It's Never Over
Summery: She always knew he was off-limits, untouchable. But when the line between childhood memories and something darker starts to blur, she falls harder than she ever meant to.
18+ MINORS DNI!
Pairings: Ray Young x Female Reader
Warnings: Smut, Cheating, Size Kink, Choking, Age Gap, Hand Job, Fingering, Oral F! Receiving, Dom Ray, Power Inbalance, Unprotected Sex (Wrap Before You Tap).
We were all kids once.
Me, Curtis, Brooke, and Ray — packed into that hot garage with sticky fingers and blown-out speakers, passing AUX cords like they were holy. It didn’t matter who lived in the house. That garage was ours. The music, the noise, the stupid laughter echoing against the metal walls.
Curtis was loud. Brooke had a mean streak. I was the one always playing DJ, lying on my back on the stained rug with a half-broken Walkman and dreams too big for this town.
And Ray?
Back then, he was nice.
Not sweet, not soft, but solid. The oldest of us — tall and broad-shouldered, with hands that always had grease under the nails. He’d ruffle Curtis’s hair, flip Brooke off when she stole his cigarettes, and carry me inside when I passed out after too much sun.
I never thought about the age gap then.
We were just kids.
And he was just Ray.
I found the CD one night when they were all distracted.
The case was cracked, faded, shoved between an old Tool album and something covered in duct tape.
I held it up. “What’s this?”
Ray turned, wiping his hands on his jeans. His voice came low.
“Don’t touch that.”
That made me want to even more.
So I popped it in. Sat cross-legged on the floor, letting the opening track roll out like smoke. Low and eerie and beautiful. Like falling into a dream that might bite back if you weren’t careful.
No one else paid it much attention.
But Ray watched me.
Didn’t say anything. Just let it play.
After that, I started staying later.
They’d drift out one by one. Curtis off to soccer. Brooke to wherever she always vanished.
And I’d still be there.
Ray never told me to leave.
He’d work with the music low in the background — the kind of stuff that sounded like heartbreak on cassette.
Sometimes we talked. Not much. Just little things.
Sometimes we didn’t say a word.
And still, I liked it better than anywhere else.
The summer I left, I told them it was for art. For adventure. For something bigger than this town and its too-small streets.
I came back at the end of August.
Sunburned. Sharper. With calloused fingertips and an energy that made heads turn.
Curtis had grown too — taller, a little less annoying, maybe even handsome if you tilted your head.
He didn’t say I looked pretty.
Not yet.
But his eyes did that flicker thing—up, down, back again—and I knew.
He saw it.
He just didn’t know what to do with it.
But Ray?
Ray was a man now.
And that…
I noticed.
He didn’t say hello.
Just nodded once. Walked past me in the kitchen like I was part of the wallpaper.
That silence?
It pissed me off.
So I got louder.
Flirtatious smiles. Bigger laughs. Calling him “Raymond” in that voice that made Curtis roll his eyes and Brooke give me side-glances like what the fuck are you doing.
And still—he didn’t look at me.
Didn’t see me.
Not until Curtis started showing up more.
He was different now.
Gentler. Steadier.
We’d hang out in his truck till midnight, talk about nothing with the windows down.
He brought me milkshakes without asking what flavor. Wrote dumb poems in the margins of his notebooks. Said my name like he liked the sound of it in his mouth.
And I let it happen.
Because Ray wasn’t looking.
Because maybe I wanted someone to look at me like I was real.
One night, we kissed.
His thumb under my chin, his forehead resting on mine like he was asking permission.
And I let him.
I kissed him back.
I tried to want him like that.
He was safe. Familiar.
He braided my hair on long drives. Let me sleep with my head on his chest.
We didn’t have sex.
But we got close.
Skin to skin, breath to breath.
I stopped it.
He said, “It’s okay.”
He said he’d wait.
And still —
When he kissed me, all I could think was:
Ray never would.
Weeks passed. The tension was static now—always humming, just under the skin.
I started catching Ray’s eyes again.
Quick glances. A slow drag of his gaze across my legs when he thought I wouldn’t notice.
But I always did.
Curtis begged me to go.
I didn’t want to. I already knew how these nights ended—cheap beer, someone crying in the driveway, Brooke flirting with someone she didn’t really like just to feel something.
But I said yes anyway.
I always said yes to Curtis.
That was the problem.
It started fine.
His arm around my waist.
My hand on the back of his neck.
He kissed my cheek while I poured a drink. We smiled too hard, laughed at nothing.
I was scanning the room for Ray.
But he wasn’t there.
I don’t know when it changed.
Maybe it was the hallway—
the way the bathroom light spilled under the door.
Maybe it was the sound.
Soft. Rhythmic. Unmistakable.
Maybe it was how the door wasn’t even fully shut.
I pushed it open without thinking.
And there they were.
Curtis.
Brooke.
Her dress hitched up around her waist. His hands on her hips.
His face buried in her neck like she was everything he’d ever wanted.
They didn’t even see me.
I didn’t yell.
Didn’t cry right away.
Just turned and walked out before they could notice the ghost in the doorway.
I made it to the curb before I broke.
The gravel crunched under me like bones.
My throat was burning. My chest felt like it had been hollowed out with a spoon.
I hated this fucking town.
I hated the smell of beer and the sound of my name in other people’s mouths.
I hated how Curtis looked at me like I was already his.
And most of all—
I hated that I didn’t want him in the first place.
His car pulled up slow.
Engine rumbling. Headlights off.
I knew it was Ray without looking.
No one else drove like that.
He stopped beside me. Window down. Said nothing.
I didn’t move.
He waited.
Then:
“Get in, I'm taking you home.”
I didn’t ask how he knew I was there.
Didn’t ask if he saw what happened.
I just opened the door, climbed in, and slammed it shut behind me.
The cab smelled like old leather and cedar smoke. The stereo was off.
Ray stared straight ahead, one hand on the wheel, jaw tight.
I could feel his eyes on me in flashes.
My bare thighs. My blotchy cheeks.
The sharp little breaths I was trying to keep quiet.
I could feel it.
Him holding it all back.
“Do you wanna come in?”
My voice broke the silence.
Low. Small.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t even look at me.
But he turned into my driveway anyway.
We didn’t say a word as we walked to the door.
My fingers shook unlocking it.
Inside, it was dark.
Empty.
Too quiet.
I kicked off my shoes and turned.
He was standing just inside the doorway, eyes heavy, chest rising like he was trying not to breathe too hard.
“Ray,” I whispered.
I could feel the heat coming off him. His breath. The tension strung so tight it could snap—
“You’re crying over him?”
His voice was low, rough.
Like gravel in the dark
“He fucked her.”
I said it like it burned.
Ray’s thumb traced my cheek.
“Curtis never knew what the fuck to do with you.”
I wiped my face with the sleeve of my jacket.
Tried to calm my breathing.
Tried not to look as cracked open as I felt.
“I’m so fucking stupid.”
It came out thin. Croaky.
My throat ached.
Ray shook his head.
“No, you’re not.”
I laughed once — dry, humorless.
“He was so gentle with me, you know? Took his time. Said the right things.”
I looked up at him.
“But he was never really looking.”
Ray’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. Just something tight.
“He saw what he wanted to see.”
A pause.
“You always scared him a little.”
That made me go still.
“Why?”
He shrugged. Looked down.
Then back up — like it cost him something.
“Because you feel real. Not easy. Not simple.”
We just stared at each other after that.
It stretched long.
Heavy.
Something in it breaking open.
“I thought maybe…”
I started, but couldn’t finish. My throat was raw.
Ray stepped forward.
Slow. Careful.
“You let him close,” he said gently, eyes scanning mine. “But he never reached you.”
My breath hitched.
“Not really.”
This time, I didn’t speak.
Just nodded.
Ray’s fingers brushed my cheek. Featherlight.
The softest thing.
It made my eyes sting again, stupidly.
“I hated watching it,” he murmured.
“The way you tried to shrink yourself down just to fit him.”
His thumb traced under my jaw.
I blinked at him.
He was so close now.
Close enough to feel.
Close enough to want.
“But I waited,” he added.
His voice was steady. Low.
“I waited for you to see it for yourself.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
And finally—
I leaned into him.
His mouth brushed my temple.
Just once.
Tender.
Reverent.
Then his lips moved against my skin, barely above a whisper:
“Tell me what you want.”
I didn’t answer at first.
Couldn’t.
The words were too tangled up in my throat. Too heavy.
I just pressed my face into his shoulder, and his arms came around me like instinct.
For a moment, we just stood there.
The hallway breathing around us.
The heat of his chest beneath my cheek, solid and steady.
“I don’t know,” I whispered finally.
“I just know it’s not him.”
Ray didn’t move.
Didn’t say I know, didn’t say I told you so.
He just ran a hand slow up my back, resting it between my shoulder blades.
“You don’t have to know,” he murmured. “You just have to feel it.”
My fingers curled into the back of his shirt.
He smelled like firewood and leather and summer rain.
“I wanted you,” I said, so quiet it felt like a confession.
“All that time… I wanted you.”
His breath caught, just slightly.
And then he pulled back to look at me.
There was something in his eyes — that all-knowing kind of hunger that didn’t need to rush.
That knew its way around patience.
“I know” he said, voice low.
His hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, then lingered — fingers tracing the side of my neck.
I looked at him.
Really looked.
He leaned in, forehead pressing to mine.
His nose brushed mine.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
His thumb stroked my jaw.
“You should be.”
Then:
“But not of me.”
I felt my stomach twist.
In the kind of anticipation that hums just beneath the ribs.
“I just didn't know what to do."
Ray’s hand slid down to my waist. Held me there.
Firm. Present.
“No,” he said softly. “I think you’ve always known. I just think you were trying not to.”
And then finally — finally —
his mouth found mine.
Warm. Full. Slow.
The kind that didn’t ask for anything but gave everything.
His hands found my face as mine gripped his arms.
Years of not-saying.
Months of almosts.
A summer full of moments just barely missed.
His lips moved against mine with something like reverence, like it mattered.
His mouth tasted like heat.
Like things unsaid. Like tension unraveling after too many years pulled tight.
I kissed him like I meant it.
Because I did.
Because every almost, every silence, every too-long stare had led to this.
And Ray kissed me like he knew.
Like he’d always known.
His hands gripped my waist, then slid under my shirt.
Not rushed. Not frantic.
But with the confidence of someone who’d imagined this a hundred different ways.
I gasped into his mouth when his palms met skin.
His touch was warm. Rough. Real.
I could feel the callouses on his hands, the ones I used to watch wrap around guitar necks and cold beer bottles.
They felt better here.
On me.
He broke the kiss just long enough to pull my shirt over my head, slow, careful, like he didn’t want to spook me.
But I was already too far gone.
My fingers went to his belt like instinct.
I wasn’t thinking anymore — I was feeling.
And every inch of him felt like gravity.
Ray walked me backward until my calves hit the edge of the couch.
He didn’t push — just looked at me. Waiting.
“I want this,” I whispered, breathless.
His eyes darkened.
“Then lie back.”
I did.
The room was quiet except for our breathing.
The low creak of denim. The whisper of skin on skin.
Ray climbed over me, bracing himself on his forearms.
Our noses brushed again.
But he didn’t kiss me yet.
“You sure?” he murmured.
I nodded.
Reached up.
Pulled him down.
The kiss was deeper this time.
Hungrier.
His body settled between my thighs, heat to heat.
I arched up into him, and he groaned into my mouth.
“Fuck,” he breathed against my jaw. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”
His hands mapped every inch of me — my ribs, my hips, the small of my back.
Every place that had ached for him.
And when his mouth found my neck, I whimpered.
Because I’d thought about this. So many nights.
Him right here.
Breathing me in like he was starving.
I hooked my legs around him, dragging him closer.
His hips rolled once, slow and deep, still clothed, and it sparked through me like lightning.
We gasped at the same time.
“Ray—”
My voice cracked.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve always had you.”
And then he was kissing down my chest, dragging his tongue along the edge of my bra.
He pushed the straps down with his teeth.
God.
His mouth was everywhere.
Teasing. Worshipping.
Like he was trying to memorize me from the inside out.
When his hand slipped between my legs, I nearly bucked off the couch.
Still over my underwear, but the pressure was perfect.
His fingers slow. Knowing. Addictive.
“You’re soaked,” he growled, voice low and wrecked.
I hid my face in his neck.
“Look at me,” he said gently, thumb pressing against the wet spot. “I want to see you fall apart.”
“Ray—”
My voice cracked.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve always had you.”
And then he was kissing down my chest.
He looked up once, eyes molten.
“Can I?”
I nodded so fast it made my hair fall into my face.
“Look at you,” he murmured darkly. “So fucking ready for it.”
He rubbed slow, steady, firm — and then slipped under the fabric, dragging his fingers through the slick heat between my thighs.
“You’ve been aching for it, haven’t you?”
My whole body jerked.
“Ray—fuck—”
“I know, baby.” His voice was low, guttural. “Been dreaming about getting you like this — feeling you in my hand.”
His fingers slid deep — curled once, twice — and I cried out, hips jerking against his hand.
Ray groaned.
“You’re so fucking wet.”
He pulled his fingers out — slowly, deliberately before he sank down to his knees in front of me.
“Ray—what—”
But he was already pushing my legs apart.
Already leaning in.
Already tasting me.
His tongue slid through wetness, slow at first — then deeper, filthier, like he was starving for it.
I gasped. Grabbed for the couch. My legs shook.
He moaned against me, and it vibrated all the way up my spine.
“Fuck,” he growled, voice muffled. “You taste so good.”
Two fingers slid back inside while his tongue worked circles around my clit, fast and relentless.
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
“Ray—fuck, I—”
He didn’t stop.
Didn’t let up.
One arm locked around my thigh, keeping me wide open for him while the other hand fucked me deep, curling just right — over and over and over.
When he pulled back, his mouth was wet, chin glistening. His eyes were blown wide, dark and dangerous.
He brought his fingers to my lips.
“Open your mouth.”
I did — dazed, wrecked — and he slid them in slow.
“Good girl,” he rasped, watching every inch disappear. “Suck.”
I closed my lips around them, tasting myself on his skin. He groaned.
“See how sweet you are?” he said, low and rough. “That’s all mine now.”
I whined around his fingers, eyes fluttering.
His free hand slid up my neck — Like he owned me.
“You gonna come for me?” he asked, voice close, deadly calm. “Gonna fall apart like a good little girl around my fingers?”
I nodded. Couldn’t stop it.
He worked his fingers faster, lips brushing my temple. “That’s it. Come for me, baby. Let go.”
And I did. Hard. Writhing under his touch, moaning into his hand like nothing else existed. My body convulsed around his fingers, toes curling, breath catching.
Before I even had time to come down, he grabbed my wrist and guided it down — lower — until I felt the hard length of him through his jeans.
“Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s what you do to me.”
I nodded, trembling.
“Take it out.”
-
I hesitated — just a second — and he tightened his grip around my hand.
“Don’t be shy now. You wanna touch it, don’t you?”
I swallowed. Nodded again.
He helped me undo his jeans, his breath sharp as I wrapped my fingers around him for the first time. Huge. Thick. Heavy in my hand.
“Such a good girl,” he growled. “Stroke it. Just like that. Nice and slow.”
I moved my hand the way he showed me — up, then twisting down — and he groaned, low and broken.
“Fuck, that’s it. Keep going.”
His hand slid back up to my throat, thumb brushing my jaw, and he leaned in close again.
“I’ve thought about this,” he said, teeth grazing my cheek. “Thought about your hand wrapped around my cock.”
I whimpered, squeezing tighter, and he shuddered.
“Eyes on me,” he said, voice suddenly sharp.
I looked up.
“Good,” he said again, slower now. “That’s where you stay, sweetheart. Right here. With me.”
“You like that?” he asked, voice low and rough.
I nodded.
“Say it.”
“I like it,” I whispered.
His lips twitched, and for a second, there was something soft in his eyes. “Yeah?” he murmured. “You like making me lose control?”
Then, in a blink, the softness vanished.
His jaw flexed.
“Well, you don’t get to,” he snapped. “I’m in control here.”
His voice went sharp — deeper, dangerous.
“Get your fucking hand off me.”
I froze, startled. My hand slid back off his cock automatically, and before I could blink, he grabbed both my wrists in one hand and slammed them above my head, pinning me to the mattress.
His other hand wrapped around my throat.
“You don’t get to drive this,” he growled. “You’re gonna lie there," his hand tightening around my throat, “and take everything I give you.”
His cock was already heavy in his hand, thick and flushed. I squirmed under him, hips twitching, but he just held me down — palm flat on my stomach, keeping me pinned.
“Stay still” he murmured, the head nudging against my clit. “You’re shaking already. Barely touched you.”
He dipped lower. Rubbed the tip against my entrance, slow and cruel, teasing little circles that made me whimper.
“You feel that?” he whispered, voice all syrup and threat. “That’s just the tip, and you’re already falling apart.”
He pressed in a little — just enough for the thick head to push past my entrance — and my mouth dropped open. I felt impossibly full already, stretched to the edge.
“Ohhh, fuck—”
“That’s it,” he murmured.
“You wanted this, remember?” he said, all mock-sweet. “You begged for it. Look at you now.”
I blinked up at him, breath stuttering, body locked around him.
“It’s too—”
He cut me off with a chuckle, low and smug. “Too big?” His other hand returned to his cock, dragging it back out slow, then rubbing it through me again. “You’ll take it. Every inch.”
He leaned down, kissed the corner of my mouth, then murmured, “Open your legs wider."
I obeyed without thinking, thighs trembling as he lined himself up again.
“Good little slut” he purred, thick head pressing back in. “There we go."
He took my hand — trembling — and guided it to my lower stomach.
“Right there,” he said, pressing down gently over my hand. “Feel it.”
My eyes fluttered. I could feel the pressure, so deep it made my head spin.
“You like that?” he asked, cock twitching inside me.
I moaned, broken and breathless.
“That’s what I thought,” he said darkly. “Now shut up and take it.”
He didn’t give me time to adjust just slid in another inch, slow but unrelenting.
“There you go,” he whispered, watching my face twist up. “That’s it.”
My breath caught, eyes rolling, mouth open on a silent gasp.
“You’re taking it so fucking well,” he murmured, thumb brushing over my cheek, mock-gentle.
He gave a slow, grinding thrust — barely another inch deeper — and my nails scraped at his arm.
His fingers slid back to my throat — thumb brushing against the underside of my jaw as his hips started to move. Slow, dragging thrusts, pushing deeper with each stroke.
My legs shook. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
“Oh my god—”
“You like that?” he whispered, cock so deep I could feel it pulse. “Right fucking there — that’s the spot, isn’t it?”
I whimpered, legs twitching. He grinned like he knew.
“Yeah, it is. I can feel you clenching around me. So tight. So fucking wet.”
He pulled almost all the way out — and then slammed back in hard enough to make me cry out.
“Say it,” he demanded, fucking into me with rough, perfect rhythm now. “Say you love it. Say you’re mine.”
“I—I love it—fuck—”
He cut me off with another brutal thrust, then stilled. “Good girl."
He started moving again, hand sliding from my throat to cup my breast, squeezing hard, hips grinding deep and deliberate. My whole body was trembling.
Then his fingers dipped down, found my clit, and rubbed tight little circles in time with his thrusts.
“That’s it,” he hissed, not stopping, not slowing.
“Let go for me,” he growled against my ear. "I wanna feel you come all over my cock. Show me how good it feels."
And I did. My body locked up, legs clamping around his waist, everything shattering into stars as I moaned his name.
“That’s it,” he hissed, not stopping, not slowing.
His thrusts drove deeper, harder, each one pushing me to the edge. His fingers circled my clit mercilessly, setting my nerves on fire.
I was drowning in sensation.
He growled low, pushing even harder, his body slamming into mine with relentless hunger.
“Fuck, you feel like heaven ” he cursed, voice thick with lust. “Come all over me, baby. Make me yours.”
His hips slammed faster, fucking me raw and wild. My nails dug into his back, breath ragged and desperate.
My orgasm ripped through me, leaving me shaking and gasping. The only thing keeping me from falling apart was him, buried deep inside me.
“Just like that. So fucking perfect,” he growled, voice rough and heavy.
Then his release slammed into me like a freight train, holding me tight, filling me up completely as he twitched and pounded through every last shudder.
After we both caught our breath, his grip softened, fingers tracing slow, gentle patterns along my spine.
He pulled me closer, chest rising and falling against mine, whispering, “I’ve got you.”
His lips brushed my temple, warm and reassuring, as he cradled my face in his hands.
“Let’s just stay like this for a while,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, grounding me as the world settled back into focus.