Woke up thinking of Lohen.. so here's the ramblings of a madwoman
CW: harsh sex¿?, gender neutral (I think), not proofread I just write and send post.
Lohen who doesn't outwardly challenge you, no. He instead chooses to provoke you every time you cross paths- using backhanded compliments and sly remarks to demean you and infuriate you.
You're not particularly a violent person, but Lohen drags the rage out of you in a way you've never experienced- you feel like a different person. Your hands itch to squeeze his throat until he stops talking so goddamn much!
Lohen who is currently pulling your hair in an unnecessarily harsh grip, you can almost feel some hairs pulled out of your scalp with how hard he's gripping it- his other hand is pinching your nipple painfully, so much so tears escape out of your eyes (much to his delight!) and no matter how much you claw back at him he just won't stop, not after you pulled that little stunt of yours out in public.
He had been careful to tease you and prod at you only when you were alone together, whether it was courtesy or possessiveness was no matter- at least he had enough respect to do so! But not you, oh no. You reached your limit in the middle of dorman port- yelling at him in the sea of people who stopped to stare at the commotion, little ol' you! Yelling at a vice captain of the knights! Disrespecting him publicly! Not even he was so rude. (He is)
He immediately dragged you back to his headquarters with a tight grip on your wrist, his smile eerily cold and eyes just about ripping your head off with that cruel stare. You thought he was going to genuinely do something like that- but now you found yourself getting pounded over and over again by him!
Your face was red, holding back tears whilst he stayed perfectly composed (well, as composed as he usually was). It wasn't really fair but you couldn't think enough to complain, not when he was forcing your back into an almost painful arch just so he could fuck deeper and deeper with each thrust- the bed wasn't appreciating this rough treatment either, if the increased creaking of the bedframe was anything to go by.
You don't remember when you switched positions but you've just about fucked in every surface of his room but we keeps going!! His giggling and demeaning words are all you can think about whilst he splits your body in half, holding both of your thighs to the sides of your head whilst he rams into you from underneath.
You're pretty sure you're drooling all over his pillow when he decides to finally kiss you, ravaging your mouth with his tongue and teeth until your lips are as beat up as you are. By the time you end you have more than a few bloody bite marks all over you; his hands knead the wounds like dough in the aftermath of your 'punishment' and his lips kiss little nothings on your sweaty skin. You were supposed to be the one beating him in, letting him have it for enraging you all the time!
But it seems you're just not strong enough yet.. maybe next time.
nerdjo and a goth fem reader that probably pegs him (how things should be)
synopsis: like no plot it’s just freak shit but isn’t that what the world needs…… think about that
erm there’s dry humping in this and like heavy petting ? plus like makeouts and stuff
satoru was sitting on the edge of your bed, messing with the sleeves of his sweater and pushing up his glasses every now and then. you looked over at him in the reflection of your mirror and smiled a bit, he had no clue what to do with himself right now. he looked up at you as you dragged black lipstick across your plush lips, face growing red. “toru.” he made a noise. odd. “you wanna say something or just stare at me?” you teased your hair in the mirror, making the back of it fray out in every which way.
the platinum blonde looked back down at the floor, shaking his head. “it’s fine.” a nervous laugh escaped his lips as he started to pace around the room. he chewed on his nails as you looked back completely this time.
“someone’s nervous.” you stood up from your vanity chair and stopped him, messing with the fabric of his shirt. “talk to me.” you dragged a sharp fingernail down his exposed neck, making him wince under your touch.
he honestly enjoyed whatever you did to him, satoru was reactive when it came to you. the blush on his face only grew bigger, spreading to his ears and his exposed chest. you moved to unbutton a button on his shirt, mindlessly messing with his clothes. he didn’t answer until you flicked his forehead, whining. “can we skip the studying today?” his words came out like one, making you laugh. you knew him well enough to think about him practicing that request in his head for hours before you invited him over to your dorm.
you ran a hand through his soft hair, watching his knees buckle. he almost fell into you, it was endearing how whipped he was for a bit of physical touch. you nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek, completely forgetting about the lipstick on your lips. when you pulled away, you gasped. “sorry, baby.” you reached for a makeup wipe on your vanity table, he stood behind you and looked at the kiss mark in his reflection. when you turned around and tried to wipe it away, he stopped you.
“do that again.”
something in his voice changed, lower and a little more demanding. you couldn’t just deny him like that, no matter how fun it’d be. you grabbed his face in one hand, kissing him again, this time on his lips, pushing him back until the back of his legs hit the edge of your bed. almost immediately, he sat down and pulled you onto his lap, kissing you with a newfound hunger. he whined against your lips before you pulled away. you laughed to yourself at the amount of lipstick staining his face. he leaned to try and kiss you again, being stopped by your hair as you applied more lipstick. “needy.” this earned another groan from him. your boyfriend was very dramatic.
you pulled his shirt over his head, staring down at all the skin you could cover in black lipstick kisses. your fingers trailed over his burning skin. he cursed under his breath and reached to push up his glasses again. “more— i need it.” his head fell back as he bucked his hips up against you.
“like i said before…” you left a kiss on his chest, feeling his heart beat out of his chest. “needy.”
he made beautiful noises as you left a kiss on every part of him. almost every part. when you finally made it back to his face, he smiled before he pulled you in for another kiss, holding your waist like a lifeline. “i love-“ he kissed you again. “i love kissing you.” another kiss. “so much.” and another. “i know we should be s-studying.” kiss. “i can’t keep my hands off you.” kiss. kiss. “i love you.” kiss.
you held his face between your hand, squeezing his cheeks. “you’re adorable, toru. i love you too.” he made another noise at the simple manhandling you pulled on him, pressing the tent in his pants into your thigh. “i know, baby.” you whispered in his ear, grinding down into him. a strangled noise came from his throat as you grinded back and forth against him.
satoru leaned into the crook of your shoulder, biting the skin there and groaning. the books on your bed slipped off the blankets hitting the floor and startling the both of you. you winced at how hard he bit into you then, but he immediately apologized and kissed the spot he bit into. “can i make it up to you?” he pulled off his glasses and tossed them aside.
“i’d rather you see what you’re doing, toru.” you grabbed his glasses and placed them on his face again, smiling. “and how do you plan on making it up to me, hm?” you leaned in close, lips centimeters away from each other, basically breathing life into each others lungs. this would be more intimate than the kissing and grinding you two were already doing. you were completing each other right now. with each inhale, he exhaled, making you feel whole. and with each exhale, he breathed in like you were his life force. maybe you were. you were nice, something he loved about you.
but this was satoru, he loved everything about you.
the grinding got messy.
the tugging of bright white hair.
stuttered hip movements.
long, saliva filled kisses.
it was basically debauchery.
you two loved every second of it.
lipstick was smeared across his face, some of it even got on the tip of his nose. when you pulled away, you could only laugh. maybe it was a laugh, he was pulling noises from you that you didn’t even know you could make. “satoru- shit-“ you moved your hips against the bulge in his sweats, watching his glasses slide down his nose again. he was adorable and it almost made you mad. almost. “-so good.” you kissed his neck over and over.
your boyfriend on the other hand, was a complete mess. gripping your hips like a vice and making these loud breathy moans in your ear. he found enough composure to laugh, still whining a bit after. “am i- doing good?” he kissed along your jaw, lifting his hips closer between your legs, giving you the stimulation you needed. “please.” he kissed your skin again. “tell me i’m doing good.” he looked up at you with tears in his unnaturally blue eyes, waiting for any type of praise or validation from you.
you pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, grinding your hips in slow circles against him. “very good, toru, i promise.” you tugged on his hair, another thing he loved receiving from you. more kisses were shared between the two of you as his hand trailed down between your legs, accidentally biting your bottom lip. “what’s wrong?” you asked almost patronizingly. you knew exactly why he got startled.
he pulled away, trying to catch his breath. obviously he failed, the next sentence coming out of him winded. “no panties? you didn’t tell me? seriously?” his fingers were still wandering between your legs. what a pervert. he started to loosen his pants, you quickly stopped him and gave him a certain look. one that made him stop in his tracks, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. “inside? please?”
you shook your head and held his hands behind his back, kissing his lips. “this is all you get, satoru.” he almost started crying about this, making your hips meet again, your breath hitched at the sudden movement. “make it count. make me cum and i’ll think about it.” you kissed him again, moaning into his mouth at the friction between the two of you. he pulled your hips down, basically fucking you through his sweatpants. the slick sound started to get louder as tears spilled down his cheeks. you looked down for a second, noticing all the pre staining the fabric of his pants. “you’re doing- so fuckin’ good, toru…” your nails dug into his shoulders, breaths getting shorter and shorter.
he didn’t stop the constant stimulation, kissing your neck hard enough to bruise and trying not to spill into his pants. you pushed up his glasses and breathed into his ear. “so close… keep going.” with this, he held your hips and pinned you to the bed, bulge pushing into you over and over. right now, you were regretting not letting him actually fuck you, but the look on his face made it all worth it. you pulled him in for another kiss, whining into his mouth and tugging his hair even harder. “shit— toru—!”
“please. pleasepleaseplease.” he kept muttering the plead over and over, applying the perfect amount of pressure and making your hips jerk.
your hands ran through his hair as you fluttered around nothing, gritting out his name before biting his neck, hard. maybe you drew blood, he didn’t care. all he wanted was you, whatever you had to give him, he took it with a complaint. his movements came to a stop, he covered his mouth as the fabric between you two quickly became soaked. you reached to pull his hand away. “let me hear you.”
and that’s all it took. your boyfriend was very vocal in bed, something you always enjoyed. he was basically screaming your name in your own ear as he fell apart.
because of you.
after the two of you calmed down, he pulled you close to his chest and kissed the top of your head. “you’re so good to me.” another kiss. “i love you.” more kisses, you were drowning in them. you were drowning in him. he pushed up his glasses and tried to wipe the smeared makeup from the sides of your lips. “pretty.”
you blinked up at him and pointed to the small container of makeup wipes on your vanity. he listened even though you didn’t say anything. before he got up, he kissed your forehead. you pulled him back as he held the wipes in his hands, straddling him once again and cleaning off his face. he reached behind him for a pair of your sleep shorts and slowly pulled them on. “perv.” you wiped his chest and flicked his forehead.
“i’m putting your shorts on, not taking them off.” his ears got red as he carefully fixed the small black bow on the front of the shorts. “opposite of perv.” he tried to kiss your face, but you stopped him. immediate puppy dog eyes.
you messed with his hair and laughed a bit. “lemme finish cleaning you off. then you get a kiss.”
image is unrelated. just reminding you guys he's hot xx
my other one-shots are on my masterlist here
author’s note ~ pissy!lewis with his long-term gf. not really a 'one shot' bc i edited it but basically off the cuff and based on vibes
thanks to my lovely anon for the prompt. feel free to send more in guys ♡
words ~ 2.3k
pairing ~ lewis hamilton x rose (original female character, can be y/n if u want)
wait i didnt even think about the rosie blankpink thing. ffs. too late now.
summary ~ after a tense night sparked by lewis’s work frustrations and rosie’s refusal to perform politeness for strangers, a rare argument ruptures their cosy life. what begins as defensiveness and distance unravels into the quiet ways they hurt each other. Words turn into heat, control into desire. it doesn’t fix everything- but it reminds them why they keep choosing each other anyway.
warnings ~ smut. explicit smut tbh. arguing.
“And I can tell you one thing, honey, I can take the upper hand and touch your body” - Taylor Swift, imgonnagetyouback
"You could have been more friendly, Rosie," Lewis said, dropping his bag onto our sofa.
"Why would I be?”
“Because I work with them.”
His voice was almost angry, but mostly it was plain. Factual.
I took off my gloves and boots and went straight to the sink to clean my mug for some coffee. I deliberately didn't clean his.
I turned away from Lewis, still in his coat and shoes.
“You're paid to be nice to them. They're strangers to me, and you want me to be up their arse?"
He sighed and flung himself onto the sofa.
“Being a little more polite would've helped."
I turned with my mug in my hand, face incredulous and fed up.
"Helped you. Helped you, Lewis. That's the “nicest” I'd ever be to strange men. And by the way, you dislike most of them, so what’s the difference?”
He shook his head and stood up without looking back at me. He went straight for our bedroom door.
"Okay, Rose. Ignore that I'm upset. I'm going to do some work."
"Alright," and I felt my voice rising, "because you never fucking do that.”
Lewis didn’t slam the door, but he made sure I knew it was shut.
“Fucking childish,” I muttered under my breath, grabbing the nearest Nespresso pod to slam into the machine.
The words fell flat into our apartment. It was more silent than usual. I didn’t care.
The coffee machine whizzed, and the smell of coffee filled the kitchen area. It grounded me, reminding me of the beautiful mornings with Lewis. He made coffee after we made love in the mornings in Colorado- we were always cold in the winter. It became part of aftercare.
We rarely argued, so there was no blueprint. I stood with my coffee, in my silk dress, staring into the mug. I tried to focus on our good memories, despite my heart pounding as if I’d run up the stairs.
I took my drink to the sofa and curled my feet up under me. Next to me was my small Chanel bag- the first bag Lewis bought me, despite my protests. In truth, I was too pissed off to get my phone and scroll.
I sat in the silence listening to my heart thud and my head pound. Usually, the only time he made me feel like that was in bed, just before I came.
I wished we were doing that instead. I felt a twinge when I thought about the night before, lying back on our bed while he ate me- slow at first, stopping to tell me how good I tasted, and how good I was.
Some time passed, and my coffee was half finished. It was beginning to get cold, which was just another thing to piss me off.
I didn’t hear the bedroom door open- only his bare footsteps, sticky on the tiled floor. This time, it was me who refused to turn.
“You don’t get to tell me how I feel, Rosie,” he said, his voice pliant but controlled.
I let out an airy laugh and sipped my lukewarm coffee, “And you don’t get to dictate how I act around your colleagues, Lewis.”
Lewis moved to face me and sat a good metre away from me. I kept my gaze forward.
“You could’ve helped me.”
I finally turned and let out an exhausted sigh.
“Why is it always about helping you?”
He let a few seconds of silence fall between us.
“I’m asking. Not demanding. You know how uncomfortable I feel at work these days.”
“It feels like a demand. And anyway, you’re untouchable. You’re better than everyone else on the grid. Why are you looking for approval from children?”
His voice was still low, almost disappointed, “Jesus Rose, you’re so patronising.”
“Right then.”
“Most of the guys feel like they can't talk to me, so they don’t. The others hold grudges. I’m lonely. But you wouldn’t get it, cause you’re liked in your job.”
I was a book agent. Everyone was lovely to me because they wanted a book deal- not because I was likeable, which I clearly wasn’t. It didn’t feel like the time to bring up that nuance. I was mad, but I could see that this wasn’t about me. It never was.
Something flashed across his face, like guilt peppered with shame- or maybe it was standard-issue frustration.
Lewis dropped his eyes onto his lap, “Rosie, I don’t know how to do this without fucking it up.”
“Then stop walking away when the conversation gets hard.”
“I didn’t walk away,” he said, “I stopped myself from saying something worse.”
He brought his eyes back up, and they met mine. At last.
“You left me alone.”
I kept my eyes on him so he could tell I was serious, and placed my mug down in front of me. His sharp intake of breath and dropping shoulders were all I needed to know. He felt bad. I felt bad, too. Out of the two of us, I was more stubborn, and we both knew it.
“I’m sorry, Rose. I hate fighting with you.”
I moved up the sofa towards him a little, and my leg brushed his. Almost instantly, our argument began to dissipate. My whole body softened for him when I saw his big brown eyes up close.
“I hate it too. Sorry, baby.”
My heart fluttered when I apologised. My humility and softness always made Lewis fold.
“I can’t stop wanting you, even when shit goes wrong. I try not to. But I know you. I know your heart.”
I tried to hide the way it made me feel when his voice got quiet. Gentle. Alluring. I silently took a breath, the rising of my chest giving me away.
“My heart makes me sexy?”
Lewis turned to me, and without thinking, my body mirrored him. Facing him was electric. It always had been. We fucked after our first date- a few months after that, we both admitted to falling in love that night.
“Sexiest damn thing about you.”
I couldn’t keep my eyes on him anymore.
“I’m still mad at you,” I said.
“Good,” and he lifted my chin and drew a line along my jawline.
For a second, the air felt like the only two options were colliding or combusting. I could’ve just as easily stood up and started screaming, or I could have done what I did do.
He leaned in to press his forehead against mine, his fingers lingering on my jaw and starting to draw down to my throat.
“I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
I gently nodded my head and met his eyes again.
“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said.
“Good.”
In between his deep, firm kisses- teeth nipping my bottom lip, our tongues stroking each other’s- he whispered against my mouth, my replies firing back, hoping it was making him harder each time.
“You made me so mad tonight, babygirl.”
“And look at you now,” I smirked against his lips.
“Oh yeah, like you didn’t want this.”
I paused to consider my next move.
“I only want it if you fuck me like you’re sorry.”
“Mmm, can’t do that. I’m going to make love to you until you’re screaming. Show you how much I love you… How much I need you.”
“You’re still a dick.”
I moved my hand over him, checking how hard he was.
“God, you’re fucking maddening,” he said, bucking his hips softly against my hand, moving his lips from mine and dropping kisses down my neck and across my throat.
He pulled back from me, his hands holding my hips. His lips curved a little, still glistening from kissing me.
“Take your clothes off,” he said.
“Here?”
“Stand up, and get undressed. I want to watch. Then I’ll give you what you want.”
I laughed lightly, “Oh, and you know what I want?”
One of his hands trailed up over my ribs, barely missing my nipple hidden under my dress. Lewis made me so weak that my stubborn resolve was almost gone.
His hand settled on my neck, the other still holding my hip.
“I know exactly what you want,” his voice was dark in the way it always got when he needed his own way, “and I’m going to tell you. I promise, it’s going to make you stand up, pull your tights off, slip off that dress and unclip your bra.”
“Confident for a man who couldn’t stand to be in a room with me an hour ago.”
“And it’s making you wet.”
I closed my eyes and took a sharp breath in, shifting under his hands. He was holding me there- not hard, not desperate.
“Fine, tell me, if you know me so well.”
He moved closer to me, his voice barely audible.
“You want me to kiss you all over, until you get goosebumps. Every inch of your skin. Then you want me to run my fingers over your clit, check how wet I’ve made you, and start to open you up for me. One finger, then when I know you can take it, two. Then three. By then, you’re begging for something else, but you’re so turned on you don’t even know what.”
My mouth felt dry with lust. I could almost feel my clit swelling in desperation.
“Am I right, babygirl?”
I nodded.
“Okay. Now, stand up and show me how gorgeous you are.”
Of course, I did as I was told. Every time I took off an item of clothing, Lewis's breathing got harder, with small moans breaking out of his throat. When I got to my bra, and my breasts fell out, he palmed the outside of his trousers as if he couldn’t help himself.
I stood naked in front of him, telling myself to be relaxed and normal. Not to let him win anymore. I still wanted my apology sex.
I shrugged and raised an eyebrow, “Okay, what next?”
“Look at you, acting like you couldn’t care less.”
His eyes caught mine for a few seconds before sitting forward and pulling his t-shirt off.
Fuck. Those tattoos. That chest. He was mine, and I dared to stand there as if I wasn’t burning.
“I do fucking care. You’re just making me stand here.”
“Getting agitated, sweetie. Do I look that good?” he said.
My face got hot with humiliation and need.
“You look perfect, okay? All I can think about is you inside me, doing everything we usually do, okay? Is that enough for you?”
A satisfied, but soft, smile crossed his face.
“Yeah, that’s enough, baby. Come here.”
My shoulders dropped, and I exhaled hard. I was dizzy. Lewis lifted his hips and pushed his trousers down. I straddled him and kissed him as if we’d never kiss again.
We stopped talking. I guided him into me, ready to take him from nothing but his words. I rode him slowly, looking in his eyes, and he traced my body- worshipping every little part, and occasionally thrusting into me. When he did, he moaned, as if feeling us connected again was pure relief.
When we started going faster, he slid two fingers into my mouth to get them wet. I sucked dutifully, wetting them with spit. He went straight to my clit, rubbing in the way I needed. His timing was always perfect- he knew how close we both were.
It was a point of pride for him; seeing him chase it was enough to get me off. Sometimes, when I saw him racing to win on the track, I thought about our private moments of precision.
Our bodies were beginning to sweat, growing clammy and urgent with heat. I was the one to break our secret no-talking oath.
“So close,” I breathed.
“Me too. Give it to me.”
The white bliss hit us both, him pulsing inside me, and me contracting around him. It felt like the perfect dance- he was saying sorry and forcing me to forget about the whole night.
Afterwards, his strong arms held me to him, hands pressed against my back. I stroked his arm and tried to steady my breathing.
“You’re good, babygirl. You’re okay.”
Eventually, my body settled with his, and I pulled his T-shirt over my head.
“I’m going to the bathroom, baby,” I said, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
As I scuttled towards the bathroom, Lewis called after me.
“Rosie?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you."
My heart swooned, the way it always had.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, “did you think I’d forgiven you?”
Lewis rolled his eyes with a quick laugh.
“Of course not. Maybe a bit?”
“Yeah, maybe,” I smiled at him, warm and honest, before I turned.
Buck can feel his daddy rubbing his hole hearing the slickness of him stroking himself, he goes to push himself on his daddy’s fingers but his daddy gives him a hard smack.
“Evan, you’re being a bad boy, I said I wanted to see your fingers inside you first, show me baby, I need to see how you look with your fingers stuffed inside you before I stuff you with my cock.”
Didn’t Your Momma Ever Tell You not to Talk to Strangers
Bo Sinclair X Reader - Part Three
Warnings: Fem!Reader, Rough Sex(Consensual), Allusion to past non-con(not with Reader)
Part One Part Two
You stir awake, confused with your body aching, in an unfamiliar bed. The last night’s events come back to you when your eyes settle on the man sprawled out on the bed next to you.
Bo.
He looks so peaceful, almost angelic where the light peeks through the heavy curtains and illuminates him. You can’t help but to lean down and press a soft kiss to his forehead.
A sharp inhale, and a soft sigh, and he’s settled deeper into sleep’s embrace. For a moment, you think about settling back into the blankets yourself—it would be so easy to settle into the crook of Bo’s arm—but you’d skipped lunch yesterday, and then missed dinner in favor of satisfying more urgent hungers, so the treacherous bastard that is your stomach forces you to stay awake.
Still though, it’s hard to tear your eyes away from him, now that you have a moment to take in his form in relative stillness.
You know it’s rude to stare, but there’s no one awake to catch you now, so you let your eyes wander over him unreserved—more studying him than anything. Your breath catches in your lungs when you get a good look at his wrists—you’d thought you’d seen scars, but you’d been so preoccupied with the rest of him last night that you didn’t really let it sink in.
You can tell by the thickness and coloration that these are old scars, and you shudder to think of what exactly could have done that to him.
He lets out a small whimper in his sleep, and that reminds you that your little habit is still fucking creepy when the subject of your fascination is asleep—perhaps moreso.
He makes more small sounds of distress, and you wonder if maybe you should wake him—would that be more kind than letting him sleep?
Probably not—he exerted himself quite a bit last night, taking you through round after round of sticky, sweaty, bloody sex—honestly you’re surprised the two of you aren’t sticking to the sheets right now. Smoothing the mess of his hair out of his forehead, you lean in to press another soft kiss to the clammy skin there, and you’re relieved to see him calm, relaxing back into a deep sleep.
Food.
The cavity inside of you aches from the emptiness, and it’s loud and insistent enough to take precedence over the ache of your muscles, and the bruises he’s left all over your body like a lover’s lipstick.
There’s an old Korn shirt folded up beside your pillow that most definitely wasn’t there when you fell asleep—you figure Bo must have left it there for you. You don’t bother to go and find your bra, pulling the soft-worn shirt over your head like a trophy.
Damn.
It’s been a long time since you’ve worn someone else’s clothes, and you relish the way it feels against your skin.
No sense in bothering with bottoms—the shirt is long enough that you’ve worn dresses shorter than it—and you doubt Bo will complain if he’s got easy access when he does wake up.
Especially if he comes downstairs to find you fixing the two of you some breakfast.
He laid down a few ground rules before you fell asleep in his arms last night—you could help yourself to anything in the kitchen as long as you made enough to share, but under no circumstances were you to go in the basement or to go outside without him.
You’d made fun of him about his Mysterious Basement, and something strange flashed across his eyes before he explained that there was a lot of dangerous old equipment down there that he didn’t want messed with—and that the locals are not the friendliest with outsiders, so it’s just best that you don’t go tryin’ to explore the town without him.
He didn’t need to explain himself to you, though—you’re plenty happy to follow his rules since he’s kind enough to let you stay with him after shit hit a boiling point with Tasha and her annoying little boytoy.
It was her that wanted him to come along after all—but all he’d done was bother you.
She had the fucking nerve to be mad at you for it.
You look forward to stopping in to see Bo every time you make your bi-monthly road trip, but yesterday you’d hoped that reminding Tasha, and Corey, of your crush on Bo would get them both to lay off—but Corey pushed you over the edge.
Maybe Tasha was right—maybe you are putting yourself in unnecessary danger; Bo is still technically a stranger to you, after all—you don’t even know his last name.
But if you’d stayed, you couldn’t guarantee that you’d behave—at least this way you could stay in a house with someone you want to trust—rather than getting kicked out on the side of the road after you inevitably wiped that smirk off of Corey’s face.
You don’t think of yourself as particularly violent—but there’s only so far you can be pushed before something snaps in you, and you know it—it’s just safer for everyone if you stay here with Bo until Tasha can come back without him.
But none of that’s important right now.
Now the pressing issue is getting yourself acquainted with his kitchen—first thing’s first—you’d better get it cleaned up before you start digging around for ingredients. It feels a little tacky to get cooking and then only wash what you used when he’s got so much lying around.
Ooh, better start coffee too, you might need it by the time you’re done cleaning up.
It’s not that you’re judging—you’ve seen worse messes in the college dorms, to be honest—but he never did discuss any kind of rent for your stay, so the least you can do is take care of this much.
You’re washing up the last of the mugs when the sound of the kitchen door startles you, and an equally taken aback man stands in the doorway, staring at you with wide eyes that you’re sure match your own.
Bo didn’t tell you anyone else was supposed to show up, but the sheer confusion on the man’s face at the sight of you suggests he’s actually supposed to be here.
“Hey,” you force yourself to start talking, very much wishing you had bothered to find your shorts. “Uh…I’m a—guest—of Bo’s.” You’re suddenly very aware of all the bruises on your body, and you hope to god the man has the decency not to mention them.
You hold your still-soapy hand out for him to shake, and he accepts it a bit awkwardly.
“Blink twice if you’re here against your will.”
For a moment he looks serious, but at the look of utter confusion on your face, he breaks into a wide grin and an easy laugh that makes you feel a whole lot better.
“I’m just foolin’ wit’cha.” He drops his duffel bag to the ground, taking a seat at the table as he studies you. “So you’re Bo’s mysterious girlfriend—heard a lot about you—wasn’t sure you actually existed.”
“Not sure I’d use that word quite yet.” You offer an awkward laugh, turning back to the sink to hopefully hide the way the thought of being something more than just a convenient Fuck Buddy to Bo makes you blush.
“Bo would.” He grins, seeming to relish your discomfort. “Name’s Lester—I’m the baby brother.”
“Nice to meet you.” You smile at him, tugging the hem of your borrowed shirt. “I didn’t know Bo had brothers.” Of course, you don’t actually know very much about Bo to begin with.
“Yeah, there’s two of us—Vincent is Bo’s twin, but uh—I don’t know if you’ll see him any time soon.” Lester squints, squeezing his lips together like he’s suddenly not sure exactly how much he’s supposed to tell you—given Bo apparently hasn’t bothered to fill you in on much of anything.
“Why not? Is he away?” Your brow furrows; it’s really none of your business—but he seemed to offer the information readily enough.
“Vin’s shy—he’s one a’ them reclusive artist types.” He drums his fingers on the table. “He’s real talented though; got a lot a’ work down in our Momma’s ol’ Wax Museum.”
Your eyes light up, and suddenly you find yourself forgetting to be self-conscious. “No kidding; I saw the outside of the Museum when Bo drove me up here, but I haven’t been in.”
His eyes narrow on you, his expression becoming ever-so-slightly hesitant—you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t spent so much time studying body language over the years. “Just how much of the town have you seen?”
“Not a thing,” you admit. “I’ve only ever stopped by to see Bo—and last night he said he doesn’t want me going down into town without him.”
“Oh.” Lester nods slowly, like things are falling into place for him. “Okay, that makes sense.”
You’re about to open your mouth to ask more questions, when Lester perks up. “Hey, you’re the one always bringin’ Bo snacks and stuff—did I interrupt you gettin’ ready to cook breakfast?”
There it is.
“I was just getting the dishes out of the way before I start looking at ingredients.” You dry your hands off on your shirt. “Bo said I could help myself to the kitchen as long as I made enough to share.”
“Oh, so now he’s all about sharing,” Lester huffs, and you can’t help grinning at the way his arms cross like a petulant child. “Greedy bastard won’t let anyone else try the goodies you bring him.” He does his best to look all big and mean and grumpy, and you snort when you realize he’s doing an impression of Bo. “She made it for me—get your own girl.”
“Oh he didn’t,” you laugh. “That’s so rude.”
“That’s what I’m sayin’!” He throws his hands up into the air. “So—you want me to help you find anything? That oughta earn me a seat at the table, right?”
“Sure, Lester.” You smile at him, crossing your arms playfully as you picture Bo hoarding your gifts and calling you his girl. “I’ll bake some muffins if we’ve got the stuff for them—that’s a sharing food.”
“Wow, you are sweet.” He pulls over a chair to climb on, getting a better vantage point to peruse the cabinets. “The hell are you doin’ wit’ Bo?”
“Well, he’s been sweet to me.”
“Sure as hell have,” Bo grumbles, wandering into the kitchen in nothing but boxers and socks.
Your chest tightens at the sight of him, thinking about what Lester had said. “I made coffee—Lester was just helping me find the ingredients I need to make a batch of muffins.”
His expression softens, and he sidles up real close to you, his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “Coffee, fresh baked muffins, and a pretty girl gettin’ it for me—man could get used to that.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, wrapping a possessive arm around your waist. “There’s a can ‘a pumpkin in the third cabinet over.”
That’ll occupy Lester for a second; long enough for Bo to lift your shirt up for a quick peek—relishing the marks he’d left on your body—evidence that may as well spell out ‘Bo Sinclair Was Here’. He chuckles when you cover yourself back up at breakneck speed—pleased that he’s the only one you’re eager to go showin’ off for.
He takes a step closer, pinning you between the kitchen counter and his large frame—he relishes the way your hands splay across his chest when he presses a less than innocent kiss under your ear. “Sorry I forgot to tell you we ain’t alone on Laundry Day,” he whispers, his hot breath washing over your ear before he teases you terribly with a lascivious nip. “Otherwise I’d take you right fuckin’ now.”
“Still in the room,” Lester groans in mock irritation, tossing the can of pumpkin at Bo.
He’s fast as lightning when he turns to catch it, and annoyance flashes across his face. “Hey dumbass, you could’a hit her.”
“Oh no way,” Lester laughs. “You wouldn’ta let your girlfriend get hit.” He mocks Bo with an exaggerated show of over the top kissy noises, and Bo whips the can back at him.
“I’m gonna hit you if you keep runnin’ yer damn mouth!” Bo makes the sourest damn expression you’ve ever seen—not unlike a kid in full-tantrum mode—before he picks up Lester’s duffel bag and tosses it to him—a little more gently. “Go do your fuckin’ laundry—shit’s stinkin’ up the place.”
“Oh because roadkill is so much worse than motor oil.” Lester rolls his eyes, but ducks when Bo grabs a mug out of the dish strainer. “It was nice to meet you!” He shoots you one last smile before running off into some other part of the house.
“You guys are such brothers—”
You’re cut off by Bo’s lips on yours, and you gasp when he picks you up and sets your ass down right on the kitchen counter. “Sorry,” he grunts, not sounding remotely sorry. “Couldn’t wait any longer.”
“Bo!” You shriek, weaving your fingers into his hair when he pushes his way between your thighs, his hot tongue dragging through your folds and across your clit.
Your pussy is still sore and swollen from the absolute punishment it took from him last night, so you’re already overstimulated when he slips a finger inside, growling like an animal as he sucks on your clit.
You can’t help squeezing your thighs together around his head, and apparently that was the wrong move, because his mouth leaves your clit in order to bite down hard on the soft flesh of your inner thigh.
He grins when he hears you yelp.
He leans back, taking a good eyeful of you sat up on the counter, your face flushed with need—for him—with only one of his old shirts for modesty. He sees something in your eyes that he’s never been able to simply take from the victims he’s had before.
You want him, and there ain’t a lick of shame in your eyes about it.
He rubs the already bruising spot where he’d bitten you with a careful tenderness, and you hum. “God, you’re just so damn good for me.”
He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. You’ve spent exactly one night here—he knows it’s not the time to be laying it on so thick. You ain’t like the other girls—you still like him by choice—he doesn’t want to fuck that up by letting you know just how much of an effect you have on him. How much he’s fixated on you from the very beginning.
He doesn’t want to give you that kind of power over him—he can’t afford to give you a knife to twist.
But God help him, there you go twisting it anyway.
He’d been so caught up in his own head that he hadn’t noticed your soft hands creeping up to cup his cheeks—fuck—you always look so fuckin’ sweet when you hold him tender and look into his eyes.
He’s terrified you’re gonna look right into his soul, and that you won’t like what you see.
“Wanna be your good girl,” you whisper, your lips ghosting his before you take his bottom lip between your teeth.
“Oh Sugar,” he groans, moving his hand between you to rub your clit—taking back at least a little control. “You got no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”
You whimper so sweet against his lips, and he drinks it all in. He kisses the corner of your mouth, the curve of your jaw, your throat—lower and lower until he’s once again settled between your legs.
You deserve this. So good for him. The longer he can keep you dumb for his touch the longer he can keep you here and drag out the illusion that he’s the man you want, the man who makes your heart flutter with something other than fear.
Two fingers—you’re already wet enough that he ain’t bothering with just one—curl against the sweet spot inside of you, and your hands are back in his hair as you squirm in his grasp.
“Want you to look at me,” he growls against your clit, before his tongue darts back out to trace his full name.
God.
There’s a desperate hunger in your eyes when they meet his, and he knows that the tears of pleasure pricking at your lashes are all for him.
“Fuck, Bo,” you whine, wriggling your hips against his face. “Gonna cum.”
“Come on, Baby,” he grunts. “Le’me have it.”
He’s utterly transfixed by the way you try to keep your eyes open when you lose control of your body—like you want to see the man between your legs as he laps up your sweet juices.
It’s a big fuckin’ ego boost, and it goes straight to his head.
Suddenly, he’s standing, looming over you and wrapping a hand around your throat while the other keeps on pettin’ your sweet pussy.
“Bo, please,” you whine, your thighs trembling from the overstimulation. “It’s too much.”
“Bo, please,” he teases you, though he gives you a break long enough to pull his cock free from his boxers, sliding it through your slick before smacking you a couple good times against the clit. “You want this cock, honey?”
You nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders while your eyes fixate on where the head of his cock just barely dips into you.
“Words, Sugar,” he insists, the hand on your throat moving to cup your jaw to force you to look him in the eyes. Mistake. His heart flutters at the look of utter need you give him. “You want more than just the tip, you're gonna have to remember your manners.”
“Please, Bo,” you beg, your lip quivering pathetically as you try to will your pretty little head to form thoughts. “Need to feel you inside me.”
Need.
He can’t help himself from sinking into you—‘Need’ feels like a good word when he’s buried deep in the warmth of your sex. He kisses you hard, and he knows damn well his grip on your jaw is gonna bruise—but as long as you keep clinging to him for dear life and moaning so pretty in his mouth he can’t be bothered to care. His tongue traces the curve of your lips, before plunging past your teeth to dance against your own.
“You like tastin’ yourself on me, Sweetheart?”
You nod, stealing another kiss like you can’t help yourself before deigning to speak. “Fuck, Bo, yes.”
One of your hands snakes around to squeeze his throat, and the growl that escapes him is nothing short of feral.
For a split second, he’s enraged that you’d fuckin’ dare, but the manic lust on your face as you choke him is so damn hot he nearly busts right there.
Instead, he pulls out of you, ripping himself from your grasp. You let out a ragged moan from the loss of contact, but he doesn’t give you enough time to be disappointed before grabbing you by the back of the neck and slamming you face down against the table, giving your ass a good hard smack with his free hand.
God damn you’re a filthy slut—wriggling your ass back against him like you’re desperate for it.
Lucky for you, you’re not the only one who’s nasty.
He rams his cock back into your heat, his grip on your neck still forcing your face down into the table as he chases his release like a beast in rut.
He growls in your ear, more animal than man, before taking the lobe between his teeth. “You’re mine, you fuckin’ hear me?”
“Bo!” You shriek, the coil at the core of your pleasure threatening to snap.
“Say you know you’re fuckin’ mine,” he growls. “‘I’m yours, Bo.’” His other hand slips around you to palm your clit roughly, too roughly. “Say. It.”
“I’m YOURS,” you all but sob as you come undone around his cock, body all alight from the too-intense pleasure.
He’s not far behind—his thrusts become erratic, and he doesn’t even care about dragging it out any longer as he explodes inside of you, panting like a dog against your shoulder as your bodies melt into shuddering spasms.
“Damn fuckin’ right.”
He allows himself to slump back into one of the kitchen chairs, dragging you with him with his cock still inside you.
You take his hand to your lips and kiss his knuckles. His heart lurches in his chest.
“Fuck, Bo.” You lean your head back against his shoulder, smiling at him with that blissed out and dumb look on your face. “That’s one way to work up an appetite.”
His hand snakes up to squeeze your titty through his old shirt as he laughs, burying his face in your shoulder.
