My Man on “Willpower”… 𝓿𝓼. 𝓪 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓱 𝓼𝓮𝓽
𝒢𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝒽𝒶𝓂⁴⁴ 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇
3.3K words
c/w ౨ৎ massage, marking (with nails), unprotected p in v, #JustTheTip, hickeys, est. relationship, possessive!garrett, praise, daddy kink adjacent, riding, hand around the throat, post-sex fluff, pet names (baby, pretty, princess, daddy + no y/n), language, locker room chirping + a complete lack of willpower ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Garrett had just finished showering, his hair curling at the ends as he walks over, already reaching for your hands. “Lemme see,” he murmurs, taking your fingers in his own. He turns them over, inspecting your fresh set like it’s the prettiest thing in the world.
“Like ‘em?”
“Love ‘em.” A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.
“Approved?” You ask, winking like you even needed to beg the question in the first place.
“Definitely approved.”
You smile, hands resting heavy on his chest. “Good. They were expensive.”
Garrett snorts, fingers running through his wet hair. “Good thing I paid for ‘em then.”
“Thank you, baby,” you whisper, rising on your tiptoes for a kiss. His hands lift, taking two handfuls of ass, humming against your mouth when your arms wrap lazily around him.
“Anything for you.” His hands squeeze your hips. “Your week sucked. Glad you finally got to relax.”
“How was morning skate?” You ask curiously, and like clockwork, he starts rolling out his neck and his shoulders, wincing in pain. You raise your brow at him, trying not to laugh at his predictability.
Your nails drag, just a tease, tracing the line of his necklace until your fingers find the clasp, nudging it back to center. And, with that little touch, the man practically purrs, rocking ever so slightly with you like he just got exactly what he wanted. Or at least a tiny taste.
Garrett just shrugs, feigning innocence. “You know how it goes,” he says through a boyish smile.
“Mhmm…” You reach for the hem of his shirt, helping him out of it as always.
Garrett’s skin is still warm from the shower, his tight muscles melting already beneath the slightest touch from you.
As soon as he hits his bed he lets out a deep, contented sigh, lazily sprawling out on his stomach. His curls are still damp from the shower, flattened slightly on one side where his head disappears into the comforter. His chain hangs loose against the back of his neck, glinting every time he shifts.
His brown eyes follow you as you crawl onto the bed; his smile spreads wider as he glances at you over his shoulder. You straddle him, running your fingers down his strong back, watching as goosebumps spread across his dewy skin.
“Oh my god.” His voice comes out low and rough.
“You’re so easy,” you tease, dragging your nails over his broad shoulders before pressing them into the tight knots you knew you’d find.
“Shittt,” he huffs, exhaling sharply as you nail that perfect spot, working out the tension. “Feels so fucking good, pretty.” His face presses deeper into the bed, big body softening with it.
You let your fingers drift into his damp hair, scratching your manicured fingers against his scalp. “Mpfhh…” He turns his heavy head slightly, eyes half-lidded. “I love when you get your nails done,” he murmurs, utterly relaxed beneath your touch as he lets out a little yawn.
You smile, winding one of his curls around your finger. “Yeah?”
“Oh fuck.” One of his legs kicks lazily against the mattress. “Damn, princess, they’re kinda sharp. You should keep ‘em like this forever.”
Leaning down to press a kiss to the side of his neck, feeling his slow, leveled pulse thump under your lips. “I’ll think about it.”
Garrett settles deeper into the mattress, already halfway asleep, completely at peace. “Gotta keep me up,” he huffs. “I’m gonna pass the fuck out.”
You press your nails a little harder into his back, making his muscles tense for a second before he softens into the mattress. “Too much?” You ask, pausing slightly.
“No—No, keep goin’.” His fingers flex against the comforter. “S’perfect.”
You smile as you watch the faint red marks appear where your nails dragged down, bright against his skin.
“Fuck,” Garrett hisses as you find yourself so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t realize how hard you had dug into his skin until it had already happened.
“Oh, shit—” You gasp, but Garrett just laughs, shifting slightly underneath you as he looks back at you.
“Don’t stop. C’mon,” he whines, wiggling his shoulders impatiently beneath you.
“I created a diva,” you whisper, and he sighs blissfully.
“Don’t even recognize myself anymore. You ruined me.”
You chuckle and shake your head, letting your nails trail more deliberately over his tight skin. Your fingers trace from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, following the line of his tattoo.
“Y’know,” he murmurs against your knuckles, smiling to himself. “I don’t think anybody’s ever been this excited to put scratches on me.”
You chuckle and his shoulders flex beneath your hands. Your thumbs press into a particularly stubborn knot, making him wince before a low moan follows, a weak laugh slipping out because it hurts so good.
You tilt down, lips brushing against the shell of his ear, tits pushed against his back, and he angles his neck to get a little closer.
“What did you say?” You ask sweetly.
“I—” He clears his throat, swallowing hard. “I said I don’t think anybody’s ever been this excited to put scratches on me—”
“Which is odd.” You cut him off, your voice soft and distracted, scratching your initials in, watching as they shift red. “‘Cause it sounds like you’re talking about other women right now. Couldn’t possibly be.”
“Just talkin’ out of my ass,” he mumbles. “No one but you. Only you.”
“Mhmm…” You giggle, nails running in a little heart over the expanse of his back. Your fingernail swirls and swoops, drawing a lazy little “mine”.
Garrett buries his face in the mattress. “I know what you’re doing, baby.”
You giggle breathily, rubbing out a little more tension when he catches you in the shameless act.
“Yeah,” you whisper, dipping down again, trailing soft kisses down his neck. You pause when you find the perfect spot, just above where the collar of his jersey will sit.
“That’s my girl.” He doesn’t stop you, instead slithering his hand behind his back, slipping under the band of your shorts and panties.
You suck down on his neck as he rolls his fingers on top of your pussy, groaning when he feels just how wet you are; knowing this close to the game time, he’ll have to wait to sink his thick dick deep, but he loves to tease just as much as you do.
“On your back,” you whisper, watching as Garrett obeys without hesitation, stuffing a pillow under his head. His fingers find you fast, slipping your little shorts to the side this time. Garrett dips the tip of his thick finger in your soaked hole, his eyes rolling back at how warm and wet you are.
You tilt in, pressing your lips to his, lingering there for a second before he pulls you closer, his other hand slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, gripping your ass.
“Baby,” he mumbles. “You gotta keep these on.”
“Okay.”
“I’m already losin’ this fight,” he breathes, pulling them down despite what he’s saying, chuckling against his mouth as you help him do it.
“You’re doing great, Gar—” His name trips up in a gasp as he presses his hand against your pussy, his middle and ring fingers thrusting deep.
“So jealous of my fuckin’ hand right now,” he grumbles, laughing at how pathetic he sounds as he pumps them in and out.
You grind into him, fucking yourself on his hand. The movement makes the muscles in his stomach tighten. His hair is already drying in messy curls around his forehead, one falling into his eyes before he blows it away with an impatient breath.
“You better keep this fuckin’ top on, alright?” He whispers when a soft satin strap falls. He lifts his hand to cup your cheek, brushing the other off your shoulder, sending the material sliding to your waist. “My mistake,” he whispers.
Your forehead falls against his and he sinks his fingers deeper, groaning at the feeling of your slickness dripping down to his wrist.
“I don’t know why I do this to myself,” he drags a hand down his face as he continues to torment himself with the thought of ruining you before his game, reluctantly pulling his hand away for the moment. “I gotta focus. Just make it so hard on me,” he smiles.
“Oh?”
“Baby,” he mumbles.
“Mhmm,” you hum, rocking against the stiff bulge between his thighs instead.
You whisper his name as you roll your hips. Your head falls back, hands sliding over your chest, and Garrett shuts his eyes for a second like he’s trying to remember every reason he wasn’t supposed to be doing this.
“Just—Fuck. Just the tip, okay?” He mumbles sheepishly.
“What?” You ask teasingly, looking down at him. He’s so gone he’s practically begging with his eyes.
“Just a little,” he breathes needily, hooking a hand around your neck, pulling you down to his lips.
“Garrett Graham,” you whisper. “You said no sex before games.”
Garrett’s head presses deeper into the pillow, his hips shifting beneath you as you grind against him.
“I say a lot of stupid shit,” he mumbles under his breath. “I don’t know what you thought was gonna happen,” he rambles and he tugs his clothes down, his cock hitting his bare skin with a slap.
"Only the tip," you breathe as you thrust your hand between the two of you, taking hold of his cock.
"I'll take it," Garrett whispers as his head meets your pussy. A rough sound rumbles through his chest as he looks up at you again. "This is for me?" He asks shakily.
"Yes, daddy."
“I can’t do this,” he mutters, huffing out a breath, palms slapping over his eyes. “Don’t say that unless you’re tryin’ to start shit, alright?”
He takes control, gripping his dick in his fist, running his fat tip through your slick folds, swirling softly on your clit.
He slows down slightly, a smile spreading on his lips as he glides lower.
"Mmm... Right there," you whisper against his mouth as his head toys with your entrance. His lips press against yours as you widen your thighs, dropping down on his tip, feeling a big stretch.
"Fuck me," he pants.
"Feels so good, Garrett," you whimper. His hold on your hips tightens, muscles trembling like he’s fighting against himself. His heels sink deep into the mattress, press up just enough to stroke just a little.
“So damn good. It’s not fair.” His eyelids fall and his jaw locks tight.
His blunt fingernails dig into your flesh, his gaze dropping to the place where you barely connect, his long thick dick throbbing, your slickness rolling in a tear down the side of his cock.
He pulls you down a little farther on his length and your gaze snaps to him.
“Shhhh—Shh,” he whispers, pulling you down to his lips. “Let me—Just fucking take it, alright?”
Garrett squeezes his eyes shut for a second before finding your mouth again, gripping your hips when you’re all the way down.
He pushes you down a little more, making your eyes roll back in your skull, filled to the brim with him. The sight of your pleasure is almost too much to take.
“Ride me,” he mumbles, lips dragging against yours.
You sit up, knees sunk into the mattress, nails dragging down his strong chest as he draws a heavy breath. The gold chain around his neck slides across his skin as his head tips back into the pillows. His throat works around a swallow before his eyes find you again.
You start to ride him, grinding slowly, like the pace alone will make up for his lack of self-control when it comes to his little pregame rule.
Garrett drags a breath through his nose, his voice rough when he whispers, “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head once. “My willpower’s fuckin’ shot when it comes to you.”
You shift your weight and he groans low in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips as you circle them.
“That’s it.” His thumbs drag over your hips. "Easy, baby. Just like that."
Your nails dig into his chest as you begin to move, slow and steady at first, your body finding its rhythm while his muscles tense beneath your palms, his mouth falling open.
“Call me that shit again.” His eyes squeeze shut for a second. "Wanna hear it."
Your hands drift a little higher, thumb resting the hollow of his throat with your hands wrapping and squeezing.
“Daddy.”
"Christ. Yeah. Fuck yeah. Tight... Tighter," he moans as you ride him, your hips finding a deeper rhythm as your hands tighten around his neck, his eyes fluttering open just enough to find yours, fighting to stay open like he doesn't want to miss a second of it.
You lean back slightly, hands braced on his strong thighs as he fills you over and over again. His praise slips from his lips between gritted teeth.
You feel your orgasm building, sharp and fast, the pressure coiling in your stomach, and he feels it, too. Garrett sits up, wrapping his arm tight around your waist, the other twisting in your hair again as your body trembles uncontrollably. You gasp, swiveling your hips, grinding down as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, breathing heavy.
"Cum for me, baby. Let go. Show me how perfect you are, huh?”
Your whole body clenches, back arching as you cry out, pulsing hard around him, your orgasm triggering his own. Your name falls from his lips, hips jerking as he buries himself deep, cumming hard, holding you so close.
Garrett melts back into the mattress, pulling you with him, finding his lips for a tender kiss.
"Christ, baby," he breathes. "You’re so good to me, baby. You know that?" He whispers as his hands hold your cheeks, forehead resting against yours.
“Mmm—You are so, so good to me,” you whisper, feeling him smile into your kiss.
You pull back ever slightly, eyes falling enough to see the dark mark blooming where your lips had been, the soft red hue of where your hands were wrapped blushing on his skin as well. You rub your thumb across it, trying your best to catch your breath.
“You know,” he starts, his voice low and rough, “you always tease me for liking to mark you up…”
“Because you do.”
A smirk spreads on his kiss-swollen lips as he studies you a little. “Yeah, I do—” Knock. Knock.
“G, you alive?” Logan calls from the other side of the door. Garrett groans, dropping his head to your shoulder.
“No,” he mumbles and you giggle, tilting your head to rest it against his. Knock! Knock!
“C’mon, Romeo. Car leaves in five,” Logan tries again.
“Leave without me.”
“Can’t,” he laughs, “Coach likes goals. Get your ass movin’.”
He blows out a breath as you lift off him nice and slow, thighs trembling, making him chuckle breathily. You roll your eyes and drop to the mattress, wrapping yourself up in his blanket.
You watch him step into his dark slacks, tugging them up his thighs before fastening the button. Your gaze drifts higher, catching on the sharp lines of his waist disappearing beneath the waistband of his slacks, the chain hanging against his chest, the way the damp ends of his curls are already starting to dry around his ears.
A smile starts pulling at one corner of his mouth when he catches you staring.
He gives you a quick wink.
“Stop,” you mumble, fighting your own smile.
Garrett shakes his head to himself before turning slightly, checking the fit of his pants. His attention catches on the scratches.
It’s impossible not to look.
His hands slide into his front pockets, broad back tightening as he shifts, the scratches standing out even more against his skin.
“Garrett.”
“Hmm?” He asks, still looking, fully distracted.
“Garrett Graham?”
“Pretty girl?” His jaw tilts slightly, laughing through his nose when he sees the little mark on his neck, fussing with his chain.
“You love it.”
His bottom lip tucks between his teeth as he’s caught in the act, reaching for his black dress shirt hanging nearby.
“M’not gonna sit here and pretend this shit doesn’t look good, baby,” he mumbles.
The shirt slides over his biceps, draping over his shoulders. His chain catches the light against his chest as he fastens each button, chuckling under his breath like he’s tucking away a secret.
He reaches for the tie draped over the back of the chair, looping it around his neck, turning on his heels.
You crawl on the bed as he walks toward you, making your way to the edge. You rise up on your knees and his hands find your hips.
You fasten a knot in his tie, a little smile playing on your lips.
“Wait for me outside the locker room, yeah?” He asks.
“Garrett,” you sigh.
“What?”
“I’ve been waiting outside that locker room after every home game all season.”
“True,” he hums proudly. “Very true.”
“You really asking?” You chuckle and he smiles when the knot presses up to his throat.
“Just like hearin’ you say it, pretty.”
Your hands smooth the tie flat against his chest before brushing down the front of his shirt.
“Of course I’ll be there.”
“That’s my girl.”
Garrett reaches his stall and pulls off his jersey, dragging it over his head slowly, pulling himself out of his shoulder pads next. The scratches down his back earn about half a second of silence before the chirping starts.
“Jesus, G,” Logan laughs. “You get in a fight we didn’t see?”
Garrett looks over his shoulder like it’s news to him, which only riles the guys up even more.
“Nah, those aren’t from the game, boys,” Dean smiles, stating the obvious as Garrett rolls his eyes, reaching for a towel as another teammate whistles low.
“Weren’t there yesterday,” another teases, and heat climbs up Garrett’s neck.
“My girl got her nails done, alright?” He mutters, staring into his stall instead of turning around to hide the fact that he loves this shit.
“You better have paid for them, buddy. That’s how we’re doin’ it,” Dean laughs.
“Maybe I did.”
“Daddy,” Tucker adds, pointing toward Garrett when he finally turns around. “Addin’ that one to the playbook—”
“Enough,” Garrett mumbles smugly.
“She’s got Garrett Graham breaking all his rules.”
“A couple back scratches never hurt anybody,” Garrett breathes.
“Mhmm… That’s all that happened. We all believe you, G. You can stop gettin’ all red.”
“That hickey appeared on its own too, by the way,” Tucker piles on.
“Blushing like a slut, Graham,” Dean snickers, and that finally sends the room over the edge.
“No I’m not.” Garrett drags a towel over his face, trying to hide the grin that won’t leave his lips.
“He fuckin’ loves it—”
“Maybe I do. Now what?” Garrett mutters, back to the boys. He doesn’t even bother arguing because they’re right.
He fuckin’ loves it.
Garrett drops onto the bench, still shaking his head as the chirping starts to die down.
He reaches for his phone, trying to settle into a normal rhythm.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝: 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝.
He bites the inside of his cheek as the text bubbles come in fast.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙸’𝚖 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚖.
Garrett groans, dropping his head into one hand, the other resting on his knee. He chuckles under his breath, rolling his eyes when he catches Dean smirking from the corner of his eye.
“Don’t,” Garrett grunts.
Dean just smiles, wrapping a fresh towel around his waist as he heads toward the showers.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝: 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝚂𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝: 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙷𝚖𝚖𝚖.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝 “𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢” 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚖.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝: 𝙱𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝 “𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚙” 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚖.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝: 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚢.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝚈𝚘𝚞: 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝 “𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝” 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚑𝚊𝚖.
For a second he just sits there with his head hanging, laughing to himself. Of course you remembered that. Jesus Christ.
Garrett rubs a hand across his jaw, biting back a shit-eating grin he still can’t get rid of.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢.
. ݁₊ ⊹ 📱.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝: 𝙸’𝚖 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗’ 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.
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