Home For The Holidays
5.8k words
warnings: dysfunctional family holiday, fake bf jake again, angsty moment of friend zoning, prying family, mean comments from relatives, kissing, SMUT 18+!, oral sex (m. rec), unprotected sex, dirty talk, fluffy lovey dovey shit, lemme know if I missed any!
a/n: This is kinda a part two/continuance of Boyfriend Material, but holiday edition
Masterlist
You hate the holidays.
You always have.
It’s not the food or the travel or the sentimental movie marathons– those parts you can handle. It’s the family. The noise. The questions. The way every relative you’ve ever met seems to have a PhD in dissecting your life choices, especially the romantic ones.
And Thanksgiving? That’s the Olympics of it.
You stand over your half-packed suitcase, trying to remember whether your nana’s place is cold this time of year or if she keeps the heat cranked so high you could toast marshmallows on the coffee table. You toss a sweater in, then take it out, then put it back again. Everything feels wrong, and it always does when you’re preparing to head into the emotional battlefield of another family gathering.
Already you can hear it–
Why isn’t Jake with you? I thought you two were serious. Didn’t you look so in love at Nana’s birthday?
And then, inevitably, someone will start arguing, probably about politics or the best way to cook a turkey, and everyone will talk over each other until you’re left silently calculating whether you can sneak out for a breath of cold air.
You rub your temples. You still haven’t figured out how you’re going to explain to them that Jake– your best friend Jake, who your entire extended family is still convinced is your devoted boyfriend– is not, in fact, your boyfriend at all.
Or at least… not officially.
Not after the lines you crossed at the birthday getaway. Not after the quiet confessions, the shaky breath between you, the way everything changed without either of you daring to talk about what it means now.
You fold a shirt with more force than necessary. You need a plan. A speech. Something that clarifies the situation without unraveling your entire family or your entire… whatever-you-are with Jake.
You throw the shirt down, running a hand over your face when you hear your front door open. Your heart skips a beat, the way it always does when he's around anymore.
“I fucking hate the holidays,” you call out, turning to the doorway when he appears.
He smiles, leaning against the doorframe, “Is it the awkward dysfunctional family get-togethers? How could you possibly hate that?”
“You know how bad it was at Nana's birthday party,” you mutter, falling back onto your bed with a sigh, “Thanksgiving and Christmas are even worse. Everyone has something to prove– It's like a fucking high school reunion.”
He huffs a laugh, pushing off the doorframe to open your suitcase, eyeing all the different things you'd crammed into it, “You always pack like you're gonna be gone for a month, you know that?”
“I like to be prepared,” you grumble.
“How's Nana?” He asks, mindlessly pulling your crumpled clothes out, setting them on the mattress.
“She's good,” you rumple your lips, “She called earlier– told me to tell you hi.” You watch as he begins folding your clothes, much neater than you had.
He smiles, his eyes bright, “She's a sweetheart.”
“She has a crush on you,” you mutter.
“She's cute,” he says, shooting you a wink. “Single– And rich, too.”
“You're fucking gross,” you say around a laugh, “That's my grandmother– And you're fucking rich too!”
He grins, “How long are you gonna be gone for Thanksgiving?” He asks, still folding your clothes and packing them away neatly.
“A few days, I guess,” you say, turning your head to watch him. “You going to your mom and dad's?”
“Nah,” he says, “They're currently on their way to Greece– Took everyone but me,” he frowns, "Can you believe that?”
You sigh, “Can't say I blame ‘em.”
“Fuck you,” he mutters, no heat to his words. “No, I told them I didn't wanna go.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs, “Been there, done that,” he says, no arrogance in his tone, “Kinda just want some peace and quiet, y'know?”
“Well, then, never mind that idea,” you say to yourself, “I was gonna invite you to come with me–”
“I'll go,” he says softly, “I like your family, it was fun last time.”
“Fun?” You wrinkle your nose, “Were we at the same event?"
“Have you told them?” He asks, tilting his head, “That we're, uh, friends?”
“No,” you admit, grimacing. “I’ve been avoiding it. I’d rather rub dirt in my hair.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re dramatic, you know that?”
He tucks the last shirt inside and looks around. “Where’s Snickerdoodle?”
You glance around the room as if she’ll magically appear. “She’s around somewhere. You sure you want to do this? Peace and quiet is the last thing you’ll get with my family.”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I want to go.”
“Why? To charm my Nana again?”
“To make my move,” he teases lightly. “She’s into me.”
You toss a pillow at him. “You make a move on my grandmother and I swear I’ll beat your ass.”
His laugh echoes down the hallway as he goes off to search for your cat. “Is that any way to talk to your future step-grandfather?”
You groan dramatically. “I can’t stand you.”
But your smile gives you away.
—
You stare at the large, vaguely threatening house in front of you, arms crossed as Jake shuts off the engine. Your stomach twists the way it always does before your family gatherings– anticipation mixed with dread.
“This is fucking insane that we’re doing this again,” you mutter under your breath.
Jake leans forward, taking in the explosion of Thanksgiving decorations your Nana has proudly scattered across the lawn. “Full circle,” he murmurs. “Think she’d notice if I stole that giant blow‑up turkey?”
You huff a laugh. “She definitely would.”
He grins like he’s filing that away as a challenge.
You blow out a slow breath. “Jake… seriously. If you don’t want to do this again, it’s okay. I won’t be mad.”
He turns toward you, softening. “I didn’t drive all this way for nothing.”
You try to smother a smile. “No, you drove all this way to hit on my grandmother. That’s what I heard.”
“Or her granddaughter,” he says quietly.
The words catch you off guard. You blink, pulse kicking up, but he’s already reaching for his door handle like he didn’t just turn your entire bloodstream to static.
“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s go survive this together.”
You climb out with a shaky breath, the cold air brushing your cheeks just as the front door bursts open.
“There they are!” Your aunt’s voice carries across the porch, and suddenly there’s a rush of movement– warm light, louder voices, familiar chaos.
Jake laughs, cheeks pink from the cold. Your family eats that up– greetings and laughs echoing across the yard.
And then Nana appears in the doorway, bundled in a sweater that is absolutely older than you, her eyes widening as she sees him.
“Jake!” she beams, opening her arms like she’s greeting a returning soldier. “Oh honey, you came back!”
Jake’s face lights up in that soft, genuine way it only ever does around the people he trusts. “Wouldn’t miss out on seeing you,” he says, hugging her.
Nana pats his cheek, glowing. “That’s my boy.”
The words hang sharp and bittersweet in your chest.
Your family swarms you both, talking over one another, ushering the two of you inside as if Jake has been hand‑delivered from heaven just for their entertainment.
Jake glances at you through the chaos, a soft smile tugging at his lips– reassuring, warm, like he’s saying I’ve got you.
Your stomach flips.
Because for a moment, with everyone fussing over him and the house glowing with holiday warmth, you almost believe it.
Almost.
—
You shut your bedroom door a little harder than intended, letting out a long breath.
“I’m overwhelmed already.”
Jake drops your bags onto the floor with a soft thud. “This is nothing,” he says, trying for lightness.
You give him a look. “You just have to be Mr. Perfect, don’t you?” you tease. “They like you more than me.”
“They do not,” he insists– though the faint pink on his cheeks betrays him. “They’re just happy you have someone.”
A quiet laugh slips out of you. “I almost feel bad for lying about it.”
His voice softens. “It doesn’t have to be a lie.”
You hesitate. “Jake… it’s a big step.”
“It’s not bigger than what happened at the cabin,” he says gently but firmly. He swallows, eyes drifting away from yours. “I know we said we’d stay friends for now, but I just–” He pauses, frustration flickering across his face before he reins it in. “I can’t go through this whole weekend pretending everything I feel for you is… pretend.”
“Jake…”
He lets out a slow exhale, shoulders dipping. “I know. I know. I’ll behave.”
Silence settles between you, thick and awkward. You finally meet his eyes, your own softening.
“I just… I don’t want to lose you as a friend if things go wrong,” you whisper.
He gives a small nod, his hands falling from his hips– the defeat subtle, but there. “Yeah. I get it,” he says quietly. “Anyway. Let’s go charm your family again.”
You step aside as he reaches for the door. He pulls it open but stops, turning just enough to look at you. His voice is barely above a whisper, steady but aching.
“There’s not a single fucking thing in this world that would make me stop loving you,” he says. “Nothing.”
Before you can find your breath– let alone words– he steps out into the hallway, leaving with that familiar, painful piece of your heart.
—
The kitchen smells like cinnamon, nutmeg, and whatever secret ingredient your Nana always swears she’ll take to the grave. You’re elbow-deep in pie filling, and she’s moving around the counters with that quiet efficiency she’s had since forever. Jake sits at the table behind you, helping your little cousins with cookie cutters, laughing softly every time one of them insists a crooked turkey is “perfect.”
You try not to look at him too much.
Nana nudges your arm with a wooden spoon. “Hand me that sugar, sweetheart.”
You pass it over, and she gives you a long, knowing look– one of those looks that says she’s been on this earth long enough to see through absolutely everything.
“So,” she hums, stirring, “how’s that young man of yours?”
You blink. “Jake? He’s– he’s good.”
“Mmh.” She keeps stirring. “Good boy. Sweet. Looks at you like you hung the moon.”
Your chest tightens. “He’s just… nice.”
“Nice,” she repeats, as if she’s testing the weight of the word. Another hum. Another slow, deliberate stir. “And this pretend romance you’ve got him tangled in… that nice too?”
You freeze, the pie dish almost slipping from your hands. “Nana–”
“Oh, hush. I’ve been around longer than all of you put together,” she says, waving off your panic. “I know when something’s real, and I know when two people are dancing around each other because they’re scared to death.”
Your throat goes dry. “We didn’t mean to lie–”
“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t care about the lie.” She turns to you fully now, her soft eyes sharper than you expect. “I care that the boy looks at you like he’d walk through fire, and you’re both acting like you’re in a school play.”
Heat floods your cheeks. “Nana, it’s complicated.”
“All love is complicated,” she says plainly. “But you two? You’re pretending so hard you’re about to miss the real thing trying to tap you on the shoulder.”
Behind you, Jake’s laugh rings through the kitchen– warm, genuine, the sound of someone who fits here more naturally than you ever expected. Your heart pinches.
Nana lowers her voice. “If you want to protect yourself, I understand that. But don’t you dare pretend you don’t feel something back. Not when that boy walked in here looking at you like he already belongs to this family.”
You stare at the counter, at your shaking fingers. “Nana… I don’t want to mess things up.”
She steps closer, cupping your cheek with a flour-dusted hand. “Then be honest. With him. With yourself. You don’t need to rush, but you do need to stop hiding. Love doesn’t grow in the dark.”
You swallow hard. “You really think he–”
Nana squeezes your hand. “That boy isn’t pretending. Not even a little.”
Your breath stutters.
“Now,” she says, flipping her apron with a snap, “wash your hands and finish that pie. And when you’re done, go talk to him. Thanksgiving’s a fine day for courage.”
You nod slowly, heart pounding, and for the first time all day… you think she might be right.
—
You hover in the doorway of the living room, heart hammering. Jake is kneeling on the rug, helping your youngest cousin line up toy dinosaurs by size. He looks up when you clear your throat– just a small sound, but he catches it instantly.
The smile he gives you is soft. Questioning.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?”
You nod, though your throat is tight. “Can I… steal you for a minute?”
He rises immediately, brushing cookie crumbs off his jeans. “Yeah,” he says, gentle as ever. “Lead the way.”
You step down the hallway, far enough from the noise of the family but not so far that it feels dramatic. Jake stops beside you, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets like he’s trying to look non-threatening.
“What’s up?” he asks, voice low.
You swallow hard. “I talked to my Nana.”
His brows lift, but he doesn’t speak– just waits.
“She, um… she knows we’re faking it.” You press your palms together to stop them shaking. “And she thinks we’re stupid. Which– honestly, fair.”
Jake’s expression shifts– something cautious, something hopeful– but he still doesn’t move.
“She said…” You breathe in sharply. “She said you’re not pretending.”
Jake’s lips part, like he wants to answer, but he stops himself. He’s so careful with you it almost breaks you.
“And she said I’m hiding.”
A beat. Then, barely a whisper, “Are you?”
You let out a trembling laugh. “I’m terrified, Jake.” Your voice cracks, and you blink hard. “I’m terrified because I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to screw this up. You’re my best friend, and if we try and it goes wrong–”
He steps forward immediately but slowly, giving you every chance to step back. When you don’t, he lifts a hand and cups your cheek as gently as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter.
“You’re not going to lose me,” he murmurs. “Ever.”
Your breath breaks, a small sob escaping before you can stop it.
“Hey, hey…” His voice goes even softer. “Come here.”
You fold into him without thinking, your forehead pressing against his chest. His arms wrap around you– strong, warm, careful– and he holds you like he’s been waiting to do it forever. You grip the back of his shirt, crying quietly into the cotton.
“I want to try,” you whisper against him. “I do. I just… I don’t know how to not be scared.”
He rests his chin on your hair, smoothing a slow hand down your back. “You don’t have to pretend you’re not scared,” he says. “We can go slow. As slow as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
Your shoulders shake, another tear slipping out. “I don’t want to ruin us.”
“You won’t.” He pulls back just enough to look in your eyes, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “I promise you. I’m here. For all of it. And we don’t have to figure everything out today.”
Your breath stutters, but the panic begins to ease.
Jake’s gaze softens even more– if that’s possible. “Just let me love you at your pace,” he whispers. “That’s all I want.”
You nod, tears still clinging to your lashes.
“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay… then let’s try.”
His smile is small and warm and full of something that steadies you.
“Yeah,” he says. “Together.”
And when he pulls you back into his arms, you let yourself hold on– not afraid this time, but finally, finally hopeful.
—
Dinner is loud, just like every family gathering– everyone talking over each other, passing dishes, laughing too hard at jokes that weren’t funny the first time. Jake sits beside you, his knee brushing yours now and then.
The wine helps. Maybe too much.
Your plate is half-finished when Aunt Louise points her fork at you like she’s conducting an orchestra. “So,” she says, smiling in that way that always feels like a trap, “how’s work going, sweetheart? Still hopping from job to job?”
Your stomach tightens.
Before you can answer, Uncle Dean adds, “She’s always been a little… indecisive.” He chuckles. “Good thing Jake seems stable enough for the both of you.”
Jake sits up straighter, resting his hand over yours under the table. “How’s your divorce going, Dean?” he asks, his tone perfectly calm.
The entire table freezes.
Your dad lets out a loud, sharp laugh, earning a quick smack on the arm from your mom. You stare at Jake, wide-eyed, struggling not to laugh.
“Excuse me?” your uncle finally manages.
“You always have something to say about her,” Jake says, reaching for the mashed potatoes as if he couldn’t care less. “Like you all live such perfect lives yourselves.”
Aunt Louise snaps, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough,” he says quietly. “Like the fact that you’re all pretending you’re not hooking up with someone young enough to be your son.”
“You asshole–”
“Don’t talk to him that way,” you cut in, shaking your head.
“So he can just disrespect us–”
“You do it to her,” Jake shoots back, setting the bowl down again. “I had to hear it at Nana’s birthday weekend. I’ve had to hear it all week. You act like her having a boyfriend is her only redeeming quality. Like none of you even know her.”
Nana starts laughing, and suddenly the room goes quiet. Your cheeks heat, and Jake leans back as if bracing himself. You place your hand on his thigh, giving a small, reassuring squeeze.
“He’s right,” Nana says, shaking her head. “You’re all a bunch of fools.” Jake stays silent, jaw tense– you know he’s beating himself up for going too far. “But we’ll discuss it later,” Nana continues, smiling at the room. “For now, we eat dinner. And we shut the hell up.”
You stare at your plate, cheeks flushed from the wine. Someone nudges your foot, and you glance up to see Nana winking at you.
You smile warmly, sharing a knowing look.
—
“You didn’t even have to say anything to them,” Nana says, handing you the last bowl to rinse under the hot water.
You laugh softly, shaking it before setting it on the drying rack. “I know. He was quick.”
“He cares about you very much,” she says, pulling the plug from the sink. “You know, your grandpa did something like that for me once. We were just dating– actually dating– but he stood up to my dad…” She smiles, lost in the memory. “I made sure he knew I appreciated it.”
“Nana!” you exclaim, laughing in surprise.
“Well,” she shrugs, “Jake deserves a little something too, don’t you think?”
Your cheeks heat. “We–”
“Give him a chance, baby,” she interrupts firmly. “More than anything, that boy loves you. And you love him.”
You sigh, turning as someone appears in the doorway.
Jake.
You give him a warm smile. “Hey.”
“Hey, honey,” he says casually. “I talked to your aunt and uncle. We’re good– came to an understanding.” He smiles.
Nana nudges you. “See? I told you he deserves–”
“Nana,” you cut her off, shaking your head, a grin spreading across your face.
She laughs, turning away with a wink in your direction.
—
You shut the door behind you, unable to look away from Jake. He's talking, telling you about the whole exchange with your aunt and uncle, unaware of your entire crisis.
You bite your bottom lip, “Jake.”
He turns, a small smile on his lips, “Yeah?”
“Kiss me.”
He pauses, “What?”
“Just– Kiss me.” You repeat.
He stares at you for a moment, his tongue peeking out to lick over his bottom lip. He doesn't say anything, but he makes his way to you, slowly, carefully, “Why?” He asks when he's inches away from you.
“I want you to.”
He nods once, and without any further hesitation or any teasing, he cups your face in palms, and his lips attach to yours. You grab him, pulling him closer.
It grows heated quickly, his hands slipping down, grabbing and squeezing you wherever he felt like it. Your breasts, your sides, slipping down to grab your backside, squeezing tightly as you whine into his mouth. Before you can think too hard about it, you spin the two of you around, until his back is pressed against the wall. He blinks at you, “What are you–”
“Shut up,” you say quietly, “Before I lose my nerve.”
He stays quiet, but his cheeks flush.
You open your mouth to speak, to tell him, but your words fail you as all you manage is a soft, “I love you.”
He softens, “I love you.”
“No, like– Jake, I don't wanna pretend, I don't wanna take it slow, I just– I wanna stop being scared. And tonight… after dinner, I realized that I'm hurting you by being like this. And I– I love you.”
“It's all at your pace, sweet girl,” he says gently, “I'm just waiting on you to figure it out.”
You take a deep breath, your Nana's words echoing in your ears. He deserves a little something. She was right– Even if it wasn't what she was talking about, he deserves everything.
And you're not good with words.
So you lower to your knees.
His eyes widen. “What are you–”
“I'm not good at talking,” you say, keeping your hands on your legs, “But I want– I wanna show you. At least a little bit?” You rub your hand over your face, “Fuck, I don't know, is this a bad idea?”
“I think it's alright," he teases breathlessly, still standing against the wall.
You take a steady breath, “You stood up to my family.”
“I hate it when they bully you,” he says, eyes following your hands as you grab his belt, unbuckling it without tact.
“You've dealt with their shit all week,” you say, opening his jeans.
“I care about you,” he responds, his hand moving to brush your hair behind your shoulders.
You frown at him, “You've handled all of this without a single complaint, and I've been a fucking idiot–”
“I love you, Y/n,” he cuts in, shaking his head.
Tears burn your eyes, and you look away, “I've made you wait. Because I was so fucking scared of losing you that I didn't realize I was stringing you along and hurting you, and–”
His hands cup your face, and he gently tugs your head up to look at him, “I fucking love you. I'd crawl across broken glass if you asked me to– What don't you understand about that?”
“I don't want you to do that,” you whisper, “I want to love you. And I don't wanna be scared anymore.”
He gives you a soft smile, “Then don't be scared.”
You huff a laugh, “I wanna suck you off,” you say quietly.
He lets out a shaky breath, nodding his head, “Okay.” You almost laugh at how eager it sounds, but you feel the same way, so you don't.
You waste no time, your fingers slipping past the waistband of his underwear to wrap around him. He's still only half-hard, but you tug his underwear down enough to pull him free.
You take your time to tease him a little, licking up and down the length of him, feeling him grow firm and solid, almost dripping wet from your tongue. When he finally feels so hard that it makes your head spin, you take him into your mouth.
You move lightly, testing the waters as you bob your head around him. Your fist wraps around the base, moving in tandem with your mouth.
He hums, his head falling back against the wall, accompanied with a quiet thud.
You pull back, taking a deep breath through your nose, before you take him all the way in, your nose pressing against his lower stomach, and his fingers brush through your hair, “Fuck, Y/n,” he breathes, his fingers moving to cradle the back of your head as his face falls back down to look at you.
You keep your eyes on his own as best you can, taking in the expression on his face– He looks completely enamored, soft and wrecked, as he traces his other hand over your jaw, gentle and reverent.
His chest is rising and falling quickly already, like he's either about to come or he's overwhelmed. You pull off of him, keeping your hand moving up and down while you speak, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, hips jerking just once, “I just– Fucking love you.”
You smile up at him, your heart softening, “I love you,” you say. “Will you fuck my mouth?” You feel him twitch against your hand.
He lets out a disbelieving laugh, his head falling back once more to gather his wits. “You want that?”
“Yeah,” you say softly, “I want it. I want you to fuck my mouth, Jake.”
“God damn,” he whispers, hand tangling in your hair to pull you away. You frown at him as he leans over, his hands falling to your waist. He moves you, turning the two of you around completely until you're now against the wall again. You look up at him as he wraps his own hand around himself, “Open that pretty mouth,” he says, voice rough.
You do so without hesitation, choking on a gasp around him as he presses in.
“Take a deep breath,” he warns, pausing for you to inhale deeply through your nose. He presses his hips closer to you, the head nudging against the back of your throat.
He hums, jaw tight, and then he starts moving. Shallow thrusts, gentle at first, as if he's testing the waters. You let out an encouraging moan, ignoring the gags threatening you as he moves.
“You alright?” He asks, still gentle in his movements. When you hum around him, he grabs your hair, “More?”
You hum again, a desperate affirmation, and he grunts quietly, before he begins fucking into your mouth. You almost smile– you would if your mouth wasn't occupied. He's still careful, he always is, but he fucks into you with a purpose.
He lets out a sound, pulling out completely, his chest heaving as he leans over, his forehead pressing against the wall, “I can't– I wanna fuck you, I don't– Let me fuck you. Please.”
You lick over your lips, wiping the excess spit away from your mouth, “I don't wanna make this about me right now,” you say, “I just wanna make you feel good– You stood up to my family, Jake, I just wanna–”
He shakes his head, “You can make me feel good by letting me fuck you,” he says, eyes wild as he leans over, grabbing you by your waist again. You let out a gasp when he turns, all but throwing you onto the bed.
“Jake!” You laugh quietly as he reaches for your jeans, not even bothering with the button or zipper as he yanks them down your thighs.
“Shut up,” he says softly, tossing them aside. His fingers loop around your panties, tugging them away next. You can't help but grin up at him as he
grabs your thighs, your chest rising and falling quickly as he nudges against you. He leans over you, his nose brushing against your cheek, “Can I fuck you, pretty girl?” You nod quickly, tangling a hand into his hair, holding him close to you as you move your hips, trying to get him to push inside of you already. “Yeah?” He asks, wrapping a hand around himself, teasing at your slick entrance, “Gonna let me give it to you?”
“Yes,” you say, stilling when he eases the head inside of you, “Fuck– Please–”
He grins, pushing in to the hilt in one swift snap of his hips. Your mouth falls open as your walls flutter around him, adjusting to the intrusion.
He groans as his eyes roll shut, his forehead falling to your collarbone, “God damn, I missed this sweet little cunt,” he says, voice just a little shaky. “So much.”
“Fuck, Jake,” you breathe, “Fuck me.”
“M'gonna,” he says, certain. He lifts up to watch as he eases out of you. You whine softly when he pulls out all the way, his hand moving down to spread you open as he stares at you, “Looks like she missed me, too, hm?” He says, almost to himself.
You let out a choked sound, your mouth still open, and he pushes back inside of you. You're on the verge of begging him, but he starts fucking into you, hard and with a purpose, and all thoughts flee your head.
You slip your hands past where your thighs are squeezing his waist, your fingers digging into his hips as you pull his hips tighter against you. He grunts, leaning back over you, pulling your sweater up over your breasts. His lips land at the edge of your bra, soft and tender, contrasting the way he was fucking into you. He tugs your bra down enough for your tits to spill out. Your core clenches at the sound he lets out before his lips wrap around your nipple.
“Oh my God,” you whine, your hips rocking up when his hand grabs your other breast, squeezing it just enough to make you gasp.
He hums, pulling off your chest to attach his lips to your own. You grab at him wildly, pulling him impossibly closer, overwhelmed with desperate need. He pulls back just enough to speak, his voice a low, calming rasp, “I'm right here,” he soothes.
“I– Fuck, Jake, just–” you tug at him again, and he softens, his hands slipping around your waist. He moves you further up the bed, kneeing himself up, all without pulling out of you. He's tight against you, his arms wrapped around you, and his body pressed against yours. His weight is settled over you, still careful not to crush you, but enough to press you into the mattress.
You let out a content sigh when he rolls his hips, your eyes fluttering as his movements have him rocking against your clit just right.
“You feel so good,” you breathe, your arms tightening around his shoulders.
“Yeah?” He asks, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, “This what you needed, honey?” He asks, still rocking into you.
You nod, “Just… Need you close.”
His eyebrows tilt up just the slightest, his face softening impossibly further as he watches you, “Can you come like this?” He asks.
You nod without hesitation, knowing it wouldn't be long with the way his pelvic bone was grinding against your aching clit.
“Good,” he murmurs, “I want you to,” he says, eyes still intense as he takes you in. “Want you to come all sweet and pretty on my cock, baby.”
You whine, your own hips moving in time with his. He grinds a little harder, a little faster, his cock hitting inside of you just right.
You gasp his name, your orgasm building quickly as he smiles down at you, “That's it,” he whispers, “Let it go, you're so close– Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight. Let me have it. Please, baby, give it to me.”
His rambling has your back arching up, and with a desperate growl from him, it hits. Pleasure surges through you, a loud cry escaping your lips. Your body all but thrashes beneath him, broken sobs and hiccups falling freely as he fucks you through it with firm, intentional thrusts and filthy praise.
You manage to gasp out a plea for him to come, and within seconds, he's hit his own end, spilling into you. His mouth falls open as he fucks you both through it, his hold so tight you know it will leave bruises.
He lets out a final broken sound, his body collapsing against you in a content ending. You head falls back against the pillows, a small grin finding your face.
He finally moves, lifting up on slightly shaky limbs as he pulls away. He climbs off the bed, his eyebrows furrowed as he fixes his jeans. He avoids your eyes, and you sit up from a frown as you pull your sweater back down, “Jake–”
“We shouldn't have done that,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth. He looks almost crazed as he looks anywhere but you, “Things are just gonna– They're fucked now, we shouldn't have–”
“Jake, stop,” you say, climbing off the bed to grab his face, yanking his head to look at you.
“We were supposed to take it slow,” he whispers, still looking as if he might bolt at any second.
“It's okay–”
“You don't get it,” he says, voice soft, but frustrated, “I wasn't supposed to do that. I was– I wanted to do it right. I don't want you to get freaked out again and think that's all I want from you–”
“I don't think that,” you assure him. “I love you, and– And you love me, right?”
He nods quickly, “You know I do. I love you so much, it fucking scares me.”
“And it scared me too,” you whisper, “It scared me how much I love you. But we aren't gonna push each other away anymore, Jake.”
“I'm not going anywhere,” he argues.
“You just tried to run,” you say dryly.
He rolls his eyes. “It wasn't like that.”
“I love you,” you say, shaking your head, “And I don't care how we do this, as long as… As long as we do it. Together.”
He nods, his hands moving to grab your wrists. “Okay,” he breathes, “If you change your mind when we get home again–”
“I won't,” you say with a sad laugh, “I promise I won't.”
He nods again, his eyes falling shut, “I don't think I can face your family again,” he whispers.
“Why not?” You ask, a confused smile tugging at your lips.
“I know they definitely heard every fucking bit of that.”
Your cheeks heat, knowing he was right. Neither of you had been quiet about it this time. You huff a laugh.
“Maybe it'll give them something else to talk about.”
