Ride Me - Joe Burrow
A/N: YAY! Joe smut, Joe smut, Joe smut! I have been needing this man in a biblical sense recently, and then the other day I had this thought of couch sex, fingering and riding him (the working title of this fic was 'couch sex' until I decided on a proper title lol), so this was born from that. I hope you enjoy!
WC: 4.5k (I said this may be short... I lied)
Warnings: Sexual content, MDNI! 18+, this contains very little plot and a lot of smut. Fingering (f receiving), riding, cock warming if you squint, Joe is a pro at aftercare, she rides him... it's a fun time!
The thing about sexual tension with you and Joe is… it doesn’t often sky rocket out of nowhere.
Over the course of your relationship, it’s become a thing where sometimes, days can go by where lingering touches go unnoticed, you hold each other’s gaze for just a second too long to be just a glance and kisses become charged without going anywhere.
It’s not even anyone’s fault. He’s tired from the season, you’re busy at work — recently, the days just haven’t had enough hours for the two of you to go further than heated kisses before bed. Sex is an important part of your relationship and both of you very much enjoy it, but you also want to make sure that you have the energy to make it a special, rewarding experience for both of you.
Tonight, though, there’s been tension simmering since the second he came home from the facility. When you turned around from cooking dinner and saw him standing there, leaning against the counter wearing a black Bengals hoodie and grey sweats… you were done for.
And the worst thing is, he can see it in your face. It’s written in the way your eyes immediately darkened at the sight of him, the way your mouth went slack like you were about to literally salivate over him.
He smirked, almost imperceptibly to anyone else but plain as day for you to see, and approached you to rest two hands on your hips the second you were within arm’s reach.
‘Hi baby,’ he’d said.
You were too overcome with thoughts that had no business being released to the general public that you couldn’t speak.
All you could do was lean up to kiss him and hope that he could feel how badly you needed him through your lips melting against his.
Dinner has passed. The dishwasher hums softly in the background, around halfway through its cycle. It’ll probably finish before you go to bed but it’s become an unwritten rule that whoever gets up first in the morning is responsible for unloading it.
You’ve showered and changed into soft lounge shorts and one of Joe’s old LSU shirts. Once you’re downstairs, you find Joe sat in the corner of his sectional couch, film playing on his tablet with his notebook next to him. The closer you get to him, the more handsome he looks.
Blonde hair falls over his eyes as he tilts his head down to the tablet. His huge hands make the pen he’s holding look like a child’s crayon. A white shirt stretches over his enormous shoulders. The material is thin enough that as you approach, you can see the faint outline of his spine through the back. He’s relaxed in a way that only the off season can provide. Shoulders looser than they are during the peak stress of the season. Hands flowing more as they note down routes, covers and drives from various teams.
He senses you before you even come into his peripheral vision. His head turns just as you pass next to him, then a soft smile appears on his lips when he sees you.
‘There she is,’ he murmurs softly with a chuckle as you plop down next to him.
‘Hey Joey,’ you reply. He briefly holds his pen in his left hand to allow his right hand to squeeze your knee, then picks his pen back up to continue writing. His handwriting isn’t neat, but legible enough for you to make out some of his notes.
Watch for safety rotation.
Corner play bites on action.
Left tackle drifts wide.
There are circles. Arrows. Little diagrams that make no sense to you but are like Joe’s second language.
Your head tilts as you continue to try and make out more of the notes and reminders to himself. It’s moments like these where you forget that you’re not just dating Joe, the guy who watches nature documentaries, willingly participates in self-care Saturdays with you and listens to audiobooks on the drive to work. You’re also dating the quarterback who’s played in a Super Bowl, been compared to a ‘stone-cold killer’ and leads the offence of the Cincinnati Bengals.
Joe sees you looking, sees you reading, and smiles to himself.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asks quietly as he looks down at you. The scratching of the pen pauses as he makes another note about audibles.
You smile up at him.
‘I’m thinking about how my boyfriend gets tackled by three-hundred pound men for a living.’ He laughs at that. Then you point to a diagram near the top right of the page. ‘What does this mean?’
He looks at it for a moment. It’s a small drawing, no bigger than a quarter, little X’s and O’s with arrows branching out in a few different directions. Then he explains how each letter correlates to a player, how each arrow refers to a different route and what that means for him.
You huff out a sigh that tells Joe that you’re more impressed than you’d like to let on. Football was a completely new thing to you when you and Joe first met, and you’re still getting used to the insanity of the sport.
‘This sport is a conspiracy theory.’
Joe chuckle again at your deadpan remark.
‘I’ve not heard that one before,’ he chuckles. His arm drapes across your shoulders and the two of you turn your heads to look at each other.
There it is again, you realise with a rush of blood to your cheeks. That unspoken spark of something unspoken that rushes between you.
‘A very cool conspiracy theory,’ you admit, almost breathlessly. You’re trying not to give yourself away, trying not to distract him…
But everything he does makes fireworks fizz in your stomach. Heat pools low in your stomach and you have to squeeze your thighs together as you slowly start to clock the dampness in your underwear.
The smirk on his face tells you that unfortunately, he’s clocked you. Just like always.
You shuffle away from him, far enough away that you’re still within touching distance but not close enough that your shoulder isn’t resting against his arm. Even the feeling of his skin on yours, warm and soft, is enough to make your brain go fuzzy.
Joe continues to look at his film, but he’s also watching you out of the corner of his eye. You scroll TikTok with the volume as low as it can go. Every so often, you exhale a little puff of air out of your nose at a particularly amusing video or comment.
You’re cool. You’re calm.
You are totally not thinking about your very warm, very handsome boyfriend sat less than three feet away from you. You are absolutely not thinking about his fingers, currently holding a pen, that you would much prefer sliding down the front of your shorts. And there’s absolutely no way you’re thinking about his grunts and the feeling of the delicious stretch you always feel as you slide yourself down onto him.
Five minutes of silence pass.
Ten minutes of agony.
Fifteen minutes of you losing your mind as he mutters to himself about coverage and yards and safeties.
He’s been muttering to himself for a while, but you’re so zoned out, trying to keep your thoughts to PG-13, that you don’t realise he’s asked you a question until you clock the fact that the same TikTok video has played multiple times with no reaction from you. No laugh, no scroll, no nothing.
‘Baby.’
The single word fires through your brain like a lightning bolt. You turn your head to look at him, too fast to play it off casually.
‘Yes, Joe.’
‘I asked if you’re okay.’ There’s the smallest suggestion of a smirk on his lips as he asks the question again.
‘All good,’ you reply quickly. Too quickly. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
He shrugs, raising his eyebrows, smirk growing in size.
‘Because the same video played four times and you didn’t even react.’
Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, trying to think up a reasonable explanation for this.
Nothing comes to your mind. Your brain, usually overactive and supplies plenty of thoughts, is completely void of anything but how much you need him. Your thighs are already shaking. You know that if he were to feel your groin even through your shorts, he’d be able to feel the dampness of your folds through your shorts. It’s cold against your thighs, slick and a constant reminder of how badly you need him.
Joe decides that enough is enough. He reaches forward to turn the tablet off and throws the notebook and pen onto the coffee table, then reaches across to wrap his arms around you.
‘C’mere, you,’ he grins at your yelp as he picks you up with no effort at all. ‘Been ignoring my girl for too long.’
A moment later, you’re sat on his lap. Your knees dig into the couch on either side of his hips as you straddle him, with your arms moving instinctively to lock around his neck.
You look up at his face. His eyes, normally a piercing blue, are dark grey in the low light of the room. His pupils are blown. Jaw set, tight with concentration, but it’s not film he’s concentrating on anymore.
It’s you.
You’re taking up his entire focus. You’re all he can think of right now.
‘Talk to me, sweetheart. What do you need.’
You blink up at him.
‘What — I don’t — Joe…’ You babble uselessly.
Joe chuckles darkly and leans in to kiss your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. His lips trail kisses along your jaw, up to your ear, brushing its shell as his voice lowers to that deep, throaty timbre he keeps at the back of his throat for these exact moments.
‘Don’t lie to me,’ he murmurs. ‘Tell me what you need.’
His hands grip your waist, fingers kneading the soft skin of your ass. Your lips find his once more as you instinctively rock your hips into him, slow, gentle but deliberate enough that you quickly start to feel him hardening beneath his sweatpants.
The effect is immediate. Almost comical, really.
He groans and tips his head to the back of the couch with a filthy grin.
‘You asked me what I needed, Joe,’ you mumble against his lips. ‘I need you. Right now.’
You pull back from the kiss just enough to look at him. Both of your lips are red and swollen and your breaths punch out in desperate gasps. His eyes are dark, hooded with desire.
‘Please, Joey.’
Those two words are enough for him to finally move one of his hands from your ass, around your thigh to your knee. His fingers trail up the skin on the inside of your leg, painfully slow, enough to make you whine in anticipation. He looks up at you, smirking because he knows what you need.
‘Patience, baby,’ he murmurs up at you. From your position of being straddled across him, you’re just above his eye-line, meaning that for once in his life he has to look up at you.
‘Joey,’ you whimper. The last syllable is elongated, making him chuckle. ‘I said please.’
His huge shoulders shake with another soft laugh at your neediness.
‘Such a good girl, being so polite.’
Your body is already reacting to every slight touch, every trail of his fingertips against your skin. The higher they go on your thigh, the more you react, whimpering his name as anticipation curls in your stomach.
When his fingers slide under the waistband of your shorts and finally find you, he hisses at the feel of your slick coating his digits, swearing under his breath at the effect he has on you. His breath fans hot and heady against your face in between kisses.
His fingers expertly work your clit, thumbing, pressing and swirling to make you gasp out his name into his neck. Your body arches into his all over again, but this time the movement is frantic. Staccato from just how sensitive your body is. You make a sound that’s half yelp, half moan, as your head falls to rest against his shoulder.
Joe’s other hand tucks your hair behind your shoulder, as it’s fallen over your shoulder and he knows you hate when it gets in your face.
The room is quiet. The only sounds are your occasional breathless gasps and moans, and the obscene wet sounds from you as his fingers bring you closer and closer to the edge.
It’s cresting. Fast. The coil is tightening already, that addictive feeling of your high accelerating towards you. You’re so desperate for it that your hips rock back and forth, seemingly of their own accord, riding his fingers in search of your climax.
You’re close. He can feel it in the way your thighs start to tremble around him.
‘Close already, baby?’ He smirks at you. You shove his shoulder weakly, too blissed to put any proper weight behind it.
‘Shut up, Burrow,’ you whine, making him laugh. The kiss he gives you when his lips find yours once again is hungry and deep. Both of you tilt your heads for more access to each other.
Your face scrunches in pleasure and your head tilts back, far enough that he moves his hand to cradle the back of your neck to keep your balance on him.
‘Stay with me, baby, I’ve got you.’
You whimper again as the high comes crashing towards you.
‘Joe — I’m—’
‘Let go for me, honey,’ he murmurs into your ear. ‘Let me hear you.’
Then, finally, without another warning, it hits. You rock into him, almost collapsing on top of him with a muffled yelp of his name as the coil snaps, sending a wave of heat pulsing through you. Moans tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. The intensity of it is almost overwhelming.
He watches you with a smug grin. Both of his hands grip your waist and hold you close enough to him that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. The aftershocks vibrate through your entire body and you feel the need to hold onto him, arms looped around his neck to brace yourself against his huge form.
For a few moments, there’s quiet. Proper quiet, the kind that envelops a room after something intense has happened. Your breathing slowly starts to even out as you breathe him in. He moves one hand to slide under your shirt. The feeling of his palm, warm and large, on your skin makes electricity crackle through you all over again.
You still need him, you realise. Your body craves more. You crave him in ways that you don’t feel confident enough to say, so you lift your head to look at him.
His eyes are dark grey in the low light of the room when they meet yours. Your fingers comb through his hair and tuck the strands that have fallen loose behind his ears. He kisses you, soft and gentle.
‘Need more, sweetheart?’ He asks quietly.
At first, you’re taken by surprise at just how well he knows you, at the way he knows when you need more without you even saying so, but then you smile and nod.
‘Yeah,’ you reply with a kiss to his cheek.
He beams, then taps your thigh.
‘Shorts off, baby.’
You obey without a second thought and move so you’re standing up in front of him. It only lasts a few seconds, during which you kick off your shorts and toss them to the side while Joe shimmies his sweatpants down his thighs, but your body screams in protest at the lack of contact with him. It only ceases when you sit back down on his lap.
Both of you groan at the feeling of your core, still soaking and slick, rubbing against his swollen cock. It slaps against his shirt, causing pre-cum to dribble onto the fabric. You shift slightly so your hips are raised off him, and he takes his cock in one hand and holds it steady to line it up with you. The other of his hands braces one of your hips to guide you down, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks.
‘Ready?’ you ask quietly, face barely more than a few centimetres from his.
He just nods in response. He’s too overwhelmed with need for you that he can barely form a coherent sentence.
And then you’re sinking yourself down onto him. He groans, loud enough for the sound to echo around the dark room, and his head tips to the back of the couch at the sight of your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You mimic his groan with one of your own at the stretch, at the feeling of him inside you.
‘Fuck, sweetheart — tight.’ It’s barely more than a grunt from him. He’s breathing heavily, chest heaving with exertion at the sensation of you fluttering around him.
The sensation takes your breath away every time, but especially from this angle. He’s completely bottomed out inside you, enough that you can feel his balls at your core. The stretch is delicious, big enough to make your walls quiver around him but not so big that it hurts.
‘Joey…’
‘I know, baby.’
Both hands are on you, now. One on your back, sneaking under your shirt again, the other on your hip. You tilt towards him and hiss as the change in angle causes his cock to hit that spot inside you.
He smiles knowingly.
‘There?’
It’s your turn to nod. Your arms are still looped around his neck and your fingers start to play with the soft hairs at the nape, absently grounding you without you even realising what you’re doing.
You turn to look at him properly, both of you stealing sweet, short kisses as you sit on him and keep him warm.
‘I love you,’ you say, because it seems important to say it now.
He beams up at you and kisses you again.
‘I love you too, sweetheart. So much.’
The two of you sit there for what might be a few seconds but what could easily be several minutes, your arms looped around his neck while his hands move up and down your back in circular motions. Time is doing that thing it always does during moments like this — stretching. Thickening just like the atmosphere is around you. Seconds bleeding into each other. It’s just the two of you.
You don’t even realise you’re staring at him until he grins teasingly up at you and kisses you.
‘Baby, you gonna just sit there or are you gonna ride me?’
The giggle punches out of your chest before you can even try and stop it, him joining you with chuckles of his own, and you rock your hips again, causing him to grunt your name under his breath.
There’s no space to speak of between you. Every atom of your body craves him, possessed by a carnal, almost primal desire to have him touching you.
His hands guide you as your hips pick up a steady rhythm against him. The hand under your shirt keeps you balanced against him, while his grip on your waist helps you maintain the ticking beat that you’ve picked up. It’s regular, not too fast that you can’t keep it but enough pace to make stars cloud your vision.
The feeling is addictive. His hands roaming your body, touching every spare millimetre of skin they can reach. His cock — huge, thick — rocking inside you, bulbous tip hitting the spot inside you that feels completely different when you ride him like this.
His hands clap down on your ass in a smack to both cheeks, making you yelp in surprise against his mouth. Joe grins as the sound reverberates through the whole room.
Both of you are groaning into each other. He kisses your cheek, your temple, your forehead, any inch of skin his lips can reach. He maps your face in kisses, then brushes his lips against your ear.
‘Love seein’ you like this, baby girl,’ he murmurs, voice throaty with need. ‘Takin’ me so well, such a good girl, lookin’ so perfect f’me.’ His Ohio drawl lengthens his vowels, makes his consonants thicken and run into each other.
It almost sounds like he’s drunk, slurring his words, and in a way he is. Drunk on you. Intoxicated with love for you. You’re the most dangerously addictive drug he’s ever known. He doesn’t want a world where he doesn’t get this high.
Minutes pass slowly. The room slowly falls away from around you. All you can focus on is him.
Your thighs start to get tired, but you keep going. Your lower back hurts. Cramp slowly creeps in around your feet. But you can’t stop.
You cradle his head with both hands as you kiss him, hot and hard, teeth clashing against each other. Your body is moving with every rock of your hips into him, causing your mouth to move back and forth against his. His lips capture yours every time, hungry and desperate for you.
The rhythm picks up in pace. Your high is building once more with the faster pace. Joe has to move both hands to your hips to keep you lowered onto him and direct your hips back and forth, back and forth.
‘Joey, I — I’m gonna…’ you mumble.
There it is again. That tightening sensation in your abdomen. It’s approaching even faster than the first orgasm earlier with every pulse of his cock inside you, every rock of your hips into him and every time his grip tightens on you.
Joe can feel you start to tire. He starts to buck his hips up in time with yours, almost lazily. He times it perfectly so the height of his hips are when you’re closest to him. It magnifies the magic feeling of him hitting that spot inside you.
Moments later, he kisses you hard and fiery. His own rhythm is becoming sloppy, just like yours
‘I’m there, baby,’ he grunts into you.
‘I — Joey, I’m — gonna…’
You can’t string a single sentence together.
‘I know, I know, sweetheart, trust me, I’ve got you.’
All it takes is one, two, three more thrusts into you, hard enough to hit that spot with enough force. Your walls flutter, then you’re coming undone around him.
This time, you actually scream his name as your orgasm tears through you, hard enough that you feel like you’re about to split open around him. It’s rare for your orgasm to hit you with just penetration - you often need his fingers alongside his dick to get your high, but when you cum with him inside you, it hits you hard. Intense.
Joe follows seconds later. His release coats your walls, warmth filling you up enough that some of it trickles out of you and down his own thigh.
He breathes heavily, then moves to fold his arms around you. Your entire body is trembling. The orgasm was so intense that tears start to leak out of your eyes.
‘I’m — I’m okay, god, I’m not… not sad, just…’ you exhale all in one, embarrassed. Gasps of exhaustion splutter out of you and you can only collapse against him, completely and utterly boneless.
‘Hey, it’s okay, I know. Just breathe, sweetheart.’
He holds you close to his chest. You’re acutely aware that he’s still inside you, softening but still pulsing every few seconds with the last of him. He rubs your back soothingly and hushes you whenever you shake with another sob. His hand threads through your hair and pulls it back away from your face.
His voice is quiet and gentle as he breathes you through the comedown.
‘I’ve got you. Breathe. You’re safe. You’re on the couch. Just got a little intense back there, huh.’
You don’t respond. He isn’t expecting you to.
The following few minutes are quiet as the room decompresses. Your breathing slowly starts to even out once more, as does his, and he reaches for the blanket that’s tossed over the back of the couch not far from you. He wraps it around you, still wrapped around him like an exhausted koala.
‘Wanna lie down, baby?’ He whispers as he kisses the skin beneath your ear.
You hum in agreement, already soft with sleep, and then his arms are tightening around you as he shifts both of your bodies down onto the couch. You wince at the sensation of him pulling out of you.
‘I’m okay,’ you mumble when he looks at you in concern, worried that he’s hurt you. ‘Tender. Achey.’
He kisses your forehead.
‘Might need to carry you up to bed, honey,’ he chuckles quietly. You giggle against him.
‘I love the girlfriend transport service.’
He presses gentle kisses to your forehead, your hairline and the top of your head.
‘Comes included, free of charge.’
You’re too exhausted to respond, so you kiss his chest and close your eyes. His hand disappears into your hair and gently combs out the wild tangles that have formed from his fingers tangling it during sex.
Joe’s ability to shift from intense to soft in a matter of minutes always takes you by surprise. He’s the king of aftercare, forever making sure that you’re hydrated and feel taken care of.
He talks to you quietly about practice earlier and the drills he was running. About how he’s feeling about the new season, training camp, the draft. About some documentary he watched the other day and how he wants to watch it again with you, as he thinks you’ll enjoy it.
Then his words drift into softer territory.
‘Always gonna come home to you, baby.’
‘Always gonna be the most important person in my life.’
‘Always gonna be my favourite person.’
‘I love you.’
It’s those three words that you hear, muffled and echoey like you’re in a dishwasher, as sleep starts to creep up on you.
You tilt your head to look up him. He chuckles affectionately.
‘You hear that?’ He asks as he kisses your forehead. ‘I love you. Always have, always will.’
The smile you give him cracks his chest open with how soft it is.
‘I love you too, Joey,’ you mumble, almost indecipherable through your exhaustion.
He rubs your back again as your head drops back down onto his shoulder. You breathe him in — skin still sticky and sweaty, with the distinct aroma of sex, but still that signature scent of cedar, vanilla and clean laundry that you’ve come to know as home.
‘Sleep now, baby. I’ll take you up to bed.’
You’re already sore. You’ll likely be walking a little awkwardly tomorrow, but you don’t care. All you care about is how warm Joe is beneath you.
His heartbeat is steady and regular beneath your ear. He continues talking, and soon, sleep is pulling you under, safe in the arms of your quarterback.
JOE BURROW TAGLIST (message/ask to be added!): @cixrosie @vroomvroombtch @mrs-delaney @cozygirljay @krugstrash @savaneafricaine @jbnine99 @heavyhitterheaux @neyessibff @honeydippedfiction @alertbooty @basicash @hallecarey1 @megsinnerthoughts @junovee @snoopyhughes @britt217 @emeraldgold23 @fallinlovewithurlove @supermansballlicker3 @jspit9 @prissyimagines @justtheplainoldme @imperfect-paragon
