menace mitigation aka cate tries very hard to behave and fails with impressive consistency tw: girlcock, g!p cate, rough sex, blowjobs, cunnilingus, fingering, vaginal sex, dickriding, creampies, multiple orgasms, morning sex, aftercare, etc. 7k+ words
author's note: i guess i can confirm that filthy porn does indeed lift my spirits lmao
Cate had always been good at pretending she wasn’t starving.
Years of practice, really—years of being the quiet, obedient daughter in the big bright house with the big metal door, the one that sealed her bedroom like a vault. After Caleb her parents stopped touching her at all. No hugs, no casual brushes, no goodnight kisses. They left plates on a tray and slid them through, voices terrified from the other side like she was some kind of wild animal. Cate learned to keep her gloves on and her hands to herself, learned how to listen for the thunk of bolts setting, how to pretend the sound didn’t make her heart try to crawl out of her chest. She never feared touching herself, though. Control was better there, private and precise. The posters on her walls got older with her, the Queen Maeve pillow went from comfort to confidant and—once she hit puberty—stopped being purely decorative. Back then, release was a private ritual, a stifled prayer said into the crook of her elbow and the messy heat of her sheets, a way to outpace the ache until morning. She could rub herself numb three times before dawn and wake with glassy eyes and a secret blooming under her tongue.
Now the secrecy was gone. Or rather, it had changed its shape. There was no judgement on the other side of her door, no bolts, no cautious plates on cautious trays. There was a dorm room shared with your plants and thrifted items, a desk littered with books and pen caps chewed until they were soft, a narrow bed that still managed to feel like the safest space Cate had ever known.
The starving part, though—that was worse. Not because she didn’t know how to feed it, but because feeding it had a face now. A mouth. A laugh that cracked open her ribs and stuffed something warm inside.
Your key grated once, twice, and the door swung open. The hallway light made a brief halo behind you before you nudged it shut with your foot. You wore Cate’s ratty grey sweats and a black tank tight across your chest, hair tucked under a beanie that should’ve been ugly but somehow made Cate’s stomach drop straight through the mattress. There was a backpack over one shoulder and a new ink smear on your thumb, like you’d been fiddling with a broken pen all afternoon.
“Hey, baby,” you said, voice already smiling. “You’re early.”
Cate sat up and tried to look like a normal girlfriend. She tucked the edge of the blanket under her arms. Kept the need off her face. Lit up a cute, manageable grin.
“I missed you,” she said.
You set the backpack on the desk chair and toed your shoes off. “Missed you too.”
And that was it, that was all it took—those three words, the hoarse affection in them. Something inside Cate loosened with a humiliating little whimper she didn’t mean to make. She dragged the blanket up higher to cover the traitorous flush in her throat. She could feel her cock twitch against her thigh, heavy and insistent, like it could smell heat in the room. Of course it could, you brought it with you like you brought the smell of cold air and cheap bodega coffee and the sweat of the walk across campus. Cate’s brain, treacherous, had already cataloged every time she’d cum today trying not to think about this exact moment—twice in the shower before her morning class, once in a bathroom stall because the lecture on Crisis Response had them dissecting post-incident pressers and Vought training reels and that was somehow enough to make her ache. None of it helped. Hunger was smarter than habit when you were involved.
You peeled off the beanie, shook your hair out, and looked over your shoulder with a soft, assessing squint. Cate loved that look. She feared it too. It saw through everything.
“Did you eat?” You asked.
“Mhm.” Cate bit her lip. “I mean, not food. But.”
“Ah.” Your mouth folded around a grin. You came closer, slow as a tide. “Puppy.”
Cate’s eyes went wide at the nickname. It always did this to her, reach in and scratch behind her ears, when you used it with that tone. She scooted back on the bed on instinct, then immediately panicked about the distance. “I—baby, I tried. I did, I really did. But you weren’t here and I—”
“Shh.” Your knee pressed into the mattress, then the other. You crawled up until your weight bracketed Cate on both sides, palms bracing against Cate’s hips. “I’m here now.”
Cate’s lungs loosened. “Good. Okay. Okay.”
“You’re doing that face,” you murmured, leaning in to peck at Cate’s cheek. “The one where you think I’m going to make you beg for an hour just because I can.”
“You do like doing that.”
“True.” You kissed the other cheek. “But I also like when you breathe.”
Cate managed a breath, then another. Cate’s stomach flipped. Her cock ached so sharply it made her fingers curl. She wanted to be decent and patient. She wanted to kiss and talk about your day and maybe play a dumb low-stakes game of Mario Kart. But wanting was a riot under her skin now. Her hands, traitors, slid down the blanket and bunched it up so she could rub herself through cotton. The pressure made her sigh, pathetic in its relief.
Your eyes flicked down. Oh. Oh, there it was—the hunger. “Baby.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Cate barely moved her hand and still nearly cried from how good it felt. “I was so good. I waited.”
“You’re sorry for missing me?” You teased, sweet. You edged closer until your breath warmed Cate’s lip. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Cate’s hand trembled. “Please.”
You cupped her jaw. Your thumb smudged carefully over the tender place under Cate’s cheekbone where anxiety liked to hide. “Do you want my hands or my mouth?” You asked, casual like you were asking for paper or plastic.
“Yes.” Cate flamed scarlet. “Anything. Everything. Please, baby.”
Your lashes fluttered. The tone always made your throat work, made something settle low and dangerous in your belly. You kissed Cate like it was an oath being renewed—slow, possessive, tongue sinking all the way in until Cate could feel the taste of mint give way to the taste of you. You kissed like gravity. Cate clutched at your arms and forgot that oxygen existed.
When you broke apart, Cate chased with a little whine that had you biting down a smile.
“So needy,” you murmured, and you didn’t say it like an insult.
“I know,” Cate said earnestly. She was helpless with it, ridiculous with it. “I’m so—baby, I’m so full. I can’t—”
Your gaze darted lower, over the frantic rise of the blanket. Your voice dropped, rougher. “Show me.”
Cate hesitated for exactly one heartbeat, then flung the blanket aside like a flag of surrender. She wore the soft white boxer-briefs you liked, the ones that hugged just tight enough to bracket her and left a damp patch dark as a bruise at the head. The elastic cut gentle lines into her hips. Her cock strained against the cotton obscenely. She was pink where she wasn’t covered, flushed up her stomach, a sheen of sweat collecting in the dip of her throat.
Your breath caught audibly. “Fuck.”
Cate offered the most doomed smile in the galaxy. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you said faintly, and palmed her once through the fabric. Cate’s head snapped back. Stars scattered across the ceiling in a stupid fireworks show. She pressed herself into your hand without dignity, made a thin sound that had lived in her since she was fourteen and clenching her jaw in the dark, the sound that meant yes, there, please.
Your laugh cracked like a match. “There she is.”
“I tried—” Cate said, breathless. “I tried and it wasn’t enough. It never—when you’re not—”
You kissed the corner of her mouth to shut her up. “Hey. I’m going to take care of you.” You hooked your fingers under the waistband and tugged, slow on purpose, eyes on Cate’s face the whole time. “Lift your hips for me.”
Cate did, grateful and clumsy. The boxer-briefs slid down. Cool air licked her cock and she shivered, half from relief, half from the way your pupils blew wide and wicked. Cate was hard enough it was almost embarrassing, heavy enough it made her own belly feel warm. Precum beaded and slicked across her lower stomach where she’d been grinding. Your thumb swept that line like you were swiping a smudge from a painting.
“You’re leaking all over yourself,” you said fondly. “My gorgeous mess.”
“Stop saying things like that,” Cate begged. “I’ll—god, I’ll—”
“Don’t.” Your palm pressed flat over Cate’s lower stomach, firm enough to ground. “Not yet.” You leaned down and breathed over the flushed head, close enough that Cate could feel the heat of your mouth but not the plush wet of it. Cate groaned so loudly she might have woke the whole floor.
“Baby,” she gasped. “Please. Please, I need your mouth—”
“And you’re going to get it,” you said conversationally. “But I like it when you ask nicely.” You stroked down, not quite wrapping your hand, then up again, feather-light. Cate’s thighs trembled. “Use that pretty voice.”
Cate swallowed. Her eyes stung with raw, humiliating want. “Baby, please, I—please suck me off. Please, I can’t—I want your mouth, I want—want your throat. Please, please, please.”
Your smile softened with real affection. “Good girl.”
Cate made a helpless noise. Your breath warmed her again—then finally, blessedly, the heat of your mouth closed around the head. Cate’s spine arched with a rippling relief that made her vision white out at the edges. You took her slow at first, lips glossy, tongue spreading the precum, the barest pressure of teeth at the ridge just to watch Cate lose her mind. Cate’s hands fluttered and then found purchase in the sheets because if she grabbed your hair she was going to be an animal about it. She could not be an animal. She needed to be good enough to deserve this.
You hummed, a low vibration that Cate felt all the way behind her knees. The hum turned into a chuckle when Cate almost sobbed. The chuckle turned into a groan when Cate’s knee brushed the sliver of bare skin at your waist and found your warm skin.
“More,” Cate said, broken and reverent. “I—more, please.”
You sank deeper, took her halfway and then eased back, a rhythm that teased and soothed in equal measure. Your hand slid between Cate’s thighs and cupped her gently, an anchor at the root, a promise. Cate’s hips twitched despite herself and you pulled back to murmur, “I’ve got you. Let me. Yeah?” which was both permission and command and made Cate nod so hard her head nearly hit the wall.
“Yeah,” Cate babbled. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Your mouth went wetter, warmer. You braced one forearm across Cate’s hips to keep them from bucking and then took her deep enough that Cate felt it in her toes. Cate choked out a curse—another followed when you swallowed around her and the velvet of your throat flared tight and hot. She was going to cry over it. She was, in fact, crying over it—tears slick at the corners of her eyes, her chest so full it hurt.
“Baby,” she said, half-sob, half-prayer. “I’m—I’m already close—I tried to hold it on the walk over, I tried—”
You pulled off with a wet pop. Your mouth was flushed, your lips shiny and smug. “You walked here hard?”
Cate nodded miserably.
Your laugh broke into a groan. “Jesus Christ.” You pressed one filthy, fond kiss to the inside of Cate’s thigh. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Please don’t die,” Cate said, absurd. “I need you.”
“I know.” You climbed up and kissed her, and Cate could taste herself and made a shattered sound she would never admit to making later. “I like when you need me.”
Your fingers slid down again, not to tease this time. You wrapped your hand around Cate’s cock finally, firm, confident, the exact right pressure like you’d been made for it—which, Cate thought feverishly, maybe you had. You stroked and twisted your wrist and let your thumb coast over the leaking slit until Cate’s belly tightened.
“Breathe,” you coaxed, voice low. “Eyes on me.”
Cate dragged her gaze up from the miracle of your hand and mouth to the miracle of your face. The color of your eyes had gone deep, darkening into midnight. A bead of spit shone at the corner of your mouth. Your chest moved with steady, strong breath. You looked like a storm you survived by standing still.
“Good,” you whispered. You kissed Cate’s wet cheek. “I’ve got you. Let it happen.”
Cate cried out and did. It hit fast and hard, a bright, unbearable flood after a day of fucking herself raw for relief. Her back arched off the bed, her hands sought you and found your waist, she spilled hot and desperate over your fist and her own stomach, a stuttering, helpless cascade that wrung a wrecked sob from her throat. She kept coming—longer than she meant to, longer than usual—because you worked her through it with calm, sure strokes and a quiet stream of praise that Cate couldn’t quite hear but could feel in her bones.
“There you go,” you breathed. “There you go, baby, that’s it.”
Cate sagged hard into the mattress, every muscle unspooling. She tried to remember how to inhale without shivering. You gentled your hand, easing from strokes to soft palm, from palm to warm, steady weight over Cate’s belly that felt like love in a language Cate had not been taught but knew instinctively.
When Cate finally blinked her eyes open, the room looked the same, which felt unfair and also merciful. The plants were still spiky in the window. The backpack still leaned. You still existed, miraculously, at kissing distance.
“Hi,” Cate whispered shakily.
“Hi,” you whispered back, and smudged your thumb at the edge of Cate’s mouth because Cate was smiling too big and it was probably illegal. “You alive?”
“Barely.”
“Tragic.” You grinned, wicked and fond. “We should do something about that.”
“God, don’t say that,” Cate groaned. “I’ll die again.”
“Maybe I want to kill you a little.” You lifted your sticky hand and raised an eyebrow. “Bathroom or taste test?”
Cate’s face burned so hot she could have powered a small city. “Taste—taste test,” she said, voice falling off a cliff into a moan. “Jesus.”
You licked your palm like a brat and then sucked your fingers clean, eyes locked on Cate’s until Cate squirmed, already climbing toward embarrassment and some new fragile need. You made an approving sound deep in your chest. “Sweet,” you said thoughtfully. “Also, I think you owe me like, three dinners for how fast that was.”
“It was not—”
“Puppy.” A look. Cate shut up. You kissed her chin. “I’m kidding. I know you were waiting. Proud of you.”
Cate’s throat clenched. Praise always did that. She hid it by squirming up to kiss you hard, both hands cupping your face like you might float away if not properly bracketed.
When you parted, Cate was dizzy and fluttering again, because it wasn’t just the aftermath high, it was the way the room rearranged around your need. She could feel it, sharp as broken glass. Your eyes darted down and then up. Your mouth tilted. Cate’s gaze followed: the way your chest rose quick and greedy under the thin tank, the heat roiling off you like weather.
“My turn,” you said softly.
Cate almost laughed from relief. “Please,” she said, and it wasn’t puppy-eyed now, it was something steadier, sweeter, this pure streak of want that made her brave. “Can I—?”
“Yeah.” Your voice went breathless. “Yeah, baby, you can.”
You stripped fast, impatient with your own clothes, until you were in just your bra and ruined panties. Cate tugged you down and rolled you, huffing, until you were on your back and Cate was braced between your knees, reverent and greedy all at once. The smell hit her first—hot and slick and uniquely you, a complicated salty sweet that made Cate’s mouth water. She pulled the waistband down and you swore softly, hips tipping up. Cate could see the gorgeous wet of you, soft and swollen, the little twitch of your clit like a heartbeat.
“Oh,” Cate said, stupid with awe. “Look at you.”
“Don’t say look at you like I’m a sunset,” you complained faintly, then grabbed Cate’s wrist and pressed her fingers right where you wanted them. “—okay, actually, say whatever you want, just—”
Cate obeyed. She stroked through slick and gathered it, slid up and circled slowly. Your exhale fell apart. Cate ducked to kiss your thigh, then the other, dotting kisses like pushpins into a map until you growled, “Cate, I swear to god,” and Cate smiled against your skin and finally put her mouth where it belonged.
The first taste was a miracle and an apology for every lonely night Cate had ever endured. She moaned into it, open-mouthed and soft-tongued, lapping like she had all evening and the next decade to memorize the shape of your cunt. Your legs framed her shoulders, the bones of your knees nudged Cate’s ribs. Cate slid two fingers inside on a breath and found you snug and clutching, found that place that made your voice crack in two. She pressed there and sucked gently around your clit, then harder because the way you bucked said more.
“Fuck,” you said, eloquent. “Just like that. You’re—god, you’re so good at this, baby.”
“Mm.” Cate smiled deliberately against you. “I studied.”
“I can tell, you little pervert,” you said, affectionate and wrecked. Your hand found the back of Cate’s head and rested, not pushing, just anchoring. “Don’t stop.”
Cate wouldn’t have even if the building caught fire. She let herself be shameless, let herself groan and mouth and lick with abandon, messy and grateful. She curled her fingers and felt you clamp down, felt the shudder that ran up your spine and into the hand on Cate’s skull. The sweat at your temple shone, your teeth flashed against your lower lip before you abandoned the pretense of control and let the sounds come—those hoarse, helpless ones that made Cate’s eyes roll back.
“Close,” you warned, and Cate hummed a yeah good, give it to me into your clit and pressed deeper with her fingers. You made a gorgeous raw noise, head tipping back, throat bare. “Fuck, Cate—Cate—”
You came in a slick rush that soaked Cate’s fingers and chin, a full-body quake that made the mattress shiver and had you swearing and directing praise at the ceiling in the same breath. Cate worked you through it, relentless and tender, until your hips quivered and you had to yank Cate up by the hair to kiss her breathless.
Together you lay tangled in the heat and the slow return to normal. Cate’s face was sticky. Your bra was crooked, your breath hitched and reset. Cate propped her chin on your sternum and watched that breath with a wonder she had not earned but got to keep anyway.
“Hi,” Cate said pitifully again, because vocabulary was tucked away in a box she couldn’t reach right now.
You laughed from your belly, then hissed because laughing pulled on muscles that were currently gelatin. “Hi.” You smoothed a sweaty strand of hair away from Cate’s brow. “Did that help?”
Cate blinked. “Help what?”
“The starving.”
Cate considered. Her body was slack and humming. Her brain was quiet for once. That feral place inside her had been filled to the point of warm stupidity. “Mm,” she said, nuzzling into your chest like a terrible, happy cat. “Yes. For now.”
“For now,” you echoed, fondly resigned to the reality of things. “My little sex addict.”
Cate gasped. “How dare you.”
“You absolutely are,” you said, stroking lazy lines down Cate’s back. “And I’m your favorite drug.”
Cate huffed, because truth shouldn’t be allowed to sound that smug. “And what are you going to do about my crippling dependency, doctor?”
“Keep your dosage steady.” You kissed her forehead. “Maybe increase as needed.”
Cate’s mouth curved, sleepy and obscene. “I need you all the time.”
“Good,” you said simply, and something in Cate’s chest flooded with relief so complete it made her dizzy again. “Then I’ll give you me all the time.”
Cate went silent at that, struck clean through. She turned her cheek and listened to your heartbeat. It sounded like an answer to a question she hadn’t been brave enough to say out loud yet. She tucked closer and sighed.
“Hey,” you murmured after a while, more practical again. “I’m going to get a washcloth before we permanently glue ourselves together.”
Cate made a noise of protest and clamped her thighs tighter around your hip. “No. Prison.”
You snorted. “Baby, you’re the one who came like you were being exorcised. You’re the stickiest criminal in the tri-county area.”
Cate pretended to be mortally offended for half a beat and then gave up. She giggled, helpless and giddy, the way she only laughed when she felt entirely safe. You rolled your eyes like it was the cutest thing you’d ever seen and disentangled yourself, kissing Cate once more for good measure before hopping off the bed.
Cate watched you pad toward the bathroom. Want stirred again, but gentler, less ravenous. Fed. Happy. Starving later.
“Don’t go far,” Cate called, shameless.
“I’m literally going six feet,” you called back over the rush of the tap. “Start planning your apology speech anyway. You walked around campus ready to explode. I might have to start locking you in the dorm.”
Cate’s giggle turned theatrical. “That’s repression.”
“That’s community safety.”
You came back with a warm cloth and tenderness disguised as scolding. You cleaned Cate up with a thoroughness that made Cate’s throat ache again for reasons that had nothing to do with sex. Cate did the same for you, reverent. You shoved the blankets down and nested in the soft wreck you’d made of the bed.
After a long, quiet minute, Cate tipped her face up. “Baby?”
“Hm?”
“Tomorrow,” Cate said, sheepish and honest, “I’m going to be just as bad.”
You smiled like you’d already made peace with it. “Yeah,” you said. “I know.”
“You won’t let me suffer, right?”
You cupped her cheek, your thumb traced the little crescent mark Cate’s teeth left on her lip when she got too excited. “Not for one second.”
Cate closed her eyes and let that be enough. It was, for now. It would never be, later. That was okay. Starving was a language she spoke, being fed was one she was learning sentence by sentence, mouth by mouth. If the universe was kind, she’d be fluent by spring.
“Good,” she said, drifting. “Okay.”
“Okay,” you echoed, and pulled her closer, and the room stayed small and safe around you both while the night went on without you, indifferent and ordinary, like it had no idea what a miracle you’d managed to make inside it together.
Morning found her the way it always did when she’d slept tucked against your body—caught halfway between sleep and hunger, pulse slow but steady, body already begging like it knew the routine better than her brain did.
Cate woke up hard.
Not just a little stiff, not the manageable pressure she could ignore with iced coffee and a cold shower. This was a full, aching throb that made itself known before she’d even opened her eyes, a weighty heat pressed up against the soft inside of your thigh where you’d both drifted into a pretzel of limbs sometime after midnight. The dream clung in her mind—sweat damp and bright edged—your mouth at her throat, your voice rough in her ear, the particular tilt of your hips that made Cate’s vision flicker like a bad connection.
She tried to be noble about it. She did. She slid one hand under the pillow, pinched her eyes shut, and breathed like she’d read a single mindfulness article in her life.
Five breaths later, the ache had blossomed into something that made her toes curl and her belly clench, and that was before you shifted in your sleep and the warmth of you found the strain of Cate’s cock through cotton.
Cate bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t whine.
Be normal, she told herself sternly. Be a girlfriend, not a cautionary campus email.
She eased onto her back, careful not to wake you, and studied the ceiling as if there might be a diagram up there for how to stop being the kind of girl who woke up whimpering because her girlfriend smelled like warmth and cedar and sex.
Your hand slid across Cate’s stomach like it had always belonged there and stilled. Three seconds passed. Then, without lifting your head from the pillow, without changing the lazy line of your mouth, you tugged the blanket down and looked.
Cate went instantly, catastrophically red.
“Morning,” you rasped, voice a low scrape from sleep. Your eyes took in the tented waistband of Cate’s boxers, the damp dark spread along the elastic. Your smile was wicked and tender all at once. “You’re going to get us in trouble with Campus Safety.”
Cate threw an arm over her face. “I was trying to ignore it.”
“Sure.” Your palm eased lower, pressing, and Cate gasped because even through fabric it was a mercy. “That seems like it was going great.”
“I can be normal,” Cate insisted to the inside of her elbow. “I can—we could make coffee, and talk about…rankings, and—”
You kissed her throat in a lazy, open-mouthed drag that made the words threadbare. “Puppy.”
Cate’s voice went small, hopeful despite herself. “Yeah?”
“You were rutting on my leg in your sleep,” she said, amused, and the way she said it made it sound sweet rather than humiliating. “Pretty sure ‘coffee first’ is not in the cards.”
Cate made a noise that would’ve gotten her expelled at several universities. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry for wanting me,” you said, simply, and that always landed in Cate’s chest like a soft, heavy thing. You tipped up on an elbow, studying her with those bright eyes that never missed a single ridiculous truth of Cate’s body. “Also, for the record, I am not letting this campus suffer a rock hard Cate again. You remember what happened in the student union? That smoothie guy still can’t look you in the eye.”
Cate muffled a giggle in the heel of her hand. “I tipped him twenty dollars!”
“He deserved hazard pay.” Your grin crooked. You hooked your fingers under Cate’s waistband and glanced up: a question, a permission.
Cate nodded before the thought finished forming. “Please.”
You tugged, slow and indulgent, the cotton rolling down. Cate’s cock sprang free, flushed and heavy, slick already from the dream that hadn’t left her thoughts. It lay thick against her belly. Her stomach flexed on instinct, greedy for pressure. Your eyebrows did a little appreciative walk up your forehead.
“Good morning to you, too,” you murmured.
Cate hid her face again, but the shy didn’t reach her hips—they lifted without her permission, offering, needy. “I tried not to wake you.”
“You did wake me.” You licked your palm, unbothered by the lack of ceremony, and wrapped your hand around Cate like you’d been born knowing exactly how to make Cate go silent. “The sound you make when you grind on me? Loud.”
“I—oh god—sorry.”
“Not sorry.” You stroked down, a firm twist up that had Cate’s calves tightening. “Turn your head. I want to watch you.”
Cate obeyed, because there were rules she needed and rules she loved, and you giving them to her made everything in Cate line up right. She looked, you looked back, hair a mess, bra strap slipping down one shoulder. You looked like morning sin. You looked like Cate’s favorite religion.
“Let me ride you,” you said softly, conversational.
Cate made an unwise sound. “Yes. Please. Please.”
“Lift,” you said, and stripped Cate neatly, tossing the boxers to the floor without looking. You swung a leg over and dragged your panties down your thighs, hips, to your knees. The damp patch at the center made Cate’s mouth flood. You smirked, because of course you felt the way Cate went still at the sight. “Eyes up here, sweetheart.”
“Impossible,” Cate said, honestly, because she’d never been good at lying to you.
You spit in your hand and slicked Cate up with a few efficient strokes that almost ended the morning right there. Cate’s hands curled tight in the sheets to keep from grabbing and pressing and begging. You reached behind yourself, lined her up, and sank down.
Cate swore and forgot every plan she’d ever made about becoming a better person. Her breath punched out of her in a ragged, grateful keen. You took her slow, deliberate, that hot clutch giving way inch by inch until Cate was seated so deep inside you she could feel her own pulse ricocheting off your walls.
“Fuck,” you hissed, forehead dropping to Cate’s shoulder for one blessed second. “Every time.”
“Every time,” Cate echoed, helpless, and the words broke midair because you started to move.
You rolled your hips in a slow grind that would’ve been obscene even if Cate hadn’t been hanging on. The angle dragged Cate along every slick, gripping inch. You braced your hands on Cate’s stomach to steady yourself and then lifted, sank, lifted, found a rhythm and dug into it. The wet slide and the soft slap of skin-on-skin and the blunt click of the headboard against the wall made a small, indecent music.
You rode like you did everything—confident, unhurried, precise. You watched Cate watch you, smirk deepening every time Cate’s eyes went wide on a downstroke. Her mouth fell open when you ground down and circled, shuddered when you slammed your hips just hard enough to lose some elegance. A strand of hair came loose and stuck to your cheek, Cate reached up without thinking and tucked it back behind your ear.
“Pretty,” Cate blurted, wrecked.
“Mm.” Your smile went lazy. “You’re the one who looks like devotional art right now.”
Cate tried to laugh, it came out as a breathy, high thing because you adjusted your angle and suddenly Cate was inside you on a line that made sparks race up her spine. Her hands flew to your hips like magnets.
You stilled, and Cate—Cate who had zero poker face and ten thousand tells—went rigid with guilt. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Shh,” you said, eyes narrowing in that attentive, careful way. You tipped forward until your noses almost brushed. “You’re digging in.”
“I—” Cate swallowed. The truth was sticky tongued and embarrassing and urgent. “I want to—I want to be good.”
“You are good.” Your voice softened. “That’s not what I’m asking.”
Cate squeezed her eyes shut, because saying it out loud felt like stepping off a roof and hoping gravity would be kind. “I want to—I want to hold you. I want to—” She scrambled for words and found the blunt ones, because you liked blunt. “I want to fuck you a little mean.”
“Hey.” Your hand found Cate’s jaw, your thumb pressed the hinge, grounding. “Eyes.”
Cate opened them. The blue there was steady and sure.
“Say it like you’re allowed to want it,” you murmured. “Because you are. Do you want to hold me down and use me the way you don’t let yourself most days?”
Cate’s lungs squeezed around something hot and frightened and greedy. “Yes.”
“Then you’re going to,” you said, like it was the weather and a promise, “and you’re going to watch me like a good girl while you do, and you’re going to stop if I tell you to. Okay?”
Cate nodded so fast her vision tilted. “Okay.”
“Ask me,” you added, a small wicked smile curling.
“Can I—” Cate swallowed. “Can I hold you down and use you, baby?”
Your pupils blew. “Yes,” you said, hoarse. “Please.”
The please undid Cate. She surged up, kissed you in a messy, grateful collision, and then rolled your bodies with a quick twist that put you beneath her. You laughed into the movement and then swore when your back met the mattress and Cate drove back in, deeper now that gravity was on her side.
Cate caught your wrists and pinned them above your head, fingers lacing through. You tugged once to test. Cate held. The sound you made—half challenge, half surrender—lit something feral and warm behind Cate’s breastbone.
“There you go,” you urged, breath hitching when Cate set your thighs wider with impatient hands. “Take what you need, puppy.”
Cate took. She set a pace that wasn’t cruel but definitely wasn’t polite, hips snapping into that wet clutch with a rhythm that said she remembered every time she’d had to grind into her own fist and pretend her body alone was enough company. You arched under her, mouth open, eyes hot and delighted and viciously proud.
“Fuck—” Cate grunted, and the word broke when you hooked your ankles over Cate’s hips and dragged her in deeper. “Baby—”
“Don’t hold back,” you gasped. “I said take it. Come on, baby—” You tugged at your joined hands, urging, and Cate tightened her grip until you made a pleased little hiss.
Cate let her desire talk. She let it move her. She pulled out almost all the way just to slam home and watched your body take it, watched the way your breasts bounced under the thin lace of your bra, watched the way your throat arched when Cate fucked in deep and circled to keep pressure where you wanted it most. She bent and bit your jaw, sucked a bruise under the edge of your ear, felt you shiver and clench around her.
“Harder,” you demanded, and Cate followed the command. The wet smack got louder. The bed complained. Cate’s breath turned ragged.
“Tell me it’s good,” Cate begged, and God, she hated how desperate she sounded when she was the one holding her girl down, but that was the thing about you—Cate wanted praise when she was soft and she wanted it when she was feral too.
You smiled like Cate had broken into the exact house you wanted her to. “It’s so good,” you panted, eyes bright with it. “You’re using me so fuckin’ good, pretty girl. Look at you—look at what you do to me.”
Cate looked. You were flushed to the throat, sweat beading at your hairline, hair still a mess from last night that made Cate want to wreck you and worship you in equal parts. Cate’s hips stuttered, then fucked deeper. You yelped and then laughed breathlessly, pleased.
“More,” you said, and “Harder,” and “Right there, don’t you dare stop,” a string of commands that were really permission, and Cate obeyed them like scripture. She let go of your wrists to drag her hands down and anchor them at your hips, fingers biting hard enough to leave marks. You gasped, delighted. “That’s it. Mark me up. I want to feel you later.”
Cate groaned. Something low and bright snapped in the base of her spine. “You’re going to think about me when you’re studying.”
“I always do,” you said, honest and obscene. “Now—make sure I can’t forget.”
Cate’s control frayed. She slotted one hand under your ass, lifted you into the thrusts, smooth and filthy, the other hand sliding to press just above your pubic bone to pin you where Cate needed you. Your head tipped back and a wrecked, glorious sound came out of your throat.
“Fuck, Cate—” You grabbed for the headboard and missed, fingers scrabbling at the sheets. “I’m gonna—”
“Yes.” Cate rocked deeper, rolled her hips, let the motion drag over the place that turned you feral. “Give it to me—come on, baby, cum for me.”
The words flipped you inside out. You choked on a curse, body clamping down, and came with a violent, rolling shudder that nearly squeezed Cate out of you. Cate held you there, held you open for it, watched it rip through you with bright, greedy awe. Your nails raked down Cate’s shoulders, your voice broke into a kind of praise that consisted mostly of vowels.
Cate didn’t stop. She fucked you through it, chasing her own edge with a superstitious little panic that if she let up now the universe would snatch the moment away. You shook and hissed and laughed breathlessly.
“Greedy,” you gasped, voice gone deliciously rough. “Take it—take it, baby, fuck—fill me up.”
Cate’s vision went watery and white at the edges. The rhythm lost its neat edges. She slammed in once, twice, a third time that felt like it might split her open from the inside, and came hard with a broken sound she’d only ever made for this girl in this bed. Hot and helpless, she spilled deep, hips jerking through aftershocks that made her teeth click.
She collapsed on a forearm before she could crush you with all six hours of sleep and poor hydration she was working with. Her other hand stayed glued to your hip like she needed proof that you were still under her.
You breathed together. The room hummed with it. Outside, early campus noise started—trash truck, a door slam, someone laughing too loud on a phone—but none of it ruined the moment.
You were the first to move. You turned your face and kissed Cate’s wrist right where Cate’s pulse pounded against her skin. Then you lifted Cate’s hand and inspected the marks Cate had left on your hips with unabashed satisfaction.
“You’re a menace,” you pronounced, pleased.
Cate went cherry-red, courage gone with the flood. “Did I—was that—too much?”
You actually rolled your eyes at her, which was rude considering Cate had just done excellent work. “Cate. You asked. I said yes. That was perfect.” Your smirk sharpened. “Also, if you apologize for fucking me delirious again, I’m going to make you write a reflective essay about how your girlfriend loving to be used like a toy is not a moral failing.”
Cate choked on a laugh. “A reflective essay?”
“Double spaced. MLA citation. Title: ‘How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Trust My Girlfriend.’”
Cate put her forehead on your shoulder and laughed until she felt dizzy with endorphins all over again. When she could breathe again, she lifted her head and kissed you slow, grateful, sloppy.
“Thank you,” she said into your mouth, and it came out like a confession.
You kissed back, softening into it in that way that always made Cate’s ribs feel too small for her heart. “Anytime,” you murmured. You shifted your hips and winced, but smiling said, “Okay, not anytime. But, like, often.”
“I can live with often.” Cate smiled so big her cheeks hurt then hissed, because moving reminded her how thoroughly you’d ruined each other. The afterglow settled like a heavy blanket. The ache was the good kind, the kind that would flicker to life the next time you passed a mirror and saw the outline of Cate’s fingers on your hips. The kind that would make Cate smile in the middle of the quad like an idiot and not even try to hide it.
You slid a hand to Cate’s lower back and gave a gentle pat. “C’mon, puppy. Bathroom. I’ll make the coffee so you don’t try to be normal and end up terrorizing household appliances.”
“I do not terrorize—”
“Tell that to the blender you almost wooed last week.”
Cate buried her burning face in the pillow for a second and then pushed up, careful, slipping free with a wet, obscene little sound that made both of them groan in chorus. Your eyes went dark in a way that promised more later.
Together you shuffled gracelessly to the bathroom, shared a washcloth and a few lazy, ridiculous kisses, and then split domestic chores like you hadn’t just changed the molecular structure of the room. You poured coffee, Cate collected the carnage of clothes.
On her way back to the bed, Cate paused at the window. The campus gleamed thin and winter bright, someone jogged past wearing a neon hat, a girl in a long brown coat balanced a stack of textbooks and a latte like a small miracle. Cate’s body hummed with satisfied edges. Her cheeks still felt hot. Her thighs already ached in a way that would bloom into a smirk later.
You came up behind her and pressed into her back like you belonged there. “You okay?” you asked, soft, checking because Cate was yours and checking was your shared love language.
Cate nodded, cheeks tipping pink again but this time with something steadier than humiliation. “I liked…being a little…bad.”
“I noticed,” you said, and your voice poured warm into Cate’s ear. “We can be that kind of bad whenever you ask for it.”
Cate turned and kissed you, coffee and morning and the bright, insane luck of getting to be fed instead of starving. “Okay,” she breathed. “Then…later?”
“Later,” you agreed, then tipped your chin toward the bed. “But right now? Breakfast for the menace.”
Cate offered a solemn nod. “For public safety.”
“For public safety,” you echoed, mock solemn, and smacked Cate’s ass on your way past. “Now sit your pretty, dangerous self down and drink. We’ve got a campus to not scandalize today.”
Cate flopped onto the bed, grinned, and obediently took the mug you set in her hands. Her body hummed, satisfied and greedy. Later would be terrible. Later would be wonderful. Later would be yours.
Now was coffee, and the scrape of your voice, and the mark of Cate’s fingers blooming on your hips like proof, and the blessed knowledge that she would never be asked to starve herself if you could help it. Which—she looked at the girl across from her, your messy hair, your smug mouth, your soft eyes—you always would.