual smug control fraying at the edges. “Right there?”
“Yes.” She twists her pinned hand beneath his palm. “Baby, yes.”
He gives it to her again. Same angle, harder. Her whole body pulls tight. The pleasure is building too quickly, dragged out of the soft aftershocks of the first orgasm and sharpened by every deep stroke. Her thighs have begun to shake against the mattress, knees slipping wider while Garrett keeps her exactly where he wants her.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Pretty girl can’t even hold herself up.”
She presses her forehead harder into the pillow, voice breaking. “You’re fucking me too hard.”
“You want me to stop?”
She shakes her head so fast her cheek drags against the pillowcase.
Garrett’s hand leaves her wrist only so he can reach around and catch her jaw, turning her face enough that he can see it over her shoulder. “Use your words.”
“Don’t stop.” Her eyes meet his badly from the angle, vision already blurred at the edges. “Please, baby. Fuck me.”
His expression goes wrecked. “Good girl.”
He pushes her hand back to the mattress and drives into her hard enough that the next sound comes out of her as a sob. The orgasm hits before she has time to announce it. Her body clamps around him, hard pulsing contractions that make Garrett swear and lose the rhythm for one brutal second. Then he keeps going, fucking her through it while her legs tremble and her fingers claw at the sheets.
“Garrett,” she cries.
“I know.” His hand spreads over the side of her ass, holding her open. “I know, baby. Give it to me.”
She comes apart around him, hips jerking beneath his grip. Pleasure rolls through her so hard that her ears ring faintly, body suspended in the bright, breathless place where everything hurts in exactly the right way.
Garrett doesn’t stop. He slows for perhaps two strokes, just enough to let her breathe, then pulls her hips higher again.
“Baby,” she gasps, oversensitive and loose beneath him.
His palm slides gently along her spine, avoiding the tattoo, while his hips continue moving. “You good?”
“Yes.”
“Still want me?”
“Yes,” she breathes, the answer comes without hesitation.
Garrett bends and kisses between her shoulder blades. “Then take it.”
His pace builds again. The third climb is different. Messier. Her body is already shaken open, every nerve sparking too close to the surface while Garrett keeps driving into her with the relentless focus of somebody who has discovered a new reason to lose his mind and intends to study it thoroughly.
He reaches beneath her, a two fingers find her clit. She squeals.
Garrett laughs once, breathless and filthy against her shoulder. “There she is.”
“I can’t,” she whines.
“Yeah, you can.”
His fingers circle faster while his hips maintain the same punishing rhythm. She tries to close her legs, but Garrett’s knees are between hers, keeping her open. The pressure builds with nowhere to go, every thrust feeding it higher while his number burns invisibly at the base of her spine under his fixed attention.
“My girl,” Garrett says. “Look so fucking good with my number on you.”
She nods helplessly.
“Whose good girl, huh?”
Her mouth opens. Nothing useful comes out. Garrett’s fingers slow. The loss is immediate. She whines and pushes back against him.
He catches her hip. “Asked you something.”
“I am,” she gasps.
“Yeah?”
“I’m your good girl.”
The words hit him like contact. Garrett groans and drives into her, his fingers returning to the exact pressure she needs. “That’s right.”
Her third orgasm catches at the edge for one impossible second, body stretched between too much and not enough. Then Garrett’s thumb presses harder.
She comes with a sharp little cry that turns into a squeal halfway through, legs shaking so violently the mattress trembles beneath her. Her arms give out completely. Garrett catches her by the waist before she collapses awkwardly, holding her up while he keeps moving through the contractions with short, desperate strokes.
“Fuck.” His forehead drops between her shoulder blades. “Fuck, baby.”
She’s barely inside her own body now. Everything feels warm, loose and distant, Garrett’s hands the only clear edges left. He slows. His breathing is rough against her skin. His cock is still hard inside her, every small movement enough to make her twitch.
She swallows, trying to rebuild language. “Lemme…”
Garrett stills. “What?”
She turns her head toward him, cheek against the sheet. “Want you to finish… in my mouth.”
The words come soft and dazed. She tries to roll. Her body responds in pieces, thighs trembling beneath her and arms gone soft enough that Garrett takes over almost immediately, pulling out with a low, wrecked groan before catching her hip and turning her carefully onto her back.
He snatches the pillow away before it can drag across the tender skin at her lower spine, tosses it somewhere toward the wall and hooks both hands beneath her arms to draw her upright.
For a second, she only sits there between his knees, naked and thoroughly ruined, hair tangled around her flushed face and lips parted around breaths that still haven’t found a sensible rhythm.
Her thighs keep giving tiny, involuntary tremors against his, the room blurred pleasantly at the edges while Garrett kneels in front of her with his chest heaving and his cock hard, wet and flushed between them.
He looks at her like she’s done something genuinely dangerous. The tattoo. His number sitting permanently above her ass, still hidden from this angle and branded into the centre of his brain now that he knows it exists.
His hand comes to her face, thumb dragging slowly over her swollen bottom lip. “Look at you.”
She turns her mouth into his palm and kisses it, then reaches for him. Garrett’s breath catches when her fingers wrap around his cock. He’s slick from her and from himself, hot and heavy against her palm, and the first slow stroke makes the muscle jump visibly beneath his stomach.
“Baby,” he groans.
She looks up at him through lashes still damp from everything he has already done to her. Her body feels boneless, loose and warm enough that even lifting her chin requires concentration, but wanting him is simple. Wanting to give something back after he has spent the last hour pulling pleasure out of her until she could barely remember her own name feels simpler still.
She loves him. Stupidly. Completely. Enough to put his number into her skin and kneel there afterward with her legs shaking, wanting to watch his face when she makes him lose whatever control he has left.
Garrett cups the back of her head. His fingers sink into the tangled hair there, holding without directing her, his thumb moving once near the base of her skull. “You don’t have to, baby.”
“I want to.” The answer comes quiet and a little hoarse.
Something in his face shifts. His jaw tightens, eyes dropping briefly to her mouth before finding hers again. “Yeah?”
She nods and leans forward. The first drag of her tongue along the underside of him tears a rough sound from Garrett’s chest. She feels it more than hears it, low and helpless above her while she kisses the tip, lips closing softly around him before taking him into her mouth.
Garrett’s head falls back. “Fuck.”
His hand tightens in her hair as she works him deeper, tongue flattened beneath the hot weight of him while her fingers curl around the base. She’s sloppy from exhaustion and want, mouth already wet, movements slower than they usually are because her whole body is still recovering from him.
Garrett seems to like that more. The soft mess of it. The way she has to pause for breath with her lips still brushing him. The way she looks up at him like there’s nowhere else in the world she has any interest in being.
“That’s my girl,” he breathes. “Fuck, you’re so good to me.”
The praise moves warmly through her, settling somewhere lower than the soreness and higher than her ribs. She takes him again, deeper this time, cheeks hollowing as her hand follows the rhythm her mouth sets. Garrett looks down, and his expression breaks open.
She can see the tattoo still living behind his eyes, the disbelief of it layered into every filthy, affected look he gives her. His girlfriend kneeling between his thighs with his cock in her mouth and his number newly inked above her ass. The thought appears to have stripped away the final useful part of his brain.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, voice catching when she swirls her tongue around the head. “You put my number on your fucking body and now you’re looking at me like that.”
She hums around him. Garrett’s stomach jerks. His hips push forward on instinct, not enough to take over, only enough to slide him deeper across her tongue. Her eyes water faintly. She keeps looking up at him through the blur, one hand braced against his thigh and the other stroking what she cannot fit.
His thumb brushes gently beneath one of her eyes, catching the dampness there. “So fucking pretty.”
Her thighs tighten beneath her. She takes him again, eager despite how tired she is, mouth moving wetly over him while Garrett praises every little thing she does as though he cannot stop the words now that they have started.
“Good girl. Just like that.” She sucks harder. “Fuck, baby, your mouth.” Her nails catch lightly against his thigh. “Love when you look at me.”
She does. She watches every part of it: the tension sharpening his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his curls cling slightly at his temples, the hard flex of his stomach each time she takes him deep enough to make his breathing fail.
Garrett’s fingers spread more securely over the back of her head. “You know how fucking crazy you make me?”
She pulls back just far enough to breathe, her hand continuing its slow movement over him. A thin line of saliva connects her bottom lip to the flushed head before breaking, and Garrett watches it disappear with an expression bordering on pain.
She kisses him there once. “How crazy?”
He gives a breathless laugh that contains no real humour. “You tattooed forty-four above your ass.”
“Mhm.”
“Then let me fuck you until your legs stopped working.”
She smiles, dazed and soft. “They still work.”
“Barely.”
His thumb passes over her cheek. She turns and kisses it, then takes him into her mouth again before he can say anything else. Garrett groans her name.
The sound makes her try harder, because she loves hearing him come apart for her. Loves that Garrett, who carries entire games on his shoulders and makes confidence look effortless, cannot hide a single thing when her mouth is on him. Every rough breath belongs to her. Every flex of his hand in her hair. Every broken piece of praise dragged out of him while she strokes and sucks and watches him lose control.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Fuck, baby. Don’t stop.”
She doesn’t. Her hand slides lower, fingers tightening around the base as she takes him deeply enough that her throat works around him. Garrett’s hips jerk once. His free hand braces hard against the wall beside her bed, forearm flexing while he tries to hold himself still.
“Gonna come,” he warns, voice wrecked.
She looks up at him and keeps moving. Garrett says her name again, rougher this time, but she only tightens her lips around him and strokes faster, wanting it. Wanting all of him. Wanting the moment his face finally loses every trace of control because of her.
His eyes drop to hers. That does it.
Garrett comes with a deep, broken groan, hips pushing forward once as his hand tightens helplessly in her hair. She takes him, swallowing around the first hot pulse while his whole body shudders above her.
“Good girl,” he breathes. “Fuck– such a good fucking girl.”
The praise turns even rougher as she keeps her mouth around him through every pulse, swallowing everything he gives her while his fingers stroke shakily through her hair. She doesn’t pull away until he has gone sensitive, easing him gently from between her lips before pressing one last kiss to the tip.
For several seconds, neither of them speaks. Garrett stands over her panting, one hand still cradling the back of her head while she kneels between his thighs with flushed cheeks, wet lips and the loose, pleased smile of someone who has been fucked far too thoroughly to experience shame.
His eyes move over her face. Then past her shoulder, toward the lower half of her body as though he can somehow see through her.
“Fuck,” he says again, apparently the only word left available to him. “Roll over. I need to see it again.”
She starts laughing. “Garrett.”
“Please.”
“You’ve seen it.”
“Not enough.”
Her legs are not especially reliable, so Garrett handles most of the repositioning. He lowers her carefully onto her stomach, makes sure the sheet beneath her is smooth and then shifts down the bed until his face is level with her lower back.
He doesn’t touch the tattoo itself. He only rests one hand across the top of her ass and stares at the little forty-four with the solemn concentration of somebody studying an artefact behind museum glass.
She folds her arms beneath her head. “You’re being weird,” she mumbles.
“I’m having a moment.”
“You’ve been having a moment for, like, an hour.”
“Yeah, because my girlfriend got my number tattooed above her ass.”
“Lower back.”
Garrett looks up. “Baby.”
She presses her smile into her forearm.
His thumb strokes the skin beside the tattoo. “You really did this.”
“I really did.”
“For me,” he murmurs.
He kisses one cheek, then the other, his mouth soft now, all the feral heat of ten minutes ago settling into something heavier. His chin rests briefly near her hip.
“You won’t regret it?” he asks.
The question is quiet enough that she turns her face toward him. Garrett’s still looking at the tattoo, but the thought behind his expression has moved farther than the bed. Farther than tonight. Permanent isn’t an easy word for him, no matter how hot the evidence looks above her underwear. Permanent has always carried too many promises made by people who didn’t know how to keep them.
“I might regret letting Paige choose the bar,” she says. “I might regret wearing jeans to get it done. I’m almost definitely going to regret whatever you tell Dean tomorrow.”
Garrett’s mouth twitches.
“But not the tattoo.” Her fingertips move gently along her own forearms. “Even if something changed one day– and I’m not saying it will– I’d remember how I felt when I got it. I was happy. I love you. You’re my favourite thing in my life right now.”
“Right now?” he asks, because he’s still Garrett.
She groans. “Don’t ruin it.”
His laugh presses warm against the side of her hip. Then he kisses the skin just below the tattoo again, careful, lingering there without touching the ink. “My girl,” he murmurs.
She closes her eyes. Garrett stays behind her for another minute, one hand moving lazily over her ass while he continues looking at the number like he expects it to disappear if he blinks incorrectly.
Then he says, “Can I take a picture?”
Her eyes open. “Absolutely not.”
“For me.”
“No.”
“Baby,” he argues.
“You’ll show the boys.”
Garrett starts laughing, forehead dropping against her lower back. She can feel the effort he makes to avoid the tattoo.
“Fine,” he says. “No picture.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m memorising it.”
“You’ve been staring for ten minutes,” she giggles.
“Need another ten.”
She sighs into the pillow, but her body goes softer beneath his hand. Garrett kisses her hip once more, then crawls back up the bed and folds himself around her without asking her to move again. His chest settles against her back, one arm sliding beneath the pillow and the other wrapping around her waist.
His mouth finds the back of her neck. “You’re the sexiest person alive,” he says.
“Mm.”
“Objectively.”
“Garrett.”
“And fucking insane.”
She smiles into the pillow. “Yeah, well, you match my freak.”
His arm tightens around her. “Yeah,” he murmurs, laughter warm against her skin. “Definitely.”
to be notified when i post new fics, follow @kooksandpearls-library and turn on notifications! i no longer use a taglist for garrett fics.
warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, garrett's backwards hat
a/n: you're welcome jessica; divider from @designlikenonsense and pics from pinterest
"fuck, baby." garrett groans as he thrusts into you deeper. "gripping me so tight, you know that?"
the best thing about fucking garrett graham, was that he put a lot of effort into your pleasure. he could most certainly be described as a giver.
the two of you were meeting up in between some of your classes, and it didn't take long for your clothes to be thrown all over the floor. 2 orgasms later, you were struggling to form a coherent thought as his dick destroyed your brain cells, one hip movement at a time.
"garrett." you whine as you grip his shoulders, trying to bring him down closer to you. he chuckles softly, pulling away slightly.
"hold on, baby. give me a second." he stops moving before you can stop him, causing a noise of protest to fall from your lips. "shh, it's okay."
you flit your eyes up, blinking them into focus. and thank god you did, because you wouldn't want to miss this for the world. garrett takes off his baseball cap, pushing his hair out of his face before settling the cap back on his head, with the brim facing backwards.
"there we go, babygirl." he whispers in your ear as he presses a kiss to the underside of your jaw, adjusting his grip on your hips before beginning his slow, deep thrusts.
"holy fuck." you gasp, head tilted back as garrett hits that spot deep inside of you. "that was the hottest thing i have ever seen."
"what, me flipping my hat back?" garrett asks with a smrik. "good to know that gets you going. now quiet so i can focus."
you roll your eyes, shutting your mouth as garrett starts thrusting deeper into you. your throat is starting to hurt from all the moaning, but it's so worth it to be in garrett graham's sheets. each thrust sends you closer to the edge, your whimpers and the sound of skin slapping against each other filling the room.
"fuck, garrett, i'm gonna cum."
"good, let's me know that i'm doing something right." garrett says cockily as his hand slides between the two of you, rubbing tight circles on your clit. "come on, cum for me." he whispers as he nips at the shell of your ear.
that's all it takes to send you over the edge, your eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashes over you. "fuck!" you exclaim, your nails digging into garrett's shoulders. he grunts, giving 2 more shallow thrusts before spilling inside of you.
he waits until you've come down from your high before he rolls onto his side, looking down at you with a smug smile while you try and catch your breath. "round 2?"
"fuck you, graham." you say with a snort, but you're already climbing on top of him.
visiting Logan at the garage when he's dirty from oil and shit
For this one, we are following Logan’s book backstory. I hate that they changed his father for a mother in rehab, and that he has a sister instead of a brother working at the garage. (just like I hate how they watered down Phil’s abuse…)
Summary: You visit Logan at the garage…in a skirt
Warnings: 18+, suggestive content,
—
You pulled outside Logan & Sons Auto Repair, spotting Logan's truck parked along the side of the building where he always left it. The familiar sight tugged a smile onto your face before you had even turned off the engine.
The afternoon sun was beating down on the cracked asphalt as you climbed out, the scent of warm pavement, motor oil, and rubber already drifting through the air. The wide garage doors were rolled open, exposing cars up on lifts and the organized chaos of tool chests, air hoses, and half-disassembled engines.
The rhythmic clank of metal echoed from inside, followed by the whir of an impact wrench.
You stepped through the open bay, weaving around a stack of tires.
One of the older mechanics glanced up from beneath the hood of a pickup truck. ‘’Well, look who decided to stop by,’’ he said with a knowing grin.
‘’Hi George,’’ you greeted, smiling at the man in his early fifties.
‘’No clicking noise this time?’’
You shook your head. ‘’Car is doing good.’’
He wiped his grease-stained hands on a rag before jerking his chin toward the far end of the shop, already knowing you were looking for Logan. ‘’Last bay. He’s been under that Mustang since lunch.’’
‘’Thanks.’’
As you made your way deeper into the garage, familiar sounds filled the space — classic rock humming from an old radio, compressed air hissing, muffled laughter between the mechanics.
You spotted him a second later, half hidden under a red car that looked far too fancy to be here.
You reached for the creeper and yanked hard, causing him to roll out from under the car, spanner in hand.
‘’What the fu—?’’ Logan trailed off, looking up at you from his perch with his bandana tied over his head and oil smeared on his cheek. ‘’Hey, babe.’’ He smiled, pleased to see you. ‘’Got any car trouble?’’
‘’Nope,’’ you replied. ‘’I was just stopping by to see you.’’
The garage was thirty minutes from Briar, but you didn't have anything else to do this afternoon. And you secretly loved to see him in his mechanic overalls. Bonus points if it was dirty or open at the chest.
‘’I’m kind of in the middle of something here… Jeffrey was supposed to have this Mustang ready for 3PM, but he called to say something came up and couldn’t come in to finish the job,’’ Logan explained, tired of his unreliable brother. ‘’This client leaves good tip so we can’t afford to lose him.’’
You hummed in understanding as he wheeled himself back under the car.
‘’I get it. But you should tell Jeffrey to go fuck himself.’’
Logan snorted. ‘’I wish!’’
A familiar tune came on the radio and you found yourself humming to it while Logan worked on the Mustang. Ever so often, he would peek one eye out from under the car, catching your silhouette standing there — patient and pretty in your skirt and flowy blouse —, and it hit him all over again how lucky he was.
‘’You wanna make yourself useful, baby?’’ he asked as the music changed, voice teasing but warm. ‘’Grab me that 10mm socket from the tray?’’
You turned toward the rolling tool cart, scanning the neatly organized sockets until you spotted the 10mm. Picking it up, you walked back to Logan and, with one leg on either side of his body, handed it over to him.
He rolled out from under the car to grab the tool and swore. ‘’Can you please not stand like that?’’ he said, gesturing to the perfect view up your skirt that you had unintentionally given him. ‘’You know I can’t focus with that pink thong right in my face.’’
A soft laugh left your lips. ‘’Close your eyes.’’
‘’Close your legs.’’
‘’No.’’ You crossed your arms, looking down at him. ‘’You’re looking up my skirt.’’
‘’Because you’re flashing your pussy in my face!’’
The sound of a tool clattering on the concret accompanied by a loud ’Ow, fuck!’ coming from one of the other mechanics echoed in the garage. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but his space was right next to Logan’s so he had heard everything.
‘’You did not just say that… Jesus, this is a garage, kid.’’
Logan groaned in embarrassment and moved to roll back under the car.
